#the lure of Forbidden Snacks

[dontpetmeibite]

Good luck with that 'don't eat organic food' thing. Some people will never learn.

At one point in time Hook, Knock Out, Flatline and Glit all sat around Soundwave and me in a circle and said, "This is an intervention. We are going to teach you how to clean out Laserbeak's fuel tank, because we give up."

I told Marissa about it and she said it's probably Cybertronian 'pica' which is apparently a thing some humans have where they eat things they shouldn't. It's like a compulsion or something.

Now that LB is hanging out with Wildrider all the time I swear I can't figure out if there's anything they won't put in their mouths.

(We went 'travelling' once and Laserbeak swallowed something they called 'an infinity stone'. Which is apparently very rare in some places and common in others. We were in a place where they are relatively common. For an entire fucking quartex every time she got hiccups it opened up miniature rifts.)

Unrelatedly, are flobsters organic? They look like they'd be fun to catch. Too much work to be a genuinely good source of nutrition but an entertaining snack.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 03

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 3: "I'm moving out."

You've never been a hypochondriac. Each time something strange and new occurred over the past week, you simply normalized it and moved on. But seven sevens mysteriously appearing on your skin the morning after your fever spell were admittedly too much, too eerie.

Something was definitely up.

So you went to the all-seer, the earthly keeper of scientific knowledge, the only place that could tell you what the hell was going on with concrete authority: NaverMD.

But then even you and NaverMD were stumped. Feeding your symptoms into the search engine reported a limited consensus of only two diagnoses. Dr. Naver, MD concluded that you either had a soulmate, or some extremely rare, spontaneous condition in which all your toenails will fall off and cause your eventual and sudden death.

Well, actually, no, the first diagnosis was cancer. But it always is, even when you're just constipated from too many snacks and too little fiber, so you discarded that one immediately.

Despite yourself, you found yourself leaning towards the worse of the two. Because somehow even the prospect of a bizarre, yet-unproven disease still seemed more believable than you having a soulmate.

And then you made your first mistake.

Oh, how simple life had been. You were just a wee child, trying to narrow down your suspicions, so young and naive. You never stopped to realize that some things were better left unknown, uncharted.

Like some theological figures before you, you couldn't resist the forbidden fruit of knowledge. Too drawn by the serpentine lure of instant internet search results, you plugged "7 tattoo" into Naver. And now you must live with your decision.

Because smoldering at you from behind your suddenly hateable phone screen are seven men widely considered to be amongst Korea's national treasures.

The thus-far revealed tattoo locations match some of yours, and you try to stave away the sinking feeling that the remaining others are just as accurate. Because that would mean…

…That would mean…

You have a soulmate. Soulmates.

Seven soulmates… who happen to be Bangtan Seonyeondan.

And that’s the moment your mind breaks.

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It's fine. You're fine. You are handling recent revelations with utmost grace and dignity.

Or at least you are sticking your pinky up as you completely obliterate a tub of ice cream in panic. It takes all the poise you can muster. Understandably. And then you almost throw up all that processed dairy back up, your stomach churning too much for you to punish it with cookies and cream like your usual comfort mechanism.

Why is this happening? Why you? You're not some chosen one, and you've never wanted to be the main character in some lame k-drama or fanfiction.

Maybe this is a weird prank your mother concocted to punish you for completely ignoring her texts and forgetting your "obligations" – i.e. popping out grandchildren for her to coo over. And that, to her well-meaning if conservative outlook, requires a well-established partnership and romance at the minimum. Your father must have let slip that you've skipped all of the group dating events she's been spamming your family group-chat with.

Your caring, loving, ruthless mother has picked your worst nightmare and brought it to reality, all to teach you a lesson. To try to ensure that you find love before you reach hagdom at thirty and must be sent to live shrouded in the woods, away from decent, beautiful society. (Her words, despite the fact that she herself is quite a ways past that age. Not that you would ever point that out. You value your life.)

The thought calms you, and you decide to vacuum the feathers from the pillows you destroyed in a fit of rage and madness. You needed to buy new throw pillows, anyway.

The loud drone of the vacuum soothes you further. Of course, having more than one soulmate is possible, but extremely unlikely. Having seven? Who happen to be the some of the most famous people in the world? That is as statistically likely as you winning the lottery seven times in a row. Probably less, actually.

Pfft! Soulmates? Hah! Nice try, eomma.

You have to hand it to her, she really had you going there for a second. You chuckle to yourself as you turn off the vacuum and go to empty it in the trash. Noticing your kitchen trash is full, you tie it off and carry it downstairs to the garbage room.

You feel oddly pensive as you carry the bag down. Perhaps something about the odor of the two-day old kimchi jjigae leftovers emanating from the plastic is addling your brain, because despite your rationalization you now can't stop thinking about the concept of soulmates.

It seems like there's so much that goes into a partnership, even with pre-destined compatibility. Sure, your parents are soulmates and love each other very much, but that doesn't mean their marriage is perfect. The equilibrium, the joy, the easy comfort they find in each other now is the result of many years of growing both together and apart, of being their own individuals who have learned to fit into each other like puzzle pieces.

They are soulmates, but their happiness wasn't fated. Perhaps the universe contrived for them to meet, but their bond was forged by their own hands. They chose each other.

You can't imagine ever giving someone the keys to your heart and trusting them not to disappoint you.

Or trusting yourself not to disappoint them.

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On your way back to your floor, you’re surprised to see your landlord with a guest when you step into the building elevator.

“Oh, great timing! Say hello, this young man moving in at 8004, right next to you,” your landlord says.

Your new neighbor is decked out in a bucket hat and oversized sweater ensemble. You see the moon tattoo peeking out from the back of his sweater and gulp.

That… That can’t be Park Jimin… right?

A split second, and that’s when everything you have been avoiding clicks with the finality of a key turning in a lock.

The call with Mijin, the anomalies you’d experienced, the comical twist of your recent everyday life.

It wasn't a prank.

And despite all the very real and terrifying things your mother is capable of, surely this coincidence is beyond even her ability to machinate. Which can only mean one thing.

You do have soulmates, and the universe has begun plotting.

But you… you refuse to do this. You’re not a little girl that the world can tell to spin in her skirt and flutter her lashes. There are things worth fighting against, and these things are love and the eventual disappointment of finding out that the person you adored is fallible and rife with flaws. All the more so when it's an idol with a perfect shiny image to uphold.

Despite your earlier post-Naver meltdown, you now find yourself strangely calm. This is a do-or-die situation, and you have never been one to go down without a fight. Your will shall not be bent, no matter what anyone says about "fate."

You realize your new neighbor is peering at you curiously, and you staunchly avoid his gaze. Your hair falls in front of your face like you're Sadako from The Ring, because you don't want him to remember any identifying features. Your landlord looks confused at your silence, but says nothing, and an awkward silence envelops the cramped confines of the elevator.

When the elevator finally, finally dings open, you refuse to wait and walk with your companions like a normal person. To both your landlord and your – ugh – soulmate's shock, you power walk out of there like you're an ahjumma heading to the store on discount day. When you finally make it to your once-safe haven, your now forsaken sanctuary, you slam the door behind you.

With your heart thundering in your chest, you look in the mirror and take in frantic breaths.

You decide once and for all.

“Let’s not fall in love,” you tell yourself, the promising ferocity in your eyes a hand-me-down from your mother.

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Today is a good day, thinks Kim Jaehyung. The sun is shining, his wife is making his favorite oxtail soup for dinner, and he's finally managed to rent out the last vacant unit in his building. The new tenant is polite and, more importantly, has paid the entire lease up front without even needing any bank loans.

The only blip is his other tenant's odd behavior in the elevator, and the way you practically fled into your apartment. The new renter is a handsome young man – Jaehyung would have thought that a pretty girl about his age would have been happy to show him the ins and outs of the building. Though perhaps you needed to go to the bathroom – he's certainly had those moments.

"She's my neighbor?" the man asks, sounding curious, his gaze following the way you speed walk away from them.

"Yes! Right next door," Jaehyung replies, trying to remember the new tenant's name. He had just looked at the lease agreement, too! "She's normally very accommodating, so I'm sure the two of you will get along well."

As if to mock his statement, your door slams shut behind you. With a shrug, Jaehyung leads the renter – Park! That was it! Tenant Park! – to the door next to yours.

After showing Park-ssi his new apartment and handing him the keys, Jaehyung is in the elevator when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

You I'm moving out

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You're exhausted. You might have told your landlord you were moving, but finding a new place within your budget that doesn't come with charming qualities like decorative mold or live-in, six-legged pets is proving difficult on such short notice.

Why isn't Park Jimin of fucking BTS living in one of the more expensive areas of Seoul, anyway? Why would someone that rich and famous choose your cozy, decent little building? He's gentrifying your already gentrified neighborhood! You're too accustomed to the luxuries of upper-middle class life to be happy about being forced out.

So you've taken to leaving home absurdly early and working until late, in hopes of avoiding any run-ins with your soulmate neighbor.

