#look this thing literally emerges from a beating heart and then an egg

[squidunderscore]

block tales demo 3 spoilers ! (drawing)

cant think of a cool caption rn sorry :/ i made hatred slimy

[phantasmalnightmare]

At her words, the real Cham-P emerged from within the confines of his cloak, scrambling to the top of the breeder's shoulders. Once perched safely, the hamster began to flex in a comical manner, as if proving that he could protect her wherever she went. It was a nice distraction from the shade his cheeks were undoubtedly turning, as he reached for the necklace.

Of course, he missed her dazzling smile because he was being too bashful as usual. He was certain that she would reject such a gift from someone as dark and brooding as him. Even though they were friends, she was bright, beautiful, and literally royalty. He was only a self proclaimed Lord, came from a poor background, and he was constantly bullied.

Therefore, he did not expect to hear the words that followed. "Truly!?" Gundham couldn't help the warm, and very not Dark Lord, smile that etched his features, nor the amazement that lit his gaze. It was an expression reserved for only one that he felt truly comfortable around, and he felt ecstatic that Sonia didn't turn down his gift. No, she actually loved it.

His gaze met her own, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe, as he realized what she'd asked. He pulled his scarf up tightly around the bottom of his face, not that it did much to hide his now scarlet cheeks. "You wish to wear it right this instant? Surely... your attendants would assist you. I fear that my poison may shorten your life span, even though you are the Dark Queen." He stammered, knowing that he was making nonsensical excuses. Even Cham-P looked at him with an annoyed expression, gesturing to the blonde as if egg him on.

Being a coward was not befitting the Supreme Overlord of Ice. Besides, he knew that she would leave for her home land soon, and that it would be awhile before he would see her again. If not this moment, when would he get another chance like this? "Kehehehe... You have always been quite fearless. Even the Leviathan would break under your gaze. Very well. I commend that bravery! The almighty Gundham Tanaka will assist you in this endeavor!" He proclaimed loudly, trying to cover up the deafening sound of his own heart beat.

He closed the distance, and he was glad that he was facing her back, so that she couldn't see how deeply red his face was. Calloused fingers took the necklace, and he carefully pulled each side around her neck, the places where his fingers brushed against her bare skin feeling like a shock throughout his body. He fumbled with the clasp a couple of times, partly because he was unaccustomed to jewellery, and partly because he wanted his hands to linger upon the back of her neck just a little bit longer.

He finally managed to close the clasp on one of the loops, and the necklace fell gently into place. Taking a step back, he turned to face her, and his breathe hitched in his throat. Seeing her wear something he'd given her like that(and something he'd helped place upon her too) made him feel happy, but also other.. more bestial instincts that were much too inappropriate to feel for a friend.

"I am all too familiar with the inner workings of royalty. As one of the Lords of Hell, I know that traditions must always be honored. I thank you for wish that I could accompany you, all the same." He held onto her words, not trusting himself to do more than he was allowed to, but there was one last thing he wished to do. "I do hope you will think of me when your gaze falls upon the grand cursed artifact I have bestowed upon you. But... you best be on your way."

Before he could over think things, he allowed his body to move. He closed the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around each of her sides, pulling her into a warm embrace. She smelled nice and felt so soft. He held her like that for a bit longer. "I will miss you, my friend." He whispered softly, not wanting to let go.

All things come to an end though, and he eventually had to let her go. Taking a step back, he gave her a bittersweet smile. She would be back at least. "Happy Birthday and safe travels, my Dark Queen." He left the classroom at last.

Gundham knew that Sonia's birthday was today, and he had spent no small amount of time fussing over what kind of gifts that she would like. He had to get her something. After all, she was one of the few people at school that treated him with kindness, although there were certain other motivations at play. Like his feelings for her. He'd been working at a vet's part time after school, all so he could save to get her something, since his family didn't have much money.

As the school bell rang, and the others cleared out of the classroom, he called out to stop her. "Ah my Dark Queen! If I may but request a moment of your time." The Dark Lord cleared his throat, suddenly feeling jittery and awkward. He'd never gifted someone something before.

"It is your day of birth, is it not? Friday the 13th... Kehehe how befitting for one such as you." He pulled out a decently sized golden hamster plush from his jacket, that looked similar to Cham-P. "I.. have something for you. A replica of Invading Black Dragon Cham-P. He will watch over you and protect you from the unseen calamity that threatens us all."

He lingered for a moment longer, his cheeks tinged red. He had one last thing to give her after all, but he was trying to work up the courage. "One final piece for you.." He pulled out a small wrapped box. Inside was a beautiful silver necklace with a diamond encrusted crescent moon and star pendent.

"Beware, this is actually a cursed artifact! Any other that would touch it would meet an untimely demise! However, your special abilities will protect you. I believe you would enjoy an occult piece such as this." He couldn't seem to make eye contact. "If you do not wish to accept it, I understand. My evil eye will be able to keep the curse at bay for some time! Whatever the case, I do hope you enjoy this special day. Fuhahaha!" Despite the grandiose words, he was feeling very flustered, certain she wouldn't want jewelry from him. Such trinkets were usually exchanged by significant others... and despite his insistence that it was an occult object, it really was just a normal necklace.

Sonia's Birthday Asks 2023 - No Longer Accepting (unless you have spoken with me already about a delay!)

It was one of her more unusual birthdays. To be fair, it was perhaps the first one spent overseas. On her actual day of birth, Sonia Nevermind's plans included breakfast in the cafeteria, attending class, and finishing the very last of her packing before taking a night flight home on the jet. Her assistant, the beacon of kindness that she was, had at least arranged with the security and flight staff for the Princess of Novoselic to be served a piece of her favorite chocolate cake in the air, a secret that would be kept from her parents before landing. With a few days until the annual masquerade ball and plenty of ceremonies and appearances before then, the last thing anyone needed was for the Queen of Novoselic to throw a fit that her daughter's gown did not fit her.

That, and a few horror movies streamed from the comfort of her seat or the queen-sized bed in the back of the plane. Even if she wasn't having a real, normal birthday party, she could still celebrate in her own way.

Her schedule did not, at any point, involve Gundham calling out to her as she got up to leave the classroom. That was something she hadn't planned for, from the genuine surprised look that she hoped masked the panic in her eyes. Despite the fact she adored his company and preferred it over all others (something she kept a secret, if only to not make their friendship awkward), she hardly knew what to say most of the time. Or at least, not until she went over it in her mind to ensure it didn't sound naive or silly: she was well aware that plenty of Hope's Peak students considered her to be uninformed, sheltered, or just stupid to the ways of the world, due to her upbringing and tendency to mix up common phrases. It was why she wanted to take care with her words yet be genuine towards him. It wasn't hard to be open-minded and friendly to Gundham Tanaka: he so often spoke of grand occult rituals, powerful gods, and of course, the variety of feathered, scaled, and furry friends in his care, who often showed up to class (to Sonia's delight. She never minded a bear sitting at its own miniscule desk, it was very well-behaved). 

"Y-yes it is!" She half-affirmed, half-squeaked through her smile. Friday the 13th, whether it was due to pure superstition or one of her favorite film franchises, was meant to be dark and foreboding. Sonia was, at present, neither of these things, as she tried not to look too long at his multi-colored eyes or his carefully bandaged hands that had just disappeared into his jacket. Surely he'd notice, she thought, and he only meant to wish her a happy birthday. Thankfully, she was pleasantly distracted from inappropriate thoughts with a soft plush placed in her hands, made to resemble Cham-P's orange, fuzzy image, complete with chubby cheeks and loving, beady eyes. 

"Oh! It truly is Cham-P, how delightful!" Sonia exclaimed, bringing the small toy up to her face, just as she would the real hamster, and brushed her cheek against its fur. "I feel very much protected already before my journey. He shall keep me safe and in good company during my travels." And after the travels in particular, when she had to set herself on a shelf to be the princess everyone required and expected her to be. It was more challenging every time she went home, now that she'd had a taste of what a normal life was like. What real friends were like. And then...well, what Gundham was like. He was in a place in her heart all his own, one that beat a little faster as he produced a second, smaller gift. 

She might have been sheltered in the ways of navigating a grocery store or using a washing machine (to the point her clothes were now always sent out for cleaning), but Sonia was not so naive to misunderstand what sort of gift could possibly lay within a velvet box. Her breath hitched in her throat as, shifting the weight of the plush to one arm, she opened it with her free hand. It was delicate, beautiful, and according to Gundham, a cursed artifact destined to protect her. He couldn't look her in the eyes for some reason, but if he'd had, he would've seen the soft smile that spread over her lips. Different from the bright and cheerful expression she showed everyone, this one, warm and wistful and wanting, was one she reserved for him. Only for him, though often only when she was alone and couldn't be caught dreaming. But there, in the empty classroom, she couldn't stop herself as she turned over the small pendant in her hand.

"It is perfect, I love it," She breathed, tracing over the tiny crescent moon. With a pink flush spreading over her cheeks, she raised her own, shy gaze to Gundham again. Swallowing, she had one chance to reenact the sort of scene she'd always watched in dramas but never had the opportunity to happen in real life. At least, not with anyone she wanted. "It is just...it is just that my hands are rather occupied by the protective powers of Cham-P, and I would very much like to wear this today, right now. Could you please assist me with putting it on?"

Setting the necklace back in the box and placing the box into his hand, she took a deep breath and moved her hair to one side, letting it fall over a single shoulder to expose the back of her neck. "Thank you, Tanaka-san. I will treasure it dearly. It will be a great comfort while I am at home. I wish I could have invited you to the seasonal festivities, but, my family...well, they insisted that this was an important royal event and I needed to give my duties my full attention."

In short: so Princess Sonia of Novoselic wouldn't eschew her royal ball duties for the solitary goal of asking Gundham Tanaka to dance with her. She certainly spoke of him enough at home and the staff, much to Sonia's dismay, couldn't keep her crush a secret. Within the castle walls, at least.

[sunjaesol]

you keep my head from going under

chenford | drabble | post-4x01 | title: bruises // lewis capaldi

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Intellectually, Tim Bradford knew this made sense.

Jackson's death hit everyone hard, but Lucy took the punch. She was his best friend, his roommate, his confidante; a fellow rookie. More than once had Tim heard her jokingly refer to Jackson as her 'little brother', though her sweet tone said otherwise. It wasn't a joke. Lucy and Jackson were family and she just lost her brother.

So, yeah. It didn't take a genius to figure out Lucy needed someone to grieve with, that would understand, that would give her space and closeness and everything in between. Intellectually, Tim deduced he was the right fit for that. Nyla and her weren't super close, Angela was busy with the baby, the weird history with Nolan kept him out of the equation, too. (Tim didn't even begin to question or plow through that one — for his sanity, it was best he never found out.)

Emotionally, however, it was a whole other ball game. Because Lucy wasn't just his friend, or previous rookie, or fellow police officer. She was Lucy. Tim preferred to not linger on the multitudes she contained, but in vulnerable times like these, it was hard not to.

The perfume, a blend of cardemom and roses and citrus, tickling his nose when they hugged. The chime of her laugh every time he sold a joke. Drifting gaze on her pouted lips as she calculated a situation or problem, as though he shouldn't be focusing on the same thing. Her soothing voice, her bravery, her enviable resilience, her strength and smarts and style. Her, her, her. An intoxicating dosis of her as she slept over multiple times a week on the couch, mere feet away from his lonely bedroom.

Safe to say it drove him wild.

He had to remind himself he was a goddamn thirty-six year old man that has fought wars and faced Death every day on the job. He literally underwent an illegal mission to Guatemala to save Angela. But he couldn't keep his cool because the woman he liked slept in the other room? The fuck?

Then again... 'like' might be an understatement. Tim would be a fool if he didn't recognise his feelings for Lucy had grown past a simple infatuation, or prolonged adrenaline rush. Tim loved her.

Which was why he always waited in bed until he heard her alarm softly ring in the other room a bit past seven, listening how she stumbled from the couch to the bathroom, allowing him the limited time to tidy his (her?) couch and prepare breakfast. When she found out the first time, she objected, but his cool exterior and snark quickly shot that discussion down.

Which was why he bought her coffee and lunch more often during their breaks. His stomach twisted inside out with stupid pubescent glee each time her face lit up at the sight of a perfect burger with extra pickle, ordered without having to ask.

Which was why he didn't intercept whenever dudes started asking her out again, though the sympathetic looks of Nyla and Nolan nauseated him plenty. He felt a quiet sense of satisfaction with each rejected man.

Now, Tim didn't toss and turn at the seven fifteen alarm. He waited, he listened to her disappear into the bathroom, he got up and got moving, put on the radio (a music station, since she liked that) and cracked open eggs above a simmering pan. It felt natural. Especially when Lucy emerged in her street clothes and slipped around him to the coffee maker, as if this was a regular morning for them.

Maybe it was.

Pouring her cup, Lucy moved past him to the breakfast bar when he stopped her at the last moment, impulsive.

Her brows raised. "What?"

Before all the bullshit, Isabelle and him had been an easy match. They were made of the same cloth: pragmatic, straightforward, efficient. Though Tim did truly love her, he held different emotions for her than now for Lucy. This felt... insurmountable. Indescribable. His mouth opened and closed, yet nothing in the English language could explain what he experienced each second of the day when he was with her and when he wasn't with her. He felt himself going mad. Tim was in love with Lucy.

Figuring their staring match had gone on too long, he dropped her elbow and crossed his arms instead. "I love you."

Lucy blinked. "W-what?"

Tim caught what he said a beat too late. What the fuck. "Yeah."

"Um... okay." She set her cup down and nervously clutched onto her necklace. Tim felt himself being ripped in all directions by monstrous tides, not being in control rather uncharted territory. "Can- can we talk about this after... work? Please?"

Tim grimaced. "And sit it in the shop together all day? That'll be worse than your last day as boot."

"Well," she sputtered, decidedly taking a step back. "I'm sorry, but you kind of sprung this on me, so..."

"I know," he rushed. "I know that. But you can't deny something is..." God, he hated this. He hasn't done this in years. Mustering the courage, he continued with, "there. You're a good cop, Lucy, you know it, too."

She groaned, exasperated. "Please don't make this about our job."

"I'm out of my depth here, Lucy!" he exclaimed. Frustration rose. "Just- let's finish the conversation now. I can't do it later."

"Can't or won't?"

"Lucy."

Her face steeled in a way he hadn't seen before. Her lips set in a thin line, jaw taut, yet her eyes shimmered with unbridled emotion that only she possessed of. He thought back of the infamous wedding, prior to the abduction, of how beautiful she looked, of her red lips stretched in a teasing smile. He remembered just how great that moment felt, that if he could, he'd prolong it.

"Tim..." she whispered. Her saddened tone held no hint of silver lining, his shoulders dropping with defeat. "We've lost... I can't lose more people that I love."

He latched onto her hands in a snap. Suddenly, the words came to him. "You won't though. You won't lose me."

Lucy shook her head, unshed tears welling, though didn't let go. "You can't promise that. Jackson didn't think he'd die so soon either."

"But is that really the thing that should hold us back? Life is unpredictable. Tomorrow, it could all be over for us."

"Tim."

He smiled. "Lucy."

And then she hugged him. Her arms tightly wrapped around him and he reflexively followed, cradling the back of her head and holding her close. Whatever happened after this, he'd take it; for now, his heart beat in sync with hers and a swooning sense of adoration filled his chest.

"I love you," she whispered in his shirt.

Oh, man. Nothing beat her uttering those sweet words to him. His nose pressed in the crown of her head and let the smile stretch to a beam. "You're never gonna lose me, Chen."

Her chin ticked up and that was all he needed.

A kiss before his morning coffee felt like a good place to start.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@alphinias @smolfangirl @tim-lucy

[ggukcangetit]

If The Bra Fits - JJK Fic

Final part of The Unbearable Lightness of Being... Something More series

Part 1 | Part 2 | 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: ex-roommate au, f2l, fluff, smut, low-key crack

Rating: 18+

Summary: Jungkook knows you hate it when he pops into your apartment to borrow something, but in the 2 years that you’ve known each other, that hasn’t deterred him much. But one day when he manages to (accidentally) ruin your favorite bra while raiding through your emergency snack supply, he knows that he’s fucked. With only a brand name to help him on his search, Jungkook spends the next 48 hours buying all the bras that look even remotely like the one he ruined. The only problem is - how would he figure out which was the correct size without asking you?

Warnings: a lot of talk of breasts and the trials and tribulations of finding a good bra, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, kissing, grinding, nipple play

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: thanks a ton to @hesperantha​ for beta-ing this! i was super nervous about writing proper smut >.< anywho, hope y’all enjoy this!

Jungkook knew he was fucked. Worse than when Jimin had walked in on Yoongi doing the do with his girlfriend. Worse than when Taehyung had lost his pet frog in Seokjin’s spice drawer. Worse than-

“Fuck.”

He would probably have to leave the country. Maybe he could move to Canada? Or New Zealand? Anywhere that wasn’t here. Or he could change his name! That might work…

“H-hello?” 

“What the hell, Jungkook? You were supposed to meet me for lunch 40 minutes ago! This is rude and, frankly, inexcusable behavior on your part.” Seokjin’s annoyed voice, talking at 300 words a minute, rang through the phone’s speaker. “And why the hell do you sound like that? Did you walk in on Yoongi and Soya this time? I swear, that guy needs to learn to lock his door. Or maybe just change his locks. I mean this is probably-”

“Seokjin!” Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose as his friend slowed his word flow. “I’ll be there in 10 and explain everything.”

Hanging up the phone, he surveyed the site of the massacre once more before stuffing the offending object into his backpack and rushing out. True to his word, he was at the hole-in-the-wall dumpling place in 10 minutes, attempting to explain to an irate Seokjin, the reason behind his tardiness. 

“No! You did not do that!” Seokjin yelled, nearly choking on the hot soup dumpling that was hanging - half eaten - from his chopsticks.

Jungkook had, in fact, done that. That being the most cardinal offense his frazzled brain could think of at this point. That being sneaking into your apartment when you were at work, hoping to swipe some of your favorite shrimp puffs, placing his cup of steaming hot mocha on your study table, rummaging through your emergency snack supply but somehow inadvertently knocking over the coffee on the table, and cleaning it up with the nearest article available, which tragically, happened to be your mint green bra. 

“She’s going to kill you. No” - Seokjin picked up a egg cream bun and popped the whole thing into his mouth - “she’s going to whip your ass and then hang you upside down from that metal pole on Hobi’s balcony.”

Jungkook stared at the way the cream bun smoothly travelled down Seokjin’s throat after a couple of chews, and shivered. “What do I do??”

