#anyway thank you for reading my complaining I will go explode in the corner now\ ^_^ /

[absurdly-overpowered-astronaut]

I forgot how long writing takes wagfghghghgghhhhh killl mmee nowwww

Writing time

If I never post again working on my passion project killed me

[fromthedeskofmuffin]

Far Out

Chapter 13: Battle Plan

The diagnostic logs that Benni shared on its terminal were some of the worst I’d seen. I had downloaded them to my tablet, and was going over them in a corner of the employee canteen. The food here was weird. Something about it tasted off, but there was more of it than I used to get in Ulthea, so I didn’t complain. Dr. Skisk told me I needed to get my weight up, anyways.

So many systems offline. Life support, artificial gravity, shields… somehow the weapons batteries didn’t explode in the jump, so when I got those systems back up, I wouldn’t need to buy more munitions. It wasn’t that I wanted the weapons, but it sounded like being able to defend yourself out here would be important. What else was there… Well, that was lucky. Despite how they looked, three of the four main engines only needed minor fixes, and the tail engines still worked. Most of these issues were fried electronics. Could be worse, but rewiring an entire ship took time, especially with one as big as the Benevolence.

A food tray slapped down on the table opposite where I was sitting. Looking up from the tablet, I saw Reggie, in the process of taking a seat across from me. 

“Hi, Jessie,” she said with an embarrassed grin. “Mind if I sit here? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

I stared blankly, my brain still half focused on the last diagnostic I read, then returned my attention to the screen. “Go ahead. I’ll be leaving pretty soon.”

“Leaving? Where to?” Reggie asked, taking a bite of her food.

“Uhm…” was my only response for a few seconds. Great, the main generator was totally fried. That would be expensive. Shaking my head, I finally answered, eye focused on the tablet. “Dock 313. My ship is there.”

Reggie made an interested hoot, and pointed at the tablet with her spork. “The Benevolence! Are you looking at diagnostics?”

I looked up for a moment. Genuine interest showed in Reggie’s eyes as she stared at the tablet in my hands. “Yeah,” I said. “The ship is pretty bad off. Not unsalvageable, but it’ll take a lot of work. The cockpit alone needs a full replacement.”

“Mind if I see?” Reggie asked, reaching across the table.

Wordlessly, I passed her the tablet. As she scrolled through the logs, I watched her face go from interested, to concerned, then worried, and finally stopped on baffled. “Wow, what does work on this thing?”

”Not much, but the AI core is still intact, thankfully,” I said with a shrug. “It’s just not able to make any outside connections right now. Whatever it used to send the distress signal must have burned out right after.”

Reggie handed the tablet back to me. “It looks like there’s a lot of work on your plate. Do you want help?” she asked. “I’m sure if you asked anyone on the Engineering team, they would jump at the chance to work on a GHU gunship, myself included. Despite what they’re used for, even yours is a feat of design, busted as it is.”

Swiping through the log again, I thought about it. These projects were always easier with a team, and the Benevolence was a large ship, but I couldn’t risk exposing Benni to more people. How quickly would someone catch on to its’ freedom, even if I warned it to be careful? I got lucky with Helga, but I couldn’t be certain it would happen again. 

“No, it’s okay,” I said with a sigh. “At least not right now. When I get to the body work I’ll definitely need extra hands if I still can’t use zero gee.”

“If you shay sho,” Reggie said, then swallowed. “Call it an open offer. If you need any parts, Listher can help you source them, even the hard-to-find ones. Like, for example… an entire GHU gunship cockpit.”

I snorted and gave her a small smile. “Okay, I will. Thanks.” 

Reggie seemed pleased at getting a laugh out of me as she took another bite of her food. We sat in silence for a bit as I continued to pore over the logs, now taking notes on possible fixes. After a few minutes, Reggie spoke up again. “Looking forward to orientation in a couple of days?”

Once again, I didn’t respond while I finished typing up the last couple of possible causes for why the shield generator could have shorted. Then I realized I missed a possibility in the radar systems. I started to type, but Reggie cleared her throat, and I blinked as my concentration broke. “Sorry,” I said, looking up at her. She didn’t seem annoyed, just lightly amused. “Yeah, it should be nice. I don’t really like that I haven’t been working for so long.”

“Really?” Reggie asked. “I know it’s because you’ve been injured, but isn’t it a nice break?”

I tugged on one of my horns as my eye flicked between the tablet and Reggie’s face. The sentence I had been writing taunted me, half finished. “I prefer to keep busy. Honestly, it’s a good thing I have the Benevolence to work on, or I might have gone stir crazy before orientation. I can’t just read news articles forever.”

“I get what you mean,” Reggie said, nodding. “Helga’s always yanking me away from projects so I don’t burn out.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Burnout? You can just push through that.”

The Head Engineer visibly recoiled. “Not on Brock Station. Taking breaks is necessary, Jessie.”

“If you say so,” I said, doubtful. How many times had I heard that before? Either way, I didn’t want to get bogged down in another argument with her. Agreeing was easier. That, and excusing myself. 

“I think I’ve got everything,” I said. “Gonna feed these solutions to my ship AI and work out a plan.”

Reggie seemed like she was having her own doubts about me again. “Just be sure to take some time to relax again in a couple of hours,” she said reproachfully. “We hired you because we need the hands. If you burn out, you’ll struggle to get anything done.”

I nodded as I collected my things and stood. That was more like it. “Yes, Ma’am.” Before I left her to finish eating, I flashed a smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll keep you updated on how things are going.”

“Alright, well, good!” Reggie said, seeming to relax a little. “Make sure you do.”

We shared a wave, and I left the canteen. As I made the trek back to Benni, I couldn’t help but feel as though Reggie and I would continue to struggle to find the ‘right foot’. It was clear that we had different philosophies around work. Sure, burnout wasn’t fun, but once you were done, you were done. 

I reentered the hangar and stepped back into the ship. “I’m back, Benni.”

“Hello, Captain. Did You Discover Anything Interesting?”

“Nothing more than we already knew, to be honest,” I said, walking back into the AI core. “I want to set up a plan and see how much we can do without GHU resources.”

“I Would Be Happy To Assist.”

The room itself was about twice the size of a closet, and lit only by the light of Benni’s ‘brain’, which was a two foot wide, jet black hexagonal pillar that spanned floor to ceiling. Thin red lights ran up each corner of the pillar, a familiar aesthetic that came with anything manufactured by CorrCo. Tugging a cable from the tablet, I plugged the tablet into the terminal. Benni immediately started downloading the information I added to the diagnostics logs, and began an itemized list.

“For now, can you show me what the rebuild would look like with all of our usual resources?” I asked. “We might be able to source more GHU material than I thought.”

“Of Course.”

Benni’s terminal began a readout of parts lists and scheduling. If this was my sole project, and I was still working on my old station, this refit would take about a month of work, only taking time to sleep and eat. This wasn’t my old station, though. I would have a lot more on my plate when I started my new job. With the Benevolence as a side project, that estimate could easily stretch close to a year. 

The biggest factors now would be how much free time I would have, how quickly I could get parts, and how soon I could afford those parts. Tools I assumed would be given to me, which was more charity I would no doubt feel awful about, but I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t have tools, I couldn’t work, and therefore couldn’t make money.

I sighed as I scrolled through the new list. This was at least a three person job, but I couldn’t trust anyone on the engineering team yet. Maybe in a month or so, once I’ve gotten to know a few of them, I could invite them aboard the Benevolence and introduce them to Benni. Having Helga’s backing definitely helped. 

“May I Make A Request, Captain?”

This time I only jumped a little. I was getting more used to Benni’s way of speaking out of nowhere. “Sure, what is it?” I asked.

“If Possible, I Would Like My Surveillance Systems Restored First. Bio Monitoring Only Allows Me To Keep Track Of Living Creatures, And Even Then, Only Their Positions. I Would Like To Be Able To Understand What Is Going On Around Me.”

I blinked. Of course it would, anything would. Benni had been trapped in a big metal box for over a month, and despite its’ ability to just go to sleep, any amount of time spent completely blind except for vague impressions of lifeforms would be pretty stressful. Quickly, I scrolled to the action items for the surveillance systems. 

“That would probably be one of the easier fixes, so I can definitely focus on that,” I said. “Do you mind if I fix lighting first, so I can see what I’m doing?”

“That Would Be Satisfactory.”

A wry smile tugged at my lips, and I turned it towards Benni. Rather, I turned it towards the glowing obsidian pillar containing Benni’s consciousness. Satisfaction was a new one! Deciding against bringing attention to it, I said, “Great! Looks like we’ve got a plan. I think I can get started in less than a week, and these first two shouldn’t take long at all. We’ll get you up and running in no time, Benni.”

“Thank You, Captain.”

I made one last check of the ship, pointedly avoiding the front half, then returned to my dorm. This had been the most productive day I’d had since my escape. It felt good. With luck, there would be many more just like it.

< Previous Chapter | Start | Next Chapter >

[naffeclipse]

OKAY YOU DID ONE HELL OF A GOOD JOB WITH THIS ONE

YOU REALLY DID WARN US

I THOUGHT I WAS READY

(I wasn't)

The best way to describe my current feelings is [SCREAMS LOUDLY] [ROLLS ON THE FLOOR AND EXPLODES] [BECOMES ONE WITH THE VOID]

I would have cried if not for my sister interrupting my reading a hundred million times and breaking the immersion

I also really need to stop reading this fanfic before I got to bed (will never stop) because. How am I supposed to sleep. Knowing heart is broken. All hearts. Every single heart in existence in that story. Broken. Gone. A million pieces I could eat and not even choke on them

Crap hit the fan rEALLY DARN HARD

My emotional state is the same as the rake's limbs

Also I am not by any means complaining. I knew this was gonna be a trainwreck and I was not disappointed, I loved the chapter and every tiny corner of it. It beat the crap outta me in 8 different languages

I was kept on my toes from beginning to end and sometimes I just wanted to grab the hunter by the face and squeeze their cheeks and tell them SWEETHEART, NO. JUST NO. Because they are too good and soft and anxious for their own good. Knowing what was going on and being unable to tell the character and fix everything sure is a special kind of helplessness

Also the "sweetheart" broke me

And my brain also directly connected it to the heart eating and I was like. Hunter. Hunter please. Hunter connect the dots hunter PLEASE

I almost swore by that that was it. Crap was gonna get revealed here and now. I still don't know if I'm relived or crushed for that not being the case

Anyway this was great. I'm holding you softly and kissing you in the head and giving you snacks

God this is gonna be a mess

Letting me wreck of feelings aside, what was your favorite part to write in this one? And which one was your least favorite? A penny for your thoughts my good Naff

AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH! ♥ ♥ ♥ Yeah, it really is gonna be a huge mess ;-;

Okay, so, my favorite was the scene where Moon comes back to the trailer the second time, and he and Sun start fearing that Y/N is gone, dead, and I love being able to write a cryptid feeling fear. Y/N really affects them, and the boys were terrified at that moment at seeing their little hunter's blood and sensing no heartbeat.

Okay, so, my least favorite is more so due to difficulty but I struggled with the argument scene, the very last one. I rewrote it several times until it felt right, and let me tell you, that is such a good feeling to know that I finally captured that emotion and images that I wanted to! It just took a while to get there aldjfalsdf

[starglitterz]

yo hi hello!!

so uh for the 300 followers event-

can i get a chocolate pudding(xiao) with caramel!

(like a modern streamer au can be your game of choice but i feel like xiao would play fps games like valorant)

oh and ignore this if you feel overwhelmed with the request and make sure to take a break and take care of yourself once in a while!!

-Luca hehe

hi !!!! for now i'm doing fine hehe, but thank u luca for being so nice :>

request; xiao fluff, modern streamer au

cw; swearing, mentions of in-game weapons/shooting/killing

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

xiao.

xiao's catlike amber eyes flicker back and forth from the open corners of the concealed area his character is hidden in to the spike, which is bound to explode anytime soon. "xiao, childe's headed your way, watch out! i'm protecting this sector," hu tao's loud voice booms through his headphones, and he grumbles, "that stupid ginger really can't just leave me alone, can he?" the chat in his stream goes wild to hear the normally calm streamer cursing, and his viewers eagerly spam messages about how excited they are to be impressed by his incredible aim once more.

childe, who's playing as phoenix, rounds the corner, only to be met with xiao, who's already raised his weapon to shoot. without losing a hint of his composure, xiao fires off a couple rounds, and the headshot icon appears in the corner, eliminating tartaglia from the final round. shaking his head, xiao can't stop the small proud smile that spreads across his face, "if tartaglia actually planned where he was going, he might have won." a second later, the word 'victory' is splayed across his screen in muted green tones as hu tao lets out a gleeful cheer, "haha, i killed zhongli! we win!" "good job, hu tao," xiao compliments her, running a hand through his teal streaked hair. the chat seems to be sending messages at the speed of light, all of them claiming they're taking as many screenshots as possible, and complaining about how they wished they were lucky enough to play competition with him.

"do you want to end the stream here?" xiao asks, tilting his head quizzically and looking at the other girl. "yupp, yanfei's already offline too, she said she has work so she won't be able to join us," hu tao pouts. "ah, then i guess we won't be able to play with a full team. so i might just mess around a bit more, practice my aim in death match mode," xiao states, "it's only around 2am anyways." with a wink, hu tao giggles, "xiao, don't you have someone waiting for you~? you should go to sleep too." through his webcam, xiao sends her the most terrifying death stare ever - it's what his fanbase says is strong enough to conquer demons.

