#also i guess he is an officer which is double negative

[nezushi]

why do i always seem to attract kinda awkward guys....what am i doing to deserve this

[writingmeraki]

hurt hearts — k.mg drabble.

❝ in which you learn mingyu has a big heart ( and chest—) and he's terribly hurt while you might just beat the shit out of him.

( or mingyu's heart was already yours before you even knew it )

pairing : secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, acquaintances stage. genre : fluff, angsty. warnings : mentions of injuries, treating wounds ( inaccurate forgive me🙏) mingyu ( he's a warning ).

a/n : the double update as promised hehe also the pic is not even related to the drabble but I just had to use it yk?? thank you to @etherealyoungk for feeding my delusions. also this got angsty quite quick 😭 ???( might do a summer fic with this mingyu hehehe ) pls I was also like naurr why is it so sad suddenly but eh it's fine. take this as some sort of teaser for the full secret agent mingyu fic I guess! and yes I will never get fed up of writing these two <3 let me know what you think of this mwah 💌

word count : 2.7k

“Are you fucking stupid?!?”

Silence enveloped the room as you asked in a voice laced with agitation.

It was all whispers of panic and chaos while you took in the scene in front of you, quiet and in your thoughts, but the more you thought of it, the more you got enraged.

“Do you even realise what could have happened?"

It seemed as though the wound on his chest was glaring at you as you spoke, unable to look away from it as it continued to bleed. You winced, frowning more as you shook your head.

Mingyu, on the other hand, like the true annoyance he was, blinked in surprise as he heard you cuss. It was rare you did, it was rare you talked actually, choosing to only answer in small replies.

Or maybe you just hated him because he swears he’s seen you not only talk but also laugh and giggle with Vernon and Chan, even Seungcheol!

He didn’t want to admit it before but now he can, he absolutely disliked the fact that you were more nonchalant to him than any other person. Was he the problem?

No, no negative thoughts right now. Perhaps you were just shy around him.

Right because a shy person would definitely be glaring at him with all the rage enough to just burn him with a gaze.

Who was he trying to convince? You hated him and for all he knew, he was just a nuisance in your life.

“Where’s Wonwoo?! Is Dr.Jeon not there?” You sat him down on the lounge chair in the agency building. It was supposed to mimic how an actual office building would be, hence they even did the extra and added the typical reception desk and waiting area at the ground floor.

Wonwoo? Since when were you on a first name basis with Wonwoo?

He frowned at that, he didn't want to admit it but it annoyed him just a little. Though. He did have other bigger problems right now.

Like the gash on his upper chest that was bleeding. But it seemed the adrenaline had dimmed down the pain. It felt more numb if anything.

“He-he left. I mean his shift is over there's no one—”

“How the fuck is there no other doctor on duty?! In a fucking place like this you'd expect at least one how—”

You pinched your nose and took a deep breath. You were on the verge of possibly killing someone.

Mingyu was bleeding and you needed to think.

“Seungkwan. Get me the first aid kit. Chan, go get some water. And you-”

You looked back at Mingyu in question,

“Can you walk?”

Instead of answering, he nodded curtly, not really wanting to provoke you than he already had. He knew when and where to speak up when he should. At least sometimes he did.

“Great, let's go to my room.”

[ A few moments later ]

Your office space was very…you. It was like a reflection of what he thinks you are.

Your artefacts, some polaroids with people in few and more so sceneries. It resembled a lot of you but also not enough to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to know more.

He sat down on the sofa, a light pink coloured one, one that stood out in the monochrome room. But it was nice. It was pretty.

He also thinks you look pretty, even though you were tense, eyebrows scrunched as you cut the bandage tape precisely.

You look pretty all the time though.

“I'll need you to remove your shirt.”

Mingyu would love to hear so much from you, and wanted to hear you say so many things for him. This was one of them for sure, but definitely not in the circumstances he wishes.

“I-what? ” He chokes up, immediately sitting up from his leaned back position, one you forced him into when he came there.

You put down the bandage after you finished, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, now crossing your arms.

“How else do you want me to treat your wound?”

“You're-you’ll be treating it?”

“Does it look like there's anyone else right now who can? If you're scared, just trust me, I uh- I have experience from treating my own and others as well.”

You said it firmly because you realised the unsurety in his voice might be right. He didn't know that you knew basic first aid and actually more, it was a requirement for most agents but perhaps it was different here.

Mingyu did trust you. That wasn't what he doubted. He doubted himself, whether he'd be able to handle you touching him in any way. He's terrified he might pass out.

“Okay, now I'll need you to actually remove your shirt, I'll help if you-”

“NO!-uh no I'll do it myself.”

He immediately raised his hands and began unbuttoning, as the shirt got more loose, you focused on how the wound was.

It was a slice, not a stab luckily, so it wouldn't have caused as much damage as a stab would. But it still was damage that hurt.

He hissed in pain as his shirt moved away from his hurt chest, the wound being open to the air.

Slowly, he removed his other arm and finally got his blood soaked shirt out. He questioned where to put it without saying anything as he looked around but you just grabbed it and tossed it in the dustbin.

It was one of his favourites.

Seeing the slight pout on his face, you rolled your eyes because of course, Mingyu would find that to be an issue and not the fact that he was bleeding out.

“I'll get you another one.”

That made him look up at you, to which his eyes widened,

“Uh no I-”

“Shut up.”

You finished preparing the cotton to clean up his wound first, you turned to face him and for a brief moment you paused.

You didn't expect what was in front of you. Mingyu being shirtless was expected of course, but his toned torso and wait…were those abs??

You cleared your throat when you realised you might have been staring a little too long.

It wasn't like you weren't used to seeing people with muscular bodies or so. It was natural in your field for people to be fit.

But Mingyu. Holy shit, he looked like someone personally took their time on him.

“Uhm, okay so I'll just clean up your wound first and then disinfect it, then just bandage it up alright?”

Your voice sounded a lot less angry than before. Actually it sounded more timid if anything. It made Mingyu both shocked and curious as to why suddenly you'd seem so…nervous?

You moved to sit beside him, trying your best to not let your eyes waver more than they already have.

Unfortunately for you, fortunate for Mingyu, your eyes did wander and in fact lingered a little too long on his exposed chest. Along with his torso.

And he noticed.

And he realised.

Gulping slightly, no ordinary person would know but Mingyu did and the glint in his eyes shifted to something more confident, you raised your hand and gently began to clean the open wound.

It seemed it was not as deep as you initially thought.

Holy shit, I'm touching his chest.

You're not a teenager for goodness sake pull yourself together?!???

But his chest is buff and so- fuck. Fucking hell.

Your internal thoughts were in conflict as you cleaned up his wound, not even realising you were going over a place that was already cleaned.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed yours and you were startled out of your conflict.

“You already cleaned it enough,” Mingyu had to bite his tongue to not slip out any sort of pet names but that didn't stop the small smirk on his face from seeing your somewhat composed demeanour be a little thrown off by his sudden nakedness.

His hand holding yours made it seem like you were burning. It burned when he touched you.

And how would one react to a burn?

They'd move far away from the cause of said burn.

You pulled your hand out and stood up quickly,

“Right, right, I was just uh- making sure. I wouldn't want any infections or anything like that.”

You turned back to your first aid kit, turning your back on him and slightly shook your head.

Pull yourself together. He's just…a guy.

But was he really just any guy?

He was Kim Mingyu. The guy who caused you more stress than anything. The same guy who also would bother you a lot during missions.

And yet he was also the same guy who saved you today. You were ambushed during the mission and outnumbered.

It was you against six. You could handle them practically speaking but you also would have your attention split more than it should be. Meaning you wouldn't be prepared for a seventh guy from out of nowhere.

But Mingyu happened to be able to come there. On time too. As though he was keeping up with you despite being in another room with another problem.

What you didn't know was how quickly he made it out of that room when he heard you were ambushed. How he felt his heart drop when he heard you yelp in pain when you got attacked out of nowhere. How he couldn't actually care about the rest of the mission after that and what he cared about most was getting you out of there. Safely.

He knew perhaps it was risky to have jumped in front of you when you were going to get stabbed but darn it be him than you anytime.

Luckily you were also quick enough to make sure he wasn't actually stabbed and pushed him aside as you gained the extra hand and were able to take down the ambusher.

You were not at all happy with what he did. In fact, going as far as to not talking to him till you reached the agency because you were boiling in rage.

“You know you shouldn't have jumped in between like that.”

You said as you soaked up the cotton in hydrogen peroxide.

“But you would have gotten terribly hurt.” Mingyu frowned at your words. The doubt from before raising as to why you'd been so upset with him when he actually saved you.

“Yes but that would be my fault. I would get hurt in my own fight. I'd bleed and patch it up myself. There would be no one else hurt but me.”

You turned to face him, holding the cotton in your hand as you walked up again towards him.

“Not you who got hurt because of me. I wouldn't feel the…the guilt. You got hurt. Because of me.”

His eyes softened upon hearing your words. It made sense now. You were feeling guilty and that's why you'd been so upset. He thinks he'd feel the same too if you were to get hurt somehow because of him.

“I'm…I'm sorry I didn't think about that but I couldn't just sit back and let you get hurt knowingly, I just, I couldn't do that. Not to you.”

You sat back down to your original position, now having completely different emotions than before. But you weren't sure which you preferred because the current ones were only making you feel more worse if anything.

Lightly pressing the soaked cotton on his open wound, he hissed in pain as the alcohol came in contact with his open skin.

“It's fine Mingyu, you don't need to explain, I get it. I'd also do it. Thank you for…saving me.”

You don't need to thank me.I'd only do it for you though. I'd risk anything for you.

But instead he could only gasp in pain as you continued to clean,

“Yeah, what a time to say thank you when you're causing me only more pain.”

You rolled your eyes at his words but felt a little bad for him due to knowing the pain of hydrogen peroxide to an exposed wound.

“Oh, shut up now you big baby, this will help you.”

“Baby? Are we moving on to pet names now?”

“What??? I didn't- I didn't mean it that-”

“Oh I know, I was just messing with you.”

“You-!”

After a bit more cleaning and more arguing, you got up and grabbed the bandage.

“Now how will I wrap this?”

You questioned as you held it. He also got up, feeling a bit better but you still warned him not to move to much as the wound was not yet wrapped.

Then you got the idea of how to wrap it.

“Listen, what I'll do is wrap this around your entire chest, like the entire upper part alright? I don't have anything else besides this right now but it'll help temporarily. Tomorrow you go and get it properly dressed from Wonwoo.”

He nodded obediently and it was slightly cute as to how he almost resembled a little puppy quietly following instructions. Though you could see him getting tired from the way his eyes seemed to drift.

“I'll do it as quick as I can.”

And quickly you did, already wrapping over the wound enough,to the point Mimgyu had to tell you he felt like he couldn't breath and that's when you stopped.

No sign of blood.

You noted as you taped over the left over end part on the right side of his chest.

For this part, you were very close to him, to ensure the best precision. He was just glad it wasn't the left side of his chest or else you'd definitely feel how fast his heartbeat was going from the moment you got closer.

Mingyu likes you. Like really really likes you. You who stayed behind and treated his wound. You who felt guilty for him getting hurt for something he chose to do.

He thinks in this situation no matter how hurt he got, he was now sure about you. More specifically liking you.

“There. All done.” You patted down his chest lightly as you moved a little behind but before you could properly go, his hand out of nowhere held your own and pulled you closer.

It was unexpected so you couldn't help but stumble a bit as your eyes widened.

You were very close. Too close in fact you were sure if you moved a bit more closer, you might just end up kissing him.

It didn't seem like too bad of an idea.

“Mingyu, what are you doing?”

“I just, I want to tell you thank you for helping me out right now, properly.”

He smiled softly at you, his canines slightly peaking from beneath his closed lip smile and you swore you felt your body flush.

He looked…as handsome as he always did. Brown eyes shimmering in all sorts of emotions, lips a shade of pretty pink.

But you couldn't. You couldn't dare. Not now.

Clearing your throat, you pulled back and stepped behind, your body suddenly feeling a weird coldness from the sudden distance.

On the other hand, Minghu seemed confused. Did he push too far? He didn't mean to, he didn't want to rush anything, he just wanted to properly say thank you like actually say it and not do anything-

“It's alright. I hope you get better soon. I'll call Seungkwan to get you a shirt. You can get changed here. I'll just leave now, it's late anyways and you should to.”

“Have a goodnight agent Kim.”

Agent…Kim? Not even Mingyu?

Before he could even question your change of behaviour, you'd already moved out of your room as if you life depended on it.

As if you'd rather be anywhere but there.

As if you suddenly remembered your dislike towards him.

“Wait! Y/—”

Sighing out, in likely relief as you got out of your office, you made your way down to the lobby.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt, if not even more at how you left Mingyu just because you were a coward. Just because you didn't want to admit how he made you feel.

You couldn't do that to him. Not at this moment.

And perhaps you couldn't do that to him ever, for Kim Mingyu deserves the best.

And that was surely not you.