“Why do you have to do anything? She won’t know it was you who spilled coffee on her table and then wiped it with her bra. Unless...” 

Jungkook stared at his fingers guiltily. 

“You took the bra with you, didn’t you?” Seokjin sighed, lightly smacking his friend on the back of the head for good measure. “Well, you could always blame it on Namjoon. That’s what I would do. Heck, that’s what I did when I accidentally broke Hobi’s favorite figurine.”

“I don’t know…”

“You have to commit to something, Jaykay.” Every time Seokjin used his nickname for Jungkook, it meant there was some kind of terrible scheme being cooked up. “Either be a complete little shit and blame it on Namjoon, or just go and own up to y/n. You can’t teeter on the edge like this.”

“I could always just sneak back in and leave her bra where I found it.” Jungkook felt better already. This was it. This was the middle ground he was aspiring towards - the sacred path between Seokjin and Hobi, the Yoongi of all decisions. 

“You might not have to sneak in” - Seokjin held up his smartphone where the group chat was open to a bunch of notifications - “Tae said we’re meeting at y/n’s place for tacos and UNO.”

“Why is Tae so invested in our UNO games? He gets confused every time we play it.” 

“Because” - Seokjin swiped his credit card at the counter and thanked the cashier with a quick wink - “like every good strategist, he plans to improve by observing everyone else’s style of play. He definitely knows how to play by now. He’s just giving us the confused puppy look so that we underestimate him and he can learn all our little tricks. Just you wait - a few more games and that sneaky shit will be handing our asses back to us.”

Jungkook, while mildly interested in Taehyung’s card game antics, was more concerned about returning your bra without arousing any suspicion. The perfect moment presented itself when Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Taehyung and Hobi were immersed in a game of UNO, while you and Soya were munching on tacos - because let’s face it, food trumps just about everything else. Coming up with a half-convincing bathroom excuse, he snuck off towards your room, hoping to finally rid himself of the mint green burden.

Seconds before he pushed your door open, a snippet of conversation floated towards him and made his heart stop beating.

“I can’t find it anywhere.” You were complaining to Soya about something, loud enough for him to hear. “I must’ve turned my room upside down looking for it.”

Soya didn’t seem too perturbed. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a bra. Yoongi regularly loses my underwear after we have sex in new locations.”

Jungkook chuckled because he could almost see the look of horror on your face at receiving this piece of information. 

“Ignoring that TMI,” you continued. “That’s my favorite bra, Soya! You know how our sizes keep fluctuating - well, this was the first bra I bought after getting measured at a proper place. It literally changed my life. Do you know how fabulous it feels to have your boobs at normal chest level - neither squished up towards your collarbones nor jiggling like that everlasting jello Seokjin keeps buying? I’m tellin-”

Jungkook stopped listening at this point. If he didn’t, there was little chance that he’d be able to think of anything other than that. As it was, the mere sight of you these days, was enough to get blood flowing to certain parts of his body. 

There was clearly only one thing to do.

“You want me to help you do WHAT?” Once again, it was Seokjin who barely managed to stop himself from choking on yet another scrumptious food item on yet another lunch date with Jungkook. 

“I’m going to replace her bra.” The resolute expression on Jungkook’s face crumbled ever so slowly under the scrutiny of Seokjin’s pure, unadulterated skepticism. “It’ll be easy. I-I already know what it looks like, and all the information I need is on the itchy tag she always complains about.”

Seokjin’s thick brow remained masterfully arched. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” Jungkook whined in frustration.

“What do I get in return?”

“Why would you want anything in return? Why can’t you just help me out this time??”

The masterfully arched eyebrow did it’s trick once again.

“Fine. You can borrow all my gaming equipment for a week.”

“A month.”

“No way!”

“Good luck shopping for y/n’s favorite bra.”

“Fine! A month! Now can we get a move on please?”

Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to find the particular store that you had bought your favorite bra from. It was a niche boutique on the third floor of the mall, full of politely judgmental staff members and pointedly supercilious patrons, all of whom were highly skeptical of Jungkook’s grey and black hoodie-sweatpants combo. 

“Guess they didn’t really get on board with the whole athleisure concept,” Seokjin whispered, earning a hard elbowing from Jungkook.

The looks of skepticism were further enhanced when Jungkook produced the ruined bra, asking one of the assistants where he could find the same one. Jungkook hadn’t received such a disapproving look since his junior year of college when he had eaten 8 cups of instant ramen on a dare, done a celebratory jig, thrown up all over Yoongi and Hobi’s sofa, and promptly passed out. 

“Er… I, uhm, need something!” The exclamation from Jungkook was received by a few expertly raised eyebrows. One assistant, in particular, narrowed their eyes at him and walked over.

“This is a lingerie store” - they scanned him up and down a couple of times - “sir. If you’re here to buy any lingerie, I’d be happy to assist you.”

Jungkook gulped at the expensive clothes and flawless complexion of the shop assistant. So far, things were not really going according to plan. 

“Ow!” He felt a bony elbow dig into his ribs and glared at Seokjin, who was glancing between him and the assistant so rapidly, Jungkook was surprised he hadn’t gotten dizzy and passed out already.

“Right. Umm, I’m actually looking for this particular one” - he produced the once-pristine, but now covered in ugly brown splotches, bra from his backpack - “in this exact same size. Do you have it?”

If the shop assistant didn’t look particularly eager to be breathing the same air as him before, they now looked like they’d rather choke on month old guacamole than be near him.

“Our products are made for exclusivity. We do not carry the same sizes as the general marketplace. There are 4 basic sizes with 4 variations to each size. And this particular product” - they held the ruined bra delicately between two fingers and examined the tag - “is now only available in 3 particular size variations. You are free to choose whichever one you think is the closest fit.”

Jungkook’s doe eyes widened as he realized the itchy tag that you always complained about, truly had no other purpose but to inconvenience you. His panicked stare fell on Seokjin who had busied himself examining a very interesting leaf on the potted plant near the entrance.

It was up to him now, Jungkook realized. His fate was in his own hands. Walking over to the shelf carrying the mint green bras identical to the one he was holding, he inspected the 3 options carefully. 

“I think I’ll take this one.” Was what he said out loud. Inwardly, however, he was screaming a very different tune.

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DECIDE?? I’VE NEVER BOUGHT A BRA BEFORE! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SIZE WOULD BE APPROPRIATE! IT’S NOT LIKE I SPEND ALL MY TIME SCRUTINIZING Y/N’S BREASTS!”

Thankfully, no one was privy to his internal screams except for himself.

“Thank you, sir. That will be $89.99.” Jungkook took out his debit card as the song playing over the system changed to No Tears Left To Cry.

Once out of the store, Seokjin let out a low whistle. “Wow… that was, undoubtedly, one of the most awkward situations I’ve ever been in. And I wasn’t even really in it.”

“At least the toughest part is over.” Jungkook felt like he had been running a 50 mile marathon while simultaneously figuring out the square roots of 5 digit numbers. In short, he was exhausted.

“Depends on what you think of that…” Seokjin pointed at a familiar figure, slowly walking towards them - someone Jungkook hadn’t expected to bump into in any of his worst case scenarios. You.

Confronted with an exceedingly dire situation with a bleak set of options, Jungkook vaulted into the nearest store, his entire being on high alert as it entered survival mode. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been paying attention to where he rushed into because-

“Congratulations! You’re our 100th customer this week! You get a complimentary hair spa and perm!” Five extremely eager faces stared back at him as he realized he had walked into some sort of hair salon. 

Whoever was writing the script for this day was definitely high on something because Jungkook walked out of the salon 3 hours later, slightly traumatized, with a head full of small curls, clutching onto the cursed purchase with every fibre of his being.

Seokjin had left hours ago, dropping a text to Jungkook which read something along the lines of catch ya later sucker - but that was the least of his problems right now.

It was nearly midnight when he finally entered his apartment after managing to sneak in the new bra into your apartment. Thankfully, you lived two floors above him, so the trek back to his place wasn’t too long. The stress from the past couple of days was finally catching up to him and Jungkook would give anything for a nice long massage and a bowl of steaming hot ramen. 

Unfortunately, all that he had at home was a few leftover containers Taehyung had left behind on his last visit a couple of days ago. There was also bread, eggs, and milk, but he didn’t feel up to making anything at this point. So dinner ended up being heated, two-day old dumplings. 

Just as he was about to head to sleep, a loud pounding started on his front door. It was well past midnight at this point and Jungkook wondered if he should be carrying some sort of weapon with him while answering the door.

There really wasn’t any need for worry because on the other side of the door stood a very angry, very disgruntled, very flimsily dressed-

“Y/n?! What’re you doing here?” 

“You!” Jungkook stepped back as you poked him in the chest. “What the heck is your problem?” Many more pokes followed, which Jungkook barely registered but which left your index finger increasingly bruised. 

“I- uh, I guess you found the parcel I left for you.” He scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere but at you.

“I CANNOT believe you!” You were fuming and Jungkook was contemplating calling someone for backup. Maybe Namjoon? Or Yoongi? Mayb- “First, you ruin my favorite bra! What were you doing in my apartment anyway? Trying to steal more stuff from my emergency snack supply?! Why can’t you just buy your own s-”

You definitely had a point about the snack stealing. But Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from going over and taking something that would undoubtedly attract your attention, because the last time that had happened, you both had ended up making out aggressively against the wall. 

“-and not just that!” You were clearly not done with being mad at him. “You go ahead and try to replace my favorite bra? With this???” You held up Jungkook’s purchase from earlier during the day.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s the same one, isn’t it? I went to the shop to make sure it was the same.” He didn’t really understand why this particular fact was making you so upset.

“You think this is the same?” You were standing very close to him and Jungkook gulped as he caught a whiff of your lavender body lotion.

“Yes?”

“You think my boobs are this small?? After the way you basically kneaded them with your hands last time??” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened, his face growing hotter with every word you were speaking.

“Why the fuck do you look like that?” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“L-like what?” His voice came out sort of strangled as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Like you’ve been caught eating the last cookie.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond to this. He was very aware of the fact that you were wearing a flimsy grey t-shirt and very old, very small, sleeping shorts. He gulped and wondered if this was some kind of dream that he’d suddenly wake up from.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you stuck your tongue down my throat last time. But nope! Nothing.” Now he knew that there was something wrong. This didn’t seem like the rational next line in a dialogue between real people who had just been in a, slightly one-sided, fight. “So, are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“W-what?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper at this point and you scoffed loudly before fisting your hands in his t-shirt and crashing your lips to his.

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but Jungkook was soon responding with impressive enthusiasm. His lips glided over yours with a desperation borne out of nearly two years of attraction and chemistry. He groaned in pleasure as your hands travelled into his hair, your fingers running through his freshly done curls. His hands travelled down your back before cupping your butt-cheeks and squeezing them until you moaned into his mouth. The feel of your body against his was enough to make him slowly lose his mind - but your tongue swiping into his mouth brought out a strangled noise from deep inside him. This was so much better than the first time you had both made out - there was more experience and knowledge of each other, and you seemed much more determined than the last time.

“Tell me what you want,” Jungkook’s voice came out huskier than you had ever heard, sending a surge of electricity to your core. “Tell me what makes you feel good, y/n.”

His voice was sultry and his body rock-hard at the perfect places - his breath falling in harsh pants as he recovered from the intensity of the kisses. But his eyes held the soft sincerity you had grown to lov-

“Against the wall,” you breathed, your face flushing as you verbalised your request. “And then on your bed.” You took one of his hands and placed it on your breast, firm with arousal, and guided his other hand to the waistband of your shorts. 

A beautiful pink blush dusted his cheeks as he captured your lips once again. He had you against the wall in seconds, his lips leaving a trail of devastation from your lips to your throat to your breasts. You moaned loudly as you felt his fingers rub against your clothed core while his tongue flicked over your nipples at a deliciously slow pace. 

“Gguk…” God he loved to hear that name coming from your lips. He loved it even more now that it was in the midst of him pleasuring you to the best of his ability. 

“Bed. I can’t… stand...” You managed to say. He obliged, placing his hands below your knees and scooping you up with ease, all while his lips kept pressing soft kisses to yours. 

Once on the bed, you removed your t-shirt and shorts, instructing him to do the same. Jungkook stared at your bare body for a moment, his eyes glazed with lust before he stripped himself of his clothes and continued kissing every part of your body he could find. 

Your insides were coiling, the heat growing at your core as you watched Jungkook’s magnificent, completely naked, body move over yours. Your hands itched to run over his abs but your eyes were fixed on his throbbing dick, your core growing wetter by the moment. 

“Can I?” Jungkook’s hoarse voice broke you out of your dilemma, his face hovering over your thighs. “Only if you want it, y/n.” You were pretty sure his soft, caring words would be enough for your undoing, but you nodded your head anyway.

The first swipe of his tongue against your core had you arching yourself off the mattress, your legs kicking up involuntarily. This was definitely where his gym prowess came in handy, as he held your thighs down with enough force for the feeling to be unbelievably pleasurable. Your hands found themselves in his curls once more, as his mouth alternated between dropping feather light kisses on your core and swiping along the wetness with a swipe of his tongue. 

“I-I’m not…” You didn’t have to complete the sentence as stars exploded in your vision, the high hitting you with more force than you had ever experienced. 

Something inside you tightened as you watched Jungkook emerge from between your thighs, his curls sweaty, and his mouth slick with your arousal. He smiled at you, dropping a light kiss on your lips, even as his dick stood red hot and angry with arousal.

“Can I help?” You asked, although your voice was hardly above a whisper, the tiredness seeping in, as you came down from the orgasm.

“Next time?” His voice was soft as he gave himself a few strong pumps before spilling onto his stomach. 

He grinned at you sheepishly. “I’m also kind of exhausted today.” Getting up quickly, he went into the bathroom and cleaned himself off, before coming back with a wet towel for you as well. 

You smiled shyly as you took the towel from him, wiping between your thighs quickly. 

Jungkook was beside you in a few moments, cuddling you from behind as sleep slowly overtook you both.

“Jungkook!” 

You cracked your eyes open slowly, wondering why someone was yelling at the crack of dawn. You were still pretty much wrapped up in Jungkook, both your legs entangled as your head rested on his chest while he snored softly.

“JUNGKOOK!”

A second, much louder, yell, woke Jungkook up as well. His eyes widening in alarm as he realised what was going on.

“It’s Tae! What’s he doing here?!” He whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Umm what?” You were panicking now. As much as you had been wanting things with Jungkook to pick up, you did not want Taehyung to find you both wonderfully naked after a night of wonderfulness. “He cannot see us like this! Not yet! I refuse to let this be how everyone finds out about us!”

“Jungkook, I’m coming in!”

Jungkook quickly pushed you below the covers, fluffing it up sufficiently to hide the fact that you were under it. He barely managed to close his eyes before Taehyung walked in, much too sprightly for this early in the morning.

“Aww!” His deep voice sounded through the room. “Jungkookie, are you still sleeping?”

Much to his horror, Taehyung made his way over to the bed, his long fingers smooshing Jungkook’s cheeks together as the poor boy tried to feign sleep.

“Did you sleep late last night?”

“Mph.”

“Jungkookie’s still sleepy? Aww!” The cheek smooshing continued, and Jungkook wondered how much longer you could stay hidden without Taehyung’s perceptiveness deducing that you were there.

“Hmmmm.” Jungkook managed to grunt out, tossing over to trap you underneath him.

“Okay, go back to sleep.” With one last cheek smoosh, Taehyung got up and left the room.

“Thank god!” Jungkook whispered in relief, pulling the covers off your face.

“I’m so glad he didn’t figure out I was here,” you sighed in relief. 

Jungkook grinned at you, his bunny teeth poking out adorably as he pulled you closer to him. You giggled, reaching up to place small kisses on each of his moles - there were 5 according to your last examination. 

“The curls are cute,” you said between kisses, running your fingers through his hair. He sighed contentedly, resting his forehead on yours. If it were up to him, he’d stay here forever.

“Oh and y/n-” You both stiffened as you heard Taehyung’s voice from the living room. Apparently, he hadn’t left yet. “-thanks a lot! Seokjin now owes me 50 bucks!”

please reblog this post if you enjoyed reading the story! thank you 😊 

[princessjungeun]

Never Be Yours: Olivia Hye x Reader

haven’t been on in a long time. but uh no this is not a request...just a 2:30 am thought that turned into a scenario. 

your alarm went off at 9:00 pm, pulling you from a deep sleep. you sat up and rubbed your eyes, groaning when you remembered what your alarm was actually for, work.

you and and your best friend decided as a joke to apply to be night bakers at a bakery not too far from both of your houses. at first you two didn’t think you’d get hired, after all you had no baking experience. however, the owner of the bakery was desperate and you two were the only applicants. 

the shift started at 10 pm and ended at 6 am, leaving the rest of the day for you and hyejoo to sleep. originally the two of you planned to just hang around each other’s houses all summer, however this job cancelled those plans very quickly. 

the one perk about the job was that there was no uniform like the day employees had. the two of you could show up in literal pajamas and get away with it, after all the two of you were the only ones there. 

you pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, it was cold and rainy this evening and you weren’t planning on getting sick. as quickly and quietly as you could you got ready, not wanting to disturb your parents and older brother who were winding down for the evening. 