Despite your best efforts, you have somehow managed to end up alone in the elevator with Jimin. You were already inside, and he was running for the door looking so frazzled you didn't have the heart to press the close button on him. Curse the universe for taking advantage of your kind heart and gentle, amiable nature.

"Thank you," Jimin gasps, clearly out of breath. A bead of sweat trickles down from his temple, which you definitely do not notice. "I forgot my wallet."

He takes off his mask to breathe more easily, and you try to look anywhere but at his plump lips and the way his eyes squish when he smiles at you. The universe may have all manner of nefarious powers at its beck and call, but that smile might be the deadliest weapon of all.

"No problem," you mutter, hoping he never sees you again and yet also wishing you had used more eye cream today. Thankfully, the elevator is fast, but as the door dings open somehow Jimin keeps pace with you.

"We didn't get a chance to formally meet," he says cheerfully, somehow keeping stride with you despite your best efforts to break the world record for fastest casual walk. "I'm Jimin. What's your name?"

The simple, completely normal question makes you panic. You've reached your door and you gaze longingly at the handle, dreaming of the safety that beckons on the other side. So near, but so far.

You unlock it, and realize he's paused next to you, awaiting your response. That violently sweet smile is still on his face, and you find yourself staring dazedly at him for a moment before snapping out of it.

You need to exit this situation. Immediately.

You open the door and look him dead in the eye. "I don't talk to strangers."

Swiftly stepping inside, you close the door firmly behind you and try not to dwell on the fact that he is just as beautiful with his mouth hanging open.

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Jimin stares in shock at the closed door in front of him, wondering what on earth he did wrong. He just wants to be on friendly terms with his neighbors – well, especially the pretty one – but you seem to be avoiding him like the plague.

Maybe you're shy? Or slow to trust? Jimin doesn't think he's been doing anything threatening or overly familiar – certainly nothing to warrant the way you almost flee whenever you see him.

Then again, he's not a single (well, not that he knows whether you're single or not, but you seem to live alone, and haven't had any visitors of any gender despite being quite attractive, not that he's spent that much time thinking about whether or not you are single or anything) young woman living alone, so perhaps his judgment is biased.

Maybe he just needs to try harder! Show you that he really does have good intentions. Or would that be creepy?

It's been so long since anyone has treated him like this – just a regular, pesky person – that he can't help but be endeared.

And intrigued.

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These days even the temporary security personnel know your name. They know to expect you putting in overtime, but for today’s working hours you’ve completely outdone yourself.

It's late. Late enough that even for a workaholic Korean, you're the last one out of the office. You begin to make the trek to the train station, grabbing your keys from your oversized purse in case any weirdos try to follow you. Though then again, your bag itself could probably be a decent weapon – your building was updating and refreshing all of the first-aid stations, and so you have a bulky, metal kit weighing you down.

It would be kind of funny, actually, if you were able to injure someone with a first-aid kit. Something, something, irony.

You smile, mildly amused at the thought, but it quickly fades when you see a figure slumped on a bench at the bus stop. It looks to be a man, dressed in torn clothing, and when he shifts you see bruises littering his skin. His hair and eyes are hidden by the brim of a black baseball cap, and his features are otherwise also covered by a black mask, and you wonder if his face is also in bad shape.

You make your way closer, the kit weighing heavily in your purse, because you're an idiot who can't leave well enough alone.

"Do you need help?" you ask carefully, standing just slightly far away in case this is a violent person who's going to lunge at you. The man looks up in surprise, and you feel your lunch try to make a resurgence.

Because staring back at you with a black eye is Min Yoongi of BTS.

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Yoongi exhales and slumps forward on the bench outside the photoshoot location, wondering why he's been feeling so off lately. It's not quite the same as the depression slumps he's used to – rather than numbness, it just feels like something is missing.

The only time the feeling recedes is at night, when the ghost of that strange lullaby whispers at the edges of his mind. Yoongi's put the basic melody to paper, but he can't get it quite right. Every time he tries, it's like some note eludes him, flitting out of reach just before he can grasp them.

"Do you need help?"

Yoongi almost jumps before looking up to see a prim, well-dressed woman gazing at him in a mixture of suspicion and concern. Your eyes widen at his face, and he can register the exact moment you realize who he is.

Fuck.

You look horrified, which is not the expression he's used to seeing from fans. You take a step back, half turning as if to run. Also not something that typically happens.

Yoongi should leave, return to the photoshoot, find his manager and tell him he's been spotted in case damage control is needed. Instead he finds himself strangely spellbound, staring as your jaw clenches and your eyes close. You set your shoulders as if steeling yourself for war and turn back to him.

You reach into your purse and he tenses, ready to hide his face for when you inevitably pull out your phone to try to take a picture of him with fake bruises all over his face.

To his utter bemusement, instead of a phone, you pull out a metallic-looking case and toss it at him without warning. Yoongi is too taken aback to do anything other than watch it clatter to the ground.

"What the–" he begins, but you whip back around before he can finish and take off as fast as your heels allow. "...Fuck?"

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As far as obnoxious things the universe has thrown at you go, this one isn't so bad.

That's what you tell yourself as you stare at the very shiny, very pointy looking knife being brandished in your face in the alley you use as a shortcut home.

At least it's not a soulmate.

"There's no one here to rescue you, little girl," this apparent mugger gloats, and for a moment you actually feel a little flattered. Little girl? Really? At twenty-five? That's downright polite, honestly.

"Huh? Is everything okay back there?" calls a strangely familiar voice, making the both of you freeze. Thanks to your recent frantic googling and research, you recognize it surprisingly quickly, and you gasp and look your assailant dead in the eye.

"Kill me. Right now," you order, your voice leaving no room for argument. The maniacal glint leaves your attacker's gaze and he stares at you in confusion. And perhaps a little fear.

"Uh, what?"

"Fucking do it, bitch," you hiss, casting your gaze frantically behind him to see if the owner of the voice is coming to investigate. You point at your chest, where you assume your heart probably is. If you have one. "Right here."

"What the fuck, no, I just want your money?" he says in bewildered tones, beginning to back away from you. You hear footsteps from behind him, and panic begins to set in.

"DID I FUCKING STUTTER?" you screech, wanting your attacker to just hurry the fuck up already. Seriously if he wasn't prepared to stab someone why the hell is he waving around a knife? What a little bitch. This is the problem with youth these days – all talk and no follow-through.

"You know what, fuck it, just go," the guy finally says, dropping the knife to the floor. "This is too much for me. I should have just gone to trade school like my mom wanted."

"Whatever dude," you say with a shrug, taking the opportunity to gear up and sprint out of the alley. You pass a confused looking Kim Taehyung, and pat yourself on the back for avoiding another contrived situation the universe tried to force onto you. It can take its cosmic intervention theory and shove it up its black hole where the stars don't shine.

Unfortunately you don't realize that to Taehyung, time slows as you run by. The scent of your hair, the silhouette of your lips… he is utterly captivated. He can't help but to peek into the alley to see where you were coming from, and is surprised to see a masked man just standing there, staring blankly at the ground. Metal glints, and he's shocked to realize that it's not the ground that has drawn the man's attention, but a knife.

"Yeah, I'm not cut off for this," he hears the guy mumble as he kneels down to pick up the weapon. Taehyung tenses, unsure of what to do, only for the man to toss it into a dumpster. "I… I should go apologize to mom."

Had this man tried to attack that girl? Taehyung's fist clenches at the thought, an uncharacteristic flare of anger lighting his chest. Then it relaxes as it dawns on him that you must have talked the man down. Not just talk him down, but give up on his supposed path of crime entirely.

So not just beautiful, but intelligent too. Empathetic. You probably love animals, because he can already tell you're perfect.

For days after, he can't get the strange girl out of his head, or the smell of your flowery shampoo out of his nose.

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You should have known. You should have fucking known.

"Eomma," you say carefully, lest you invite another scolding from your mother that leaves you equal parts guilty and offended. "This is a very strange place for auntie's birthday."

She purses her lips, managing to look simultaneously irritated with you and pleased with herself, and shoves you forward.

You sigh, resigned, and begin to walk inside the building with slumped shoulders, heels clicking morosely beneath your feet. Until the very pointed throat clearing behind you automatically straightens your spine in a lecture-induced response you have never been able to shake.

"Are you here for the dating event?" chirps the far-too-chipper woman at the front desk, face brightening at the appearance of such a lovely attendee. You force a smile in response, glancing over your shoulder to see that yes, your mother is still watching outside with her arms crossed.

You send her a wave that just makes her tap her foot impatiently. With a sigh, you turn around and nod.

"Yes," you respond with all the joy of a human sacrifice walking to their doom. "I guess I am."

The employee beams at you and pushes forward a form for you to fill out. When you check the box indicating that you indeed have been experiencing soulmate phenomena, because you're an idiot who can't lie even to save yourself, her smile grows even wider.