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[wu-sisyphus-gang]

9 Days of Lancaster: Hoodie thief

I walked into my house. Our house. My house. The house in which I lived with my future wife. That house. The outside had a loop before the garage of red gravel and a long gravel driveway. There was a column of trees as a windbreaker off to the east side of the house. The building was two stories and had red stone by the base cobbled together before red-brown wood planks and tall glass windows. 

Over the double door front entrance was an arcing roof and great glass windows. The master had large windows by the head of the bed and in the bathroom. There was a patch with a patio at the front entrance and a hanging balcony patio out back. 

At once it was very different to and similar to the house I thought I grew up in. It had a lot of rooms. It was very tall. The kitchen and family room and atrium were large with hanging chandeliers in the atrium. But the color scheme was different from the white house I recalled. They both had tall windows but the overall floor plan was different. Too different to say that they were similar in any way. I also wasn't sure which room my mother slept in in that tall white house. I couldn't remember where the master was. Maybe it hadn't been anywhere at all. 

I moved from the garage through the laundry room. To my left was the master and two bedrooms. To my right was the dining room and kitchen and past that was the family room, atrium, and stairs leading up to the other rooms where the kids would one day reside. Past even that was the office annex. 

Ruby was in the kitchen baking cookies. She was wearing a pair of shorts and one of my hoodies. At a guess I would say that was all she was wearing with no bra but probably panties. Bras were, I had learned, uncomfortable. They were the fist casualty whenever either of my ladies arrived at home. Which I was fine with. The less clothes they wanted to wear, the better. 

"How was work?" Ruby asked. She popped a ball of cookie dough into her mouth and marched around the kitchen island to the fridge and found the eggs. She shut the fridge behind her and danced back around to her dough. 

I walked slowly in her direction. Like she was a gazelle I was afraid would get spooked. I stalked up on her slowly and steadily. 

"Well?" She demanded. "Don't ignore me!"

"Work was fine. I worked one on one with this girl who has a precognitive semblance. She has some blind spots I'm worried will get her killed."

"Don't be so negative. I'm sure she does fine."

"She got both her legs broken by this gravity manipulator serial killer."

"Dark," Ruby granted. I came up behind her. "But I'm sure you do your best to help her so she doesn't get hurt again. You always take so much responsibility on yourself. You could probab-eep!"

I grabbed her by the sides all at once and started tickling her fiercely by poking the places around her ribs. 

"Jaune!" She giggled. "Jaune! Stop!" 

I didn't. I picked her up into the air so her feet kicked as I thrashed her mercilessly. She couldn't stop laughing as I poked her over and over. I poked just beneath her ribs and she bent and cackled in a delicious laugh. 

"Jaune! I mean it!"

I didn't let up. I held her in the air and tickled her until she was pink and panting and only then did I set her down but I kept my arms wrapped around her waist as I held her from behind. She breathed hard and a few last laughs escaped her as I just held her close to me. She turned around grinning up at me with the glow of her laugh around her face. Her short hair was covering her eyes a little when her bangs got all messed up. 

I could tell she really wasn't wearing a bra. I knew it! And she was doing just to tease me! "Pfft." She blew her hair out of her face and I kissed down along her neck. She shivered in my arms and leaned on the countertop near the stove. I pushing her until her elbows were down and her butt was out and she looked so delicious with her legs spread apart ever so slightly. "Jaune…" she whined as I sucked between her jawline and her ear. She leaned into my touch. I took my right hand and found her waistline. I teased with her pants and the place above her womanhood and below her hard abdominals. 

"You should be on this countertop," I whispered. 

"W-why's that?" She breathed. 

"It's where the snacks belong. And you, sweetheart, are a full meal. I'm about this close to eating you."

"I'm making cookies…" she whined and tried to shrug away from my kisses. But I knew I was turning her on. I could see her pokies through my hoodie. "Jaune…"

"Play hard to get all you like," I hummed. "You ought to be ashamed of how you tease me."

"I'm not teasing you on purpose!"

"Hard to prove," I countered. 

"Well I'm not!"

"Sure you're not. My hoodie with nothing on underneath and those tight little shorts. And you just prance and dance around the kitchen without a thought in your pretty little head of what you're doing to me. Is that right?"

"We-well… when you put it like that…" she panted. 

"When I describe the situation? You mean?" I asked bewildered. 

"I'm just in comfortable clothes baking cookies. And brownies. And cookies in the brownie batter," she blew some hair out of her face and leaned into my kisses. 

"Delicious," I hummed as I sucked on her neck and tasted her sugary cinnamon flavor. Just a hint of fresh flowers and something sweet. 

"Cookie-brownies are good…"

"Sweetheart I'm talkin' about you. Your aura is so sugary. It tastes good going down. And when I feel you against me it just smells so right."

"Your aura feels nice wrapped around me…" she sighed back into my kisses. 

"I think you like it. This sick power you have over me. You like drawing me out and making me hungry for you. You do, don't you? You love that I can't keep my hands to myself."

"Y-y-you say that now…" she stuttered as I nibled on her earlobe. "We'll see if you still feel that way when I'm pregnant with your baby."

"I can't imagine I'll want to hold you down and make love to you then. But we'll see what happens to my protective instincts when you start bringing my sons and daughters into this world."

She shivered in my arms again. 

"You're going to be a loving, doting father," she purred as I kissed the back of her neck and the apex of her head. 

"We'll see," I disagreed in part. 

"You're already a good husband. Or good husband material. I'm not Ruby Strife yet. Neither is Weiss 'Weiss Strife.' But you're already sweet and you want to take care of me."

"You don't need me to take care of you…" I trailed. 

"But I will."

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 27- Snow

Warnings: getting together, only one bed trope except I as the author provided 2 beds and they do it to themselves, Canada (which was supposed to be realistic but comes across as satire. No judging me unless you are also Canadian), some 18+ implications but nothing happens

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k (i went crazy :/)

A/N: Honestly I've either made up or researched everything I've put in a fic about America so it was a nice change to just Know Things (although I am not from the province where this takes place). Also in my mind this is a continuation to Day 9- Pine

Once again, bonus points if you can figure out which Taylor Swift song I was listening to when writing this

Cases have taken you all over the country, face to face with some of the worst serial killers that America has ever seen. Much less often, they take you to Canada.

Specifically, in the case of a psychopath who skipped borders after killing in two states almost a decade ago and resumed his killing spree further north now, they occasionally take you to the middle of Nowheresville, Saskatchewan, Canada. In the dead of winter.

“Hey, folks.” The chief of police greets you all- well, most of you, since Rossi and Prentiss are already out on the field- with a friendly wave, shaking Hotch’s hand. “Chief McCartney. Sorry to make y’all take a trip up here, but we sure can use the help.”

“The FBI has been searching for the unsub for some time,” Hotch answers as their hands part. “The case has been assumed cold for several years by the Bureau, so we’re grateful you reached out. Two of my agents are at the latest crime scene already.”

“Where should we set up?” JJ asks, and the chief leads you to a conference room. “And, er, speaking of cold…”

You’re all very cold, just from the drive from the airstrip to the station. You’d seen people snowmobiling past the road, and JJ had marvelled aloud wondering how they could bear to be out in this weather. It’s not surprising that she’s the first one to bring up the chilly air in the precinct with her parka still zipped up to her chin.

McCartney snaps his fingers like he’s remembered something important. “Y’all must be freezing, eh? Let me rustle up a space heater, get you nice and toasty.”

The fact that he’s wearing a button-down shirt and a light jacket isn’t lost on any of the experienced profilers in the room. “You’re not cold?” Derek asks, half in disbelief. “Man, I grew up in Chicago and I can’t feel my toes right now.”

“We hit minus 30’s a few weeks back,” McCartney says, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of it. Guess we’re all used to it around here by now.”

“Minus…” You glance at Spencer, who’s locked and loaded with an answer.

“Negative 30 degrees Celsius is about negative 22, Fahrenheit,” he reports. “I’d estimate we’re closer to negative 31 degrees Farenheit, though.”

“He’s smart. Windchill’s pushing us a little under,” McCartney confirms. “I’ll go get that space heater. Y’all settle in, and I’ll have one of my officers bring over the files ASAP.”

You ‘settle in’ as best you can, poring over the case with your team while wrapped in thick sweaters and cradling to-go cups of coffee. They’re branded with the Tim Hortons logo from the traveller case that one of the officers brings for you along with the files and a box of donut holes labelled ‘Timbits’. The space heater sits in the corner of the room, slowly bringing the space to a temperature that you’re all used to.

Hotch takes the first sip of his coffee without adding anything into it, his face screwing up at the taste. “It’s not too good when it’s black,” the officer tells him. “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Try a double double, it’s way better.”

“Here, I’ve got it.” You take Hotch’s coffee from him, adding in two little packets of sugar and two creamer cups while he watches you. “Better?” He stirs it and takes a sip, deliberating.

The second sip must be miles better than the first. “It’s not as bitter. I think that’s all I can ask for,” he murmurs while he takes a seat next to you, and you smirk.

He’s wearing the same quarter-zip that made an appearance when you went to Alaska, and he seems relatively warm. Lucky him. The less-built members of your team, particularly JJ and Spencer, have rosy cheeks and keep sticking their hands in their pockets to warm them. Poor Spencer goes through several cups of coffee in mere hours, a weak attempt to warm himself from the inside out.

Nearing the end of the day, you all pack up your things. There haven’t been any more murders today, but the information gleaned from the crime scenes helps you add to the profile. The unsub has a pattern of striking each week, probably to gauge how close the investigation is to catching him during the cooldown period, and he hasn’t strayed from the pattern since resurfacing.

You trudge to the hotel across the street from the police station- this town is so tiny that you don’t think it’s made up of anything other than a main street and rows of suburbia housing- in the pitch-black, wind whistling by your ears and freezing them. The sun went down several hours ago even though it’s only nearing seven PM, and the dark doesn’t lift anyone’s spirits.

“Get some rest,” Hotch says while he hands out room keys in the hotel lobby, speaking over the sound of chattering teeth. It’s more of an order than a request. “We’re at the station bright and early tomorrow, and I want you all rested and ready to work.”

The room key in your hands leads you down a hallway to a door that you unlock right as Hotch turns the corner. “119, right?” He clarifies, and you nod. “Alright. You’re with me.”

“Sounds good.” Your voice sounds cool and even, and you’re sort of proud of yourself for keeping it together after finding out that you’re sharing a hotel room with your very kind, very attractive boss. You’ve shared a room with him before, but it’s a battle of willpower to appear normal every time.

The hotel room is decently nice, and it’s warmer than you expected. Two queen-sized beds share a nightstand, and there’s a desk with a coffeemaker on it pressed up to the wall next to the TV. It’s a standard hotel room, a setup you’re familiar with. The heater under the window is whirring, filling the room with blissfully warm air- almost too warm- that has you shedding your jacket as Hotch sets his go bag on one bed and his briefcase on the desk.

“No working,” you remind him, your tone as scolding as it is light-hearted. “Bright and early, remember?”

Hotch snorts at that, then takes off his quarter-zip sweater. “We’ll be six bitter coffees deep before the sun comes up,” he says, but you struggle to hear a single word out of his mouth when you see his biceps through the thin white material of his shirt. He’s been covered up all day, and you haven’t hit your daily quota of staring at his arms.

It’s been a hard day, particularly for that reason.

“I’m going to shower,” Hotch says after a moment, discarding his fleece on the desk chair. He picks up his go bag, and the bathroom door closes behind him a moment later.

By the time he re-enters, wearing flannel pajamas pants and a white shirt, you’re fiddling with the heater. It seems to be broken, and when you turn the dial to blow cold air in the room it only seems to come out a few degrees cooler.

“The blanket’s really heavy,” you warn as he gets into his own bed. You can’t believe you’re overheating at negative-a-million degrees, but the combined weight of the duvet and warm air blowing steadily into the room is reminiscent of falling asleep in Arizona rather than the snowy north. “Something’s wrong with the heater.”

“I’ll try to manage,” he responds with a dry smile before pulling the blanket over himself. It lands on him with a solid sound, thick duvet against chest, and a soft ‘oof’, and you count to three in your head before he says, “Okay, you were right.’

“Aren’t I always?” You pull your own duvet down when you get into bed, leaving yourself covered with the top sheet of the bedspread. He stays underneath his blankets, not shifting them while you reach out and turn the lamp off.

Falling asleep has never been so difficult. Without the thick duvet, you’re curled into a ball within five minutes when the slightly colder air fills the room. With it, you’re sweating so much that it’s a wonder you aren’t sliding right off the bed. One leg pokes out from under the heavy covers, but it feels like the only part of your body that’s at a closer-to-normal temperature while the rest of you overheats. You toss and turn, falling asleep briefly every once in a while for maybe ten minutes at a time.

It’s a little embarrassing, actually. Your blanket and sheet are lifted and shifted so many times that you have to hope you aren’t waking Hotch up, even when you move as quietly as possible. The only sound in the air is the wind whistling and fabric shifting, louder than you thought possible.

Around 1 AM, hours after trying to fall asleep, you’ve all but given up. You’re considering getting to work on the file by lamplight, or just stripping down naked under the thick blankets. What other option do you have?

That’s when you hear a grunt from the other bed, and Hotch’s outline shifts in bed. You can see him move around, lifting up like he’s flipping over his pillow. In the barely-there lighting from a streetlamp, you notice that his duvet is ruffled and partially folded over itself. It looks like he’s been tossing and turning, just like you.