“sweetheart be careful driving okay? have a good shift and i’ll see you in a few hours.” your mom waved you off, handing you your “lunch” and the car keys as you headed out the door. 

hyejoo’s house was only a three minute drive up the street, most nights she’d walk over despite you begging for her to wait for you to come get her. your heart bloomed the second hyejoo walked outside, locking the door to her house before walking to the car. you onced her over as she walked, looking at her phone, completely unaware of your eyes on her. 

her glasses sat on top of her face, slightly sliding down. despite her absolutely hating them, you loved them more than anything. she often asked if she should put in contacts but you told her no, there was no point if it was just the two of you working. she agreed, not realizing it was because you loved the way her glasses perfectly framed her face. you smiled when you saw she was wearing one of your hoodies, it was a size and a half too big on her so it hung lower and covered her hands completely. 

she opened the door and plopped down in the passenger side, “what’s with the smile?” 

you replied, putting the car and reverse and backing out, “just happy to be getting the money. thinking of what i can buy with it.” 

hyejoo responded, “same, i think i wanna save for some clothes and maybe new shoes...my converse are on the verge of calling apart.” 

the drive was silent, she looked at her phone as she slowly dozed in and out of sleep. the combination of the moving car, rain falling outside, and the heat on, made for perfect sleeping conditions. 

when you pulled in front of the bakery you noticed she was completely knocked out. her head resting on the head rest, lips slightly parted and her cheeks a little more swollen than usual. you looked at her in fondness, she was without a doubt one of the most precious people you’ve ever seen. 

you playfully poked her cheek, waking her up as she smacked your finger away from her face. she mumbled grumpily, “hey...” 

she unlocked the door and got the key to open the bakery doors, she slipped in, holding the door for you and then locked it behind her. 

you took off your hoodie and put on your apron, a kuromi one to be exact, hyejoo did the same, slipping her matching my melody apron over her head. your parents gifted you both matching aprons as a gift for getting your first summer jobs. 

while you washed your hands and put on your hair net, hyejoo preheated the ovens, fumbling with the buttons until she hit the right ones. you watched from afar as she moved to the sink, tying her hair into a high ponytail, tucking her baby hairs behind her ears. 

you noticed the small rainbow earring she had, something small she bought herself after coming to terms with her sexuality a while back. when she came out to you, well to be honest you weren’t surprised. it was expected, you could tell from the day you met her that she wasn’t straight. she knew as well but pushed it away for years, but eventually she came to terms with it and dropped subtle hints here and there that she wasn’t straight. 

as your shift began, the two of you baked the normal breads and pastries, trying your best not to burn yourselves...or the goods. hyejoo played music from her phone, one of the many playlists she had made after realizing baking in silence isn’t that motivating. 

you watched her from across the kitchen, the way she hummed and sang softly to herself, clearly in her own world. it was moments like these that you realized how perfect hyejoo was in your eyes. 

everything about your best friend you were in love with, they way she smiled softly when she cracked an egg and didn’t get shell in. the way that her brows furrowed when she tried to remember the difference between the baking soda and baking powder. how she would always look at you with puppy eyes to put things in the oven because she was afraid she’d burn herself. everything about hyejoo was perfect and you were in love with all of her. 

as hyejoo kneaded some bread dough she turned to you and asked, “how long am i supposed to let this rise for?” 

you told her, “an hour....also you have a little something- here let me.” 

you walked over to her and dipped your finger in some flour before tapping her cheeks and nose, “there.” 

she gasped, “hey!” 

you laughed, holding yourself up against the counter as she tried to pull bread dough off of her hands so she could hit you. however before she could, you were already wiping the flour off her face. 

your eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips so quickly she didn’t even catch it. she laughed, “this is like one of those cheesy teen romance movies.”

you agreed, pretending that it was cringy, however deep inside you wished that you could stay this close to her forever. your hand rested on her waist as you wiped off the last of the flour, quickly she slipped from your embrace, “thanks y/n.” 

trying to shake the thoughts from your head you replied, “of course hye.” 

the two of you worked your shift as usual, baking, goofing off, taking a lunch break, and then getting back to work. more times than you can count you were lost in thought about how much you adored her, often asking her to repeat whatever she said because you didn’t catch any of it. 

at the end of your shift you helped hyejoo organize all of the baked goods before heading to the sinks to wash the last of the pans and bowls that were used. your best friend scrubbed a pan next to you, her face blank as she focused on cleaning up. you looked at her, once again reminding yourself how head over heels in love with her you were. 

you both slipped off your aprons off at the end, hyejoo struggling to get hers untied because she tied her knot too tight in the back earlier. she asked, “can you help me?” 

you nodded and stepped behind her, getting the tight knot out of the two ties. before you pulled them completely loose, you hesitated before back hugging her and kissing her temple. it wasn’t unusual for you to give her hugs and kisses, you were a very affectionate person, at least when it came to hyejoo. she was only clingy with you when you weren’t around others. 

most times she would swat your head away, groaning about how gross and sappy you were. however she accepted it, casually grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles. you felt heat flood your ears at her simple action, thankfully you were behind her so she couldn’t notice. 

the two of you hung up your aprons before putting your hoodies back on and grabbing your phones and your keys. hyejoo locked up the bakery doors as you started the car, doing a little job to the car to escape the rain when she was finished. 

you drove home, the sun starting to emerge from the horizon. she asked, “wanna come over to my place now? you’ll end up there later anyways.” 

you nodded, handing her your phone so that she could text your mom while you drove. she pointed out your lockscreen, “ewwww why do you have this picture of me?” 

she groaned at the picture you saved, it was a candid of her eating soup at a restaurant. you loved that picture, it was the one when you truly realized how in love you were with her. you told her, “shush you look cute, just text my mom.” 

she texted your mom then put your phone back, deciding that she wouldn’t fill your camera roll with a bunch of ill angled selfies that only showed her forehead and eyes. 

you pulled into her driveway and she got out, opening her front door and holding it open for you. you followed her inside and kicked your shoes off, trying to be as quiet as you could because her family was sleeping. 

she waited for you to take a shower, getting her bed ready so the two of you could just go to sleep right away. you changed them flopped onto her bed, letting her know the bathroom was finally free. she showered and came back, her hair slightly blow dried but still a little damp. 

hyejoo stood over you as you laid on her bed, “move over more.” 

you scooted slightly, moving your arm indicating that you wanted her to lay between them. she sighed, caving because she was extremely tired and she just wanted sleep. you smiled when she crawled into your arms, loving the feeling of her this close. 

to be honest hyejoo liked being wrapped in your embrace, she found that you feel very comforting. 

you looked at hyejoo sound asleep against you, your heart beating slightly faster than usual because of how close she was to you. her hand slipped between yours making your heart flutter even more. 

of course hyejoo only thought of you as a best friend and nothing more. she’d jokingly talked about how gross it would be if you two dated. you always laughed along and pretended to agree, but deep down you wished she thought of you the way you saw her. 

you glanced at your hands, seeing them interlocked you sighed as you wished they meant something else. it was just another painful reminder that no matter how close you got to hyejoo, or how in love you were with her, she would never be yours.

[possum-rat]

brb fighting ✨GOD✨

Previous 

Next

the all too familiar feeling of being teleported to a new server never fails to make (Y/n) slightly nauseous. As their feet land firmly on solid ground they look up at the sky and smile slightly. Walking deeper into the forest they crouch as to not injure their face further. Realizing they haven't actually seen the injury they stop at a small clear pool. "The hood is up. That's why Eret didn't comment. Oh." Pulling down the hood they wince at the large bandage covering most of their cheek and part of their eye along with some of their neck.

getting up from their spot on the bank they see the distant silhouette of Philza.

"DADZA." The voices begin chanting along with more thought you know the gist. Arson, Women, Women in suits, Killing men...ANYWAY. As (y/n) walks toward their house they freeze at the small box while Philza stands infront of it confused. "Crap." They whisper as they slip past Philza and look into the large wooden crate.

A small chest lies within it. (Y/n) glances toward Philza confused. Before opening the chest they turn to look at Philza. He nods in confirmation. As (Y/n) opens the chest theirs a map. The map is blank part from a messily scrawled 2 words:

Dream SMP

(Y/n) bids Philza farewell before returning to the blank room and letting the portal take them back. They see the faint broken outline of the SMP as they float down toward spawn. Eret's castle, Tommy's dirt enterprises along with his "Power tower" Purpled's UFO they begin to blur into one massive blob of color. (Y/n) eventually feels the firm solid unmoving ground under their feet.

as Y/n glances at the map again it changes. A red X over a spot. With the words "Make house here" frowning but obliging to the paper's request (Y/n) begins hiking toward the location. As they come to a large stream of water spanning as far as the eye can see (Y/n) pulls out the map again and grins as it says "Railway." With a set of numbers-Quardinints. Eventually (Y/n) finds a button leading to the railway. As they press it they wait before yelping as the ground suddenly gives way.

It's never a great feeling slamming into water from a large distance but non less (Y/n) is grateful for not you know...Dying. As they look around the old seeming to be Mineshaft they see that the Railway is still intact. There's a chest beside the railway. Bending down toward the chest and whipping the dust and grime from the top they freeze.

a harsh echoing voice demands "WHO'S HERE."

(Y/n) stands up and pulling out a potion of Night vision they uncork the bottle before drinking. Rolling up their sleeves they remain silent. "HELLO? I KNOW YOU'RE THERE." The voice roars dementedly. "Hello?" (Y/n) replies. 'man. I swear to god if this is god I will throw hands. Like on sight.' They think as a floating figure emerges from the blackness. A glowing seam of orange against the black of the mineshaft,

eventually, a figure comes into view.

Black coveralls layered with enchanted Netherite (probably heavy enchantment) instead of the normal purple glow is replaced by an orange glow. A bronze orange hood up covering their hair. A black mask covering his face with a glowing orange pair of eyes and a jagged smile painted on crudity.

in the world chat, three words appear

<Nightmare>Has joined the game.

(Y/n) frowns and lifts their hands in surrender. "Mortal. You dare venture into my land?" (Y/n) knows they can't possibly fight and win against a man who seems to be floating in all neitherite, so naturally, they decide to do something more drastic. "Nightmare. Could you possibly take off your Netherite armor? I mean if you want to fight sure, fine. I won't use my potions, you take off your armor and allow yourself to take damage. Just hand-to-hand combat. Nothing more nothing less." They murmur as they bend down to the chest placing all their supplies neatly inside. Nightmare asks in his echoing demented voice. "Fight to the death. You win you can continue on your way." (Y/n) hesitates as the other floats toward her before landing on the ground and placing his armor into the chest before standing up and stretching.

As the two back up (Y/n) crouches slightly before typing in the chat:

<Y/n> Lol fighting god rn wish me luck lol <3

Nightmare's masks expression turns to one of amusement. "Mortal. What are you doing. Stalling?" (Y/n) shrugs before pulling their hair up making it easier for them to see. As Nightmare easily jumps atop of the chest he turns toward the small beam of wood above (Y/n) jumping toward it he swings slamming the heals of his feet into the space between their rib and stomach.

(Y/n) slams toward the ground feeling out of breath already. As Nightmare stands above them and asks "losing your breath already mortal? Give up. It'll be best." (Y/n) coughs and jerks up sending their arm into Nightmares gut. Before backing up and turning sideways to limit the amount of injury to their healing burns. Hands up they step up pulling their left leg up and toward their stomach before shooting it into Nightmares gut.

Nightmare sucks in a deep breath before pulling his arm back. As his fist slams into (y/n) jaw they can't help but Yelp at the pain that flourishes from the burnt area. Their expression turns from amusement to annoyance, as they step forward quickly and raise their fist before sending it into his mask. A loud crunch echos through the tunnel before (y/n) steps back and sends another punch, then another before Nightmare grabs (Y/n's) arm and hoisting them by one arm into the air then throwing them, as if they were a rag doll to the ground.

A crack in his mask reveals a greenish eye. (Y/n) doesn't register as a gloved fist smashes into their eye and nose until their eyes begin to water. as they scoot back on their hands and feet, they feel their heart begin to slam against their chest as if it were trying to escape.

"I can hear your heart beating Mortal. You're scared." Nightmare growls. "Yeah no shit sherlock. Obvuisly am. I mean" (y/n) stands up and Wipes their cupid bow with their hand before continuing. "if you're going to do the whole "Kill me with a fight to the death" can you speed up a little? like bruh, come on. I'm literally going to die anyway."

the jagged smile turns to an expression of worry. "Mortal? are you okay?" he asks. (y/n) grins and sends their foot into his gut before He holds up a hand and snaps.

(Y/n) yelps as they begin to fall. Slamming onto the ground infront of Tommy. "WELL, YOU DONT ALLOW SHIT BITCH. Oh hey (y/n)!" Tubbo states happily. (Y/n) coughs and proceeds to sit down. From across the room, George sends a confused look toward (Y/n). To which (Y/n) grumbles "Jesus Christ can't a kid fall from the sky in peace?" They eventually drift off into a daydream about...Honestly, who knows what- but Possoms Raccoons and Ghostly Saytar's were involved.

Eventually growing bored of the arguing (Y/n) stands up and slams their hands upon the podium lectern thing beside Wilbur.

"Jesus Christ. This debate sounds like two toddlers arguing over a fucking toy. please grow up, this is a whole ass nation not some fucking toy." They growl as small dark Smokey grey particles erupt around them. Their normally (E/C) eyes now pitch black apart from a small pinpoint of (E/c).

"(Y/n)? What the- are you feeling okay?" Tommy asks from beside them. They turn toward him and nod. "I'll go get some fresh air or some shit." They mumble as they exit the courthouse pulling out their map yet again and following the directions before eventually coming to the railway. As they open the chest they notice that inside is a totem of undying a wolf egg along with a bone and a brewing stand along with an enchantment table with a few bottles of Enchantment. In addition to the stuff, they had left in beforehand. Frowning slightly they hesitate before taking the supplies.

a rail cart is already in place on the tracks.

As (y/n) boards the cart pulling a lever beside the tracks the cart shoots off shaking slightly. But in a soothing manner, like the kind that reminds you of a swing. Eventually (y/n) comes out of the mine and shoots up a hill. As they clutch the sides of the cart they gaze out in wonder at the view. Tall orange-yellow and reddish foliage growing on oak and birch trees surround the vast expanse of unmarked land. Smiling slightly (Y/n) gazes out before realizing that there happens to be a village not far from near the top of the mountain that they were on.

as the cart screeches to a halt (Y/n) grabs a spare chest from their inventory before placing the mine cart inside. As the sun begins to set (y/n) gazes out at the view before summoning a few unlit torches and placing them where needed.

As the sun finally dips out of sight (Y/n) sets to work. As they dig a hole into the side of the mountain they scan the expanse. "Should it be bigger?" They wonder aloud. A voice replies "I'm thinking maybe another two or three feet on the left wall?" Snapping their neck toward the sound.

Purpled leans against the rugged wall intensely gazing at the room. "Sorry don't mean to interrupt or anything but could I get a potion or two?" as he stands up brushing the small crumbs(is crumbs the right word?) of dust and rubble off his shoulders. Frowning slightly (Y/n) stares at him taking in his black jeans, once dark indigo now a lighter hoodie underneath enchanted netherite. As they meet his amethyst eyes they reply slowly "Depends on what kind you're asking." They reply a grin spreading across their face.

----

"Purpled pass me the golden carrot." (Y/n) states as they stare at the bubbling yellow mixture. Black bandana and goggles covering their face they turn toward the boy. As he hands the carrot to (Y/n) they wheeze at the size difference. In purpled's hand, it's normal-sized, but once in (y/n's) hand, it's about a little more than 3/4 of the original size. Purpled notices and snorts "Yeah. That's because you're a giant, dumbass."

(Y/n) drops the carrot into the mixture face over the stand as a plume of smoke shoots out. "Yeah. Well, it's not my fault." They cough as they pull off the goggles leaving a ring around their eyes like a raccoon.

"Why'd you need a night vision anyway? Stargazing?" (Y/n) continues. As Purpled nods (y/n) nods and says "Here, I'll make you another just cuz. No charge or whatever." As they pour the translucent dark periwinkle liquid into 3 viles they grab another before handing the three to him and pouring more into the 4th.

As Purpled begins to head out (Y/n) says quietly "Mind keeping my house a secret? I mean...I don't want any of my shit stolen. I can give you more potions when you need?" Purpled nods waving as he leaves.

---

Returning to the task at hand (Y/n) stares at the dark oak walls frowning slightly. It seemed to...empty. As (Y/n) scans the walls they smack their forehead. Running to one of the walls they rummage through the chest bringing out a painting they had painted months prior.

By the time they take a break to grab something to eat it's around 4 am. Grinning wildly they turn toward the entrance frowning. A gaping hole and no mobs? As they jog toward the entrance they see what was going on. Skeletons. Hordes of them protecting the entrance.

"MmmhBruhhhhhhhh." They groan "Y'all you don't have tooooo. But thanksss." They turn toward the door and grab Redstone and pistons.

By the time they finish the door their eyes are growing heavy. "I'll just" they yawn "I'll just take a small break here." They murmur as they curl up on the soft grass. The stars lulling them softly to sleep. “i’ll check the map...check in the morni’g” they finally finish

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to  but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s  hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok  < what were you watching  > say yes to the dress  < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me 

> neither. One subject does not a genius make  > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself.  > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u  > ....  > um  > lol 

 Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now 

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

[redhawtriot]

Sole Mates🦶❤️🦶 (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

This is the interactive story prompt that won by one vote!!!

I’ll try to update this as regularly as the last interactive series, but first I have to find a new poll website because I dont like OpinionStage anymore! So if you have any suggestions hit me up. 

Anyway, this chapter wont be one you can vote for, as it is just an introduction, but get ready for some tough, drama-filled decisions later on.

*Side note : ここ= “here” in Japanese (see if you get my reference lol)*

HnM 💕

Part 2

Part 1:

Hey, I dropped off Koko with my mom. You can pick her up at 6, right? I am really, really sorry, but there was something important that came up.

Your face contorted in slight disdain at the bright screen in your hands. You gave a sharp, disapproving sigh.

The clacking of your heels against the darkening city’s stained pavement worked to egg you on in your quick pace as you quickly swiped away from the text message’s notification.

The pager in your pocket continuously beeped on your side, whining for your attention as your neglectful eyes could only concentrate on your hoard of new emails in the device in your hands. The only thing that could break your concentration from your phone screen would be the occasional vibration from your other work phone.

The sounds of the city alongside these factors blended in horrifyingly well to give you the cacophony of your everyday life.

And you knew the beat of this song well. It was practically the only thing you have heard for the past six years: “7 to 5 Lady Boss with a Stressful Homelife” feat. Blistered feet, Unrealistic Deadlines, Overtime on Fridays, and Lizzo.

Even when you weren’t listening to it, it would stick to the corners of your mind and whisper to you, reminding you of it’s presence-- like you were sure to forget anytime soon.  Yeah, right.

But that’s okay-- you were on the verge of your “big break” so to speak. The company that you were working under was only a steppingstone to your success. You would soon find yourself with your own the company and metamorphosis from the Lady Boss to the Boss Boss. You would slip your grimey boss a two weeks notice and a “fuck you” to boot. You were so close.

It was an uphill battle for sure, but you had finally reached the curve at the top! You would just have to push through the next few weeks before you could finally see the horizon again.

Too bad you were about to get smacked square in the face and sent hurdling back downhill.

Literally.

A sudden explosion in front of you violently knocked into you and sent you flying off of your feet. You didn’t even have the ability to scream— the air was ruthlessly knocked out of you. As you roughly regained contact with the ground, you tried to steady yourself to no avail as you were thrashed down the scratchy concrete of the sidewalk.

The beat of your everyday life was rudely abrupted by the choir of shrill screams that surrounded you as others were also violently displaced from their everyday routines. 

You could hardly even focus on the chaos because damn your head hurt.

