#(yes- that is a pencil pouch on the light because it was too bright for like 1 in the morning)

[bildadtheshuhitestudies]

Look! A photo of my desk in the middle of the night from last year when I was trying to finish my design documentation:

[rengonemad]

Learning Loyalty

This is a drabble for this absolutely beautiful piece of art by @enchantedpendant, for an event hosted by the @the-kakashi-lounge-blog. I am just so honored to be able to write for this. It’s truly a stunning piece, and the emotion in Sai’s face is so lovely, I couldn’t resist trying to capture a little bit of it in words. <3 

Rating: General

Pairing: Sai & Kakashi & Friends (platonic)

Warnings: None, the Keep Reading is just for length.

Word Count: 1.5k

Learning Loyalty

“Who are you loyal to?”

The recalled words were louder than the sounds of the village—a rarity for Sai. Typically, he was hypervigilant. Bits of conversations coalesced in his hearing as he walked, scraps of information that carried no meaning on their own because he lacked the framework in which they should be placed. Names came without attached faces, and jokes were passed around like encrypted codes to which Sai didn’t hold the key. 

Still, Sai listened, and remembered all he could.

“You didn’t betray Danzō for his ethical follies, and you didn’t betray him to save Konoha.”

Sai could hear the sizzling of food in a hot skillet, smell the umami and saccharine scents from street vendors. He didn’t stop to buy any, although he now could; Ryō burned in his pouch, available to be used at his own, personal discretion. 

He wasn’t hungry.

The phantom remnant of the seal on his tongue burned too much for him to eat.

“If you fought only for Naruto…”

A bright guffaw sounded from somewhere to Sai’s right. He glanced over, raising a pale hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the noon sun. Between short curtains fluttering in the early spring breeze, Sai could see yellow hair and a brown ponytail. The man called Iruka was frowning, but Sai couldn’t tell if his anger was genuine or falsified. Naruto seemed unbothered by it, regardless, and proceeded to shovel ramen into his mouth at a pace even their Rokudaime might have had difficulty matching.

Sai kept walking.

Some time passed, but Sai’s feet carried him on, uncertain though he was of his destination.

That was something he had tried not to think much about, until Kakashi’s words brought the difficult decisions that came with autonomy to an uncomfortable highlight.

“Then who would you be loyal to if Naruto were no longer here?”

The hospital had been expanded since the end of the War, with an entire wing dedicated to physical rehabilitation of wounded shinobi. Sai could see messy pink hair through a recently-constructed window. Sakura pointed up at something on a wall Sai couldn’t quite see. Captain Yamato followed her direction and nodded thoughtfully, responding too lowly for Sai to hear.

Their Captain had taken to the limelight better than Sai had. After his contributions to the reconstruction efforts, villagers called his name when he passed, waved or brought him fruit baskets when he passed through the market. Sai was no expert, but he could see the blush that stained Yamato’s cheeks in those times, and he thought it was due to pleasure rather than solely embarrassment. 

Yamato had found his place in the village.

Sai began walking again before his former teammates could see him.

“Will your loyalty then go to me?”

At some point, Sai’s feet carried him to the base of Hokage rock. Carved faces stared across the treetops and the roofs of buildings, their six united stares lighting on every member of the village—every shinobi, every child, every civilian shopkeeper or carpenter.

Sai hesitated for only a moment. Then, he set a sandal on the cliff face, and began to ascend. 

In minutes, he found himself perched in the rocky bed of Kakashi’s hair. The carving was new enough that no weeds or lichen had yet claimed their spots upon the stone, but dust and dirt coasted the black of his pants in mere moments. 

“To Konoha?”

Sai looked out over Konoha, with the sun at his back, and tried to see the village with the eyes that the Hokages did. 

He tried to see the Will of Fire, and the children in the Academy halls that Sai himself had never walked.

He tried to see the workers in the Hokage Tower, filing paperwork on missions that were reviewed by honest eyes—missions that didn’t always end in bloodshed or secrets that could burn a nation to the ground.

He tried to see the people who Naruto called friends, who had tried to welcome Sai with open arms: Hinata, Kiba, Shikamaru, and that blonde woman Sai couldn’t remember the name of, but who seemed to like it when he called her pretty.

Sai knew the Hokages could see all of those things, but his stomach just felt empty. Cool wind ghosted over his skin, chilled his fingertips and bare cheeks.

“Or are you only loyal to yourself?”

Sai couldn’t see any of them.

All he could see was pink hair and (mostly?) honest smiles.

All he could hear was a boisterous laugh, and a (fatherly?) admonishment.

All he could taste was food prepared without an ounce of skill, but bucket-loads of (good?) intention and care. Those were things he could see.

Slowly, Sai’s bare fingers dipped down to his side, to a pouch he had rarely opened since the end of the War.

Smooth paper met Sai’s skin, followed by a simple graphite pencil.

As Sai began to draw, the white noise of scratching graphite filled his ears, louder than any voice.

_________________________________________________________

“Hokage-sama,” Sai greeted, head lowered. He began to fall to a kneel—the stance Danzō had always required—but the voice that had filtered through his mind for the better part of the day smoothly interrupted.

“Kakashi, please.”

Sai hesitated. The voice sounded tired. “Kakashi-sama—” he restarted.

“Just Kakashi.” The accompanying sigh urged Sai to raise his head, just enough to see his new leader. 

Kakashi sat cross-legged on the floor, shoulders slumped and his chin resting in one hand. Papers had been strewn around him when Sai entered the office, but they had been messily gathered into a folder at Kakashi’s side in a mere instant, somehow without making a sound.

Was it really acceptable to address the Hokage so informally?

Perhaps it was a test. Danzō had been well-known for those, but in Danzō’s case, the correct answer had always been apparent: do precisely what Danzō said. ROOT had no need for those that thought for themselves outside of the mission, or those that developed and utilized their own moral compasses. If Danzō asked something, he expected it to be done. The only test was whether his followers would obey, no matter the cost. 

Sai didn’t know what kind of leader the Rokudaime Hokage of Konoha would be—but he did, to some degree, know what kind of person Hatake Kakashi was.

“Yes, Kakashi-san.” Sai rose from his bow. 

Kakashi nodded subtly.

Warmth rose in Sai’s chest. He had chosen right.

“Did you bring something for me?” Kakashi asked, waving a gloved hand towards the paper in Sai’s arms. 

“In a way. Would it be alright if I sat with you for a minute, Kakashi-san?”

Kakashi’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the side. The scar that ran down the socket which had once held the sharingan was now on full-display—a constant testament to its owner’s past.

Sai’s past didn’t exist at all.

Kakashi gestured to the floor in front of him. Sai quickly sat, mirroring Kakashi’s position. He brought out his pencil—recently resharpened with his kunai—and began drawing. 

Occasionally, he glanced up, scanning Kakashi’s features only to find charcoal eyes already watching him, cool and waiting.

That didn’t bother Sai; in ROOT, no one existed without many eyes on them. 

Few times before, however, had Sai felt as though he had truly been seen, and never before had it been done so openly. 

The sound of scratching only filled the room for two minutes, or three. Sai hadn’t needed much to complete his piece, hadn’t needed much to realize exactly what it was he had been missing—

Sai turned the paper around. Kakashi’s eyes fell down to it. 

“I don’t know Konoha very well,” Sai said softly. The sun’s light was nearly gone, the last of it fading in through the Hokage’s Office windows in oranges and pinks, originating from a bright crescent nearly hidden behind the Hokages’ stone faces. “But I want to, if you’ll let me learn. Until then…” he held the sketch forward. “This is the answer to your question.”

Kakashi’s fingertips skimmed the page. They gently closed around it, careful to create no creases as he took it, holding the sketch close. 

Sai’s face felt oddly warm and his heart pounded strongly as he waited for the Hokage’s response.

After several long moments, Kakashi looked up.

It wasn’t until Sai saw the way Kakashi’s mask stretched over his cheeks that he knew, for certain, that he had captured the man’s smile perfectly. 

All the others, he had known—Naruto, Sakura, Yamato. He had replicated them all.

Sai had even come to learn his own smile—a real one—in the last few months of “Sai’s” existence.

Now, he had learned Kakashi’s.

Soon—he hoped—he would get the chance to learn even more. Somehow, Sai felt that the more he understood the people he called ‘friends’—the more he would understand what ‘loyalty’ truly meant.

“That’s good enough for me,” Kakashi murmured. 

His voice filled Sai’s mind for a long while to come. 

It filled his heart, too, with a warmth that was steadily becoming familiar. 

One day, Sai was certain that he would learn the meaning for that warmth, too.

[satsuki2406]

Dear Aomi Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

"I've seen you in a dream before, you are the warm and bright presence that embraced me on Cape Kamui a long time ago on a June afternoon."

Shinohara (Y/N) is a normal girl who had everything she could ask for, a loving family, a beautiful home, friends, and a fluffy cat. For a long time, she gave her life and happiness for granted, never imagining that she'll face one of the worst and crueler facades of society so closely, destroying what once was a happy, harmonious and normal family. One day, in hopes to recover what they lost, the Shinohara family took one of the more difficult decisions of their lives; leave behind their home back in Hokkaido and travel hundreds of miles south until Musutafu, the place that could grant them a solution and help close the yet fresh wound and scare away the ghosts of the past. Hardheaded, passionate, and ambitious (Y/N) is forced to confront the incarnated face of the superhuman society that she hated the most; Bakugou Katsuki.

PAIRING: (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

GENRE/WARNINGS: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Dark Themes, My poor attempt of humor, Strong language (Courtesy of Lord Explosion Murder 💥), Manga Spoilers, LONG ass chapter.

STATUS: On going

Chapter 1: School is a Great Place to Make Enemies

Chapter 2: My Stupid Classmate, The Angry Dandelion

Chapter 3:In Conclusion, This Day Was...

Masterlist \(￣︶￣*\))

4: Welcome to The Neighborhood

The salty breeze caressed (Y/N) face in a wavy motion mixing with the relaxing sound of waves crashing down the coastline. Along with her steady and calm breathing, those were the only things she could perceive in the endless darkness flooding her eyes.

‘A dream?’

Suddenly, her eyelids started to flutter little by little showing her a pretty familiar scenery. A long and meandering trail lay was in front of her, surrounded by the expanse of an endless blue sea. An old wood railing was the only thing shielding (Y/N) from a deadly fall to the humongous rocks nested around the rocky and long structure.

‘Cape Kamui? Again? Why do I keep dreaming of this place?! I haven’t been here in years! Do I miss my old home so much that my brain continues to bring me here? But, it looks so real…’

All of sudden, with the corner of her eye (Y/N) caught the silhouette of someone in the distance, they were with their back turned to her looking at the scenery without a care. That right there was new. This had become a recurrent dream since she moved, but in all the other occasions (Y/N) was there by her own, not a single soul was there, and now an unknown presence awaited ahead.

‘Should I talk to them? Well, I guess is worthed a try.’

With vacillating steps, (Y/N) walked forward to the mysterious entity, as she started to move along the slightly narrow path. Suddenly the wind became more and more agitated as she advanced, her hair moved haphazardly blocking her view frequently. Soon walking became more difficult forcing her to stay still, tightly gripping the railing. The blue and clear sky over her became gray and clouded.

‘What the hell?! Maybe if I try to-’

“E-Excuse me!” You shouted. “Do you know what is happening? I-I haven’t seen you here before! Do I-do I know you?!”

The inexplicable being seen to haven’t noticed (Y/N)'s attempts to make contact, but now she could catch a certain detail that had ignored before while trying to keep herself steady in the implacable bursts. The perimeter around this enigmatic character remained intact the whole time, even the portion of sky over them lingered cloudless and immaculate. The breeze swayed delicately what at your current distance seems to be a white sundress.

‘So, it’s a girl’

Abruptly a blaring sound started to resonate in (Y/N) head, she tried to cover her ears with her hands to no avail. Gradually her vision began to blur and a heavy sensation of falling invaded her body. Unexpectedly everything became black until-

“OUCH!!”

Once again, (Y/N)’s world took a 180-degree change of scenery, a more uncomfortable and painful one per se. There she laid on her bedroom floor, upside down, hair scattered, ungracefully contorted with her legs dangling over her head in something similar to a pretty messy plow yoga position.

(Y/N) blinked still sleepy and confused trying to remember what was going on before she ended up like this, but unfortunately, her abrupt awakening seen to had blurred her memory. All of sudden (Y/N) was brought back from her stirred thoughts as a soft knock was heard on her door.

“Honey are you-oh my! What happened to you?!” (Y/N) mother quacked as she entered your room, her face contorted in concern. “Here, let me help you, darling, I don’t think that position could be good for your back”

“O-Ok, thanks”

After her mother helped her to stand up again, (Y/N) decided to take a quick shower to relax and clear her mind. Now, more awaken and changed in her uniform she was sitting in her vanity stool absentmindedly brushing her hair trying to recall what kind of dream she had last night.

“It will be best if I stop to think about that, I’m gonna get a migraine, it was just a dream, no biggie.”

Once detangled, (Y/N) proceed to think how she would like to style her hair or just use it loose as always. “I don’t want to tie it but I want something different.” Instantly a bulb lighted up over her head, from one of the front drawers she took out a thin light blue ribbon. She put it around her head like a headband and knot it in a little bow at the side of her head.

Content with her simple but cute look she took her already packed bag and proceeded to go downstairs to have breakfast. In her way to the first floor, (Y/N) caught the aroma of fresh pancakes and coffee.

“Smells good!” (Y/N) excitedly exclaimed once she spotted her mom coming out of the kitchen with a stack of pancakes and a bottle a maple syrup to place them on the table.

“I’m glad you think so! I put some chocolate chips in the batter just like you like it!”

“You are the best mom!~”

“Oh, darling I know it. Now sit down and eat you have to leave to soon” (Y/N) did as her mother said, who shortly joined her with her morning coffee on hand. Both of them thanked for the food and dug in.

“Oh, now that I remember! Yesterday I met our next-door neighbor!” (Y/N)’s mom chimed happily.

“Oh really? What did you talk about?”

“Oh, she was really nice and chatty! Her name is Mitsuki but I don’t remember her last name, was it, Bai? Bandai? Bando? Oh, this terrible memory of mine is getting worse and worse every day!” (Y/N)’s mom complained.

“It’s funny that we’ve already met all our close neighbors but them. It’s weird if you think about it.”

“I guess so, she also said that she has a son your age that also attends Aldera Junior High! Maybe you could start going to school together and become friends! Probably he’s as nice as his mom.”

“Hmm probably” (Y/N) said mind absently. “Hey, mom…” She whispered while putting down her cutlery. “Did-did the doctor answered something about- you know…”

Akari paused her fork holding a piece of pancake in mid-air in front of her open mouth, shock spread all over her face. She quickly composed herself and cleared her throat. “He told us it was a long process, you know a lot of tests, blood works, scans and so… he told us not to worry too much, all the necessary requirements were successfully fulfilled. Don’t worry darling, everything would be ok; we have to be faithful.” (Y/N)’s mom reassured her as she squeezed her hand.

“I know but, I’m just… scared.”

“I know baby, I know.”

🏫🚲🏃🏻‍♀️

“I’m leaving now mom!” (Y/N) exclaimed from the front door as she put on her shoes at the genkan. “Alright, sweetie! Are you bringing your bento? Your handkerchief? Your pencil-case? Your toothbrush? Your phone? Your pouch with all your ‘lady necessities’?

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.”

“Ok! Please take care and if anything happens call me immediately and I’ll go to pick you up. I have a meeting with a potential meat and seafood distributor for the new restaurant today but I’ll have my phone with me all the time at full volume.”

“Alright mom! Ittekimasu!”

"Itterasshai darling!"

After locking the door and taking her bike (Y/N) exited her house through the short gate door at the front, but stopped midway when her ears caught what sounded like a heated discussion next door, but the loud argument wasn’t the problem, it was one of the voices involved; an annoying, loud and really familiar voice to be exact.

‘No way…’

“I’m warning you Katsuki! Take your fucking lunch or I’ll personally deliver it to you, at school, in your classroom, in front of all of your classmates!”

“You wouldn’t dare old hag!”

“Oh, but I would! I didn’t wake up at fucking five in the morning to make a bento that you’ll refuse to eat! Now take it!”

“Piss off!”

*SLAP!*

“Don’t hit me old hag! I’ll kill you!”

“Don't you dare to talk to your mother like that you ungrateful brat!”

‘Nice my ass! What made my mom thought that this woman could be nice in the first place?! She’s shouting at her son in the middle of the street like a madwoman at 7:30 in the morning because he doesn't want his bento?! What is this?! Crazy Town?!’

“I already told you a thousand fucking times to stop making this shitty bentos! I’m not seven anymore! Not my problem that you are an old hag that can’t remember shit!

“What did you say?!’

“You heard me!”

‘I was lucky yesterday because I left earlier and he must walk to school so the chances to run into him were slim. Damn! Now I’m gonna have to wake up earlier to avoid him?! Fuck you, Bakugou! Why in heaven did he have to live next door?! Now I understand why the house was cheaper than it should have, the realtor said the former owner had trouble selling it because of the size and the prize, hah! What a joke.’

“Enough of this, I have to go before he notices me, I can get ahead faster so I won’t see him until I get to the class. Yes! Now all I have to do is walk away really slowly-”

(Y/N) put her escape plan in action immediately, moving as fast and quietly as she could even lifting the bike a little bit so the sound of the chain wouldn’t forewarn them of her presence. After a short but cumbersome trail, 2 houses away from hers (Y/N) hopped on her bike more than ready to cycle with all her might directly to the school when another voice resounded at the distance.

“(Y/N)! You forgot the bag with your P.E uniform!” Exclaimed Akari while she held the said bag for (Y/N) to see it clearly.

‘FUCK! No! No! Calm down just take the stupid bag and run! Yes! You can do it!’

(Y/N) pedaled at high speed towards her mother with an only goal in mind, ‘retrieve and flee’ Just a little bit more and she could make a clean escape. Just two feet more!

Putting all her skills on display (Y/N) did her best to balance herself on the bike with only one hand on the rudder while she extended her right hand as much as she could, ready to snatch the bag and leave for dear life.

‘Just a few inches more! Yes! You can do it! Just keep pedaling! Just keep!-’

“Oh! Akari-san! I thought I heard your voice!” Mitsuki beamed as she leaned out of her house entrance while she dragged her temperamental scion by the ear.

‘Son of a biscuit!’

“Let me go you shitty hag!”

“Watch your damn language brat! Can’t you see our lovely neighbors are here too!”

“Like I care for those extras! Let me go! I’ll be fucking late!”

*SMACK!*

“Stop with the fucking hitting!”

“Stop screaming!”

“You stop screaming!”

“Oh, isn’t this neighborhood lively, darling?~” Chimed Akari smiling amusedly at the scene in front of her.

“Aha…” (Y/N) petrified by her side, all willing to live left her body already.

‘I hate my life…’

“Oh! Bakugou!” Said Akari while she bumped the side of her fist over her open palm “Mitsuki-san’s last name is Bakugou!”

“And why couldn't you ‘ve remembered this important piece of information, I don’t know, like thirty-five minutes ago mother?” (Y/N) groaned.

“Oh, you know I’ve always had a bad memory, but I always end up remembering everything at the right time” Akari giggled. (Y/N) simply sighed for the umpteenth time that morning.

‘I’m exhausted already’

After a couple of minutes of bickering, the interesting ‘shoutversation’ mother and son had come to a halt when Mrs. Bakugou strongly hit her son’s head pushing it down in a bow like position.

“Oh, Akari-san! I’m so ashamed that you had to witness this! Katsuki can be a handful sometimes!” Said the blond woman with a dismayed expression.

'Just sometimes?'

“Oh, don’t worry!” Said (Y/N)’s mom waving her hand dismissively. “Teens are usually more temperamental, especially at this age. (Y/N) is not always a ray of sunshine, you know how hormones are.

“Mom!” (Y/N) exclaimed embarrassed, making the older blonde’s attention go from her mom to her, acknowledging her presence. The female Bakugou’s expression went from pensive to surprised, to excited to hopeful all in a matter of five seconds.

“Oh my! you must be (Y/N)-chan! Your mother has told me a lot about you! I’m Bakugou Mitsuki, but you can call me Mitsuki! This is my son, Katsuki! He goes to the same school as you! Katsuki say ‘hi’!” Said Mitsuki with a cheery voice.

*UNINTELLIGIBLE GRUMBLES*

“I SAID SAY ‘HI’ KATSUKI!!”

“OH MY FUCKING-! Hi or whatever!” sneered the seething blond.

“Umm… hi…” After her court response Katsuki seemed to tense slightly, like he just fogured out something. He then slowly rose his head and his wide, bloodshot eyes met (Y/N)’s unfazed yet irritated ones.

“THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE THIEF BITCH?!”

*SLAP! x3*

“KATSUKI YOU DISGRACEFUL PUNK! APOLOGIZE THIS INSTANT!”

“Make me old hag!!!”

*SLAP! x6*

“So help me Katsuki! I will take away all of your phone, Wi-Fi, and PS privileges!”

“I wanna see you try!  And why should I apologize?! This shitty thief used her fucking quirk on me yesterday! If anyone should apologize, it's her!”

“Ha! Knowing you, you must have deserved it for sure!”

“Da fuck?!”

“I told you to stop with the fucking swearing!”

“You stop with the fucking swearing!”

‘Oh God help us all’

[cruddykawa]

Oikawa x Reader | Extra Caramel

hi here is a really gross fluffy scenario of oikawa lmfaooo uhh yes hi this is also my first one enjoi pls honestly oikawa is really easy for me to write about is it bc hes a cancer and im a pisces????? lol

oikawa x reader

word count: 771

_______________________

Oikawa had always seen you around at the same time and same place every other day. You’d come in with your backpack, pull out your laptop, then your notebook and pencil pouch would follow after. You’d stay for a couple of hours studying the things off your laptop and taking notes into your notebook. When something difficult came up, your eyebrows would furrow, and your lips would slightly purse. When you’d finally come understand the hard concept, your face would light up, and you’d write vigorously into your notebook, as if you’d forget it if you didn’t. After some time of studying, you’d go to the counter and order an iced caramel macchiato with extra caramel. He was glad he was stationed at the cashier so often because it gave him a chance to have small moments with you and even learn your name since he had to ask for it when you ordered the drink. The whole thing was like clockwork and had been like that for the past couple of months. On the days you came, his shifts were much easier, and they flew by. On the days you didn’t, it was as if time stood still. 

But it wasn’t until you didn’t show up one day that he realized how much he’d been watching you. How much he’d been looking forward to you coming to his place of work. 

Nearly a week had passed by, and his coworker noticed how disappointed Oikawa was when he came into work. “Oikawa, if you really hate working here that much, you don’t have to.” Kuroo laughed.

Oikawa turned around and said, “As if I would quit after being here for this long. Besides, this place would fall apart without me.” 

Kuroo rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right.”

“I can be sad about other things, you know...” Oikawa veered.

“Oh, like that girl who comes all the time and hasn’t in the past couple of days?” Kuroo smirked.

Oikawa blushed, “How did you know?!”

“As if it wasn’t obvious. Your creepy grin shows up when she comes in, and when she doesn’t show up, the disappointment on your face is out of this world.” He snickered, “Anyways, look alive. Your favorite customer is approaching.”  

Oikawa turned around to face the counter and saw your smaller frame approaching him with a smile and wallet in hand. You grinned at him and said, “Long time, no see!”

He blushed at your bright grin, but smiled, “I was starting to think you’d found a new café to study at.”

“I went home for break last week.” You laughed, “That being said, I don’t think I’d ever find a replacement for this place.”

“Glad to hear it.” He replied, “An iced caramel macchiato with extra caramel?”

Your cheeks turned a slight shade of red, embarrassed that he remembered your order, “Yes, please.”

You passed Oikawa your card, but he gently pushed your hand away, “It’s on the house!”

Your mouth went slightly ajar, and you immediately said, “No! No! I can’t!”

Oikawa laughed and moved behind the bar, “Too late. I’m already making your drink.”  

You looked down, thanked him, and went back to your seat. 

Kuroo approached Oikawa and whispered, “Oya, oya. I’ve never seen you hold a conversation with her for that long.”

“I can talk to girls!” Oikawa retorted.

“Maybe, but I’ve never seen you talk to her for that long.” Kuroo smirked, “Anyways, it’s about time for your break, so go over there and hand her the drink you made.”

Oikawa jumped, “But we don’t do that here!”

“I didn’t realize that you could disobey your manager’s orders.” Kuroo jeered.

Oikawa picked up the glass of coffee and mumbled, “How you became manager over me is what keeps me up at night.”

“Sure, that’s what keeps you up at night. Not the girl sitting 10 feet away from us.” Kuroo snickered, “Besides your biggest worry right now is to see if she can handle your sickeningly sugary way of talking.” 

Oikawa glared at his friend but walked to the table you were studying at. He sat across from you waiting for you to notice him, but you didn’t even notice he was there. It wasn’t until after he cleared his throat that you finally looked up from your notebook and at Oikawa’s chocolate brown eyes. He grinned at you and slid your coffee in front of you. He then asked, “Out of curiosity, don’t you think the extra caramel can be a bit too much?”

You quietly laughed, “I kinda have a thing for sugar.”

Oikawa beamed at you, “Well, then. It seems like I’ve lucked out.”

___________________

feel free to submit things into my ask!

[jaeminhours]

Hostage | Part One

SUMMARY | You fall in love with a boy you shouldn’t, and everything has consequences. In which you discover a new world, and in the process, fall in love with the boy in the leather jacket.

Read Part Two here!

PAIRING | na jaemin x reader, lee jeno x reader

CATEGORY | Gang (?) au, highschool!au, angst

WORD COUNT | 7.6k

WARNINGS | mentions of drugs, violence, character death

SONG REC | hostage - Billie Eilish

You’d never fallen in love before. In any case, you thought that it was far too early for you to fall in love. You were only in your junior year of high school, having just turned seventeen. It’s the same thing your parents had always told you, and the same thing you had always heard from your friends: high school boys are reckless and crazy, and falling in love so young never means anything. It’s too bad you didn’t listen.

The high school you attended was larger than most, and within, the student population was heavily divided between those who were wealthy and those who were poor. You were better off than most, and for the most part enjoyed a privileged life, thanks to your parents’ money. South Side High School was notorious for having multiple gangs in the area, and you were almost certain that several of your classmates were members. However, you had decided long ago that you would stay out trouble and pay no attention to mere rumors, instead opting to focus on your studies. Your life was calm, content, and safe. You had a small group of friends, but your best friends were Chaewon and Mark, who was a senior. Just like you, both of them were wealthier, got good grades, and were overall responsible students. They were the good kids at South Side. You were one of the good kids at South Side.

That’s why you were surprised, Monday morning, when Na Jaemin took a seat at the desk next to yours at the beginning of your shared math class. You ignored him, pulling your pencils and pens out of your pencil pouch and opening your notebook to where you had left off from your lecture last class. He didn’t say anything either, but you could see him watching you from the corner of your eye.

“You know you can’t sit there, right?” you said, zipping up your pencil pouch and tidying your things. “Mina sits there.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” he replied.

You turned to meet his eyes. If there was one word to describe Na Jaemin in relation to yourself, it was opposite. You and Jaemin were different people, with different backgrounds and different lives. Jaemin wasn’t wealthy like you, you knew. He even dressed differently, with ripped black jeans and leather jackets, pierced ears that were clearly against school dress regulations, a clear contrast next to your plaid skirt and white blouse. The times when you and Jaemin played on your bedroom floor and swung on the swingset in your neighborhood park seemed like centuries ago. You and Jaemin had been childhood friends, but you had grown apart, and grown up after his mother died.