"alright, alright, i'll stop teasing you," hu tao raises her hands in playful surrender. with a salute to her camera, she beams, "don't forget to subscribe if you liked the stream! if not, i might have to put you in a coffin~" laughing to herself, hu tao waves at xiao before disconnecting from the call, her webcam in the corner of the screen disappearing. xiao sighs, leaning back in his chair. blowing a few strands of hair out of his face, he says, "that was pretty fun. hope you guys enjoyed it, by the way." he scans over the chat comments, eyes widening as he realises most of them are asking about what hu tao said earlier. "someone waiting for me...? oh. just ignore hu tao, she tends to spout a lot of nonsense anyway," xiao says, although he's unable to look directly at the camera.

'shy xiao?!' the viewers freak out, everyone spamming about how cute he looks. pale pink dusts his cheeks as he prepares to return to the game, "thank you all. but stop it, okay, i've got to focus now." suddenly, a soft knock sounds on the door behind him, and xiao, who is usually as cool as a cucumber, nearly falls off his chair. the chat goes feral, begging people to clip that part, laughing at xiao's antics, and asking if he's alright. someone even sends a donation that reads 'for the hospital bills if ur injured'. xiao straightens up, pretending as if he isn't embarrassed, "thank you for the donation, but i doubt i'll need it. i'm fine. anyways, i have to see who this is, so i'm going to mute my mic and turn off my camera for a while. just wait a couple of minutes, alright?" the next move should have been xiao doing what he said he was going to, but he was so eager to open the door that he didn't click the correct icons properly, ending up with his mic unmuted and his camera left on while he answered. messages in the chat kept going, wondering if it was on purpose, and querying how they should let him know. however, xiao didn't notice, because as one of the most popular streamers on twitch, his chat was always moving at lightning speed.

"xiao~" your voice is drowsy as you shuffle into the room, his hoodie far too big on your figure. xiao swallows, his brain short-circuiting as he takes in how adorable you look, "y/n! are you okay?" "when are you coming to sleep? i miss you," you raise a hand to rub your sleepy eyes, the sleeves of the hoodie covering your fists. xiao's expression softens, the gentle smile he reserves for you and you alone curving his lips, "c'mere. do you wanna cuddle?" you nod once before yawning, prompting him to chuckle softly. ambling over to him, you clamber onto his lap, burying your head in his neck and exhaling a sigh of relief. "sorry for interrupting your stream," you murmur, already feeling slumber overtake you. "don't worry about it, dove. you're more important anyway," xiao states, trying not to blush about your close proximity to him. the two of you have been dating for over a year now, but your touch never fails to get his heart racing as quick as when he first met you. "i've got to continue streaming now, but i'll try to be quiet for you, mmkay?" your only reply is a muffled "okay, love you," as you doze off again in his embrace. with his heart threatening to explode from the tender affection, xiao presses a kiss on the top of your head, "love you too, y/n."

"okay guys, i'm back. hope the wait wasn't too long." he returns to his regular distant streamer façade, pausing when he realises his mic was unmuted. "oh, fuck," the swear escapes under his breath. praying to every deity he ever knew, xiao looks up at the ceiling, massaging his temples, "please tell me you guys did not see or hear that." unfortunately for him, the chat confesses the exact opposite, and they start sending a million questions, causing xiao to groan. sparing a glance to the chat, xiao admits, "this is my significant other, my partner, my other half, whatever you want to call it - we're together, and we've been dating for quite some time now. they don't wish to be known publicly, so please respect their wishes and don't try to find them online." xiao's fanbase was one of the most well-conducted fandoms in comparison to the rest, like childe's, whose chat was constantly filled with barking and bad pick-up lines, so he was hoping they'd behave this time as well. "uh, i'm not really sure what to say here... so i guess i'll just continue playing," he mutters.

for the next hour, xiao continues streaming valorant and interacting peaceably with his chat, albeit in low tones so that you won't stir. and a clip from this stream that goes viral and causes his fans to scream for weeks was of how when someone in the chat complimented you, xiao's grip around you tightened slightly with pride and possessiveness as he smiled, "i know. i'm lucky to be theirs."

quill speaks !

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG KAJDKJAJKD THIS REQUEST WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AND I LOVEEEE IT PLSPLSPLS ITS SO CUTE!??!?!

xiao calling u dove *screams into the abyss*

HELLO THERE R NO WORDS

i am going to cry forever over this its literally my favourite thing ive written pls xiao marry me im RIGHT HERE ARGHHHHH

did i diss the childe stans? yes i did, and i'd do it again ! /lh

ok anyways

i actually have a genshin youtuber au smau coming up soon! possibly in the end of july after i finish all the event requests & my exams SDKSK im super excited, but im not going to tell yall who it's for/what the plot is yet bc its going to be a surprise ahaha >:)

i hope u had fun reading this !

and i also hope you enjoy your stay at quill’s dessert cafe, and do check out the menu if you'd like ! 🍭

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

[lxvislxdy]

Lock and Key | Bakugou K.

Summary: It all started out as a harmless prank - Denki’s idea, to get the two of you to talk. It was no secret that you had feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, at least, not amongst your friends. Denki had meant well, sure, when he’d handcuffed the two of you together, but when the key goes missing... well, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a long 24 hours.

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Warning(s): Swearing, that should be it

Notes: Reminder that my requests are open! Let me know what you’d like to see on my page! Hope you enjoy this cute little fic for Bakugou :) I just wanted to write something soft and lighthearted, and cute, so this is that.

You were going to kill Denki. That is, if Bakugou didn’t get to him first.

“Calm down, Bakubro! Murdering one of our classmates would not be very manly of you!”

And if it wasn’t for Kirishima, holding Bakugou back with all of his strength and giving you a sympathetic look as you were dragged along, Denki would’ve been toast. Literally. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” Denki was saying, hiding behind Mina and Sero, “It’s just a prank, dude, a joke! Don’t kill me!” 

“I’m gonna end you, spark plug!” Bakugou growled, “Get over here and get this shit off of me!”

Sero, barely holding back his laughter, said, “Aw, come on, Bakugou, I wouldn’t call y/n ‘shit’!”

For a moment, Bakugou blinks like he’s stunned, but then his murderous glare returns ten fold. “That’s... That’s not even what I meant, dunce face! I meant the handcuffs! Get. Them. OFF!”

You know, from the look Mina is sending you, that you’re blushing. 

“Okay!” Kaminari scrambles out from behind the two, smiling sheepishly as he searches all his pockets, “No worries, man, let me just... let me... get the... key...”

Bakugou finally settles down, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops his hand, yours falling with it. You rub at your wrist lightly, eyebrows drawn together. You’d been handcuffed to Bakugou for almost ten minutes now, and your wrist was already sore from being yanked around so much. 

“What’s taking so long, dunce face?” Bakugou grumbles.

“Well, you see, uhm... okay, listen, don’t be... don’t be mad, bro, just...” Kaminari laughs, eyes wide in fear, voice dropping so low you could hardly hear him, “I can’t exactly find it.”

You yelp in surprise as Bakugou activates his quirk, feeling the heat against the back of your hand. 

“What did you say?!” 

Everyone winces as he yells, face almost as red as Kirishima’s hair. 

“Careful, dude, don’t burn her!” Kirishima says, hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. 

Bakugou shoves him off, but listens to him nonetheless, and the heat subsides. 

“It’s okay, Kiri, I’m fine.” You tell him quietly. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Denki says, guiltily. 

“Yeah, you’re about to be real sorry.” Bakugou says, “If you don’t get these off in the next five seconds!”

“Look, let’s just calm down for a minute, okay?” You say, stepping between the two. You feel Bakugou’s arm tug back against yours, as you move farther away from him, and your blush deepens. “Sorry. Anyway... why don’t we just see if Momo can make an extra key? Right?"

“That’s a good idea!” Kirishima says, optimistically. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Kaminari scratches his head.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Bakugou mutters darkly.

Mina purses her lips, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, that would be great... Except Momo is visiting her parents, and won’t be back till later tonight.”

And just like that, Bakugou explodes again. “WHAT?!”

...

After a stressful call with Momo, involving Bakugou taking the phone from Mina not once, but twice, and telling her to ‘get her and her stupid ass ponytail back to UA NOW!’, it’s finally decided that you’ll just have to wait it out. Even Bakugou can’t say he’d rather go to Aizawa, because explaining this meant explaining the handprint shaped burns in Denki’s door.

Of course, Momo promises to help as soon as she’s back, but that’s still hours and hours away. 

Bakugou, who still practically had steam coming out of his ears, sat beside you on the couch silently. Across from you, the rest of the group watched in sympathy (and fear). No one dared to break the silence, in fear he’d blow up on them again. You couldn’t say you blamed them. 

“Come on.” Bakugou’s sudden command startles you.

“What? Where are we going?” You ask, following his lead and standing up (you were getting dragged along, either way). 

He rolls his eyes, sighing, “I don’t know, but I’m not just gonna sit around like an idiot all day.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, marching out of the room. You look over your shoulder on your way out, a silent cry for help, and Denki has the audacity to give you a thumbs up and wink. You glare at him, sending your friends into a laughing fit.

“What are they laughing at?” Bakugou mutters, brow raised.

You flush in embarrassment, shrugging. “Dunno.”

The two of you eventually end up in the kitchen. You knew Bakugou could cook, everyone did because he regularly kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could, but you’d never actually seen him in action. He was much calmer now that the two of you were alone, but the scowl never left his face. 

After a few minutes of awkwardly trailing behind him as he gathered ingredients, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Can I help?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you begin to think he’ll just ignore you, before he’s handing you a spoon. “You stir while I chop vegetables. I don’t trust you with a knife.”

Ignoring the backhanded comment, you take the spoon from him, happy he’s letting you help. You stir with one hand, resting the other on the counter beside him, so he can use both hands to chop the vegetables. It’s not easy, trying to cook while handcuffed to the angry blonde, but the two of you eventually find a rhythm. 

“So what are you making?” You ask, turning to look at him. His focus is all on what he’s doing, and he looks so serious you try your best not to giggle. Does Bakugou ever just... relax? Still, the way his lower lip just barely juts out and his brow furrows, when he concentrates hard, is really cute.

“We’re making zosui.” 

You’re heart does a little flip as he says ‘we’. He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know that, but you still have to turn away in an attempt to hide your smile. As mad as you were at Denki, you had to admit that being able to actually spend time with Bakugou doing something so... normal, domestic? It was nice. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about a moment like this (except, in your daydreams, you weren’t handcuffed, and maybe there was kissing involved), but you’d never thought it would actually happen. The only time you got to spend time with him outside of class, normally, was if you asked for help with the homework or agreed to spar. But that was rare, these days. Bakugou normally sparred with Kirishima, anyway, and you always felt like a bother when you asked for help. 

Sneaking another look at Bakugou, you find he’s already looking at you. He takes the spoon from you, gently bumping his hip into yours to move you out of the way, and you watch as he adds the veggies to the soup. As he stirs them in, he asks you to hand him the spices he’d set out beforehand. 

“What, have you never seen someone cook before?” He asks.

You laugh sheepishly, “I ate a lot of microwave dinners growing up.”

The look he gives you is incredulous, borderline angry, and he scoffs. “You’re kidding. That shits terrible for you!” 

You laugh, wrinkling your nose. 

He meets your eyes for a moment, lips parted slightly, and you raise a brow at him. Before you can ask, his attentions is back on the soup, and he’s quiet again.

It doesn’t take long for the soup to be done, then, after he adds the rice. And you have to admit, even though you hadn’t helped much, you do feel a sense of accomplishment when you sit down to eat a meal that you made yourself. 

The two of you sit down beside each other, forced to scoot your chairs so close that your thighs are almost touching. Surprisingly, he doesn’t complain.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, before digging in. “Wow! This is delicious!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He rolls his eyes, but you recognize the slightly smug look on his face. “You helped.”

You giggle, bumping shoulders with him. “Sure, but you’re the chef, here!”

He hid it behind another bite of food, but you could have sworn you saw him smile, too. 

The two of you finish your meal in silence, Bakugou waiting with surprising patience for you to finish eating, before putting the bowls in the sink. 

“Thanks.”

He gives you a look, “For what?”

For being so nice.

“For teaching me how to cook!” 

He shrugs, muttering out ‘whatever’ in reply. 

“So... what do you want to do know?” You ask, hoping his tolerance for your company would last. 

You end up back in his dorm, awkwardly huddled together at the head of his bed. He was reading, as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. The silence wasn’t awkward, like you’d thought it would be. It was comfortable, almost calming. You found yourself getting tired, the more you sat there. 

Eventually growing bored of your phone, you turned to see what Bakugou was reading, and started reading the pages yourself. You didn’t think he’d noticed, until he slipped his finger behind the next page to turn it, and paused. 

“You done?” He said, quiet and soft, his cheeks tinted the slightest pink. 

Your eyes widened, blushing, “Uh, yeah. S-Sorry.”

He turned the page without another word, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You tried to ignore him, pretending to read, before he sighed. 

And then, Bakugou began to read to you. 

“W-What are you doing?”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Reading, dumbass.” He snapped. “You read slower than me, it’s annoying.”

Despite the backhanded remark, you grinned. “Oh. Okay.” 

He started again, sounding significantly less irritated, and you tried to slow the beating of your heart. In all the times you’d imagined hanging out with Bakugou, you had never thought of something this sweet. You especially hadn’t anticipated his voice ever being this soft, and calming. 

As he read to you, you shifted closer, eventually resting your head on his shoulder. He faltered for a minute, hiding his fumble with a cough, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the next chapter that he realized you’d fallen asleep. 

And he definitely wasn’t blushing, no, not Bakugou.

Hours later, when Momo and all your friends piled into his room, he whispered harshly, “Wake her up, and I’ll kill you!”

Maybe Denki’s plan had worked out, after all. 

[stylesberries]

Vegan Cupcakes

Summary: You and Harry have been quarantined together and he needs space.

Genre(s): angst (happy ending)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): angsty stuff, ~foul language~

You and Harry have been quarantined together for several months now and, despite the difficulty and the severity of the situation, you as a couple are having the time of your lives.