You tried to steady your sight on your surroundings, but the pounding in your head and pulsating throbs displaced throughout your body overwhelmed your senses and made it very difficult to focus on much else.

When your eyes could finally refocus, you found a blazing orange light unblur itself in front of you and turn into a raging inferno. You blinked a few times as a sticky substance dripped down your forehead and dared to once again obscure your vision.

That’s when you noticed a small child.

Your heart fell at the sight of his wailing form. These types of scenes only happen in movies, right? As your brain pounded against your skull that is exactly what it felt like-- like you were an observer watching a horror movie. Except you couldn’t cover your eyes at the scary parts.

You observed in absolute terror as a large chunk of debris dropped towards the baby boy’s crying, unsuspecting form, snapping you back into full consciousness. 

“Watch out!!” your own maternal instincts immediately numbed your body to any pain that you were going through and sent a jolt of determination into your legs as you sprung up. You sloppily threw yourself over toward the boy to act as a shield for his small frame; however, at the last moment, your saw a large, gloved hand reach out for him at the same time.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!” You heard a voice screech right before you loudly smacked your face into a hard object. Your cheek throbbed painfully as you fell to the ground again with the boy cradled protectively in your arms.

You looked up to see Ground Zero, a local hero in your prefecture, glaring at you, a red mark fading onto his cheek as well, “Do you have a fucking death wish or something?!” his hands furiously crackled at his sides, “I don’t need goddamnned extras in my way! Quit playing hero and get lost!” You could only blink at his barrage of verbal assaults.

Who the fuck was he talking to?! It certainly wasn’t you!

As your face shriveled in contempt, your eyes flashed over toward the boy in your arms for a moment before your mouth opened to tell arrogant Mr. Zero about his self. You had recently made a pinky promise to stop cursing in front of children, but surely this could be a fair exception.

However instead of the venom coated words you had meant, a shrill shriek flew out of your mouth as a searing pain tore at the bottom of your foot.

You gasped from the sudden intensity and instantly released the young boy from your clutches as your hands jumped down to your leg, tearing your snapped work heels off and casting them aside. You twisted your appendage up to face you and watched in horror as giant, red welts emerged deep from within your skin.

Did you step on something? No. This burns! The explosion must have set something on fire and your dumbass must have danced on the shit.

Fuck.

The pain seemed to be seeping deeper into your body with each agonizing throb. As the fire crawled up your leg, Ground Zero began joining you in your screams,

“WHAT THE FUCK IS ON MY FOOT?!” The idol screeched at you as he angrily ripped his boot off and tried to find the source of his pain. Through teary eyes you watched in horror as your name burned itself onto his sole. 

“I DIDN’T DO IT!” you protested, “IT’S ON MINE TOO, ASSHOLE!” you frantically flashed him the searing red letters that were growing on the bottom of your foot as well. They must be his name. Was this some kind of fucked up sequel to “Toy Story” that you hadn’t bothered on seeing?

The two of you then looked to the nervous, little boy who you had both jumped to save, “Oopsie…” he quietly cried, “Please, don’t tell my mommy! She is going to be so mad! I bonded someone again,” his small frame quivered relentlessly as he sobbed.

“BONDED?!” Ground Zero screeched, grabbing the front of the boys shirt and roughly yanking him toward him, “You did this!” he spat as more of a disgusting realization than a question. 

You reflexively reached out and smacked the mans hand away from the child, “Get the hell off of him!” you screamed as you held the boy close to you “What the fuck is your problem? He’s just a kid!” You threw all pinky swears out of the window at this point.

The furious man faltered in his angry demeanor for a moment as surprise flashed across his expression, but he quickly regained his persona as he deeply scowled at you. You matched the red-hot fire of his eyes with a glare of your own. You weren’t afraid of him. Superhero or not.

Tch. Yeah. “Hero.”

You couldn't stand “heroes” like him-- people who were so obviously more interested about their own image as a savior than actually caring about the people they saved. 

Suddenly the little boy in your arms began wildly fidgeting in your arms, his sudden movements sharply reminding you about the searing damages that you had incurred within the last few minutes. 

“Mommy!” He cried out as he freed himself from you and ran off into a nearby woman’s arms. 

She frantically welcomed him, “Shiro, baby! Oh my goodness!” she cried out.

Suddenly, you felt a heavy twinge of pain in your head, momentarily blurring your vision as everything began splitting off to form two. Your double vision only worsened as the woman’s fading voice continued to ring out, “Don’t run off like that! You gave me a heart attack.” You tried to blink your vision back to normal again but failed as everything began fading.

“S-shit...” you cursed under your breath before sliding down onto the pavement under you. You finally allowed your eyelids to shut as your body became heavily numb.

“Hey! You better explain what the fuck is wrong with my foot right now, lady!” you heard Ground Zero roar out, “START TALKIN’! What the fuck did he mean by “bonded”?!”

“Oh, my god... Oh my god,” The mother breathed heavily. Her voice became softer, and you couldn't tell if it was because your were slipping into unconsciousness or if she was moving father away. She continued speaking rapidly despite your disoriented confusion, “I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she simply replied, “Shiro, we have to go. N-now!”

"NO YOU DON’T! WHERE THE FUCK... do you think... you’re g...”

You heard a final thud before a warm blackness consumed your entire being.

Everything seemed to pause for just a few beats.

When you snapped your eyes open seemingly a moment later, a stark bright white light painfully filled your eyes causing you to abruptly snap them back shut. 

What the fuck. Where were you? 

You looked down at yourself an noticed a bright green gown. You frowned at the thin fabric. You never really were a fan of green...

Your face crinkled inwards as you absentmindedly toyed with the light fabric before a sudden realization smacked your clouded brain-- Oh! You were in a hospital!

Fuck!

Your memories quickly flooded into your brain after that epiphany and you frantically sat up, searching the plain, white room you were situated with crazed eyes. You weren't really sure what you had originally been searching for but found a wave of relief as you found your main cell phone situated in a nearby counter.

Oh, bless! You couldn’t have prayed for a better hospital visitor!

You quickly flipped the heavy fleece hospital blanket off of your legs and stretched your aching arms over to the device.  Your sole companion was heavily cracked but you could still make out most words as you desperately searched through your notifications. You had over a dozen missed texts and calls from one person. 

Hey, you never came to pick up Koko, are you okay?

Y/N? If you’re doing overtime, I just wish that you would say so.

Hey, you’re not answering the phone. I’m getting worried.

I have Koko now.

Where are you?!

Suddenly something in you snapped your attention away from your phone. You could feel it moving toward you, whatever it was. It felt as if it was an extension of your own being. Like your arm had wandered off to grab a drink at the shitty hospital cafeteria and was only just now returning to you. Startled, you threw a glance at yourself to check your body but found nothing missing.

The familiar presence finally entered the room, “HEY!” Ground Zero snapped as he roughly kicked the door open.

Startled, you pushed the hem of your gown as far down as possible in a futile attempt to cover you legs, “What do you think you—”

He loudly cut you off, “Something fucking weird is going on. That dumb brat must have fucked with us...” he angrily trailed off as he became deep in thought. Your nerves calmed themselves as you noticed that he was wearing a gown similar to your own before he stormed up to you and shoved his black phone screen in your face.

You confusedly stared at your reflection as he ordered you,“Look at your cheek,” he gruffly commanded. You didn’t have much of a choice as the black mirror was forced into your vision.

That was a nasty fucking bruise. Okay. You looked hideous. Is that what the asshole wanted you to see? You confusedly looked up at him and surprise befell you as you noticed that he was sporting a familiar grey mark on his own cheek.

You must have smacked faces earlier harder than you thought.

“No. we didn’t,” he growled angrily, “You smacked your face against my gauntlet. But I fucking felt it!” He barked.

You rapidly blinked your eyes in surprise. You did not just say that out loud.

The hero seemed to suddenly realize this as well as his angry expression once again dropped alongside his jaw. He seemed to be at a loss for words as his eyes danced across the room—trying to find a viable answer to the weird occurrence.

“What the hell does this all mean? What’s happening?!” you frantically cried out, snapping him out of his confused trance,

“Well we would fucking know if your ass could have stayed awake for a few more seconds,” he resorted back into his ferocity, “That idiot hag up and left with her kid while you were busy sleeping! It fucking knocked me out too! How the hell is this happening?!” Your eyebrows dropped from surprised to anger quicker than a drop of a dime. He was not about to pin all this bullshit on you.

“Well maybe you could have gotten some answers out of her if you weren't such a loud-mouthed dickhole! Who wouldn't run from that?!” you loudly snapped. His anger seemed to grow by ten fold, but just as you noticed a large vein pop out from the side of his angry head, you heard a familiar voice cry out which effectively interrupted the incoming eruption,

“Y/N?! Are you in there?!” you heard someone cry out from the hallway.

What.... what the hell was he doing here? Fuck. This was not the time for him, of all people, to show up. Your eyes widened as you waited for him to burst in.

“I came as soon as the hospital called!” he cried out as he entered the room. Of course, he was still your emergency contact, you idiot. Only you would accidentally leave your baby daddy, your ex as an emergency contact after so long has passed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! You mentally kicked yourself as you looked into his disgustingly adorable, concerned eyes.

The man ran up to your bedside and threw his hands on top of yours, clutching them for dear life. A wave of emotion jolted your heart at his proximity—emotions that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had been so damn careful to keep your distance, dammit. For months now you had meticulously planned Koko’s drop off and pick up times so you got a glimpse of him at most. You haven’t even heard his voice in weeks because you had resolved to leave communications to mostly short texts when necessary.

All for naught as his round, green eyes unknowingly dared you to fall in love with him again.

You uncomfortably shifted your gaze away from his longing stare. You could tell that he had been crying, and the fact that it was out of fear for your safety only added to the stiffness in your chest as his trembling voice cried out to you, “God, I am so glad that you're...” he trailed off, finally noticing the other man in the room, “Kacchan?”

Ground Zero, or Kacchan’s, anger hadn’t had the time to die down since you yelled at him a few seconds ago, and he was about ready to explode,

“THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE, DEKU!?” he furiously cried out as he snatched the man away from you. And held a sparkling fist to his face.

You could feel the utter hatred seeping from his mind and it made you sick.

Exposition city😂

Anyway now that that is over with, I can get to the juicy stuff.

Yay! I am so excited

HnM💕

[girlpornparadise]

The Caged Bird Moans (pt 1)

Pairing: Diego Jimenez/f!Reader (Power - Starz)

Word Count: ~2600

Warnings:  It's a bit Stockholm syndromey, but that's not a real thing anyway (look it up). Not exactly non-con, but it skirts the idea, so if power disparities aren't your jam, please move along. It just real dirty. SMUT!

Personal ramble: Would anyone actually react like this to the situation I've set forth? No. But just as the pizza guy is never hot and doesn't offer you his extra sausage, this is porn people! So suspend your disbelief and don't hate on me for my bullsh*t.

I also wrote all this nonsense a week ago before I read anything from the lovely @1zashreena1 , @heresathreebee or @nicke0115 so sorry if it looks similar, I swear it's a coincidence.

"Ouch", you think to yourself but instead swallow the pain. Your arm hurts under the firm grasp of the thug dragging you from the elevator into the spacious penthouse.

"Be careful with that." Says a commanding voice from across the room.

The grip loosens, but he's still using your momentum to force you forward. You stumble, unsure of just how much danger you are in.

As you take in your surroundings the owner of the voice turns around and approaches you. He looks you up and down, examining you like a prize he had won.

"We can't afford to damage her." He states plainly, looking at the man still holding you in place.

As he examines you, you examine him right back. Whereas he is doing it in an obvious way, head nodding to rake his eyes over you, you move your eyes only, unable to control your body in this moment. You follow the carefully polished boots up past the fitted black jeans to the black buttoned up shirt with the slight sheen to it, that accentuates his frame. Everything is obviously expensive and very deliberately chosen. As your eyes settle on his face, a recognization dawns on you. Diego Jimenez. One of the heads of the Jiminez cartel. His reputation was well known to you. An unstable, merciless man whose penchant for partying made him a big name in certain circles. You were scared before, but now your body goes rigid with fear and your gaze hits the floor with force.

Though you're no longer looking at him directly you can sense his smugness and satisfaction at knowing you are now showing the appropriate amount of fear for the situation you're in. Maybe it's your hind brain telling you you are in the presence of an apex predator. Maybe it was the clipped snort he let out, tinged with amusement as he nodded with approval.

After what feels like an eternity, but was probably mere seconds, he speaks again.

"Take her to the guest room." He orders the man still firmly gripping your arm. "Lock this little bird in her cage."

Dragging you again, this time down the hall, Diego's orders are followed to completion. You are practically thrown into the room as the door slams shut behind you.

You stumble, catching yourself on the bed. You collapse onto it as tears prick your eyes and subsequently fall down your cheeks. You begin to sob, but muffle it in the covers, assuming someone is standing guard outside and not wanting to seem even weaker in such an intense situation. But the tears flow freely as the shock of what's happened slowly wears off and you begin to process the details of your abduction.

You hadn't grown up in this world, though your ties to it were strong. You were part of the Bennet family, a rival cartel, headed by your grandfather. He insisted you grow up distanced from this world. A world of violence and cruelty. A world of drugs and guns and transactions ending in death. Based on your current reaction, you couldn't help but think maybe it was because you're so weak. Both you and he knew it was true, you were too soft to be a part of the business, too kind to do what would be required of you. So he kept you away, from his city and his dealings and all of the darkness that came with it.

You were in town for a rare family visit when you were taken without warning, snatched from the street at gunpoint. They were able to do it without drawing attention, entirely professional, and you complied with their every demand as a sense of terror ripped through you.

And now here you were, trapped by a barbarous stranger who could end your life at any moment without a second thought.

As you wore yourself out from crying, you began to take in the room, determined to get your bearings. It was sparsely decorated, obviously the work of a man unattached. It was also immaculately clean, obviously the work of his maid. As your breathing slows and your senses sharpen, you become aware that the comforter you are still on top of is plush and expensive, like the kind found at a swanky hotel.

Curiosity returning with your senses, you walk over to the window that stretches from floor to ceiling and take in the impressive view of the city. If the long elevator ride weren't a clear enough indicator, the view tells you that you are in the penthouse of a very upscale building.

Next to the window is a large bathroom and you walk in. You splash cold water on your face and dry it on one of the plush towels. You can't help be momentarily amused by how well stocked the room is with soaps and lotions. There were definitely worse places to be trapped. Was this the definition of a gilded cage?

As you settle down, you take off your shoes and sit back down on the bed. You're exhausted to your core, and you sink into the mattress, wanting to disappear. You want to keep your wits about you, alert and on guard, but instead the stress combined with the late hour forces you to sleep.

You are woken up abruptly the following morning when the door swings open and you are literally dragged out of bed by the same man as yesterday. 

You're a bleary eyed, rumpled mess and the same fear and pain shoot through you as you remember where you are and how you got there. Your breathing is shallow as you try not to panic.

You've been dragged before Diego who is standing imposingly before you, hands clasped in front of him, chin slightly upward so he can look down his nose at you.

He examines you once more and you can tell he's disgusted by what he sees.

"Get our guest something to wear." He barks. "And get her something to eat. We can't bargain if she's broken."

As he turns away from you to resume whatever you interrupted, you catch the flash of the gun in his waistband and the fear settles once again in the pit of your stomach.

You are escorted back to the room forcefully and your mind is racing. You know everyone who comes through the penthouse is armed to the teeth and there's no chance of escape. You're not just weak, you're helpless. You assume you're being held for some kind of ransom, probably territory or resources as opposed to money, and you silently pray that a deal for your release is struck quickly so this nightmare can be over.

Soon after, the door opens and a housekeeper enters carrying a couple of bags of clothes. She doesn't look you in the eye and you wouldn't know what to say to her anyway. 

Once she has left, you rummage through the clothes. There's nothing there you'd pick for yourself, but you settle on a white fitted t-shirt and jeans. You carry them with you into the bathroom along with a handful of drugstore makeup you find in the bottom of the bag.

You look at yourself in the mirror and the reason for Diego's revulsion becomes clear. Your clothes are wrinkled and creased and your mascara is smudged under your eyes. You lock the bathroom door behind you, strip down and take a shower. The running water calms you and once you finish you get dressed and approximate your normal makeup routine with what you have. If you're going to put on a brave front, you need to be as put together as possible.

When you emerge from the bathroom a tray of breakfast is waiting on the nightstand next to the bed. Eggs sunny side up and toast, simple and straightforward. You devour it greedily since you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday.

The day passes with 2 more meals brought to you by the same housekeeper at the appropriate intervals. In the absence of your phone, you distract yourself with mindless TV on the rather large set opposite the bed. You don't take in much as you think about your predicament and then try to force those thoughts of the worst case scenario from your mind.

Your sleep that night is restless.

You are brought before Diego once again in the morning, shortly after you wake. 

This time you are allowed to walk under your own power, though your legs feel wobbly and your feet unsure as you approach him.

You're wearing a cotton t-shirt and shorts,  the closest thing you could find to pajamas. As he looks at you, you become painfully aware that you're not wearing underwear, his eyes seeming to stop at all the places where it should be.

You are at least able to look at him and take in more this time. He's clad in a similar black button up shirt and black jeans as yesterday, a uniform of sorts to convey his status. His hair is neatly cut and accentuates his angles, sharp jaw and well placed cheekbones. His greying facial hair gives him some earned distinction and his expression is hard and deliberate to elicit a specific reaction of fear. Through the careful tailoring of his shirt you can see that his body is sturdy and muscular. His tense posture using his frame to his advantage, making him seem larger than he actually is. You know to fear him, but he may be the most attractive man you've ever seen in real life.

He obviously cultivates an aura of power, and you can't help but be drawn to him as an Alpha Male. As you steel yourself, you dare to look him in the eyes. His eyes are cold but impossibly magnetic and you can't look away. He's looking back at you now, into you. Your heart forgets how to beat in rhythm and you swallow thickly.

He sees your fear and is clearly amused by it.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You should go take a shower." He says, his lips curling upwards. 

"I, I was going to." you stammer.

"Good girl." It comes out as almost a purr and sends a shiver down your spine.

This time it's Diego, not his associate who accompanies you back to the bedroom. His hand is hovering above the small of your back, ushering you forward while maintaining a small distance. You enter the room and the lock clicks behind you.

You turn to see that he's still in the room and with his gaze set upon you, you begin to back away towards the bathroom,  afraid to turn your back on him. This was clearly his intended effect.

You expect him to leave, but he's doing the opposite. He is stalking forward. Your heart is pounding out of your chest and your uneven breathing becomes gulping for air.