"It's so great that you're taking initiative," she gushes, oblivious to the way you are now grinding your teeth. "Some people think cosmic intervention will take care of everything, and never end up meeting their soulmate!"

God, goddesses, saints and shamans, whoever the fuck, you think silently. That is literally all I want.

For a moment the image of two spinsters laughing at your pain flashes through your mind, but it's gone before you can really register what happened. What you do notice is that your mother has left.

"Oops, I think I left my ID in my car," you say with a smile suddenly much more genuine than before. "I'll be right back."

The poor, unsuspecting attendant just nods, and you're out the door and around the corner just as a black Palisade rolls up to the building.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The store owner blinks in surprise at your appearance. It's broad daylight, and most of his customers are kids and teenagers. Grown adults don't tend to come here, other than the idol who thinks he's sneaky and the tired salarywoman who –

"Hey, Lee-ssi!" you greet cheerfully, sliding your game card out of your dainty purse. "Is there a new score for me to beat today?"

Lee Seungwon blinks again. You're wearing a sleek maroon dress that ends right above your knees, your hair is coiffed, you smell like a field of flowers instead of burnt coffee, and your face is powdered to perfection.

"[L/N]-ssi?" he asks tentatively. It looks like you. It sounds like you. But he wants to make sure, because you look far too perky for someone dressed like they're supposed to be on a date.

"Yes?" you reply, looking just as confused as he feels. "Is something wrong?"

"Er, no," he replies, accepting the game card from your manicured hand. "The usual? 2,000W?"

You grin and nod, prancing off to the Pacman machine with a bounce to your step.

Seungwon feels a strange sense of foreboding.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Seokjin is the best hyung. Obviously. He's handsome, he's funny, he cooks, he takes care of his brothers, and even drives them to speed-dating events that are objectively a terrible idea.

In fact, he's such a great hyung that instead of returning immediately home, he deserves a little bit of fun. So he heads to a familiar little establishment. Seokjin's managed to re-establish his place as number one in Pacman, but it can't hurt to fill up the leaderboard even more and show that immature punk who's boss.

The fact that he is a grown man in a silent war with a child over an arcade game wooshes gently over his fluffy hair.

Lee-ssi's eyes widen in surprise when Jin walks in, and the idol follows the dart of the elderly man's gaze to see a maroon dress and a very shapely backside. He stifles a sigh when he realizes it is parked right in front of the Pacman machine, and that he likely can't even ask the woman to hurry up lest she recognize him.

Then he realizes that she is inputting a name on the high score screen.

Right above his.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

[catboygraystripe]

help wanted 2 spoilers under the cut ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

okay. SO MUCH LORE. IS CASSIES DAD THE FUCKING MASK BOT????? FUCK AWFFFF CUNTTTTTUH /pos. THE TIMELINE IS SO????? ITS SO CONFUSING!? its like in between sb and ruin but also kind of not? but also like freddy remembering between retries of the cold storage game??

also. also the princess quest 4 and vanny mask reveal hit SO FUCKING HARD. SOOOOOOO GOOD.

(also what the fuck was with the charging station and cassie lol?)

okay so i first thought candy cadets story was about cassie being lured by mimic because of how it described it but it also fits for VANESSA. who had previously been VANNY but ESCAPED in the CANON PRINCESS QUEST ENDING and became VANESSA again..... but has been LURED by GREGORY AS GGY???!??!?????? AND BECAME VANNY AGAIN???!?!??!?!?? OH MY GODDDDDDUHH

also NO MONTY i didnt even notice because i was so focused on everything else rip 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 monty drought real

the vr portion of princess quest was actually SOOOOO FUCKING EXQUISITE. THE MISSING CHILDREN????????????????? (does this tell us the death order??)

SUN AND MOON.... OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THEY COULD FIX ME. THEY COULD LITERALLY SAVE ME.... SUN BEING A CUNT IS WHAT WE AS A SOCIETY NEEDED LOL AND JACK O MOON?????? HELLO?????????

CASSIE????? CASSIE MY BELOVED.. cassie is literally my skreenkly skrunkly baby precious actually and i will tolerate no CASSIE HARM.

the ballora gallery was actual peak. being able to throw the minireenas is insane. they are like a forbidden snack to me.

BABY GIVING US THE FUCKING ICE CREAM?????? LIKE OKAY BITCH???????? AUAHBSSHS

funtime foxy new pronouns just dropped

the fucking GGY reference had me INSANE. gregory reference save me. save me gregory reference. ouuuuuu 😭 i dont even care if hes evil thats my nephew.

the eyes in bonk a bon are so scary like so unnerving

glamrock bonnies fuckin model in the gallery looks like hes in the middle of being attacked and its making me insane i think

OKAY. OKAY NO GUYS. OKAY IM SOOO FUCKING NORMAL ABOUT DJ MUSIC MAN. GUYSSSS NO ACTUALLY HES LITERALLY MY FUCKING HUSBAND. LIKE OHHHHHHHHH MY GOOOOOODDDDDDDD GUYS.

im so interested in all the weird lore people will find in this i auaauuagagahgeh

[themonstertheater]

Hybrid Child #003: Noael"

7x5in

Graphite, charcoal, 24karat gold, and love on bristol. 2024

Art&Story: PeeMonster

Narration: DeidreVOx

Film: TheMonsterTheater

Noael is a hybrid child of the Holy Arch's Angel Gabrael and the waste demon Arael.. She has Haven's blessing of purity, able to harness her father's angelic essence in its purest form. Unlike waste demons, the hybrid children don't require feasts of wild demons in order to thrive.. however, Noael, having secretly developed a penchant for pungent, rotting energy, discovers her ability to lure wild demons to herself by emanating a pure, angelic frequency. The wild demons fall mesmerized, anticipating a fervent feeding of their own... only to be deviously devoured by their own meal. Noael helps herself to many feasts of their forbidden flesh--with massive consequence. After being rescued and schooled by her siblings, Noael resorts to keeping just a few wild demons close by as "pets"......... (but may actually still be sneaking little snacks when no one is watching...)♡

Comes FRAMED, as shown in video. ♡♡♡

Originals, prints, and more available at: http://www.TheMonsterTheater.com (link in bio)

I now offer payment plans available through services such as Affirm, Afterpay, and PayPal.. Enjoy now while paying over time!"

[coraline-delaney]

Dear Cora,

I feared that this would be the case! We need to do something about it as soon as possible, where was it you said you had seen that puffskein last? Poor Gregory must be terrified! And oh, yes, his name is Gregory and he is a refined gentleman, and not just because he has a mustache. He was rather a star in our common room! Somebody even transfigured one of the armchairs by the fireplace to be the perfect size for him! They didn't do a good job out of it, I would've certainly made it—

Do you have a plan on how to lure him out? I'm afraid I didn't get to be around Gregory that much for him to recognize or trust me, but I think @ask-sebastian might give you some good ideas. At the very least I've seen him giving Greg some snacks on numerous occasions, and Greg's owner did share a room with Sebastian.

If you ever end up trying to get Gregory to safety, I'll be willing to help. Keep me updated if you end up talking to Sallow!

Very worried but at the same time relieved, William ☀️

William,

Ah, Gregory! I last saw Gregory on the edge of the forbidden forest. I only hope he doesn't venture too far inside on his own.

He sounds very well loved, I wonder how he ended up out there on his lonesome?

He seemed to enjoy my sandwich but perhaps there's something (or someone) else who could gain his trust. I will reach out to @ask-sebastian for ideas.

Thank you for your help,

Cora

[sonderwrit]

C94: Obsession

I Have to Be a Great Villain - Masterpost

Slime X starts getting attached to Wang Yi while he remains clueless to his sneaking around and snacking.

WY: Snore—snore—

Slime: *plop*

Slime: Huu… 

*kacha opening noises*

Slime: Finally…free.

X—Species.

A rare species floating in the universe. 

It has no shape and no voice. Those who came in contact with it either disappeared completely or went berserk without reason. No one knew what its purpose was or why it appeared on Earth.

Slime: Sigh…human language is so, hard, to learn.

Slime: Although I've been listening this entire time…I can't understand it completely…nor can I express myself. Am I pronouncing things wrong?

Slime: But…I've finally found it. The "obsession" I've been missing.

[Next Day]

WY: Yawnnn—

WY: I don't know why, but I'm still exhausted after sleeping so much…

[Researchers can apply for a dormitory or just live in the lab.]

WY: Like I was doing math questions all night.

S-0: *munching noises* Hm? Not used to the locale, maybe? Then how about eating something nutritious to boost yourself first. This cat food is delicious. (It was impossible to eat this in the apocalypse world.)

WY: …shameless.

WY: Can a little cat like you really help a Host successfully complete his missions?

S-0: Huu…I won't lie…you're actually my first Host.

WY: Hah? That's too awful! (I'm your guinea pig?)

S-0: No, not at all.

S-0: Because of an incident in the past, all the more impressive seniors (senpai) all upgraded or left.

S-0: So there's nothing but newbies like us doing the work now.