Harry was definitely disappointed and upset about not being able to go touring with Fine Line, but the second he heard the news he thought of you.

He has been donating a lot of money and supplies for those in need of it or unemployed while you took your university classes online.

Spending most of the spring together didn’t feel as suffocating for Harry as summer did. Your classes were over and you didn’t take a summer semester, so your time fully revolved around him. Which he liked.

In the beginning.

Until you clung on him like a koala for days and made him cuddle you all the time, which he enjoyed a lot until it became a routine. Harry couldn’t even tell you how he felt because it would hurt your feelings, so he didn’t say anything at all, keeping it all to himself.

“Baby?” You call for him from the kitchen.

Harry rolls his eyes as you, once again, interrupted his flow of thoughts. He gets up from the couch he was laying on peacefully before and walks towards the kitchen, where you are standing holding up a paper so big it covers your whole face.

“Yes?” Harry asks, trying his best not to come out too rough. You placed the paper on the kitchen island in front of you to look up at Harry. You didn’t pay close attention to his annoyance; you were too busy brainstorming what proportion of flour to sugar to take for your vegan cupcakes.

“Harry, do you think I should take 1:2? Like twice as much flour? Or do you want the cupcakes to be sweeter?” Harry watched you ramble, crossing his arms, feeling ~this~ close to bursting. “Or do you think the cupcakes shouldn’t be that sweet because they’ll have sweet icing on top?” You ket throwing question after question at your fuming boyfriend, still oblivious of his irritation.

“Or maybe we should make them both mildly sweet?” Shut up.

“They will be chocolate anyway, right?” Shut up.

“Would you prefer dark chocola-”

“Y/N, shut up already! Can you stop fucking rambling? My head is going to explode from your talking.” Harry explodes, not letting you finish your question, the excited smile leaving your face.

You felt your head being squeezed from sides, pressure increasing at your temples.

“What?” You ask, hoping that you misheard him, knowing deep down that you didn’t because the Harry you knew and loved would never say such a hurtful thing.

“I said shut up. My brain is buzzing from your talking. Do whatever you fucking want.” Harry said and walked out of the kitchen before you could say something to him.

Thinking that he probably isn’t in a good mood and certainly needs space from your rambling you stay back in the kitchen and go back to your recipe with a broken heart and wet eyes. Your hands shake as you brought the paper back up to your face, failing to read any of the words and measurements through a layer of tears that were collected in your eyes.

Even when you were fighting he had never said anything so mean to you before, especially after he found out that your whole life people have been discouraging you from talking, so you closed off and spoke up only when you were directly called out for not saying anything. It took Harry a couple of months to finally get you to open up to him and talk to him without feeling guilty for it. He used to love it when you rambled on and on about things you’re passionate about. At least that’s what you thought.

You spend the next hour making the batter for your cupcakes and baking them, which only took about fifteen minutes. You felt encouraged to go up to Harry when you smelled the chocolate cupcakes fresh out of the oven.

“I’ll put a couple on a plate.” You spoke to yourself placing the freshly baked cupcakes on Harry’s favorite flower plate. “Just like that.”

Talking to yourself was a way you brushed your nervousness and anxiety away. Harry would catch you talking to your reflection millions of times, just standing and secretly watching you sometimes with a wide smile plastered on his face.

You placed the plate on the tray you brought from your trip to Italy and poured Harry some black coffee, placing it next to the warm plate. You picked the tray up and walked out of the kitchen, making sure to watch your elbows at the doorway.

Making your way towards the living room, where you expected Harry to be, you spotted no grumpy boyfriends there.

“He’s probably in the studio.” You spoke to yourself, refusing to let Harry’s bad mood discourage you.

Harry would rarely hide from you in the studio when you’re fighting, usually he would face you and solve the issue before it grows and hurts you even more, so it was unusual for him to run off there.

You brushed the thought off and watched towards the studio door. As you walked closer you could hear Harry talking to someone, but knowing that there is no one home except you two, you understood that he’s talking on the phone with someone. You stood at the door, turning to the side to place the tray on the floor, freeing your hands to turn back to the door and knock, as you didn’t want to interrupt any important calls or interviews that Harry could have with your talking.

Before your knuckles hit the door, you heard Harry’s voice.

“Man, I mean she’s always next to me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wait for her to go back to uni for me to get some air.” Harry whines. Your heart stops before going back to beating at a higher rate, full of anxiety.

“Yeah, right! It just feels as if she’s been dreaming of being touchy-feely with someone and now that I’m finally home she can’t get herself off of me.” Harry kept stabbing your heart and laughed at something the person on the phone said.

With every word, you felt more and more empty. You started walking away from the door, bending over to take the tray with yourself not to leave any traces behind.

How could he say something like that?

I thought he loved me.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Your legs moved on their own and you just followed along, tears leaking from your eyes’ inner corners, tracing a way down to your chin. The salty trail wasn’t getting a chance to dry as new tears followed the same path as the ones before did.

When your body reached the kitchen your shaking hands placed the tray on the counter, Harry’s coffee slightly spilling on the tray.

Pain.

Never before have you thought than sadness could physically hurt so much; it hurt like a bitch.

You placed the tray on the table for Harry to find later and walked out of the kitchen to go back to your bedroom to cry in your pillow while he keeps complaining about you to his friend.

Harry came to bed in a couple of hours closer to the evening after looking for you all over the house to apologize for his rough words. When he saw you laying on your side of the bed, your knees pushed up to your chest, the duvet hardly doing its job keeping you covered and warm, he felt guilt running through his veins.

Walking up to his side, pressing a knee on the mattress first, Harry scooted over to you and pulled the duvet to cover you up. He let his arm stay on the duvet wrapping around your fragile form. He moved his upper body closer to yours, his chest pressing against your duvet-covered back.

“Baby?” Harry spoke softly, cautious not to wake you up. When no answer followed he frowned and positioned his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses on your neck.

“I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I was very mean to you.” He spoke against your soft skin. “I shouldn’t have exploded like that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Harry’s apologies kept following one after another and you stayed silent, keeping your act on. You would’ve believed every word of his if only you haven’t heard him say the things he said about you to someone else.

You kept your eyes closed. Harry’s apologies subsided as he slowly fell asleep cuddled into your back. You stayed up that night, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You wished for the pain inside to leave with your tears but it stayed, eating you from inside, until sunrise when you fell asleep from the emotional exhaustion.

When you woke up, Harry was no longer lying next to you and you were thankful for it. You really hoped that he wouldn’t bring yesterday up, even though you knew he would because he never got to apologize to you awake.

Your stomach growled and you remember that you never got to have dinner the day before, falling asleep drowning in your own sadness.

You quickly got up to sneakily walk down to the kitchen, but you were disappointed to have smelled Harry’s signature chocolate waffles in the air. With your shoulders slumped in defeat you walked down the stairs towards your kitchen.

As you walked through the doorway of the kitchen you saw Harry placing the brown waffles onto serving plates and adding sliced strawberries on top. You stopped your heart from fluttering because you, unfortunately, knew more than you’d prefer to know about how your boyfriend actually feels about you.

Harry felt someone’s eyes on him and turned around to be greeted by your indifferent self. He felt his heart sink as he read the hurt from the day before engraved on the surface of your face. Harry kept fidgeting about the table trying to let you pass to sit in your place next to him and placed the plate of waffles in front of you.

“I made you your favorite, baby.” He spoke unsure of how you would react to any words that left his mouth.

You fought the desire to bite into the warm chocolate waffles that your belly was craving after crying all night long and being left hungry for so many hours and walked up to the counter to get yourself a couple of your ill-fated cupcakes.

You couldn’t see Harry’s head lowering as you dashed his hopes to make it better. Little did Harry know you weren’t upset about his outburst about the cupcakes yesterday, so a couple of waffles won’t help to glue together the ruins of your heart that he shattered.

As you bit into the cupcakes, you stood at the counter facing away from the table, Harry took no bites of his breakfast, staring at your back helplessly. Suddenly he felt small and didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Y/N. I acted like a piece of shit. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” His lips moved as his eyes watched your back for any reaction coming from you, his voice coming out soft and weak.

You stood there, your eyes glossy and your lips curving down in a frown, as you fought back the tears. Harry doesn’t have a single idea of how much pain he’s caused you and how none of these stupid apologies will ever fix the cracks that he left in your heart. You looked over your shoulder at Harry’s similar-to-yours state and hesitated whether or not to open up to him. Harry looked into your eyes with his and held a breath, hoping that you would figure things out. Your eyes broke the eye contact by looking down and speaking up.

“It’s okay.” You spoke and abandoned your plate, walking out of the kitchen, Harry’s eyes observing your every movement.

For the next couple of days, you stayed away from Harry and things were pretty cold between you. Harry would come up to you every day trying to apologize but you wouldn’t let him finish any of those times, leaving the room right away. Hurt was eating you from inside and you didn’t care what he had to say. Harry chose to sleep in the guest bedroom not to make you uncomfortable and you thanked him for it.

As time went by, you cooled down and felt better yourself. Harry gave you all the space you needed and it helped your healing process. You still hurt but you could talk to him now at least. Things went back to normal in most ways except one: you would stop yourself from expressing any kind of affection to Harry and he wouldn’t say anything but it drove him insane. He didn’t know why you wouldn’t kiss or snuggle him like you used to. You also started talking less because of your fight and Harry noticed every single change in your behavior and beat himself up for it.

“Y/N.” Harry walked into the bedroom with an i-can’t-do-this-anymore face on. Your eyes had to abandon the indulging book you were reading as Harry closed the door behind him, which meant he was determined to finally face the difficulty of the situation. Noticing the mood in the room change to a serious one, you placed the book on the bedside table and crossed your legs under the duvet, focusing all of your attention on your restless boyfriend with arms crossed.

“Mhm?” You ask, waiting for him to spit out whatever he’s been putting aside for almost two weeks.

“I’m sorry for that fight, okay? I really am, sweetheart. You haven’t been the same since then and it scares me. I didn’t mean to go off at you like that. You didn’t deserve it at all. I was exhausted and felt shitty myself and took it out on you. It’s not an excuse to yell at you and be so mean, I understand and I’m sorry, beautiful. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again, I promise. Please forgive me, Y/N.” Harry spoke so desperately, his emotions all over the place. He started gesticulating, which you knew meant that he was anxious and frustrated.

“I’m not mad at that, Harry. I forgave you.” You spoke the truth; Harry looked at you with even more frustration behind his now-glossy eyes.

“But you don’t even touch me anymore! You don’t kiss me! You don’t even want to be near-” Harry lets all of his insecurities out, oblivious to the flow of your own that you prepare to pour on him. You couldn’t sit there and listen to him accuse you of being neglectful towards him so you broke in to speak yourself.

“You don’t want me to be around you anymore! You said that yourself! You-you said-” Your voice cracks as tears build up in the corners of your eyes. It became hard to talk. “-said I’m always next to you and you need some space from me always being there.”

The tears that were collecting in your eyes were streaming down your cheeks, Harry’s glance reflecting off of them. Harry couldn't understand what you were referring to but kept listening to you.

“And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself. You whined about how annoying I am to your friend, embarrassing me. It’s supposed to be something kept between us two, not discussed with your friends.” Every word stabbed his heart in same places as it did yours.

Harry’s mind went straight to the call you were talking about. He felt his intestines turn into a knot inside of him, causing him to feel nauseous. He felt like an asshole. It was fair because he was one indeed.

I hurt her.

You don’t want to be around me anymore.

Does she really think that?

You need space from me.

My baby. My angel.

What a fucking piece of shit am I to hurt my precious love like this.

You saw right through Harry’s sudden self-hatred despite the two layers of salty tears between your eyes and his.

“I’m so sorry.” Harry’s apologies filled the room, as pain continued to fill his soul.

“I hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry. It was so wrong to share something so personal with anyone except you. I didn’t even know what I was saying. I can’t live without you.” Harry’s cries became louder and louder as his regret first doubled and then tripled in size. “Your hands, your lips, your beautiful eyes - I can’t live without those things on me constantly. I was such a fool to think that I needed space from you. You’re the love of my life! I love you so fucking much. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I-” Harry's voice was cut by him having to take deep breaths to keep himself together. He placed a hand over his chest breathing in deeply.

You ripped the blanket off of yourself watching Harry closely, getting ready to sprint to his inhaler in case he needs it. Harry saw your reaction to his heavy breathing and rose his hand to gesture that he’s okay. You let out a relieved sign and scooted closer to the end of the bed where Harry stood. When he caught up with his breathing he looked down at you, moving to get on his knees in front of the bed. Harry’s hands flew up to cup your cheeks softly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to.

“I love you so much, baby. I can’t express how sorry I am to hurt you so much. I don’t need any space from you. I can’t function properly without you on me all the time, without you wrapped in my arms.” Harry spoke and tears kept running down his face. You watched his eyes jump from one side of your face to the other, trying to absorb every single line and curve of your face.

“Fuck, I’ve missed looking at you so fucking much,” Harry speaks up, his face frowning as new tears start flowing out of his eyes. The frown on Harry’s face became more prominent as he understood the severity of the pain he had caused you.

”It’s all my fault.” Harry cries, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, your arms wrapping around him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Harry kept apologizing the whole night and many days after, not letting you walk further than an arm length away from him. It took him a lot of effort to kick the insecurities that he birthed out of your head, but he kept proving himself to you over and over again.

He is an arrogant son of a bitch, but nonetheless he loves you more than himself.

© all right belong to stylesberries. do not repost or modify.

[beca-mitchell]

little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally. 

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick​: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

 * * * * *

 It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

 * * * * *

 Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

 * * * * *

 The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

 * * * * *

 “Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

 * * * * *

 They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

 * * * * *

 “I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

 * * * * *

 When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

[yellowcabdriver]

love language

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Javier wants to love you the right way.