“Aaron,” you whisper once he’s still. It’s quiet; he can pretend not to hear you if he’s close to falling asleep, and you won’t be offended. 

When he responds, his voice is gruff and just as loud as it was in the precinct today. “Yeah?”

“Can’t sleep?” It’s a stupid question, you realize as soon as it leaves your mouth. He isn’t sleeptalking, after all.

He doesn’t call you out on it, but just sighs instead. “No. It’s not working too well for me. I’m really hot.”

Yeah, you are, you want to say, but the logical side of your brain beats the sentence back with a stick before you can say it out loud. “Me too. How do you think everyone else is doing?

“Better than us, I hope.” He sits up in bed slightly; you can tell from the rustling and the dim outline. “I’m sure Dave has some kind of temperature-controllable blanket with him.”

“Spencer probably researched the best kind of pajamas to bring,” you joke back, and Aaron chuckles at that.

“Morgan probably worked out before bed and didn’t need any blankets,” he murmurs, and you snicker.

“JJ and Emily are probably cuddling for warmth.”

Why did you say that? The high altitude- the provincial average is roughly 1700 feet above sea-level, Spencer would tell you- combined with the restlessness is probably getting to you.

Aaron clears his throat, and you cough. Neither of you seems to know what to say, so he speaks first. “As long as they don’t tell me anything. It’s a lot of paperwork, for that sort of… fraternization.”

“Well, I mean. If they’re just doing it to keep warm, that’s got to be an exception,” you point out.

“I.. suppose so, yes. As long as nothing further were to happen, two agents just trying to keep each other warm isn’t inappropriate. They… we all need to be professional.”

He sounds hesitant now, speaking carefully like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You wonder if he’s dancing around the same thought as you. If he is, is he trying to avoid it? Or does he not want to say it first?

“So, by that logic…” you trail off, waiting for Aaron to say something. He can say anything now. He can cut you off, bid you goodnight again, or even ask you to go bunk with Rossi, but he doesn’t.

The fact that he also isn’t exactly not encouraging you doesn’t disembolden you at all. “Yes?”

“Well. You know,” you murmur. “I’m just saying that if it’s completely professional… and if it’s helping them sleep, and therefore be more well-rested to catch a serial killer tomorrow…”

“What are you saying?” He isn’t really asking. You can hear his smirk as clearly as wind whistling through the trees outside your window. “I think you need to clarify for me.”

Your huff of annoyance is more forced than it sounds. “I’m saying that if we sleep in the same bed we might be able to actually sleep. Body heat, and all that.”

Aaron’s voice is softer now, less sure than when he teased you just a minute ago. “Are you comfortable with that?”

“If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me,” you promise. The only sound in the room for a moment is both of you breathing, and you wonder if he can hear your heart thumping against your ribcage. What are you doing?

“Alright,” Aaron agrees after a long moment, pushing the duvet down to the foot of his bed. “Does it matter what side you sleep on?”

You get out of your own bed, and murmur, “No,” as he rolls over to make room for you. He lifts the top sheet up and you slide in under it, curling up. There’s still some distance between you, and you try to maintain it; he’s the one who’s concerned about things being ‘inappropriate’, after all. There’s no need for him to know that your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s about to jackhammer out of your chest.

“Goodnight,” you mumble as soon as your head hits the pillow. His body heat is like a furnace, warming you up perfectly from a foot away, and the thin sheet is warm like it’s been waiting for you to climb in. He says something under his breath- ‘goodnight’, maybe- but it’s been such a long day that you fall asleep in what feels like seconds without responding.

When you wake up to the sound of Aaron’s phone alarm, you’re much less than a foot away from each other in the warmest bed you’ve ever known. He’s curled up against your back, one of his arms slung around your waist to hold you to his chest. Previous experience with room-sharing tells you that he doesn’t wake up at the first alarm- he usually sets two or three, a few minutes apart- and you’ve got a couple of minutes to just be.

The sound of the alarm grates on you, but it must be on a timer because it stops ringing after a minute or so, and you relax back into Aaron. His cheek is resting against the back of your head, and you can hear his steady breaths in time with the rise and fall of his chest against you. It feels good, it feels right to wake up like this. You don’t want it to end, but you know that it has to.

When the second alarm goes off, he rouses with a little startle, like he doesn’t remember where he is. The arm around your waist tightens, just for a moment, as his body relaxes into yours. Soft as a whisper, you could swear that you feel warm lips brush the shell of your ear before he pulls his arm away and sits up.

The room is just as dark now as it was a few hours ago, and Aaron manages to fumble for his phone and quiet the alarm before he speaks. His voice is raspier than it was in the middle of the night when he checks the time and then says, “It’s almost a quarter to seven. Er, did you sleep well?”

“Very.” You yawn as you sit up, stretching both arms above your head. “I wouldn’t complain about a couple more hours, though. That whole same-bed thing works wonders.”

Aaron yawns too, turning away to grab his go-bag as he stands up. “I’m glad to hear it. You can go shower. I’ll change out here.”

“Deal.” You gather your own things when you get to your feet, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Your mind is already on the case, pushing aside all thoughts of sleep arrangements and large arms holding you close in favour of your job. When you exit the bathroom, Aaron is already gone.

When you meet with the team in the lobby, you find out that he headed to the station right away to get ahead on the case. Everyone bundles up before walking back to the precinct; the walk is no warmer than it was last night, and fresh snow begins to fall just as you get to the doors of the precinct.

Once you find your way to the same room as yesterday, you find Hotch already there, dressed in yesterday’s fleece. He’s got a Tim Horton’s cup in one hand, and he sips it while staring, perplexed, at the geographic profile. “Good morning,” he greets everyone at once. “Reid, I was thinking. If we intersect his old hideout parameters from Minnesota and Georgia with his murders here, then…” their chatter fades into white noise as you turn your attention to the files lining the tables.

The first hour passes in a blur, the conference room lit only by harsh overhead fluorescents as you trade theories and examine new evidence provided by the local officers. The clock is just announcing the arrival of 9 AM, the sky beginning to brighten slightly, when you realize that you need coffee.

You’ve got the same setup as yesterday in that regard, too. One of the officers must have picked up a fresh traveller for you, evidenced by the steam rolling off of the coffee that Hotch is pouring for himself. “How’s it going?” He asks, stirring two creams and two sugars into his coffee.

“No big break yet, but I’m sure we’re close. We’re going to get this guy soon,” you promise, and Hotch nods at that. “I wanted to thank you again. For, you know. Helping me sleep last night.”

“It was no trouble,” he assures you, fiddling with the stir stick in his hand. “It was helpful for me, too.”

“And, hey.” You lower your voice a bit, and Hotch leans in to hear you better. “Maybe we can do it again tonight. You know, if that’s okay with you.”

He gives you a smile, that tight-lipped one you’re used to seeing around the office. “It’s alright with me. I just don’t want to… well, I’m your boss. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It has no impact on my views of your professionalism.”

There’s that word again. You wish he could be a little less professional, for once. But he’s right, he’s your boss, and there are certain things he can’t say first. Your profiling skills tell you that he still wants to say them though. “Well, what happens in Canada can stay in Canada,” you half-jest.

“It can, if you want it to,” he murmurs. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, and he hands the cup to you while he pours a second one. “The sun will be coming up, soon.”

He’s right. Pale orange is streaking the sky through the large conference room window, tracing pink lines around the edge of the sun that’s just starting to peek up into the prairie sky. The snow is still falling, painting a picturesque image in the sky “It’s gorgeous,” you comment, taking a sip of your coffee. Without taking your eyes off the sky, you step a little closer to Hotch.

“Yes,” he agrees, holding his coffee in his right hand. His left rests on the table that your back is against, and it might be wishful thinking, but you think that he would wrap that arm around you again if there were no one else around. “It certainly is.”

----

“Longest week of my life,” Emily complains as soon as you’re airborne, a mere three days later. The unsub has been apprehended and is in federal custody of the country you’re returning home to. “But those beds were insanely comfortable. I haven’t slept that well in months.”

You and Aaron exchange a glance, a double-layered inside joke about why Emily slept so well and why exactly you both slept so well for several nights in a row. 

The last four nights have brought with them some of the best rest of your life. You’ve grown familiar with the feeling of Aaron’s arms around you in the morning, and by day three he stopped jerking them away as soon as he woke up.

That was the same day he asked you out, his gaze averted while he fiddled with a gold-coloured coin that he had received as change when he went out to buy a coffee. You had agreed, of course, and had assured him more than once that it didn’t matter that he’s your boss. You want him, and you have for ages.

On the fourth day, just this morning, he had held you a little tighter when he woke up and rumbled, “Morning, baby,” against your ear. If he hadn’t felt your heart beating around in your chest before, he had certainly felt it then.

Despite the fact that you’ve got a date planned with the man you’ve been cuddling for the better part of a week, you’re ready to tease Emily for cuddling JJ, before Spencer chimes in.

“I thought that the beds were quite comfortable, also. According to Sheriff McCartney, they’re primarily a transit town, which runs on a completely different economic structure than a transit village. The economy depends on truckers and people on road trips or similar travel to sleep in their hotels and eat at their restaurants,” he explains. “It’s fascinating, actually; transit towns pour the majority of their resources into making sure travellers making one-night stays enjoy themselves enough that they take the same route on the way home, thus giving the town more business.”

“The only business I want from that town is the name of whoever supplies those blankets,” Derek says, grinning. “That thing was so heavy, it was like getting crushed to sleep. Exactly what I needed with all that cool air blowing in.”

“Your room wasn’t too hot?” You ask, your nose scrunching up. “I think the heat was broken in mine. It was just hot air the whole time, every night. Way too hot to sleep.”

“Ours was like that on the first night,” JJ recalls, and Emily nods in agreement. “It was awful.”

“Right?” You complain, sinking further down into your seat. Hotch is sitting to your right, his face an impassive mask while he watches the exchange. “Let me guess, you guys shared a… uh…” 

Your teasing falters when the look on both JJ's and Emily’s faces tells you that, no, they did not share a bed, and you’ve just implied your solution to the heater problem. “We used the other blankets,” Emily says slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh! Oh, the other blankets. Yeah, the ones in the nightstand.” You nod along, your mortification growing in time with JJ’s smirk.

“They were in the closet,” she corrects you, obviously trying not to laugh. “I guess we know how you and Hotch stayed warm.”

You don’t need to look at your boss’- boss? Friend? Lover? You aren’t too sure right now- face to know that his cheeks are dusted rosy pink. “It wasn’t like that,” you protest to deaf ears as Derek whoops and high-fives Emily.

“About time,” he snickers at the look on your face. “So, when’s the first date?”

“It’s not-” you start to say, but Hotch speaks before you can.

“Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to him. He raises one shoulder and smiles, like What was I supposed to say? “Friday,” you relent a moment later.

Derek is still grinning ear to ear like a maniac, and even Spencer cracks a smile when Aaron snakes one arm slowly around your waist. The sun is rising on one side of the jet, and the orange glow illuminates his face.

For one suspended moment, everything is perfect. You’ve got a date for this Friday, you’re more well-rested than you’ve felt in ages, and your team doesn’t seem to care that you and your boss are much closer than you were a couple of weeks ago. It’s a blissful moment to you, and it’s only broken by Emily’s gleeful not-quite-a whisper to JJ. “Penelope is going to be pissed that she missed this.”

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[toxicanonymity]

Heyyyyy! You can totally ignore this 🙏🏻 but as someone who’s now read most of what you wrote for Joel and enjoyed (!) it, I was wondering if you ever had to justify to yourself the topics you are writing about. I know it’s a fantasy that doesn’t reflect supporting those narratives irl. But do the topics affect you in any way while writing or do you not let it have any hold of you? I’m sorry this is so serious but you are the first fic writer dealing with this stuff that I actively read (after roughly 15 years of reading/writing fanfic) so I’m asking in good spirits and mean no harm or negativity. All the best and I wish you many more successful stories 🙏🏻🌻 ty for the great reads!!

Okay, I’m nervous to answer this one.  I hope the answer doesn't upset you because that's not at all my intent.  I'm only gonna answer a Q like this once, so fuck it we ball . Only read this if you're comfortable with all of my work.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my personal trainer about this, and it just so happens that his husband is a sex therapist. Kink friendly, and I know they swing, so that put me at ease and I got in touch with him. Also drug friendly which is good because I had to get high before my first appointment bc I was nervous lol.   Random, but when I got there, I found out he also shares a waiting room with a massage parlor, so that's kinda cool too.  

First Appointment: Idk how many waivers I had to sign but I didn't read a word of them.  Let’s call him Dr. Rock  for short - When Dr. Rock came out to get me, I shouldn't have been surprised given his husband is a PT, but this guy was super imposing, like muscles making his arms stick out from his body.  At the first appointment, he wanted to know some of my specific characters and stories, which I didn't expect.  I was a little shy about that at first, but he kinda coaxed it out of me and listened really attentively.  He even took a few notes which made me nervous at first, but he didn't ask any judgmental questions.  I felt good when I left, but the next week I was still a little nervous to come back just in case he was waiting until the second session to spring any "concern" on me. 