“What do you want, Jaemin?”

He smirked. “Do I need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?”

You frowned, and turned away from him, determined to keep your eyes on the board.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “I need a tutor. No, don’t look at me like that, you have to. Mr. Moon said you could tutor me since I’m failing and I need to pass this class.”

You were gaping at him. “Mr. Moon said what?”

“I’m not lying, you can ask him.”

Your heart pounding, you turned to look at Mr. Moon at the front of the class. He was already looking, smiling encouragingly.

“He said he’ll sign it off as community service hours for honor society if you do it,” Jaemin offered.

You were still hesitant. You didn’t hang out with people like Na Jaemin. Somehow, you could sense that if you did agree to tutor him, it wouldn’t end well for you.

“Y/N,” You were startled by Jaemin saying your name, meeting his eyes once again. “Y/N, please. I know we have our differences, but I really need to pass this class.”

You cursed yourself mentally. You were being selfish. Jaemin wanting to get a good grade could only be a good thing, right?

“Okay, fine.”

Jaemin looked surprised. “Oh, okay! When should we meet?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays, after school, in the library. Does that work for you?”

He grinned. “Of course. Can’t wait, Y/N.”

“Don’t be late,” you warned. “I’ll leave.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about Jaemin for the rest of the day. Your heart ached when you realized that the last time you had talked to him had been ten years ago. Then again, he wasn’t the sweet little boy you used to know. These days, he spent his time with a group of boys known for breaking hearts, rules, and windows. He hung out mostly with Lee Donghyuck, Park Jisung, and a couple older senior boys you didn’t know the names of. You were also pretty sure you’d seen him hang out with boys that had already graduated outside of school, making you suspicious about what he was doing with them. It wasn’t exactly a secret that they were part of the wrong crowd in your city. Even your father had told you to stay away from them.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you in there?” Chaewon’s voice broke you out of your daze, flinching away from the milk carton she was waving in front of your face.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said dryly. “Are going to eat that?” She pointed to the untouched cookie on your lunch tray.

“No, you can have it,” you said, pushing it towards her.

“Thanks. What’s got you so deep in thought?” she said while taking a bite.

“Na Jaemin talked to me today.”

Chaewon’s eye widened, choking on the cookie. “Who? Did he really?”

“I’m tutoring him on Tuesdays and Thursdays now.”

Chaewon opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Mark sitting down across from you.

“What’s up?” he said, setting his tray down on the table.

“Y/N’s tutoring Na Jaemin!” Chaewon blurted out.

Mark looked similarly shocked. “Whoa, really?”

“Can you guys chill? It’s not that big of a deal.”

You were surprised to see that Mark looked almost concerned. “Y/N… you shouldn’t associate with them. They’re not good people.”

You frowned at that. Sure you didn’t really want to tangled up with Jaemin and his friends and yes, they did do some questionable things, but you didn’t think they were bad people, necessarily. They were just teenagers. You chose to ignore Mark’s tone and rolled your eyes. “I’m just tutoring him, I promise, Mark. Plus, Mr. Moon is giving me hours for it.”

“Oh!” Chaewon exclaimed. “That’s nice, isn’t it, Mark?”

Mark didn’t reply, watching you with darkened eyes.

You felt uncomfortable, so you stood up. “I’m going to go to class early. I… have a quiz in history.”

With that, you left and headed to your classroom. When you got there, you were surprised to see your deskmate, Lee Jeno, already sitting there, sleeping with his head on the desk and his hood up. You made your way over, brushing past him to get to your seat by the window. He woke up, his hood sliding down as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He flashed you a bright smile, and your heart fluttered a little.

“Hey, Y/N. You’re here early today.”

Jeno was one of Mark’s other friends, part of the obscure group he often hung out with but never introduced you to. Other than Mark, Jeno mostly hung out with Huang Renjun and Zhong Chenle. They seemed like good students, rarely getting in trouble, but sometimes you still got a bad feeling from them. You liked Jeno, though. He was almost, but not quite, a friend.

“Hey, Jeno,” you said, smiling back. “Mark was being weird so I came to class early.”

“Oh,” Jeno frowned a little. “About Jaemin?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes, actually. How did you know?”

“I’m in your math class, Y/N. I saw you talking to him.”

“Oh,” You felt your ears burn. You’d forgotten Jeno was also in your math class.

Jeno didn’t seem to care about that, though. “You shouldn’t hang out with Jaemin, you know.”

You raised a brow. “That’s what Mark said. What do you mean, Jeno?”

Jeno glowered. “He’s just… not a good person to be friends with. You shouldn’t get mixed up with his crowd.”

“I think maybe you and Mark don’t actually know Jaemin enough to judge him so harshly,” you said, scowling back.

Jeno’s face softened. “Just be careful, okay?” he murmured. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of him.”

You opened your mouth to reply, confused, but you were interrupted by the sound of the bell. Jeno turned away, leaving you to wonder what he had meant.

Tuesday came quickly, and with it your tutoring session with Jaemin. Jaemin showed up in class with a black eye and bruised cheekbone, once again taking a seat next to you. He had talked to you, and you indulged him, ending up actually enjoying the conversation, as you avoided Jeno’s gaze. At the end of class, Jaemin had bid you farewell and said to meet him in the library after school for his tutoring. And that’s where you were now, waiting for Jaemin to arrive.

He came a couple minutes after you, sliding into the seat adjacent to you and spreading his supplies on the table. He flashed you a wide smile, and your heart fluttered again.

Stop doing that.

“What happened to your face?” you asked.

“Ah, this?” he said, his fingers lighting upon the bruise that adorned his face. “I may have gotten into a little fight.”

“With who?”

“Ah,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can tell you that. I think if I did, I might die.”

You frowned. He looked like he was joking, but his words and voice were serious. Your mind flashed back to what Jeno had said to you.

Just be careful, okay?

I don’t want you to get hurt because of him.

You shook the thoughts away, and handed Jaemin the problems you had written out for him to solve. “Try solving these so I know what you already understand.”

You and Jaemin worked silently, only talking when he needed help on a problem or a concept. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, cracking his back. You winced at the sound, and glanced outside. It was nearing winter, and it was getting darker earlier. The only light in the library was provided by the dim lamps that hung above each table, and by there was only a couple students other than you and Jaemin that remained.

“Y/N, why aren’t we friends anymore?”

The question surprised you. “I guess we just grew apart, Jaemin. We were really young.”

“Do you think we could be friends again?”

You looked at him, and his sincere expression, bruises on his face, and your heart fluttered. In that moment, he looked young and innocent. Nothing like the bad boy your peers had designated him as. Why weren’t you friends anymore? Why couldn’t you be friends again? His eyes were wide and his lips slightly parted, waiting for your answer.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I don’t see why not.”

Jaemin’s smile blinded you, and your breath hitched as he leaned closer.

“I really missed you, Y/N.”

You tried to remember to breathe, and then snapped yourself out of it, packing up your stuff. “It’s late,” you said. “We should get going.”

Jaemin nodded. “Do you have a ride?”

“I was just going to walk.”   

Jaemin zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”

You blushed. “You don’t have to, Jaemin.”

“I want to, though,” he said, pouting.

You hesitated. Mark lived across from you, and you were worried about what he would say if he saw the two of you together.

But in the end, your heart won over your brain, and you gave in.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

The walk home was long and filled with tension. Well, your tension, because Jaemin seemed completely at ease. He walked close to you, your sides brushing as he talked about his friends out of school, Ten, Taeyong, and a couple others whose names escaped you. Suddenly, you were reminded of something.

“Jaemin, do you know why Mark told me not to hang out with you?” you asked.

He stopped walking, and you stopped to face him too. You were afraid that you had offended him until you realized that he was laughing.

“Did he really?” he choked out. “He’s one to talk.”

You were confused. “Jeno said the same thing.”

Jaemin suddenly stopped laughing. “Listen, Y/N. Don’t listen to everything they tell you. Mark isn’t who you think he is.”

“Jaemin, what? What do you mean?” You were getting increasingly confused. The past two days had been chaotic, and you felt like everyone else knew something you didn’t.

“I just want to make sure you don’t look at just one side of a story. Don’t take everything they say for granted, because I can assure you that I could tell you the same thing about them.”

“Jaemin,” you said slowly, “what don’t I know?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you just yet. Just… forget I said anything.”

He started walking again, and you trailed after him. You walked in silence, until suddenly Jaemin reached down and clasped your hand in his own. Startled, you looked up at him.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he whispered, staring straight ahead. “It’ll be alright.”

You didn’t know what was wrong, but the warmth of Jaemin’s hand reassured you. You smiled to yourself, and gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Mark’s kinda pissed, by the way.”

It was Wednesday, the day after your first tutoring session with Jaemin. He had dropped you off at your doorstep, smiled at you, and then disappeared into the darkness. The memory of his fingers intertwined with yours was still vivid in your mind, and you  kept blushed just thinking about it. Jeno had spoken, and was staring at you expectantly.

“Why’s that?” you said, nonchalantly.

Jeno’s gaze was sharp. “He said he saw you with Jaemin last night.”

You gulped. “So? I told him I was tutoring Jaemin. He doesn’t have any reason--or right, mind you--to be pissed.”

“He said you were holding hands.”

You didn’t answer that.

“Look, Y/N, you might think it’s not any of my business, and it probably isn’t, but I’m just trying to warn you. You and Jaemin. It’s better for both of you if Mark stays calm.”

“Why do people keep talking about Mark like I don’t something about him? What don’t I know?”

Jeno took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Please forget I said anything.”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Jeno took that as an opportunity to move on. “There’s this party. It’s in a month, Yuta likes to plan things early, but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come with me?”

You recognized the name. Yuta had graduated when you were a freshman but had stuck around, and was notorious for throwing parties that begged for a visit from the cops. But something at the back of your mind convinced you not to reject him.

“Okay,” you said. “Sure.”

Jeno’s eyes widened. “Really? I didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted. “But I’ll go.”

“Great!” he said, smiling. “I’ll pick you up at seven then, if you don’t mind?”

He pulled out a sticky note and scribbled something on it, passing it over to you. “Here’s my number. Send me your address when you get home tonight.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling. “Can’t wait.”

Throughout the rest of the month, you and Jaemin got closer. He was sweet, and cute, and funny, and gentle. He was everything you remembered him to be from when you were kids. And you had no idea why Mark seemed to hate him so much. All you knew was that whenever you were around him your heart fluttered and you felt like you could hardly breathe. Maybe it was too fast, but you thought you might like Na Jaemin.

However, when he showed up to school covered in bruises on Friday, the day of the party, you started think there really was something serious going on. He slid into his seat next to you in math, his hood up and his eyes bloodshot.

“Oh my god, Jaemin. What happened?” you hissed, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to face you. “Oh my god, are you okay? Who did this?”

Jaemin’s eyes flashed to the corner of the room, and you noticed Jeno watching the both of you. “Listen,” he said under his breath. “I’m fine, but I don’t think you should tutor me anymore.”

“Wait, what?”

Jaemin wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Look, I’m passing now, thanks to you. I don’t need to be tutored anymore. In fact, I don’t think we should hang out anymore.”

You were shocked, and you felt your heart ache. “What?” you whispered softly.

Jaemin looked pained. “I’m so sorry. But I can’t.” He stood up, gathered his things, and walked out of class without sparing you a glance.

You met Jeno’s eyes, noticing that he was still watching. For a second, you almost thought he looked guilty.

As class ended, Jeno stopped at your desk his fingers resting on the doodle of a cat that Jaemin had etched into the wood.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, smiling softly, as if he were afraid you might break.

“Yeah,” you answered, your head whirling. “See you tonight.”

You couldn’t deny that Jeno looked handsome when he picked you up that night. He wore ripped black jeans and a pristine white t-shirt, his black hair parted to show his forehead. He opened the car door for you, smiling brightly as you thanked him.

“Are you excited?” he asked once he started driving.

“Yeah, it’s actually my first party.”

He laughed. “No way!”

You could feel your face flush. “Yeah. Parties aren’t usually my thing.”

Jeno smiled, glancing at you. “Well, I’m glad I get the honor of accompanying you to your first party.”

For some reason, that statement put a damper on your mood. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if Jaemin was the one taking you to this party.

Yuta’s house wasn’t as big as yours, but it still looked  pretty roomy. You could see the flash of purple lights from the porch of his house and hear the dull thud of of music coming from inside. Jeno rang the doorbell, and the door opened to reveal who you assumed to be Nakamoto Yuta. He was blonde, with several piercings in his left ear but was otherwise very clean cut. He wore a black t-shirt and cuffed blue jeans with vans, and a bright smile adorned his face.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, reaching out to shake your hand. “Come in.”

The inside was chaotic. People held red plastic cups in their hands as they danced, liquid splashing onto the hardwood floor, but Yuta didn’t seem to mind. You could barely hear him over the music.

“Drinks are in the kitchen,” he yelled over the music. “Try not to get too shit-faced.” With that, he left, leaving you and Jeno to yourselves.

“Are you going to drink tonight?” you asked him, wide-eyed.

He laughed, and shook his head. “I have to drive you home, remember? Are you?”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea to get drunk at my first party.”

Jeno nodded in understanding. It took you a moment, but as you studied his face your realized he was blushing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, laughing. “Your ears are red.”

He blushed even harder. “Yeah, I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to dance? With me?”

You smiled. “Sure, Jeno.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dance floor, but before he could, he was stopped by the reappearance of Yuta. He looked concerned, grabbing Jeno’s shoulder and whispering in his ear. Jeno’s smile disappeared, and he turned to you, releasing your hand.

“Y/N, I have to go, but I’ll be right back as soon as I’m done, I promise.” he said, looking into your eyes.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you need to do?”

Yuta gripped Jeno’s shoulder tighter. “Uh, I’ll tell you later. Take care, don’t drink anything anyone gives you while I’m gone.” He disappeared into the crowd of people, trailing behind Yuta.

You were confused, and now you were alone, in a stranger’s house with strange people and no one to guide you through the mechanics of your first party. The music pounded at your ears, loud and unforgiving, making your head throb. You desperately needed to get somewhere quiet. Pushing through people, you ran into the first room you could find, closing the door behind you and shutting your eyes in relief.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes flew open, only to be met with the figure of none other than Na Jaemin, holding a red cup in his hand and looking at you with concern. He placed the cup on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Are you?” you said, thinking back to that morning’s events.

Jaemin gulped. “I’m sorry, about that. I didn’t want to be like that towards you. It’s just… Jeno was watching, and I really need to watch how I act with you around Mark’s people.”

You could feel something click into place. “Jaemin,” you said, lowly. “did Mark’s ‘people’ do that to you?” You gestured to his face.

You had walked over to him. He leaned against the bed frame, staring into your eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. You brought your hand up to his face, tracing your fingers down his cheek.

“Why?” you choked out, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Why would Mark do something like this?

Why would he hurt Jaemin?

“Mark and his friends, they don’t get along with me and my friends. This happens more often than you think.”

“Why?” It seemed like that word was the only thing you were capable of saying. “Are you involved with something bad? Is Mark involved in something bad?”

Jaemin broke your eye contact, looking at the floor. “Yes,” he said, softly. “I guess I should tell you.” “Yeah, I think you should.”

He inhaled, his chest rising with a tremulous breath before he looked you in the eyes again. “We sell stuff,” he said. Your eyes widened. “None of the really hard stuff,” he said quickly. “Just like, weed, cocaine, other stuff. Mark does the same stuff, you know. He sees us as a threat, and makes our lives miserable because of it. He doesn’t even need the money.” His voice was hard, stone-cold.

“Cocaine isn’t exactly soft, Jaemin. What the fuck?”

“I don’t use any of it,” he said. “I just… need the money, the same as the rest of the boys.”

“The rest of the boys?” you asked.

“Yeah. Donghyuck and Jisung, Taeyong and Ten, that group.”

“Does Mark have… other people?” you said, fearing the answer.

Jaemin nodded. “Yeah. Renjun, Chenle, Yuta, and others. And Jeno.”

Your breath hitched. “Jeno?”

He nodded, shuffling his feet as he leaned against the bedpost.

“Why did they beat you up?” you said.

“Because of you. Because we were hanging out, and Mark didn’t like you getting close to me.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m so sorry, Jaemin.”

He shook his head, placing his hands on your arms. “It’s okay, it’s my fault.”

Another tear escaped. “No it’s not! They’re hurting you because of me!”

“And they can keep hurting me,” he said, wiping a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “A few bruises can’t stop me from liking you, Y/N.”

You stopped sniffling. “You like me?”

He laughed. “I thought it was obvious,” he said. You noticed he was crying now, too.

“I really, really like you. I always have,” he whispered, and then, with his hand still on your cheeks, he leaned down and kissed you. You gasped, tears still rolling down the both of yours and Jaemin’s cheeks. You leaned into the kiss, reaching a hand up to grip at his shirt while the other one rested at the back of his neck. He kissed you, and you could taste the salt of his tears on his lips, though you’d stopped crying.

He peppered soft kisses along your jaw, moving one hand down to your waist while the other one rested on your neck. You pulled him back into the kiss, your hands now on his cheeks. His lips were soft, and tasted like peach chapstick.

You were interrupted by a flood of light as the door opened. You separated, your hands dropping to Jaemin’s arms as you blinked against the harsh light.

It was Mark. He stood in the doorway, his fists clenched by his sides and anger evident on his face. Jeno and Yuta stood behind him. Jeno kept glancing between you and Jaemin and Mark, worry etched into his face. Yuta closed the door behind them.

Jaemin pulled you behind him as Mark surged forward. “I told you to stay away from her!” he said, throwing a punch. His fist landed square on Jaemin’s jaw, and you screamed.

“Mark, stop!”

He didn’t.

“Mark, please!”

Jaemin was on the floor as Mark crouched over him, flinging his fists at him as Jaemin tried to shield himself with his arms. You grabbed Mark’s arm, desperately trying to pull him away from Jaemin, but you were met with an elbow to your cheekbone. You fell to the floor, exclaiming in pain. Jeno ran to your side, and Mark stopped hitting Jaemin, standing up and looking only a little guilty.

“Mark…” Jeno said, brushing the blooming bruise on your cheek where Mark had hit you. You slapped his hand away, glaring, and stood up, rushing to Jaemin’s side. You were crying again.

“Get out!” you screamed, shoving Mark in the chest. “Go away!”

Jeno put his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark, let’s just go.”

Mark flung his hand off. “He shouldn’t be here. He’s asking for a beating by just stepping a foot onto one of our properties!”

Yuta stepped up to Mark. “Mark,” he said quietly. “It’s okay, let’s just go.”

Mark glared at the both of you. “This isn’t over,” he warned Jaemin, then walked out, Jeno and Yuta trailing after him. As soon as you heard the door click shut, you crouched down by Jaemin. He sat  up, leaning against the bed frame as he groaned in pain.

He cracked an eye open at you, and smiled. “Worth it.”

You slapped his arm, tears still streaming down your face.

His smile fell, and he leaned up to cradle your face in his hands. “Hey,” he murmured, “it’s okay, I’ve had worse, I promise. Don’t cry.”

“That isn’t comforting,” you sniffled. His lip was cut, and blood trickled out of his mouth.

“Did you drive here?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Come on,” you said, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll drive you to your house and we can fix you up.”

He nodded again. “Thank you,” he said.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the house and ignoring the stares of everyone else in the house. He pointed out his car and handed you his keys, quiet as you pushed him into the passenger’s seat and started the ignition.

“I didn’t know you could drive,” he murmured, resting his eyes. “I’ve never seen you drive to school or anything.”

“Well,” you said. “That’s probably because, technically, I can’t drive.”

His eyes flew open. “Wait, what?”

You were already driving. “I mean I can drive? I took the class and everything. I just might not have my license yet?”

He stared at you. “Stop. Pull over. I’m driving.”

You gripped the wheel tighter. “Absolutely not. You’re hurt, and drunk. Plus, I know where you live. It’s fine.” He smiled. “You remember where I live?”

You blushed. “Of course. How could I forget?”

The rest of the drive was quiet, only the sound of Jaemin’s breathing as he struggled to stay awake disturbing the silence.

You pulled up to his house, and he unlocked the door with his house key, beckoning you inside.

You led you to his room, and pulled a first aid kit out from underneath his bed. He sat down on his bed and you sat next to him, pulling out antiseptic wipe and bandages.

“It’s just a split lip,” Jaemin said, laughing.

“You also have a cut on your cheek,” you replied, pointing to the area. “I don’t want it to get infected.”

He rolled his eyes, but let you work on the cuts with the wipe. Blushing, you dabbed at the cut on his lip. Jaemin smirked, and leaned down to kiss you. This time, his lips tasted like blood and antiseptic, and you cringed.

You pulled away from him, licking your lips. “Jaemin, why do you do this? Why do you choose to sell drugs? Why do you continue to fight with Mark?”

“I need the money,” he said quietly. “We need the money. It’s not a choice.”

“Can’t you get out of this?” you begged. “I can give you money, you could get a job! Just… don’t do this anymore.”

Jaemin’s eyes hardened. “I’m not taking your money, Y/N. My friends need me, I’m not abandoning them.” His voice was sharp, and cold. “I can’t get out of this,” he whispered, and his face softened.

You pulled him into a hug, and you could feel him crumble, hear his sniffles as he held back tears.

“It’s okay, Jaemin,” you whispered. “No matter what you do, I’ll be there for you.”

You stuck to your promise, and you stayed by him for the next few months. Mark didn’t hang out with you as much, leaving you with Chaewon, but you still tried to keep your relationship with Jaemin out of his sight. You became friends with some of the other boys Jaemin hung out with, Donghyuck and Jisung. You and Donghyuck weren’t that close, and he tended to make you a little uncomfortable, but you treasured Jisung. He was only a freshman, and had just recently turned fifteen. You hung out mostly at Jaemin’s house, since his dad was barely home. Right now, you sat on Jaemin’s bed, reading a comic book he had left on his bedside table, and waiting for him to get out of the shower.

When he finally walked out of the bathroom, like always, your heart skipped a beat. His hair was damp and messy from the shower, and a towel hung around his shoulders. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and old sweatpants, an ensemble that you thought only Jaemin could make look like it was fit for the runway. A bruise on his cheekbone and a bandaid on his forehead decorated his otherwise perfect face, a reminder of a job gone wrong last week. He climbed over you, his towel falling on the floor as he pulled the covers over himself, snuggling up to you. You put the book back on his night stand and turned to face him. Jaemin threw an arm over your waist and pulled you closer, until your head rested under his chin. You wrapped your arms around him and listened to the dull thud of his heartbeat. He sighed in contentment, your legs tangled together underneath the sheets.

“This is perfect,” he said, nudging the top of your head with his chin. “I wish that we could stay like this forever.”

You hummed in agreement, hugging him tighter. The warmth of Jaemin’s body through his thin cotton t-shirt began lulling you to sleep.

“Y/N,” Jaemin said suddenly. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

You snuggled deeper into his chest. “Sure I do,” you answered. “I think everyone gets their happy ending, in one way or another.”

“Do you think I’ll get a happy ending?”

You ran your fingers lightly up and down his side. “Of course. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Y/N, I think you’re my happy ending.”

You giggled, and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling his scent, which smelled of strawberries.

Soon, your eyelids began to droop, sleep pulling at you once again as your breathing deepened.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Jaemin whispered.

But you were already asleep.

After a few months of peace with Jaemin, things started to take a turn for the worse again. Or at least, you felt like things were about to take a turn for the worse. Mark was smiling at you in the halls again. At first you thought that maybe Mark had decided to be the better person, that he had decided to let go of his prejudice against Jaemin and his friends and accept that you were friends with him. But at the sight of Jeno’s sullen, almost guilt-ridden face when he, Mark, and Renjun stopped by your table one day at lunch, your heart seized with worry.

“Hey, Y/N,” Mark said, his teeth showing in a twisted grin. You didn’t say anything, just staring up at him with confusion etched into your face.

Mark took your silence as a sign to continue. “I just wanted to let you know that things will be better soon. This time next week, we’ll all be able to be friends again and our relationship with Na Jaemin won’t be a problem anymore.”

His tone was light but insincere, and his words were threatening. Fear crawled at your throat.

“What do you mean?” you asked frantically, but Mark was already walking away. “Mark? Mark, what are you going to do?”

Jeno casts a guilty look over his shoulder, before following Mark and Renjun out of the cafeteria.

Chaewon nudged your arm. “Y/N, what was that about?” she said, looking concerned.

Chaewon knew enough to understand that Mark hated Jaemin, and that it had led to you and Mark falling out. She also knew that you and Jaemin were together, which was something only a few people actually knew but also something the whole school suspected, although she was the only person who knew how deep your feelings for him ran. She didn’t know the details though, and you planned to keep it that way.

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head. You didn’t know why you were so concerned, but something about the way Mark had spoken made you feel sick to your stomach.

The feeling in your stomach remained there for the rest of the day, and you grew more restless after each passing hour, eager to find Jaemin after school. As soon as the bell rang, you rushed out of the classroom, ignoring the stares of your peers and searching anxiously for the sight of Jaemin’s golden brown hair amidst to flooded hallways. As soon as you caught sight of him, your worries melted away, a smile alighting on your face as he waved at you.

“Hey,” he said, grinning as you ran up to him.

“Hey,” you replied, and tugged on his ear with your fingers, something that you’d taken a liking to after he had stopped wearing his piercings. He grabbed your hand and led you out of the school, beginning the walk to your house. This was a common occurrence, since Jaemin liked to make sure you got home safely everyday. You didn’t know how to tell him that just holding his hand already made you feel like you were home.

“Anything interesting happen today?” you asked, swinging your joined hands.

“Actually, yeah,” Jaemin said, the hopeful beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Mark talked to me today. Without his fists.”

You froze, the day’s earlier events crashing through you as you registered his words. “What did he say to you?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jaemin turned, holding your hands in his as he leaned to meet your eyes. “He said he wants to figure things out, Y/N. Mend things, stop fighting. Find a way to split our deals without anymore fights.” Jaemin sounded excited, but you still felt the remnants of dread in the pit of your stomach.

“But why would he do that, Jaemin?” you said, searching his face. “Think about it. He talked to me earlier, too, and I really didn’t get a good feeling from it.”

Jaemin’s eyes bored into your own, his gaze pleading. “Y/N, think about what this means for me. For us. No more fights, no more bruises. No more patching me up after deals. No more patching Jisung up.”

You were still uncertain, but Jaemin continued.

“If we can find a way to split up the deals, I could make more money. I could even get out of this whole mess, eventually, if I saved up. I get all of us out of this, all of the boys.” Jaemin had a far away look in his eyes, almost dreamy, and it cracked at your shell. “Mark is probably tired of fighting too, you know. I’m not the only one getting hurt, and you’re one of his best friends. He even told me he wanted us to all get along.”

When you thought of it that way, Mark’s words made sense. Maybe he hadn’t meant them maliciously, after all.

“So,” you said, “what does he want to do?”

“We’re meeting up, everyone, at that old abandoned barn near my neighborhood to negotiate this Sunday.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Almost everyone, I guess,” Jaemin said. “I’m taking Jisung, Donghyuck, Taeyong, and Jaehyun with me. And Mark will probably take Jeno, Renjun, Chenle, Yuta, and Sicheng with him.”

You frowned. “I’m coming with you then.”