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Warning: none

A/N: this was written in like 20 minutes before I went to sleep so sorry in advance for mistakes 🥲 Also, a kiss on a head for those who guesses Javier’s love language I tried to force in here 🥰🤣

“What form of love language do you prefer?”

You raised your head from the paperwork you had been filling out for what seems like an eternity.

“What?”

Elena shook some heavy-looking glossy magazine in her hand.

“There’s a test in here. Wanna find out?”

You went back to filing the report and shrugged your shoulders.

“How many love languages are there anyway?”

“Umm…” Elena quickly flipped through a few pages. “Five.”

Usually, you were not the one to indulge in magazines, especially not at work but… it had been a long day at the embassy. Very long. You spent the first part of the day typing out reports for Noonan, then you had to go to the archive and sew together some old documents in a badly lit backroom in the company of, you were sure of it, a ghost of someone who died in that backroom choking on an ungodly amount of dust. Your back was aching, high heels required by the dress code were straight up slaughtering your feet one step at a time. And also, you were bored out of your mind.

“Wow, okay.” You sighed and plopped down on a chair. “Sure, let’s see. I needed a break anyway.”

With a victorious shriek, Elena started reading out questions and marking the answers down on the pages with a pencil that desperately needed to be sharpened.

“Okay, you got…” her lips inaudibly moved as she was counting the results. “You got words of affirmation.”

“Oh, bullshit!” You threw your head back in sardonic laughter and stretched out your legs. “I don’t enjoy being complemented at all, I always get super uncomfortable!”

Elena shrugged her shoulders as she was erasing her pencil notes from the magazine.

“Maybe you do, somewhere deep down.”

“Nope, not a chance,” you snickered. “Your magazine is full of lies.”

“Hey!” Jokingly offended, Elena hugged the magazine to her chest. “It’s my only entertainment in this lifeless pile of paper!”

“What did you get then?” You asked, propping your cheek with your palm making you sound all muffled.

“Acts of service.”

“Well then, I’ll tell David to serve you up real nice.”

An enemy missile in the form of a crumpled piece of paper landed on your table.

“Oh screw you!”

“What’s the hustle?”

Elena and you immediately straightened up at the voice of a visitor who, upon further inspection, turned out to be your boyfriend, Javier.

“It’s just me, not Noonan,” he raised his palms slowly walking to your table as you two relaxed into your previous positions. Javier sat down at the edge of your table next to your chair and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, this was his way of saying hello.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked. Boy, were you ever.

“Of course, I am. So tired,” you complained suppressing a yawn. Javier smiled, soothingly stroking your hand.

“Let’s just go home, they don’t even pay us any overtime anyway,” Elena muttered, shooting a resentful stare at the piles of documents in front of her.

“By the way,” Javier turned to look at Elena. “David is downstairs, I think you’re gonna catch up.”

These words were enough for Elena to throw away her magazine, which honour she was just defending by violating a Geneva Convention of friendship, and bolt out of office without further ado. You and Javier looked at each other in amusement and burst into laughter at the same time.

“We should also go.”

“Yep, let’s go home.”

Nominally, “home” was Javier’s apartment, it was closer to the office and was overall much nicer than your place. Driving down the familiar street—the next turn after that yellow house, you were thinking, is home—Javier put his hand on your lap and asked you:

“Why were you arguing with Elena? Did she do something to you?”

“Oh, she did, she Inflicted the pain of knowing the content of a beauty magazine,” you half-heartedly complained, enjoying the warmth of Javier’s large hand on your thigh. Javier grinned at your remark.

“That harsh, huh?”

“We were just bored and decided to take a dumb test from the magazine.”

Javier chuckled as he quickly glanced at you, his yellow aviators catching a glimpse of the setting sun.

“About what?”

“Something about love language.”

“And what about it?”

“Well, found out that my love language is apparently words of affirmation.”

The car slowly stopped in the driveway as you reached Javier’s apartment building.

“Really?” He smiled at you, kissing the back of your hand. You almost melted at the gesture of his casual affection.

“Yes, who would’ve thought, right?”

Javier laughed again, exiting the car and jogging to your side to open the door for you. You jumped down and placed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth as a thank you.

“So it means you need to hear words of affirmation every day? Like your Cleo?” Javier asked, locking the car doors and turning slightly to look at you with a smile. You snorted. “Your Cleo” was a plant sitting comfortably on a windowsill of your office. She was a dying little thing until you saved her from being literally abused in the dark hallway of the embassy. Once you got her into a well-lit room and started watering her properly with actual water and not residue 3-in-1 coffee, Cleo turned into a stunning blooming beauty. You did talk to her, mostly paying her compliments—yes, weird, but you read somewhere that plants responded to positive affirmation. Javier, of course, didn’t believe any of that but for you, and he highlighted that specifically, he would greet Cleo every now and then when he entered your and Elena’s office.

“I am not like Cleo!” You huffed, making Javier smile as he hugged you by your waist and you two started walking towards his apartment. “But I believe everyone flourishes under kind words, don’t you think?”

Javier opened the door to his place and let you enter first.

“That’s a fair point, hermosa.”

The evening went by as it usually did: you two ate a dinner that Javier quickly put together—you maybe were a better cook but a slow one, for sure. Then you went to put Javier’s clothes into a washing machine, a dreadful loud thing that was tumbling around so hard you were afraid it would explode, while Javier washed the dishes. Finally, you two settled on the coach to watch some classic evening telenovelas because nothing relaxes a person more than an intricate plot of a tv show where somehow everyone ends up being everyone’s relative.

You were very engulfed in an episode—main character shot a man who turned out to be her biological father,—when Javier quietly asked:

“Am I saying enough compliments to you?”

“What?” You let out an involuntary laughter but as you turned to look at Javier, he didn’t seem to be joking.

“You said your preferred love language is words of affirmation and I’m… cariño, you know I’m not good with words,” Javier let out a bitter chuckle rubbing his temple—a nervous habit. “Am I showing you enough love?”

Oh.

Oh.

That you didn’t expect.

You turned the volume down and quickly climbed on Javi’s lap. He uncomfortably glanced up at the ceiling with a vulnerability you never saw him exude before. You could see something you would believe was more of your thing—an insecurity of being not enough.

“Javi, please, look at me,” you took his face in your hands and he immediately left a quick kiss on your palm, like a reflex.

God, that man was gonna be the death of you.

“Javi, my love, I never said anything about my preferences, it was just a dumb magazine. And besides, I don’t need to hear compliments, you know I can’t even take them well!” you said causing Javier knowingly to raise his eyebrows in agreement. Your left hand found its way to the back of his head and into his soft curls making Javier groan quietly.

“I love you so much and I love your ways of showing affection. I feel loved, if anything I feel adored.” You let your right index finger trace his aquiline nose and Javier closed his eyes at your tender touch. You began to press soft kisses all over his face.

“You love me so well, Javier Peña. You are so caring, so wonderful, so handsome, and sooooo sexy…” you exhaled as your kisses reached his jaw and you felt him smile. “I love you, Javi. So so much.”

Javier opened his eyes and pulled you in for a proper kiss.

“I love you, too, mi corazon,” his hands gently squeezing your thighs.

As this gesture pressed you closer, you felt the tightness in his jeans. Jokingly widening your eyes you glanced down, between your bodies, as Javier offered you a shy boyish grin.

“Ohh, but I see that someone else’s love language is definitely words of affirmation.”

Javier’s hands slid under your shirt and tightened around your waist as he began to leave open-mouthed kisses on your neck prompting you to let out a shamelessly loud moan.

“Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that,” he softly said, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “I really love to hear your praise, mi amor.”

[kimistorm]

It was Supposed to Just be Eggs (Stray Kids x Reader)

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Platonic! OT8 x GN! Reader (Reader gets called "mom" but Lee Know is sometimes referred to as SKZ's mom so it still works? Let me know if you think it doesn't.)

Warnings: None! All fluff~

“Kids! I’m back!” you shouted through the dorm as you kicked off your shoes at the door. You used your toe to push it to the corner, making a mental note to come back and properly put your shoes away as your hands were currently preoccupied with some bags of groceries. You made a beeline for the kitchen, eager to put down the heavy bags of food.

It wasn’t that it was your job to go do the groceries, you just happened to be at the supermarket when you got a frantic text from Felix saying they needed eggs. He promised to pay you back, and you decided to get a whole bunch of food, remembering Hyunjin complaining about the lack of food in the group chat.

“Let me grab one,” Felix offered as he took one of the bags from your hands, which you gratefully let him take as you shook out your cramped hand. You frowned as you looked at the red lines that were on your hand, no wonder it was hurting.

“I think the eggs are in that one.” You pointed to the plastic bag on the counter in front of Felix as you put down the other plastic bag next to him and began to unload the items.

“Thank you!” he smiled as he took out the carton, “how did you know we needed butter?” he asked as he pulled out a couple boxes of said item.

“Every time you cook you use an entire package.” You laughed at his pout.

“I do not!”

You dug in the bag and brought out some chocolate chips, “I saw a recipe for chocolate chip pancakes.” You told him as you brought out the rest of the random assortment of foods you bought, “so let’s try and make some on Saturday yeah?” Felix nodded excitedly.

“Seungmin!” you shouted even though you couldn’t see him.

There was a faint “yeah?” from somewhere in the dorms.

“You’re invited too!” you didn’t hear his response, but you were going to drag him into your cooking experiment. It wouldn’t be pancakes without him and Felix.

“Are those gummy bears?” you let out a shriek as Chris appeared over your shoulder, looking down at the colorful package that was still in the bag.

“No, they’re mine!” you shouted as you snatched the bag to hold it close.

“I want snacks!” he cried out childishly as he captured you in a hug to try and get the sweets.

“Then get your own!” you struggled and tried to elbow him.

“I’m trying!” you tried to wiggle out from under his grasp, but ended up bringing both of you to the ground, causing the two of you (and the other members who saw the event) to burst out laughing.

“What are you doing?” you saw Minho’s face pop up from behind the counter as he looked down at you and Chris.

“Protecting my honor.” You pouted childishly.

His raised eyebrow was full of doubt as he continued to look at you, “your honor is a bag of gummy bears?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes at your antics before disappearing to cook.

Keeping a watchful eye on Chris, you stood up from the ground. “What are you guys doing anyways?” you asked as you noticed Minho and Felix in the kitchen, and Jeongin at the table.

“Cooking.” Was Minho’s deadpanned response.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his response, “well yes, that’s why I went out to buy supplies. But I thought Felix was the only one who wanted to bake.”

“Changed my mind,” was the easy response from Minho. You let out a quiet sigh as you looked over at Jeongin again, and then your face reddened as you saw the camera on the tripod.

“Are you guys live?” you clutched your gummy bears closer, as if holding it tighter would protect you.

“STAY is excited to see you (y/n)!” Jeongin reported as he looked at the chat, which just exploded with your name.

“No!” you cried out and promptly fell on the floor again to get out of the frame, “I’m embarrassed.”

Jeongin was laughing as he read the comments, “(y/n) is Stray Kids’ mom confirmed.”

You let out another embarrassed screech and covered your rapidly reddening face with your hands, “why didn’t you tell me you were live?” you spoke through your hands, too flustered to even look up, “you weren’t live when I left!”

“STAY’s been looking for you,” Jeongin replied, “so I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You stuck up a hand to wave at the camera, “hello STAY. I’m just going to leave now,” you scootched around on the smooth floor to try and escape from the room without showing up in the camera again. It wasn’t that you didn’t like STAY, you loved them, but you weren’t ready to suddenly be live. And being called Stray Kids’ mom flustered you. You saw the theories, but having it said to your face while livestreaming was enough to turn you into a tomato.

“Get back here!” you didn’t have a second to react as Chris grabbed you in one of his iconic hugs, pulling you back to your feet. “You need to properly say hi.”

Your face was definitely red as you gave a feeble wave to the camera, “uh, hi STAY.”

“Do you even love STAY?” Chris asked dramatically in response to your shy greeting. Your brain was a little fried for words, so you responded with a finger heart to the camera, tactically using it to block your face.

There was a thud and a scream from somewhere else in the dorm, “(y/n)! Help!”

“Uh oh, what did you do!” was your shouted response as you pulled Chris’s arms off of you to head towards the scream.

As you went to deal with whatever mess the kids had created, Jeongin smiled into the camera, “oh yeah, (pronoun)’s definitely our mom.”

Masterlist

[sluttyten]

“This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?” “You can’t leave without letting me hug you first”

Haechan😊

Can I ask for it be kinda e2l? If possible no worries if not. Thanks!

(this one actually gets kinda long, so I did put it under a read more)

You and Lee Donghyuck did not get along. Like at all. 

It was a strong annoyance to all of your mutual friends at university (which was most of your friends, honestly), but he was basically your enemy. Donghyuck was the one person that frustrated you beyond belief, and any time you were around each other all you could do was bicker, physically fight, or play mean pranks on each other. So you understood why your friends hated it because they were often collateral damage. The enemyship with him had even ruined a few relationships in the past on your part and on his.

So it was no surprise to you that when the university’s computer programming/technology department put out a prototype app just in time for the Valentine’s season, your friends insisted you make a profile. The app was meant to find you a top match based off a personality test you would take; it would compare your profile to all the others in the university (as this app so far was only available to students at your university), and select the top ten most likely matches. 

They advertised it as some cupid match-making service, free of charge. They were just hoping for some good reviews and a great audience to test their app-developing skills on. 

Your friends pushed you to make your profile, pointing out how single you’d been since your bickering with Donghyuck had caused you and your last boyfriend to breakup. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day this weekend!” One of your friends said, jabbing at the screen of your phone. “We’re trying to find you a perfect date!”

So you play along. You answer all the questions honestly. And even as you’re kind of skeptical about the whole thing, the optimistic part of your mind is already racing, really hoping that the cute boy you saw at the campus gym or the handsome musician playing on the quad last week might end up being the perfect match for you.