WY: An incident?

S-0: Mhm. It seems there was a powerful senior (senpai) who tried to get rid of their status as a System and become a human being.

S-0: Although I don't know what happened, from then on we were forbidden to take on human forms. (We can only be animals or something else.)

WY: So it's like that.

WY: (No wonder there's cats and penguins.)

WY: Aish, every family has its troubles. 

WY: Might as well deal with what's in front of me first. Let's check on yesterday's experimental subject. (The soul of rationality)

WY: …hm? Why do I feel like..this fellow's a little smaller from yesterday?

S-0: I think that's true.

S-0: What should we do…?

WY: Although the description said X doesn't eat, perhaps we can try…

Slime: ?

Slime: *swallows* *chew chew*

WY: Hey, it actually ate it!

WY: So it can eat regular food after all.

WY: What about soymilk?

Slime: *crunch*

WY: Don't eat the spoon?!

WY: …what's the situation, can it tell what's food or not?

S-0: It's impossible to use normal logic to explain such an organism, interesting.

S-0: …

S-0: N-no, wait! Host, you can't be lured in by other experimental subjects!

S-0: Our mission has always been to act as tools for the male and female protagonists! If you're free, go show your face to the mermaid instead!

WY: I remember, I remember.

WY: I was thinking I'd get a full-body protective suit along with completing the mission to deal with this X when I return.

Slime: ?

WY: (If I seal off all entryways on my body, it won't burrow into my ear like last time again.)

S-0: Huu, Host is really enthusiastic about research, even though you could just go through the motions.

S-0; Are you interested in unknown organisms?

WY: More or less.

WY: I also want to confirm something that I thought was pretty impossible.

Slime: He…went out?

Slime: Wonderful.

Slime: My human is so cute~

Slime: I like him. I like him a lot—

Slime: But he's too weak, so he'll die if he's careless, right?

*scurrying noises*

Slime: After searching for so long…I have to protect him carefully…

WY: (Huh? My neck's a little itchy.)

WY: ?

Slime: For that—I  have to evolve faster.

Slime: Split myself up and go eat up some other materials.

WY: Eh? I felt like something just scurried out.

S-0: Was there? 

S-0: You're probably mistaken, right…?

Slime: *swooshes away*

[maskednerd]

Could you explain the free soup meme? I don't get it. Is the joke that Caleb is dumb?

Of course! I can try at the very least.

It's a version of the "Forbidden Snacks" meme. Where the joke is, you probably shouldn't drink rain water collected in a tree trunk. But it's tempting cause... free soup. Caleb seems like the type to be lured by that promise of Forbidden Forest Soup. It's not that he's dumb, more so naturally curious and naive.

Evelyn is basically his Forbidden Forest Soup

I referenced it in the tags, but I recommend listening to the "Me Want Bite" trilogy for a bit of context as well!

Forgive me, I'm terrible at explaining things. But I hope this helps!

[bmwiid]

I think the adoption skills of experienced quilters cannot be underestimated. I live in a town with a combined craft / fabric 'area' of a store and quilters are the opposite of cuckoos. They WILL try to steal your young and raise them as quilters. Escape can be difficult and unless you can show a devoted craft of your own (I managed to get away with "I am only here to look at the clothing patterns on sale, and promise only to touch the fashion fabrics!" but it was close) they will try to invite you to their den. Lures include fabric stashes, cookies and snacks, as well as forbidden and lost sewing lore.

Knitters, like quilters but often less social, are becoming more populous with the younger crafters - adopting them with secrets of yarn and knitting machines.

Unknowing crafters can be caught in the crossfire of the HIGHLY AGGRESSIVE nature of Knitters and Crochet when they clash. It's rare, but very few make it out. Luckily these clashes take place most in online spaces, but the corpses litter the boards.

*releases pack of dads into home depot* go……be free

[unhingedwomandiaries]

I woke up ravenous, my stomach growling like a neglected beast. Sourdough bread, crusty and forbidden, beckoned me like a siren's call. I stalked into the bakery, salivating like a Pavlov's dog, and inhaled the intoxicating yeast fumes.

Boule in hand, I craved something more sinister – protein to satiate my hunger. Tesco, here I came. Charcuterie sirens lured me with their salty promises. Then, I spotted it: coppa salami, glistening like a seductress's lips. A decade since my last indulgence, but that craving hit me like a freight train.

While I was at it, I grabbed pastrami for the husband – a promise is a promise, even if it's a heart attack waiting to happen. Austrian smoked cheese, because when in Tesco... And those limited-edition snacks? Irresistible, like a toxic affair.

As I approached checkout, my basket overflowing with gluttony, a judgmental harpy glared at me. Her anti-McDonald's activist tee screamed self-righteousness. She likely fantasized about force-feeding me kale.

But I've danced with food puritans before. As Arthur Miller said, "An insecure society clubs together and says the same thing over and over." I flashed a cherubic grin, swiped my card, and slung my bag of vice over my shoulder, leaving the protesting vegan aghast.

I was supporting local businesses, right? That's what I told myself as I skipped out, bouquet of bread and meats clutched tightly, ready to devour my sins.

[fumikomiyasaki]

❤️ with Henry and Melanie, Kaeru and James, Joel and Lucille, Peko and Churro, Beelby and Aza or Bengal and Petva

Adoration

"Miss Charmant? I sadly don' t think I can answer much on this given I barely know her aside from dorm leader duties... I would say her dedication to her crafts is admirable.I heard Mister violet has in interest in her as well...She is not my type but well I heard from her dorm members she does her job well and I am happy she is loved by many... I just don't have much particular feelings on her. If you excuse me I have to continue my work."

"James is someone I truely admire... sure I have strength already but to always be this headstrong to protect what you care about as well as this funny faces of his when Yuzu or Marcos get him nervous are a good laugh. I love that he never judged me since we met and always been there for me when I need help... he really is a friend I always want to show I how gratefull I am to have him."

He let out a heavy sigh in annoyance.

"I will not answer this cause its hard for me to figure out anything that does not strain me... she has way too much energy for me..."

"Roro is so sweet... she always sneaks me snacks, she often gets plushies with me she is super adorable!! She makes the best Lemon treats as well as one of our best in the dorm among customers.... I really need to get her a good souvenir from my tour eventually.... she derserves a little something as a thanks for keeping lil cute me smiling and happy."

"They are quite an exciting individual... more than anything I have seen back in hell... hard to figure... yet so tempting. At first I only got close to make sure Aza doesn't meddle in my observer work given their interest in the forbidden but... slowly I more and more got lured in by someone who could not only be fine with my weirdness but also be respectfull to my bugs... A very beautifull individual even if at times I have to pay close attention to them"

"What a fun one to spend time with... not only can their fists and scratches be fun to handle they have a lot of strong will I do admire in a fight... I gladly support someone on the path of strength and finding themselves.. i know fully well what to do if the world is against you and wants you to be something you aren't... its why I very much admire them and hold them dear and do hope their journey will be into a better life where they can be satified with themselves... maybe my music will give them courage as well. So i will try to be a pillar they can lean on for support and maybe also a wingman where I can... after all they deserve to be happy."

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Imagine the Ember Island Players creating a romance between you and Zuko which hits a little too close to home

You sat beside Katara and noticed how Zuko sat on the other side of her. Aang faltered, obviously wanting to sit there and you smirked as Zuko obliviously missed Aang’s look. Zuko had been with the group a few weeks now but his social skills still weren’t very good and you found it made for some very interesting interactions. His attempt at telling jokes alone made you smile every time you saw him for a full week afterwards and you found Zuko did a lot of things that amused you but apparently not so much the others. “I was going to sit there” Aang whined and Zuko shrugged “so? Just sit next to me”. Aang pouted and you laughed to yourself “here” you said standing up “take my seat Aang” and you moved so he could sit beside Katara. Katara was oblivious and you sat on the other side of Zuko chuckling at Aang’s blush. “What was that all about?” Zuko asked and you smiled “ow nothing you just almost ruined Aang’s evening”. Zuko frowned and went to ask what you meant when the lights dimmed so you knocked his arm shaking your head “i’ll tell you later now shhh”. Zuko folded his arm huffily but stopped talking. The play was wonderfully awful. As you hadn’t joined the gang straight away you knew you had time to just enjoy the first few acts and make fun of the way they portrayed all your friends. Plus what could they do to your character? You didn’t have any old flames like Katara or Sokka and you didn’t have an emotional backstory like Zuko or Aang. So you relaxed arms spread over the back of the bench and waited for *yourself* to make an appearance.

The second your actress walked on stage you knew it wouldn’t be good. They had your character all wrong! Your actress flirted with everyone and acted like a lovesick idiot. You didn’t think it could get much worse and then your character met Zuko’s.