Jaemin shook his head, almost violently. “No, no way. I can’t do that to you.”

“If you’re so sure that nobody’s going to get hurt, then why shouldn’t I come?” you reasoned.

Jaemin looked uncomfortable, reluctant. “You’re right,” he said, sighing. “Just… be careful. Stay close to me, just in case.”

You nodded in agreement. “Okay. As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

Jaemin laughed, slinging an arm around your waist and dragging you closer to him as you started walking again. When he dropped you off at your house, he stopped at your doorway. He grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, you hands twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt as he smiled against your kiss. He pressed a few more gentle kisses to your lips before he left, blowing you a kiss as he walked back down the street. You touched your lips with your fingers, smiling to yourself at the memory of Jaemin’s lips, his skin hot against yours. As you climbed up the stairs to your bedroom and flopped onto your bed, your mind wandered back to Jaemin’s words.

Y/N, I think you’re my happy ending.

You didn’t think your ending was anytime soon, but you did know that when it came, you hoped Na Jaemin was in it.

Sunday came quickly, and your nerves only worsened as the day arrived. Jaemin texted you that morning, telling you he’d pick you up with the rest of the boys at nine and instructing you to wear darker colors. You wore all black, tight black jeans and black converse high tops, as well as your favorite black hoodie. When you looked in the mirror, you thought you almost looked like one of them.

Jaemin picked you up exactly at nine, Jisung, Donghyuck, Taeyong, and Jaehyun smushed together gracelessly in the back of Jaemin’s old car. You laughed as you climbed into the passenger seat, and Jisung stuck his tongue out at you, only to be elbowed in the forehead by Donghyuck, who sat in his lap. As Jaemin started driving, he clasped your hand with his free hand, gently rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, his lips turning up in a small smile as he watched the road.

The barn where you were supposed to meet was old, and looked as if it was on the verge of collapse. It sat separated from the rest of Jaemin’s neighborhood, but the line of houses was still in sight. The grass was brown, brittle, and dead, but the moon shone bright overhead, casting a silver light upon your faces. The wide doors of the barn were wide open, hanging loosely on its frame, the hinges on their last legs. Golden light spilled out of the inside, but there was no one inside just yet. The five of you filed in and waited for Mark to show up. You sat on the dusty floor of the barn with Jaemin and Jisung, while the rest of the boys remained standing.

“They’re late,” Jaemin grumbled.

You opened your mouth to reply, but you were interrupted by Mark’s arrival.

“Sorry, Jaemin,” Mark said, smirking. “Someone was making trouble.”

Jeno trailed behind him, avoiding your eyes. True to his word, Mark had brought Jeno, Chenle, Renjun, Yuta, and Sicheng with him. But something didn’t feel right. Mark’s gaze was predatory. He stopped in the middle of the barn, but the other boys didn’t. Jeno strode towards you, and you tried to dodge, your gut telling you something was wrong, but Jeno was faster and stronger than you. He twisted your arms behind you with one hand, while the other one lay across your collarbone, effectively stopping any movement. The same things had happened with the other boys, within seconds. Renjun and Chenle both held Taeyong, while Yuta held Jaehyun and Sicheng had trapped Taeyong. Panic flared through your body.

What was going on?

You had cried out from the pain of Jeno’s grip on your wrists, and Jaemin was staring at you in surprise and horror. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded, turning to Mark. “Let her go!”

“You know, Jaemin,” Mark started, pacing back and forth in front of Jaemin. “I didn’t expect you to bring her, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe she needs to see this.”

And then Mark threw a punch.

His fist hit Jaemin square in the jaw, and he stumbled back, clutching his face in pain. Mark didn’t give him a chance to react, and threw himself at him, fists flying.

You screamed, and struggled against Jeno, and he let go of your wrists, only to wrap his arms around your middle, holding you back.

“No!”

No.

“No! Mark, stop! Please!”

Please stop.

“Jaemin!”

Jaemin.

Mark was relentless, standing up to kick Jaemin in the stomach. A scream ripped from your throat as Mark’s foot collided harshly with Jaemin’s head.

You were sobbing, begging for Jeno to let you go, to go to Jaemin, but he wouldn’t let go.

You could vaguely hear Jeno responding, telling you, “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I can’t.” He might have even been crying.

Jaemin could barely move, writhing on the ground in pain and gasping for breath. The sight pained you and you cried even harder. Mark didn’t stop for what felt like hours, although you knew it could have only been minutes at the most. Jaemin was broken and bloody by the time Mark finally stopped. But it wasn’t over.

Mark walked away, laughing as he turned around and waited for Jaemin to move. He wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, leaving a trail of red against the material.

Jaemin struggled to stand up, coughing blood as he gasped for air. A cry strangled itself out of your throat, and he managed to spare a quick glance at your tear-stained face. You almost thought you saw him smile.

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yes?” he said, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands up as if to say, “What are you going to do now?”

“Fuck you.”

Mark’s eyes flashed. He picked up a steel bat that rested on the floor next to the wall of the barn, and then swung it directly at Jaemin’s head.

All the breath left your body as Jaemin’s skull collided with the bat, as a crack rang out into the night air, as Jaemin’s body fell to the ground.

Everything was still.

Now it was you gasping for breath, cries falling from you as you tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Jaemin didn’t move.

Mark made a movement with his hand, and his friends let go of you and the others. Jeno’s arms slid off of you almost reluctantly as you dropped to the ground, your legs unable to sustain your weight anymore. Jisung and Donghyuck and the others didn’t fight back, they didn’t get angry. They just fell to their knees, tears streaming down their faces, shocked.

“Hyung,” Jisung choked out.

You barely registered that Jeno still lingered by the barn door, watching as you struggled to your feet and stumbled to Jaemin’s side.

You clutched the sides of his face, shaking him gently.

“Jaemin, wake up,” you sobbed. “Please wake up.”

He didn’t move.

You moved your head to his chest, listening for a heartbeat as sobs wracked your body.

There wasn’t one.

“No, no, no, no!” you cried. “No, wake up, please! You can’t!”

You felt someone tug your arm, then leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Y/N, we have to go. Mark called the cops.” You heard him choke back a sob. “We have to leave him.”

Jeno had left, but you didn’t notice.

You cried out, and ignored Taeyong. You cradled Jaemin’s head in your hands as you rocked back in forth, his blood staining your palms.

“Jaemin, I love you. Jaemin, I love you so, so much. Please wake up.”

He didn’t hear you.

He never would, because the boy you loved was dead.

Part One | Part Two | Epilogue

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-nine - Sin and Strategy

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I'm sorry that the gaps in between updates are slipping; things have heated up with summer, both socially and in terms of weather! Between trying to hide from the heat, building my artwork catalog for an upcoming convention, and working on other personal projects and taking time off to relax, writing has to be penciled in wherever I can find room. But I'm still working away on it, and this story is nearing its climax. Hopefully the tasty little bit of sin included this week makes up for the wait. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

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Chapter Twenty-nine - Sin and Strategy

CITY STREETS, JADAD, ISHVAL 0927 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

The morning sun was already heating the sand as the two men made their way through the wakening city toward the residential district and their Amestrian guests. Scar moved confidently, clearing a path through the pedestrians as Miles followed close on his heels, glancing up occasionally from the report in his hands to keep his bearings.

"A baker on the north end of the city sent word that he spotted someone on the roof of his neighbour's house when he rose early to get get ready for work," he read aloud. "He reported it to a guard, who checked with the neighbours, but found no one that seemed like they might be suffering from a vampire bite. All were wearing protection charms all night."

"Good." The possibility remained, of course, that it was a simple burglary with the thief spotted halfway through the act, but Scar decided that was the lesser of two possible evils and put it aside. Common, small-time criminals could wait until after the more dangerous threat had been removed.

"All other remarks from the night guards are either irrelevant, or noting people out and about for legitimate reasons," Miles continued, flipping to the second page of the report. "Fetching a healer for a sick child, a midwife in another case, and, lastly, a young lover sneaking home after a visit to his sweetheart."

"At least this creature can't change its face, like the Homonculus Envy," Scar mused aloud. "Things are much easier when we know we're looking for an evident Amestrian, instead of one that can blend in with our own people."

"Yes, this one is somehow much more human than anything we faced during or leading up to the Promised Day," Miles agreed, giving the report one last perfunctory scan before turning his full attention to the street ahead. "Perhaps because it resembles the human it used to be."

"Kimblee was barely human," Scar said, his tone dropping in pitch, red eyes turning hard in the bright light. "No human can inflict the damage he did without a shred of remorse."

The remainder of the walk to the guest house was punctuated by a terse silence; accustomed as he was to Major General Armstrong's tendency toward the same, Miles was not unduly bothered by it. His mind turned toward the new developments in the case, namely, Mustang's recent conversion to fledgling vampire and the symptoms he had been experiencing. Miles was keeping careful track of any changes as reported by either Hawkeye or Mustang himself, measuring it against Hawkeye's own experience with her turning. He tried very hard to keep from thinking of it as studying a wild animal in captivity… but every so often, the comparison slithered its way into his mind.

The house, when they arrived, was already alive with talking, tea-sipping people. Fuery and Falman were seated at the low dining table, papers, books, and scrolls spread out before them as they pored over the vampire research Miles had accumulated. Armstrong, Hawkeye, and Rebecca were standing in the kitchen, the women holding their cups of tea as they spoke. Armstrong likely would have had one, would it not have been ridiculously tiny in his spade-like hands. Miles stepped in to the kitchen just long enough to leave the paper bag he carried on the counter, before following Scar down the short hallway to the living room.

Mustang and Breda sat on either side of a map of the city, talking quietly as they compared marked buildings to corresponding lists. Sitting straight, Mustang blew out an exasperated breath, running a hand back through his hair… and caught sight of the two newcomers. "Ah; good morning."

The way he practically jumped to his feet wasn't necessary for them to tell he was past the initial stages of turning. The fatigue was gone, and would have been replaced by, according to their information, a feeling of renewed and growing strength. This, too, was evidenced by Mustang's grip as he reached out, shaking Miles' hand. Scar didn't shake.

"Glad you could make it." Mustang's eyes darted to the pouch around Miles' neck as he spoke, and then flitted back to his face just as quickly. "Now that I'm not falling asleep every half-hour, we've got a lot of work to do."

"Of course," Miles answered, trying not to note how cold the other man's fingers were, or the fact that the curtains remained drawn across the window at the far end of the room. In the dim light, Mustang's paler than usual skin stood out like a faint beacon. "We're glad to find you looking so much better. And with such a positive attitude."

The Colonel grinned. "I feel the same way. And the way I see, the stronger the vampirism gets, the stronger I am to stand up to Kimblee." He shrugged expressively. "What's the worst that he could do? Bite me?"

"He could tear you limb from limb," Scar pointed out grimly. "Unless your vampire personality fully emerges, you'll still only have your normal strength. You won't be able to face him in a fair fight as your human self, vampire tendencies or not."

"He's right, sir." Coming through from the kitchen into the living room, Hawkeye was just in time to catch Scar's comment. Both Ishvalan men turned to look back as she spoke, catching the firm look she was levelling in her superior's direction. "We've already talked about this. There's going to have to be more to our plans than brute force."

She stopped as she reached them, holding out a fresh cup of tea to Mustang, though her eyes turned to Scar. "Sorry; the Colonel's having some trouble handling the latest stages of turning." Her expression was that of a mildly exasperated babysitter, which explained the comment Miles had made once about how their relationship functioned. "Namely, flashes of annoyance and irritation, and increased strength leading to feelings of invincibility."

Mustang had the good grace to look slightly sheepish as he accepted the cup. "Weird supernatural forces overthrowing your brain will do that to you," he commented, though quietly.

One by one, the others drifted into the living room, Falman and Fuery bringing the notes they had taken from the pile of research, and Armstrong carrying a plate piled with the flat oatcakes spread with honey that Scar and Miles had brought in the paper bag. They settled onto the couch and broad cushions in a loosely defined circle, the low coffee table in the centre.

The war council was, at last, assembled.

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

Roy had the strong suspicion that, if the creeping vampirism hadn't started slowing his heart rate, his pulse would have been skyrocketing. He wouldn't classify himself as nervous about going after Kimblee, but there was a certain… anticipation. He wanted to go, wanted to hunt down the bastard that had made Riza into the sort of strange creature he was fast becoming, wanted to give him the solid sock in the jaw he had held back from during the war….

But Riza was right, he reminded himself firmly. He was strong again, yes, and growing stronger… but against a full-fledged vampire like Kimblee, his chances were laughable at best and abysmal at worst. He would only end up getting himself, her, or one of their cohorts injured or worse. Much as he hated it, he would have to slow down, take this one step at a time. And the first step came now.

He got to his feet, the room quieting around him as he did so. "The guests are all here, so I suppose it's time to start the party," he said, his smile grim. "First of all, I want to thank all of you for coming together on this. Between travel time and time spent away from any other duties you have, everyone has made sacrifices to be a part of this, and I want you to know it's appreciated."

Halfway around the circle, seated next to Riza, Rebecca rolled her eyes and spoke around a mouthful of honeyed oatcake. "Please, after the trouble we went through to take down that Father guy and the corrupt military in Central, this is a walk in the park." She hesitated, considering the metaphor. "After midnight…. With a vampire on the loose."

"A dangerous walk," Falman observed.

"At least this one doesn't have god-like powers or fifty million souls giving him strength," Breda added. "He has weaknesses; highly exploitable ones, at that."

Armstrong half-raised a hand, glancing around the group before settling on Fuery. "Would someone mind going over these weaknesses, so that we're all on the same page?"

The group, as one, glanced in Riza's direction, but she nodded toward Fuery. "You've got the list, Master Sergeant."

"Oh. Right." The young man shuffled through his papers quickly, before pulling one from the sheaf. "Well… vulnerability to sunlight is the first one. From our understanding, depending on the time of day and the amount of light they're exposed to, the effect of it can be varied. The vampire could feel tired, or the light could completely drain them of any strength or energy, leaving them barely able to move."

Breda raised a hand. "Does it have to be sunlight? What if we hit him with a strong flashlight beam, or torchlight?"

This time, Riza fielded the question. "Sunlight is the most preferable, but firelight does work, just to a much lesser extent. There has to be some kind of energy output by the light: heat, or UV radiation."

Seeing that things had swung into his wheelhouse, Roy chimed in. "Simple fire doesn't give off UV radiation," he said, expanding on Riza's answer. "The heat from fire is a deterrent, but it won't weaken the vampire significantly enough for him to be vulnerable. But if you caught him outside at high noon with no shade? He'd be hard-pressed to raise a fist, let alone throw a punch."

Fuery still had his eyes in his notes. "There's also the reaction to the protection charms," he added. "They're a combination of Ishvalan religious icons, and old lore on the repulsion of vampires." He took another paper from his collection and read, "'There is a noted aversion of vampires to the flowers of the garlic plant, as it is a kind of natural antibiotic that would affect the blood a vampire drinks.'"

He looked up briefly. "The garlic flowers in the charms don't have the kind of smell that garlic cloves have, but it's our assumption that the vampire senses the flower's presence, and, knowing about the antibiotic angle, avoids it. If you really want to protect yourself from a vampire, well…." He smiled. "I don't know about you, but I'd take having bad breath over being a midnight snack."

"What about the religious aspect of the charms?" Armstrong asked. "How does that tie in?"

Scar took over. "Inside the charms is a small amount of sand that has been consecrated by a priest, as well as silver wire in the shape of a rune of protection. The sand carries the blessing of Ishbala, and the rune asks his blessing on the wearer.

"Religious iconography and items have a negative reaction on vampires because they have either no soul, as we suspect the case with Kimblee is, or the soul has been corrupted by vampirism, as it is with the Lieutenant, and now the Colonel." He indicated Riza's hands, folded together in her lap. "The Lieutenant bears the marks of what happens when a corrupted soul comes in direct contact with blessed sand."

The latest arrivals in Ishval all took sharply inhaled breaths as Riza held her palms out for them to see. The spiderwebbed marks on the skin were fainter now, more like a deep tan, but still visible and showing no sign of fading further. Across the circle, Rebecca shook her head. "I'd noticed the marks, but with everything else going on, I forgot to ask…. How did that happen?"

"The welcoming ceremony was shortened for you, and the Master told you that you wouldn't need to be blessed the same way the Colonel and I were required to be," Riza explained, refolding her hands to hide the marks. "As soon as the priest poured blessed sand into my hands, they started burning like fire, and I nearly passed out from the shock of it." She paused, but no one spoke; most of them were staring at her in surprise. "Incidentally, that's what opened the mental door for the vampire personality to start coming through, although she didn't emerge fully until shortly after."

"That actually might lead us into the next point," Falman interjected, looking at his own notes; Fuery was still staring at Riza. "There's mention in here of circles and something called a yantir that Miles told us was tried on you?"

"The yantir didn't work," Roy corrected. "It's the Ishvalan version of an exorcism. Our first impression of something being wrong with the Lieutenant was demon possession, but that was quickly proven wrong. Exorcisms certainly aren't vampire-friendly, but all they do are cause pain; they don't expel the vampire personality from the body."

Breda's brow furrowed, a thought clearly occurring to him. "How does a yantir work? What's the process?"

"A containment circle is drawn around the subject by a priest," Miles replied. "Prayers are offered, incantations said, and then the priest activates the circle. The holy symbols keep the subject from leaving, and work to draw the invading spirit out of the subject's soul. Since the vampirism is tied in to Lieutenant Hawkeye so intricately, it didn't work except to cause physical pain."

"So what if we were to try it on Kimblee?"

Miles turned to Scar, who was evidently already thinking it over. "I have the knowledge to draw the circle and start the yantir process," he said, after a moment. "However, by what Kimblee has told us, he has no soul for the vampirism to latch on to. He himself is the vampire; he doesn't have the same dual personalities as the Colonel and Lieutenant."

"Meaning it could either destroy him completely, or not effect him in the slightest," Miles finished. "We developed a slightly different kind of containment circle that is capable of keeping him out of or in a specific area, but we don't know what would happen if we activated a yantir."

"And we won't know for sure unless we try," Roy added. "Let's table it as a possibility, at least as a way to cause a temporary vulnerability. I want to go back to the protection charms to point something out." He reached over, tugging the cord of the charm around Riza's neck. "We told you yesterday that these both prevent a vampire from getting close to you, and that they suppress a vampire personality almost completely, aside from a few side effects."

Armstrong was quick on the proverbial draw. "Meaning that if we could put one on Kimblee, it might incapacitate him entirely."

"Exactly." Roy gave Riza a sidelong glance, found her looking back at him. "To get one on Lieutenant Hawkeye's alter ego, we first had to corner her in a containment circle, and even then, she nearly took my head off when I went to put it on. When we say these repel vampires, what we mean is that getting too close makes them physically sick. Getting too close with a charm is like going up to a wolf with a collar and a leash. If the wolf feels threatened, it lashes out."

"That sounds like the start of a plan to me," Rebecca said. "At least the part about a containment circle. If we can trap him in one of those, we can take him out at our leisure, in whatever method is going to be the simplest and fastest." She looked once around the circle as she made her point, then back to Roy and Riza. "Any other weaknesses that could work against him?"

"One that I can think of," Roy commented, his eyes sliding sidelong toward Riza again. "He seems to have a soft spot for Hawkeye, having been the one to turn her. He doesn't trust her, exactly, since she's made it clear what she – and her vampire self – think of him. But he's at least willing to let her get close, which is more than he'd be willing to do if it were me."

"His reason for turning me was to take revenge on the Colonel for opposing the civil war, and for fighting against the Homonculi on the Promised Day," Riza explained. "Although I don't know that he expected I would end up turning the Colonel." She shot her superior a somewhat guilty look. "I think it was his hope that my vampire personality would kill him outright. Failing that, Kimblee would do the job himself."

"Which puts me at something of an advantage," Roy directed his comments to the room at large, but held Riza's gaze with his own. "He may know by now that I've started turning, but it might throw a wrench into whatever plan he's concocted." He looked up, eyes travelling around the circle. "Which means, if we're going to act, we'd best act fast, before he comes up with a new plan."

"The containment circle seems like our best bet," Breda said, spreading the map of the city on the coffee table. "The Colonel and I were discussing the possibility of cornering Kimblee somewhere out here –" He pointed to the southwest corner of the map, deep into the uninhabited zone. "– away from any possibility of running into civilians."

Scar had leaned forward, studying the area Breda had indicated… and went very still, his eyes set on a particular spot. "…Master Sergeant, do you have the list of habitable buildings?"

Fuery rummaged a moment, then held it out. Scar checked the number in the building he had been staring at, then sorted quickly through the list until he found it. "This would seem to be promising," he said, holding the list out to Roy. "Number one thousand two hundred sixty."

Armstrong's eyebrows shot upward. "You have that many restoration projects already?"

"It's a big city."

Roy showed the page to Riza. "You're more of an expert on vampires than I am. What do you think; could it work?"

She frowned, studying the building's description… and her eyes lit with understanding. "If we're pulling out all the stops to incapacitate him, I can't think of any place that would be better, aside from a volcano." She looked up to where Scar sat, watching them. "Does this place have anything else going for it that we can use against him?"

The smile that spread across the stoic man's face was a mixture of triumph, determination, and dark satisfaction. "Do you remember the dome on top of the library?"

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UNINHABITED ZONE, JADAD, ISHVAL 1114 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

If he were a being that still needed true sleep in order to rest, he would likely be very close to death right now. Kimblee hadn't entered the trance-like "sleep" state since the night Hawkeye had been recaptured and had the vampirism he had worked so hard to cultivate suppressed. During daylight hours, he moved restlessly from place to place in the vacant house, careful to avoid stepping into the beams of light leaking around the sheets of plywood nailed over gaping windows.

At night, he hunted, though it was becoming more difficult. More and more people were wearing those ridiculous little cloth pouches that stank like cesspits in summer, eliminating his ability to get close. Only those who didn't appear to get out much – the elderly, the infirm – seemed to have a lack of the things, and the feeding there wasn't much.

Much as it galled him to admit it, Hawkeye had been right about being cautious not to create new vampires, or leave bodies lying about to raise alarms about a serial killer on the loose. Just as always, the woman was making things difficult for him.

He threw a baleful glance at the thin beam of sunlight pouring through a small hole in the plywood over the nearest window, snarled, and turned to prowl away into the next room. This day was interminable. Maybe he should try to sleep… but he knew that the problem he had been turning over in his brain for three days would not allow him to rest.

He needed a way to bring her back in, needed a way to get that blasted pouch off of her neck and release the inner beast, so to speak. The thing was like a ball and chain she was forced to drag around; she was a free creature and she should be out on her own, not pinioned behind a wall of well-meaning but ultimately useless so-called 'friends.'

The day after her capture, for a brief moment, he had thought he felt her presence – dimmed by the suppression of what he had wrought in her – brighten and grow. But there had been a brief flash of fear and sudden anxiety… and it was dull and inexpressive once again. Since then, a second presence had been growing, though he could not tell the source.

No matter. Like as not, I simply wasn't careful enough during one feeding. An elderly victim as a new vampire wouldn't serve his purpose, however. There was no revenge to be had in robbing the grave of one who would soon be in it, and no pleasure either. As soon as he sorted out what to do with Hawkeye, to get her back, he would dispose of this other fledgling.

Yes, certainly no pleasure in a new vampire, especially not if it's some decrepit old crone. A thin, dangerous smile spread across his lips, warmth seeping insidiously into his groin. But once she's back, once she has returned to me…. We will hunt together, we'll share the spoils…. We'll return to the lair, go to ground and then…. Oh, then there will be pleasure.

Mustang hadn't been nearly affected enough by Hawkeye's turning. Upset, yes, anguished and left sleepless…. But Kimblee had been aiming for something more along the lines of 'devastated.' Devastated meant there was no coming back, no recovery, no kiss and make up….

It was disappointing, really.

But the main hurdle was getting Hawkeye back to the perfection he had engendered in her. That pouch was the answer, but how to get it off when he couldn't get within three feet of the thing without retching like his organs were trying to flee his body? With her original personality in control, she wouldn't take it off voluntarily. He would need to use trickery, or some kind of sleight of hand, or –

He paused, his arms folded as he stared at the house's heavy door, the only wooden panel on the exterior that didn't leak hateful sunlight. The idea that had struck him was simplicity itself, so much so that it was nearly slapstick. Fangs bared in a humoured grin, he laughed deep in his throat, thinking of just how surprised Riza Hawkeye would be when she next saw his face.

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

GUEST ACCOMMODATIONS, JADAD, ISHVAL 2047 HOURS, APRIL 28TH

Riza sank gratefully onto the couch, her eyes falling closed, revelling in the pleasant fatigue in her muscles of a day well-spent in total productivity. The planning for Kimblee's takedown had gone on until mid-afternoon, with only a short break for a light lunch. It had been determined that they would lay their trap the next day, and after that, the war council had devolved into a group of friends and colleagues, sitting comfortably and catching up.

Scar had left shortly before dinnertime, and Riza hadn't really been surprised. While he wasn't exactly anti-social, putting someone as taciturn as him in a room with two or three conversations going at once had to be tiring. Miles had stayed, helping the three guest households put together an eight-person meal from the food stores they had been given, offering instruction on how to prepare foreign Ishvalan ingredients. Once everyone's hunger had been satisfied, there had been more conversation, more cups of ever-present tea, until finally, the others began to make their excuses, leaving for the comfort of their own guest houses.

And now the dishes were washed, the small house was set right, and Riza could finally relax. At least as much as was possible when there was a murderous vampire on the loose that they were planning a last-ditch final showdown with in the next 48 hours that would determine the fate of –

She heard the footsteps coming down the hall, stopping her train of thought on a dime. The steps entered the room, paused, and then approached, a weight falling onto the couch beside her. Roy's hand touched the top of her head, stroking gently. "You're not falling asleep already, are you?" His tone was light; teasing. "It's not even close to your usual bedtime."

"I've spent the last few days looking after you, looking after others, and planning a quasi-military operation," she reminded him wryly. "And all of that without the same kind of vampire-fuelled energy you only woke up with this morning." Without opening her eyes, she reached out, nudging him in the ribs with a closed fist. "I think I deserve a break."

"You deserve a lot more than a break."

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes or look over. "Do I?"

"Mmhmm. You deserve a good night's sleep, you deserve a vacation once all this is over…" His fingers slid gently, smoothly across her thigh, bringing her eyes open and her head turning in his direction. He was smiling, half teasingly, half in self-deprecation. "The love of a good man who you accidentally turned into a vampire…."

"Evidently, the new abilities didn't give you better flirting skills." Turning onto her side, facing him with her legs curled under her and her head resting on the back of the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"All right. I haven't had an anger flash in… ten minutes?" He shrugged. "I still feel like I could hold my own in an arm-wrestling match with Armstrong, but I haven't escalated to trying to jump off buildings to see if I can fly." His look turned mischievous. "And then, of course, there's the other side effect that showed up sometime this afternoon, about the time you accidentally brushed up against my arm."

"… Ah, I see." Before she could stop herself, Riza's eyes drifted to the front of his pants, but the loose desert garment was useful for hiding most kinds of shape, as well as keeping the wearer cool. "I had no idea. You hid your emotions very well."

"We've been hiding emotions like that in front of people for years," he reminded her, inching closer. "But now we're alone, and we don't have to hide anything until tomorrow morning." He held out a hand, his smile disarming and filled with every bit of smooth operation his aunt had drilled into him over the years. "What do you say? Even if I get carried away and bite you, it's not like it'll have an effect."