As he closes the gap between your bodies, he repeats his suggestion. "You should go take a shower." It's not a suggestion though, it's a command.

He leans in. "Go on." His lips are close enough to your ear that his breath catches in your hair.

His thick body is now urging you through the bathroom doorway by its approach. You back through it, still transfixed by his gaze. 

You glance side eyed to your left at the shower that takes up the far wall. It's one of those large walk-in showers with a stone floor and a rain showerhead. It suddenly seems less like a shower and feels more like a trap about to spring shut.

"Take off your clothes." He says. He's not asking.

You gulp, your eyes have gone wide at the demand.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes." He repeats in a tone that is both amused and losing patience. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he says it.

You look away, ashamed, and slowly and nervously acquiesce. You stand before him completely naked and try to avert your gaze. You are drawing your body inward, trying to conceal yourself in any way you can.

"Turn on the water." he says with his wicked smile widening.

You turn on the shower and wait for it to warm. It dawns on you that there's no shower curtain to protect you or glass wall to hide behind. You are fully exposed and will remain so.

You step under the water, unsure of what to do next. You'd obviously showered hundreds of times, but this wasn't a shower. It was a show.

"Wash yourself." His voice is quieter, more of a harsh whisper.

You grab a washcloth and pump the foaming body wash onto it. You rub it on the back of your neck and slowly work your way down to your shoulders. Your nerves have subsided a little as the water washes over your skin.

He's mesmerized by the motion of your hands and you drag the washcloth across your collarbones and down to your breasts, where you languidly rub them with the cloth as well as your free hand.

Your nipples harden at your own touch. He notices and his tongue drags over his bottom lip. You close your eyes in an attempt to momentarily escape.

When you open your eyes you notice him shift his weight and catch a glimpse of the shift in his muscles under his shirt. You get a rush as you feel the power dynamic shift slightly. You are slow to rub the washcloth down your legs and you arch your back slightly as you bend over, purposely sticking out your ass more than you naturally would. 

His eyes are dark with lust and you can feel the warmth radiating from between your own legs.

"Rub your clit." He says, reclaiming his power.

You look at him with shocked eyes and your eyebrows knit.

"You heard me." he says. "I won't ask again." His head tilting slightly.

You put the washcloth aside and tentatively slide your middle finger between your thighs to your bundle of nerves. You notice how wet you already are and using gentle pressure you begin to rubbing in circles.

You close your eyes and swallow as your walls contract and release. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier until you're panting. Panting and touching yourself for this fixated man. 

"Cum for me." He demands. "I need to see you cum." 

You think to fake an orgasm. To end this little game he's playing, but it's too late. Your finger presses harder on your clit and you tremble as the real thing rips through you. You close your eyes and cry out with abandon.

When you regain yourself you look at him. You are raw and exposed and at your most vulnerable. His mouth is in a wide smile and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. 

He reaches out to you, towel in hand. You steady yourself, turn off the water, and take the towel from him. You wrap it around yourself, suddenly panged with shame at how readily you revealed your most intimate self to this menacing stranger. Your posture closes, and reflects your return to shyness.

"Good girl." He says, and you feel the words like honey dripping in your ears.

He turns and leaves, his confident stride drawing your attention to how his jeans hug his perfect behind. 

You dry yourself off and as you get to your inner thighs you're reminded of how wet you are. How wet you are for him. You want to blame the shower, but you know the truth. You're spellbound by this man, and god are you in trouble.

[imaginetings]

if you love me don’t let go - eggsy unwin

Y/N - Your Name

M/N - Middle Name

L/N - Last Name

M/O - McDonalds Order

Word Count - 2471

Requested? - Nope

Warnings? - Swearing, mention of dying and injury, flashbacks that may get you in feels

Notes - I’m in my feels okay :( also it’s formatted more space for paragraphs and i canny be bothered to fix it sorry. also would you guys want a second part of this in eggsy’s pov??

part two

When they say you’re meant to see important parts of your life flash through your head before you die, they weren’t wrong. Yet after all that I’ve done there is one common denominator in these flashes, Eggsy. The man that has held a significant part of my heart for most of my life ever since we met in infants and he had that glimmer of hope in his eyes, we were the terrible twosome as Michelle loved to call us.

I never believed this would be the way I would go, alone in an alleyway, bleeding out because of a mugger or possible enemy of Kingsman. The details I didn’t care for, all apart from the fact that I didn’t have Eggsy with me.

Yet with the strength I have left, I reach for my phone and whilst my initial thought was to call Eggsy I know that if I am to get out of here alive, it’ll have to be the emergency services. After all, Eggsy is probably out with someone who’s most definitely not me. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been yet I love him more than that and I guess he’ll never reciprocate because it’s just plain old me.

Smearing blood on the phone screen as I typed in the one digit thrice I could only feel myself start to grow weaker as the time flew by. I can assure you that although time is flying, i’m not having fun.

“Hello, Emergency Service Operator speaking, which service do you require?”

“erm, the one with the ambulance thing. Yeah that’s it, ambulance please,” I ask and the operator who connects me instantly “Hello? I’m currently in an alleyway on Chiswick High Road and I was attacked and I’m bleeding really badly and I think they might have shot me, I don’t know it happened so fast and I just need help please,” I explain swiftly to the operator who keeps a calm tone.

“Okay miss can you stay on the phone? There’s an ambulance heading your way now. Can you stay on the line as I ask you questions?” The operator asks.

“I can try, but things are getting fuzzy.” I explain.

“Okay, so what’s your name miss”

“Y/N M/N L/N”

“What’s your age?”

“Oh erm what year is it again? Oh yeah 2015, so I am 23” I figure out.

“Okay miss, now what’s your blood type?”

“Red? I don’t know for the life of me Jesus Christ this is bad, i’m sorry,” I say to the operator as things start to fade in and out and I try to fight it, I really do yet black spots cover my vision and as I feel myself start to fall the last things I can hear is the operator on my phone asking me to stay awake.

——

“Okay class settle down today we are going to be doing work with partners so buddy up!” The teacher explains and I look around to see everyone buddy up with their best friends whilst i’m on my own. “Y/N, come here. Now you’re going to pair up with Gary okay?” I nod and we sit down at his table.

“My names not Gary, it’s Eggsy. It’s such a cooler name than Gary,” Gary, no. Eggsy says to me. I smile at him.

“Okay, Eggsy. I’m Y/N and you’re going to be my new best friend.”

“But you’re a girl.”

“So what if I am?”

“Do you pinky swear that you’re not gross like other girls.”

“I pinky swear.”

“Now we can be best friends,” Eggsy says with a toothy grin and I return it with him and we begin to work on the poster that the teacher had set for us.

——

“Wooo! Go Eggsy!” I shout in the stands next to Eggsy’s mum. Both of us cheering him on in his gymnastics competition.

“That’s my boy!” Michelle shouts and I shout alongside her cheering for my best friend as if the noise I make will make him win even more.

He pulls off the routine effortlessly as per usual and I sit there restlessly with a cheshire grin on my face, waiting until I can congratulate him because that’s some talent needed.

It was no surprise he won the competition, again, yet to congratulate him we went to the one place anybody goes for celebration, McDonalds. He orders a big mac whilst I get a M/O and we sit down and eat across from one another and Michelle is sat next to Eggsy with her meal as well.

“Well done babes,” Michelle says.

“Yeah, well done Eggsy!” I say with a mouthful of food and Michelle gives me a motherly glare. “Sorry.”

“Did you see me out there? I was flying like a bird and just swinging and it was amazing!” Eggsy explains rushingly which Michelle just chuckles at and I nod and carry on eating my meal.

——

“Oh come on Y/N what’s one night going to do to your study plan? We’ve literally only just started year eleven you’ll be fine, you’re a clever clogs anyways.”

“Eggsy, we had this conversation when it came to mocks in year ten and what did I do? I flunked it, so we are not going there.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport love come onnnn, you know you want to,” Eggsy eggs on with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Fine. I’ll take the day off and we can do what you want.”

“Oh you’re going to regret saying that now,” Eggsy chides and I roll my eyes at his antics.

“Are you trying to make me change my mind?” He shakes his head and we leave my room to go and follow whatever antics he had in store.

That night ended up with us in A & E because Eggsy got into a fight and I attempted to break it up and a for sale house sign ended up hitting me in the face.

A busted lip with a scar to remember it with since the sign managed to break through into my mouth.

The look on Eggsy’s face when it happened seemed to be one of pure anger and fear, but I could’ve been seeing things. Yet at fifteen I knew for definite after all the years I’d known Eggsy Unwin, I loved him. For the following weeks he was so protective of me that it was almost overbearing. Almost.

I managed to get him to watch some movies with me and we even ended up eventually on watching My Fair Lady which I fell asleep to within ten minutes whilst Eggsy watched the whole thing.

——

It was one of them nights, I instantly knew when the phone rang. It was Eggsy, Dean was being a dick again. He came over to my house and I put aside all of my a level revision and brought him into a hug. “Why did she pick him of all people Y/N?”

“I don’t know Eggs, it’ll get better eventually, I promise.”

“How can you promise that?” he asks and that’s when I know he needs a pick me up.

“Because i’m psychic okay, and obviously I can see your future which is extremely blinding to the naked eye that you’d need factor a thousand sun cream okay?” I explain to him with a sorrowful smile on my features, he simply nods and I pull him back into a hug although it’s an awkward angle due to the height difference.

“I was thinking about joining the marines.” Eggsy blurts out.

“That’d be great for you Eggs, I mean it’s what you want to do right?” I ask him looking into his green eyes.

“Yeah, but.” He stops.

“But what Eggsy?” I ask.

“I don’t want to leave you or mum.” He explains.

“Look, if you do just know I’m with you every step of the way regardless, and i’ll be there for your mum as well. I’ll look after her.” I explain and rub his back soothingly. He gives me a incredulous look. “Oi, don’t be cheeky. Need I remind you on how I got this scar?” I nudge him and he chuckles.

“Okay, you’ve got me,” he sighs and loops his arms around me and brings me in tightly. “How do you always know to say the right thing?” he asks.

“I’m an a level student, I’m smart what can I say?” I say cheekily with a wink and that causes him to tickle my sides and I have no escape. “Eggsy! Stop! Please!” I plead.

“Say uncle!”

“Neverrr!” I laugh out and it starts to pain me. Yet he is relentless in tickling me. “Okay okay! Uncle,” I relent and he laughs before launching himself on my bed.

“So… rom com or horror?” he asks.

“which would you prefer?” I return.

“Romcom.”

“Horror it is then,” I retort and he gasps from behind me. “Deal with it Eggboy, you prefer the romcoms and I like the horror movies I thought we had established this by now. Okay, now pick. Left or right.”

“Right.”

“It’s…. Saw!” I exclaim pulling the movie out from behind my back and he rolls his eyes at my excitement for the franchise. “Don’t worry, you can hide in my arms if you get scared,” I tease as I put in the dvd.

“Oi!” he shouts and throws a pillow which hits me square in the face as I turn around.

“What? It’s the truth and you know it,” I chastise.

——

Eggsy was halfway through training before his mum went mental at him not wanting to lose him like how she lost his dad and I could understand and so did Eggsy to the point that he dropped out.

When he returned home I had my final exam of my whole a levels. Three and a half hours of pure writing and by the time it was done my hand had cramped up into the position of how I hold my pen. Yet when leaving the building he was there waiting for me in casual clothes. “Eggsy!” I exclaimed as I ran to him to which he brought me into his arms with ease.

“Hello love,” he states with a smirk on his face. “Pub?”

“Yes, you read my mind. Especially after that exam,” I state and we head to my car that I had saved up for with work.

——

All throughout the time I was in university, Eggsy was by my side. Even when I dropped out because the band that I had been working with was starting to take off and I decided it was for the best to drop out of my degree.

He was there when my family kicked me out after learning of me dropping out and helped me find a flat as well.

There were many lows and many highs. There was always the almosts. The almost love, the almost kiss. Yet it never happened.

And thus darkness, the only familiar thing throughout, when I was attacked it was dark and that’s what it’s like for me without him, dark.

Yet in the near distance a rhythmic droning beats. It sounds almost like a heart monitor. Wait. I must have made it to the hospital. I was found in time.

Fighting to open up my eyes was probably harder than it should have been but I was determined. Although it was bright, I soon adjusted and I’m met with the clinical space of a hospital bedroom. Flowers are dotted around the room and I notice a small teddy bear in a suit amongst them all. I smile at the gesture. Then the door swings open where two nurses are chatting amongst themselves and that’s when they notice i’m awake.

The next few days were a blur and before I knew it I was heading home, alone. Although the days were a blur, nobody visited. Lying in my bed for the first time in what felt like forever was luxurious yet it was interrupted by a knock at my door and a groan from my mouth following suit. I grab my crutches and hobble to the door, ready to tell the person to fuck off yet when the door opens I’m met with the familiar green eyes.

“You’re okay!” he exclaims and goes to hug me which I recoil against.

“Yeah, as much as someone who was attacked can I guess.” I say and hobble back in leaving him to follow me in and I head back towards my bedroom where my bed beckons me.

“Are you okay?” he inquires. I just nod and sit on my bed. “Okay now I know you’re not okay, talk to me Y/N.” Tears start to well in my eyes.

“I don’t know okay. One minute I’m walking from Amy’s and the next I know someone is attacking me and asking me about your job and then I was alone and it just felt so cold and it felt horrible, like I haven’t felt like that since my parents were screaming and shouting at me for dropping out of University. Yet I was on the verge of death. But the worst thing Eggsy, it was being there bleeding out in the middle of London alone. I don’t think I can be alone again if I’m honest.” He pulls me into his side gently and motions for me to carry on. “I realised that all of the best moment in my life are with you and I don’t know what I am going to do with myself if I don’t tell you that I love you Eggsy. I have done since we were kids and I mean in a romantic way, not a platonic way and if you leave i’ll understand but I had to say it.”

“Y/N, when I got the call from the hospital saying that you were there, I froze. I don’t freeze. I was with Merlin and Roxy and I broke down hearing that news because guess what, Y/N M/N L/N I am in love with you and I have been for years okay?” He confesses and we lean into one another, it was like it went in slow motion and then the next thing I knew we were kissing. “God i’ve waited years to do that,”

“I can bet I have been waiting longer than you Eggs,” I smirk and cock my eyebrow at him. That’s when he tries to lay me down. “Ah ah ah, nope mister. I’m not allowed to engage in any physical activity for six weeks until the stitches can be taken out.” I explain to which he huffs and decides to just cuddle me instead. “But this, I can get used to,” I mutter and lay my head on his chest.

“I love you Eggsy.”

“I love you too Y/N”

[pidayforpi]

Alistair Boorswan walked down the street, past the lamp posts, avoiding illuminated areas.

Beak’s down. Hands in pockets.

Everyone knew him. Everyone knew he’s having a bad day. Everyone knew why he’s having a bad day.

It’s all on the news: The famous film director experienced his first project cancellation.

He who once walked proudly under the limelight, he who once strode with his head up...Gone in a single day, in a single fire.

He’s the first to make a reboot of the legendary Darkwing Duck. Now he’s the first to have the egg broken before it hatched.

To make it worse, he’s the first to ever seek funding from McDuck Enterprises. Now he’s the first to be refused sequential funding from Scrooge McDuck himself.

To make it even worse, he’s the first to allow a child to lead a film production. Now he’s the first to have his film production destroyed by a child.

Once the reigning king in the sector, now a joke in the industry.

If it wasn’t for the “mask” around his eyes, everyone could see the swan had been crying himself to sleep every night since.

Alistair pushed open the café door, the motion ringing the bell hanging from the door frame. It was awfully quiet in the café. Nice. Alistair didn’t want more attention. He’d had enough fun talking to the paparazzis.

“The usual?” Asked the barista. The owl behind the counters questioned his patron as he put away his book.

Alistair nodded. “No decaf this time, Franklin.”

The owl barista signed. “You ain’t gonna be up next morning, sonny. Don’t be a night owl like me.”

“Day and night seem the same to me, anyway.” Alistair said as he picked his usual seat: Next to the glass wall, observing the streets. “I would rather stay up all night and sleep all day. I don’t have to deal with anyone this way.”

Even without looking at his face, Franklin could see his customer’s devastated expression. Shrugging, the barista started brewing Alistair’s favourite espresso.

“Whatever suits you, buddy.”

———————————————————————————————

The bell rang again as the coffee machine rumbled.

Franklin raised an eyebrow as he fixed the beverage, but didn’t look back. If someone wanted him dead, he would be dead no matter he noticed or not.

Alistair also didn’t notice. His eyes were so fixated on the street at night, his ears so focused on the sounds of the city, he didn’t realise he was no longer the only customer in the shop.

Let alone that customer was someone he didn’t want to meet.

“Good evening. How may I help you?”

No response. Except for the sound of something metallic being dragged against the wooden floor.

It wasn’t the first time someone weird entered the shop. The shopkeeper had seen it all. But from the reflection on the silver coffee machine, the late night customer was someone he knew. Someone everybody knew. 
The duck sat in front of Alistair, dropping his huge chainsaw onto the floor with a thud. It was half the height of the duck, not to mention its spiked tip was stained with blood. The intruder took off his oversized fedora, and tossed it to his side. His feathers were ruffled and unkempt, as if he had just been in a fight. An odour of pungent sewage water could be smelled from his body. A crazed, blue-green colour could be seen from his double-layered irises. If it wasn’t late at night (and the blood-stained chainsaw), Franklin would had kindly asked him to leave the shop.

It wasn’t until the duck placed his order that Alistair noticed his new, unwanted coffee mate.

“A cup of cappuccino, boss.” Ordered the customer in his hoarse, sickly voice.

Franklin replied with a nod, hands still focused on fixing his last order.

“Roger, Mister Starling.”

Alistair snapped out of his ponder when he heard the name he had feared for a month.

He shifted his focused from the streets to the pale reflection on the glass window.

He’s right there.

Just when he thought fate had taken everything away from him, someone’s there to take his life as well.

Alistair felt his body move on its own, standing up and reaching for the exit. It was almost like a reflex arc. He didn’t have to know for sure the danger in front of him. He’s making a run subconsciously.

Of course, his unwanted guest wouldn’t let the host leave before being at least greeted.

“Sit down, swan.”

With just a command, Alistair was frozen in place. The chainsaw was not even touched, yet he obeyed the order as if his legs were being amputated.

He instinctively looked at his opponent, and he regretted that very moment. When his frightened eyes met the killer’s powerful gaze, the calendar on the wall shifted back to a month ago.