Second Appointment: When I showed up for the second session, he didn't come get me from the waiting room. I was the last appointment of the day and he was running behind, catching up on paperwork, and the receptionist said I could go on back. I walked into his office and it reeked of weed. And he had already taken off his shirt and was wearing a tight undershirt. Okay, Dr. Rock is cool.  He invited me to sit at his desk that time instead of the sofa, and I worried it was a bad sign, but it turned out that’s just where the ashtray was.  Dr. Rock  lit up an actual joint, took a puff, then tried to hand it to me.  I declined, I guess I was just flustered.  Kinda smoothed my skirt then sat back down.  He put the joint down in the ashtray, I thought that’s that. 

Then he lunged across his desk, took my head in both his hands, and brought his mouth about an inch away from mine.  I opened my mouth, totally frozen, and he exhaled into it.  Yeah, Dr. Rock shotgunned me.  Then I looked down, and what was he wearing with that tight-ass shirt?  PJ pants.  Coincidence?  Wasn’t sure, until he said “yeah, there’s my bad girl.  You couldn’t sign those waivers fast enough, could ya?” He slid across his desk, Saved by the Bell style,  I stood up to not get knocked over.  He walked over and double-locked his office door.   I must've been beet red.  Like almost too mortified to be turned on, until he got right up against me and he was hard. I walked backwards to the couch and he pinned me on it.  

I was like, “Uh, is J (husband) cool with -” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout him..” He started gnawing at my neck.  Shoved his hand between my legs.  And yes, yes I was.  He was like “Ohh yeah, you know you want it.  Let’s see how depraved you can be.”  He took off my panties, pulled down his waistband, railed me.  At first, I was kinda distracted thinking about if he was gonna ask me questions at the end and stuff, but he was actually really good and well equipped and I forgot all about it after a minute. He was like “Yeah, you want this cock, that’s why you came here in the first place. Hell, J prolly told ya how to get it.” I was speechless.  When he was close, he said “Lemme see those filthy fingers you’re always typin’ with.”  Then he came into both my hands.   

-

Third Appointment:  Next time I came in, I was expecting to have a traditional appointment and have to talk about my feelings in the previous experience and stuff.  I was really nervous.  Once again, he didn’t come get me from the waiting room, and I was told to go back to his office.  But that time, he wasn’t at his desk or even in his office.  I sat on the couch - felt less like I was invading his Dr. space that way.  I was sitting there in his office, picking lint off my skirt, and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone his size lumber through the door.  

I did a double take - blue mechanic suit, popped collar. Triple take - Michael Myers mask, WHAT? My heart was beating out of my chest. I stood up as a reflex. He stood there wiggling his fingers at his sides almost imperceptibly. Then he pulled a knife out! He wrapped his hand around my throat, walked me into the wall, and just stood there.  He put the knife up to my throat and I kind of whimpered, and maybe he realized he went too far, because he threw the knife to the floor.  Then he just stood there holding me against the wall.  I was like, “Should I.. what do you want me to do?”  And he just tilted his head at me.  I looked down and sure enough there was a huge bulge in his jumpsuit.  So I went for it, I unzipped him.  He breathed heavily in the mask, then aggressively lifted up my dress and ripped open my stockings.  Then he railed me up against the wall. Didn't say a word the whole time.  Finished, left me there, didn't come back. 

-

Fourth Appointment:  This was gonna be a little awkward because I had an appointment at the gym with J. right after my appointment with Dr. Rock.  I didn’t know how much Dr. Rock shared with J.  Dr. Rock was running behind again and I started getting nervous about making it to the gym in time to work out with J.  I texted J. to tell him I was running late, and he didn’t respond.  After waiting for like 30 minutes, I decided to leave because I didn’t want to miss my training session. 

I got to my car, started to unlock it, then heard, "Don't you fuckin' dare."  I turned around, and Dr. Rock was pointing a rifle at me?? My heart almost stopped. I think this was an actual rifle. I live in Texas so I wouldn't be surprised.   It was slung over his back with a strap and all.  I looked down and he was wearing boots and TACTICAL fucking JEGGINGS.  He put me over his shoulder  at first and started back toward the building and I was so nervous about the rifle swaying right next to my head. 

I said, "please, I can walk." 

"Alright, sweet pea but you better move those pretty legs." 

He put me down and manhandled me inside, NOT into his office, but into the massage parlor and threw me down on a DIRTY old massage table.  Here's the kicker - there were clients in this room.  A bunch of depraved men waiting for their happy ending.  He unbuckled his belt while making me pull down my pants and choose where I wanted him. Then he pounded me from behind and pulled me up against his chest.  He lifted my shirt and bra up so all the clients could see and degraded them while he fucked me. Like, "yeah this is what y'all came for innit? Buncha sickos.  Well she's not workin'.  Not this one. You won't fuckin see her again. Better jack it now while ya have the chance." He made the whole room of clients jerk off.    Then, when Dr. Rock  was about to come, he pulled out, pumped himself,  walked over to the nearest table, and came all over the client, who started sobbing.  Then Dr. Rock came back to my table and said "you did good, sweet pea" and left.  

When I got back to my car, I had a text from J. that said, “Get a good enough workout?”

-

Sorry for answering your sincere ask this way, but thanks for the perfect opportunity to apply this concept. Hopefully an entertaining way of declining to get serious?

[etherrreal]

“the things you do for charity”

Pairing: kenma x gn!reader Genre: fluff Summary: kenma's always been a private person, but it was getting increasingly harder to keep his partner off his streams while you live together; so, he decided to join his two loves together for a 24-hour charity stream extravaganza. Word Count: 3,408 Warnings: some swearing, i suppose there are some spoilers from the manga about adult kenma's job? A/N: i'd give my left tit to play some minecraft or mario kart with kenma tbh -Luna

Kenma's career as a popular streamer was one of the many facets of him that shocked you when you’d started dating two years ago. The two of you had first met in an Animal Crossing discord for your city meant for trading and making friends.

After you had gone over to his island to adopt Raymond from him, he let you keep all of your Nook Mile Tickets with the stipulation that you kept in contact with him to "give him updates" about how the cat villager was doing in his new home. His dorky way of trying to flirt with you was what made you pursue him in the first place, and somehow it had led to a very fulfilling relationship.

It was revealed early on that he was a streamer, but he never expanded on it regarding the actual numbers. Curiosity got the best of you one night, and you decided to google him. Besides also learning that he was a YouTuber, you found yourself in awe at the numbers he managed to accumulate across all of his social media.

And if that wasn’t enough, he was also apparently the CEO of his own business.

Once you moved in together around the one-year mark of your relationship, you got to properly witness the amount of work put into streaming and maintaining a social media presence. This also meant that you got to read the wild comments that were left on all of his platforms–and see the occasional surprise nude picture whenever he opened up his DMs around you.

Because of this, Kenma sat you down to have a conversation about your potential appearance on his social media. You both decided by the end of it that his audience would get to know that he was in a committed relationship, but you agreed it would be best to not show your face or reveal any identifying information of yours.

It had been a year since having that conversation, and you’d both stuck to the agreement closely. The most his audience had ever seen of you was your hand whenever you refilled his water bottle for him.

Of course, it was hard sometimes, especially when you had to remain extra quiet around the house and refrain from yelling out a 'baaaabe' whenever you needed something from him, but since he had his own soundproof office, it lessened the room for any accidental error.

Overall, you were content with never showing your face to his audience for the rest of his career. You knew how nasty the internet could get because of their parasocial relationships with influencers and streamers alike, especially when they discovered those influencers and streamers had a partner who wasn't them, even if they knew they never had a chance. You weren't sure your skin was thick enough to deal with rabid angry stans.

Which is why it was so shocking when Kenma decided one day to nix the agreement.

You were in your shared bedroom answering some emails when he came in. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie, sweats, and tied-up hair; his typical look for a stream.

After some time, you noticed that he was still standing in the doorway, not saying anything. When you glanced up at him, you found him awkwardly toying with the strands of hair that had fallen out of his bun, looking down at the ground like he was just waiting for you to notice him.

"Is there something you need, baby?" you asked. "You're just standing there all adorably shy."

"Yeah, so, um, I'm going to be doing a 24-hour stream this weekend to raise money for charity."

"Oh, really? Cool! I guess that means I'll be going to bed alone that night," you joked.

"Yeah, I guess. Um..." He started before scrunching up his face like he was uncomfortable with what he planned to say next.

"What is it? Do you need me to stock up on snacks and energy drinks? Just send me a list. I can pick  them up tomorrow."

"No, that's not it. I was thinking of making a stretch goal be you coming on stream so we can play Minecraft or Mario Kart or something...I mean, I totally understand if you don't feel comfortable. I could always replace it with something else. I know they've been wanting to see me dye my hair a bright color and dress up like an e-boy, so--"

"Really!?" you nearly yelled.

"What? That they want me to dress like an e-boy? Yeah, Kuroo said it would–"

"No, I mean..." You tried to fight the confused expression that was growing on your face, but your squinted eyes gave you away. "You really want me on your stream? Like face and all?"

"....Yeah, I really want to be able to share this with you. But don't feel like you have to do it just to make me happy."

It was a large ask when looking at the full picture. Kenma had his fair share of fans and "stans" who lacked boundaries, as seen from a select few who visited your home several times this year, or the handful that found you on social media already just from seeing a glimpse of your college ring on the hand wrapped around Kenma's water bottle.

There could be a chance you could receive direct hate on your social media just because you were a person who dated a popular streamer. You would then be in the public eye with little privacy and have a magnifying glass on all of your actions and words. Anything you did would then reflect on Kenma.

What if you messed something up and then Kenma lost viewers? Would they try to cancel you or him for it?

You backed away from all the negative thoughts before you could spiral and looked at the metaphorical 'pro' column.

If you agreed to appear on his stream, you would no longer have to sneak around your house in fear of being heard or showing up in his face cam. You both wouldn't have to feel guilty playing games off-camera with each other because you knew Kenma could be streaming it instead.

And who knew? Maybe his fans would like you. You had to admit, it would be a nice ego boost knowing that you were accepted by so many people.

And, most importantly: you could physically ask him in person what he wanted for dinner instead of texting him and waiting an hour for a break so he could respond, while you sat in the next room, starving, stuck in an endless cycle of wondering whether you should make a snack or if you should just hold off for dinner.

Maybe this was a good idea.

"Okay,” you decided, “I'll do it."

"Oh... alright. Cool." Kenma was trying his hardest not to show how excited he was that you agreed. When he saw the contemplative look on your face, he was sure you would decide that it'd just be too much work and say no. But hearing you agree made him giddier than he would ever admit to.

Despite the cool and collected façade he thought he was putting on, you saw the smile that threatened to break through and the red tips of his ears. You wondered if he felt the same weight being lifted off his shoulders as you did, knowing that, after this weekend, you'd both be finally out as an official couple to the world.

And, of course, the nausea of having to do all of it live in front of thousands of people. No biggie.

Saturday afternoon came and at 12pm sharp, Kenma began his grueling 24-hour charity stream. The bar had an overall goal of $150,000, and it began filling up at a constant pace right from the start. Donations ranging from $5 to $500 were flowing in rapidly, and you were trying your best not to feel nervous.

You both agreed that if he reached $50,000 within 5 hours, you would join him for an hour or two of Minecraft later that night. Part of you hoped that the donations would slow down and plateau for a bit, but when you saw Kuroo had donated $1000, specifically with the message that he hoped to see you on stream soon, you realized that it was a pipe dream.

So, you had to be your own hype person for now, to get prepared to show your face to thousands of people and not disappoint Kenma.

Whether it was the promise of your face reveal or the people who genuinely adored charity, it took only four hours for Kenma to break $50,000.

When he saw the number update live on stream, the viewers witnessed the most amount of expression Kenma had ever shown: eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape, body frozen. You could see the gears struggling inside his head struggling to turn and comprehend what they all managed to do so early on in the stream.

"Thanks so much, everyone, for being so generous today... I guess this means we'll be having my partner on later tonight," he announced. You watched his chat explode with excitement, his special emotes flying in the chat.

You picked up your phone to shoot Kenma a quick text.

[you]:: hope you're ready to put our minecraft beds together in front of thousands of people 😏

Unsurprisingly, he left you on read. But dating him for this long meant you weren't even a little bit afraid of double or triple texting.

[you]:: maybe we can kiss under the light of an exploding creeper 😫

[you]:: or have a romantic walk through our rainbow sheep while a phantom looms overhead 🥰

It was after the third text when you finally saw him pick up his phone to text you back. You eagerly awaited his response, only to cackle when you read it.

[my sugar daddy]:: im going to replace you with hinata as my partner if you dont stop

Instead of annoying him any further, you set your phone to charge on your nightstand and went into the bathroom to get ready for the stream later.

Once you emerged, you picked up your phone to check the percentage and noticed a text from Kenma stating that he'd have you on at 8pm. You decided to spend the time until then cooking up some dinner for the both of you.

It seemed like time flew by because by the time you were done eating your food, it was 7:45pm. Only fifteen more minutes before you were live in front of all of Kenma's supporters. You refilled your water bottle and sat on the couch, staring at the blank T.V. as you practically dissociated from reality until Kenma came out of his office to retrieve you.