Riza tugged at the charm around her neck. "This doesn't bother you?"

"Not much. At least, not yet."

Without another word, she slid her hand into his, fully expecting him to get up and tug her gently toward the bedrooms down the hall. Instead, he pulled her closer until she sat astride his lap, the skirt of her dress hiked up and his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline. Riza took a deep, only slightly shuddery breath, able to feel the swell of him through the light fabric of the desert trousers and her own undergarments.

"Steady, love." His voice was deep and husky in her ear, his warm breath feathering her hair to cause a tickle along the back of her neck. "I'd say pace yourself, but maybe you ought to just follow my lead."

Riza shivered pleasurably, her hands sliding up the plane of his chest to link behind his neck. Her head turned at the same time as his, and she caught the fervent kiss on her lips, revelling in the hungry way his mouth came after hers. She felt motion at her waist, and then the sash came away, thrown carelessly to the floor as his hand dove impatiently beneath the skirt.

The tap of a finger on her hip was a suggestion, and she lifted onto her knees, nearly groaning in protest as she left the tantalizing sensation of her ultimate prize… and had to catch herself by way of her hands on his shoulders as a new, even more electrifying touch stroked slowly, agonizingly slowly, along the edge of her underwear where it rested against the inside of the very top of her thigh.

Her fingers raked through his hair, gripping the strands tight as the same teasing finger slid higher, hooked over the top, and pulled. The soft drag of the cotton over her skin left a faint, pleasant warmth that marked its downward progress, and she reached down, feeling almost blindly for the unfamiliar closures of desert pants.

Roy's free hand stilled hers, tugging her fingers away. "No, not yet," he murmured, pressing his nose to her cheek. "I told you, you deserve to relax. This is your time."

She was finding it harder to keep a rein on her breathing, let alone the tiny moans – and, worst of all, whimpers – of pleasure that she wanted so desperately to let loose…. But that would only tell him exactly how much he was getting to her. "Seems like you get that short end of that particular stick," she managed, without too much of a shake in her tone.

It was the last full sentence she was able to string together for several minutes as his hand slid past the panties tugged partway down her thighs, his fingers easily finding the wet evidence of her own desire.

"Not at all." His voice was a low purr, dangerously seductive, as the fingertips beginning their lazy stroking once again. She gave in without meaning to, dropping her head to his shoulder with a moan that came from deep inside, someplace primal where it was the only way she could possibly communicate how it felt. "To hear you make that sound? Knowing I'm the only one you've ever made that sound for?"

His fingers did some magical little twirl that sent cold fire up through the centre of her, all the while drawing closer to their goal. The word 'please,' hovered on her lips, she wanted to take his hand and guide him, to put and end to the torture of it all and just give her what she wanted, dammit…. But she knew that if she did, he would stop. It was all a part of the game.

One fingertip circled the entrance with near insolence, and Riza bit her lip, the new moan sneaking past her teeth anyway. She felt Roy's lips spread wide in a grin against her shoulder. "To hear you make that sound is more of a turn-on than anything else," he murmured.

The words were nearly lost in the rush of air leaving her lungs as two fingers slid inside, with a deftness, an insidiousness, a surety that sent her pressing closer against him. She nearly cried out as they withdrew; she didn't realize how much she had needed this, had wanted this, had wanted him. All the stress, all the tension, he was right, she needed it gone and he was the one to take it take all of it take her –

Insertion again, withdrawal again. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as he shifted slightly on the couch, not leaving her, his head lifting. He pressed a kiss to her neck, his fingers slipping in once more, deeper, harder, pressing against the nerve endings to send her toes curling and her hands gripping tighter as she panted a curse into his ear.

After so long without him and after all the stress, she came quickly. He seemed to sense it coming, and abandoned the sucking kiss he had been attentively paying to the side of her neck. In the same instant that her final scream of orgasm muffled itself in his shoulder, his elongated canine teeth buried themselves in her skin.

[brickbled]

emily kostich slips a note into his locker two weeks after they’ve started properly talking. 

the reason he calls it properly talking because there’s plenty of ways to talk that aren’t really talking, like the hellos and goodbyes of small talk, all the wasted air on things like weather and homework and parties. properly talking is what he and the brain do, for example. cut the excess and the fat. everything’s right down to the marrow, nothing in the way. laura, of course, isn’t like the brain. when she talks it’s none of the back and forth. she’s airy and light in comparison. her fingers tug at things - the sleeves of her jacket, her shoelaces when her legs are crossed under her, the strands of her hair if she’s got nothing else.

in writing, however, she’s more abrupt. her handwriting flows, cursive loops and elegant curls, but it just gives a time and a place, exactly what he needs. no more. no less.

he only goes because it’s her. if it was anyone else, he’d ignore it and walk the other direction as fast as his feet could take him.

they go back to emily’s house, winding behind the grocery store and through a few suburban streets. shyly, she shoves him through the side gate and in through the window. her dad’s asleep on the couch usually, mollified by the sound of the television, but she doesn’t want to have to explain brendan’s presence if they stomp in through the front door. he thinks it’s a little ridiculous. he can be quiet if he wants to be. but if she wants to be careful, then so be it. so brendan frye climbs through emily kostich’s bedroom window and helps her through too afterwards, his hand grasping hers.

she dumps her backpack on the ground idly. a pencil slips out of one of the pouches and she doesn’t even seem to notice, the two of them eyeing each other from two feet apart in her room. her room’s more interesting than his. the walls are an off-white. she likes light, as the thin airiness of the curtains shows, and her carpet is pale and pristine. it’s like something captured outside of time.

they end up sitting on her floor, side by side, leaning against her bed. brendan watches the wall clock on the other side of the room, seconds passing by as they talk.

“i don’t think you realize how intense you are,” emily finally says.

he tilts his head over to eye her, half of her visible through his glasses and the other half a blur of shape and color. “no. i know.”

“so it’s strategic.”

“i’d like to think so.”

emily laughs a little. then she toys with a strand of her hair, the toes of her shoes knocking together. nervous tics. she’s thinking. “i’ve been thinking,” she says, “and i never really got it.”

“got what?” if she was anyone else he’d think she was trying to play him. but it’s not that. it’s just some anxiousness, all the thoughts she keeps sewn under her skin and inside her notebooks rather than letting them out. 

“you and kara. i mean, i’m not anything like kara and i think she’s the last girl anyone even saw you around for more than class projects —”

“it’s good you’re not like kara.” 

“oh. yeah. i - sure. i get it.” a strand of hair, pushed behind her ear. “you know me and kara had biology together, back when we were freshman? i was there when her lab partner - matt what’s-his-name, you know - his hand caught on fire when we were doing something with those burners. i know it was an accident but she just - she scared me. she just stood there and didn’t do anything. she said it was shock, and she started crying afterwards, but...”

of course. the crying, the hysterics, her voice and tears bubbling up all at once. the drama vamp, like the brain says, and yet everyone believed all of her tears. every single adult in that building, some sap whose total weight of their skull was mostly just bone, not the grey matter underneath. 

for a moment, brendan closes his eyes. 

he remembers matt bachmann. matt bachmann burnt his hand so badly on a bunsen burner that the whole classroom reeked of cooked flesh. it was a burner malfunction. he knows that not because he was there, but because he told kara how to adjust a few things on the burner so it would overheat. kara laughed about it later, giggling to him in the booth of a diner a few blocks over from their school, reeking of sickly sweet perfume and her nails digging into his arm.

“i remember that too,” he says. it’s the same thing as all of his tangled thoughts. “still glad i got out from under her.”

emily nods. “me too.” she means that entirely.

he smiles just a little at her. “didn’t know you had stake in that, kostich.”

“i do now,” she says, half-defensively. “retroactively.”

“mhm.” it’s more of a sound in his throat than anything.

they sit there in silence for a while. it’s a hot and humid day in san clemente, the heat pouring through the open window and soaking into his skin. brendan watches her, the little twitches of her movements. they’ve been studying together. ap english is more brendan’s speed than hers. she’s more of an artist type. but she likes to listen to him talk about it quietly, bent towards each other in the library.

you’re obvious, the brain told him once, catching him on his way out the back side of the library.

like you can talk, brendan said, and the brain smirked a little before swinging towards the front end of the place, nearest to the curb where the late buses squatted, waiting for that slow trickle of students.

he is obvious. he feels obvious and clumsy right now, watching this girl who he thinks he might be in love with wind a strand of blonde hair around her finger and not do much besides stare at the toes of her shoes. it’s hard to say why. maybe it’s that she’s just a good person. maybe it’s that she’s effortlessly a good person, whereas he has to pour every bit of effort into it. and yes, she’s probably fragile, and something he would describe as brittle, but that’s fine too. he is nothing if not good at preservation.

san clemente high school’s ugly. it makes people uglier throughout their years there. emily’s right on that edge, walking the tightrope and managing it somehow.

emily laughs a little again, setting her fingers flat on the carpet as if propping herself upright. “sorry for having to smuggle you in here. you’ll have to get out back through the window. you know. no boys allowed in my room without permission or whatever. dad wouldn’t believe me if i said you were just here to talk. or even if i said we were doing homework.” she’s rambling to try and fill space. 

“yeah,” he says.

“and i don’t know why he thinks i’m lying, but whatever. maybe we should do this on thursday instead. he works late then, and i can actually let you in like a normal person.”

“yeah.”

“i just don’t want to make this weird. and i’m making it weird by even talking about it. oh, god. okay. i’m really bad at this.” she stretches out her fingers, digging them into the carpet. “this was such a bad idea. sorry —”

“em,” he says, pointedly enough to stop her mid-sentence, “can i kiss you?”

she stops. she has a death grip on the pale tan carpet underneath her, her skirt pooling around her knees, and her whole body is frozen like it’s in fight or flight with just one question. he’d call it a coin flip. could go either way, yes or no, and the denial means he’s headed straight back out her window on her request, most likely. but brendan’s run the numbers. he thinks he’s got a good enough chance of reading all this right. at the same time, you never know. it feels like an eternity, sitting there, watching her expression shift minutely. then she nods, a jerky awkward motion of her head. “okay,” she says. “yeah. alright.”

to start, his motions are slow. he leans over and kisses emily kostich, a hand reaching up to touch her jaw. it’s soft and slow, em still half-frozen under his touch. but she thaws over time, enough to start kissing him back, leaning into it and looping her arms around his neck.

when she pulls back, she’s laughing a little, breathless and bright red. “you’re good at that,” she says, hoarse and low.

“takes practice, that’s all.”

emily laughs a little louder and then almost covers her mouth, ducking her head to grin at him some more. “guess i have to thank kara for something, huh.”

“maybe so,” he says. “but i wouldn’t bother. she’d sooner spit in your eye for bringing me up to her, after everything.”

“true.” her eyes meet his. “can you do it again?”

the corners of his mouth quirk up in a smile before he can stop them. “sure,” he says.

                                                                        ——

on wednesday, she meets him over near the buses, her backpack slung awkwardly over one shoulder and her hair blowing in the wind. “hey,” emily says.

his hands slip into his pockets. “hey.”

“want to walk to english together?” 

it’s funny. they’ve got their shared morning class but they almost never arrive together. it declares too much, somehow, although maybe now it’s just enough. everything is a signal here, and they both know it. 

across the busyard, he sees kara descending down onto school grounds, followed by a gaggle of adoring theater kids all falling over themselves. for a moment, for a half second, they make eye contact. then she turns towards the theater and marches away. all of the upper crust tends to ride the same few buses. same area. there’s laura dannon, and brad bramish, and all of the people he’d turn over to the bulls in a heartbeat if he had the opportunity.

and here, secreted away against the corner of the building: him and emily.

brendan slides his hand over to take hers. then he shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter at all. “yeah. why not?”

[comeandreadawhile]

Congrats, It’s a Spider-Boy

Marvel MCU

3,735 Words

While trying to help explain electrophoresis, Tony and Peter don’t quite get the results they’d expected to receive.

Pepper had, like most nights recently, been thankful for having bought enough groceries to prep another batch of the recipe used for dinner.  While teenagers were known to be voracious eaters, she was quite sure very few boys in the world found themselves as in need of calories as Peter.  She enjoyed having him and his aunt over for dinner, or any meal really, and seeing Peter eat his fill.  

She took another bite of her own food while thinking back to how livid Tony had been when told the boy had nearly fainted at eight stories up because Peter had been too busy to grab either breakfast or lunch that day.  Pepper also recalled calling May Parker in her own fit of concern following being informed of Peter’s hazardous decision to still patrol, and quite quickly the boy found himself with a snack pouch in his suit.  

Looking back up to see the two heroes discussing Peter’s day, special attention being awarded to his advanced biology class, she couldn’t help a small smile that tugged at her lips.  The two could’ve been related with how similar they looked; while Peter’s hair may have been lighter by a shade, it still reminded her of how Tony’s looked on the days he forewent any styling products.  She could pinpoint similarities in the sharp edges and rounder curves of their faces; most similar were the brown eyes.  

Peter’s were the same earthy shade of brown as Tony’s, but as she’d been told, the boy had inherited his eyes and their shape from his mother, Mary.  Glancing over to where May was also quietly enjoying her food and the boys’ banter, Pepper could see the fondness in her eyes for her nephew.  She could agree; it was hard not to be enamored with such a sweet kid.  As Peter rattled on about what his class had been learning in way of DNA and its analysis, she could see the positive effect the boy had had on Tony’s mood just from how the billionaire looked at him.  Pepper realized she must’ve been spacing out when May’s voice broke through her thoughts and the boys’ conversation.

“What does that big science word mean, exactly?” it was evident from her grin that May didn’t take any offense to being left out of the conversation, but Peter’s cheeks and ears turned pink anyway.  

“Something to do with electricity?  We aren’t going over it until Tuesday so I don’t really know.”

Tony took a sip of water before chiming in, “Electrophoresis basically means ‘stick this sample in some gel, electrocute it, and it’ll break up the proteins and such so new mothers and the police can find out who did what’.”  

Peter nodded, though looking curious of the process before adding on, “Yup, what he said.  Exactly that.” His statement received a snort from Tony.  

“I can have a machine delivered in a couple days; you can come back up and I’ll show you how it works and how to read the bands somewhat accurately.”  Peter’s entire being seemed to light up at the proposal, and the vigorous nod he gave was all the answer Tony seemed to need before telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to place an express order.  Both women chuckled and shook their heads fondly before turning their attention back to their plates.  

 Happy had been less than pleased where upon delivering Peter to the lab a few days later he’d also been asked for a small blood sample.  ‘For science, of course,’ he mocked, all the while still taking the lancet and Tony’s offer of the rest of the day off.  

Peter did homework while waiting for Tony to finish prepping the samples for the smaller-than-expected machine on the next table over (while still explaining what he was doing), all the while finding some humor in his and Tony’s matching racecar Band-Aids on their fingers; he didn’t fail to point out when given the bandage that ‘of course Tony Stark has racecar Band-Aids’.  “Why not enjoy the small things in life like fun Band-Aids?” Tony had responded, to which Peter could only nod his assent.  

At the sound of something on the machine shutting, Peter perked up to see Tony pressing some button and stepping away from the table.

“And now we wait.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, “So why did we have Happy give us a sample?”

Tony clapped his hands together, “Imagine, if you will my little Spiderling, our dear Mr. Hogan finds a limited edition box set of every season of Downton Abbey in his local second-hand store,” Tony pauses to allow Peter to let out a snort.  “Now, for some reason he has none of the salary he earns and cannot simply leave this treasure for someone else to have, so he takes it.  Upon making a mad dash for the exit because an employee saw him, he crashes through the automatic door before it fully opens and glass goes everywhere.  Happy cuts himself, all the while keeping a tight grip on the box set, and peels out of the parking lot without anyone catching the license plate; therefore the police must resort to matching the blood left on the glass and some convenient spit on a used glass cup to catch our period-story loving thief.”  

Peter gave a slow clap for the on-the-spot story, “Alright that was pretty good.  Now what about my sample and yours?”

Tony pulled up a chair to the other side of the table, “We’re going to compare ours; say I’m suspicious as to the source of your boyish charm and impressive IQ so I want a paternity test done to see if I owe May over a decade’s worth of child support.”

Peter flipped his pencil between his fingers, a small smirk pulled at his mouth, “How do I know that isn’t the double motive? Help me with a biology concept and make sure you aren’t actually responsible for creating yours truly?” Tony gave him an amused side eye for the question.

“When were you conceived, again?”

The question elicited a chuckle from Peter. “Funny enough, May told me my mom came to her to tell her the good news about a month after my dad got back from a long research trip.”

Tony rose from his chair to cross around the table, “Few trimesters later and one of the finest young men I’ve ever known is born, right?” he says, ruffling Peter’s hair.  “I’m gonna go ask Pepper if she wants a pizza delivered; let me know when F.R.I.D.A.Y. says the machine is done doing its thing.”  

The end of a breadstick poked out of Tony’s mouth as he split up the results from the tests, Peter looking over his shoulder as he did so.  Taking the half-eaten breadstick from his lips and gesturing to the identical bands of proteins to their left Tony started, “So, as we can see, the two samples from the blood and the spit on the drink prove that our dear Happy is now the forehead of box set theft.  Now looking over at our sadly negative paternity test…” He trailed off, gesturing toward the other set of results with the breadstick before taking a bite from it.

Peter squinted, not from not being able to see but from confusion, “Okay so…” he began, “They don’t look terribly different. How can you tell that it’s negative?” Looking back up at Tony, Peter saw him look more closely at the results, lifting a finger to point out differences before freezing at seeing how many bands matched.  Suddenly, Peter saw the older man’s eyes widen a fraction, and an almost imperceptible shiver shook his frame.  “Mr. Stark?” A cold weight started to settle in Peter’s stomach from Tony’s silence.  

Peter almost didn’t hear his answer.

“Because it’s not…” Tony muttered out before taking a shaky breath.  “I think I might owe May that child support…” They both jumped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. took that moment to speak up.

“Congratulations, Boss.  It’s a boy!”

When Tony addressed the A.I., Peter thought he sounded on the brink of losing composure.  “F.R.I.D.A.Y. check any time around nine months before Peter was born that I would’ve been in proximity to Mary Parker.  Cross reference those results with any times Richard Parker was documented to be away on trips longer than a few days; get back to me with what you find.”

“Yes, Boss.”

A cold wave of realization started to wash over Peter that this wasn’t some sort of prank, as Tony wasn’t one to neither play them nor act this emotional for any he did.  DNA didn’t lie, but denial still rooted itself firmly in the front of Peter’s mind despite the holographic bands of proteins halfway matching between the two samples.  He vaguely registered F.R.I.D.A.Y. speaking again.  “Around the time Peter would’ve been conceived, you and Mary Parker were both speaking at a multidisciplinary, scientific conference in New York.  The conference occurred three weeks after Richard Parker departed for a research trip to Europe, and two weeks before his return to the country.”

Peter could feel his heart pounding in his ears; there was no way F.R.I.D.A.Y. would lie about this, as blunt as she was.  The implications of what she said started to merge with the holograms beginning to burn his eyes, the bright blue neon becoming less like distinct shapes and more a blurry haze.  He distantly registered Tony had begun pacing behind him; trying the stave off what Peter guessed was panic.  

His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and Peter could feel Tony shaking against his frame.  The normally confident man sounded so small, even so close to Peter’s ears.

“Peter, I’m…I didn’t know, I swear, I…”

“Mr. Stark, I—“, Peter was cut off, suddenly turned about face.  Tony held him tight, and Peter’s chin rested just on Tony’s collar.  He felt the older man shudder, and heard something akin to a choked sob.  

“I swore if it ever happened, I’d be better than my dad.  I always thought the mother would come forward, I—“ Tony’s rambling briefly cut off to allow for another shaky breath. “I can’t believe I missed fifteen years!”  The apology and self-directed anger dripped from the exclamation.

Peter felt a hand move to the back of his head, and he was pressed even tighter into Tony’s shoulder; he could smell the pizza they’d ordered for dinner, and Tony’s signature cologne; a smell he’d gotten used to finding comfort in lately.  Peter wasn’t going to point out that Tony shouldn’t have been sorry for something neither of them had known about, but then the fact hit Peter that most of his life has essentially been a lie.  Not that blood really mattered but still, he had believed for his entire life that he was Richard Parker’s biological son, and yet here was the evidence in its bright blue holographic glory that he wasn’t.  He and May technically weren’t related anyway, but she was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother that he could remember.  A terrifying thought came to him at the realization.

“Do I have to leave May?” Peter tried not to think about how choked and small his voice sounded.  He found relief in the fact that instead of pulling away from him, Tony only held him tighter.

“I’m not about to take you from the only stable parent you’ve had for the last decade.  Moms are important.  We need to call yours about this soon…”  

Peter gripped the sides of Tony’s tee-shirt as he pulled away from him.  The older man sniffed and used the hand that had been on Peter’s head to wipe what beginnings of tears there were in his eyes, before using both hands to cup Peter’s face.  “Fifteen years…”  Peter could see Tony trying to brighten his expression, “You think I could get May to send me pictures of you growing up or would that be creepy?”  

A wet laugh shook Peter’s frame, and he could feel calloused thumbs running under his eyes; he hadn’t realized he’d been tearing up.  Suddenly Peter felt the weight of Tony’s chin atop his head, and once more he was settled into Tony’s shoulder.  “I’m gonna make up for lost time, I swear.  I’m gonna be here for you.  If you thought I was overprotective before you just wait, young man!”  Peter could feel the vibrations of Tony speaking where his ear pressed against the older man’s throat, and he hummed at the promises made.  

“You mean it?” Peter had said it jokingly, and wasn’t prepared for how deadly serious Tony’s tone turned.

“Peter, I swear on my life I’m going to do everything I can to be a proper father to you if you’ll have me.”

Tony felt Peter clutch onto the back of his shirt, and nod furiously into his shoulder.  He felt the fabric on his shoulder get wet and warm, and he chocked it up to Peter being overwhelmed (he was too) at a third father in his life. Tony knew he wasn’t the ideal role model, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make an effort to make up for missing this kid’s childhood.  Maybe in a different life Mary would’ve realized who the father of her baby was, and maybe he’d have seen Peter born, and learn to speak, and hold his hand as he took his first steps.  But that was then, and here and now he had proof that the kid he pretty much accepted responsibility for as his own was in fact his baby.  

Peter was his baby.  Although a bit out of his character, as Peter continued soaking his shirt with tears, Tony pressed moved the boy’s bangs and pressed his lips to Peter’s temple.  “I’m gonna do right by you, I promise,” he said, returning his chin to the crown of Peter’s head.  As the shock of discovery slowly waned, Tony could feel the growing warmth of affection spread through his core, stronger than it ever had been previously.  

“I should call May…” As he reluctantly began to let go of Peter, the boy suddenly stopped him.  

“Mr. Stark?”

He’d been trying to tell Peter he could call him Tony for several weeks, but with their new discovery the formal title seemed ever more distant and hollow.

“Yeah?”

“Does this mean I get to call Vision ‘little brother’?”

The snort he let out turned into a deep laugh, and the grin Peter sported showed he was quite proud of himself.  

“Absolutely, and I want you to make sure F.R.I.D.A.Y. gets a recording of Vision’s face the first time it happens.” He pushed Peter back toward his unfinished homework, knowing full well the boy wouldn’t be able to work seriously on it at the moment, as he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed May’s number.  After a couple rings the other line picked up.  

“Tony?  It’s kinda late, is Peter alright?”  

Tony let out a good-natured scoff. “I’m sure you’ll find that debatable, but I can assure you the little darling is just fine.” He could hear an amused sort of confusion enter May’s voice.  

“And what does that mean?  Did something happen?”  

Tony could feel his stomach drop a little; he couldn’t put into words just how perfect it seemed that Peter was his, but declaring that to his aunt (really his mother, the ‘aunt’ title was essentially a formal technicality) made it so much more real, and the elated jitters were sobered and the responsibility facing him took hold.  “May, before you call me crazy I can have F.R.I.D.A.Y. send you everything.”

“Um…alright?  Why do you say that?”

Thinking it better to just be frank and rip off the proverbial Band-aid, Tony took a breath. “That electrophoresis demo that Pete came over for, uh, well we did a sort of DNA matching paternity test so I could show him how to tell it was negative and explain what a positive would look like.  Problem—wait, no, it’s not a problem because it’s great, at least for me but anyway it wasn’t negative.”  Tony waited with baited breath as May’s end of the line stayed silent.  He quickly thought to add on, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. cross referenced my whereabouts in reference to Peter’s mother and Richard about when Peter should’ve been conceived and our times and places matched.”  

Tony knew with his advanced senses Peter could hear May’s end of the line, or rather the lack of sound on it.  After what seemed to be at least a few minutes, May spoke up.  

“Not that I don’t believe you, because this doesn’t seem like something you would make up, but I would like F.R.I.D.A.Y. to send me what you’ve got in way of evidence.”

“Of course!  F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“On it, Boss.”

Tony looked over to where Peter was sitting on one of the workbench’s stools, dangling his feet with a somewhat content look on his face.  Tony’s eyes drifted to the holograms when May piped up.  

“So…what?” She sounded a bit upset; Tony supposed she had every right to be, with her nephew not being the child of her late brother-in-law but of the man that until recently she’d not been at all fond of.  “Are you going to take him?”  Although he’d already answered that question, Peter still perked up on his stool.

Tony shook his head, knowing full well May couldn’t see it through the phone.  “I’m not gonna take Peter out of the only constant home life he’s had for the last decade, May, and I’m not about to take him from a parent that knows what they’re doing.  But I’m going to make up for lost time if you’re alright with that.”  He heard May make a sound of affirmation on her end of the line before continuing. “Not that I wasn’t planning on it anyway, but leave paying for college to me.  I don’t wanna cause court drama over this but I’d like a guaranteed weekend a month with Pete, in addition to every other week during the summer and every other holiday, but only ones Peter doesn’t mind spending with me.  Oh, and you can expect quite the hefty child support check; if you want to stay completely out of court on this just give me a number and it’s done.  Food, rent, school fees, whatever, I’ve got it.  Nights you have to work, he can stay with me and Pep, not that we wouldn’t be happy to have him anyway.”  Finishing off, he sent a wink Peter’s way, and the boy flashed a grin.  

He heard May let out a laugh thinly laced with disbelief, “You’re serious about all this?”

“May, I have been so serious about very few things in my life.  Peter was already filling this role before tonight, now I just have evidence to get my name on his birth certificate and schedule his doctor’s appointments.”  He heard Peter snort on the other side of the room.  “Actually we might just call Bruce so our darling baby boy doesn’t get taken away for being a spider mutant.  Yeah, Bruce is a good bet…”  

“Are you planning on claiming him publicly?”

Tony paused, that question wasn’t one that had gone through his mind yet.  “I don’t want you guys to have to deal with paparazzi all the time, or God forbid someone tries to get Peter to get to me, and not to mention either scenario could out him as Spider-man.  But, I would still claim him and let the world know he’s mine.  Let’s let this one simmer.”  

After May agreed and they each promised to discuss this in person the next time they met to exchange Peter, she and Tony hung up.  The billionaire looked over at Peter, who was doodling on a notepad corner, and a fond smile etched itself across his face.  Strolling over, Tony lifted a hand and ruffled Peter’s hair.  

“I’m sure I can fight off whatever bad guys try to take me if you want to claim me publicly.” He could see Peter was filled with that same fuzzy warmth that his own body was flooded with.