In a burning studio, a wide-eyed Alistair stared at the charged cannon. When it fired, he would be a goner. He knew the “props” cannons were real - He saw the kid ordered them, directly from the laboratory. Those particles weren’t just special effects. They were real, lethal electricity. One shot, and his fast beating heart would stop. It truly was a miracle Drake Mallard survived the attacks.

Alistair had never been more scared in his life. Nowhere to escape in the fire. Nowhere to hide in the rubbles. Running away was futile: There’s no way he could outrun a lightning bolt. He ruined Jim’s career, and Jim was going to ruin his life.

“Jim Starling never cuts!” was what Alistair heard when he rushed to the recording camera. Yes. The legendary actor never allowed any failure. Not by himself. Not by others.

Jim failed to eliminate him the first time, he’s probably finishing the job now.

Franklin took a peek at his back to ensure his patron’s head was still on his neck, and hurried with both orders. The only thing he could do to avoid a murder was to facilitate the conversation between the two artists.

On the other hand, Alistair sat down meekly, hands on his laps, legs hanging straight down. Opposite of him, Jim got himself comfortable on the chair as if on a throne: One hand on the table, another supporting his tilted head. He sat cross-legged, his right leg hanging lazily on his left one.  The only thing left to complete his criminal mastermind persona was his signature grin, which showed his sharp, menacing fangs.

But Jim right now was wearing a frown instead.

Alistair wasn’t more comfortable, though. He started fidgeting his fingers, his hand movements speeding up for each second Jim remained silent.

It didn’t take long for the awkward silence to break, thankfully.

“An espresso for you, and a cappuccino for you, good sirs. Enjoy.”

Franklin emerged from behind his counter, delivering the beverages to the two fowls. After his last orders for the night were complete, he returned to his reading, yet keeping an eye on his clients.

Rich aroma soon filled the seats. Jim was the first to take a sip at his cappuccino. Foam covered the tip of his beak when he put down the cup. Alistair dared not to mention it, let alone laugh at it, no matter how silly it looked. He used to be a smug person, saying out what was in his heart without filter. But not when his life was at stake.

Alistair didn’t touch his beverage for half a minute. His hands were still holding themselves tight, his eyes fixated on the duck in front of him.

“Drink it, don’t be shy.” Jim reminded (or ordered, in Alistair’s ears). “I ain’t paying for your cup.” Followed by another sip of his cappuccino.

Alistair slowly held out his shaking hand, putting a finger through the middle of the cup handle, pulled his drink closer to himself and paused. However fragrant the coffee was, Alistair couldn’t afford to let himself get blinded. God knows if he put down the mug after a sip, a chainsaw wouldn’t appear at his neck?

He predicted Jim would be impatient with his hesitation and yell at him. But he was just taking his time, waiting for his partner to get comfortable.

Eventually, Alistair pulled the mug close to his beak, and drank. A rather large portion of his espresso, mainly because he didn’t want to put down the mug. He wouldn’t want to know how he would die.

But he felt no pain. No sensation at all, except for the scalding hotness in his throat...

Alistair literally spat out the liquid back into the mug, choking and holding his burnt throat in pain. Jim, on the other hand, burst into laughter, holding his abdomen while laughing loudly in his dry voice. Hearing his mockery, another hot feeling emerged from his cheeks and ears, which were red with embarrassment.

If a passerby saw that scene, they would probably think it was a carefree reunion of two old friends.

Jim grabbed a glass of iced water from the counter, which Franklin had already prepared after seeing Alistair about to drain the freshly-brewed, steaming hot coffee. Jim pushed the glass of water towards Alistair, who immediately gulped down the whole glass and laid back in relief.

Alistair really did let his guard down for a moment, before again realising who was in front of him when the person spoke.

“Feeling better, Alistair?” Jim tried to comfort, showing a kind smile. No one called Alistair by his first name, not even Jim when they first met. Always “Mr Boorswan” or “Director Boorswan”. Alistair looked up and into those eyes, this time in confusion instead of fear.

“W-what do you...want from me?” Alistair finally spoke. “If you want my life, just...d-drag me out into a dark alley and chop off my head. No need for crocodile tears.”

Alistair lowered his voice, visibly sulking. “You know I can’t defend myself...I won’t defend myself.”

It was Jim’s turn to stay silent.

“I know why you are here. I ruined your only comeback chance. I let that brat destroy the movie. I couldn’t get that geezer to support the production. I...didn’t cast you as the main character. Your main character.” Alistair continued, each sentence making him remember what happened just a month ago.

“So you are here to take revenge on me. This classy British director who knows nothing about children’s TV shows. Who only loves disgusting, gritty psychological thrillers. Who...”

Alistair paused. Then again, Jim probably already knew the truth.

“...who broke his own neck, ruining his own career, dethroning himself from his own industry.”

He felt his heart getting sour. He was just a centimetre from crying.

“I have nothing more to lose.”

“If you want me dead, just do it. No one will be sad for me. I’m just everyone’s laughing stock now.”

He could feel the black feathers around his eyes got wet. The street lights outside the window blurred.

Jim let go of his cup, looking down at his feet. If it wasn’t for the tears, Alistair could see Jim’s eyes were filled with sadness as well.

“Forgiveness.”

Jim uttered.

“I want your forgiveness.”

——————————————————————————————

The store returned to silence, the rumbling of vehicles could be faintly heard across the window.

Franklin took advantage of the silence to interrupt.

“Want me to leave, misters?”

“No, it’s fine. Just don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” Jim replied to the barista. If Franklin left, Alistair probably wouldn’t want to be alone with Jim.

Franklin nodded, before focusing himself into reading again, silently listening to the conversation of the two.

Jim turned to face the surprised swan.

“I’m here to apologise, Alistair.”

Of all things, apologising was not one of the reasons Alistair thought Jim was here for him.

“You aren’t the one to ruin the movie. I am.”

Jim put down his originally crossed legs, both hands on the table.

“I was selfish, arrogant, rude...I thought I was and would be the only Darkwing in the world. The one and only Darkwing...the hero on the TV screen in the past, the memory in the heart of those then children in the present.”

“When I knew Darkwing was about to return - from a child, no less - I was excited. Too excited. I was blinded by past fame and former glory, that the excitement channelled into wrath when I knew I was being ‘replaced’. In fact, there wasn’t a thing called ‘replaced’. Darkwing Duck is a character. Anyone can play him. Just because I was the first to have the honour doesn’t mean I have to be the only one. I was just being a grumpy old man on the outside, a spoiled brat in the inside.”

Jim looked up from the table to  meet Alistair’s blue eyes, making a sad, regretful smile.

“Not to mention that was your movie in the first place. Your artwork. You have the choice to let anyone past on and receive the torch. You have the right to make Darkwing the person you imagine to be. I should have just stayed in the auditorium and cheered for you.”

“An artist’s integrity really is sacred and inviolable, eh?”

Jim quoted the motto Alistair had lived by, the motto that had brought him to the top of the industry, that had given him the fame he once had.

“I shouldn’t have acted on my own. I shouldn’t have barged into the studio. Hell, I shouldn’t even have met you in the office the first day. You would have done better if you didn’t have me in your life.”

Alistair had been blinking rapidly to hold back tears, but  now it was too much for him to bear. Alistair never thought that Jim would say sorry to him. Alistair never expected anyone would say sorry to him. But now, it’s as if someone was there to take the blame with him, standing up for him in front of the crowd. Someone was there to share the pain. Someone was there to be with him.

“I’m sorry, Alistair.”

Jim could see the swan sniffing and whimpering, his eyes twinkling with tears. Just after he said his apology, Alistair burst into tears. Teardrops ran from his mask to his cheeks, dropping onto the now warm espresso. Wails echoed throughout the coffee shop, cries filled the café. Alistair wiped the tears with his purple scarf, but a long accumulated cumulus would had to rain for a while.

Jim moved to the opposite bench, and gave the weeping swan a hug. Jim never knew how to comfort someone - He never would nor had to. Awkward it might be, he really wanted to do something for Alistair.

Surprisingly, Alistair hugged back. He couldn’t care more, whether the duck had any plans in mind, or just wanted to literally stab him in the back. He had been crying alone for so many nights, it felt like a blessing to have someone willing to lend a hand.

At least for one night, Alistair wouldn’t have to cry himself to sleep.

———————————————————————————————

“Okay, I’m good now.”

Alistair sniffed and rubbed his eyes one last time, before gently pushing Jim away. Jim pulled his cup from across the table, and pushed Alistair’s mug towards him. He emptied half of the cup in a single gulp, before returning to his rude self.

Alistair looked at the his mug, seeing his reflection on the liquid surface. He looked even more pathetic after crying, but his heart felt lighter.

Just when he was about to finish his drink, a strong, choking smell replaced the coffee aroma, making Alistair scrunched his face up.

Jim put down his cup to see Alistair staring at him while holding his nose. He stared back with a puzzled expression. “What? Coffee’s gone sour?”

Alistair shook his head, still holding his nose and breath. He pointed at the filthy duck in front of him with his other hand, and managed to whisper without using up much air. “You...stink.”

Jim blinked for a few seconds, and sniffed his body like a stray dog. He then retaliated, shrugging. “Then are you lending me your cologne, pretty boy? It doesn’t seem like you have used it for a month, anyway.”

“And your hair.” Jim continued, pointing at the swan’s supposedly groomed hair. “You look even worse than that Dorkwing boy. Don’t tell me the greatest director of all time can’t even afford a comb?”

“You were saying?” Alistair pointed back at the duck’s feathered whiskers. “You look like you haven’t taken a shower in a month. Don’t tell me the mightiest crime lord of all time can’t even afford a bath?”

Jim sat back, arms crossed. “Yes, I haven’t. Deal with it. It doesn’t seem like you have, either.”

“I...” Alistair paused mid-sentence, not wanting to admit the fact that he hadn’t been taking care of himself. It had been a month, and he already looked as though he was stranded on a deserted island for a year.

Jim sighed, putting a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Listen, you are one of the most talented persons I have met. From the papers to the TV, I have learnt a lot about you. Even my team knows you, Alistair! Some people may mock you for your failure, but many more are sad about it.”

Alistair looked up from the ground, turning to face Jim’s warm smile.

“A lot of people desperately waited for ‘Darkwing: First Darkness’, and despaired when it got cancelled. After all, who wouldn’t like a childhood reminiscence, brought to them by the one and only Alistair Boorswan? You don’t know how many people are sorry for you, how many people are cheering you on, waiting for you to come back.”

“McDuck won’t fund the movie? Glomgold and Waddles will! One wants to beat McDuck, while the other wants to get onto the red carpet. Find that Mallard kid - He is more than willing to cosplay. You’ve got the script done, the movie will be done in a jiffy. Make Darkwing a thing. Make your dream a thing. We are all artists, and artists got to do what they think is art.”

Jim picked up his fedora, rubbing its scratched brim edges. “I won’t be able to join you on set this time, but reserve a seat for me at the premiere. Five seats, to be exact. I’m sure my boys would beg to see it.”

The duck suddenly put his oversized hat onto Alistair’s head, covering his eyes. Alistair protested a bit, before struggling to get the accessory off. He held the worn-out fedora tightly with both hands, about to return it to its owner before being declined.

“Keep it. Consider it a parting gift. For now, at least. We will surely meet again, Alistair.” Jim winked at the swan, who put on the hat after a nod.

“Before then, don’t go dying, m’kay? I’m waiting to kidnap you at the prize-giving ceremony, so don’t prepare too long a speech. Alright?” Jim held out his cup towards Alistair, signalling a “cheers”.

Alistair took a silent deep breath to suppress his surging emotions, and held out his own mug, bumping the duck’s cup.

“Alright. I promise.”

———————————————————————————————

“They’re on the house, celebs.”

Franklin confirmed when Alistair was about to take out his wallet.

“That’s for your patronage.” The owl barista motioned to Alistair with his book, and then shifted to Jim. “And that’s for not making my shop a crime scene.”

Jim snickered, and picked up his chainsaw from the floor. “Thanks, boss.”

“Thank you, pal.” Alistair smiled at Franklin, waving goodbye with his new red fedora before being stopped.

“One thing in return, director.” Alistair looked over his shoulder to face his old friend.

“Make that six seats, capiche?”

———————————————————

(I don’t really have much to say but I want to say something)

-I lost track of when I started writing this. I finished it on July 7, and coincidentally, the local TV broadcasted “The Duck Knight Returns!” (DT17 S02E16) on July 5.

-Also I couldn’t think of an interesting title.

-I really want to see more of Alistair Boorswan (or at least, Jim Starling, please?) in Season 3. I really like Alistair he’s so cute okay?

-sorry edgar wright

(I blame @sheepmouse for my sudden surge of interest in Alistair Boorswan/Jim Starling.)

[elsaclack]

ben x leslie and 20, 38, 63, 78... honestly whatever you wanna do literally any number on the entire list

HONESTLY GOD BLESS YA MALLORY

20. “It’s three in the morning…”38. “That wasn’t what I asked.”63. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”78. “Well, it didn’t seem important at the time.”

Ben, for the record, doesn’t put much stock in the idea of a mystical cosmos.  He’s a hard facts kind of guy - a proof-is-in-the-pudding kind of guy - and despite the fact that Donna has spent many (many) hours forcing him to listen to her read through his various horoscope predictions, Ben remains firmly rooted in reality.

But if he did believe - if there was a mystical invisible force influencing the world around him - he’d guess the early morning hours of a random Wednesday in March would be his cosmic penance for every stupid decision he’s ever made in his life (namely, Ice Town).

He’s not sure, initially, what rouses him from sleep - one moment he’s adrift in inky black unconsciousness, the next he’s blinking up at the erratic shadows cast across his bedroom ceiling by the ceiling fan whirring on its highest setting.  And despite the fact that he’s suitably disoriented, he immediately knows two things:

First, it’s extremely early in the morning.

Second, he’s alone in his bed.

The second is the more pressing fact at present, given that he was definitely not alone when he fell asleep some time earlier.  He lets out a quiet groan as his fingers stretch across empty space to his left, searching for the soft body he already knows is not there.  He turns his head to blink blearily at the empty pillow, and just as his eyes focus on the rumpled sheets, he hears a noise out in the kitchen.

Adrenaline floods his veins and all at once, he’s awake, kicking his comforter and sheets down to the foot of the bed and stumbling to his feet.  It’s not an altogether uncommon phenomenon to hear a loud noise in the middle of the night as of late considering he lives with Andy and April, resident king and queen of weird, but he worries all the same - there is such a thing as crime, and raccoons, and crime raccoons, probably.

The master bedroom door is cracked open when he makes it out into the hall, April’s pale face illuminated in the scant light.  She glares at him when he emerges, dark eyes darting between his face and the kitchen at the end of the hall.  “Is that a burglar?” she hisses.

“I dunno,” Ben whispers over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway on the balls of his feet.  He hears another noise - a pan hitting a hard surface - and then a quiet curse in a familiar voice.  The tension leaves his shoulders automatically, before he’s even fully processed what he’s heard.

Leslie’s in the kitchen, only her torso visible through the space between the counter and the upper cabinets, and Ben isn’t sure if he wants to throw something (something soft, of course) at her for scaring him or just curl up right there on the floor until she’s finished.  He pauses at the end of the hallway, watching her move around the kitchen, wondering if she’s ignoring him or if she’s completely oblivious to his presence.  Behind him, he feels April craning around his shoulder to get a look - she scoffs a half-second later, loud enough that Leslie starts, crouching down to stare at them with owlish eyes wide with surprise.

“Are you serious?” April deadpans, voice just barely hoarse with sleep.  “What the hell are you doing?”

Leslie blinks glancing down at the carton of eggs in her left hand.  “Making breakfast?” she mumbles.

“Leslie, it’s…” he squints at the clock mounted to the wall beside the doorway and immediately digs his fingertips into his temple.  “It’s three in the morning, is - is now really the best time to make breakfast?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugs, and April releases a quiet, menacing growl behind him.  “Might as well do something useful with my time, right?  Can’t just lay around doing nothing all day -”

“You’re right,” he gently interrupts, waving a hand behind his back at April.  “But it’s the middle of the night, aren’t you tired?”

“Breakfast isn’t gonna make itself, Ben, and JJ’s doesn’t open until seven, so that’s four hours to kill and I’m gonna kill them making pre-waffle eggs and bacon.”

She sets about working again, resolutely ignoring them both, and with a long sigh, Ben half-turns back toward April.  “I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs quietly.

“You’d better,” April mutters.  “I keep a machete in the hall closet, I will kill you both if she wakes Andy up.”

She retreats back down the hall before he can think of a response, only turning back to shoot her middle finger at him just before her bedroom door closes once more; with one last steadying sigh, he turns back toward the kitchen and slowly makes his way toward Leslie.

Her energy is borderline manic - once again, not unfamiliar, but certainly unsettling.  She ignores him as he pushes himself up to perch on an empty stretch of counter space, ignores him clearing his throat, even ignores him gently bumping his heels against the cabinet doors below him in a repetitive hollow thunk.

“Leslie,” he tries, and she shakes her head - quick, almost imperceptive, like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings mid-flight.  “Leslie, honey, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m making breakfast.  Should I make French toast?”

“Leslie,” he says again, firmer than before, and she pauses.  “That wasn’t what I asked.  What’s going on?”

In the moonlight spilling through the kitchen windows, he can clearly see how stiff and tense her back and shoulders are.  She turns her head a degree - not toward him, perse, but at an upward angle - and she lets out a slow, quiet sigh.  “My - my campaign managers pulled out earlier,” she says softly.

His heart drops - he thought she’d seemed off before bed, but he’d chalked it up to the crappy narration on that World War II documentary they’d watched together after she came over and the whole not being allowed to go to work thing.  She turns to face him, hands planted on the edge of the counter, and he’s fairly certain the flat grimace on her face is meant to be something like a brave smile.  He shakes his head, and she drops her gaze to the kitchen floor.  “I’m so sorry,” he says softly.

She purses her lips and shrugs.  “Probably shouldn’t be surprised,” she says after a moment, and now her voice has that razor-thin quality it always takes on before she starts crying.  “They want a safe bet, and - I’m not that anymore.  I’d never take it back,” she adds, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a little relieved.  “I just - I don’t know.  I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

He nods, gaze fixated on his knees, trying and failing to pretend like he can’t hear Leslie hiding her sniffle with a cough, briefly wondering why he ever thought the days after his impeachment would be the worst he would ever feel.  “Leslie…” he trails, slowly running the palms of his hands over his thighs.  There are words, there must be words, and if he finds the exact right words and says them in the exact right order, he can make everything okay again.  She sniffles again - louder than before - and all the air in his lungs escapes in a long, slow breath.  “You’re amazing.  Did you know that?”