You noticed that he looked just as nervous as you did, despite his face not showing it the way yours did. His shoulders were up to his ears with tension, and his hoodie drawstring was pulled almost all the way through due to him fiddling with it.

He turned briefly to you after he brought you into his office, gesturing to make sure you knew to wait until he gave you the cue. He sat down, unmuted himself, and took down the 'away' screen he had for his audience.

This was it. Everything was going to change in literally ten seconds.

"Well, everyone...please welcome my partner, (Y/N)."

You walked cautiously around his large gaming chair and sat next to him in your modest desk chair that he had rolled into the room for the occasion.

Okay, you thought to yourself, now don't fuck this up.

"Hi, everyone."

Nailed it.

There was a painful moment of silence before the stream finally caught up, and you both heaved a sigh of relief when you saw nothing but declarations of excitement. Amongst the 'AHHHs' and spam of emotes were sweet comments about your appearance and how cute you two looked as a couple. You peeked over at Kenma and saw the ghost of a smile on his lips, elated to know that he was just as relieved as you were.

"Okay, let's start with the gameplay while we answer some questions," he said.

The questions and gameplay started out mild; when did you both start dating, how did you meet, who asked the other out first. They even asked a few simple questions about you specifically, like your favorite anime and your star sign. And while you did see a few bans in the chat after some inappropriate questions –no, you will not tell them the color of your underwear– most were easy and simple enough to answer.

Then they started to get a bit spicier.

"Bokutoslefttit donated $69.69 and asked, 'what is your main pet peeve with Kenma?'" he read, muttering a 'wow' under his breath at the username.

"Ooh, how can I be polite when exposing you?" you pondered while beating a cow to death with your sword. "It's probably how loud he gets whenever he's playing games with his good headphones on."

"I don't get loud," he defended.

"Oh yeah, you do. I've had to come in here several times to tell you to shut up like I'm your mother. I did it literally two days ago when you were playing with Lev."

"... Next question."

You rolled your eyes at his lack of comment but glanced over at the chat to pull up a new question. You stifled a laugh when you read, "Girlboss420 asked 'who has a fatter ass, Kuroo or (Y/N)?'"

"I'm not answering that."

"Come oooon, this is a Q&A. Can't have the Q’s without the A’s."

"Nope."

You were about to start reprimanding him for implying that Kuroo's ass was fatter than yours when you noticed he ran past you with a group of pillagers following closely behind. You turned to head into the house but when you opened the door, you noticed it was blocked off by obsidian.

"You are the absolute worst!" you exclaimed.

You made a break for it, sprinting past the shooting pillagers and around to the front of the house. You made it inside with only 2 hearts to spare. You turned, in real life, to Kenma to see him tight-lipped to avoid smiling about his betrayal.

"I'm moving my bed downstairs for the rest of the stream."

You both carried on with the stream without another incident, turning to the chat every now and again to answer some questions. Kenma even apologized to you by bringing home a horse that was named "I'm sorry."

It was about an hour and a half after you sat down when Kenma decided that he needed a bathroom break. Your heart fell to your ass when you realized that you'd be all alone to entertain his chat. You considered saying that you needed to pee as well, if it meant not having the spotlight on you.

Instead, when he got up to pee, you smiled and asked him to bring you back a snack and a refill. Oh, how the turns have tabled.

In the meantime, you decided to scroll through the chat and some of the donations to pick out another question to answer since Kenma was gone. You were initially looking for a funny or vulgar comment when you saw one that had a completely different vibe.

"Kermithateblog donated $25.00 and asked, 'what's your favorite part about being with Kenma?' Wow, that's a really sweet question. Let me think for a moment."

You paused to reflect on your relationship with Kenma over the two years you’d been together. You'd had your fair share of highs and lows like any other couple, but, in the end, you both learned how to work things out so you were both equally as happy in the relationship.

"So, as you guys know, he's a busy boy with streaming, creating content for YouTube, and also being a CEO of his own company, which all takes up the majority of his time," you began. "But when he finally can shut off his screens and crawls into bed late at night, I know that he's 100% there with me at that moment. He is able to give me his undivided attention and make me feel like his love for me comes above his love for gaming."

You gave a pause, trying not to get too emotional. You rarely got the chance to gush about Kenma because you knew how much he hated having attention on him, so if this was going to be your only opportunity to do so for a while, then you were going to take it.

"What y'all don't know is that he is the biggest baby when it comes to cuddling," you laughed. "He is absolutely the little spoon most of the time, and he loves when I stroke his hair and love on him all night. In a weird way, it makes me feel special and loved knowing that he trusts me enough to be vulnerable with me. I cherish the amount of time we have together because of that."

What you didn't know was that he had come back from refilling your water bottle rather quickly and stood outside the doorway to hear your speech. His heart almost burst when he heard your tender words describing how he made you feel. He knew that you rarely got to hear how much those quiet moments at night meant to him because he was guarded with his feelings.

Which is why he started into the room on a mission.

You smiled as soon as you saw him. "Welcome back, babe, we were just talking about--"

He approached you swiftly and leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. You hardly even got to bask in the moment before he was pulling away, setting down your water bottle as he sat back down with his controller in hand like he didn't just expose to his audience how much of a softy he really was.

It was in that moment when you realized how glad you were that you’d decided to appear on stream because you'd be able to look back at that clip over and over again to relive the intimate moment.

Noon on Sunday came at last. Kenma would finally be free from the prison of his office. Not to mention he could finally get off his ass and stretch.

Between your official appearance on stream and the sign-off, you popped in a few more times to say hello to the chat when you brought him some snacks and drinks. You stayed up through most of the night, although you accidentally napped for a few hours during the dead of night which gave you a little boost in energy.

In the end, the stream was a monumental success. Kenma had even managed to blow past his goal of $150k and make it to over $200k, which meant that he'd be getting the full e-body makeover for his next week of streams.

By the time Kenma came into your bedroom after freshening up and having a small snack, you were already dead asleep with your laptop propped open to show his now offline stream.

He tip-toed around the bed quietly, closed your laptop, pulled the covers up and over your curled-up body, and slipped in himself. As he settled, he felt you shift and grab at his worn t-shirt, opening your eyes slightly just to confirm that it's him.

He pulled you against his chest tightly, his body finally able to relax. He was sure it wouldn't be too long before he completely fell out.

"That was more fun than I thought it'd be," he heard you utter quietly.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." His fingers gently danced across your shoulder blades as you mushed your face into his clean shirt. "I can't believe we raised so much today so quickly."

"I'm so proud of you, baby. You worked so hard on this."

"I also donated $2000 anonymously to speed up the process," he mumbled sheepishly, pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head in hopes to lessen the blow of his secret.

It was quiet for a moment, and he wondered if he’d genuinely pissed you off before he felt the vibrations from your laugh against his chest.

"...I can't wait to ruin your hair, e-boy."

Written by: Luna

[motherjoel]

hot cocoa (spencer reid x reader)

summary: spencer accidentally spills some of penelopes famous hot cocoa onto a beautiful stranger in the airport (who just so happens to be sitting next to him on the plane)

a/n: this one takes place during the holidays but its not all about xmas! also i tried to make this gender neutral and i think it is but if i missed something let me know

wc: 2.2k

warnings/includes: reader curses a lot & has flight anxiety, spencer is awkward and sweet

-

Spencer was rarely late- even when he had food poisoning from some bad chinese food, he made it into work with time to spare. Sure, he might have turned green at the sight of the evidence board, but he even made it to the trash can in time. His punctuality had come into question today, however, as he booked it to the boarding area. I shouldn’t have let Garcia distract me, he thought back to the holiday party at the office. Well, surprise party- they had all returned from a case sore and exhausted, but of course Penelope had baked an entire array of cookies and decorated the office to the brim. He stayed for one cup of hot cocoa, which turned into three, and before he knew it, his flight was an hour away. With his travel mug filled with cocoa in hand, he awkwardly ran through the airport to catch his flight home to Vegas.

Spencer never considered himself a coordinated person- sure, he had to have a certain level of finesse to be an FBI agent, but if he wasn’t a genius he never would have passed the physical. So when he found himself tripping over his own feet in the middle of an airport, he wasn’t as much surprised as he was perturbed. That annoyance soon shifted into pure embarrassment when he looked up to see you- the ethereal being he had just spilled Penelope’s famous hot cocoa onto. The beautiful person whose “I <3 DC” sweatshirt was now stained an unattractive shade of brown. His mind went completely blank in that moment, the apology he had wished to conjure up lying dead on his tongue. As he began to stammer in shock he stopped in his tracks- you were laughing. A noise Spencer swears could find world peace and end world hunger. A voice that finally encouraged Spencer to find his own.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized, hands frantically flying to his personal pack of tissues he kept in his bag. You continued to laugh, doubled over as you accepted the wad of tissues.

“Oh, it's okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “God, I definitely seem insane. Sorry, I’ve just been having one hell of a shitty day,” you began to explain, confusing Spencer even more. “So my boyfriend breaks up with me the morning of my flight across the country, which I’m running a bit late for,” you continued, glancing at your watch. “But I have to go home for the holidays of course so I pack my shit and head out anyway, but I forget a sweatshirt! I’m freezing cold so I buy this overpriced ugly thing,” you gestured to your now-stained sweatshirt. “Only for you to spill your…” you sniffed the mess, “hot cocoa?” you questioned, Spencer nodded frantically, “all over it. I guess that's one way of warming up,” you huffed. 

“Wow, I- um, I don’t really know what to say. I’m really sorry about your day being bad. And for spilling my drink on you, of course, um,” he reached into his suitcase and pulled out his backup cardigan. “Here, take this,” he said, almost shoving the knitwear into your hands. “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, unintentionally flashing what Prentiss called his “puppy dog eyes.” He exhaled in relief as you grabbed the sweater from him, sliding off your stained hoodie and replacing it with his soft and coffee-scented cardigan. 

“Thanks. And I’m sorry for dumping my days' trauma on you, but I really do have a flight to catch, so,” you gestured towards the boarding area (which just so happened to be his designated boarding area). You rushed off to board the plane after giving him a tight-lipped smile and a soft wave, leaving him in a dazed state. Breaking out of his trance, he grabbed his suitcase and continued his beeline towards the plane. 

There was something about you that stuck with Spencer- although it may not have been your proudest moment, he was incredibly intrigued by you and the way you reacted to disaster. Spencer had seen his fair share of terrible coping mechanisms, but the way you laughed in the face of tragedy was something he admired- envied, almost. Envy wasn’t the right word for it, there were no negative connotations he associated with the way he felt about you. Perhaps it was too soon to tell.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the plane, the anxiety of missing his flight finally lifted. Said anxiety was soon replaced by a new feeling that was ruled by a flutter in his chest, one that he had only experienced a few times in his life. This fluttery feeling was the result of seeing you planted in the seat directly next to the one written on his plane ticket. His breath caught in his throat as you looked up from the book in your hand, giving him a small wave. His eyes widened as he looked around, wondering if you were actually waving at him. You laughed and looked back down at your book, a soft smile rested on your lips. As Spencer got closer to his seat he could feel his heart rate picking up. You looked up from your book as he struggled slightly to lift his carryon into the overhead compartment. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment over the struggle, but he eventually managed to secure his carryon, taking a seat in 32 B. 

“So we meet again,” you smiled at the disheveled man next to you.

“So we do,” Spencer smiled and grabbed his copy of Les Miserables from his backpack- he lost track of how many times he had read it, but it was an easy plane read for him.

“I’m Y/N, by the way. Sorry, I probably should’ve introduced myself earlier after telling you my life story. I just didn’t expect to be sitting next to you,” you said with amusement.

“I’m Spencer, and no problem. Hows, um, the sweater?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation. Normally he’d be a quarter through his book by now, but you were a rare something that was more interesting to him than Victor Hugo. 

“It’s great! Cozier than my ‘I heart DC’ hoodie for sure,” you laughed and Spencer swore he heard angels singing.

“I’m glad, I felt really bad. Hot chocolate is actually a really difficult stain to remove because it has fat, sugar, tannins, and protein. It would take a lot of work to remove that stain, especially with the chocolate to milk ratio Penelope uses,” Spencer rambled, the embarrassment setting in the second he closed his mouth.

“Penelope?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, she's my coworker. She’s known for her hot chocolate and her cookies. Oh!” Spencer remembered the plastic bag of cookies Garcia had sent him home with. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip,” he said, grabbing the bag of cookies and holding it out to you.

“Sure,” you laughed, taking a bite of the surprisingly delicious cookie. “Oh. My. God. That is incredible! This Penelope person has a gift,” you laughed, finishing the cookie surprisingly fast.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Spencer smiled, taking a cookie for himself. A comfortable silence ensued as the two of you munched on your cookies, the plane almost done boarding.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” you asked. Spencer was a little confused as to why you wanted to talk to him, but he decided not to question the anomaly.

“Oh, I’m visiting my mother for the holidays. I work at Quantico in Virginia so I don’t get to see her too often,” he shared, surprised at his willingness to be open.