But then just a handful of minutes after you complete your profile, your results are in. 

The best possible match for you is Lee Donghyuck. 

You nearly throw your phone across your dorm, ready to fight someone, possibly one of your friends beside you because you’re certain they somehow set you up. There was no possible way that you and Donghyuck were even remotely compatible. 

“Oh, come on,” one of them says to you. “You two spend all your time bickering over nonsense, how would you even know what you have in common?”

You can’t help thinking it’s ridiculous nevertheless, and you plan to ignore that the app said that you and Donghyuck were each other’s Top Match. Preposterous.

But as the days dwindle away and Valentine’s Day is just two days away, the campus explodes in swathes of pink and red, hearts and lovey dovey stuff everywhere. All you see are couples. All of the advertisements on social media are romance-related. So many of your friends and acquaintances and classmates are preparing for dates with their significant others or with their matches from that damned app.

Therefore, on that Friday night when you get back to your dorm room from your last class, you break out a bottle of wine and make some questionable decisions.

For one thing, you message Donghyuck using a messaging feature on the matchmaking app. Even while drunk you know it’s a bad idea, but you do it anyway. You complain to him how dumb this app is that it matched you and him as Top Matches when really you hate each other, but you think that if he doesn’t already have any plans on Valentine’s Day, you’d be open to seeing if maybe this app is onto something.

The moments between the words under your message bubble changing from delivered to read seem to drag on, but the time between read and receiving a response from Donghyuck are an eternity. You are well and truly blitzed by the time your phone buzzes with his response, inviting you over to his dorm on Valentine’s Day for a movie.

You refuse to tell your friends about it, and as soon as you wake up the following morning and realize that the conversation you’d had with Donghyuck the night before wasn’t just a weird dream, you swear him to secrecy too. You don’t want your friends learning about this and trying to make it a big deal or anything. You’re just giving him a chance. Just one chance to make a friend out of an enemy.

It’s certainly not a formal date, and you’re fine with that. You show up at Donghyuck’s dorm room wearing leggings and a hoodie, and when he opens the door he’s dressed the same.

“Nice effort you put in for the holiday.” He teases, looking you up and down.

You step around him into the room. You’ve been in here before because you’re friends with his roommate, but those visits had been brief, always interrupted by Donghyuck returning and the two of you fighting. But now you’re alone in the room, and when you turn to look at Donghyuck again, you can tell that he’s trying to be on his best behavior and you suppose that you at least owe him the same.

“I ordered some food,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “You like Thai food, right?”

As you wait for the food, you sit down at the chair in front of his desk, he sits down on his bed, and for the first time since the two of you met each other, you actually talk to each other, speaking civilly and getting to know each other. You discuss those things that you surprisingly have in common, and as you’re laughing together about some drama that you’re both watching, you realize that maybe Donghyuck isn’t so bad after all.

The food arrives and you eat, and you realize at some point that you’ve never been actually alone with him before. You’ve always been in public or around friends, and maybe that’s been part of the problem all this time; having an audience has fed into this relationship’s harshness. And despite your history, you do find yourself feeling rather comfortable even as you sit on his bed on the bottom bunk, sliding back until your back is against the bundle of pillows against the wall as Donghyuck (”Haechan,” he’d insisted a few moments earlier. “Everyone else calls me Haechan, and if we’re planning to change things between us, I think you should too.” But you like calling him Donghyuck.) messes with the large monitor on the desk across from his bed, queueing up a movie.

And while you had mentioned horror movies in your profile, claiming that you at least weren’t opposed to watching them, you didn’t expect that Donghyuck would choose a truly terrifying one. You were fine for the first few minutes of it as Donghyuck (Haechan,a voice whispers in the back of your mind) was sitting beside you looking comfortable. But then the horror shit started and you gradually started drawing your knees up toward your chest, pulling a blanket up over your lap, staring at the screen but thinking instead of anything that was less horrifying.

It’s not like you expected to watch a romantic movie on your Valentine’s date with your enemy, but he enjoys comedies so you’d hoped a bit for that. You hadn’t thought that some scary horror movie filled with suspense would be the choice. Occasionally you glance over at Donghyuck and he’s looking at the screen, his knees drawn up under the blanket, his hand over his mouth, but he’s watching it.

You both jump violently at one point. He moves so high that the top of his head smacks into the slats if the bunk above his.

“Are you okay?” You reach over to feel the top of his head. You’re smiling a little just because the string of expletives leaving his mouth sound funny. “You jumped so hard,” you tease him, slipping your fingers through his hair to that tender spot he just hit. “Are you scared, Hyuckie?”

He looks over at you, something confused in his eyes. 

There’s a loud bang and scream from the movie, and you both wince. He sighs and glances back at the screen, only to slap a hand over his eyes as the demon appears suddenly on screen. “This movie is really scary,” Haechan admits suddenly, “but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?”

He’d split his fingers to peek at the screen again right as some violent and new terror appeared on the screen. 

You can’t stand it either, so you hide your face, but it just so happens that you hide your face by pressing it to the back of Hyuck’s shoulder and clutching tightly at his arm. After another moment of the sound coming from the movie being nothing good for the characters, Hyuck pulls away from you, climbing off the bed, and he goes to shut off the movie.

“You chose the movie!” You tell him as he looks back at you on his bed. “Why would you chose something that was just going to scare you?”

“Because your profile said you liked scary movies! But why were you so scared?” He turns his back, searching quickly through the options for other movies, and only turns back around to join you on his bed when there’s a new movies playing. You’re grateful when the title screen pops up and you can see it’s a comedy movie.

When he sinks back again beside you, he’s closer this time, his shoulder leaning against yours, and neither of you pull away. 

This movie is loads easier to watch, yet despite that you can feel that he’s not watching it as intently as he should. You spend about half of the movie ignoring the way that you can feel Donghyuck looking at you from the corner of his eye and sometimes more directly. You try to ignore how you think that if you’d met him under different circumstances long ago, you probably would’ve liked him a lot more, maybe would have dated him instead of all this time spent fighting with each other.

When the movie ends you realize that you and Hyuck have sunken together. You’re pressed against his side; he’s even got an arm stretched along the pillows behind you. 

For once he’s looking at the movie, smiling at the last scene, but you look at him, just observing his face and how close the two of you are right now. And in the light of the recent realization you made about how you probably would’ve dated him ago age, you’re just in awe of how he looks right then. He’s handsome. 

Suddenly he turns his head to look at you. 

That’s too close, too much. His lips are like an inch away from yours.

You tear yourself away, off his bed in two seconds. “I had fun tonight,” you say as you push your feet back into your shoes and start searching around for your jacket. “But it’s getting late, I should head back to my dorm. Maybe-- Maybe we can do this again sometime.” You suggest it without looking at him, scared that if you make eye contact now he’ll see what’s really going on in your mind--your brain playing out a scenario where you hadn’t pulled away just now, a scenario where he’d kissed you and you’d kissed him too.

Hyuck moves forward so he’s sitting on the edge of his bed. “Your coat’s on the desk chair.” He points, and you quickly grab it, slip it on. You hesitate for a moment, not reaching for the door, but clearly not wanting to stay here. Lee Donghyuck your former enemy, stands up and says, “You can’t leave without letting me at least hug you first.”

“What?” You ask, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well, coming in here before tonight, we kind of hated each other didn’t we? I feel like we should make some kind of show of peace between us so we can both remember that tonight wasn’t just a pause in all the fighting.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances at the monitor on the desk where the movie credits are still rolling.

You nod. “Okay.”

Maybe it should feel awkward hugging him now after everything in the past, but it doesn’t. It feels nice and warm. His arms wrap securely around your shoulders, you feel his chest against yours, your fingers twist in the back of his sweatshirt. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, and you wonder if he’s nervous, and you can’t fight down the smile. 

You remember a time long ago, shortly after you’d met and begun this argumentative relationship, one of your friends suggesting to you that maybe Donghyuck liked you, had a crush on you like a middleschool boy who doesn’t know how to confront his feelings head-on. You thought that was ridiculous, but now you wonder if there’d been some truth to it.

He’d been so quick to agree to this date tonight. He’d ordered food he knew you would like, put on a movie that he thought you’d like, and requested a hug with some flimsy excuse. Maybe Lee Donghyuck did have a long-standing crush on you.

You unknot your fingers from his sweatshirt, trailing your hands down around to his sides, slipping down to his hips, and you pull back. 

Haechan’s arms loosen from your shoulders, but they don’t move away completely. When you look into his eyes, he’s already gazing intently at your face. He’s already got such warm skin, but you can see a slight flush of pink rising to the surface. Your faces are so close once more; his lips are just an inch away.

This time you don’t pull away, you push in.

The kiss is short, barely more than a damp press of your lips on his, and then you’re backing off, reaching for the door. Haechan’s fingers drag at your shoulders, like he wants to hold you close, reel you back in for more, but you’re already out of reach, fingers on the doorknob.

“Don’t tell any of our friends about this.” You say as you crack the door open. “I’ll text you when I make it back to my dorm. Goodnight, Haechan.”

And right before the door closes behind you on your way out, you hear a quiet and dazed, “Goodnight.”

thank you to everyone who sent these in! prompts/requests are now closed, but I’ll be working on the ones I got before this! to see more drabbles you can click here

[letsperaltiago]

somewhere only we know

This is my entry for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange and it's for lovely Johanna aka. @amyscascadingtabs <3 I picked the prompt: "Jake and Amy going on a babymoon and enjoying some time together before everything changes for good."

It's very simple and just pure good, happy parents to be-vibes so yeah :) I initially wanted to add smut but didn't have the time to write it :(( If you feel like it's something you'd like, then feel free to lemme know! I can always add a chapter two heh. Anyways, enjoy!!

Rating: G

Words: 2.7k

Read here or on Ao3

“Jake, this is… amazing.”

This seems to be all Amy can come up with as the hotel room presents itself before her. Better or bigger words seem to be lacking from her otherwise excellent vocabulary but she blames it on the fact that she’s been carrying a tiny human for the past 35 weeks - not that she’s complaining. It’s been hard, both physically and mentally, and there are a few more weeks to go but by the end of it all, she’ll be holding her little baby boy. 

She’s tired and every inch of her body swollen and/or sore, but more importantly she’s eager and excited. Jake is too, if not even more than her, and this has resulted in the current scene: their babymoon. 

“You like it?” 

The way Jake asks her, eyes shining with innocent expectation and voice laced with childish excitement has her imagining just how their little boy will turn out to be. She can’t hold back her smile. This man will walk to the end of the earth to make her happy, essentially already has during this pregnancy, and the babymoon is just as much for him as it is for her. 

She turns on her heels to face him, showing him the bright smile that’s plastered on her makeup-free face which has gained some freckles during her pregnancy. 

“You could’ve planned a trip to a dumpster and I would still love it.”

Hands cupping his scruffy cheeks she pulls him in for a short but tender kiss that even so many years later, after thousands of kisses, has his toes curl in excitement. She truly would’ve stayed anywhere as long as Jake was with her. Although she does appreciate the fact that she’s standing in a beautiful lakeview suite at the LakeHouse Inn. 

“Should we reassess how much we refer to dumpsters and other gross locations when we declare our love for each other?” 

She chuckles at his comment, lips resonating against the corner of his grin. 

“Should we?” She slowly slides her hands to the back of her neck, entangling her fingers to keep her latched onto him even as she pulls away to flash him a pretend contemplative expression.  

Eyebrows cocked in playfulness, they share an indicative look in silence, only for them to break it in unison. “Nahh.”

“Right? It’s what makes us us.” Jake pulls her in by the hips which are carrying their son. 

Everything about Amy reminds him of their little miracle and makes him feel all tingly and excited. One look at her, one touch, and he forgets about the rest of the world and its crappiness. He has Amy and together with the tiny human in her belly, she is his entire universe. 

“Exactly.”

She closes the gap between them (as much as she can with the full-blown balloon shape of her stomach). 

“So,” she mumbles against his lips, “what are your plans for us?” 

Sadly, the 3-hour drive from home didn’t do wonders for her heavily pregnant body and even though she won’t admit it out loud, she hopes her husband’s plans for tonight will demand the bare minimum of her. She feels his lips and body withdraw, prompting her eyes open however the mischievous smile that meets her has a dimmed anxious feeling creeping over her - he does remember she’s 35 weeks pregnant, right? 

“I know that look, Peralta.” Her voice is distrustful, and after 7 years together she should know better than giving in to his teasing, but her suspicious air only fuels his fire and desire to mess with her. 

“In honor of my incredible and always so organized wife, there’s a tightknit schedule waiting for us.”

Tightknit schedule? Amy would usually be beaming at these words but right then and there, swollen legs, hungry and feeling everything but hot and fit after the drive, she aches to fall back onto the bed and sleep for days. It’s huge, king-sized, with crispy white sheets and the fluffy pillows are definitely calling her name. Although, the fact that Jake has everything planned out for their last vacation together, just the two of them, does pull on some heartstrings. He loves her so much and she loves him so much too. So much that she (almost) doesn’t turn a hair when he proudly starts listing their schedule for the evening and following day. 

“So right now it’s 4 PM which means unpacking-time. At 6 we have a dinner reservation at this cute little restaurant in a little town nearby so we’ll need to leave at approximately 5.45. At 8 there’s a showing of Die Hard at the local movie theater, which I thought we could attend?”

Okay, maybe her left eye flinches at this but very discreetly (or so she chooses to believe). 

“Then tomorrow there’s breakfast at 7, which is perfect because we have canoeing on the lake at 8.30...” 