“No doubt, but the point is you shouldn’t have to.”  Tony watched as Peter flipped the pen between his fingers, contemplating something.

“You know, I’m still not used to calling you ‘Tony’.  ‘Dad’ is a whole other can of worms to open.”  Peter didn’t look uncomfortable, not really.  More like he was just trying to solidify that this new reality wasn’t a dream. A smirk replaced the fond grin on Tony’s face.  

“Oh, I am so taking advantage of this newfound fatherly power to give you pet names.”  Peter made a face of feigned disgust, and that was all the prompt Tony needed.  “Peter.”

“Yes?”

The billionaire lowered his voice an octave, “I AM YOUR FATHER!”

“NOOOOOOO!”  

The night wore on with comfortable silence, just two people trying to accept a shifted reality and being content with the outcome.  Eventually, Peter had started to nod off and with more warmth than amusement in his voice Tony said it was past the spiderling’s bedtime.  

Peter had taken up residence in the bedroom he’d once refused along with Tony’s offer to become an avenger.  After he’d changed and flopped on his bed, Tony came in with a glass of water and set it on the bedside table.  

“In case you get thirsty in the middle of the night.”  

Peter had thanked him groggily, and said he was looking forward to their weekend they’d decided to take together in a few weeks before snuggling into his pillow.  Tony felt a small sigh leave his chest, and before he could think to stop himself he drew the teen’s Star Wars printed blankets up to his chin and ruffled his hair.  “Night, son.” It was spoken with a tenderness he didn’t care to hide; it felt natural to address Peter such a way.  They weren’t quite at the ‘goodnight-forehead-kisses’ stage, not for a while, Tony thought, so he straightened to leave for his own room.  Just as his hand reached the doorknob, he heard, “Goodnight, dad” and that warm fuzzy feeling bloomed in his chest once again.  He looked forward to being a father. 

(There will be a chapter two coming...)

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #3: Dirty Laundry

“OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKIN’ GOD. I CAN’T BELI— ACTUALLY NO. I TOTALLY CAN BELIEVE IT. I NEVER DOUBTED YOU FOR A SECOND.”

 The way Mike McGuire was acting, you’d think that she was the new TV Champion. But she wasn’t. Her partner, John Bishop Church was. That seemed completely irrelevant though. He’d won a hard fought victory over the legendary veteran Ruthann Hunter, gone the distance, and prevailed. She’d stood beside him in his moment of triumph and, as she looked to him then, he shone. As if for a moment, all the misfortune he’d borne was gone. 

Now, though, a lot of that shine had been knocked off. His brow was furrowed in concern for his opponent, and still as before, his partner was beside him. She settled down, her own jubilation dropping a bit. You never wanted to see this sort of thing happen to a peer, especially not due to a match you were in. 

“…you okay?” “This is what I mean. Inside there, Mike, you turn it off. But what I saw afterwards. That didn’t feel right.” “Course it doesn’t. It sucks when this sort of thing happens. But don’t start blaming yourself for it, okay? I know you. Turning it off or not, you’d never hurt somebody in a way they couldn’t bounce back from.” 

She patted him on the shoulder, then fidgeted a little.

 “I got you something. I knew you were gonna win, I’ve known for a while. We’ve worked too hard, YOU’VE worked too hard. So I got you a congratulations present. You… still want it? I get it if you want me to sit on it a bit.” John looked down at the title and stared at his own reflection in the silver plate. “You’re right. And a part of me wants to wait until later but this is special. And I couldn’t have done this without you.” She smiled at him, and reached into her bag. Shuffling some things around, she pulled out a box wrapped in shiny green paper, tied up with an orange satin ribbon. Reaching out, she handed it to her partner. “It ain’t much. Just somethin’ I thought you could use on the tour comin’ up.”

 And much to her amusement, John neatly removed the ribbon, removed the tape on either side of the gift, and carefully undid the wrapping paper. John stared at the box and she knew this wasn’t disappointment, it was just him. “What is it?”

 “It’s a Kindle Fire. Kinda like an iPad, sort of, but this one’s special. Cuz it does the stuff a tablet does, but at heart? It’s an e-reader. You can buy books on Amazon and they get downloaded right to the Kindle, and then you can read ‘em on here. I can get it set up for you later, and there’s even a gift card in the box so you can get a couple e-books to get you started.” She rolled her shoulders a little, smiling.“Figured it’d save you from having to pack extra to bring your books along.” 

“This is really neat. Thank you.”

 So they’d spent their first evening with one of them as champion playing with the Kindle- getting it set up, picking books out, learning how to navigate the pages. Picking out which apps to add and which to avoid, at least for now. Church was still trying to get the hang of it a while later, but Mike was certain he’d learn. He always picked things up eventually- after all, he was ridiculously smart. But with that out of the way, it was time to look forward. And oh, what a forward they had to look toward. Finally. At long last, after ducking and dodging them for weeks, Rob ‘Cherry’ Garcia was finally going to be standing across the ring from them. Granted, he had a friend- a turncoat, no-good piratey friend- but still. This is what they’d wanted. Title on the line or no, it was well understood between the upstart members of NSFW that they wanted to test their mettle against the best. They had stood toe to toe with the Trinity in a match that Mike could barely remember- being dropped on one’s goddamn head onto steel will do that- and had come out on the losing end, but had proven that they weren’t going anywhere.

 She’d felt awful, though. And not just in the physical sense- her head had been splitting for two days, during which her partner insisted she stay down and rest- she’d felt that the failing had ultimately been hers. After all, through her hazy memory she could distinctly recall she ate the pin. She’d been slumped against the cold painted cinderblock afterward, holding an icepack to the opened goose egg on her head, trying to keep blood from dripping into her left eye. 

“…sorry, dude. Really. I shoulda done better.” John, who was sitting on the well-worn wooden bench, drenched in sweat and slumped against the concrete wall of the now emptied out locker room, shook his head. “Why are you apologizing?” 

“…I dunno. Fuckin’ can’t remember the last fifteen minutes so good. Pin was mine though. Musta been me who fucked up.” “We are a team. One perceived setback would never shake the foundations of this partnership. A million of them, even.” “Jeezus, you’re sweet.” She smiled a little before wincing in pain, hissing softly through her teeth. “Okay. Won’t… beat myself up anymore. Reckon I got beat up enough, huh?” And she didn’t. She’d felt plenty terrible over the next couple days, but none of it was from guilt. By the third day she’d been on the mend, and now she only had a scab under her hairline that she supposed would wind up forming a pretty righteous scar. A lesson learned and the rest of it left behind them, their eyes now firmly focused ahead on what was shaping up to be the most exciting week of their young partnership.

 Her eyes flicked over to her partner, nestled in the window seat, clouds and blue sky drifting past. He had been messing around with the Kindle she'd gotten him for a while, but eventually opted to stop playing with it, stuck it in the magazine pouch, and was now deeply focused on what he was doing, pencil scribbling away in a notebook- one she recognized right away from the slightly rain-warped cover. It wasn’t just any notebook- it was the one he wrote his prose in. His really, really good prose. She’d read a piece of it- not exactly on purpose- and Church'd caught her. It’d been late- way later than she thought it was. She had to have read the entire thing four or five times, though she at least had the tact to not venture elsewhere in the notebook. She was captivated by this story, but part of her knew she really shouldn’t be reading it. In fact, she should probably stop altogether. Just as soon as she finished this read through… 

“…what are you doing?”

 It was a soft inquiry, but it nearly made Mike jump out of her skin. It was 1 in the morning- holy shit, had that much time passed?- and he usually got up for a drink of water around now. But here she was, her hair still mussy and a little damp, clothes likewise, sitting in the dark by tablet light. All she could muster was a very sheepish smile and a statement in the tone of someone who knew they were in some degree of trouble. 

“…it’s really really good?” 

“Okay.” Church pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “It’s just … something to pass the time.” “I still don’t think I oughta’ve read it.” She closed the notebook, sliding it across the table to him. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw it was out in the ring when it started raining fuckin’ buckets, and I didn’t want it to get ruined, so I ran out and got it but it still got wet so I opened it to make sure the words didn’t get all fucked up and kinda got sucked in.” She was rambling a little, and she scratched the back of her head, looking down at the tabletop, fingers fidgeting with each other. She might not have felt so guilty about it, but something told her that what she read hadn’t been ordinary prose. The name of the spaceman was a big clue, and the entire series of events just rang way too familiar. No, she’d accidentally stumbled on some sort of fictionalized diary or something. Had to be. “It’s okay. Th-thank you. I would just like if you asked. That one. I didn’t have access to a pencil so when the lights went out and I couldn’t read anymore I’d think of my own stories. But I think I forgot most of them. They all got replaced with stuff i don’t like to remember.” “Hey. Just so you know, if that ever happens here- like if the power goes out again or somethin’ and you can’t sleep and it’s too dark to read… you can wake me up. It’s okay, I won’t be mad’re nothin’. I don’t want you t’ have to have nothin’ but thoughts you don’t wanna think. Cuz I know what that’s like and it sucks.” A brief vision of a hospital room in the dead of night passed through her head. She shook it out and sighed, her fingers fidgeting a little more. “So… you really almost left, huh? I thought I heard the front door open and shut in the middle of the night, but I was also half asleep. Thought I dreamed it.” Suddenly, the power flicked back on, the AC sputtering a bit before kicking back to life and the lights illuminating the previously dark kitchen in a sudden flash of brightness that made Mike blink. She’d felt suddenly exposed, though, her expression more pensive than she’d really wanted to be revealed. Church looked at her and at first it was the same blank expression he always seemed to give her. Sometimes when when they conversed, she imagined a complicated set of cogs, pulleys, and levers working in his mind to put together a careful calculated response, but here it seemed very different. His fingers pinched at the corner of one of her green plastic placemats. His mouth was slightly agape. Church looked down for just a moment but when his face raised up to her hers, the normal expression resumed. “Yes. I guess I did. My life has been for public consumption for a long time now, Mike. I thought it would have gotten better but at that time I had been made to feel like I was nothing. And then you come along. You’re the first person to come along and lend a helping hand.” Church shook his head. “It was a shock to the system. And I hated it. I just wanted to have what i had before. I know, I know that sounds weird. Because it was nothing. But it wasn’t, Mike. It was all I had. But then even, you appeared in my door way and brushed away all of that pity. You wouldn’t allow it. I’d been thinking about that a lot recently. I wanted to tell you but sometimes I can’t figure out how to say. I feel so frustrated sometimes. I can’t seem to put the pieces together.” “It’s okay. You don’t have to. If it’s meant to come, it’ll come. And if it ain’t… you don’t need to say stuff out loud for me to get it. I mean I ain’t psychic or nothin’, shit no, but… heh. I guess that don’t make a lot of sense either but, eh. I dunno. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, even if I ain’t really some super cool space hot-rod rescue ranger, I think I’m really startin’ to get you. Maybe. I’m trying anyway. But either way… I’m glad you changed your mind, bud. I’m really… really glad you did.” 
Stretching, she stood up, striding along the aisle and swishing aside artfully to avoid a flight attendant pushing a minibar. First class had its perks- they’d decided to treat themselves. The big cushy seats and special amenities were fantastic, and Mike had to say that even the staff even seemed cuter. Allowing herself a slightly longer than necessary glance at the liquor-serving blonde’s firm posterior, she loped along the length of the aisle before turning back. Comfy chairs or not, this was a long flight- both she and Church’s first overseas. She’d never dreamed of going someplace like eastern Europe, and yet, here she was, on a plane bound for Minsk- not quite the dramatic, romantic setting of Moscow, with its distinctive colorful onion domed cathedral and palace-like seat of government where Putin made late night overtures to his favorite tangerine puppet, but still. A country she’d never been to. Sights she’d never seen. There was a serious thrill in her gut that had nothing even to do with wrestling, and it harmonized well with the thrill that absolutely had everything to do with it. 

She was so happy and excited that she could almost forget about that morning. She’d been all packed, with Church putting his last few odds and ends in his suitcase. She was pacing around the house, giving everything a once-over- lights off, back doors locked, tarp over the ring, et cetera- when she saw a figure through the front door window. 

It was too early for the Uber she’d sent for and she didn’t think she recognized his face. Slipping out front, she narrowed her eyes, folding her arms, sizing up the unfamiliar man standing before her. Dark hair. What she’d call an outright punchable face, with a big awkward looking grin and almost weaselly looking eyes. He looked, in her opinion like a complete shitheel, and she squared up a bit. One would get the distinct mental image of a ferocious guard dog, set to rip any perceived threat to hearth and home to fucking shreds.

 “Who are you an’ the fuck do you want? Make it snappy, bucko, we got places to be that ain’t here.” “David Hodges. I’m a reporter.” the suit looked past her and eyed the house number plate that was drilled into the wall beside the door, “Miss McGuire, I presume?” “You certainly fucking do. News hound, huh? Unless you’re here to tell people about the greatest fucking tag team the world’s ever seen since the goddamn Hart Foundation, you don’t got shit.” However, he didn’t react to that all. “I see. Miss McGuire, do you know a Melissa Perez?” “Yeah, she’s a feckless fucking cu*t. What about her?” Mike’s stance didn’t start out warm and welcoming, and was getting more hostile by the second. She didn’t seem to have any intention of backing down. David looked down at a sheet of paper clutched in his head, “Melissa recently tweeted that you, an employee of…” The paper rustled.“Extreme Wrestling Corporation, are living with a fellow employee John Bishop Church. The same John Bishop Church that was exonerated for the murder of his wife Christina. And their unborn child. I’ve talked to her. She has texts between you two that prove this connection. It’s one thing to appear at the work place together. That’s a job. It’s another thing all together to … well, I’m not going to say what Melissa says you’re doing with him. I think it’s quite obvious.” “Yeah, if you’re a fuckin’ rube.” She took a deliberate step forward. “You don’t know shit and I ain’t telling you shit, and I’ll tell you why, fuckwad. You said the magic word with your own stupid mouth. Exonerated. The whole fucking thing is online. The facts are right there on any public fucking record, black and white. Anything else ain’t your business, or anybody else’s business, and you’re almost lower than rat shit if you came all the way over here for dirt based on a tip by my FUCKING EX GIRLFRIEND.” He smirked in the face of all of this anger. “Is John in there right now? I met him a few months back. Not too talkative, is he?” “I wouldn’t want to talk to your stupid weasel-lookin’ ass either.” She deliberately avoided the question, though her poker face was immediately wrecked by a flick of her eyes to the door behind her. Stay in there, buddy. Just stay put for a little while longer, you don’t need to get mixed up with this. Just stay there. Please. “So you mentioned exoneration, Miss McGuire. He confessed. Quite vividly. It’s all there for the public to listen to.” It’s at this point that most people would have acted shocked. Or, perhaps, began to germinate a seed of doubt. But Mike was not most people, and if the reporter expected her to waver at all in her stubborn refusal to cooperate, he was about to be sorely disappointed. She bared her teeth in a snarl, and the emeralds of her eyes could cut glass. “People confess to a lot of shit. Drill into somebody long enough an’ they’ll tell you they’re fucking B.D. Cooper just to get you to lay the fuck off.” “He said he did it.” “Piss fucking Christ, are you deaf and stupid? Did you not hear what I just fucking said? What, you want me to toss you in a room for thirteen fucking hours and ask you the same questions over and over and not let you eat or fucking sleep till you answer ‘em in a way that suits me?” “Right. Detective Ray Geschkes was in charge of that interrogation. I’ve listened to the whole thing. He was on the force for thirty five years. 13 hours or not, that interrogation was by the book. John confessed. He wrote it down. He signed off on it.”

 “By the book. By the FUCKING BOOK. Don’t you dare say that. That fucker planted evidence. And it was STUPID evidence. You know how I know? Church doesn’t fucking drink. At all. Made margaritas yesterday afternoon cuz it was fucking hot. Regular for me, virgin for him, and he still didn’t have any. So Mister By-The-Fucking-Book is a nasty little mental midget for planting DNA on something that Church wouldn’t have fucking touched to begin with.” Another step forward. “Go ahead. Say one more stupid thing. I fucking dare you to not just turn around, get in your ugly-ass car, and leave like a decent human being.” He raised his hands defensively. One hand clutched a pocket-sized tape recorder. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Miss McGuire. Speaking of saying stupid things - they’re all right here. And you’re right. But that doesn’t explain everything else. Decent human being, huh? You fell for that dopey aw, shucks act hook, line, and sinker, didn’t you?”

 Her movements were whip-quick. One hand jutted out like a striking cobra and grabbed ahold of the reporter’s necktie, dragging him with it halfway across the yard before stopping. She was just a few short inches from his face. “Listen up. You know what I have to do? I get up at five in the fucking morning. I filter through hundreds of fucking Facebook and twitter comments and delete the vilest shit you could ever imagine. Small, cruel little fucks like you, calling him the worst kind of names and tellin’ him to do shit that you oughta be doin’ yourself. But I delete it. All of it. Because he don’t deserve to see that. He gave you fucking people twenty fucking years. That’s enough. That’s more than fucking enough. Now get off my fucking property before I get all Stand Your Ground on your pathetic ass.” And the reporter backed away slowly. “That’s alright.” And he was half way into his tan Corolla when he shouted over the roof of it, “Miss McGuire. Send me a DM when John becomes your next Steve. Maybe then we can work together to shine a light on this whole ugly ordeal.” And seconds later, he was gone. 

Mike was speechless. She was absolutely livid. Her hand was shaking as she checked her phone. Five minutes. Not a ton of time. She ran to the driveway and threw Alundra’s door open, slammed it behind her, and screamed. She screamed for about a solid minute. She would’ve very much liked to hit something but she’d recently finished repairing damage to her baby- she didn’t want to cause the Mustang any more. Panting, she slipped back out, and opened the front door, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and trying to sound chipper.

 “Hey buddy, Uber’s gonna be here in three. You ready?” “Yes. Hey, who were you yelling at outside? Another salesman? It seems a common occurrence these days.” 
“…nobody. Nobody worth a pint of horse piss. Doesn’t matter. Next couple hours, we’ll be headed to motherfuckin’ Belarus. … Fuck, you know what? Let’s do something ridiculously indulgent. We deserve it. Let’s upgrade our tickets to fuckin’ first class. Cushy seats, leg room, open bar, and no dickfucks allowed.” Church nodded. “I trust you.” She bit her lip, paused, leaned forward, and gave him a quick but firm hug. As brief as it was, there was something fierce in it, something incredibly protective. She pulled back just as a lime green Volkswagen with an Uber sticker on the back windshield pulled up in front of the house. She locked the door behind them. 

But that was this morning and thousands of miles away. And as she headed back to her seat, she couldn’t help but pause, a huge grin crossing her face. The gangly teenager in the aisle seat was likely the child of one of the wealthy people occupying one or two of the other cushy chairs. Or maybe they’d gotten a cheap upgrade and decided to fly in style. But either way, one eye was covered by a deliberate shocking violet comb-over of bangs, their grin had the telltale silver gleam of new braces, and they were wearing an NSFW t-shirt. And fiddling with one of their ridiculous fidget spinners. Good to know at least one of those things sold.

 “Holy crap, you're Mike McGuire. Awesome.”

 “Nope. YOU’RE awesome.”

 Mike gave the kid a clicking wink and a double finger point, and found her seat next to her partner, closing her eyes. It was still a long way to Minsk. A couple hours’ nap later, the camera clicked on. Two mildly jet lagged but happy travelers grinned into it- one muted, one big and toothy. 

“Say hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW- one of us, who I really need to mention, is YOUR NEW REIGNING AND DEFENDING EWC TELEVISION CHAMPION- and we are currently on a plane- IN FIRST CLASS, BAY-BEE- headed to Belarus. It’s our first trip overseas, and frankly? We’re pretty fuckin’ hyped.” “I am ecstatic.”

 “We’re gonna be landing before long, but before we have to fasten our seatbelts, put our tray tables in the upright position an’ turn off all electronic devices, we thought we’d take a couple minutes to say… Jesus fucking Christ last week. The so-called top of the pops around here may have got the better of us, but at the end of the day, does anybody really give a shit? Same old rhetoric, different fuckin’ day. Yeah yeah, I know we didn’t come out on top and I got knocked fuckin’ loopy for my trouble, but our opposition totally failed to live up to our expectations. And they’ll totally be crowing their asses off about it too, dollars to fuckin’ doughnuts. They’ll come out with their cool music and awesome pyro and toss a couple Benjys to the monkeys in the truck for some nice piped in crowd noise, and go on about how they put down a couple of big-mouthed upstarts. IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE PROPHECY. VOLUME 2 COMING SOON. Maybe Reid’ll even get a new Xbox One from his parents for doing an extra good job.” The camera panned to Church’s blank expression towards his partner. “The Trinity. They’re in our rearview mirror. Mike, some would say that we are the masters of foreshadowing.” “And why is that, my erstwhile compadre?” “Our friend. And I am being insincere when I say that. Our friend found himself a partner after all.” Mike gave a curt nod. 

“He did indeed. Or should I say- a pARRRRRtner.” “You’re allowed one of those. Only one.” “Noted. It was fuckin’ worth it. But somethin’, no pun intended as I’ve hit my limit, smells real fuckin’ fishy here. Cap’n Darkwater isn’t supposed to be the kind of pirate that would associate with a bilge rat like Cherry Garcia. Ain’t he supposed to be a nobler breed of buccaneer? What, did his morals and sense of fucking decency walk the goddamn plank? And don't think that sad line about being keelhauled into this is gonna make us shed a fuckin' tear for you. Who in their right goddamn mind would believe a fuckin' pirate, one who's obviously just proven he's a fuckin' moral degenerate?” “Seems like that charade of his burned to cinder when his greatest opportunity blew up in his face.” “Bitter, bitter pirate. So now he’s back in fighting form, and he decides to put the screws to Nostalgia and get in bed- oh, sorry, was FORCED into bed- with Garcia. Come on, dude. I kinda really hoped you were better than this.” 

She shakes her head and looks, if briefly, sincerely disappointed. John’s reaction to that isn’t the same. It’s unflinching. “I’m not surprised. His charming roguish qualities seemed to be an act. It’s easy to mug for your adoring public when everything seems to be going his way. There is no explanation. No excuse. No wiping away the cowardice he displayed. Many eyes were opened that evening to his true nature. But his transformation was a long time coming. He has weathered the storm of his would-be challengers and when they seemed to be out of play - here he comes to take possession of something he never earned.” “What a combo. A guy handed a belt and a guy who had to fucking make one up.” “They do have something in common, though, don’t they?” There was a plain sense of amusement plastered on Mike’s face as she looked up at her partner, brows raised inquisitively.

 “What’s that?” “Delusions of grandeur. One’s obvious enough. It drips out of every word he says. The other. The big guy. Mike, I want to level with you on something. The virtuous marauder act only suited him when he needed it. He’s a charlatan afforded the privilege to buy his way into this fantasy of his. He’s a stereotypical romanticized idea of a pirate and believe me, it’s easy to rationalize the crimes committed against the oppressors that were the English and Spanish. But like that matters to him. If he stopped playing pretend and looked into the mirror, he’d see that he’s become the very thing that his predecessors fought against.” “What he oughta do, frankly, is use those big bucks of his to buy a DeLorean, slap a Flux Capacitor in that son’bitch, and head Up North circa 1995. He’d be right at home with all the plumbers, clowns, and garbage men. But before you go and do that, Cap’n, some food for thought. See, Garcia here. You know why he is, or was before you sailed into the picture, a tag champ all by his lonesome? I’ll tell you. All his buddies fucking ditched his sleazy egomaniac ass. How long before it grates on you too? And once it does, then what’ll you be left with? Your reputation’s fucking shot, dude, and you’ll have pissed it down your leg for nothing, and that, me hearty, is just sad.”

 She shook her head, tisking. “See, we are pretty good at foreshadowing because what waits for us at the end of this journey?” “A decisive victory over the tag champs, that’s what. The belts may not be up for grabs this time around but that’s okay. Ain’t nothin’ new for ol’ Cherry Garcia. We ain’t ruffled. Us beating you is gonna send a big fat message to the guys in the front office. If they ain’t noticed us yet we are gonna MAKE ‘em take notice by swabbing the deck with the goddamn champions- not too tall an order considering one was just handed the belt out of nowhere and the other’s too lazy an ass to ever defend the fucking things.”

 She leaned forward.

 “Speaking of tall orders. Don’t think I’m scared of you, Captain Kangaroo. You’re a big guy.” “For you.” Mike held up a finger and tilted her head off camera. There was audible snorting before she rejoined the shot. “God Bless the fucking internet. But yeah. You’re way bigger than me. Maybe even a tad bigger than my partner, but that ain’t stopped him from chucking guys about as big as you around. How about he sends you sailing for real? I’d sure like to see that, but not before I take a nice chunk out of your pirate’s booty myself.” “With his looming visage, it’s so easy to forget the other part of this equation and just what he is capable of.” “What… IS he capable of? Making his own belt and pretending it’s a fucking accomplishment? Perpetually coming up shorter than he says he will?” Church smiled at her. “She means that it’s a constant part of the remnant’s makeup. There is something that he is good at. He’s gonna take one look at NSFW and he’s gonna laugh. We’ve got ourselves an easy night, he’ll say. That’s the delusion kicking in. This newly minted duo, they’re going to overlook us. They’re the superstars here and we are their tune up. That about cover it?” “Other than him being a delicious nut-free ice cream? Nope, that’s it. But, oh dear team of Pirate and Puss, you’ve got us pegged all wrong. This won’t be a night off. This may well be the worst fucking night of your lives. Because we want this. We’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks, and now that we’ve got it, we ain’t lettin’ you take your eyes off us. We’ll be haunting you like the fuckin’ Flying Dutchman from here on out. And there’ll be a whole fuckin’ fleet behind us. Do you hear that? The dead ships are comin’ up from the maelstrom and they’re comin’ for your stern. You’ll come out and they’ll be chanting our name. The people who want something different, somethin’ to fuckin’ believe in. Like this awesome kid right here.”

 She swung the camera around. The purple haired teenager across the aisle and a few seats back, suddenly realizing they were in an honest to God NSFW promo, waved a skinny arm wildly and gave a whoop.

 “NSFW, YEEEEAH!”

 The camera swoops back onto them, Mike giving a smirking nod.

 “Just like that. Every fuckin’ week. Louder and louder until you’re left with one single solitary question.” 

Her face splits into a huge jawbreaker of a grin.

 “What’s cauuuusin’ all this?” “It’s us. In some small way, we quantify the idea that the time for polite discourse is over. Whether it’s bigots, wanna-be fascists, ideological frauds, or text-book case of narcissism and a scalawag who talks out of both sides of his mouth, we are going to show the world how to take them down.” “By playing fair… and maybe a little dirty too.” Church opened his mouth to object, or at least that is what Mike anticipated. “Just a little.” 

That huge grin grew a little more devilish. “But how we do it ain’t as important as the fact that we are. Don’t look behind you for us, mates. Look beside you, and later, look in fucking front. Cuz we’re Not Sailing in your Fucking Wake.”

 There was a tinny voice over the intercom that they were approaching their destination, and the camera cut out.



[sp4c3-0ddity]

For the Pidgance Positivity Discord prompt:  Eyeliner. Word count is ~2500

A sequel to this (Part Two), and you can read the very first part here.

Anyway, hope you enjoy corny coincidence ;)

“Campus library. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other end of the line oozed boredom, but though the tone itself was familiar, the person speaking was not. “Yeah, is Pidge working today?” Lance wondered for the fifth time in the last week.

“Who’s Pidge?” the person asked. “There’s no Pidge that works at the library, that I know of.”