“That’s nice! I’m kinda doing the same, except I am not returning to DC,” you sighed. Spencer felt his heart drop as he internally begged for you to elaborate, and as if reading his mind, you continued. “That boyfriend I mentioned earlier was kinda my only reason for moving here, and now that he's a cheating jackass- sorry, oversharing again, um, now that we broke up, I’ll probably just stay in Vegas,” you explained, opening the book in front of you and mindlessly flipping through the pages. He focused on the chipped nail polish painted on your bitten nails as you turned the pages, eyes moving to the title of the book.

“Le Petit Prince?” he asked, pointing at your book.

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying to teach myself some french so I’m reading this to get a little better,” you smiled before your eyes drifted down to the thick book in his lap. “You’re reading Les Mis?” you asked, slightly shocked at the french writing on the cover.

“Yeah, well it's my.... fourth, I think, time reading it. Well, in the original french,” he said, oblivious to his accidental brag.

“Damn, are you a genius or something?” you laughed, noticing the blank stare on Spencer’s face. “Wait. You are,” you pointed at him, your shock turning into joy.

“Well, technically, I am I guess,” he smiled awkwardly, trying not to flaunt his intelligence.

“That’s so cool! God, maybe if I was a genius I could get past the first chapter of this book,” you huffed, looking defeatedly at your book once again.

“May I ask, why are you learning French? It’s the fourth most important language behind Mandarin Chinese, Spanish and German. That’s just my opinion, of course,” he said, slightly flustered by the look on your face.

“Yeah, I guess it's not the most practical. But there's something so romantic about France, you know?” you asked and he nodded, blushing lightly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, hell, maybe even live there. It’s stupid,” you laughed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“No, it’s not. It’s called the city of love for a reason,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. You were both silent for a moment before the flight attendants began their safety announcements and prepared for takeoff. Spencer noticed you stiffen as the engine started to rumble and the plane got faster. “Are you okay?” he asked as you shut your eyes tightly together.

“Yeah, yes, um. I just have really bad flight anxiety,” you confessed, eyes remaining closed. The plane lifted off the ground and you sucked in a deep breath, instinctively reaching over to grab Spencer's hand. All thoughts of germs and disease had completely left his mind at your touch- facts and logic meant nothing at this point if it meant you wouldn’t let go. “Could you just um, distract me?” you asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye, hand still clutching his.

“Oh, yeah of course,” he said, thinking quickly for a distraction before grabbing the book from your lap and opening it to the first page. In perfect french, he began to read. “Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image…” he read for almost an hour before he felt your head relax on his shoulder, eyes closed. He continued to read for a bit longer before the lull of sleep pulled him under as well, your touch comforting him and providing safety.

Spencer woke a few hours later with a start to the seatbelt light beeping on. Gathering his bearings he looked to his left to see you already awake, looking at him with a smile.

“You’re cute when you sleep. Snore a bit, though,” you laughed and yawned, looking out the window. Spencer's heart rate picked up at your mussed hair and dazed expression. “Thank you for reading to me. I’m completely chill now,” you reassured him.

“Oh, no problem. Also, I’m not the only one who snores,” he quipped, a soft smirk on his lips.

“Hey, gimme a break! That was the most I’ve slept in days,” you defended.

“Believe it or not, me too,” Spencer realized, surprised that he slept more on an airplane than in his own bed. Maybe that difference was you.

“Looks like we’re almost landing,” you noticed, causing a pang in Spencer’s chest.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he acknowledged with a slight tone of disappointment.

“Hey. So this might sound crazy, but what if I gave you my number? And while you’re still in Vegas, maybe we can hang out? Sorry if this is too forward,” you cringed in embarrassment.

“No!” he started, eyes wide.

“Oh, okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” you immediately took back your statement.

“No! I mean, it's not too forward. I, uh would love to… hang out with you,” Spencer said, the words seeming unfamiliar on his tongue. The smile you gave him seemed to stop the earth for a few seconds (although Spencer knew this was scientifically impossible, something about you defied laws of science). 

The plane soon landed and numbers were exchanged, and one unexpected (but lovely) goodbye hug was given, and Spencer was floating. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom.

-

shoot me an ask or message to be on my taglist! :)

taglist: @rigatonireid​, @goldenxreid, @aworldoffandoms, @moonshinerbynight, @averyhotchner

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

Not dead yet!: Marking my 2-year anniversaries

On Sunday I marked my two-year “cancerversary” of my diagnosis and on Tuesday a member of the support group I co-founded (for young women who are stage 4) died. Like me, she had triple-negative breast cancer. Like me, she was diagnosed stage 4 two years ago. Like me, she had exhausted several types of treatment (because triple-negative is a beast) and was looking for the one that would work. She asked me about Saci (Sassy!) and proposed trying it to her doctor less than a week before she died. Nine days before she passed she joined our Sunday cancer yoga group from bed at the hospital to join our meditation exercises. Like me, she remained confident and positive and absolutely refused to give up hope. (Like me, she also wore her hair purple sometimes.)

There were many things that are unlike about us too. She had two teenage children who now don’t have their mother. She was twelve years older than me and had had Hodgkin’s before she had breast cancer--even worse luck than mine, to triumph over one cancer only to get this diagnosis. Unlike me, she wasn’t strong enough for Saci, the only targeted triple-negative line of treatment, because her body had reacted badly to immunotherapy. She was in the hospital for two weeks with somewhat mysterious symptoms all of which added up to her body shutting down. On Saturday she went home with her family in hospice care. 2 days later she was gone.

It’s not usual for things to go so fast. Typically, doctors, patients, and family members all have some advance warning and patients spend a solid amount of time in hospice care. I am sure that people will ask me why it went that way for her. I’m asking myself why too, since it is so shocking and so entirely unfair. The fact that it can happen that way at all is frightening to me as a fellow patient since it’s the scenario of nightmares. That really could someday be me. No one ever wants to think that--and I cannot live my life focused on it either--but it has to be acknowledged as a possibility.

[More below the cut about memories from 2 years ago today and hopes for the future. Also, an invitation to contribute to some writing if you want.]

Today, January 28th, is the 2-year anniversary of my stage 4 diagnosis. In a way, it feels more significant than my initial cancer news. I had four days being horrified, but thinking that I would get through this as a phase in my life. It would be terrible--I’d have a double mastectomy, scorched-earth chemo, radiation, anything to get rid of the cancer--but then it would be done. On the Monday following my first set of CT scans I learned that that was not true. My lungs were full of tumors. (Later, after lots of waiting, MRIs and biopsies, I'd find that my lymph nodes, spine, and liver were affected too. I still have tumors in all those locations, but no new ones.) I wrote a description of getting that news in an email to a friend over the summer, after I had read Anne Boyer’s "The Undying”:

“The worst part about the lung tumors for me was that my dad had gotten a very early flight and I learned the news while he was in the air. My mom told me we could not text or tell him on the phone, that he would need to be with us both. So I drove to Newark straight from the doctor's office. It was in the teens outside and windy as we slogged to the baggage area where we were to meet. I saw my dad in his warmest and ugliest puffy orange down jacket, looking small in it, forlorn and horribly vulnerable. I fell into his arms, thinking at least that airports were such horrible places, so impersonal and banal, that no one would look twice. 'It's in my lungs,' I said into his shoulder so that I would not have to see his face. I was crying into the jacket that somehow smelled of winter cold even though he had been inside for hours. 'Please, Daddy. Fix it, please.' I spoke like a child because, on some very deep level, I think I really did still believe that my father could fix anything. I was embarrassed, though, and so I tried to stem my tears as he put his big hand on the back of my head and said, 'Oh sweetie, we'll get through this. We will.' I knew that really he could do nothing--and that this was his nightmare of powerlessness--and so I sniffed and blinked and I did not let myself cry again until June.”

Two years later this moment seems as if it just happened. The impact of my diagnosis on everyone dear to me, and especially my parents, is one of the worst things about it for me. We all know that there’s only so much “better” I can get, with the current science, and we’re all playing for time while the research moves forward towards something better, something that would make this a treatable chronic condition. I go back and forth, emotionally, on how likely I think that is and how good my position is for the future. Right now, comparing myself to the group member who died, I feel relatively fortunate, even as chemo exhausts me, I lose every scrap of hair that was ever on my body, and I spend half of my days being almost unable to eat from nausea and loss of taste. I feel glad that I was able to get Saci, that my body has so far stood up to the ceaseless trials I have put it through, with four treatments and surgery (and full-time work and living alone etc. etc.). I feel strong, not scared, even as I feel the emotional toll of terrible loneliness from covid isolation, winter, and carrying a sick body through my days alone.

I do not love the “fight” metaphor because so much of having an illness is completely out of your control and I never want to take myself (or anyone else) to task for “losing.” And so instead I will praise my body for enduring. I will praise myself for my enduring also, in both an emotional and physical way. I checked back in on how I was feeling as this anniversary approached last year and was pleased to see how much better I feel about it now, partly as a function of being in a treatment that is (likely) keeping me stable rather than in the midst of choosing another new one. Here is what I wrote back to my group of friends in November 2019, the run up to the one-year mark:

“I’m feeling like I can’t plan and don’t want to celebrate, like I can’t perform “fine” for the people in my life to spare them from the pain I’m causing by not doing better and feeling horrible about it. Perhaps it would help if I let them know that they didn’t need to perform “fine” for me? I understand the desire to protect me from the obligation to take care of them and appreciate it. But sometimes it can feel like I’m the only one experiencing anger or grief or pain, though I know I’m not. Feeling so isolated in my emotional response provides no catharsis for it. Compassion and sympathy function on the notion of “fellow feeling.” If you’re just out here, feeling by yourself, you can’t expect any comfort. As always, I think of the moment in the Iliad when Priam and Achilles cry together over dead Hector. Grief (and you can grieve for many things aside from a death) is something explicitly to be shared.” So I guess I’ve shared it here. I can do that. And I can do another thing, which is to tell you I love you. People don’t really say it enough and reserve it too entirely for romantic contexts. It’s weird--it’s not like we are wartime rationing love! And every time anyone says it to me it helps. It’s an affirmation that I am integral in some way to people’s lives which, in a society that so greatly valorizes marriage/partnership and children, is something I can be in doubt about.”

There are some things I like here, though, and that I would now like to reiterate and invite you, my far-flung friends, to do for my 2-year milestone. Never has the notion of “fellow feeling” in times of grief and depression hit harder or been more important than during covid. In a way, the nation (or even world) was forced into much the same position, emotionally and practically, that my cancer put me in. People are isolated, unable to perform “fine” and wondering if other people feel the same way, or even if any of us can take care of each other at all. I am here to tell you that you can. Maybe not immediately but--sooner than you think--you can. Emotional reserves may be low but reaching out to support someone else can actually replenish them. You do not have to feel alone, or to feel, alone.

And for me, for this milestone and for the cancer-related depression that I certainly do have, I’d like to invite you to help me, so that I can do the same for you. I invite you to write something about how this milestone feels for you (either about me or not), how it relates to all the other insane things going on in the world or with you (not about me at all), how you felt on the original day when I shared my stage 4 diagnosis (definitely about me)--really anything that is on your mind or in your heart.

“Oh great,” you may think, “the English PhD has asked us to do homework!”. But no! It's up to you what you do. Write in whatever form you want, however long, even anonymously. And if you do I will write you back! Not with grades or comments, but with something to connect to what you shared. It is a way to create fellow-feeling; to open up, connect, heal. With me, yes, but also as the group of extraordinary people who have gone with me so far on this hard road. It’s a very different proposition to support someone through time-limited treatment with a good outcome than it is to sign on for whatever comes next. You are all, truly, pretty extraordinary.

Anyone who wants to send a note or reflection can email me or drop a file or post in this Google drive folder. Like I said, feel free to share whatever and do it anonymously if you’d rather. You can also askbox me here (better than DMS) or submit a post to this blog. (I'm taking a chance with open DMs for now...we'll see if that needs to change.)

I am grateful for all of you every day, but especially today.

Love, Bex

p.s. The title of this post refers to the cinematic classic "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," a film my high school self and friends loved. They, along with other wonderful folks. gave me a "cancerversary" cake with "Not dead yet, motherfucker!" on it this Sunday. p.p.s. The average life expectancy for people who get this diagnosis is 18 months to 3 years. Hitting 5 years would be extraordinary. Starting Year 3 is a huge deal and I have every intention of being extraordinary. (Never been average at anything in my life...I either succeed spectacularly or fail epically!)

[chaoticevilbean]

Inspired by Redemption and Far From Home, Close To Heart

Luke stumbles into the shuttle, heaving as he carries his father’s body the final few steps. The ground shudders beneath, a sign of the impending destruction. His mind is numb, not letting anything slip into his head. He has no thoughts but one, as though he’s on autopilot. He has to get into the air. Now.

Somehow, he manages to get into space and out of range just moments before the Death Star explodes. The shuttle rocks a little from the waves of energy, but settles quickly enough. Luke can’t tell if he’s about to pass out or throw up, or maybe both, but he still manages to turn his head to the controls, prepping to return to the Rebellion.

He stills as he does a double-take of the view outside the transparisteel.

A void. Absolutely devoid of stars, planets, and ships. Where are the Rebels? Where is Endor? Where is everyone?