“I’ll save you from the pirates” Zuko’s character purred to yours and you spluttered. “That...that wasn’t even me! That was Katara!” you whispered angrily. You looked to Zuko for confirmation who nodded “yeah I didn’t say that to you...and I certainly didn’t tie you up while staring at you like that”. “And I did not flirt with you like that either”. You both glared as your characters bonded and they actually invented Zuko letting you go voluntarily. As Zuko’s character stared off into the distance and said your name you heard Sokka and Suki wheezing from laughter while you simmered with anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t do that!” Zuko cried and you saw he was blushing vividly. That made you blush too and crossed your arms tightly “they better not stick with this theme”.

Of course they did. By the time act 3 had ended you and Zuko were living a star crossed lovers lifestyle in Ba Sing Sei. They again got you mixed up with Katara and said Azula kidnapped you to lure Zuko to the Earth King’s palace. The act ended with Zuko charging in to save you, offering his own life in exchange for yours, but Azula outmanoeuvred him and arrested him too. As the lights went up for intermission you and Zuko paused before exploding.

“That never even happened!”.

“I knew he was in Ba Sing Sei but we never went on a date”.

“Yeah that was a different girl”.

“And you did not fight with Jet over me”.

“I didn’t even know you knew Jet!” Zuko agreed and you both paused for air.

The gang all looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “What is so funny?” you cried and Sokka smiled. “We all know none of that stuff happened, we were there too remember?”. “Yeah so...can’t we rant?” you asked. “Well yeah but why get so mad about it? Are you trying to convince us or yourselves that the idea the two you flirted is so impossible?”. You and Zuko exploded again at the thought and Sokka and the others burst into laughter again. “All i’m saying is this is a lot of emotion to come from nowhere” Sokka smiled “now i’m going backstage so yell at each other or something” and he disappeared with Suki. Katara and Toph left for snacks and Aang went to the toilet leaving the two of you alone. “But i mean it is ridiculous” you muttered and Zuko nodded “utterly ridiculous”. “Sure we ended up together a few times” you shrugged “but that was completely by chance, it wasn’t like you were hyper-aware of me or vice versa”. “Yeah not at all” Zuko agreed but he wasn’t looking you in the eye for some reason. You stared at him confused and noticed his neck looked slightly red as if he was blushing. “Wait did you?” you asked suddenly “notice me more?”. Zuko looked up and he was indeed blushing deeply “what I....of course not! I never...I mean I did learn your name before anyone else’s but that’s because we spent that time together when I helped the pirates kidnap you and you wouldn’t shut up the whole night”. “Then why are you blushing so much?” you asked and Zuko shrugged “I don’t know I...it’s just them insinuating I like you. I’ve had it a lot”. “You have?” you asked amazed and Zuko nodded “when my uncle heard you’d seen me in Ba Sing Sei and that we’d reached a deal not to tell on one another he had this annoying smirk like i’d done it for any other reason besides the fact it was mutually beneficial. Then when I went back home Azula made it seem like me and you had a thing and Mai got jealous and started asking about you and I had to explain all our interactions and it was very awkward...she wanted me to reassure her by putting you down and making the idea seem impossible but I must have failed because she didn’t believe me. So I guess that’s why it makes me feel weird, everyone keeps telling me I act differently with you and I suppose I do but I have no idea if that’s because everyone keeps saying it or if I always have”. You nodded your head but were unsure what to say. “Well which one do you think it is?” you asked eventually and Zuko paused “what?”. “If you had to guess, would you say you act differently around me because of what people say about us or have you just always acted that way”. Zuko thought, staring at the ground and basically anywhere but at you, “i’m not sure but I guess maybe the second? They must have got it from somewhere I suppose”. “The second?” you asked surprised and Zuko’s blush returned vividly “I’m only guessing, I honestly don’t know”. You nodded your head and went to speak when the others returned which stopped you right in your tracks.  

The second half of the play began of course with you and Zuko reuniting in the prison under Ba Sing Sei. You and Zuko did end up there together but you definitely did less staring at one another. You rolled your eyes as your characters began to passionately speak to one another stepping closer and closer. They finally reached one another and you laughed when your character began yelling at Zuko’s. “Ha maybe they got some things right!” you whispered to Zuko who nodded “you did yell at me a lot”. You smirked and went to apologise when Zuko’s character kissed yours. You and Zuko abruptly shot away from each other. “That is not even close to what happened!” you cried at the others who were all laughing. Zuko nodded “this is just slander! They didn’t even bother to try to get our characters right and anyone with half a brain would realise that!”. Someone shushed Zuko and he glared “shush yourself” he cried before storming from the room. He didn’t return for the rest of the play and honestly you thought that was probably wise. It got worse and worse. They still kept in Zuko’s betrayal of Iroh but changed it making you at the centre of Zuko’s struggle. He chose the crown and they made you react dramatically (even getting a love ballad moment). They then skipped forwards to Zuko at the palace, who got his own song when he realised he’d made the wrong choice. Your characters reunited not long after and promptly confessed their love for one another. Then you were both murdered by Ozai very much in line with the tragic forbidden lovers style.

“I mean I’m just glad she’s dead” you shrugged on your way out “anything to end that romance”. The others smirked when Aang paused “do you think Zuko went back home to the villa?” looking around for the angry fire prince. “No he knows we don’t know this place well, he’s probably just sat outside somewhere” you replied looking around but you couldn’t see him brooding anywhere either. When you walked out the front door and still didn’t spot him Aang frowned “okay everyone split up and look for him, meet back here in five minutes”.