Lance sighed. “Not you, apparently,” he grumbled. “Thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” they said, sounding confused.

Lance hung up before they did and stared at his cell phone’s screen, the little ‘5’ beside the library’s number mocking him. He was almost certain that every time he called that week a different person answered, and not a single one was Pidge – or even knew anyone by that name.

Tracking her down was more complicated than Lance ever expected, and to think it had been so easy for her to find him. Did she not miss her yellow scarf?

Lance unwound the scarf from around his neck and rolled it up neatly before stuffing it into his backpack. The day was unseasonably warm, the sun heating the ground and the air enough that people only wore light jackets.

The clock tower rang the hour, two tolls of the bell, and Lance finally stood and meandered towards his next class.

Pidge stared into the black hole that was her purple cosmetics pouch. The fabric was still pristine, not a single bit of glitter lost, since her mother pointedly gifted it to her as a high school graduation present last spring.

Pidge had yet to use any of the cosmetics stored inside; even the lip gloss remained untouched.

Today’s challenge was eyeliner, a very dark green – almost black – color that complimented the forest green of her dress. The pencil’s tip was as sharp as the day she bought it, not dulled by a single use – or attempted use, since the idea that her hand would shake while she applied it daunted her.

“God dammit,” Pidge muttered. She pinched the pencil between two fingers and bent close to the bathroom mirror with the tip poised close to her eye. “If I go blind…”

She ignored the sound of the unisex bathroom doorknob rattling as she touched the eyeliner pencil tip to the corner of her right eye. Her eyes watered as she struggled not to blink, but she dragged the pencil along the top of her eyelid all the way to the outside corner. She grinned triumphantly, unbothered by the line’s slight jaggedness – like she would let anyone get close enough to see it!

And the other eye…

Pidge put the pencil tip to the inside corner of her left eye, the motion now more awkward from the uncomfortable positioning of her left hand, but before she could draw a new line, a triple staccato knock sounded from the door.

She exhaled. “Patience,” she said, and drew the pencil from one corner to the other.

At the sharper knock, Pidge flinched, startled, and the pencil dragged abruptly across her eyelid and almost to her eyebrow. “There are other bathrooms on this floor, you asshole!” she snapped, irritated as she capped the pencil and dropped it into the bag. She dug inside for her eye makeup remover and continued, “Unless you can do eyeliner, go away!”

“Pidge?”

Pidge froze, hand still rummaging inside the cosmetics bag. She knew that voice – she’d heard it ranging in tone from cheerful to downright panicky. She withdrew her hand and walked to the door, turning the knob and tugging it open to see Lance on the other side, staring at her with wide eyes.

“I can help with eyeliner,” he said, recovering from his surprise with a shrug and a wide grin. “Since you asked so politely.”

Pidge clapped a hand over her left eye. “I was being sarcastic,” she told him.

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “I could tell.” Without invitation, he tapped her hand, nudging it away from her eye. “You look like you could use some help.”

She examined him for a brief moment, from the somewhat wind-tousled look of his hair as if he’d just been outside to the bright blue backpack hanging from his shoulders. She dropped her hand and said, “I would…appreciate some help.”

Lance smiled and pushed past her into the bathroom, and Pidge let the door fall closed behind her and locked it. He headed straight for her purple cosmetics bag sitting open next to the sink, peering into it. “I never pegged you for a makeup person,” he observed.

Pidge shrugged and said, “There’s a time and a place for everything.”

Lance hummed and found the eyebrow pencil she’d been using, while Pidge stood next to him and grabbed the bottle of makeup remover. She wadded up a bit of toilet paper in lieu of a cotton ball, and after pouring a generous amount of the fluid onto it, she wiped at her messed up eyeliner.

“This is a nice color,” he observed.

“Thanks,” she said. She tossed the toilet paper into the trash and faced Lance. “I’m ready.”

“Good job on the other eye,” Lance then commented, pointing to it. “Not bad for a beginner.”

“And what are you?” she wondered. “Intermediate?”

Lance laughed. “Yeah, probably.” He stepped closer to her, leaning down so that his warm breath touched her forehead, and grasped her chin with a firm hand to keep her from twitching involuntarily. “Close your eye, or both of them so you don’t blink too much.”

Ignoring the strange way her heart beat more rapidly, Pidge did as he asked and held her breath when he touched the pencil tip to the corner of her eye. “So what’re you getting all made up for?” he asked as he slowly dragged the pencil across her eyelid.

“Christmas social for SWE,” she said. She forced herself to unclench her sweaty hands, to try to appear more relaxed.

“What’s swee?” Lance said.

“Society of Women Engineers,” Pidge explained, then she admitted, “I didn’t want to go, but I want to run for board next year, and the president suggested I get to know everyone better.”

“Politics, am I right?” Lance joked. He lifted the pencil from her eyelid and let go of her chin, stepping away from her.

Pidge didn’t know why she missed the heat of his body when he’d barely touched her – or why she should miss it at all.

“You can open your eyes now, Pidge,” Lance said.

Pidge huffed out a laugh that she hoped didn’t sound as strained as she feared. She opened her eyes and stepped closer to the mirror, examining Lance’s handiwork and how it matched hers.

She scowled when his proved to be so much neater than her own.

Lance laughed when he spotted her expression, wielding the small pencil at her like it was a sword. “You want me to do the other eye too?”

“Yes,” Pidge said immediately, telling herself it was only for the sake of symmetry.

“You’re not going to ask how I know how to apply eyeliner?” Lance wondered once her eyes were closed again, and she once more exhaled in tiny huffs.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” Pidge remarked, unable to help a small smile.

“Hey, stop twitching,” Lance scolded her. When she obediently fell still – with some difficulty – he said, “My older sister taught me since she couldn’t put it on herself but had no trouble doing it for her friends.”

“Why didn’t they do it for her too?”

“Because she couldn’t ask them to do her makeup before every family wedding,” Lance explained. “My family’s huge, and we have a ton of weddings.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Pidge said, rather untruthfully since she’d been to one wedding in her entire life and didn’t have much fun.

“They are,” Lance agreed, apparently without detecting any irony in her voice. He lifted the pencil but didn’t remove his hand, though he loosened his grip.

“If you’re done,” Pidge said, opening her eyes and staring up at him, “you can let go of me now.” She didn’t flinch at his proximity – she’d known how close he stood – but it still alarmed her, made her skin itch in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Lance let go and averted his eyes away from her face. “How’d I do?” He waved towards the mirror.

Pidge leaned towards her reflection, and she and her twin in the mirror smirked. “Bitchin’,” she said.

She saw his reflection roll his eyes and smile. “Well, just be careful you don’t touch your eyes and smudge all my hard work,” he said.

“Good thing it’s not allergy season,” Pidge said. She took the pencil back from him, noting that it would need to be sharpened before the next time – if there was a next time – she used it, and packed her belongings away. She extracted a black cardigan from her backpack and, after grimacing at the wrinkles in the fabric, put it on over her sleeveless dress.

“By the way,” she said, remembering as she glanced at Lance, who stood by the door as if ready to flee, “do you still have my scarf?”

Lance laughed, and dropped his backpack.

Pidge had a shift at the library the next day, on Saturday. The library stayed open for extra hours as finals week drew closer, and her supervisor scheduled her for more hours than usual when she made the mistake of mentioning how far ahead she was on her homework assignments.

And rather than returning books to their shelves – her preferred duty – Pidge stood at the circulation desk, manning the telephone and available if anyone needed to check out or search for a book or borrow a school laptop or USB cable. She kept herself busy by pretending to look busy when no one wanted her assistance, doodling a design of a pyramidal robot and highlighting the corners in blue ink.

“Worthy of being Star Wars concept art?” she asked herself, turning the page sideways to look at it a bit more closely. She shrugged and put the paper down, starting a drawing of something else – she couldn’t be sure yet what would spill out of her pen.

“Is that…Pidge?”

Pidge jerked her head up at the sound of her name, standing up so rapidly that she knocked her chair down. Her face heated up with embarrassment as she searched for a familiar face, and her eyes finally fell on Hunk and, on his other side, Lance.

Lance’s nose and cheeks were red with cold, and he crossed his arms and held himself stiffly. Pidge rolled her eyes and pulled off her scarf, tossing it to him as he and Hunk approached. “You should wear a heavier jacket, you know,” she said.

“It was s-so warm yesterday!” Lance retorted with a slight stutter.

Hunk clapped him on the back, frowning like he’d expected this to happen and was keeping himself from saying I told you so.

“One of the vending machines in the lobby has hot chocolate,” Pidge suggested. She rested her elbow on the counter, resting her chin on her hand and smirking. Sure, Lance looked cold, but there was just something cute and endearing about seeing him wrap himself snugly in her scarf, tug the top edge up to cover his mouth, and—

Pidge halted that train of thought in its tracks, her smirk faltering. “Do you guys need anything?” she asked.

“We’re just here to hit the books,” Hunk told her. “I’m good, but Lance…?” He looked at his friend, an inquiry – or perhaps a challenge – in his eyes.

Lance pulled the scarf back down – but didn’t take it off – and smiled at Pidge. “I’m good too,” he said. “Thanks, Pidge.”

Hunk rolled his eyes but walked away, off to find a free table, after waving towards Pidge; Lance took a step after, but he seemed to reconsider and doubled back to the counter.

“Did you have fun last night?” he wondered.

Pidge managed a smile even through the weird stuttering of her thoughts, the ones that made her heart race in an unfamiliar way while a warmth filled her chest. “A little,” she said. “I guess the good thing about engineers is that we’re all pretty nerdy.”

“Hmm, well, I’m sure you are, but I wouldn’t say the same about me.”

“We spent most of a Saturday playing an old video game once,” Pidge retorted, leaning across the counter towards him. “Face it, Lance; you’re a nerd.”

“Take that back!” Lance said, his own face drifting just a little closer to hers.

“I don’t think I want to,” Pidge said, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Although, maybe if you buy that coffee you still owe me I’ll take it back.”

“And then I’ll owe you something else,” Lance pointed out.

“You did my makeup for me yesterday,” she said.

“You gave me your scarf.”

“To borrow,” Pidge insisted, rolling her eyes, but then she narrowed them at him instead. “You are going to give it back, right?”

“Of course,” Lance said, “as soon as you give me your—”

“Hey, if you don’t need help,” someone interrupted them from the queue forming behind Lance, “can you get out of line?”

Lance stood up straight, and Pidge leaned away, finally conscious of the way they’d been drifting towards each other. “Yeah, sorry,” he said dismissively, rolling his eyes at Pidge. “I guess I have to hit the books too, so I’ll see you?”

“See you, Lance,” Pidge said.

He smiled as he left, though she frowned as soon as he was out of sight and the first person in line came forward with their inquiry.

Pidge helped everyone in line, succeeding in putting Lance from her mind – at least temporarily. But his interrupted comment haunted her, and she spent the rest of her shift preoccupied with it, trying to fill in the blanks herself.

Hunk left an hour before she clocked out, backpack slung over his shoulder with a frown on his face. “Studying that bad?” she asked him when he passed.

“Could be worse,” Hunk said, shrugging.

“Where’s Lance?” Pidge wondered, then noticing what was missing.

Hunk raised an eyebrow at her. “I should’ve known,” he said.

“Known what?”

He shrugged and said, “He fell asleep in the middle of going over our old midterms. Do me a favor and make sure he at least leaves before the library closes.”

“Will he need a ride?” she said, unable to keep herself from worrying.

“We live close enough that he can take the bus or walk,” Hunk reassured her, waving a dismissive hand.

“Sleepwalk?” Pidge quipped.

“Just make sure he’s awake when he leaves,” Hunk said with a laugh. “I’ll see you around, Pidge.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling.

It was only when he left that she wished she’d asked him for Lance’s number…and realized what Lance tried saying earlier.

Pidge clocked out of her shift and, after grabbing her backpack, she wandered in the direction that Hunk came from, scanning each desk for a familiar yellow scarf and blue backpack. And it didn’t take long to come across Lance slumbering on a desk, his head pillowed on his backpack and one cheek turned up towards the ceiling.

Pidge smiled when she approached him and reached out to touch his shoulder to wake him up, but then an even better idea occurred to her. So she dropped her backpack and rummaged inside for the cosmetics bag she hadn’t removed the night before, opening it and grabbing the only eyeliner pencil she possessed.

She uncapped it, smirking to herself, and bent over Lance to scrawl a sequence of ten numbers onto his upturned cheek as gently as she could. By the time she finished, he stirred, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, and Pidge, deciding her job was done, capped the pencil and stuffed it back into the bag. She grabbed her backpack and retreated as quickly and as silently as she could, heart beating in anticipation…and dreading disappointment.

Her phone buzzed barely an hour later, receiving a text message from an unfamiliar number, and Pidge smiled when she read it:

So…when can I buy you coffee?

[decembercamiecherries]

To Break Pose

Ao3 link

Word Count: 4960

Summary:

Gon asks Killua to his model for his full-body art portrait project. It takes some begging, and bribing with chocolate, but eventually Killua agrees to help.

The thing is, though, Gon never expected for Killua to model nude.

The other thing? Gon finds he really doesn't mind this new development.

((Based on this prompt))

This fic was written as part of an art trade with @ohlookitscazz! :D She’s an amazing artist (CHECK OUT HER ART HERE), an even more amazing person <3 I’m so so so happy I got to write something for her since I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now ^^ This was a lot of fun for me to create, so I hope it’s just as much fun for her to read!

Thank you to @softkillua for helping me with this thing, he’s the best beta I could ask for ^^ And thank you for reading! Please enjoy!

Killua sighs heavily through his nose, his breath forming a cloud in the crisp autumn air, and levels Gon with a look. It’s a kind of look Gon knows all too well; the kind that says ‘this is a bad idea and I’m going to regret talking to you about this’.

Still, Gon is hopeful.

“Gon,” Killua says, reluctance dripping off every syllable. “You know, I’d love to help you with your school project, but-”

“If you’d love to help me, then just say yes!”

Killua raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you said last time I helped you out, and then I was left cleaning slime out of my hair for weeks. Weeks, Gon! Do you know how hard it is to get green gook out of hair?!”

“That was only one time, Killua!” Gon whines. “And that was for ecology, this is totally different!”

“Oh, yeah?” Killua doesn’t look at all convinced. “How’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, this project is for my art credit class!”

Killua scoffs and turns smartly on his heel. Gon’s jaw drops in surprise, and then he’s scrambling off the university courtyard bench to chase Killua across the wide expanse of yellowing grass scattered with dead leaves. Students bustle all around them in oversized coats and bulging backpacks, complaining about approaching end-of-the-semester exams and final projects. But Gon ignores them all in favor of hollering loudly after his one and only best friend.

“KILLUA! Killua, wait, I just-”

“I’m not helping you, Gon!” Killua says when Gon finally catches up to him. Killua’s got his pink nose shoved in the air, blue eyes trained pointedly on the courtyard’s archway exit. “Not this time! Go find someone else to dress up as a pigeon or whatever the hell it is you have to do!”

Gon has to jog to keep up with Killua’s long strides. He says breathlessly, trying his best to match Killua’s pace, “I’m not dressing up anyone as a pigeon, that’d be silly! I’m taking a modeling class. You know, something you do already as a job.”

Killua stops short and Gon squeaks as he almost crashes right into Killua’s right shoulder. He goes still when Killua turns to give him a calculated, narrow-eyed glare. Being the center of that icy blue gaze makes Gon’s heart skip a beat, makes his breath catch in his throat. It’s a strange feeling, but not an entirely bad one. Gon offers his best smile, trying not to squirm as a freezing breeze rips through his too-light jacket, and silently pleads Killua have mercy on him.

Gon’s never been a big fan of art. But having Killua with him to finish this assignment would make the whole project a lot more fun. He always has fun when Killua is around.

Being with Killua makes him happy. It’s just that simple.

After a long pause, Killua asks slowly, “Are you saying you’d pay me?”

“Heh.” Gon scratches his wind-chilled cheek. “Well. About that…”

Killua deadpans, “You don’t have any money. Do you.”

“Um. No. I don’t. But- BUT!” He grabs the sleeve of Killua’s hoodie before his friend can walk off again. “But, I do have some super rare chocorobos that Ging’s sending me. I don’t really like sweets too much so I was going to just throw them out, buuuuut-”

“I swear to God I will hit you over the head with my astrology textbook if you say one more word!” Killua cuts him off sharply, practically bristling from head to toe. “I can’t believe— you can’t just throw away chocorobos, Gon!! They’re, like, novelty chocolate, you idiot!”

Gon holds back a smirk. Score.

Aloud, he asks, “So, does that mean you’ll help me? Hmm? I’ll give you the chocolate up front and everything. What do you say, Ki-llu-a?”

Killua opens his mouth, then shuts it. Gon can see the war raging across Killua’s face, the dilemma and agony over giving into Gon or passing up the chocolate he so dearly loves, but Gon already knows the answer.

Killua would never, ever turn down chocolate.

“Are you ready, or what?!”

“YEAH!” Gon hollers back. “Just- AH- one sec! I just, I gotta—”

He grabs the last of his art supplies off the kitchen table and sprints back to his seat. He’d forgotten how long it takes to set up the art easel, and then he’d misplaced his art pouch with his pencils and charcoal and erasers, so Killua had left to ‘get ready’ in the bathroom while Gon scrambled around his apartment.

Gon doesn’t really understand what Killua needed to get ready for. Gon only needs five varying poses for this assignment. Add some lighting with a carefully placed lamp and some random household props, and Gon will be in a good place for a passing mark. It isn’t like Killua has to be super dressed up or anything for this—

“HEY! GON! What are you doing out there?!”

“Okay, okay!” Gon flips open his sketchbook to a blank page. He leans around the easel towards the general direction of his bathroom and yells, “You can come out now!”

He doesn’t look up as the bathroom door creaks open. He’s too busy pulling apart his eraser for a clean side to pay attention to his friend as Killua walks into the center of Gon’s living room. It’s only after Gon finally has the charcoal sharpened and set aside on a small side table that he glances up at Killua, a bright smile on his lips.

“Okay! Let’s just…”

Gon’s voice trails off, then shrivels and dies in the back of his throat. All thought in his mind evaporates and is replaced with crackling static. His mouth remains open though, jaw hanging low as he openly gapes at his very sculpted, very fit, and very- very- naked best friend.

“How do you want to do this?” Killua asks, placing his hands on his hips. He twists his head around to cast his gaze around the room and Gon’s breath hitches. Every inch of Killua’s porcelain skin gleams in the lamp light, unblemished and sculpted and beautiful.

Killua continues, oblivious to Gon’s shock, “I don’t really care too much, I’ve been doing this modeling thing for artists long enough that I can put up with pretty much anything you ask.”

Gon doesn’t even hear him. He’s too busy ogling at the graceful slope of Killua’s neck, those long, long legs and arms, how his stomach dips and bends to give way for a perfect set of abs…and then there’s the smooth, round curve of his ass-

“Gon?”

Gon jerks, eyes jumping upwards to meet Killua’s questioning gaze. Heat rushes to his face instantly and he abruptly feels a wave of warmth rush over every inch of his skin. It’s a prickling and uncomfortable kind of heat, something Gon’s only felt before on very rare occasions, and his stomach twists when he realizes what’s happening to him.

He’s— he’s blushing.

Killua’s brow furrows. “Uh, Gon, are you okay? You got this weird look on your face…”

“F-Fine!” Gon squeaks and his heart constricts at the painfully obvious way his voice breaks. “I’m, um! Fine, I’m totally-” He coughs, the burning on his cheeks growing with each passing second. “I’m fine, really!”

Killua gives him a strange look. “Uh….Okay, whatever you say,” he says skeptically and Gon breathes a silent sigh of relief. “If you’re sure you’re so fine, how about telling me what you want me to do? If there’s a specific pose you want, you’ll have to show me exactly how to position my body and lights and everything.”

Gon’s heart lurches at the thought of touching Killua, even innocently. Just the idea of touching that smooth skin, feeling his muscles bend and flex under his hands—

“Yo!” Killua snaps his fingers and Gon jolts. “Earth to Gon! Why do you keep spacing out like that?!”

“S-Sorry, Killua!” Gon shakes his head. He can’t afford to get distracted like this! Yes, Killua is extremely attractive- and amazing and smart and cool and the most incredible person Gon’s ever met or ever will meet, he’s pretty sure- but that’s nothing new!

He’ll just have to…appreciate the view he has with the knowledge that, yes, he’s checking his best friend out, but technically it’s okay! Gon has an excuse to stare at Killua and admire his beauty because this is for art! And Killua is the art!

(And it’s not like Gon hasn’t checked Killua out before, anyway. This is just a more….complete picture.)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Killua asks, sounding both confused and alarmed. “You’re acting really weird tonight, even for you.”

Gon nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’m fine, I promise. Here—” he lurches out of his seat towards Killua, “—lemme show you how you need to pose!”

“How often do you pose for artists, Killua?”

Killua keeps his face carefully blank at the question, fighting the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes to the back of his skull and groan.

Gon, apparently, did not understand the concept of modeling. Which shouldn’t surprise Killua after knowing him for over two years, but Gon had a bad habit of keeping Killua on his toes.

“Gon,” he growls between barely-moving lips. “I’m not supposed to talk to you while I’m posing.”

“Why?”

Killua’s hands twitch against Gon’s living room carpet and he breathes in deep through his nose. He is a professional. A few idiotic questions from his best friend will not force him to break pose, no matter how stupid the questions are.

“If I move even the slightest bit- even to talk- my pose won’t be the same, and your drawing would be messed up.”

“Oh.” Gon sounds annoyingly perplexed. Why is he so confused by this concept?! When Killua accepted coming here, he thought—

…he doesn’t know what he was thinking. Killua didn’t think when it came to Gon, and that was a problem in and of itself.

“I think it’d be pretty boring if you didn’t get to talk, though!” Gon chirps from behind his easel. Killua can hear the faint sound of charcoal dragging across beige paper, feel the warmth of the lamp light as it drapes across his own skin. “And wouldn’t it be kind of awkward to be in the same room like this but not say anything?”

“How is this in any way awkward?” Killua asks then immediately curses himself. He shouldn’t be encouraging Gon, dammit.

“Well, without any conversation, this basically turns into a staring session where I get to ogle at your muscles and butt while you lay naked on my carpet. So.”

Killua chokes and a wave of heat crashes over him like a tsunami. He nearly breaks his pose, but he manages to hold it, if just barely.

“Gon,” he hisses, and he can tell by the burning in his cheeks that his face is a horrible shade of red. He wants to hide or look away or, or something but he can’t break pose, fuck! “This is— no, god. That is not what this is in any way, shape, or form.”

Gon laughs, low and deep, and something twists inside of Killua’s chest.

“What is it then?” Gon asks. There’s something off in his tone. Something sly and sneaky and Killua doesn’t understand what the hell is happening right now. Where is Gon going with this?!

“It’s— it’s me being a point of reference for you!” Killua explains, exasperated. “That’s all it is. Okay?! You’re paying me, and I take this thing seriously, and—”

“Aw, Killua, I’m hurt! Does that mean you undress for all of your friends like this?”

Killua’s arms buckle and he nearly topples backwards onto the carpet. He catches himself last minute, then whirls around to glare viciously at his smug bastard of a friend. He growls, bristling from head to toe, “You know what?! Fuck you, Gon!”

Gon’s grin widens. “Is that a yes, then?” He’s laughing at Killua on the inside, Killua just knows it, and it makes him furious beyond belief.

“No, it’s not!” Killua snaps.

“So by default, that means I’m just special!”

Killua wants to strangle Gon until he can’t spout out any more idiotic questions, that’s what it means!

“No, you complete and total idiot,” he manages to say between gritted teeth. “It means I’m not your personal stripper! This is a job, got it?! And I’m a professional!”

Gon hums thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t think I would mind that, though?”

“Mind what?!” What is he going on about now?

“I wouldn’t mind it if I were special to you! I mean, I feel like I should already be treated differently compared to everyone else you know, because we’re each other’s best friends and everything. I want to see all the sides of you, even the stuff you don’t share with anyone else! And I really like seeing this side of you.”

Then he fucking winks. Winks!

Killua doesn’t know how to respond to that. He gapes openly at Gon, skin tingling and heart hammering. Is— Is Gon trying to flirt with him? Is that what was happening? Or is this just Gon’s blunt nature coming out to bite Killua in the ass for agreeing to help with this stupid assignment in the first place?

I can’t tell, Killua realizes. He can’t tell if the slight red tinge to Gon’s cheeks is a blush or if it’s Killua just imagining things under the glare of the lamplight directed his way. And he can’t just ask Gon, that would be even more embarrassing and mortifying than this whole situation already is, and—

Gon suddenly tilts his head to the side. “And you say you’re a professional…but is it professional to break pose?”

Killua freezes. He looks down, horror overriding his confusion and frustration in an instant.

He’d moved to yell at Gon. He hadn’t even realized it at the time.

Shit.

“You!!” Killua’s eyes flash upwards to find Gon smirking down at him. “Gon, you did that on purpose!!!”

Gon shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Killua! We were just having a conversation!”

Killua slams his hand down on the carpet, a dull but loud THUD resonating across the room. “And I told you that we’re not supposed to have a conversation while I’m posing for you! But you kept pushing and prying and—”

“Shhh, Killua.” A warm finger presses against Killua’s lips and Killua’s protest dies in his throat. Gon is leaning slightly forward until he’s on the very tip off his chair, his head blocking the light partially and lighting his hair from behind like a golden halo.

Killua’s heart thumps erratically against his ribs. He suddenly can’t breathe, mesmerized by the joyful light shining in Gon’s eyes.

“You worry too much,” Gon says while Killua continues to gaze up at him unblinkingly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that you messed up. Your secret’s safe with me.”

And just like that, the spell is broken.

“You—” Killua snaps and slaps Gon’s hand away, “—are a menace. You know that?!”

Gon leans back, shaking out his hand and still smiling that infuriatingly bright smile. “Sure, whatever you say, Killua! But I still got the most beautiful person I’ve ever met to undress for me. So I think that should count for something.”

Killua’s eyes bulge and he nearly falls over again. Blood roars in his ears and for the first time in a very, very long time, he’s aware of every inch of skin he has bared for Gon to see. For Gon to stare at. For Gon to slowly drag his gaze over like he’s admiring a piece of art in a museum, just as he is right now, like—

Like…like Gon wants him.

Killua’s mouth goes dry. He struggles to breathe properly, curls his fingers into shaking fists. He can’t unravel like this. He still has another hour to spend modeling for Gon and if he’s this aware of how Gon is looking at him, he’ll never stay relaxed enough to get through with it.

It’s not that he hasn’t dealt with this sort of thing before. He’s gone through modeling sessions where others have stared at him in ways that are less than appropriate. But it’s never meant anything, not the Killua’s own nakedness or the stares or whatever resulting art came from him nearly falling asleep on a raised pedestal in the center of some art studio. Killua was a pawn and the artists, strangers. As long as he got paid, Killua couldn’t care less about who was looking at him or how.

But he’s quickly starting to realize that it does matter now that Gon is the one looking at him. Gon’s focused, burning gaze made warmth pool in Killua’s gut, made butterflies flutter against his ribs. It was a breathless and swooping kind of feeling, and it made Killua want to— no.

Killua grits his teeth. Gon is still looking at him expectantly, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He’s clearly testing Killua to see just how much he can push his buttons. That’s what Gon did; he played and challenged and pushed Killua, inspired him in all the best and worst of ways. Gon had an effect on Killua. He always has.