She zones out after this. Hormones, tiredness, the fact that she can’t feel her feet- there are a thousand reasons but Amy can feel the most is tears prickling, threatening to spill. Not because she doesn’t appreciate her husband’s efforts and grand gestures, all for her, but because she can’t stand the thought of doing any of these sweet things he’s planned for them. She can’t cry though. He’s going to think something is actually wrong.

“Babe?”

However far gone she was, the sound of Jake’s voice pulls her back in and there’s a confusing mixture of mischief and pure adoration shining from these famous deep brown eyes. Why is he almost smiling when she’s having a tiny meltdown?

“Are you crying?”

“No?” she scoffs although she’s proven wrong upon touching her cheek where her fingers are met by a thin wet streak. “I’m just,” she clears her throat in hopes of avoiding a strained voice, “so overwhelmed by happiness and everything you’ve planned for us. It all sounds… great.”

Silence dawns upon them as Amy’s fake smile tries to convince him. On his part, Jake is biting his lip in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but his wife’s panicked look and teary eyes have him failing to last and after a couple of seconds he breaks the quietness. 

“Honey, I’m messing with you,” he chuckles and quickly pulls her back in for a tight hug, as tight as the belly allows, pecking the top of her head. “I know you love a good schedule but the only plans I have for us are: staying in bed, ordering room service, and watching tv.”

“Oh, thank God.”

The moan of relief flies out of her before she can even consider how it must sound to Jake, a great deal of embarrassment hitting her upon realization. She just made it sound like she wouldn’t appreciate her husband’s effort to make this weekend of theirs the best. 

“Jake, I’m so sorry! I didn’t-”

She pulls back to look him in the eyes, ready to offer a sincere apology for her blunt exclamation. She never gets to. Instead, she’s met with a huge grin and her husband looking everything but mad or hurt. Almost as if he knew. He knew how she’d react. He wanted her to react.

“You sly sneak! You knew you’d freak me out!” 

Only her husband can trick her like this, and, on one hand, it’s very endearing... Jake Peralta is more than just a good cop; he’s excellent. Brilliant and bold, maybe even too much sometimes, although he usually gets away with it. Usually, she’s always on his heels and she hates to admit it, but her mommy brain and restless hormones are making it much harder, if not impossible, to keep up with his always upbeat pace. 

“Of course I knew, babe.”

No matter how hard she tries, she can’t even find it within herself to be genuinely annoyed with him. He’s pulled her back into his arms and is looking at her with that mischievous smile that can both infuriate and enchant her. Tonight it’s a little bit of both although mostly the latter, she has to admit and the last bit of annoyance melts away the second he leans in, offering her a soft kiss that lets reminds her of the fact that he’s the best thing in the whole damn world. 

“I love you,” she manages to mumble against his lips before he can pull too far back, her swollen fingers cradling his jaw to emphasize her words. It tampers with any kind of reasoning and her ability to remain miffed. 

“I love you too...” her husband mumbles back against her lips. 

Pulling away isn’t an option, he’s too addicted and he enjoys feeling the air coming from her nose when she chuckles. “How much?”

“At the very least enough to not make my heavily pregnant wife canoe around a lake.” 

“Peanut and I appreciate that very much.”

Although after all these months there’s a comfort and familiarity in being able to rub her belly and know her son is in there, safe and sound, knowing he soon enough will be out here in the real world with them has butterflies fluttering in her chest. Jake’s hand joining hers in stroking her belly only causes the number of butterflies to multiply, explode all over again, and her hormones are making her question whether she wants to cry or laugh - or perhaps do both. After such a long wait, from the second they decided to start trying, there’s no blaming her impatience. There’s so much to expect and patience has never been her strongest asset. Only when it comes to Jake and their son. She’s impatient to see, hear and feel it all. The life and adventure she’s created with the man she loves the most seems scarily close yet torturously far away. 

With no reason to leave in sight, Amy finds herself bundled up in a hotel bed sent from heaven, wearing nothing but panties and her favorite nursing bra. Jake is on an errand run to grab her the creme cheese-filled pierogis and Arroz con Leche their son and she are very much craving. Although she does prefer her abuela’s homemade version of the latter, even a pregnant Amy can come to terms with the fact that there are limits to Jake’s super husband-powers. He can and will get her almost anything as long as physically possible - or within a radius of 20 miles which Abuela Dolores at this given time for good reasons isn’t. 

Amy had insisted on the hotel’s room service menu being more than fine, but her husband knows her all too well and could tell she wasn’t content with the ravioli and créme brulée she’d originally settled for. Before she could even begin to protest his offer to run out and get it for her, her husband had pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and left her behind with a peck to the top of her head and a promise to be back in not too long. 

In all honesty, the ravioli and creme brulée would’ve been fine, and she would’ve preferred Jake to be here to cuddle her. Nonetheless, there’s no denying how loved and important Jake makes her feel. Especially when he suddenly walks in the door, multiple plastic bags hanging on his arms and car keys dangling from his mouth. The view is hilarious, to say the very least, and she wonders: how did she ever get so very lucky? 

Perhaps she will never know the answer to this. Luckily when you’re cuddled up in a soft hotel bed eating pierogis, fries, grapes, and Arroz con Leche with the love of your life, it doesn’t really matter how you got there. Being too busy talking, eating, and making out, the documentary about the history of paper Amy’s been dying to watch is mostly just background noise. 

“Can you believe we’re having a baby?”

Her husband’s mouth is filled with fries and before she can even think of answering his question, she has to reach over to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth. 

“Yes… but also no. In a good way.”

It’s true. She always knew she wanted kids but wanting is one thing; actually outliving it still seems surreal to her, even as she runs her hands around the curve of the skin encapsulating their very own little human being. What makes it so much more surreal is the fact that Jake Peralta is the father. Jake Peralta, the guy who she 6 years ago could only pine for. Now she’s lying in bed with him, watching him smile at her with those soft, brown eyes and warm rosy lips that she not so secretly hopes their son will inherit. He swiftly wipes oil and salt off his fingers before reaching over to place his hands on top of her belly. Placing hers on top of his happens like a newfound reflex of hers. His hand is warm and feels like home.

“This is probably the last getaway we’ll have, yanno, just the two of us.”  

His soft voice has her looking up from their joined hands on her belly to see him looking directly at her with glistening eyes, the blue light from the television casting a blue hue on the side of his head. He looks so handsome, pensive, so perfect and she can’t come to terms with the fact that he’s her’s and she his, and together they’ve created new life.

“Yeah. More likely than not.” 

“How do you feel about that? Are you scared? You know- of giving birth and how life will be after that?”

A few beats of silence go by, only the dull sound of the tv filling the otherwise silent room. His hand never slips out of from beneath hers. Does this question maybe reflect some worries of his? 

“Not scared, per se...”

She quickly makes sure that there’s no food in-between them before scooting in closer to him. Her hand slips off of his only to slide up his arm, all the way up to cup his face. There’s close to no room between them. Her thumb dances across his cheekbone. 

“... Excited, maybe a bit anxious, but I know it’ll be alright and so very worth it in the end. And yeah, our life nd dynamic might have to change a bit but it’ll always be us. But I’m not scared,” This seems to put a damper on his running mind. “And you know why?”

“Hm?”

“Because I have the world’s best baby daddy.”

As hoped a wide smile lights up his face, pure unadulterated joy so obviously present in this little moment of theirs. Worries seem irrelevant and non-existing. 

“Are you worried, babe?” 

She sees his smile fade a bit but not enough to genuinely worry her. Just like everyone, he has his thoughts and worries. With care comes worries. He wants to do his best, she knows. 

“Maybe a bit, you know? Like not genuinely worried like I would’ve been a few years ago, but just… averagely worried.” 

“That’s okay,” she comforts, her thumb still tracing smooth lines on his cheek. “It’s normal. It just means you care and want to do good, which is all I can really ask of you.” 

“I do care. A lot. So so much,” he chuckles shyly. 

“Which is also why you’re going to be fine, I will be fine and everything will be fine.” 

She doesn’t give him the time to agree nor protest but instead leans in to place a long, tender kiss on his lips, inviting him to join in on the moment.  It’s just a simple kiss, soft, like the one they had a Shaw’s after agreeing to stop trying (which eventually lead to more trying, but that’s beside the point). With every breath, they take the kiss grows deeper, longer. It’s as if their bodies are aware of the fact that this will be the last time they get to do this without a child to get home to; without the responsibility of being a parent. All at once, it’s frightening but also, more than anything, exciting. Their lives might be on the verge of changing forever. Although lying there in bed together, feeling the soft touch of their spouse, it feels like they’ve never changed and never will. They’re always going to be Jake and Amy. 

[thefanbasewhore]

I know you said you don't write much, but I just read your Mando fic and loved it. Can you do some kind of fix with Christmas? Maybe having Din try hot chocolate for the first time? Lots of fluff thank you xx

This is so sweet of you! Here's a a lil something for you.🎄 It gets a little christmasy? If thats a word lol. But soft!Din all the way.

It's not surprising to Din, of course he doesn't expect you to stay inside the Razor Crest while he's away, would he like it that way? Yes, but even he understands how the walls seem as if they're slowly closing in, air gets thinner, things start to move in forms of shadows. Dark confines have a way of driving anyone crazy.

It's cold out though, heavy snow started to gather on his trip back to the crest even the bounty he shoved into carbonate complained of the cold the whole way. It made him nervous, you and the child, no where to be seen. He told himself to relax, that it's just a walk, you're smart enough to make it back but then again it was snowing heavily, have you ever even seen snow before? Din was worried.

With a click on a button on his right arm the hatch of the crest hisses open, footsteps heavy but abruptly stopped at the sight of your fingers touching your own, but instead it's attached to a string wrapped around your neck. It was given to you a while ago, been decided wrapped around your neck was a safe spot. Maybe he didn't have to go looking at all. "I'm glad you're back, Din."

It's a relief, even though snow has started to mat to your boots, clump in your hair, you're safe. Grogu is tucked into a bag that wraps around your shoulder, small green hand reaching out to touch the falling flakes. In your other hand a bag filled the brim but the dark brown makes it impossible to see what it is.

Din steps forward to the edge of the hatch, taking the bag from you as well as the baby, small whines as the baby descends deeper into the hull of the crest as he reaches out for the snow.

"It's beautiful out, don't you think?" The hatch closes behind, the crest already feels warmer.

"You like snow?" Din is curious, mostly because he's not the biggest fan. He doesn't like the cold much, actually he doesn't like any weather particularly, prefers a storm of stars through the Crest's windshield. The baby little fingers reach out to touch the basker of his helmet, small coos as his nose lifts toward your direction, large bars of chocolate catching his attention.

"Yes, it reminds me of my home. Actually of Christmas."

"Christmas?" You can't see it, but the question alone his filled with confusion. "What kind of word is that?"

You laugh, it's soft with small dimples that form on the corners of your lips. It's enough to make him smile under all the basker, but it's not like you can see it.

"I wish you were able to see it Din. There are beautiful lights everywhere, bright whites and colors, there's singing. You exchange presents, and even decorate trees."

"decorate trees?" It's his turn to laugh, holding the child back from reaching out to the chocolate on the small table tucked in the corner.

"I'm being serious. Me and my family would go to a farm every year, cut down our own tree and bring it inside and make our own decorations for it." Din notices the small frown on your face, his throat dries at the fact that he's the reason for it. The memory of your family was one you never wanted to share... It hurts too much.

"I-I, I didn't mean to laugh. I didn't mean to upset you cyare, I'm sorry." Din's feet carry him close to you, face inches away to show his own seriousness.

"No, you didn't upset me Din. It does sound kind of ridiculous." It's a sad smile but not his fault, "Anyways I have a Christmas tradition for you to try. It's called hot chocolate, I couldn't find marshmallows though but it's still good, promise."

The excitement comes with a big smile as you move to warm the small stove. The child slips from his grasp, pulling on your pant leg, reaching forward to try and dip his fingers into the hot mixture but you don't allow it.

The new aroma of sweet, melted chocolate takes over the crest, even the Mandalorin's mouth waters at the smell. Before he knows it a cup is being pushed into his hands. It doesn't look to appetizing, a thin, dark liquid that kind of looks like fuel?

Your hands stay a locked on his a little longer then they should, warming his entire body with slight embrassment. The proximity making his cheeks warm, he wasn't used to having women close to him. It's not even that, it's the fact that you were this close, big doe eyes urging him to try it.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." You realize that he can't drink it in front of you. Now he feels disappointed, heat flushing his chest, stomach dropping. He's about to get up, he doesn't want to make you move but is surprised as you turn around, bringing the child with you.

"I won't peak, I promise. I'll make sure Grogu doesn't either." He already knows that, eyes roam the small of your back with thought. A small gasp of surprise leaves your lips as the warmth of his back against your own. His helmet is released with a loud hiss, the child is too busy drinking his own chocolatey goodness to pay attention.

This feels personal, his stomach hot, a new level of intimacy for the pair. He stares at the cup between his hands, he already feels warm enough with your heat, he doesn't want to finish it, he doesn't want to leave you. "Well? How is it?"

Din presses the mug against his lips, taste buds exploding with the heat of it. It was delicious, and very, very sweet. "It's good. Very good, thank you."

His voice sounds different, less static, more like a human. "I used to chug this stuff as a kid, my mom used to always make it. But with marshmallows, we need marshmallows. Does space have marshmallows? Like anywhere?"

He finds the rambling cute as well as the small memory he offer him, he imagines a small version of you with a pile of whatever the hell marshmallows are on your hot chocolate.

"I don't miss earth at all." You admit, "it's not home anymore, it's not where my family is anymore. I rather spend Christmas with you and Grogu, you are my family now."

His heart thumps inside his chest, his breath stopping at the confession, chest still, he wants to say that you're not safe with him, you never will be but he decides against it, he talks with his heart instead of his fear. "I don't know what Christmas is but I'm happy to share something you love so much with you."