He sees her rear back a little, confusion written across her features.  “Huh?”

“You’re amazing.”  he repeats with a little more conviction than before.  “You’re an amazing human being.  I’ve never met anyone as smart, as kind, as passionate as you.  You are the best candidate that will run for that position,” he says seriously.  “If they can’t see that - it’s their loss.  You are amazing.”

She pushes off the counter and quickly stalks toward him, fitting herself in the space between his knees with ease.  He curves his spine to meet her, lifting both hands to cup her face, letting his fingers sift through the soft hairs at the base of her skull.  Her kiss is slower than her usual speed, but it’s no less ardent; despite the heaviness still clinging to the air around them, he feels her lips curving up into a smile against him and her hands sliding up his legs and around his sides to touch the small portion of his butt that isn’t against the countertop.

He pecks the end of her nose when she pulls away, and then her forehead, smiling at the quiet giggle she muffles with her hand.  She falls into his embrace easily, her head slotted into the curve of his neck, and he thinks - not for the first time - that he could probably stay exactly like this forever and be the happiest man who ever lived.  He reaches up to touch the back of her head, slowly, gently combing his fingers through her hair, and she releases a contented sigh.  “I’m sorry that I’ve been complete poison to your campaign,” he murmurs.

She stiffens a little, but doesn’t pull away.  “You’re not poison,” she mutters, fingers flexing against him.

“I am to your campaign.”

She’s quiet a moment, considering it.  “Okay, maybe.  Maybe to my campaign.  But only to my campaign.  You’re amazing, too, Wyatt.”

He plants his lips against the side of her head, hiding his smile in her hair, and she gently pats his lower back.  “This is gonna work out,” he says after a beat of comfortable silence.

She breathes against him for a minute, no other sound passing between them.  “How do you know?”

Her voice is quiet, uncertain, and it ignites something deep and primal in the pit of his belly.  “Because I know you,” he says with a shrug, and she laughs when the movement jostles her head.  “You’re too tenacious to take things lying down.  You fight, and because you fight, things work out in the end.  This is no different.”

She pulls back, a genuine smile lighting the delicate features of her face, and he’s struck with bone-deep adoration.  “I love you,” she says - quietly, marveling, like she’s the one who can’t quite believe they have this back.

“I love you more,” he says back, grinning at the quiet laughter it elicits from her.  She pushes up to the balls of her feet, still laughing when she kisses him, and he swears he can feel the vibrations all the way down in his toes.  She falls back to her heels, hands finally sliding away from his butt to halfway down his thighs; she leans against him a moment, studying the small disaster frozen in time around the sink.  “You know most of that stuff expired last month, right?”  he asks quietly.

“Really?  I didn’t even think to check the expiration dates -”

“This is Andy and April’s house, you should always check expiration dates.”

She laughs again, and it tapers off into a sigh.  “Well, it didn’t seem important at the time,” she admits with a shrug.

He snorts and slides off the counter, stepping up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and plant his chin against her shoulder.  “Come back to bed,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the exposed skin of her neck.  She shivers and tilts her head to the side, granting him better access.  “You don’t have to sleep…”

“Oh…do you want to -”

“We can, but mostly April threatened us both with the machete she apparently keeps in the hall closet if we wake Andy up while we’re out here.”

Leslie straightens up, head turned just enough that she meets his gaze.  “We should go.” she says very seriously.

“You think she has an actual machete in the house?”

“Oh, without a doubt.  We should go.  Quietly.”

[maknaesdancersrappers]

Attempt #10: Surprise them with gifts

<< the ninth attempt

wc: 1.9k

warning/s: female masturbation

When you found out that your mom extended her stay abroad because your dad was docked there for a few days, you were a little grateful because Jaehyun’s dad was out for work, too, and his mom was visiting family in the province. Jaehyun was out working at his part time jobs so you were essentially alone. After making sure no one was next door, you go into your bedroom and pull out the box Yebin gave you last year. 

It’s been months since you last used this; you didn’t have much privacy since you don’t really keep to yourself and it always raises suspicion when your door is locked. You dust the box off and opened it, revealing the contents inside: the 6-inch silver bullet vibrator and a smaller box that’s still wrapped.

“Cheers to self-love.” scrawled over the wrapping in Yebin’s handwriting. 

You pick it up and tear right down her little message, throwing the paper aside and inspecting Yebin’s recent gift. It was a love egg that had 10 speeds and patterns, and was controlled by an app you had to install on your phone. 

This is the only time you can try it out. You’ve only done this twice. It helped you get through the hormonal stage of your PMS.

You take it out of its’ box and went to the bathroom to clean it. Once it was clean, you put it down on a towel to dry while you stripped your panties off. Honestly, you liked going commando at home. You would wear a sundress or a large, loose shirt (sometimes you’d wear shorts under them) and forego any undergarments. You picked up the small bottle of lube you bought online, along with journaling items to hopefully hide it in case someone sees the receipt, grabbed the vibrator after patting it down, and returned to your bed.

After installing the app on your phone, you sat in the middle, with your back resting against the headboard, and pulled the skirt of your dress up to your waist. Parting your legs, you sigh when the air touches your pussy and you involuntarily clench at nothing.

When you masturbated before, you just focused on feeling good. There was no imagining of a man handling you, just you making yourself feel good. However when you tentatively touched your clit with the tips of your fingers, your mind flies to how Jaehyun’s hands felt; how the pad of his fingers are calloused but his palms were soft. 

You mewled at the thought, although you knew it was wrong to think of Jaehyun — your best friend — like that. You’re starting to get wet, your slick covering your fingertips as you card them through your labia. At this point, you don’t think you’ll need the lube. You want to stop thinking about Jaehyun, but every time you chant it in your head, your mind disobeys and you remember all the times he’s been shirtless around you. 

“Oh god.” You cried out, plunging two fingers inside of you. You push down the shirred bodice of your dress down and cupped your breast, giving it a hard squeeze.

“Fuck it.” You whined, letting your inhibitions go and your imagination run wild. It’s not like Jaehyun would know you were thinking about him; specifically his fingers, plunging in and out of you, making that squelching sound, or how it would feel to touch his abs. You moaned, your hands practically moving on their own and speeding up.

You hated how your brain just suddenly reminded you about that light dusting of hair he had that trailed down beneath his cute little outie belly button, making the room seem too hot despite the air conditioning blasting above you. 

Honestly speaking, you and Yebin have had this conversation with Jungwoo. Yebin was brash and Jungwoo was blithe; you don’t know how the conversation turned south — literally — and Jungwoo had described each of the guy’s dicks very vividly from what he could remember when they had to shower in the locker rooms after gym.

It should have been concerning to you as to why Jungwoo was looking in the first place — more so, stared long enough to remember each one so clearly. Now your brain is letting those memories resurface, letting you visualize your best friend’s cock. You bite down on your lip, just thinking about how much he could stretch you more than your fingers or vibrator can.

You pull your fingers out of you and grab the love egg, turning it on and syncing it to the app on your phone. You take the vibrator that’s not bigger than your palm and pushed it through your entrance, jaw dropping at how easily it slipped in, until it was completely swallowed up by your pussy and left the little thin strap dangling out. You wait a few seconds to adjust to it before grabbing your phone and starting up the app. You press the power button and it starts out with light buzz, almost tickling your walls. There’s a plethora of options of patterns, intensity, and combinations, but your eyes zoomed in on the icon that read ‘Randomized.’

When you pressed it, it asked how long and gave 5 options, ranging from 5 minutes to an option that read manual. You opted for that, dropping the phone on the mattress when the vibrations grew a tad stronger. “Oh my god.”

You push yourself down the bed so you could lie down properly, latching your hands around your breasts and tweaking your nipples. Your mind is clouded with lust, the little speck of reserve you had left about jacking off to Jaehyun was out the window. You’re a moaning mess, trying to contain the lewd noises by biting back down on your lip. Planting down your feet against the sheets, you push your hips up as if you’re trying to meet someone’s thrusts. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” You can feel yourself about to cum, releasing one of your boobs to rub your clit.

“[Y/N]? Are you home?”

You’ve never moved so fast in your life; eyes snapping wide open and hands prying themselves off your body. You push your dress back up your chest while trying to grab your phone to turn the vibrator off but you can hear his footsteps coming closer and you accidentally pushed it off the bed instead while fixing your sleeves. Fortunately, the vibrations went down to soft buzz; and you toss the lube under the bed before running to the ajar door.

“Jaehyun!” You exclaimed, squeezing your body between the door and its frame. 

“[Y/N]? I thought you were out with Yebin. Are you okay?”

The love bullet starts to pulsates and you force out a grin, “Y-yeah, I was taking a nap and I, uh, had a nightmare.”

He nods slowly, looking like he understood as to why you were so flustered and sweating.

“What are you doing in my house?” You cleared your throat, trying to maintain your composure.

“Oh. I was planning to surprise you. I used the emergency keys your mom gave me.”

Your mom what— “Well, I’m very... surprised.”

Jaehyun grins, “No, wait. Come with me.”

He grabs your hand and all you can think about is how he’s holding the hand that had two of your fingers that were deep inside of you just moments ago while you jacked off to the thought of him. You wanted to tell him to wait for a second so you could go back into your room and turn the damn thing off, but the words leave you when he takes you to the living room.

There’s a vase of flowers you were very sure wasn’t there before and a small box of cupcakes from your favorite bakery. “You liked the gardenias so I got you some and I passed by the bakery after work and thought I’d get some as well.”

You inhaled sharply, the love egg suddenly spiking into a very harsh vibration. “Ohh, Jae.” That sounded so close to being inappropriate, “You didn’t have to—”

Your body flinches at the pattern change, making your grip around his hand tighten.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You vehemently nodded your head, “Uh huh, I just— the nightmare was pretty intense.” like the throbbing of your very core as your climax approaches.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Jaehyun pulls you into a hug and you don’t know whether it’s a good thing because your knees almost gave in so you used him as support. You hated, however, that you inhaled his scent; and it wasn’t the scent he smelled like when he got out of the shower, or his deodorant working when he’s sweating. It was that distinct scent he naturally had and it’s invading your nostrils and fueling your hormones. When his hands soothed your back and he kisses the top of your head, like he always does when he comforts you, that was when you lost it; gripping onto the back of his shirt for dear life as your orgasm hits.

You still do your best to keep your composure, keeping your breath steady unlike your heart beat that was running wild. The love egg is still buzzing and you need to take it out now; you already came in Jaehyun’s arms without him knowing and you can’t guarantee he’ll still be in the dark about it if another hits you. Pulling away, you sighed as nonchalantly as you can, hoping he doesn’t look down to see the evidence of your climax dripping down your legs.

“Thanks.”

Jaehyun pats your head, “You’re a little warm and red, [Y/N]. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“Uhm, yeah, maybe I am. I should… get some more rest.”

“Do you want me to tuck you?”

Your mind is so clouded and still high from climax that you swore you heard him say ‘fuck’, but you gasp from the love egg picking up pace again and swat Jaehyun’s arm, “I’m not ten! I’ll be fine. I-I would have loved to share the cupcakes with you a-and thank you for the flowers.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Don’t mention it. I just—”

His phone beeps and when he checks it out, he lets out a groan. “Jay’s made a mess in the living room again.”

“Should I be regretting giving him to you?” You shift your weight between your legs, which helped with your shaky stance, but not the impending second wave of your climax. 

“No! Don’t ever. I love him.” Jaehyun laughs, “I’ll go now, see you later. Oh, and I think there’s a bee in here somewhere. I swear I can hear it.”

“I’ll take care of it, ha ha ha... ha.” You stood in place, waving your hand at him as he leaves your apartment. As soon as he closes the door behind him, you drop to your knees and pulled the love egg out. “Oh, god.”

It continues to vibrate on the floor, minutely spinning as it does. Guilt, shame, and relief washes over you all at the same time when you reprocessed what had just happened. You fucking masturbated to your best friend and he held you, without knowing what was going on, when you came undone from his touch and scent. You feel gross, grabbing the egg and standing back up to head back into your room to turn it off. You discard it on the bed and grab the other vibrator, shamelessly deciding to finish off the second orgasm in the shower.

a/n: the surprise gift here was actually the orgasm :--) loljk 

the eleventh attempt >>

[foramomentonly]

Nail In My Coffin, Part Five

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery . We can have a little unabashed Kylex BroTP with this one. As a treat.

Author’s Note: Chronologically this one is set farthest into the future. The events of Parts 1-4 and then some have already taken place. I’ll be returning to some of those in-between events with future parts. Enjoy! 

@alexxmichael So I had this queued and didn’t realize it? lol Thanks for reblogging Part Four and for your tags that helped me figure out I’m an idiot who can’t work Tumblr!

Read on AO3

Kyle sits in the large hotel dining room, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee with cinnamon—it’s no café de olla, but in a pinch—and waiting. It’s too early on an off day for most of the show’s cast and crew, and the place is nearly empty. Still, he knows Alex must be on his way. They have breakfast most days, just to spend some downtime together. They’re so hyper-focused these days on the competition and their shooting schedule and sneaking in time to keep their brand afloat that they need structured opportunities to just be bros. Kyle had even stopped by Alex’s room earlier, thinking they would ride the elevator down together, but he hadn’t answered. He could have been in the shower or sleeping soundly for once. Or he could still be with Michael. He’s probably still with Michael. Kyle smirks. This is gonna be good.

Not a minute later, he watches Alex stride into the room looking skittish, but well-rested. He raises an arm from his spot at a small two-top in the corner. It’s near the emergency exit, pressed against a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and Kyle’s taken the seat with its back to the flapping kitchen door. Alex should be comfortable. When Alex sees him he nods once and heads Kyle’s way, detouring to serve himself a cup of coffee at the beverage and pastry bar. The hotel isn’t much, but it does have a cold breakfast bar and full-service hot breakfast options. Kyle’s already ordered for them both. 

Alex slides into his seat looking shaken, gripping his coffee like it’s a life raft and he’s lost at sea. Kyle suspects this morning he kind of is.

“Good morning,” Kyle says, smiling brightly at him.

“Morning,” Alex mumbles.

“I ordered you the omelet. Mushrooms and peppers.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence. Alex is staring into his coffee like it’s a crystal ball, and Kyle can’t help but guide him along a little.

“I stopped by your room this morning,” he says lightly.

“I wasn’t there.” 

Alex states it like a fact Kyle might have somehow missed.

“So I noticed,” Kyle replies, amused.

“I slept at Michael’s.”

He seems a bit dazed by this fact. Kyle smiles mildly.

“I figured,” he says, then adds, “On purpose?”

Alex nods, and Kyle grins.

“So, you’re in love with him,” Kyle states easily, taking an admittedly smug sip of coffee. “Let’s talk about that.”

Alex looks genuinely shocked, then terrified.

“W-what?”

“Alex,” he chides, fixing him with a knowing look, “you let your guard down with this guy, you are opening up to him in ways I’ve frankly never seen you do before, and right now you look like you’re about to run off and re-enlist to avoid having this conversation with me, so, yeah. I’d say you love him.”

Alex takes a deep, steadying breath and nods, almost to himself, and Kyle smiles, holding up his mug in a salute.

“Good for you, man,” he says.

A shy, almost bashful smile plays on Alex’s lips as he takes a sip of his own coffee, which is frankly ridiculous considering the kinky shit Kyle’s overheard him practically purr into Michael’s ear over the past few weeks in broad daylight, in a fucking room full of people and cameras. But Kyle is sincerely happy for his friend, who is historically slow to trust and lightning-quick to shut down when it comes to personal—especially intimate—connection. Still, Kyle knows Alex well enough to understand that getting him to admit to a particular emotion is only the first step in a long process of convincing him to act on it.

“So, you ever gonna tell him?” Kyle teases, and Alex looks at him like he’s lost his mind. 

"I can't just tell him I love him," Alex scoffs, "who does that?"

"Uh, literally everyone," Kyle groans. "All the time. Watch this." He takes Alex's hand. "Hey, man. You're my best friend. I love you."

Alex smirks.

“Gross.”

Kyle chuckles and leans back in his seat, tossing his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture of surrender.

“Okay,” he says, “walk me through it. You tell him. He obviously reciprocates, because the phrase ‘heart eyes’ was invented to describe how Guerin looks at you.” Alex shakes his head and opens his mouth as if to deny Kyle’s words, but Kyle holds his hand up to silence him. “What unspeakable tragedy befalls you next that makes it impossible for you to go through with this very simple and possibly life-affirming thing?”

Alex arches a brow and Kyle raises his chin defiantly. If there is one way to engage Alex Manes in any conversation or task, it’s to pose it as a challenge. And Alex clearly means to accept this one.

“Well,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head saucily, “for starters, in secret is not the healthiest way to start a relationship.”

"Wow,” Kyle says, shaking his head in amusement, “So, you know everyone knows at this point, right? Designers? Models? Most of the crew?"

Alex pales.

"What?"

"Do you think you're being subtle?" he laughs. "You make eyes at each other all day long, there's got to be hours of soft-core background footage from your 'fittings' at this point, and last week you were both gone for like thirty minutes and came out of the bathroom I really needed to use looking like you just got fucked. By each other."

Alex gapes as Kyle takes a deep breath, expelling the lunacy of Alex’s statement as he exhales. A server drops off their plates and they busy themselves with napkins and silverware and passing condiments between them. Alex shakes hot sauce over his omelet slowly.

“No one cares?” he asks softly, hesitantly, and Kyle is quick to reassure him.

“No one cares,” he parrots. “It was hot gossip for a minute, and now everyone’s just kind of resigned. Occasionally annoyed.” Kyle glares at him. “I really needed the bathroom.”

Alex laughs and raises a teasing brow.

“It’s all those coffee breaks.”

“I told you, those are to protect my innocence and our friendship.”

Alex snorts but falls silent after, flipping open his omelet and toying with the diced vegetables inside. 

“So,” Kyle goads, “what else you got?”

Alex rolls his eyes, speaks so low he could be talking to himself.

“We don’t even know each other that well,” he breaths, shaking his head.

Kyle shrugs easily.

“So actually talk to him. You clearly have a connection.” Kyle’s voice goes soft as he continues, “And he might not know your middle name or whatever, but he gets you. It’s like he just knows what you need and how to support you. It’s a little creepy, to be honest.”

Alex looks downright dreamy for a brief moment, then shakes his head as though to banish frivolous thoughts.

“I need a plan,” he whines, “I can’t just go in blind.”

“This isn’t combat, Captain,” Kyle insists, but he backs off when Alex grimaces.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he says, and Alex shakes his head.