You returned five minutes later to see Katara, Suki, Sokka and Toph all hadn’t found him either. “I wonder where he is” Katara frowned and you shrugged “he’ll be fine, that boy has nine lives”. “He didn’t in that play” Toph commented and you nodded. “True but that play was a mess and there’s one thing I still can’t get over. Zuko said his family and friends thought he liked me that’s where his side of this rumour started but in the play they acted like I encouraged him! Where on earth did they get that idea?”. The group all went quiet and you paused “what?”. “Well...I mean you kinda do encourage him” Sokka frowned and your jaw dropped “I DO NOT! When have I ever...”. “When we got kidnapped by the pirates you teased Zuko constantly and refused to be quiet until he spoke to you” Katara pointed out. “Yes but that was to annoy him not flirt with him!”. “Okay how about when June asked if you were his girlfriend and you replied he wishes instead of no?”. “I was joking” you shrugged and Toph smirked “or how about when I was sneaking out to see Zuko at the Western Air Temple and found you already on your way to see him? What were you popping in to see Zuko for huh y/n? Nice date by the campfire?”. “I was doing the same thing as you! I was going to see if he would tell the truth and given that I knew him best I thought I....”. The gang all erupted and you paused “what?”. “You know him best?” Sokka asked smirking and you nodded “that doesn’t mean anything it’s a fact”. “Ow is it?” Sokka asked and you nodded “It is! Fine if I don’t know him best what was his fake name in Ba Sing Sei?”. Everyone went quiet and you nodded “or how about how long ago he was banished from the fire nation? Better yet just tell me his parent’s names!” you cried. When nobody replied you smirked folding your arms victoriously “told you I know him best”. “Yeah you’ve definitely proved how much you know about Zuko” Suki smirked looking past you. You frowned before you heard someone behind you. You turned to see Aang had found Zuko and by the look on his face he’d heard everything. You blushed and looked down “Zuko we were...”. “Having a competition to see who knows me best?” Zuko asked mildly amused and you paused “well sort of...Sokka started it”. “No I didn’t” Sokka retorted “you declared you knew Zuko the best and when I asked if you were sure you started spouting your favourite facts about him”. “They’re not my favourite facts about him” you snapped and Sokka’s smirk just grew “whatever y/n” and he turned leading the way home. The others all followed and purposefully made it so you and Zuko were at the back. “Why were you talking about me anyway?” Zuko asked and you paused “ow nothing I was just er...trying to work out why the Ember Island Players thought I had a thing for you but the gang was not helpful”. “They couldn’t think of a reason?” Zuko asked innocently and you frowned “no they could actually think of lots of reasons, it appears similar to your family they were also under the impression I held a flame for you as it were”. “Ow really?” Zuko asked. He kept his voice flat but you could swear he was smirking slightly. “Stop enjoying this” you whined pushing him “it’s not funny, it’s embarrassing”. “Liking me is embarrassing?” Zuko asked and you paused “no I didn’t mean that, I just meant having all your friends claim you like someone when you can’t see it”. “You really can’t see where they’re coming from?” Zuko asked and you shook your head “nope not at all”. Zuko looked away and you frowned “I saw that, what did that look mean?”. “Nothing...” Zuko trailed off but you sighed grabbing him by the arm to make him look at you “I’m sick of everyone saying things about me for once just say it to my face!”. Zuko sighed “fine, I just think i’ve been honest with you but you’re not being honest with yourself”. “Not being honest?”. Zuko nodded “Yes, I admitted I could see where my family were coming from and how the rumours started but you’re acting as if they plucked them out of thin air!”. “Well maybe they did! I don’t see how any of our interactions could be interpreted as romantic”. Zuko didn’t look convinced. “You don’t think there’s some truth to what the Ember Island Players said? That maybe there is something here?” Zuko asked gesturing to the small gap between you. “No of course not! Do you?”. “No” Zuko yelled back and you nodded “fine! You are the most infuriating...” you started when Zuko grabbed you kissing you. You initially tensed at the sensation but soon melted into it. Zuko seemed to be trying to prove a point by kissing you passionately and not wanting him to win you kissed him back matching his intensity. Finally Zuko pulled away for air and stared at you “still not want to admit there’s something here?”. You stared at Zuko torn between admitting he was right and your pride. You were annoyed, frustrated, excited and exhilarated all at once. You were breathing rapidly, your cheeks bright red as were Zuko’s and neither of you made to move away. “I...” you started eventually “that was a good kiss”. Zuko nodded, his frustration melting away “it was, I enjoyed it...I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to kiss you for a while now”. “You have?” you asked and Zuko nodded “as annoying as it is to admit my family and friends were right, I like you and I have for a while”. You smiled despite yourself at how adorable Zuko looked all bashful and embarrassed. “I tried ignoring it for a while but then when I joined the group your friends all saw it straight away. Then tonight...the play was bad but I was frustrated that everyone seemed to see it apart from you the person I actually wanted to see it...you”. You looked down wondering how to reply “I’m sorry I bet that was really frustrating”. Zuko nodded “It was and I figured this was just one-sided but that...did you feel it too?”. Zuko looked so unsure and unlike himself it was endearing and gave you confidence. “Yes” you said shakily “after that kiss I can tell you it is definitely not one-sided. I like you too Zuko and probably have since the start”. “Probably?” Zuko asked and you sighed “I’m not good with my emotions, I can be oblivious to them so I can’t with certainty tell you it’s been going on as long as the play made it out to be but I know I like you. Right now in this moment...I hope that’s enough, I know it’s a shit confession and you probably wanted something more solid but I...”. Zuko began laughing and you paused “what’s so funny?”. “Something more solid? Y/n I’m on the run from the Firelord who is my father, my sister is hunting me to kill me and I could very likely be imprisoned for the rest of my life if Aang fails and that’s if i’m lucky...I’m not even sure if I have a future so trust me all I need is the present. To know in this moment right here you like me back” Zuko blushed but he stepped closer and took your hands “that’s more than enough for me”. “It is?” you asked and Zuko nodded “yes and if by some chance it becomes more long-term I’ll be very happy but for now I just want to enjoy this time with you”. You smiled and leant in to kiss Zuko again when someone coughed. “Hey what are you two doing?” Sokka called. Apparently the others had finally realised the two of you were no longer with the group and walked back to find the two of you as you currently were. Luckily it was dark so you moved away from Zuko but still held his hand. “Yeah we thought you’d gotten lost are you okay?” Katara called. Zuko sighed and you smirked at his expression. “We’re fine” you smiled “we were just talking and Zuko’s going to show me this beach he went to a lot as a kid”. Zuko’s eyes shot up to yours and he smiled. “You are?” Aang asked and Zuko nodded “yep, it’s not far from here so we won’t be long. You guys head back to the villa and we’ll meet you there” and with that Zuko tugged you away from the others. You smiled at Zuko and he smiled back at you “quick thinking, I didn’t think we’d get out of there so easily”. “You can thank me later” you replied when you heard Sokka gasp “wait are they holding hands? Y/n are you holding hands?”. “Run!” Zuko cried and you laughed but did as he said. You kept running even after Sokka’s voice trailed off and only stopped when you reached a sandy beach. You both collapsed on the ground and you turned to look at Zuko “did you know this was here or did you get lucky?”. “Totally the former” he smiled and you shook your head “you’re lucky I like you”. “I really am” Zuko agreed and he stared at your face tenderly. His fingers brushed your cheek and you smiled “what are you waiting for?”. “I have no idea” Zuko admitted and he leant in to reclaim the lost kiss from earlier. This time you weren’t interrupted.

[fragmcntedsouls]

Her cheeks had begun to ache from all of the laughter and smiling, a common occurrence whenever she was with her husband. Their laughter was infectious and Briggs’ was the greatest sound that Billie had ever heard. To hear it was her true homecoming; he gave the sound a feeling. There was a hum of appreciation as he used her hand to lure her closer, Billie obliging entirely as she enclosed her arms around him within turn. Her body had surrendered completely to him as he used her hips to guide her back against the wall, their frames curving perfectly into one another's as if they were puzzle pieces. “And we put on the best” she teased breathlessly, her eyes closing as he spoke against her skin – before being forced with no other option than to hit back with the pout. “Don’t do what?” she teased, pushing her bottom lip out further and fluttering her lashes. Her attempts were soon derailed by his apology as he nudged her nose with his and she mused ‘yesss’ beneath her breath, as if she had just taken an exhilarating victory.

Nodding, now satisfied she beamed at him, unable to take her gaze away from his features “that’s what I thought.” Her husband was the only person that she could feel so carefree in the company of. She didn't fear judgment, or fear being silly with him. Instead she could just be her complete, authentic self. Without a single care in the world. Feigning thought of her own now, her brow furrowed and her gaze narrowed, before interjecting with her own arguably gross comment, “hey, what’s the harm in a little extra protein? I mean we’ve already had slugs inside of us, what’s a maggot or two?” Except, she couldn't make it to the end of that sentence without grimacing and laughing. As her laughter then settled again, her hands remained attentive against his jaw, leaning closer to steal herself a kiss, “I love you.”

Whilst they were most likely now living in an actual horror movie with their suspicious realtor and creepy old houses with suspicious locked doors, Billie couldn't have been having a better time if she tried. “Oh– oh yeah, we’re so screwed. I mean you’re fine, all you have to do is outrun me, but that seems harsh, so maybe – don’t do that.” Switching out her expression of deep thought for one of amusement, she giggled “yeah, but the couple who die are always hot. That’s another unspoken rule of horror movies, so i’ll take it.” The giggle soon turned to full blown laughter again at the mention of the realtor, who could most likely hear this entire conversation and was already unimpressed with them as is, “she’ll be fine – I hear there’s maggot infested snacks down in the basement, so at least she won’t get hungry.” 

Briggs' laughter only became louder with each of her attempts at an accent and Billie was getting that message loud and clear, “hey – c’mon, it’s not that bad” She then hesitated, brow creasing as if she could hear herself for the first time before asking “oh, it is bad isn’t it?” Her laughter settled once again as they explored the house a little more, the floorboards creaking with every step, almost as if it was mocking them in return. 

After the entire debacle of the thump behind the locked door, Billie’s grip around Brigg's arm became tighter and although she was unsettled, she couldn’t help but roar with laughter as she dared to speak the forbidden words. Before she could even catch her breath between said laughter however, had Briggs had already started tugging her down the hallway to assumed safety; something of which she wasn’t about to argue with. "Maybe this hot couple have a chance of survival seeing as we're actually running and not splitting up to investigate" she just about managed to holler over as they headed down the hallway.

Her dramatics only brought more laughter, bringing him to tease, "and so humble with a compliment." He said it over and over, but there was truly no one he ever could have loved more than her. If his life couldn't be spent with her, then it wasn't much of a life at all. They would take down the OEA, but this normalcy, that was something they would never be able to touch. The afternoon spent being the most normal they could be, that was theirs. "Might," he doubled down in the repetition, reaching out to take her hand and using it to pull her closer. "Huh, that's a good start." Her body's response, louder to his ears, only spurred him on, and her words did nothing to discourage him. Bringing his hands to her waist, he guided her back against the nearest wall. "They'd probably enjoy a good show," he hummed against her skin, unrelenting in his attention until she gasped at his comment. "No, no, don't do that," he protested, knowing exactly what he'd 'asked for', brushing his nose against hers as he was quick to apologize, "I'm so sorry, you're very funny. I take it all back." At her next question, he pretended to think it over before getting a mischievous look in his eyes, "I guess it depends on how you feel about maggot-invested snacks, I bet they have plenty of those." Her hands against his jaw, lips grazing his, had his full attention. "Mrs. Mikaelson," he repeated, enunciating each syllable, "my very funny wife."

There wasn't a moment of this exchange he wasn't thoroughly enjoying. His eyes locked with her, he cheekily responded, "well, pretty sure I did lose complete track of time. Morning, afternoon, it's all in a day." It really was starting to feel like they were in a horror movie, but a fun one that didn't take itself seriously. "No drinking, no drugs...yeah, baby, pretty sure we're not survivor material by the rules. We're definitely that first couple who dies." It was hard to present all this information without laughing, and the happiness really just flowed between them, a feedback loop. His brows raised at her taunt paired with her lips against his neck now, mumbling, "consider her gone. Lock her in the basement for a little bit, it's character building."

"Well, he did bring a slug home, so I'm not sure, I think he definitely should be tested for something," he joked, even though he and his wife were the only ones allowed to make jokes like this about his little brother. Despite how much he'd been touching his wife over the last couple days, his hands still roamed her body freely every chance he got. He studied every response, every reaction: the shift in her heart rate, the hitch in her breath, the look in her eyes. He could get high off that alone. "Lucky for you, I like your offer better," he teased, lips tugging as she searched for the term, "Hope gonna have some serious competition."