A light catches his attention. A star pops into existence, shining brightly. As he watches, another pops up on the other side of his view. Another at the top. Another by the first. Suddenly, the pinpricks that are stars are materializing from nowhere, filling his vision with a brilliant white. He feels the need to look away, but doesn’t. The Force is screaming at him to look, to keep his eyes forward. He obeys, despite his eyes trying desperately to blink away the overload, despite his mind pressing him to call for the Rebels, for Leia and Han, despite the part of him that is numb with pain and grief and exhaustion.

The last speck of black disappears, and suddenly, Luke is constricted. He feels something compressing him, and he can barely breathe, but he trusts the Force.

Just as it all grows to just below too much, it stops. The light is gone, the constriction is gone, and Luke feels like he’s floating in the center of space.

It only takes a single second between his eyes closing at the sudden darkness and them opening for Luke to know something has changed drastically.

For starters, his head feels a little clearer, and he can actually form thoughts now. He passes that off as the Force’s help. His body is still pumped full of adrenaline, leaving his pain as null as it can be.

The larger difference is the shuttle… which is no longer a shuttle. Instead he sits in some sort of starfighter, equipped with technology that looks at least two decades old. Luke’s sitting in it as though he’s been flying for hours, the security belts wrapped snugly across his chest. A quick glance back shows him that his father’s body isn’t there. Granted, the ship would be too small, but Luke is still disappointed when he sees nothing but more outdated tech.

He’s still in his singed clothes, and he can see the faint lines from being shot full of electricity. Instinctually, he wraps a hand around his lightsaber, startling at the feel of another weight. He looks down, and takes a deep breath as he tries to remain calm.

Five lightsabers. Five. Kriffin’. Lightsabers. One is his own green blade, and he recognizes the one next to it as his father’s, the one that’d made him check his belt. Two more radiate darkness, and he guesses them to be the Emperor’s own blades. The last saber is one he has no clue who it belongs to, but it’s light is brilliant in comparison to the three shadows between it and Luke’s own weapon.

A large boom draws his focus to the open space in front of him. He swiftly takes the controls, letting the Force and his own knowledge of engineering and ships take over as he adjusts to the old machinery. He sees a planet nearby, he himself having been facing enough away to not notice initially. Outside the planet’s atmosphere, Luke’s breath is taken away.

Two Venator-class Star Destroyers battling three Munificent-class frigates, a flurry of fighters surrounding them and causing small explosions that left small bursts in Luke’s vision. He can see vulture droids mixed in, and it seems that most of the fighters belong with the destroyers and the droids with the frigates.

He startles at the beeping of a comm from his controls. He’s cautious, uncertain of where he is and what just happened, so instead of simply accepting the call, he makes sure it’s only audio first. Then, with a deep breath to steady himself, he presses the answer button.

“Trooper, state your designation.” Oh. They think he’s a stormtrooper.

Don’t answer, the Force whispers to him. He doesn’t, instead starting towards the battle.

“Trooper, state your designation or you will be targeted.” Luke notices the voice is nervous, hidden under a professional steadiness. The Force whispers more. Good. Not Imperial. Fight. Fight with them. Luke has never been one to ignore the Force. With a renewed determination and energy funneling into him, he revs the engine, shooting off like a bolt towards the battle.

Instantly, there are droids seeking him out, targeting the fighter as an enemy. Luke doesn’t hesitate to blast them, quick and clean shots. They collide with each other, blowing up as the vacuum of space pulls them apart. Other fighters unthinkingly attack anyone tailing him, and he responds in kind. He ignores the voice that calls for his designation again, only noticing when the call clicks off. Perhaps the officer believes his ship is unable to connect properly, and took his joining the battle as him trying to prove himself not an enemy without comms.

The battle’s tide is slowly turning to the side of the troopers, who apparently aren’t Imperial, which is strange. But the frigates are still firing, and it’s not a guarantee of victory yet. Luke decides to change this.

Remembering his flight against the first Death Star, he passes right next to the main frigate, close enough to draw the attention of a large group of vulture droids. The other fighters do their best to shoot the enemies down, realizing that one of their own has some sort of plan. With little hesitation, Luke fires directly at a small weapons port. He remembers the main layouts of these sorts of frigates, having studied them with Han because “Ya gotta know the basics first, kid, and these are what I grew up with.” The plasma hits, and it’s just like he planned.

A chain reaction, like the Death Stars. The port blows up. Being so small, there’s no shielding, and nothing stopping it from blowing up the port next to it. There’s a series of explosions along the frigate, followed quickly by the shields going down as their generators are hit. In truth, it’s a clever blueprint, only expending power on the bigger weapons, which are more likely to be targeted. But the smaller ones are made closer together, and they make a path straight past the protection of the generators.

With nothing between the walls and the oncoming attacks, the main frigate fails quickly, and Luke barely makes it away before it explodes, splitting in half and taking out another of the enormous ships with a collision. The last ship is swiftly decimated, all droids going lifeless without their command centers. Fighters rush to destroy them fully, before the one-person ships return to their destroyers.

Luke’s comm lights up again, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to answer it- just audio again, because he’s sure he’ll be blasted into oblivion if he reveals his true face.

“Trooper, good work out there. Return to the Resolute and we’ll see if we can fix that receiver of yours.” He responds by ending the call, a signal he was listening, hopefully. He moves his fighter to obey, about to follow the starfighter that looks most like his own, at least from his limited angle, but halts at the humming negative from the Force. A nudge directs him towards the planet, so he turns right around and launches off towards the surface. The comm lights up again, but he ignores it once more.

Upon breaching the atmosphere, it’s clear what the Force wants. A large amount of outdated droids, ones that look straight out of the Clone Wars era, face off against a legion of- wait. As Luke flies closer, his mind reels. He’s in a ship at least two decades from the past, and fought droids with troopers who aren’t Imperial. Not to mention that many of the ships had some sort of personalization to them. Even the legion below looks more varied in color than stormtroopers would be. And more droids, more Clone Wars era droids, are fighting against them.

A flash of blue catches his attention, and seals the conclusion. He’s in the Clone Wars. The Force somehow brought him back in time to when the clones haven’t been brainwashed and turned against the Jedi. Luke knows it’s true, not just from the humming energy around him, but also from the fact that a Jedi is among the clone troopers, currently slicing apart B1’s like they’re flimsi.

Deciding that flying will make him too much of a target, Luke drops down at a high speed, pulling up just enough to not crash and barreling through the droids far enough away from the troopers that he won’t hurt any. They’re in a city, one with earthen buildings and green roofs. The transparisteel pops up and he jumps out, using his green blade to destroy the machines around him. The Force leaps to his aid, and he directs it to push back at his enemies, clearing the area swiftly as the poorly made droids crumple. He doesn’t feel bad about their demises, knowing they’re only partially sapient. Nothing like Artoo or Threepio.

With a small pause in fighting, he closes his eyes, raising a hand up to help concentrate on the Force around him. He senses the droids for a good chunk of distance, and manages to stretch himself to the troopers and the Jedi without overexerting his already low reserves. He’s still rather numb from his battle on the Death Star, but wounds have never stopped him before. Gently but quickly nudging the Force away from the living beings, Luke closes his fist slowly. He can hear as well as feel the metal being crushed as the Force wraps tightly around each piece, pressing inwards with a strength that can’t be fought.

The droids for roughly a square mile around him are destroyed, pummeled into nothing by his will. He doesn’t rest, instead rushing towards the Jedi, even as he feels their presence rush towards him. They’re bright, radiating peace and serenity.

Luke rounds the last corner just as they do, coming face-to-face with the troopers and their leader.

The Jedi wears brown robes of varying shades, covered in dust. A Human male, with auburn hair and a beard. He seems taken aback at the sight of Luke, although who can blame him. The young man probably looks a few inches from death.

The Force doesn’t wait for the Jedi or his troopers to recover, instead pressing Luke in a new direction. He turns his head towards it, letting his senses enhance with the urges of his ever-present companion. There’s more droids. He guesses that the Force wants all of the destructive machines gone, so he doesn’t waste a second to rush off, ignoring the exclamations behind him as he dashes to obey.

His feet are numb as he runs, but he feels every impact jarring his body, and knows he can’t keep up the adrenaline much longer. He exits an alleyway straight into another group of troopers battling B1’s, and hurries to slice the enemies to scrap. He sees another Jedi, his heart soaring as much as it can at the thought of more of his new people being alive. The purple blade doesn’t halt in its attack, even though Luke can feel the scrutiny of the wielder on him.

Once more, the moment there’s a big enough break, Luke’s eyes close and his hand raises, and he crushes as many enemies as he can from his position. He feels the Force pressing on him again as he opens his eyes, and he distantly hears the sound of something clunky and metal heading towards their area. He follows the directions, saber aloft as he goes to meet the fast-paced enemy in the middle. Whatever is there moves fast and without worry.

A strange sight greets him, his mind struggling to comprehend for a moment before finally clicking the pieces of history into place. General Grievous, a mostly cybernetic Kaleesh.

He is more droid than organic. The thought attempts to slip through, only to be grasped by the Force, energy pulsing in agreement. Grievous sees him, lightsabers drawing in a menacing action.

“Ah, a Jedi,” his raspy but deep voice calls. “Your sabers will be a fine addition to my collection. And you have so many.”

Luke bows his head in concentration, disengaging his saber and putting it on his belt so he can raise both hands. He hears the movement of the CIS general, but trusts in the energy that swirls around him. He wraps it around Grievous, much like he did the droids, but this time only uses it to take hold of his limbs. Said limbs move without the commands of their attached brain, instead twisting around each other. Grievous roars, perhaps in pain, but definitely in rage, as he loses control so quickly, watches his own body warp into a cage for him. The lightsabers he holds fly from his cloak and hands, straight onto the belt of his victorious opponent, one who did so little and yet so much.

Luke opens his eyes, waiting for the next command of the Force, hoping that it will lead him a step closer to whatever reason the energy of the galaxy has for bringing him here. He receives only a nudge to wait a moment. He does, hands gripping his singed shirt tightly. A voice that sounds like Leia tells him to get medical attention as soon as possible. A voice that sounds like Han tells him to demand a reward. He brushes both away with a small smile.

Both Jedi he encountered barrel into the open area, lightsabers out and ready, only to pull up short at the sight before them. Luke gives them a small wave, still smiling a little.

He knows that it truly is a sight to behold. Grievous was always portrayed as a sort of monster-under-the-cot in his history lessons, and the cyborg truly did look it. To find said monster twisted into a Tatooian knot is surprising, to say the least. Then Luke himself is singed and sweaty and has five lightsabers on his belt, along with whatever ones Grievous had been carrying with him.

But just as they observe him, Luke himself attempts to memorize the features of the Jedi.

The one with the purple blade is also a Human male, dark-skinned and tall. His head is smooth-shaven, and his clothes match his peer’s. He gives off an aura of control, of a determination born of practice. His eyes are distrusting but curious, but what else can be expected in a literal war zone?

The blue-sabered one hasn’t changed in the time between Luke first seeing him and now, but now Luke can make out some of the details. The man has bags under his eyes, and a gash on his cheek that is sluggishly bleeding. Both Jedi’s clothes show marks where blaster bolts barely missed their targets.

“Hello there,” the first Jedi calls over, eyes darting between Luke and Grievous with partially concealed shock.

“Hello.” Luke winces at the word, raspy and painful. He attempts to clear his throat, only to find himself coughing horribly at the rough feeling. The Jedi look concerned, the dark-skinned one a bit more mildly, at the small fit. Once he’s recovered, Luke tries again. “Hello.”

“Well, it seems you’ve done us a great favor. That is, if you were the one who crushed the droids and did that,” he waves his hand in a vague gesture at the still growling and twisted Grievous, “then we have much to thank you for.” Luke nods in affirmative, already feeling the adrenaline starting to fade a little. His head is getting a little more fuzzy, and his body is feeling more unbalanced. To counteract this, at least temporarily, Luke calls on the Force for support, clearing his head and grounding himself in the moment.

“Who are you?” The purple-sabered Jedi speaks up now, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Luke sees him glance down at his belt, where so many weapons are clasped.

“Luke Starkiller.” Rebellion protocol has been drilled into him, that he has to give a fake name until he can figure out if he’s safe.

“Mace, as much as I know you wish to question him, and goodness knows I would love answers as well, I think it best we get him some medical attention. It’s amazing that he hasn’t gotten psychic shock yet.”

“Psychic shock? What’s that?” Luke receives two extremely worried looks in response, signs that perhaps Yoda and Ben missed something important in his training. It’s practically confirmed when the two men turn back to each other, instantly engaging into what Han loves calling “let’s not die” mode.

“I’ll get Grievous and him to the transports, along with all the other wounded. You move forward in the campaign.”

“Master Koon should be down soon to help us.”

“Well, that’s good then. We no longer need three generals down here, so I’ll simply trade off positions with him.”

“Make sure Skywalker’s cleaned up everything before you lift off.”

The two of them clasped arms, probably switching to communicating through a Force bond. Then, with a quick nod to each other, the two launch into action. The dark-skinned Jedi, Mace, the other called him, disappears further into the city, gone in an instant. Luke watches the movement with tired but keen eyes, then starts as their words finish registering. Did Mace say Skywalker?