“You didn’t offend me, it’s just-” he laughs, “‘Captain’ is kind of a thing Michael calls me. When we’re, you know, doing things you’re vanilla ass couldn’t handle.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle groans, dropping his head into his hands. “No, no, no, no, no. I reject that information.”

He looks up at Alex laughing and glares at him, but his own treacherous lips are pulling into a smile. Kyle piles egg whites onto his toast and raises to his lips.

“And?” he asks, taking an exaggerated bite of his breakfast and motioning Alex to do the same. 

Alex flips his omelet closed and cuts off a piece.

“And what happens if it is just a scene for him?” His tone is light, but Kyle hears the hesitation to be vulnerable, the fear of uncertainty and loss of control and all the things his restrained, stoic friend dreads most. 

He smiles warmly, reassuringly at Alex, dropping his chin in his hand.

“Then I’ll come over with whiskey and ice cream, and you can talk about your feelings and cry on my shoulder, and then we’ll drunkenly egg his car.” 

Alex’s shoulders shake with laughter and he finally, finally spears a large hunk of omelet with his fork and devours it. Kyle grins.

“You know I got you, bro,” he teases.

“Stop,” Alex laughs.

“Wanna practice your speech on me?” Kyle continues. “Or I could read over your text before you send it.”

Alex lays his fork down and folds his arms over the table, his trademark come-to-jesus stance.  He gazes steadily at Kyle and smirks, tilting his head slightly as though amused by what he sees. Kyle is suddenly very nervous.

“You know,” he says, and Kyle swallows a mouthful of egg whites with a gulp, “I think I’d rather talk about you and Liz Ortecho. Or did you think I didn’t notice that you’re ‘coffee breaks’ are perfectly timed to hers?”

Oh, shit, Kyle thinks, this is gonna be ugly.

[ckret2]

Hazard Pay

Boston is a string of destruction from Fenway to the Financial District, and weeks after the four-way titan battle, workers are still toiling around the clock to clean out the rubble. And yet, when Ghidorah returns to the scene of the battle, the city comes to a hushed halt.

Meaning there's nothing for a pack of nearby demolition workers to do but sit in the shade and see if they can get a cool video of Ghidorah walking around.

This is part of an ongoing series of KOTM one-shots, although this one's basically completely stand-alone. It's set during the last fic I posted: Ghidorah interacted with some humans, and I decided to write the same interaction from the humans' perspectives. If you don’t wanna read the others fics in the series, all you need to know is that it's been a few weeks since KOTM happened and Ghidorah didn't die. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

Cameron waved to the half dozen demolition workers sitting in the shade across the street from their work site. A couple of them wearily waved back. He lifted a twelve pack of bottled water in the air, and a couple workers weakly applauded. "Courtesy of the Boston Fire Department." He sat on the curb, tore a hole in the plastic wrapping, and claimed a bottle for himself before everyone else raided it.

He held out a bottle to Beck—who was standing in the middle of the street like an idiot who didn't know what shade was for—and shook it at her.

"Oh. Thanks." She distractedly took the bottle and moved back out into the street, raising her cell phone to the west again.

"Get out of the sun. You look like a strawberry."

"Uh-uh. I can see Ghidorah from here." She attempted to unscrew her bottle with her teeth so she wouldn't have to lower her phone.

"Is he doing anything?"

"Mm-mm." She gave up on using her teeth, stuck the bottle between her thighs, and used her free hand to unscrew it. "Not yet. He's just looking at the ground."

"Then sit down. You're not gonna film something that'll beat that video of the lightning wing thing, and I'm getting hotter looking at you. See this?" He held out his arm, turning it back and forth so she could see how the sweat shone on his dark brown skin. "That's your fault."

She blew a raspberry and didn't move. He waved her off and removed his hardhat to (ineffectively) fan himself with it.

“It’s not even that hot,” Yakov said, sitting by Cameron. “The humidity spiked when Ghidorah got here.”

Yacov also had his phone out, but he was sitting in the shade sensibly, tapping at the screen. Cameron nodded at Yacov’s phone. "Any word from Fred?"

Fred was their supervisor. Fred was an ass. When everyone's cell phones had made the shrill emergency tone alerting them to an approaching titan, Fred had jumped in one of the work pickups and took off.

With their water.

And the keys to the other work pickup.

So here they were.

"Nothing," Yacov said. "Got a live feed from Fenway, though."

"Told you," Beck said. "Told you he went back to Fenway."

Cameron grimaced at Yakov. "You're gonna kill your battery, man."

He shrugged.

Several jets streaked by overhead. Everyone froze, squinting up into the bright sky. Beck shielded her eyes to watch Ghidorah look up at them, too. When the noise died down with no missiles being fired, Beck asked, "Do you think we're still on the clock?"

"We'd better be," Cameron said. "We'd better be getting overtime for this. Or hazard pay. We've got the Air Force and a titan here, that's like working in a war zone. Fuckin' Ghidorah of all titans, too."

"We are literally in the middle of an alien invasion," Yakov muttered.

"Bet Fred's gonna make us come in on Saturday to finish this job," Beck said. "I've got a wedding to get to."

"I'm not coming in on Saturday," Yacov mumbled. (He was perpetually excused from working Friday evenings or Saturdays for religious reasons; he'd cheerily offered to do Sunday jobs instead, which was, of course, never gonna happen in Boston.) He jerked his head up. "Hey! Ghidorah flipped a tank."

"No way." Cameron leaned over to try to see Yacov's phone. "We'd be able to hear the fighting from here, wouldn't we?"

"No, no, he—" Yacov was grinning. "He just picked it up and turned it over. With his mouth."

Beck laughed obnoxiously, and lowered her phone to look it up herself.

"Like he's playing with it," Yacov went on.

Cameron huffed. "How're they gonna get the soldiers out of that tank?"

Yacov shrugged. "Call Godzilla to turn it back over?" Beck laughed again.

Ghidorah ducked out of view for long enough that Beck decided it wasn't worth standing in the middle of the road anymore, joined the others on the curb, and started trying to egg them into helping her brainstorm memes you could make out of an upside-down tank. (No one was interested in helping. Yacov insisted that memes had to evolve more naturally than that.) All their phones buzzed with a second alert, warning them that Ghidorah was moving east on I-90. Cameron tried to find a vantage point from which he could watch the approaching titan without leaving the shade, and the group discussed the wisdom of trying to catch a ride to avoid him.

"Maybe we don't have to run," Yacov said, as if any of them had budged from the curb after discussing the possibility. His phone had died, and Beck had reluctantly surrendered hers so he could keep up with the news. "It sounds like he's going slow and watching where he steps and shit. As long as we don't run under his feet, we should be fine."

"Aren't they radioactive?" Beck asked.

"That's Godzilla."

"Aren't they all?"

Yacov shrugged.

"Maybe he's looking for someone to step on," Cameron said. He could see two of the three heads bobbing around in the general area of the Hynes Convention Center, just a few blocks west now. Damn, he was so much bigger than Cameron had expected. Footage taken by helicopters five miles away really didn't demonstrate how titanic a titan was like staring up at one from the ground did.

"Don't think so," Yacov said. "No reported injuries so far besides one of the guys in the tank."

"Aww, tank guy." Cameron put his hardhat over his heart.

Ghidorah disappeared from view behind a skyscraper.

"Oh—your girlfriend texted," Yacov said to Beck. "She wants to know how close you are to the danger zone."

Beck, who was rolling her water bottle over her cheeks in some futile attempt to use the condensation to wash off her blooming sunburn, said, "Tell her he ate me. Tell her I'm dead."

Yacov laughed while Cameron said, "Beck, what the hell?"

"She told me Godzilla crushed my parrot! It's revenge. It's fair." She leaned over to watch as Yacov typed. "Add a ghost emoji."

Ghidorah reappeared on the other side of the skyscraper, and Cameron stumbled back a step. "Oh shit." The titan was a lot closer now. And he was turning down their street.

Beck hissed, "Gimme gimme gimme," grabbed her phone back from Yacov, and stood to record. The other workers farther down the curb jumped to their feet as well.

"Okay," Cameron said, turning slowly to the others, "So, the strategy is... to not stand under his feet, right? That's our whole strategy?" They nodded in vague agreement, moving back toward the nearby building without looking away from Ghidorah.

Beck swore as her phone died, stuffed it in her pocket, and glowered up at Ghidorah.

Then she looked across the street at the building they were supposed to be demolishing. And back at Ghidorah. And at the building.

And turned to the rest of the crew. "Hey," she said. "I've got an idea. Show of hands, who doesn't want to come in on a Saturday to get this building demolished?" Five hands cautiously went up. "Who did Fred leave his whistle with?"

###

A shrill whistling sound came from somewhere around their feet. They looked down, expecting to see that they’d stepped on something noisy, but instead saw a cluster of machine makers together, waving wildly to get their attention. What? What in the world did they want? They eyed them warily to see if they had anything that looked like weapons, then lowered their heads, getting closer.

Once they had their attention, the machine makers stopped waving, and one in the middle stepped forward, pointed up at them, pointed at a building across the street, and then pantomimed an exaggerated punch toward the building.

They glanced at the building. It was heavily damaged, one wall half caved in.

They couldn’t remember if that one was their fault or the little king’s; were the machine makers scolding them for damaging it? Or maybe asking them to finish the job. That building wasn’t very stable. It would be far easier to bring it down than to fix it up.

One of them looked at the machine maker again; it repeated the punch gesture, and all the machine makers looked up at them expectantly. Well. Why not.

They raised a tail up, whipped it around, and slammed it into the building’s damaged wall. One swing was all it took to make the building crumble in on itself and slowly collapse. The machine makers that had been waving scattered, sprinting down the street to dodge falling debris. Idiots.

###

Putting his hardhat back on as he sprinted, Cameron yelled, "We'd better be getting hazard pay! Holy shit!"

"Fred's gonna kill us!" Yacov said, twisting around to see if anything was actively falling in their direction. All he could see was a mass of golden scales stretching upward. He almost tripped over his own feet. "Beck, I'm gonna kill you!"

Beck had both her hands clapped over her head protectively and was grinning from ear to ear. "You're just jealous I gave an order to a dragon!"

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome & encouraged! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links. If you wanna read the fic about the above events from Ghidorah’s perspective, it’s “Machine Maker Music”)

[holy-mountaineering]

This Tree of Life is for an anonymous friend who shall go unnamed but they are not unloved!

Think of this spread as a sort of quantum map, or even the land of a regular map, everything is happening at once, in each place. It’s important to think of yourself as moving “through” the map but you are also simultaneously everywhere at once. For the sake of this specific experiment, think of this as a map. Maybe as a person, the Qabalistic Adam Kadmon.

Where we’re starting the journey from is Kether, the monad, the first sign of creation. We’ll call this your hometown, since it is where you’re from originally. Here we have the “meh” card, Queen of Swords, or how you feel about what you think and your reasoning.

Ideally, this Queen is the “caller out of bullshit.” She is watery (intuitive) enough to feel when a facade is being put up and airy (intelligent) enough to cut the shit and address the fakery. The difference between someone trying to take advantage of another and a person who accidentally causes misfortune is the intention of said individual. Don’t be fooled by kind wolves or rabid sheep.

She rests at her throne with the head or mask of a man and the sword of her mind she severed the head/mask with. Her expression is one of disinterest, she’s done this many times before and shall again and again. It is her nature.

Be aware of intentions, even  your own. Be wary of situations and people talking from behind masks they wish to use to obscure their true meaning. Especially be aware of yourself and your masks you hide behind.

In Chokmah, which is like your freeway getting you out onto the road out of  your hometown is the always welcomed X Fortune, Jupiter, Kaph. 

The “wheel of” Fortune is the rotating of things from confusing and/or destructive to beneficial. The gods Hanuman and Sobek to Crowley represented these ideas and the spinning ‘Wheel of Fortune, ol’ Fortuna is the constant motion of life and our experience stuck in it.. The Sphinx on top has waited through the turns patiently and meditatively and now It is on top again. 

Expand your influence through patience. It’s getting better just you wait.

In Binah, which is ruled by Saturn and for the sake of this reading we will call the first stop on your roadtrip. You haven’t really arrived anywhere but you’re stopping and getting a chance to repack your car in a more efficient way. Sitting in Binah is the fuckery of the 7 of Swords, Futility.

This is the main thrust of the Will through the mind being thwarted by in helpful organization of ideas. Each sword with a planetary sigil are like the spikes in a parking garage, one way. It isn’t that the ideas or aspects represented by these swords are “bad” just that their placement and yours are not lined up in the best way right now. 

Mentally and communication wise pull back from what you’re going at and work on how your organizing the information in your head.

In Chesed which is ruled by Jupiter and again for the sake of this experiment we’ll say involves your influence and benevolence in your current trip is the 9 of Cups, Happiness. 

I call this ‘mutually beneficial relationships’ or expanding influence (Jupiter) going or being pulled both ways (Pisces). Each cup has its own source but everything is flowing into each other down to the base of the 3x3 structure. There is a lot of water and all it represents and it hasn’t reached its peak yet and is still driving upward and outward.

Cultivate relationships and connective feelings that aren’t lopsided or just giving/taking. Keep building  you’re not done yet.

Across the Tree in Geburah, which is Mars Town, where you find your drive and what you’re trying to accomplish/conquer is the popular tonight Atu XIX The Sun, Resh, Sol. 

The Sun is The Lord of Light and Life, the center of our little Solar System. Everything in the fairly large gravitational pull of the Sun is affected by it which pulls everything to it. If it weren’t for The Sun, nothing in our Solar System (named after Sol, The Sun Himself) would be where it is or nearly as well lit or full of life.

This more or less self sufficient little nuclear reactor in space gives life and light but also pulls small things which cannot maintain an orbit around it in for the final burn. bright and full of life and light but deal not with bullshit trifles. 

Center yourself but be aware of what you effect and how. Keep pumping out the power but make sure it’s that good good renewable energy.

In Tiphareth, the Sun and center of gravity holding all this in place, the heart pumping the blood through this, your heart is the (more fuckery) Princess of Swords, the earthy part of Air.

This is the material situations that manifest from your way of thinking and communicating! You have to understand that we literally create reality with our perception, thoughts, and language. And that can get messy if we don’t keep them in check.

Get your head into the game as they say, you’re here right now and what is going on in this moment is what you need to focus on. Stay away from nostalgia and daydreaming, think on your situation, not possible scenarios. 

In Netzach, Venus town, where you have the realization about how this is going to change you as a person with a personality is well EXTRA FUCKERY, self fuckery, if thou wilt. The 9 of Swords, Cruelty (to self and then by proxy, others).

Like the other 9s this is a massive building up, in this case of Air, mind, thinking, communicating. This is beating yourself up about a decision that must be made. Astrologically, Mars in Gemini relates to action being thwarted because of a split mind on a matter.

You are mentally at a fork in the road and you need to make a choice one way or another.

You’re building up a lot of ideas but you need to decide which way you want to go or it’s going to keep tearing you up mentally. There is a lot of force and mass here, move it or lose it.

In Mercury Town Hod-ville, where all the Universities are and everyone has real intellectual shit going on is a whole new way of thinking and perceiving, Atu XX The Aeon, Shin, Fire.

Think about where you are now and how you go about doing things in general. Do you remember a time before this point in your life when you acted differently and didn’t have this kind of understanding of the world? The Aeon is a new understanding and thus a new way of acting in your life.

Harpocrates giving the sign of silence has to do with the meditative process of accepting this new law of life. You must truly grasp the meaning of this change in order to act in the new “spirit of the age” if you will.

You are being born anew through fire and blood, you are emerging from the egg in the background and coming forth.  What you take away from this will be with you forever but one day will also be improved on and brought to a new level. 

On the Moon in Yesod, the receptive and reflective place that is a lot about the feelings that you’re picking up from all this is the organized 6 of Wands, Victory. 

This is organizing each action to interact with another to create friction at the intersections. 6s are like the idealized form of each of the suits, in this case FIRE or action, movement. Victory is achieved through strong organization. Here the strands come together to form the rope you pull yourself up with. Each piece is strong on it’s own but when you twist them together correctly you have a much better tool. 

Don’t do isolated things, use each action to build on your goals.

Down here in Malkuth-istan, the everyday life mundane, waking up pooping, and going to work world is a wedding! VI The Lovers. 

These Lovers aren’t about romantic love as much as it is the ‘Love unites the divided.’ This is the ceremony part of the alchemical wedding or the announcement of the intention to dissolve duality. Coagula.

All inverse and adverse elements of the card are brought together under the blessing of the Initiator who is giving the sign of the enterer. This is to say he is blessing your entering into this union of your shadow and conscious self.

You have some work to do on making a more unified you. There are issues that once brought together and balanced make more sense. Bring opposites or aspects of yourself you’re not familiar with/comfortable with together in your life to make a more complete whole. Set intention to do this, maybe even formally. 

SO, whenever you get over being over “it all” and you realize it’s just a stuck point, shit will finish getting different, again. This change in “luck” should give you a chance to look at how you’re organizing your own funeral, so to speak. If you feel like you’re pushing a fucking boulder up hill, maybe don’t. Maybe figure out a pulley system or conning someone else into doing the work like your little one eye’d Friend, lol.

And you’ll gain more important influence by surrounding yourself with folks who give and take in relatively equal proportions. I know, I know, this is “The Dream” but it is possible to cut off people that just sap your “love force” leaving you with nothing but force. Refocus on YOUR goals and YOUR Light and the things in Orbit of you will makes sense and hold their satellite positions and continue to do their little (and big) jobs. But this is all done by GETTING YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME. If you see yourself as a lone wolf fighting winter alone, winter will eat your ass every time, and not in a fun ass eating way, more in an ice giant just gobbling you up. You make your reality, possibly more than most, so make it one that puts you at the center so you can get shit done.

You aren’t going to grow from this garbage heap if you don’t stop beating yourself up about every goat-forsaken choice you make! Your total understanding of your standing in the Universe is about to get a reboot anyhow, so just surround yourself with people and energy that allows you to build toward that anomalyous “self goals” thing we’ve been kinda talking about. You’re doing one “Supreme Ritual” that is your life, so make it all Work together instead of weird little stand alone actions you do every once and a while when it suits your fancy, Your Path requires a fuck load more that that from you.

And speaking of demands, that wedding… You’re hanging in there (pun absolutely intended) to do Greater things, and Greater means integrating. Like I was just saying about that 6 of Wands, bring it all together as a “Supreme Ritual” of your Goatdamned life and get out there and fucking take it, announcing that you shall take what is yours, which is of course, only you…

Well, there you are anonymous bud and Odin friend/family/familiar.

Beat down the walls and Goatspeed on your journey UP!

-Frater N0vght