The more she attempted the accent, the more he laughed. "What was that?" He teased, "alright, Mary Poppins, I take it back. It's spectacular." They wandered the floor a bit more, only increasing the creepiness of the house. Jiggling the door handled again, he quirked a brow in her direction. This was starting to genuinely freak him out, but at the same time, the adrenaline was pumping. "I'll alohomora this shit," he taunted, "might set a curse loose though." He laughed as leaned over to try to get a glimpse of their realtor down the stairs, but he couldn't see from his position. "In that case, we should definitely lock her in the basement." The sound caused him to jolt too, exchanging a glance with Billie as he assured her, "I heard it." Catching the look in her eye, he mouthed, "don't you dare" before she dared. Taking her by the hand, he started dragging her down the hall, "yep, just gonna leave that locked, I think." Calling toward the door, "have a g'day!"

[elsewhereuniversity]

The fae didn’t really understand time as mortals did. The thing that lived under the glade certainly didn’t. It was vaguely aware that sometimes humans came and sometimes they left, and when they came that was a Fresh Man, and when they left that was a Graduation. It was less clear on the finer details, but what it boiled down to was an ever changing variety of prey to sniff out and play with. That was all most humans were to it; something to hunt for food or entertainment, whichever struck its fancy.

Most of the creatures it was acquainted with, then, would see it preparing for the party and assume it was hungry (or bored, as the case may be). They would be wrong. True, it wouldn’t turn down a snack, if it was convenient, but it had other plans for the night as well. Rosalind’s graduation party was supposed to be a small, intimate get-together for those who knew Rosalind best. It had decided that after three and a half years of surveillance, it was one of those who knew Rosalind best, and invitation or not, it deserved to be there.

So here it was, disguised as a handsome youth with dark hair and glittering brown eyes, walking towards the clearing in the forest as if it possessed one of the few invitations Rosalind had seen fit to send out. Someone stopped it just as the lights came into view.

“Sorry, I need to see your invitation-” the girl began, hand already on a poker thrust through a belt. The creature turned its gaze to her, giving its best imitation of a friendly smile. It probably looked grotesque, but the glamor did its work, and the girl withdrew her hand, looking slightly dazed. “Oh- never mind…” she trailed off, as if expecting a name. It would need one of those, it supposed.

“Windcutter,” it said, gracing the girl with another smile. She blushed, waving it through. It was that easy. It was always that easy. It frowned for a second. Was something strange? It dismissed that thought nearly immediately. It was just imagining things, distracting itself from the reason it was here.

The newly christened Windcutter swept its gaze around the party. There were little lights in glass bubbles- faerie lights, he remembered dimly from some conversation. The mood lighting was entirely lost on something with perfect night vision, but it highlighted Rosalind’s face as she hopped down from a tree, brushing off her clothes. Unconsciously, Windcutter’s hand went to its shoulder as phantom pain tingled down the equivalent of its arm.

It was supposed to be easy. The mortals’ minds did most of the work for it; once they hit the glamor, they would fabricate details to cover up any of the little holes. The trick, it had learned, was to add some mild imperfections- these days, the students were wary of anyone too pretty. It had worked for- well, for however long it had been before Rosalind came along.

She was Gar then, one of the Fresh Men, and her roommate had been Koi. Oddly, it barely remembered what Koi smelled like, just that when it saw her at a party, it had deigned it the superior of the two. It had been simple to flirt with her, throw up enough charm that anything it said would attract it, that no warning bells had gone off.

And when Gar had left the party, gone into the back alley, and found it with what remained of Koi, it had been child’s play to send a wave of glamor at her so strong that it wouldn’t have been surprised if Gar had let it consume her as well. It was, understandably, a little surprised when Gar pulled a solid-iron knife and stabbed it. The surprise was nothing compared with the pain, though, and it had… well. It was embarrassing, but it had run, crawling under the glade to metaphorically lick its wounds. It had been mildly perturbed to find that even after it healed, any form it took had a little silver line of scar on the shoulder.

That was how the story ended, somehow. Gar had turned to the knights, and then turned herself to a knight. Somewhere along the way she became Rosalind, and all along the way the creature watched the mortal being that had wounded it for the only time in its long, long life. Its feelings were somewhere between fear and fascination- it had never bothered to follow up on any mortal before, but it had watched as Rosalind declared her major (in “biology”, but everyone knew she was Forbidden Major), had chartered a truce between some of the forbidden majors and the courts, had disappeared for three weeks and reappeared looking haggard but none the worse for wear. This was its last chance to see her up close, so for tonight, it was not hunting. It was… mingling.

It approached one of the party guests milling around. The boy smiled at it as it lightly prodded its influence to surround him.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s…”

“Windcutter,” Windcutter supplied.

“Right, Windcutter, from…”

“School." 

"Windcutter from school,” he said, blinking and nodding. “I remember, yeah. How are you?”

This close, Windcutter could see the freckles on his face, smell the sweat on him, and it had to remind itself that it was there to see Rosalind, not to hunt. The boy was still smiling, it realized, waiting for it to answer as it stared hungrily at him.

“I am well,” it said, a truthful answer. “And you?”

“Looking forward to the rest of the night,” he said, leaning conspiratorially towards Windcutter. “I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

“Bond,” said a clear voice that Windcutter had listened to for three years, “are you monopolizing…”

“Windcutter,” Windcutter said again, turning the full force of its smile to Rosalind. Once again, it had the nagging feeling that something was off, and it had to resist the urge to scratch its shoulder.

“Are you monopolizing Windcutter?” Rosalind finished.

“Not if you want to talk to them,” Bond said. He flashed another charming smile at Windcutter, who made a mental note to see if he could be lured into the woods. “I’ll just go take care of other business, shall I?”

“Sure,” Rosalind said, rolling her eyes. “And make sure that the guards are on alert!” she yelled after his retreating form.

“Guards?” Windcutter said, tilting its head coquettishly to one side. It was just as well that it had glamor to cover for it- it could never remember how far humans were supposed to be able to do that. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, friend,” Rosalind said, then squinted quizzically at it. “Did I never tell you about this?”

“I believe not.”

“Huh.” She looked down. “Well, my friend, this may sound crazy, but I believe that something has been watching me for the past few years.”

“Watching you?” It could have laughed.

“It sounds farfetched, yes, but… I can feel its eyes on me, sometimes. I think I know what it is, too.”

“Do tell,” it purred.

“Do you remember my roommate?”

“Koi, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Rosalind looked away. “Koi. Well, something took her freshman year.”

“How terrible.” It couldn’t decide if it was relieved or disappointed; relieved it was in no danger, disappointed that Rosalind was so far below its estimation.

“I found her,” Rosalind said. “And that thing standing over her. It tried to make me… I don’t really know. Forget, or stop caring, but I was so angry that it just washed over me, and I stabbed it, and it ran.”

“How brave of you.” The creature shifted in place slightly. Something was definitely strange here. It felt… it didn’t know. Something.

“I didn’t really have much choice,” Rosalind said with a laugh. She drew a sword, idly flipping it in her hand. “It was instinct. I think if it was anything else, I wouldn’t be here today. Whatever it did- did you know, somehow it had managed to make her take off her iron and salt?”

The creature knew, of course it did, it-

Wait.

Rosalind was no fool. She couldn’t be, in order to have lived this long as a knight or a Forbidden Major. Protection was basic enough that even the newest and most naive knew to have it, to demand to see it.

And it had gotten this far without any protection at all. No lines of salt, no running water, nothing. The fact they hadn’t touched it with iron or salt could be put down to its power, but not the basic, rudimentary safety procedures for an outdoor party.

Alarm bells started ringing in Windcutter’s head. Who held a party outside, in the woods, in the dark?

“We were close, did you know that?” Rosalind continued. She still wasn’t looking at it. “She even told me her true name. Trusting to a fault." 

"I… should go,” Windcutter said. It had ignored its instincts for too long. Something was wrong.

“It was Rosalind,” Rosalind said. “I never forgot.” And then, finally, she met its eyes.

Windcutter jerked back, a hiss of revulsion bubbling from its throat. It was not Rosalind’s eyes in her face: they glittered as if cut from gems, and, worse, it knew somehow that she could see it, really, see it. It felt suddenly like a butterfly pinned to paper, trying to squirm away from that horrible perception. It turned, still hissing, to see Bond returning, armed with a spear. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and now that it was looking, it realized that his eyes glittered similarly. All of the partygoers eyes did, they- they could all see it- 

“A little deal with the Spring Queen,” Rosalind said conversationally behind it. “Three weeks of my time to serve her, and for every day, an hour of Sight and a clear mind for someone at my little soiree.”

It bolted then, half-mad with the eyes of the party boring into it. It sprinted into the woods, then screamed as it hit the salt line, scrambling back on burning feet. Of course there was a salt line now. They had lured it in.