But this? This is different. This is a job and Killua refuses to succumb to the less-than-innocent feelings he has for his best friend. He won’t do it. He is going to finish this job and then he can shove this whole thing behind him and never think about it again.

And that means Killua can’t let Gon know how his words affected him.

Killua lifts his chin, scowling. Gon could take his ridiculous lack of social awareness and shove it. “Why don’t you just shut up and show me what pose you want next?” he says angrily and Gon laughs again, sounding delighted.

“Sure! But, Killua—”

Killua glances up, and is once more struck by the intensity in Gon’s gaze. The way Gon is staring at him…it makes Killua feel like he and Gon are the only two people left on this earth.

“I really do mean it,” Gon says softly, honestly ringing in every syllable. “You’re beautiful.”

Killua’s heart quivers. He looks away, pulse racing, and tries to think through the silent shrieking in his head.

He whispers, “You’re an idiot.”

“Even if I am—” A broad hand gently takes Killua’s chin, turns his head slightly. Killua stares up with wide eyes at Gon’s handsome face, heart in his throat.

“— you’re still beautiful,” Gon finishes with a dazzling, genuine smile, and Killua melts.

Gon and Killua stand shoulder to shoulder, staring down at Gon’s easel. Neither of them speak. It’s one of the few moments in Gon’s life when he doesn’t know what to say. His artwork is enough to make him speechless, but not in a good kind of way.

“Well,” Killua says finally, and Gon peaks at him out of the corner of his eye. Killua’s brows are furrowed, but he looks more confused than anything. “It’s not…horrible?”

Gon grimaces. “Thanks.”

“No, really, I mean it! I’ve seen much worse.”

“That’s not really a compliment, Killua.” He lets out a long sigh, deflating. He’s honestly relieved that Killua isn’t outright disgusted by his art. But— “I’m really sad; I wanted to draw something that would show how pretty you are!”

Killua turns rigid, face flushing, then looks quickly away. “C-Cut it out, Gon. You don’t need to keep saying stuff like that.”

“I’m being serious!” Gon insists and ducks his head to try to catch his best friend’s eye. “You’re gorgeous, Killua! And I know I couldn’t capture exactly how you look but.” He pouts. “I really thought I could’ve done at least a little bit better…I didn’t do you justice at all.”

Killua awkwardly pats his back, cheeks still flaming. He’s re-clothed again, much to Gon’s dismay. He had accepted Gon’s green bathrobe instead of putting his own clothes back on though and Gon inwardly acknowledged that as a good enough compromise. Killua looked kind of funny in Gon’s clothes, actually; the bathrobe wasn’t nearly long enough to fit Killua’s height, and Gon’s broader chest meant that the fuzzy cloth hug off Killua’s narrow shoulders to the point where it was noticeable. But that was okay.

The sight of Killua in Gon’s clothes makes Gon’s own cheeks warm and his heart twist. It made his chest swell, a strange sort of pleased feeling rising up inside him.

Killua looks good in Gon’s clothes. And Gon likes that. He likes it a lot.

“It’s okay, Gon,” Killua says awkwardly. “Most people have a really hard time drawing the human body, that’s why there are classes like the one you’re in now. And it’s not that big of a deal anyway; art isn’t your focus of study, you’re majoring in environmental science!”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right. Maybe I should have taken that photography class instead.”

Killua wrinkles his nose. “Nah, the cameras are crazy expensive. You’d probably break it too and have to replace it, with your luck. At least for this class you just needed to buy charcoal and erasers and an easel.”

“Well, all that and you.”

Killua stiffens, color flooding his face once more. “Wh-What?”

A smile tugs at Gon’s lips. “I needed to buy your modeling service. What’s that look on your face for, hmm? Are you thinking dirty thoughts, Killua?”

“Shut up!” Killua shoves him away roughly, flushing in earnest now. “I wasn’t thinking anything!”

“Mmhmm, suuure,” Gon says in a sing-song voice. “And that’s why your cheeks are so red right now?”

Killua’s blue eyes narrow into icy slits. “They’re red because you are the most embarrassing person on the face of the planet!”

“But—”

“Dammit, Gon, stop trying to kill me and go get my chocolate already! I demand payment for my ‘services’!”

Gon throws his head back and laughs, shoulders shaking as he cackles uncontrollably. Killua makes an exasperated growl and stomps over. Gon nearly stumbles over his own two feet as Killua forcibly spins him around. He doesn’t get the chance to catch his breath before Killua starts to forcibly shove Gon out of the living room.

“AH— wait, Killua, wait!!!”

Gon digs his heels into the floor. Killua manages to push him a few more inches but Gon’s brute strength wins out in the end.

Killua releases Gon with irritated huff. “What is it now?!”

Gon swallows nervously at the ferocious glare Killua gives him. This was going to be hard, but if he planned this correctly it should work out in the end. Hopefully.

“I, um.” He twiddles his thumbs. “I don’t have the chocolate.”

Killua’s eyes bulge. “What. Are you saying you lied—?!”

“No, let me explain! Ging said in his letter that he was sending the chocolate, but it turns out he actually sent it to Kite instead!”

Killua stares. “What the hell does that mean?! Am I getting the chocolate or what?!”

“It means,” Gon says patiently. “That I have to wait for Kite to send the chocolate to me! And then I can give it to you!”

Killua pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a long breath. “So,” he says, voice pained. “What you’re saying is that I won’t get the chocolate for a while.”

“Heh.” Gon rubs the back of his neck, offers Killua his best smile. “Yeah? Pretty much?”

Killua shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He turns on his heel but Gon quickly snags his wrist.

“I’m not done yet!”

Killua is starting to look genuinely annoyed now. “What else could you possibly have to say? You already disappointed me with the chocolate—”

“Let me do something for you in the meantime to make up for it!”

“Like what?” Killua asks suspiciously. “If this is just another trick of yours to drag me into one of your crazy-ass schemes, count me out—”

“Let me take you to dinner,” Gon says and Killua blinks stupidly, mouth still hanging open while his last words die on his tongue.

“…what.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” Gon repeats. “I’ll pay for the whole thing! You can order dessert first, even.”

Killua opens his mouth again, then closes it. His cheeks are slowly darkening but it’s contrasted by the wrinkle in his brow. There’s a conflicted look in his eye and Gon grins; he can tell that Killua is stuck between wanting to say yes and saying no out of fear of being tricked. Lucky for him, Gon isn’t even joking in the slightest.

But he can’t help himself from teasing Killua one more time.

Gon adds on brightly, “You won’t even have to take off your clothes, Killua, I promise! If you want to later, I won’t object but—”

A hand slaps across his face and Gon grunts. Killua’s hand hurt, a sharp sting across his mouth and nose.

“For the love of god, shut up,” Killua hisses. His cheeks are a beautiful, flaming shade of scarlet by now. “If you make one more suggestive commentary I will hurl you out the nearest window.”

Gon grins under Killua’s long fingers. “You won’t get the chocolate, then.”

“Gon—”

“Okay, okay, I’m done now!” He reaches up and removes Killua’s hand from his mouth, slowly taking it in his hand and interlacing their fingers instead. His heart flutters at the innocent contact and he only hopes that Killua feels the same.

“Seriously, though…” Gon looks up at Killua’s flustered expression through brown lashes. “What do you say, Killua? Can I take you out? Please?”

Killua bites his lip. “You mean, as a. Uh.” He swallows thickly, staring at their interlocked hands. “As a friend? Or…”

“As a date,” Gon clarifies. “A romantic kind of date.”

“A romantic date with like, k-kissing and holding hands and all that other s-stuff?”

“Mhm.” Gon smiles and squeezes Killua’s hands pointedly. “I dunno what other kind of romantic dates you’ve been on, but that’s the kind of stuff I think I’d be pretty interested in doing with you. Would you be interested in doing those things with me?”

“Do-Do you have to ask me something like that?!” Killua squeaks.

“Yeah, I do! I want to make sure this is something you want, too!”

Killua’s brow wrinkles. “That’s not the...are you sure this isn’t some stupid joke, Gon? Because if it is, I’m swear going to—”

Gon shakes his head adamantly. “No! No way, this is for real, I swear. I’ve already told you I think you’re beautiful, right?”

“But. I thought you were talking about—”

“I was talking about every part of you,” Gon explains. “Both inside and out. You’re my best friend, Killua. Is it really that crazy that I think you’re absolutely amazing, that I would like you? That I would want something…” He pulls Killua close with their linked hands, until their chests press against each other and they’re breathing in the same air, “…something more with you?”

Killua tightly squeezes his eyes shut. Killua lets out a long, shaky breath, then opens those beautiful blue eyes again. The hesitant, but innocently hopeful look he gives Gon makes Gon’s heart lurch and the air to vanish from his lungs.

“Okay,” he whispers finally and Gon stands up straight, pulse starting to climb. “I’ll-I’ll let you take me out.”

Gon’s face hurts from the wideness of his smile. “Really? You want to?”

Killua scrunches up his nose. “If I’m saying yes, then I’m pretty sure that means I want to go out with you, Gon.”

“Romantically?”

Killua huffs. “Yes, romantically.”

Gon giggles. He can’t help it; the overwhelming joy and giddiness inside his chest is too strong to contain. It bubbles and flows to every part of his body, warming him from the inside out and making him so light and happy that he could walk on clouds.

“Thank you, Killua.” He leans forward and presses a swift kiss to Killua’s burning cheek before the other can react. “Go get changed! I’ll make a reservation!”

Killua raises his free hand to the place where Gon kissed him, looking dazed. It’s so cute how a simple kiss was enough to make Killua so frazzled and Gon’s smile grows impossibly wider.

But a second later Killua seems to register what Gon said and he freezes. “You-You mean. You want to go out now?!”

“Yeah! We’re already together, let’s just do it!”

Killua laughs shakily, a look of amazement and nervous joy on his face. “That’s…you know what, fine, whatever. I don’t care.”

“You sure?”

Killua nods. “Yeah. It’s kind of crazy, but that’s you. And I’ve put up with your ideas up till now, so. I think I can handle this one.”

Gon beams. “And I love you for that.”

He leans forward again, this time landing a gentle kiss on Killua’s lips. It’s a chaste kiss, as far as kisses go. A simple touch of mouth-to-mouth with nothing pushed or forced. It’s good and innocent and perfect, exactly what Gon would want for his first kiss with the person he treasures more than anyone else in the world.

But the flush of Killua’s cheeks, the blueness of his astonished and wide eyes, the softness of Killua’s lips…it’s enough to stir warmth in Gon’s stomach, hot and yearning.

He quickly pulls back before that feeling can grow. There would be time for that later, he’s sure. Right now he has a dinner to pay for.

He pushes a stunned and furiously blushing Killua towards the bathroom, saying loudly, “Hurry up and change, I’ll call and make reservations!”

[deathtouch]

⋆ femfeb day 2 // my femfeb masterpost ⋆ xposted to ao3 ⋆ moira / symmetra // 2k // explicit ⋆ alternate universe, demon symmetra, occult, demon summoning, demon sex, oral sex ⋆ moira attempts to summon a demon

From Light Into Being

Moira checked her pocket watch in a manner that would appear to others as anxious. She wasn’t anxious. She was simply tight on time. There was a difference. She had no reaction at all to the position of the minute hand, but she certainly didn’t like it’s placement. She glanced around the jewelry store again.

It was a lovely place, really. The walls and cases were all a deep, rich wood stained a color so dark it almost seemed black. The lighting was low and the scent of the shop was earthy. This particular jewelry store had been in the same spot for a hundred years. The business had been passed down from family member to family member. The building was steeped in history. She would have liked it better if she didn’t have to deal with another setback every time she came here. Moira took a quick breath, approaching the clerk who was standing behind a case full of diamond necklaces. “Could you just tell your boss-“ “He’ll see you when he’s ready.” The clerk replied. She was a pretty girl with a beautiful cupid’s bow of a mouth. Moira had thought her quite appealing the first time she’d come in here. In the dozen or so times since that first meeting, the clerk had grown less friendly and less prone to smiling. Somehow she didn’t seem as cute anymore. Thankfully at that exact moment, the jeweler emerged from the back of the shop. He was an older man with strong fingers and a slight stoop to his back. He wore thick framed glasses and clipped to them were a set of magnifying glasses. He walked over to the two of them, hand cupped to hold what he’d been working on. “They’re all done then?” Moira asked, a touch of hopefulness in her voice. “Yes, they’re finished,” He said warily. He’d been working on them for weeks. “Cut to the exact specifications I asked?” She pressed. “Yes, Ms. O'deorain. The exact specifications.” “Because even a millimeter off and-“ “They won’t work.” He finished the sentence for her. Yes, yes. He’d heard this a hundred times by now. “And what exactly are you needing them for?” Moira straightened, lips pursing into a tight line. She didn’t like that he kept asking. It’s not like she could tell him the truth. He wouldn’t believe it for one thing, and if he did he wouldn’t be too pleased to know what he was complicit in. “Just so long as they’re accurate,” She said after a long pause. The jeweler extended his hand, passing along the precisely cut prisms of topaz, diamond, garnet, hematite, onyx, obsidian, quartz, sapphire, tanzanite, and zircon. Some of the stones were worth more than others, but it wasn’t the cost that mattered. It was the cut. They needed to be precise; they needed to be perfect. The Goddess only responded to perfection. Moira appraised them in her hand. The bright colors stood out against the pale skin of her palm. They seemed right. The shape matched the drawings and sketches in her gramarye. It had taken months to collect stones big enough, and to find the right jeweler to cut them. All that time and effort whittled down to a handful of colored rocks. “Thank you,” She replied sincerely, producing a small drawstring pouch from her breast pocket to rest the stones in. She paid the man in cash, a fat stack of bank notes wrapped in a band. She had plenty of money to spare and left the jeweler a hefty tip for his fine craftsmanship. +++

The sky was dark overhead, flickering with lightening and rumbling low with thunder. Gusts of warm wind swirled the brittle brown leaves on the ground. Moira found her ginger hair and the lapels of her jacket fluttering in the wind. The incoming storm was a good sign. There was energy and electricity crackling all around her. It would suit the summoning ceremony nicely.

She went over everything again in her head as she walked, recounting the instructions for the ritual. She knew them all by heart. The heels of her boots clicked on the pavement, sidewalk passing underfoot as she hurried back to her apartment. It was only a temporary living space. She’d really only rented it because of the proportion of the room. It had taken her a long time to find the right place to conduct the ritual. She needed a perfectly square room, equal on all four sides.

She must have visited over a thousand apartment buildings, homes, hotels, hostels, and hovels in the city before she found the right one. She’d gotten down on her hands and knees and measured the baseboards with a tape measure. Often times rooms were off by centimeters. That just wouldn’t do. The apartment she finally found wasn’t in the nicest part of town but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the perfect proportions.

“Moira?”

Moira glanced up from the sidewalk, breaking away from her thoughts.

“Moira O'deorain, is that you?” To Moira’s surprise, an old colleague of hers crossed the narrow street to greet her. Angela Zeigler. They’d gone to school together a long time ago. She didn’t look much different, in fact she looked positively the same. Her light blonde hair was still done up in that insufferable messy hairstyle she seemed to think was casual and cute. Her modest clothing, a turtleneck sweater and an ugly brown pencil skirt, made her look like someone’s mother. “Mercy,” Moira greeted, somewhat unkindly. “Oh goodness, no one’s called me that in ages.” Angela laughed. It was an old nickname from their medical school days. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to catch up another time. I’m on my way and I’m in a hurry.” Moira told her plainly. “Moira,” Angela reached out to clutch her by the arm and stop her going. “Are you alright? You look a little…” Her voice trailed off. Moira stared down at her, filling in the blank with her own words. Rushed? Yes, she was rushed. She needed to begin the ritual soon. It was so close to sunset. The sooner she got home the sooner she could set up. She couldn’t stand around chatting all night. That wasn’t what Angela was thinking though. Moira realized then that Angela didn’t look concerned. She looked frightened. Moira could see it in her pale blue eyes. There was fear in there. “Look a little what?” Moira asked suddenly, wanting to know the answer. Dark? Dangerous? Powerful? Does what you see scare you, little Mercy? Are you remembering all the rumors back at school about the meddling I’ve done with dark forces. Satan worship they called it, the imbeciles. Moira didn’t say any of this out loud but she wanted to. She was tempted to. “No, it’s nothing.” Angela forced a smile and stepped back. “Sorry to have bothered you. It was nice to see you.” Moira hurried on her way, barely listening to the niceties Angela muttered behind her. +++

Moira stopped at the top of the staircase, laying eyes on her apartment door. Her heart was beating a little quicker in her chest and she had to tell herself it was from rushing up those four flights of stairs. As she reached out with the key to unlock the door she found her hand was trembling, just a little. She stopped to steady herself, drawing in one deep breath after another. There was no need to be nervous. She wasn’t nervous. She just wanted this to go right. It pained her to imagine what might happen if she messed up the ritual. The Goddess might be angry. She might come bringing pain and death. Moira found that she wasn’t scared of dying. What worried her was the idea that The Goddess might not come at all. That had happened to others. Others who had done the summoning ritual perfectly. The Goddess simply hadn’t been interested in appearing for them. “Not me,” Moira told herself. “I’ll summon her.” She unlocked the door with a click and pushed it open. The room was precisely how she had left it; nearly empty. It was a blank slate of a room to begin with. She hadn’t moved any furniture in. The only thing she’d brought to adorn the place were candles and dried flowers. Purple irises, yellow daffodils and pale gladioluses. The candles, free of scent and white in color, and the dried flowers were both elements required for the ritual. The most important part, however, was the sigil Moira had carved into the hard wood floors. The sigil was almost as big as the room itself. It was a painstakingly intricate piece of work containing circles inside circles, shapes, symbols, runes, and interconnecting lines and curves that crossed one another a thousand times over. It had taken her a week’s worth of endless toiling to complete. It wasn’t good enough to simply make the impression of the sigil, she had to get it exact. Perfect circles, perfect angles, perfect shapes. She’d used protractors and rulers, checking and double checking her work. If one line was off by a centimeter, if one circle wasn’t exact in its circumference The Goddess would not come. Moira took a deep breath, stepping into the large sigil. She produced the drawstring bag of jewels from her pocket and emptied them into her hand. She knew the sigil by heart. She knew which gem went where. She got down to her hands and knees, finding the crevices she had carved into the wooden floor. She placed each gem in its carved slot, adoring the sigil with small twinkles of sparkling color. When she was finished she sat back on her heels, wiping her forehead. The gems were evenly dispersed around the outer circle. She hoped this offering of beauty would please The Goddess immensely. Moira checked her pocket watch, noting that it was almost exactly sunset. She need only light the candles and begin the prayer. +++

Moira’s tongue felt thick and dry. Her voice was raspy and cracking from the chanting. She repeated the words of the prayer again and again, a kind of musical cadence to them. She’d said them so much they were no longer words in her head, just noises. It didn’t even feel like she was speaking them anymore. She was so entranced, her lips and tongue were moving by rote. Her voice was not her own to control. Her body overrode, acting compulsively. She couldn’t mess up now, couldn’t deviate, couldn’t stop. She had to keep going, keep repeating until The Goddess arrived. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard floor. The room had grown hot, unbearably hot, as she chanted. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been kneeling here repeating the words. She only knew that she had to continue. Sweat prickled all over her body, beading on her forehead. She didn’t think of it. She repeated the words, willing her desires into being. Perfection, she thought as she chanted. Come to me, please, Goddess. I’ve done it all perfectly for you. The air burned her lungs as she drew in breath. It was so hot in here. Though she was uncomfortable, sweating through her clothes and desperate for water, she didn’t have room for those thoughts in her head. Perfection, she thought again. It’s all perfect. It’s all for you. A crackling sound nearly made her miss a beat in her chant. The sounds of distant thunder had been rumbling in the background all night but now it sounded like a bolt of lightning had hit the floor in front of her. She opened her eyes, not knowing when she’d close them. Her eyes watered from how hot it was. Heat waves shimmered in front of her. She squinted painfully, noticing something was falling from the ceiling. Her chanting quieted but continued as she looked up. Ash. Ash was falling down, and flakes of something smoldering with the spark of fire. Her heart leapt in her chest. Before her The Goddess appeared, a shimmering mirage. She was molten like magma, a burning heat radiating from her chest. Her eyes were bright, white hot beacons. Dark horns curled back from her head. Her skin was a breathtaking mottling of black purple and burning orange and bright white gold. She was so much more beautiful than Moira ever could have imagined. “Symmetra,” She whispered The Goddess’s name, bowing before the demon. “I’m honored.” Moira didn’t even have time to be proud of her accomplishment and the fact that she’d actually done it. She was too busy being in awe. She had summoned other demons before, but never one so powerful as this. Never one she had such reverence for. “You called?” Symmetra mused in a dark voice, heat radiating from her body. “I beg of you,” Moira whispered, “Bestow upon me your knowledge.” “You must please me first.” Symmetra told her. Moira looked up, not daring to look The Goddess in the eye. Instead she stared at her cloven feet. “Does the sigil not please you?” She asked, confused. She must have done it right or else The Goddess would not be here. What more could she offer? The flowers? The candles? “You’ve done fine work with your hands.” Symmetra replied. “Now show me what your tongue can do.” Moira gasped softly, the realization flooding through her. Again her heart leapt in her chest. Yes. Oh, yes. She never dreamed she would be worthy enough to touch The Goddess, let alone use her mouth. The privilege was not lost on Moira what-so-ever. She crawled, hand and knee to the demon’s feet and sat back. She raised her hand to part Symmetra’s skirts and found that this time her hands were not trembling. Though it burned her to be so near the molten skin of The Goddess, this did not stop Moira. She buried her face between the thighs of the demon and licked at her folds hungrily. She felt like she was licking hot fire. A sharp taste burned her tongue. It was delicious. She licked for more. She put an unmatched enthusiasm into the task, her own body alight with pleasure. She couldn’t believe this. To taste the sweet juices of The Goddess, Symmetra. How could she be so lucky? Pleasure thrummed through her own body. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She got lost in the task, the same way she had gotten lost in her chanting. Her tongue worked tirelessly, attempting to please The Goddess with all she was worth. The heat intensified around her, becoming insufferable. She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. Blackness washed over her and even in her last waking moments she gave her all to satisfy the demon. When she came to, Moira was dusted with ash. Her lips and tongue tingled in pain. She was sprawled in the center of the sigil. Crisp flurries, alight with fading fire still floated down from the ceiling. She pushed herself to sit up, trying to get her bearings. In the dark she saw a pair of bright yellow eyes, burning intensely. Moira stiffened immediately, suddenly aware that she was still in the presence of The Goddess. “Thank you,” She whispered hoarsely, offering her appreciation. She was at a loss for words for a moment. “Have I pleased you, Symmetra? Will you bestow upon me your knowledge?” The demon shifted, stepping forward. Her chest began to glow yellow. The room grew hot once more. She came closer and closer, crossing into the sigil to where Moira lay. A terrible energy clouded her, something dark and dangerous and powerful. Something Moira ached to have. For a moment she was sure The Goddess was approaching her to kill her, to rip her throat out, to devour her whole. She accepted her impending death. Instead, Symmetra bent at the waist. “From light into being.” She said calmly, as if these words held all the answers of the universe. She reached out, tapping a finger to Moira’s head. The world cut out. +++

Moira woke with a choked cough like a woman drowning. She turned on her side, coughing and hacking miserably. Her head was burning, a massive migraine making her nauseous. She tried to remember what had happened but it was all a mess, bits and pieces coming back to her in chopped and screwed memories. She could barely even remember what The Goddess looked like. Only those burning eyes and the seam of hot lava that ran down her chest. The candles had burned down to nubs and the room was in darkness. In the slim light she could see that the dried flowers had shriveled to brittle brown clumps. The gems in the floor did not sparkle, they were dull and sad. She reached for the nearest one and found it was cracked in two. She held it in her palm, staring at it as if it held some answer. A corner of the garnet prism caught some light source and it sparkled, barely. Light. From light into being. Moira gasped, choking again. Her head pulsed with pain but she remembered. She remembered. She remembered everything Symmetra had shown her. The intricacies of the universe and all that it had to offer. How she need only bend the light to make it hers. The broken gem clattered from her hand as she began to make the motions she had learned. A soft wave, a pinch of her fingers. It took all her energy but a soft blue light blossomed in her palm. A new gem formed, perfectly shaped and whole. Tears sprung unbidden into Moira’s eyes. She laughed. She’d done it. She’d called upon The Goddess and gained her knowledge. She felt more powerful now than ever before.

[existentialburden]

Platinum, Plutonium, Polonium, Potassium, Praseodymium, Promethium, Protactinium, Radium

platinum: what is a Vaguely Concerning Fact that you know?

certain types of sea slugs sail around the water and trap other slugs in a big ol pouch to chomp down on em which isn’t exactly concerning for a human but it is concerning for other slugs :). also some eels have that second “Alien-style” jaw in their throat which, again, more concerning for fish, but :)))). and then there’s the deal about some insects laying their eggs beneath living creature’s skin with a drill-like feature. but for “concerning” as in “why the fuck do you know that” I know Master Lock brand locks are some of the easiest locks to pick and if you’re going to fight with a baseball bat you should put a sock over the end so that if the other person tries to grab the end of the bat to take it they only get the sock and you get another shot- also keep a baseball glove in your car if you have a bat in there so that it doesn’t look like you were planning to use it as a weapon, it just sorta happened.

plutonium: I answered this in another ask, but typically I hate any song that I’m forced to listen to or hear too often.

polonium: what do you think about scientists? what did you think about them as a child?

as a kid I thought scientists were The Coolest and wanted to be a marine biologist. my thoughts have not changed much except now I respect them for the horribly tedious documentation process and ughhhhhh.

potassium: do you like rollercoasters?

yeah! I get terrified of them before I get on but every time I want to ride them again afterwards. I live for adrenaline. I don’t like how people scream on them because it’s SO LOUD but I love even some of the rougher ones. there’s one specific one I fucking hate and I don’t remember which one it is but it’s one of the ones in Las Vegas because it just HURTS and isn’t fun at all. it was awful. 0/10.

praseodymium: any scars?

yes! I have one on the tip of my middle finger from a nasty animal bite and it just looks like a ring around the pad of it. also have some on my hips, elbows, and one knee from eating shit on that fake minigolf grass and the pavement, and one really visible one on the knuckle of my other hand’s middle finger that’s nastier than the others even though it’s small... also from eating shit on the pavement. oh, and one from a pencil going through my lip sort of directly underneath my nose. they’re not exactly COOL but I like the one on my knuckle because it looks neat and has texture to it. none of these are from falling off anything. just tripping.

promethium: give three random/interesting facts about yourself.

I’ve been trying to teach myself to write with my left hand, too; I used to, and still sort of do, collect dried flower petals; and I tend to take on the traits of whichever character I’m writing about the most.

protactinium: favorite color scheme(s)?

I love both bright and dark colors, but specifically I like bright cyan with yellow, bright pink, and dark blue- very summer-y!- and dark grey-blue (more grey than anything tumblr’s done), light grey, midnight blue, black, and slightly darkened royal purple. I’m also fond of light blue, cherry blossom pink, white, and spring green.

radium: least favorite book?

do I have to have finished the book to list it? because even when I was in my “read every book as fast as possible because books are fun and I don’t know how to make friends” stage I couldn’t sit through all of Three Times Lucky, so I just... didn’t finish it. it was so boring but that was ages ago. The Great Gatsby I at least finished, but not of my own free will. bluh.