The hot chocolate is long forgotten as he slides his helmet back on. His bare fingers soak the touch of your face, running over the highest parts of your cheeks bones. The child looks between the two with a small coo.

"I can't replace them, but I will try to be your family."

You press into his hands, leaning against the tanned digits. "You already are Din, I love you."

The three words are put out, never to be taken back. While Din had always put up a hard front, tried to make it impossible to love him out of fear you managed to weasel your way through the tight cracks filling his heart completely.

"I love you Cyare, I'm sorry I made it so difficult for you to love me." He regrets all the times he decided not to ask if you were okay, hold you close at night. His heart feels like it's going to explode as your press your forehead against his.

"It was never hard to." Din stays there for a few more minutes, just enjoying the warmth of not only your skin but inside his body.

It confuses you as he stands quickly, opening the hatch and finding the sharpest object he can manage. "Are you coming?"

Your head turns, confused as you hear his amused tone. "Well who else is going to pick the tree to decorate?"

The smile that curls those lips are enough for Din to die a happy man.

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Two: The First Day of Nostos

And the second chapter is here! I feel evil for writing this, buuutt we need drama. And plot. 

For those who are new to the AIB fandom, this is the sequel to my other Chishiya x OC/Reader fic - you can find the first one, and the Chishiya pov side series, either on AO3 or on my Tumblr. 

I’ll keep this short and sweet, and leave the AO3 link to this chapter here. 

And the link to my AO3 profile where you’ll find the other fics is here.  

As always, thanks for reading! Your support means the world :D

---------------------------------------------------

Daylight spilled through the window onto the empty side of the bed. It wasn’t unusual for Chishiya to wake up before me, although usually in my dreaming I would feel the dip of the mattress as he left. I must’ve been in such a deep sleep that I hadn’t noticed. But that’s okay. I needed all the rest I could get.

Rubbing my eyes, I stretched out a hand to feel the sheets. They were still warm, as was the light that enveloped my fingers in its glow. It would have been peaceful morning, here in the sun and the cosy sheets, if not for the budding anticipation within me.

Noon.

That’s when it all starts.

Kicking back the covers, I forced myself to get up and dressed. No matter how much I wanted to laze around, there was no telling what would happen, and so I chose more comfortable, practical clothes – cropped cargo pants, with a t-shirt and hoodie. It was only when I headed down the creaky stairs into the overwhelming silence of the living room, that Chishiya’s absence became even more apparent.

If he wasn’t down here, that left only one place he could be.

Is he aware of how predictable he is?

Emptying a bottle of water into a pan, I lit up the camping stove, watching as the water slowly frothed into simmer before bubbling away. Then spooning some instant coffee into two small mugs, I poured some of the water into each. It wasn’t great, but it was the closest thing to a real cup of coffee we could get in this world. Carefully carrying the two mugs, I stepped outside, and immediately squinted under the sun’s glare.

If it’s this high in the sky, there can’t be much longer now.

Just around the side of the store was a fire escape ladder. I had practiced this a few times, holding both mug handles in one hand, as I shakily clambered up to the roof. I only spilled a couple of drops, but it was nothing compared to the first time I tried to do this. Moving slowly, I slid onto the rooftop.

And there he was.

Lounging near the edge, one knee bent up, Chishiya was staring out at the cityscape. The first thing I noticed when I sat beside him was the mug in his hand. And once again, I felt like an idiot.

‘You already made coffee?’ I set the unwanted extra between us, eyeing his steaming mug. ‘And you didn’t leave any for me.’

‘You were fast asleep,’ he replied, taking a sip. ‘It would have gone cold.’

‘You could’ve woken me up.’

‘And if I had, you would have complained all morning.’

I hate to admit it, he’s kind of right.

I clutched my own mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I counted each blimp suspended over the city. So far, nothing had changed from yesterday. But then again, it also wasn’t noon yet. Slowly drinking my coffee, I sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to drink twice as much now.’

Chishiya didn’t even bother entertaining me with a reply. He seemed content with the peace and quiet. Only, when he finally set down his empty mug, he reached for the extra one.

I raised a brow. ‘I thought you didn’t want it.’

He began to drink it anyway. ‘These cups are too small.’

I dipped my head into my mug to hide my smile, although knowing him, he probably saw it anyway. The sun was now gleaming above the empty city, nearly at its highest point in the sky. Apprehension swelled uncomfortably within me, and I wrapped my arms around my knees while I finished my coffee. ‘Are you going to go to the Jack of Diamonds today?’

‘The Queen and King too,’ he said. ‘I’ll work my way up.’

It was fine. It was fine. Chishiya was clever enough to survive, and I had every confidence that he would complete the games easily. More importantly, he was the most intelligent person I’d ever met. If anyone stood a chance at clearing the Diamond face cards so we could all go home, it was him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

He could still get hurt. He could still...

It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘At least let me come with you.’ Before he could protest or decline, I added, ‘Just to wait outside. I can’t sit here, not knowing anything.’

His expression was guarded as he downed the last of his coffee. ‘Do what you want. Although you might be waiting a while. I don’t know how long the games will last.’

A loud gunshot blasted in the distance. I jumped, inching closer to Chishiya. He was stone still. Another shot ricocheted, the clap echoing off the concrete skyscrapers. Were guns usually that loud? Loud enough to be heard all the way from here? This sounded almost like an explosion, only sharper.

Something’s not right.

And I knew exactly what.

Chishiya set his second empty mug on the rooftop. ‘It’s started.’

-----------------------------------------------

The city streets were deserted, yet I couldn’t help but stay on my guard. While the games were contained to their venues, that gunfire before hadn’t been normal – I’d witnessed enough of Niragi’s sniper to know the difference. It had gone on for several minutes, before eventually ebbing away, and only then did we set out for the Jack of Diamonds venue.

Despite the threat of the games ahead, Chishiya appeared relaxed on the surface, but there was a slight crease between his brows, and his eyes scanned every alleyway we passed, occasionally drifting to our reflections in store windows. His hands were pushed into his pockets, and I didn’t dare try to hold one.

‘Are you worried about the game?’ I kept my voice low, just in case.

‘You shouldn’t have come with me.’

I thought we’d already talked about this.

There was no way I could sit around in our little hideout, never knowing whether or not he was going to come back. I needed to be there. I needed to see the outcome with my own eyes.

‘You told me to do what I want,’ I said. ‘And this is what I want. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Those guns were probably from a game.’

‘Maybe... maybe not,’ he mused.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Chishiya may not be the easiest person to read, but we both knew what he was really trying to say. We rounded a corner, heading further into the city centre. From what we could see of the blimps, the Jack, Queen and King of Diamonds were all pretty close to one another, and all within a reachable distance from the furniture store.

‘You should be more worried about your game,’ I remarked.  

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, ‘why’? You could... you know.’

‘If I die, it’ll be of no consequence for you,’ he said. ‘And besides, I’ll die at some point anyway. There’s no use in trying to avoid it.’

His words no longer scared me, but rather, they were upsetting. How could he be so cavalier about it?

He really doesn’t care about his own life...

‘It does have consequence. I told you in the dealer’s den, didn’t I? If you’re not going to try and survive for yourself, then at least do it for me.’

The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar sly smile. ‘Such big demands. You shouldn’t waste your own life being concerned about mine.’

We crossed the road, entering a new street, and the metal edge of a blimp appeared in the far distance.

‘I think I told you about that too. I can’t help being scared for you.’ I glanced away, looking instead at the side of a van. The words still felt strange to say out loud, even if I’d said them so brazenly during the Witch Hunt. ‘I lo—’

The van door erupted in a hot blast of glass and metal. The force blew me back, stumbling, as something struck my face. Hands gripped my forearms, dragging me away from the ground – I was on the ground? – and pulling me in a direction. I didn’t know where we were. The streets were shaking, or maybe I was. Maybe the whole world was shaking. And was that Chishiya in front of me?

Chishiya?

There was red in his blond hair and on his neck, wet and glistening. And his fingers were tight – far too tight – around my wrist. Where was he going? My feet were moving after him. No, he was the one dragging me like this, swaying us back and forth erratically. My eyes began to focus, the fog in my head clearing a little.

The gunshots... and that van. But how could a gun do that to a van?

‘Chishiya?’

If he heard me, his only response was to pull me harder until his fingernails dug into my skin. My numb legs jittered and tingled, but I tried my best to keep up with him. There was a strange humming above our heads, and I looked up, catching sight of a blimp overshadowing the office buildings above, darkening their windows and...

A gleam.

‘Chishiya!’

Glass exploded everywhere as the store window behind us shattered. Someone screamed – they sounded like me, only I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t... Someone tugged at my clothes, but I tore away, sprinting as fast as I could down the street. There was a shooter. There was someone shooting at us.

Side to side... I need to run from side to side.

As I ran, I veered in different directions, trying to keep things as unpredictable as possible. I ducked around corners and alleys, only to realise something. Chishiya was nowhere to be seen.

Don’t panic.

I slowed, breathless, as I swung onto another street, dipping behind a store.

Don’t panic.

The store crashed apart; the windows destroyed. Arms shielding my face, I toppled to the ground, coughing uncontrollably at the smell of hot plastic as mannequin limbs scattered the pavement.

I needed to run... I needed to run. My head was throbbing and burning now. Picking myself up, I pushed to keep going, running no matter how much my limbs ached. There was a strange buzzing noise that clashed painfully with the ringing in my ears.

And then I saw a glimmer of hope.

Across a traffic intersection was a large, off-white building with endless windows, marked 図書館. The entrance door shut softly as someone took shelter inside.

There!

The buzzing noise grew louder and louder, and my vision swam as I tore across the empty roads and into the building, slamming the door behind me. My legs finally gave way, and I collapsed against the wall, my eyes closing as I caught my breath.

Chishiya. I lost sight of him after that window was destroyed. Maybe he ran in the other direction. Or maybe... No.

He can’t be. He wouldn’t, not that easily.

‘It’s you.’

My eyes shot open at the familiar voice. Of all people to bump into, An was staring down at me with mild concern. It was An. Surging with relief, I tried to get to my feet to greet her, only my head flashed with dizzying pain.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t get up. You’ll need your strength.’ I didn’t understand. She came in here to shelter too, right? Before I could question her, she crouched down in front of me and gently touched my forehead. Her fingers came back red. ‘What happened?’

My lungs ached with each syllable. Just getting the words out was a struggle. ‘苣屋一緒...にいた. ダイヤモンドのジャックに... 行っていた. 銃の音... が聞きた. すべて...’ I was together with Chishiya... We were going to the Jack of Diamonds... I heard gun sounds... and then everything...

I didn’t know the words for ‘gunshots’ or ‘explosion’, but An still nodded in understanding. Her eyes narrowed a little at Chishiya’s name, only she didn’t appear to be surprised by what I told her.

‘That’ll be the King of Spades. His sniper isn’t a regular gun. It’s designed to penetrate airships and armoured cars apparently.’

I didn’t understand the latter half of what she said, but one name stuck out unmistakably.  

The King of Spades?

‘どう知ってるか?’ I asked. How do you know?

An gestured behind her, and I finally noticed the two women anxiously watching us. One had long, flowing blond hair and was wearing a thin headband. The other had brown hair tied up in pigtails. ‘He attacked our camp right after the second stage started.’

So those were the gunshots we heard on the roof. And their camp...

‘Kuina?’

An lowered her head to the tiled floor. ‘I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know where she is. She left in a car with Arisu and Tatta. We were in a separate car and we drove all the way here.’

Kuina... she has to be alive. I refuse to believe otherwise.

She was strong and smart, and if she drove away with those two, she was probably okay.

Probably.

It made sense that the King of Spades started with their group, then travelled further into the city centre before running into Chishiya and I. But if he was moving to attack players then that could only mean... A sickening feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.

‘彼のゲーム会場,’ I said, ‘全部の東京だね?’ His game venue. It’s all of Tokyo, isn’t it?

‘It seems that way,’ An said, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘From what I can assume, the only place that isn’t his game venue is within other games.’ She glanced reassuringly at the other girls behind her. ‘While we’re in here, we should be safe from him, at least.’

At least?

A horrible thought slipped into my mind. A really, really horrible thought. But I almost didn’t want to believe it. It would be too unlucky – a downright cruel trick of fate.

My apprehensiveness must’ve been obvious, as An tilted her head, curiously. ‘You didn’t know,’ she murmured. ‘この建物はダイヤモンドの女王会場だ.’

No, it couldn’t be true. Maybe I misheard. I had to have misheard. My mind ran in circles, desperate to find Chishiya, to go home and finish my sentence, tell him what I tried to say before the van windows burst. But Chishiya wasn’t here. I didn’t know where he was. I was alone.

Assuming I hadn’t quite understood, An said it again, slower this time. There was no need. My fate was already sealed the moment I took shelter here.

‘This is the Queen of Diamonds venue.’

[nishigo]

growing. // razor headcanons & writing. // chapter three.

a book titled “growing.”

[ c h a p t e r 3 : simple love. ]

the synopsis reads: razor and the dear reader have gotten themselves into quite the mess. miscommunications and raised voices lead to an argument that was more heated than a flaming flower. although healing takes time, could a wound this large be repaired?

authors note: tada! welcome to the last chapter of this short and sweet book that has been created. this one is more stuffed with more fluff than the last and lots of smooches. razor deserves the best, after all. after you finish, put the book back properly on the shelf, okay, traveler? that way it’s easier for people to find it. (or yourself, if you desire.) i, hao, the librarian and timekeeper, thank you in advance. now, have fun with this last chapter of the book. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

word count: 1,564 words.

tw: lots of fluff. so much so it could give you a toothache. and kisses as well. a bit of crying in the beginning, but that is all.

request status at time of posting: open.