“Tell me,” Rosalind said as it whirled. She was on guard now, sword out and willing. “Why did you watch me?”

“Never been hurt before,” it said, the truth being dragged out almost against its will. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be above its prey.

“Really.”

“You’re leaving soon,” it said. Offering a deal was something it hadn’t done before, but it needed a way out, and Rosalind’s speech had given it an idea. “Let me out and I can promise you you’ll forget what happened to her. You can let go of the anger.”

“Who told you I was leaving?” Rosalind smiled, all teeth and no friendliness. “My classes are over, but I’m staying. Someone has to make sure beasts like you don’t hunt for too long.”

The creature hadn’t ever really had to fight; nobody had armed themselves against it, after all. Its claws slid out almost involuntarily as the fear and rage flowed through it, rendering it incapable of human speech. It hissed again defiantly.

“That’s right,” Rosalind said, her voice almost hypnotically soothing. “It’s you or me. One of us leaves tonight, the other one stays here forever.” Without moving her eyes from the creature, she jerked her head over her shoulder. “The salt line has a break in it behind me. Get through me, and you can leave.”

Frightened, cornered, the creature growled deep in its throat and unthinkingly sprang.

-bean

[elareine]

I had a thought for a prompt: What if Tim had a Costco membership, for getting groceries for Titans Tower right? But what if he got himself a Costco sized tin of those Danish Butter cookies (you know the ones that everyone’s grandma uses the tin for sewing supplies?) for his and Jay’s apartment. Que every single one of their siblings, friends, and Bruce sneaking into their apartment to steal some. Because Alfred DOES NOT let them into the manor for reasons.

That is a hilarious prompt, thank you, love!

(Also thanks to @atasteforsuicidal for explaining what exactly Costco does XD)

It started with Dick. 

Which, okay, not too weird. Tim and Dick were close, and if you asked Jason under torture, he would admit that the two of them managed just fine these days, as well. So Dick was a regular visitor these days, and with his metabolism, him sneaking some cookies from the big tins wasn’t too surprising. 

“Eat something real,” was Jason’s only reply, and then he made Dick some pasta because no one in this family could feed themselves.  

Stephanie was a lot less subtle about it. She marched in with a fervent: “God bless your kitchen” and ate everything in sight. Nothing unusual about that. 

Duke was next, though Jason only retroactively added him to the list. That kid was just charming as fuck, dropping by to ask for some opinions and making such a show of stealing Jason’s quesadillas that Jason never noticed him going for the cookies. 

The problem really started when Damian broke into their kitchen. 

Jason didn’t even figure it out until after it happened, which bugged the hell out of him. Apparently, the hellspawn was willing to do the song-and-dance of slipping through their alarm system but didn’t care about being recorded. Possibly because nothing Damian was all that bad, as far as Jason could see. He went through a few of their assorted tins and boxes, ate a few things, crammed some cookies into his bag, and… left. Maybe the kid had just been hungry on patrol? 

(Jason still replaced all of Tim’s coffee, just in case.) 

Only that wasn’t the last break-in. No, they had nightly visits by two speedsters. Two. Jason was amazed they had any food left at this rate. This was why Tim had become a Costco member; they would be broke otherwise, inheritance or not. Damian broke in again. The second time, he even brought Jon. 

Jason just wished he knew why their kitchen had turned into midnight-snack central. When he complained, Tim just laughed at him.

It didn’t click until Roy fell upon the tin with a cry of delight. “Oh, Jaybird, you bought the good stuff!” 

“They’re just cookies.” 

“Yeah, but the good ones.” For some reason, Roy looked… disappointed with him? “You really don’t appreciate the finer things in life, do you?” 

Normally, Jason would’ve taken that as the starting point for a rant about quality in food and art in these modern times. Right now, he was too busy experiencing an epiphany. “Is that why fucking everyone is trying to burgle our kitchen?” 

Roy patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and inhaled another cookie. 

Sadly, Jason didn’t feel any better about the madness just because he now had an explanation. They still had the nightly visitors, and more daytime ones than ever, too. Even Damian stopped pretending and just invited himself over for lunch. 

One night, Jason switched on the kitchen light, saw Bruce standing there, and switched it right back off. 

“Barbara is now my favorite sibling,” he declared upon returning to the bedroom. 

Tim didn’t look up from whatever he was typing. “Does she really count as a sibling? She does have a dad.” 

“Half sibling, half future sister-in-law, then.” Jason would feel more awkward about that sentence if he wasn’t literally sliding under a blanket with Tim. In their bed. In their apartment. Sooo. No stones to throw here. “Anyway. She’s my favorite.” 

“Any specific reason?” 

“She didn’t yet try to steal those fucking cookies.” 

The typing stopped. 

Jason groaned. “…seriously?” 

He must’ve sounded truly pathetic because Tim actually put the laptop on the nightstand and scooted his way over into Jason’s arms. “She stopped by when you were out with the outlaws yesterday.” 

“And there goes my last hope,” Jason sighed. 

Tim showed his sympathy by cuddling in closer, which Jason appreciated, but he wasn’t done with this whole thing yet. 

“It tells me I need to start baking again,” he grumbled into Tim’s hair. “If ya’ll are going that crazy for some fucking butter cookies, you should try my mom’s recipe.” 

“Yeah, but if you make them, Alfred will love them.” 

“What does Alfred have to do with this?” 

“He forbade those cookie tins from the manor years ago. No one wants to cross him, but… the lure of the forbidden…” 

“So we’re in some sort of reverse psychology experiment?” Jason chuckled. That. That actually explained a lot. Except—“Wait. If you knew—why did you buy it in the first place?” 

Tim mumbled something unintelligible. When Jason poked him, he raised his voice, but not by much. “It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?” 

“Oh.” Jason cupped Tim’s jaw, gently tipped his head so they were looking at each other. “Sweetheart, you know they would visit with or without the cookies, right?” 

Tim just looked at him. “Kinda?”

They had done this for long enough that Jason just asked: “You want logical or emotional reassurance?” 

And Tim knew he could reply: “…both.” 

“Literally every single one of them has a trust fund. They can afford all the Danish butter cookies in the world. Dames could just break into Cosco—and you know he would, cause it’s a corporation, so ‘stealing is ethical.’” Jason allowed that to sink in. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tim’s temple. “And they love you very much.” Just like I do. 

When he thought that Tim got it, he nodded and let go, allowing his boyfriend to hide his face in Jason’s neck again. That turned out to be a mistake, for Tim chose that moment to strike: “You know the same goes for you, too?” 

Jason took a moment to blink. “…Nah. It’s definitely the cookies.” 

“Sure, Jay.” Tim pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

Jason hummed. A peaceful quiet settled over their bedroom. 

He waited until Tim was just settled in, his breathing starting to slow down, to say: “By the way, Bruce is in our kitchen.” 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

[honorhearted]

A feline look crossed Audrey's face as she purred, "No, I don't think anyone is terribly fond of deans or authority in general, though, perhaps with the right... guidance."

Ben shrugged, amused. "Oh, I don't know...I staged a coup in preschool when they were withholding snacks -- I managed to sneak into the cookie cabinet and satiate everyone's forbidden sugar rush -- but beyond that, I've been so painfully straight and narrow that I'm afraid you'd find me dull."

Her admission that she was a student wasn't all that surprising. These sorts of functions, though predominately for the faculty, occasionally lured in a fresh face or two from the classroom.

"As for my job, and where I'm from, I am typically in New Orleans, I didn't end up in the East Coast until recently. I have a daughter, and well--" The woman paused. "I'm a call girl, a unruly little tart."

Ben's smile instantly wiped clean. As a staunch defender of children, his first concern was naturally the child's well-being -- surely, the girl wasn't present for her mother's clients? -- though rather than let her see the judgment bleeding into his features, he quickly downed half his drink with three large, clumsy swallows. After setting the glass onto the table top, he cleared his throat and ventured, "Well, I'm afraid I have nothing quite so exciting to rival all that. And if you came here for a job...well..." He winced, idly dragging his thumb back and forth across the rim of his glass. "I'm afraid you won't find any clients."

It occurred to him then that perhaps she'd been invited as employment, and embarrassed, he glanced around them in furtive appraisal, trying to determine just who might have deigned this a good idea.

Disarming, hm? Well, she could make do with that. "A French 75," Audrey tells the blonde behind the counter with a gracious smile. Sure never to lose her manners.

"Where are you from? What do you do for a living?"

That is a very long story, but she need only recall her most recent steps thus far. "No, I don't think anyone is terribly fond of deans or authority in general, though, perhaps with the right... guidance," Audrey winked.

"I am a student," she said, the truth-- mostly. Out of boredom.

"As for my job, and where I'm from, I am typically in New Orleans, I didn't end up in the East Coast until recently. I have a daughter, and well--" a more hesitant pause than usual. Not for her sake, for his. "I'm a call girl, a unruly little tart."