[princesstrashriana]

Lights out Rated R Chapter 1

Jungkook x Y/N x V non idol based story. Jungkook and Y/N are forced into an Arranged marriage. They move into a mysterious house in Busan. Y/N has the ability to see the dead and help them move on into the light. When Y/N meets V a spirit roaming the house. She wants to help him move on. Will she be able to? Things aren’t always  what they seem.  WARNING THIS STORY COULD BE TRIGGERING TO SOME READERS IT DEALS WITH SUICIDE,SELF HARM AND DEPRESSION. ALSO HAS EXPLICIT SCENES.

The car came to a stop, You’re eyes were glued to the building. It feels as if You traveled back in time. The house looked like it was from the 1900’s. It was a Beautiful sight, the house was built nicely with a Victorian edge to it. Under the sun, it gleamed a deep blue, with pale ivory running along the edges outlining the house. The house in general, gave a feeling of calmness to all who passed by.It had three floors total, windows popped out of every direction, but didn’t make it looked overdid with windows. Lastly, indentation of small figures were carved into a surrounding line outside the attic window.  The yard looked healthy,  Vivid green grass and trees scattered around. Bright red roses were planted along the front pouch. You didn’t realize the car door shutting. You saw Jungkook walking in front of the car to greet the movers. You got out off the car to follow Jungkook inside. You both walked in and You were completely amazed at the woodcarvings on the walls. “Stop staring and start taking your boxes up stairs” Jungkook hissed. You quickly grabbed a box and went up stairs. There was 3 rooms. You looked at the 3rd door  opening it to see a large sized room. A king sized bed  was in the middle of the room against the wall. The walls had wallpaper with lace style print.The window had a built in seat. You placed the box down and went to the window staring out at the view.  You could see how nice the neighborhood looked.The feeling in the room changed, You sensed something. You shook your head and pushed that thought away.  You turned around only to be scared by Jungkook. “Jungkook!” You yelled. “You nearly scared me to death”                                                                                          He had his usual cold expressionless face. “Glad to see you found your room.”You nod your head and watch as he comes to the window.

“My friends are coming over for dinner tonight to celebrate my position as the new ceo”

You sighed internally because thought of gatherings with Jungkook’s friends were the last thing you wanted to do. Starters they disliked you due to Jungkook and every time they see you they completely ignore you acting like you don’t exist. “Wear something nice” He said and looked over at your outfit. You felt cold under his gaze. You were wearing a plain white top and black skinny jeans. He turned around and began walking towards the door. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head to the side. “Don’t say anything stupid in front of them” He mumbled before disappearing out of the room.  You started unpacking the clothes in the box and  putting them in the wooden drawer. You never wanted to be married to him. It was an arranged marriage to bind your father’s company to his father’s company. So they make twice the amount of money. You fought with your parents about the idea of the marriage. But they didn’t care to listen because everything was already planned from the start. The damage was done. You closed the drawer and went down stairs to get the other boxes to further unpack.  Two hours has passed your room looked complete. There was twinkle lights draped around the room.  The lamp sat on the edge table next to the bed along with some picture frames. A wooden trunk was in front your bed for extra storage space. Your phone was buzzing in your pocket. You pulled out your phone and answered it. “Y/n! I miss you so much” Your best friend cried. “I miss you to S/n” You say taking a seat on the window seat. “I can’t believe you moved 5 hours away, Who am i supposed to hang out with now” She continued to whine.“I promise when it’s the holidays  I will come down to seoul to see you.” You replied. “Alright you better” She chuckled. “Is dickhead still being the same? She asked.“Yes he is, I hardly doubt things will change” You say.  “His friends are coming over for dinner.” “You better not let them push you around like a rag doll y/n.. I mean it” She sternly replies.“I won't” You quietly say. “Look I have to go I need to get ready for when they come.”                                                                                                         “I love you y/n I only want you to be happy” You smiled softly at her words.“Love you too” You reply. “I will talk to you tomorrow okay? Bye” You hung up  checking the time. It’s 5:30pm, Which means you have sometime to get ready before they come around 7:00pm. You get up heading towards the bathroom. You remove your clothes and turn the water on. You took a quick shower so you could spend more time on your hair and makeup. You chose a 2 piece outfit. A lacy white bralet that has  a matching white lace pencil skirt. You pulled your hair up into a high ponytail curling the ends of your hair. You apply some makeup on. A winged liner and mascara. You finish your look off with natural lipstick. You hear muffled voices coming from down stairs.You get up putting on your nude heels. You go down stairs too see all of them chatting and laughing. They’re all seated around the dinner table with wine and beer. The food is laid across the table. You walk into the room and everyone gets quite. Jungkook clears his throat. “Y/n come sit” He says gesturing to the empty seat at the other end of the table. Everyone remanded quiet. “Everyone let’s eat” Jungkook said awkwardly breaking the silence as he grabbed a plate. You didn’t feel like eating. They began to eat and talk again about the company. “It’s so nice to have you back man” Nam-joon said as he ate his food. The others nodded in agreement.  “We all missed you so much” Ji-eun smiled as she ran her hand down Jungkook’s arm. He smiled back at her placing his hand on top of hers.She was beautiful. She had pale skin, round brown eyes and dark hair. Last and not least she was petite and skinny. “You guys look like a couple from a magazine cover” Hoseok said in adoration.  “Too bad you guys aren’t together anymore” Jin added as he served himself more wine. You watched  the water melting down the side of the glass cup.What they were saying didn’t affect you, Because you didn’t love Jungkook. They continued  talking and You got up to leave. “What’s wrong y/n?”Jungkook asked before taking a sip of his beer. “I don’t feel well” You said. “Goodnight” You bowed before exiting the room. You heard their comments aimed at You. Dissing You and saying how You ruined Jungkook’s life. You kept walking upstairs to your room. You remove your clothing  switching into some pajamas. You climb into bed feeling Your eyes closing, soon falling to sleep.

The next day you woke to sun rays hitting your face. You looked over at the clock and saw it was 8am. You went downstairs to get something to eat for breakfast. You started pouring some orange juice and heard foot steps. “Jungkook aren’t you supposed be at work?” You said turning around with the mug in your hand.  You see there’s no one there. A chair quickly slides out from the table  slamming into the wall. Causing you tense up with fear. You look to your right to see a figure. It was a young man. He looked a year older than Jungkook.  He was handsome. His lips where plump and his skin was sun kissed. Before you could take your eyes off of him his brown eyes met yours. “You can see me” He says staring at you. Your mug drops and you quickly get to the floor to pick up the pieces. “Shit” You cursed as you cut your finger on the glass.“What the hell is going on in here!” Jungkook snapped as he came into kitchen  with his suit on.“Nothing I just dropped my drink” You say as you get up holding the broken pieces of glass to throw away. Your eyes look to where the figure was. He had disappeared.“Stop dripping blood everywhere y/n” Jungkook glared. “I can’t even eat breakfast now knowing your blood is all over the damn place.” He stormed off slamming the front door. The blood dripped down your arms painting the floor with blood. You wash your hands in the stink. You wench  as the cuts burn under the water. “Let me see your hands” a deep voice behind you says. You're  heart nearly stopped . You stop the water and turn around to see him holding some band-aids. “You don’t have to..” You say but he ignores  putting the band-aids on you. His hands feel  cold against yours. He finishes putting on the band-aids and stares at you. “How can you see me?” He asks with confusion.

“I can see dead people” You reply.

[captaindeadpoet]

Makeup Senpai

A/N: Hello, everyone! So, this fic is dedicated to the amazing @topbananapuff , who always endures my Iwashimizu wearing makeup headcannons and said 'wtf bro Ebumi wears it, too.' Enjoy

Summary: Iwashimizu loves wearing makeup, but he needs a little help. Good thing Ebumi's around.

Iwashimizu stood awkwardly by his locker, hands clasped together and eyes downcast. Most of the team had already headed home for the day, eager to take real showers and eat at home. However, Iwashimizu couldn’t leave yet. He had a mission to complete.

If he could muster up the courage to even start it, that is.

A loud bang sounded from the other side of the locker room, making Iwashimizu wince. So, Ebumi was still here. Iwashimizu still had time to ask him. But his body just wouldn’t move; his feet felt like lead and his body felt like his blood had been replaced with sand. The opportunity to reach out to Ebumi was slipping away with each passing moment.

Somehow, Iwashimizu managed to drag himself toward the sound of Ebumi’s laughter and general chaotic noise. He stopped at the end of the row of lockers and stared for a moment. Ebumi would hate him if he asked. What if Iwashimizu had just imagined the whole ordeal? Then he would ask a ridiculous favor and Ebumi might never be able to forgive him for being so stupid.

“Oi, jolly green giant. You need something?”

Ebumi’s voice sliced through every thought in Iwashimizu’s mind. A blush rose to the blonde’s cheeks. He had Ebumi’s attention. If he asked now, it would all be over with and he could go home.

“E-Ebumi-san -” Iwashimizu stuttered out.

“Nah, none of that formal bullshit. Just tell me what’s up.” Ebumi said.

“I-I was wonder i-if m-maybe you c-could, uhm, i-if you could…”

“Spit it out, skyscraper.”

“T-Tell me how your makeup stays so nice!”

Ebumi cocked an eyebrow at the blushing first year. He knew he had a reputation for being kind of a delinquent jackass, so this had probably taken every ounce of the kid’s courage. Scanning Iwashimizu’s face, Ebumi took note of the nearly perfect eyeliner wings on the blonde’s eyelids and the clumped mascara on his lashes. A shame, really - Iwashimizu had such long, beautiful eyelashes already. Ebumi was jealous.

“What are you talking about?” Ebumi asking, hoping for more details.

Iwashimizu looked down. “W-Well, your makeup never runs during games or practices. A-And it always looks so smooth, like you just applied it.”

Ebumi preened at the compliments. “Of course. I’m the shit. My makeup is fucking fantastic all the time.”

“C-Could you teach me?”

If it were any other first year, Ebumi would have told them to fuck off and die. Yet, when he looked at Iwashimizu, with his soft voice and kind eyes and general brightness, he couldn’t say no. The blonde needed confidence and goddamn it, Ebumi was going to make him looks so good, Iwashimizu would have no choice but to be a sexy badass.

“Show me what you use. Come on, whip it out, let’s go.” Ebumi commanded.

Iwashimizu’s face lit up. “Th-Thank you, Ebumi! Uhm, let me just find my case.”

Ebumi waited. He watched Iwashimizu dig around in his backpack and fish out a little floral patterned makeup bag. He had to admit that with how shy Iwashimizu was, he had expected a plain black case. Apparently the giant was full of surprises. Iwashimizu handed to pouch to the winger.

The contents were absolutely pitiful. Cheap eyeliner and mascara, the worst matched shade of foundation Ebumi had ever seen, and a few tubes of chapstick and lip gloss that were old and dried out. How was Iwashimizu even surviving? Ebumi was so goddamn high maintenance that he wouldn’t let anything that cost less than 1400 yen touch his face.

“This is all trash. Who even uses pencil eyeliner anymore? And this foundation doesn’t match your skin. This fucking lip gloss is so old they don’t even make this brand anymore. What the fuck, Iwashi?” Ebumi ranted.

Iwashimizu curled in on himself. “Sorry, Ebumi. I-I can’t buy it very easily. People look at me weird when I try.”

“Then fuck ‘em. Here, I’ve got extra stuff. I’ll give you real makeup and half your problems will disappear. You like that natural pink color for the lips, right?”

“Oh, no, Ebumi! Please don’t give up your things!”

Ebumi laughed. “Quit worrying so damn much. Ise keeps buying me this shit to woo me. It’s working but I ain’t going to tell him that. So it’s fine. Now, do you like natural pink or not?”

Iwashimizu nodded shyly. “I like them to be light and shiny.”

“Figures. You like the shojo manga heroine look. You do that for yourself or to impress someone?”

“Uh, well, I like the way I look, so I guess myself. But -”

“It’s the little fucknut who’s trying to be a winger, isn’t it? God, don’t do your makeup for that fucking shithead. You wanna look pretty? Look pretty. Do it for you.”

“I do. But sometimes I add a little extra to...nevermind. It’s so silly.”

“What’s fucking silly is that you don’t have any glittery eyeshadows when I know for a fact you like glitter. You got twenty of those goddamn glitter pens in your bag right now. I’ve got some of that, too, and you can have it.”

“Thank you.”

Ebumi ignored the gratitude, reaching into his own backpack to find his makeup case. It wasn’t difficult; the thing was bright pink with ‘TASTY BITCH’ written on it. Opening up the pouch, Ebumi pulled out all the essentials: liquid eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss and lip pencils, foundation, eyeshadow. He decided against blush. Iwashimizu blushed so much that he didn’t need it.

“Take them. Dump the other shit. This is all waterproof, so it’ll stay on in a fucking flood. Now, open your eyes so I can teach you how to put on mascara.” Ebumi ordered.

Iwashimizu obeyed. Ebumi began slowly rolling the mascara on, carefully flicking the brush at the end of the lashes to create a sharp point. He smirked when Iwashimizu gasped in amazement. God, the kid really needed to gain some standards. Any middle school girl could do this in two seconds.

It was then that Ebumi realized that Iwashimizu wasn’t like him. Iwashimizu didn’t have the confidence to storm into a makeup shop and demand that the stylists teach him. He probably couldn’t ask his mom for help and the girls at school would probably laugh at him. Iwashimizu had taught himself. No wonder the blonde was so excited; it was like finally having a mentor.

“Pucker up. Lips next.” Ebumi said.

Picking up the lip pencil, Ebumi carefully traced Iwashimizu’s lips. Goddamn this boy was lucky - his lips were soft and pouty. Ebumi dabbed a bit of lip gloss on to finish up the look.

“There. You’re fucking fab, Iwashi.” Ebumi said.

“Thank you. It feels...different. Not in a bad way, of course! It’s just -” Iwashimizu said.

“It’s okay. I used to use crappy makeup, too, before I realized that it fucked up my skin. It’s different, but you like it, right?”

“Oh, yes! I love it!”

“Great. Show me how to do the eyeliner wings. I can never get them right, and I’m pretty sure Ise tired of my bitching about it.”

“O-Oh. Okay. See, you just have to trace and fill. Like this.”

Iwashimizu placed a gentle hand beneath Ebumi’s chin, tilting his head up to get a better angle to apply the eyeliner. Hands unusually steady, Iwashimizu drew a perfect line across Ebumi’s eyelid and drew a small curve to the side and brought it back down. He filled in the space and started on the other eye. Once he finished, he offered Ebumi his compact to examine the work. Ebumi let out a loud laugh, startling Iwashimizu.

“You amazing bitch! I look like a goddamn model! Thanks.” Ebumi said, slapping Iwashimizu on the back.

“I’m happy to help. Thank you for helping me.” Iwashimizu said softly.

“We should probably get the hell out of here. I bet the little fucknut’s waiting for you.”

Iwashimizu giggled, and Ebumi wondered how Gion hadn’t already made a move. Gathering his things, Ebumi followed Iwashimizu out of the locker room. Sure enough, Gion was waiting outside the entrance, sitting on the ground and drawing in the dirt. Iwashimizu gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“I was wondering if you were ever coming out, Udo. I’ve been waiting forever.” Gion said, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants.

“I’m sorry. Ebumi and I were talking.” Iwashimizu said.

Gion made an unimpressed face and looked at Iwashimizu, search the taller boy’s eyes for a lie. Instead, he noticed how big Iwashimizu’s eyes seemed and how...well, Gion couldn’t describe it. He just knew it made his stomach twist and his heart beat weirdly.

“What’s up with your face? It’s weird.” Gion blurted.

Iwashimizu’s cheeks burned red, his eyes downcast. Ebumi growled and marched over to the shorter boy, grabbing his ear. Gion shouted and began to slap at him.

“Give us a sec, Iwashi. Gion forgot something in the locker room.” Ebumi gritted out.

Ebumi dragged Gion into the locker room and slapped him in the back of the head. And then he did it again. And then one more time for good measure. Gion rubbed the now sore spot and glared at Ebumi.

“What the hell?” Gion snapped.

“What the fuck was that? ‘It’s weird’ - I should cut off your fucking dick, you dumb shit. Why would you say that to Iwashimizu?” Ebumi hissed.

“Because that’s how it made me feel!”

“Well, I hope you’re feeling fucking pretty now because you’re going to walk out there and tell Iwashimizu how fucking pretty he looks. You’re going to say ‘wow, Iwashi, your eyes really pop today’ and ‘geez, your lips are so shiny’ and ‘holy shit, your hair looks amazing.’”

“Why would I say that? It would make Iwashi uncomfortable.”

“God, you’re a fucking dumbass. Just listen to your smart as hell senpai and tell the giant he’s pretty, okay? Shit.”

“But -”

Ebumi slapped Gion upside the head once more. The brunette scowled, but relented. After agreeing to follow Ebumi’s orders, Gion wandered back outside and stood awkwardly next to Iwashimizu. The blonde looked a bit sad; maybe Gion had really hurt him.

“Hey, Iwashimizu.” Gion said.

“Y-Yes, Gion-kun?” Iwashimizu asked worriedly.

“You look pretty today.”

Iwashimizu blushed, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. “Thank you.”

“You wanna get something to eat on the way home?”

“Uhm, sure! McDonald’s?”

Gion became flustered. “Sure.”

Ebumi smirked as he watched the two walk away. It was official; he was the best senpai ever. He just hoped the little fucknut wouldn’t fuck it all up. He didn’t want to have to cut the shorty’s dick off; that would definitely make Iwashimizu upset.

[jedifighterpilot2727]

"Eyes Like Kryptonite" is killing me but in the best possible way! You've probably gotten these prompts before but please Please PLEASE do one about the proposal. Or wedding. Or both. tysm :D

A whole bunch of you wanted this one, so I hope you enjoy!!   

As usual, your comments give me life!!

Eyes Like Kryptonite Ch. 26 - The Proposal(s)

Read it on AO3- http://archiveofourown.org/works/9100903/chapters/21635741

When Lena wakes up, she’s immediately reminded of why she no longer sleeps with many blankets.

Kara is HOT.

And not in a sexy way.

Although yes in a sexy way, but also in a body temperature way. The front of her is warm, where she’s pressed against Kara’s back, but her feet are freezing, so she slowly lifts one up and runs it along Kara’s leg.

“Mmmphh.” Kara grunts, and she feels instant remorse.

“Sorry!” She whispers, “My feet are cold.“

“’s okay.” Kara reaches back to pull Lena’s arm tighter around her waist and nuzzles her face into the pillow.

It’s silent for a few minutes, and she thinks that maybe Kara has drifted back to sleep so she snuggles closer, burying her face in the soft warmth of Kara’s back and breathing in the soft smell of honeysuckle. She lingers in that stage of not quite asleep but not really awake, enjoying the feeling of Kara snuggled against her.

“D’you sleep okay?”

The soft question rouses her from a very interesting dream where Kara was dressed like a banana.

“Mhmm, you?”

“Always do when I’m with you.” The answer is mumbled, but it still makes Lena smile.

“What do you have today?“

Kara twists around so that she’s facing Lena, burrowing her face in Lena’s shoulder and snaking her arm around Lena’s waist.

“Finishing up an article for Snapper, you?”

“A few early meetings, nothing too late.”She tangles her legs with Kara’s and buries her fingers in blonde hair.

“Wanna grab dinner?”

“Of course. That fancy Italian place you like?“

“Mmm.” Kara’s lips trail along her collar bone. “How about the helipad a L’Corp? Dinner under the stars?”

“Even better, I’ll have the Italian place cater.“

“I’ll provide the Champagne.”

“Champagne? Are we celebrating something?”

“Why can’t a girl just be happy she’s having a nice dinner with her girlfriend?“

Lena laughs.

“Great, now you’ve jinxed it!”

“I’ll talk to J’onn, he can cover for me in case something happens.“

A thought strikes Lena then, and she hopes that Kara isn’t paying attention to her heart rate, because it definitely speeds up.

“I’ll make sure Alfonzo includes some of those cannoli you like so much then.”

The pitter patter of little paws circles the bed, and then Lena feels a light weight on her feet.

“Daisy!!” Kara exclaims, and Lena is left cold for a moment as Kara sits up to pick up the dog and drag her back between them. “Awww yessss, that’s my baby, tell mom hi!!“

Lena’s face is met with a wet nose as Kara presses Daisy against her and the pup obediently darts out a tongue to lick Lena’s nose.

She doesn’t think it can get much cuter that waking up with two puppies.

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

Lena has been dropped off at her office, and Kara is making her way towards CatCo; she’s practically vibrating with excitement and she’s pretty sure her smile can’t get any wider.

She’s been waiting for the perfect moment, and it looks like it’s about to present itself. She looks around her quickly before darting into a nearby alley and speeding into her super suit. She shoots off towards the sky, as fast as she can fly - all the way to the edge of the atmosphere.

The ground is no longer visible under the light cloud coverage, and it’s completely silent other than the faint thrumming of ozone. She does a flip, and then another one, screeching in happiness. She barrel rolls for a few miles before allowing herself to free fall and then shoot back up. She isn’t sure that she’s ever felt this happy, but she’s sure that’s all going to change tonight.

Hopefully it will change tonight.

She pats her left shoulder, feeling the comforting shape of the square box stored there.

Definitely perfect timing.

Now she just has to set her plan in motion.

She takes a second to get her bearings and then shoots off in the direction of France.

First, she needs champagne.

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

Lena has been spending every spare thought for the past month trying to think of a creative way to do this; but the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she should probably just go with traditional.

A nice dinner, a little champagne, and then bam! Out with it.

The whole thing is falling into her lap, really.

She twists her hands nervously and wonders just how exactly she is going to make it through tonight when the mere thought of what she’s about to do makes her feel dizzy.

“Miss Luthor, one of the investors wants to know if he can have a 7 o’clock meeting with you.” Jess’ voice startles her out of her spiraling thoughts.

“Not tonight, Jess; I have plans. Schedule him for next week.”

She glances towards the safe in the corner.

She has plans alright. Big plans.

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

Halfway across town, Alex Danvers is leaning over her fiancee, staring at the body in front of them when her phone dings.

 Lena: Tonight’s the night!!

The words are followed by a little ring emoji, and Alex grins down at Maggie.

“You know that bet we made? About who would propose first, Kara or Lena?“

“Yeah and you wrongly bet on Lena?”

“Not so fast!” She shows Maggie the text and the detective’s eyes widen before her own phone dings and she tugs it out, only to start laughing when she reads it.

“Oh yeah?” Maggie hands her the phone.

 Little Danvers: Tonight’s the night!!

The little ring emoji is there too and Alex groans.

“These two are so oblivious it’s not even funny.“

“Double up on the bet?” Maggie waggles her eyebrows and Alex just laughs.

“Of course! Hope you’re ready to pay up!”

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

Lena’s glad that her day is full of meetings, she needs to be distracted from the bundle of nerves fluttering in her stomach. Between investors and R&D, and calling Alfonzo to go over the menu for that night; she’s kept fairly busy - allowing minimal time for her eyes to linger on the safe across the room.

She decides on a dress that she knows Kara likes, a green off the shoulder number that matches her eyes. She straightens her hair so that it falls around her face and does her make up a little darker than normal. She chooses a bright lipstick color, because even thought she can’t leave permanent marks on Kara’s skin, she wants visual proof of where exactly her lips have been.

Walking over to the safe, she takes out the small velvet box inside and clicks it open, breath catching at the sight of the ring inside. She slips it out and into a lead lined pouch that she designed especially for the occasion.

“You ready, babe?“

Kara’s voice from the doorway startles her and her fingers spasm, almost sending the pouch flying.

She takes a shuddering breath and tucks the pouch into her belt.

“Ready.” She turns to see Kara looking completely breath taking. Her blonde hair in a ponytail with her glasses perched on her nose. She’s wearing a white pencil dress with a blue blazer over it and Lena thinks she looks-

“Beautiful.” She whispers, eyes trailing over the familiar lines of Kara’s face.

“Funny,” Kara’s voice is barely a whisper. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

She moves towards Kara without a thought, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s neck and capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

“Hey.” Kara whispers when they part, blue eyes sparkling.

“Hey.” She repeats back and she wonders if the look of contentment on Kara’s face is mirrored on her own even though she knows it must be.

Kara leans in for another all-too-brief kiss before holding out the hand that isn’t grasping an expensive looking bottle of champagne.

“If I know you, dinner’s waiting, so we should get going.“

“You do know me.” Lena laughs as she takes the offered hand. “What kind of champagne did you get?”

Kara’s cheeks redden.

“Oh you know, just a little something I picked up from a guy I know in France.“

Lena squeezes her hand and follows her to the elevator. On the ride up to the roof she takes the opportunity to study Kara’s profile - the slope of her nose, the slight pout of her lips.

How did she get so lucky?

Kara must feel her eyes, because she turns and for the briefest of seconds Lena thinks she looks nervous. But then the expression is gone, covered by a bright smile.

“How were your meetings?”

“Good. How was your article.“

“Good.”

It all feels stiff, but Lena doesn’t have time to think about it because the elevator doors are dinging open and the rooftop is in front of them, lit with twinkling candles and starlight. Her decorator had outdone himself, and she makes a mental note to add a nice tip to his next paycheck.

It’s the perfect night, not too cold and not too hot, and the smell of the food wafting up from the table is enough to make her mouth water. She just needs to get Kara to sit down and then she can pop the question. She knows she’ll never be able to eat  before she gets an answer.

“Shall we?” She gestures to the table but Kara looks hesitant.

“Maybe we should open the champagne first? Have a toast?“

“Are you going to do the trick?”

“Actually, I think you should open it.” Kara holds out the bottle towards her, and she tilts her head in a question before taking the bottle being offered to her.

“Alright.”

She tears off the foil and then twists off the metal cap.

Kara fidgets with her glasses, but she brushes it off, anxious to get on with her plan.

Her thumbs work the cork up slowly until it finally pops and Kara gasps, watching as it flies off into the night.

“Ummm. . . that’s not- that wasn’t - I have to find that!” Her girlfriend shoots off in the direction the cork flew and she’s confused for a moment as to why a champagne cork is so important but then she snaps out of it.

This is as good of a distraction as any.

She drops to one knee, shaking fingers digging out the lead pouch and shaking out the contents into her palm.

“Lena?!”

Kara is hovering in front of her, the cork between her fingers, a small string dangling from it, the end of which is glinting in the moonlight.

“Kara?!“

“Is that a ring?” their voices sound in harmony and Lena can’t help but bark a laugh.

“Are you proposing?” she asks breathlessly.

“Are YOU proposing?” Kara counters as she drops to her knees in front of Lena.

She studies the woman in front of her for a moment before she speaks.

“I’ve loved you for such a long time.”

“I think I started to fall in love with you the moment I met you.”

“I’m really glad my crush on Supergirl didn’t come between us.“

Kara laughs at that, a musical sound.

“I’m glad my being Supergirl didn’t come between us.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Kara Danvers. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night.“

“I want to cry with you when you’re sad and laugh with you when you’re happy.” Kara counters.

“I want - “ She searches for the words to express the depth of her emotion but comes up empty. “I just want you really.”

“I want you too.” Kara’s eyes are filled with tears.

“Forever?“

“Forever.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Only if you’ll marry me!”

Her only answer is to pull Kara into a searing kiss.

“How did you get the ring inside the champagne anyway?” She asks when they finally part, floating somewhere above National City.

“A lady never reveals her secrets!“