[ chapter one. ] [ chapter two. ] [ chapter three. ] 

in which there is reconciliation and a bright future planned out underneath a doorway, the moon and stars being the only witness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行 。( n o )

------

it would be about three days before you happened to enter mondstadt again.

frankly, you were only in the area because you were passing by, and you were trying to do it as quickly as possible.

after lisa would get her plants and such, you were off again to the inn and then to take up another mission granted to you in the morning.

though, despite the mission you ended up taking solo, you couldn’t stop thinking about that terrible night with razor.

you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again, knowing that most likely, you’d end up in tears again.

you couldn’t have waterfalls pouring out of your eyes in front of someone that meant so much to you.

but fate seemed to be pushing its luck, and the stars were aligning just for the two of you.

you and razor stared at each other for a moment, as if the other was an apparition and they were dreaming. his rough, calloused hands took a hold of one of your own gentle ones.

no, this was real alright.

the two of you were both afraid to make the first move, but once more, razor used his instinct to initiate what he thought was needed.

his strong arms wrapped around your neck, nuzzling into the soft skin.

you felt so warm.

you felt cozy.

you felt like home.

course, you were caught off guard, and as much as your brain told you to pull away, you heard him whisper into your ear.

“i missed you.”

and then the walls came tumbling down.

your previous attitude towards him was diminished, and you were back to where you started.

you were still in love. and now, he knew he was as well.

Razor pulled away, and for the first time, you were able to take in much more detail than what you had initially seen. There were tired bags under his eyes, his face worn out, as if he had not been able to sleep for weeks. His silver hair was a mess under his hood and his voice was much quieter, as if he was stepping on eggshells while determining how to make his next move. You gently reached out, cupping his cheek with that gentle, comforting smile you always wore.

His body shook as he suddenly felt as if his insides were collapsing. He felt his face grow hot with tears that ran down his pale skin, over his scar, and down onto the tiled floor. He felt so guilty for what he had done to you that he was terrified that you would seek vengeance. Or that you would leave. The latter was much more terrifying, as he hated when you were gone for a few days, how could he handle not seeing you for the rest of his life? Seeing your hands raise up, he braced for impact of a harsh hit to the face with his eyes squeezing shut.

“Shhh, Razor...it’s okay.” You murmured softly as he felt two soft hands delicately cup his face. Your thumbs would run along his smooth skin, wiping away the tears that continued to flow down. Your own eyes would water, but by the grace of the stars, you were able to keep somewhat of a composure. He opened his eyes just barely, enough to see you again at least. Confused by the look he was giving you, you began to carefully let go and put your hands down before he grabbed your wrists in a swift motion. Back they went to his face, and back you went to wiping his tears and simply holding his head in the doorway.

“Y/-Y/N. I am s-sorry. I h-hurt you. Didn’t m-mean to, just n-no know what l-love was.” Razor managed to choke out through staggered breaths and hiccups. You kept up your affection, smiling gently as you let one hand go of his cheek.

“Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have run off so fast and had more patience with you. I’m sorry myself.`` To calm him down further, you hesitantly lifted a hand and ran it through his silver locks. Razor froze for a moment, but he relaxed further into your touch as he tilted his head more towards the hand, similar to that of what a cat would do. Silence ran its course as you two slowly began to heal from the wounds of that night.

“I love you.” He stated simply. It almost slipped your mind as you continued to play with his hair and cup his cheek, but you did a double take as you stared at him.

“You...you what?”

“I love you.” Razor repeated again, a bit louder this time in case you couldn’t hear him or something of the sort. You were about to ask him if he was joking, but his face held a serious look to them as it dawned on you. He really meant it. Granted, it was the most simple, basic way to confess feelings back towards a person, but you didn’t mind. It was what made him charming and attractive to you anyways.

“Why do you love me?” Razor paused to think about it, deep in thought as he did his best to string the words Lisa recently taught him together into something worth remembering.

“Simple, love. Love is a person, like how mate is a being. Therefore, you are love. Warm, safe, kind. Easy to be vulnerable and be...Razor. Guard down.” He explained to you with a sweet look on his features. Despite his limited vocabulary, you were deeply touched. He took the time to think and make sure his point was clearly mentioned. Razor grinned happily as he tilted his head at you. The air was light again, the heavy feeling replaced with his heart being ecstatic as he didn’t have to even say anything else. He could feel how happy you became from hearing what he said. It was good he could sense your happiness, because you were left speechless.

“Be my love? Please?” Razor asked quietly as you continued your silent streak. Since you were at a loss for words, and because you knew his love language was physical touch, you decided to show rather than tell. Your hand that was on his cheek trailed down his face and found its place wrapped around his hips. Then, with one swoop, you pulled him in closer to you and gently collided your lips with his.

It was if a supernova had exploded inside of his chest. The feeling was forgein, unfamiliar. Perhaps this technique of two lips put together was a human tradition he had yet to learn. He didn’t know what to do, so he mimicked you a bit. He opened his eyes slightly and then watched as you leaned in. He would then mirror the action for a few seconds before you pulled away. He knew that whatever you had just done to him was a way of saying yes. He just knew, and he loved it. The affection and having your full attention was all he could ever ask for. In fact, Razor found himself wanting more as he cutely pouted.

“More please?” You laughed, covering your mouth a bit as you nodded your head and cupped his cheeks again. You peppered your kisses all over his face: on his forehead, nose, temple, chin, the corners of his lips. Razor huffed adorably as he shook his head, pointing at his lips.

“You miss! I want here, love!” Razor whined, though, his complaining was stopped as you kissed his lips again. He melted in your hold, and there was no better feeling in the whole world. The boy would pull away this time, panting softly as he curiously touched his lips with his hands. It was amazing every time he received them, and he knew that he would never grow tired of them. Perhaps you could give him lessons, he thought. Then he would become an expert! Yes, that sounded like a plan. But that would come at a later date.

For now, he wanted to spend the night with you in his arms again.

------

some extra things i’ve thought of:

he would have totally dragged you into the guest bedroom where he was staying and given you a bunch of grass and flowers he had arranged.

(“give her a gift she will appreciate, something from nature!” was what lisa suggested.)

the roots were still there, along with heaps of dirt, but you found it endearing nonetheless as you laughed and accepted them.

he also got you chocolate covered strawberries! he had made them with klee (a mistake on lisa’s part, she will never let those two in the same room unsupervised again, especially not a kitchen.)

he would make it up to you by practicing how to formulate sentences under the bright sun in wolvendom.

you would reward him with kisses or headpats, so he worked extra hard in order to improve his linguistic skills.

because of being a bit traumatized from being seperated from you for so long, he gets a bit of separation anxiety when you leave him for too long. he’ll do missions or even go shopping with you just to ease himself down.

also hold his hand :(((

or any words of affirmation will do , he loves both when they come from you :))

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[kraviolis]

(this is for my rival streamers au)

“OHO! You rascal! You can’t get away that easy!”

Joshua squeals in delight, kicking his feet and waving his arms, as Dr. Coomer holds him high in the air. 

It’s adorable and yet super weird to watch your professor and your son having such a good time together. You find yourself smiling at them, something warm blooming in your chest. Dr. Coomer blows a raspberry into Joshua’s cheek and makes him squeal again.

“Those two seem to be… getting along.” Dr. Bubby says. 

He’s sitting across from you, sipping at a glass of red wine. You almost wish you could ask for a glass, wanting to really soak yourself in the warmth of tonight, but unfortunately you still have to drive home.

“Yep,” You lean forward on the table, crossing your arms to hold you up. “Dr. Coomer’s actually really good with him.”

Dr. Bubby raises an eyebrow. “Of course he is. Harold’s always been good with kids.”

His tone of voice makes you feel like there’s something deeper going on there but you aren’t sure if it’s polite to ask about it. You turn your attention back to Joshua. He’s being chased around the living room now, somehow running with the confidence of someone that’s been able to walk for far longer than just a few months. 

(Jeez, has it already been a few months since he watched him take his first steps? It feels like it was just yesterday.)

(You suppose you understand what your mother meant when she said you weren’t allowed to grow up when you were a kid, now.)

Still, you can’t help but wonder. What was the extra meaning behind what he’d said about Dr. Coomer being good with kids? Did… did they have kids? No, no that doesn’t make sense. Neither of them had known that Joshua couldn’t read yet or chew steak on his own, despite being only a year old.

“If you have something to say it, then just say it.” Dr. Bubby cuts through your thoughts. You look at them, a little embarrassed at being caught. “Seriously. I don’t have all night, you know.”

“Sorry,” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “If— If it’s okay to ask… Do you two have any kids?”

Dr. Bubby chokes on his wine, coughing lightly. “Hell no! I don’t want a bunch of sticky-handed stupid little babies who can’t even read running around! I already have to deal with teaching at work- I’d fucking explode if I had to do it at home, too!”

“Yeah, no, that’s— that’s fair.” You don’t think you appreciate the implication that your son is stupid, but you shrug amicably anyways. He’s got a bit of a point.

“Besides, even if I wanted kids, neither of us can actually have any.” He admits and you frown sympathetically.

“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Eh, it’s whatever. Never bothered me before.” He waves a hand, as if clearing away any attempt at compassion directed towards him. 

Dr. Bubby pauses, though, and sighs. Their eyes become downcast and they stare at their wine as they swirl it gently in the glass. 

“It’s never bothered me, but… Harold, on the other hand...”

You wait patiently, letting Dr. Bubby continue at his own pace. You glance over briefly and see Dr. Coomer investigating the living room bookshelf with Joshua, showing him the various knickknacks adorning the shelves. He tells him to be gentle and holds out a glass figurine, not letting him hold it but just allowing him to run his tiny fingers across it.

“Harold’s always wanted kids,” Dr. Bubby continues, his voice far softer than it has been, drawing your gaze back. “Long before we knew each other. Long before he even knew himself. But life… life is cruel, Gordon. Life doesn’t care about you, it doesn’t care about your dreams. And sometimes, you have to make choices that no one should ever have to make.”

Dr. Bubby’s hand is trembling in… what seems to be anger. He notices, shakes his head, and knocks back the last of his wine before sitting back and scowling at the table. You’re confused, unsure of what exactly he means. You go to say as much but pause when he looks up and meets your eyes. It’s like a shadow is blanketing their face, something from deep inside rising and making itself known in their eyes.

“Back then people like us, like me and Harold— sometimes we had to choose between having a family of our own or a chance to be ourselves. Harold was told he couldn’t be given hormones without also getting a hysterectomy. The risk was too great, they told him.” They growl, baring their teeth. You notice absentmindedly that his canines are sharper than they should be. “What a load of shit. They didn’t even know if there was a risk! You know how many studies have come out since then proving those bastards wrong?”

You open your mouth, trying to make sounds but it just isn’t working.

You… you hadn’t known. Not just about what your professor had gone through at the hands of medical institutions so long ago but also that Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby… they’re like you. 

(You feel a completely unexplainable comfort just knowing this, now. And a terrible understanding of what Dr. Bubby means by having to make an impossible choice.)

“I… yeah.” You manage to say, eventually. “I probably read through every study about that stuff when… when I first started transitioning. That’s… God, I— I can’t even imagine being forced to make that choice.”

Bubby narrows his eyes sharply. He circles a finger around the rim of his glass and you have a sudden but distinct feeling of being thoroughly examined, all of you on display and ready to be judged. He squints more intensely, tilts his head, and then relaxes again. 

...Test passed, apparently.

“...Of course you are.” He mutters, crossing his arms. “Right. Should’ve guessed.”

You quirk your lips, half-smiling. “Trans people tend to gravitate towards each other, I’ve found. Even unknowingly.”

Dr. Bubby barks out a laugh, throwing their head back. “Ha! That’s more true than you know, but that’s a story for another time.” He nods towards the living room. “Looks like someone had a little too much fun, over there.”

You blink and then turn. You find Dr. Coomer and Joshua on the couch, your professor snoring away while Joshua is still wide awake, sitting in his lap and tapping randomly on your professor’s phone. You laugh quietly, watching the scene fondly, and see Dr. Bubby looking on with the same dopey expression in the corner of your eye.

“...It’s getting late. I should get going before Joshua starts getting overtired.” You groan as you stand, stretching. Dr. Bubby follows you with a more grumpy groan. “Should— should we leave him asleep?” 

“No, no, he’ll want to say goodnight. Also, he’ll fuck up his back if he stays there.” They say. “You get your shit. I’ll wake him up.”

You gather everything up, grabbing whatever toys you brought and stuff it all back into Josh’s diaper bag. Dr. Coomer wakes back up thanks to his husband poking his face hard enough and quickly saves himself from being locked out of his phone for too long. You pick up Joshua before he can complain about losing his new toy.

Dr. Coomer walks you out, smiling sleepily and waving goodbye to both of you. You thank him for having you over.

“The pleasure is all mine. It was a delight to have you and your boy over for dinner, Gordon.” Dr. Coomer insists.

“No!” Joshua wiggles in your arms, making a sad noise and grabby hands at your professor. He chuckles warmly and lets Joshua grab his fingers, giving him a small handshake. 

“We sure had a blast tonight, eh? But you’re still growing, and you need your rest.” Joshua’s lip wobbles and Dr. Coomers expression falls. “Oh, dear, please don’t cry. Keep your chin up. Goodbyes are tough, I know, but you’re even tougher.”

He punctuates this by pushing Joshua’s chin up gently with his fist. There’s a softness in the gesture that makes your heart melt. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to prevent Josh’s eyes from starting to glisten.

“Hey, it’s okay, Joshie.” You smile at Joshua, getting his attention. “We can come back and visit next week! But you have to ask if it’s okay first.” 

You look at Dr. Coomer in time to see his expression brighten at your words. Joshua turns to look at him too. 

“Pease?” He asks, not quite able to say the word, but it still makes your professor’s eyes mist up anyways.

He kneels down to look up at Joshua, taking his small hand in his much bigger one with a touching amount of gentleness. 

“I would love nothing more, my dear.”