But he had said his name was Starkiller. Even if they saw through the lie, it didn’t make sense for them to instantly know he’s a Skywalker. Unless… if this really was the Clone Wars, then his father is still a Republic general. Alive, fighting against the Sith, having not Fallen yet.

It’s a bit too late when Luke realizes the remaining Jedi is now standing next to him. Behind the man, Grievous levitates a few feet off the ground, silent as though having given up on making noise.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just a little tired,” Luke reassures the elder being, trying to sound as little croaky as possible.

“I would think so,” he responds, clearly not convinced. Without asking, he loops an arm around Luke’s shoulders, directing the two of them back the direction they’d come. The young man lets him, keeping a determined gaze on their surroundings and letting the Force fill him. Grievous is pulled after them by the other Jedi, who seems perfectly at ease despite the famous CIS general being close enough to murder him- if he had use of his limbs, that is. Even though Luke didn’t learn much about him in his lessons, he knows the Kaleesh is dangerous, always managing to escape and often taking many lives with him.

They walk quickly, towards the presence of a large group of troopers, but Luke still manages to notice there’s no one else around.

“Where’re the locals?” he asks hoarsely, swiveling his head to peer through windows and into alleys.

“We got them out just before the assault picked up. They should be waiting a little ways away from the city, but far enough away they won’t get caught in the crossfire.”

“How large are the CIS forces?”

“The what?”

“The Confederacy.” Luke is pleased to hear the rasp in his voice beginning to die a little.

“Ah. Well, we were pretty much at a stand-off until you came along. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to finish off the rest of the droids, and I still don’t know how you managed to best Grievous.”

“I was already manipulating the droids, so I just went for his metal. It’s rather terrifying that he’s more cyborg than Vader.” Luke internally winces at the name as it slips out, but makes sure he remains as neutral as possible in demeanor. He does receive a very curious and confused expression, but it swiftly disappears as the clone troopers come into view. He barely keeps himself from recoiling away at the sight on pure instinct.

“General!” A trooper rushes over, his armor painted yellow in several places and scuffed and dented from many battles. He comes to a halt right in front of the two Humans and the Kaleesh.

“Commander.”

Sensing the tension from the commander’s gaze, Luke steps away from the Jedi, moving back a little and coming to stand a few feet closer to Grievous. His actions are acknowledged by a glance over, before the Force-user continues speaking.

“Has Anakin checked in yet?” So his father was alive. A version of Anakin Skywalker that hadn’t yet been Darth Vader, one that was still loyal to the Jedi Order.

“Yes sir. It appears that the enemy frigates have been destroyed and General Koon is on his way down as we speak.”

“Good. And the men?”

“A few major injuries, but the rest we can treat on the go. We’ve prepped the ones that need bacta to join you on the transport.”

“Excellent. Then I want to make sure the troops are ready to move out soon. Send word to the civilians that the city is almost taken. They should be good to return by sunrise tomorrow. Help Windu with the clean-up and I’ll contact you once we’re aboard the Resolute. I’ll need to contact the Council as well.” At his last words, the auburn-haired man sends another glance towards Luke, who only just catches it. Most of his attention is on the gold-eyed glare coming from his left.

“Sir, if I may, who is that?”

“Luke Starkiller. He’s the one that took down both the droids and Grievous. I’ll be bringing him back to the Resolute with me, seeing as he needs, at the very least,” a pointed look is thrown Luke’s way, “a check-up with Kix.” Luke bristles at first, before remembering how many of the Rebels avoided medical attention unless forced to or in major need. He himself only received timely care due to Leia’s authority.

“Copy that, sir. I’ll get the troops moving.” The commander nods once, before swiftly turning on his heel and barking off orders. The clones, in yellow or purple themed armor, begin moving instantly, obviously trained well.

“Well, come along, Mister Starkiller. We’d best get moving.” The Jedi’s arm is suddenly back around his shoulders, pressing him forward. Luke is willing to let this happen, as the older man seems trustworthy, his presence filled with light. But the Force is still swirling around him, whispering directions into his mind.

The ship. The fighter. Return. Follow.

“Actually, I have my own ship. I just need to know where to go.”

“Ah, yes. The starfighter, I presume?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’d be good to leave it in the middle of the streets, especially if the locals are coming back soon.” The duo stops, Grievous still behind them, and the Jedi regards Luke with a neutral expression. He worries for a moment that he might have to make a run for the fighter, but the anxiety fades quickly as the other being smiles warmly at him.

“If you wait to take off just yet, then I can comm you when Master Koon arrives and you can escort the transport back to the Resolute. That way you’ll know which ship it is, and-”

“-you can keep an eye on me, seeing as I’m not exactly trustworthy just yet.” He receives a small chuckle as an answer, and, surprisingly, the Jedi turns to continue heading to the landing zone. He waves once over his shoulder, a flick of his wrist in the air. Luke grins, forcing himself into motion once more and relying on the nudges of energy to find his way. He really hopes they get to the Resolute soon, seeing as he’s relatively certain that not being able to feel one’s lower half is considered bad. He assumes that the (probably) Star Destroyer is equipped with a medbay.

The starfighter is right where he left it, transparisteel raised. He leaps inside and settles down, securing himself and preparing to take off as soon as he gets the all-clear. It comes sooner than he expected, the comm blinking as the call is picked up. Luke answers without changing the settings, leaving his audio on and his feed off.

“Starkiller.”

“This is CT-5852, Stump, clearing you for escort.”

“Thanks, Stump. Liftin’ off.”

“Copy that, sir.”

Luke starts the engine up as the call drops, checking his systems before lifting the ship off the ground, retracting the landing equipment as he does so. His nav-system picks up the Republic transport’s signal, and he sidles over to it. Through the transparisteel, he can see the pilot, Stump, sitting there. The moment the trooper looks over, Luke gives him a thumbs-up, receiving one in kind. Just like flying with the other Rogues.

The Rogues. That could be fun.

Luke latches onto the transport’s comm number, punching it in and waiting for it to pick up. It does, and he can see the look he gets through the clear material. He grins with mischief, and enjoys Stump’s double-take.

“This is Stump to Starkiller.”

“Rogue Leader, reporting. Rogue One still in action. Fly high and may the Force be with you.” Laughing at the waves of confusion and amusement he can feel from the other, Luke tilts the fighter, pulling closer and performing a barrel roll around the bigger ship. He rises back to level to see the trooper holding tight to his controls. Stump looks over at him as he smirks back, and he does the maneuver again, this time staying underneath the transport and waiting. He’s a little surprised but not at all disappointed by the reaction he gets.

“Rogue Leader, bogey check,” Stump practically crows through the comm. Luke responds with an actual crow, remembering his first time being taught the phrase among the Rebellion. Hopefully it’s the same among the clones.

The fighter zips out from under the ship, rising fast right in front of it but without colliding. He spins as he rockets skyward, then diving back down, making sure to get a full view of all angles around Stump. Finally, he rushes over the top, narrowly avoiding the durasteel, and loops around to resume escort position.

“Bogey free, you are clear, Stump.”

“You are absolutely insane, Rogue Leader.”

“Aren’t we all?”

A laugh escapes over the mic, before the call is ended again. Luke’s smile shrinks to something softer, reminiscing about training flights with the Rogues. He misses those, having not had time in quite a while. But right now isn’t the time to spend remembering them. The Force clearly wants him to fix the past. Why else would he be brought back in time to when his father isn’t evil and the Jedi and the Republic are still alive? If he plays his cards right, perhaps he can save the galaxy from the Empire. Maybe even establish something similar to the Rebellion’s forces, only this time for fun or to protect planets with the aid of Core Worlds.

The transport and its impromptu escort make their way outside the atmosphere of the planet with ease. Luke pulls back a little, allowing Stump to lead him to one of the Star Destroyers. Belatedly, he realizes that the officer that commed him earlier said to ‘return’ to the Resolute, the very place where he’s now moving his fighter to dock. The landing gear descends as proper gravity once more takes hold, and Luke puts out the engines the moment the fighter settles.

Before opening the ship, he takes a moment to look around at the inside of the Destroyer. He sees a plethora of blue troopers, mixed with several yellow and red troopers. Grievous is being dragged off by several of them. Starfighters and transports and small frigates are docked all around, along with piles upon piles of crates. He sees the auburn-haired Jedi standing beside a young Togruta, the elder listening as she speaks animatedly to him. She, too, has the lightsabers and bright presence that mark her a Jedi. However, every ounce of Luke’s attention is drawn by the man that enters the hangar from the nearest entrance.

Dressed in dark robes, with dark blonde hair and a scar that travels down from his hairline to just past his eye in a straight line. His presence is bright, as bright as the two suns of Tatooine at midday. Another Jedi, but one that seems to ripple with energy, the Force swirling like a whirlpool around him. Luke recognizes him from holos Han showed him, ones saved from a Corellian childhood in the midst of the Clone Wars. The Hero Without Fear was the only thing Luke could get his friend to call the Jedi. Han had lied when he said he didn’t know the man’s real name, but Luke hadn’t pushed.

Transparisteel lifts as the unwitting time traveler finally manages to overcome his hesitation, sliding down the side of the fighter to the ground.

Almost instantly, a screeching astromech nearly barrels into him, circling him before finally hiding behind his legs and nudging them a bit harshly. Following close is a pair of yellow troopers, eyes angry but turning to shock at the sight of the singed stranger. Glancing back, Luke’s heart momentarily aches at the sight of Artoo, which he pushes aside. This version of his partner doesn’t know him yet.

“Is something wrong?” he asks innocently, moving slightly to the right to hide Artoo more. The action is noticed, as well as the clearly exaggerated expression on his face.

“That little osik zapped us!”

“What’s an oh-sik?” The troopers freeze, clearly not expecting that to be the part questioned. Slowly, as though scared Luke is going to press for an answer, the two back away, turning around after a few steps and hurrying off. Artoo trills happily at their retreat, circling around to face Luke.

[Thanks for the save. They deserved it.] Luke laughs at the familiar bluntness.

“I’m sure they did. But be careful next time.”

[I’m always careful.]

“Is that why you were hiding behind me?”

[Strategic retreat.] Luke laughs again, even though his head is once more feeling lighter than it should.

“And who’re you?” The voice draws his attention, and he turns to see the Hero Without Fear looking over at him in curiosity, as well as concern.

“Luke Starkiller.”

“So you were the mystery pilot!” the Togruta exclaims. Her voice cuts through the hangar’s overall noise, yet is ignored entirely. It likely only seems so brash to Luke because of the slight ache growing at the back of his skull.

“Mystery pilot?” Luke’s voice has suddenly returned to the hoarse rasp from before, the first Jedi’s worry seeping out at the sound. The young Togruta looks at him with a surprised expression, but returns to her previous energetic words.

“Yeah, no one recognized your fighter, but it shows up as Republic so the bridge tried to contact you. According to them, your comm wasn’t working, but you joined the battle so you definitely weren’t an enemy. And then you blew up the central command frigate, and you took down so many droids, and when the bridge tried to call you back you looked like you were heading over. But then you went down to the surface and you weren’t picking up any calls and we got word from Cody that a fighter had landed in the middle of the city. And then-”

“Breathe, Snips,” the Hero Without Fear reminds his companion. She does pause, smiling sheepishly upon realizing she’d been rapidly speeding up her speech. He chuckles at her good-naturedly, turning to face Luke with a smile not at all affected by his scar.

“Sorry about my Padawan, she gets rather excited sometimes.” Padawan. That’s what Jedi call their students.

“It’s alright,” Luke rasps back, then tries to clear his throat, forgetting his earlier attempt. He doubles over as a large coughing fit wracks his body. Someone grabs onto his arm, supporting him from the left, but he can’t tell who. There’s a faint ringing that’s growing fast, the ache from his head moving to between his eyes as well.

Suddenly, the energy that has been keeping him up drains quickly. It feels as though something is wedging itself between him and the Force, cutting off the support he’d been using since planet-side. Pain courses through him, piercing every organ and straight through his skull. He’s coughing too much to do more than gasp at the agony. Waves of numbness intersperse with the stinging, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s dropped to his knees. Whoever’s on his left grabs his shoulders, and there’s so much noise, so much light, so much-

The world goes black and silent.

[uchihasakurawrites]

Manifest (1)

Rating: T for language & depictions of violence

Summary: Their soulmate bond is borne of blood. With war on the horizon and tensions rising in Konoha, Itachi and Sakura try to navigate their newfound connection while balancing the growing demands of their own worlds. [Non-Massacre AU; Soulmate AU; ItaSaku]

Word Count: 3,394

Warning: This chapter contains somewhat graphic depictions of violence, so please wait until chapter 2 if that's difficult for you to read.

Note: Itachi doesn’t actually appear in this chapter. Chapter 2 will focus more on Itachi’s POV while the events of this chapter are happening - if you’re looking for ItaSaku interactions right away, please wait until I post the next part before you start reading!

(Also, heads up that I’m studying for graduate school & changing positions at work right now, so my updates on any multi-chapter fics will be slow this spring/summer. Thanks to everyone who’s still sticking with me!)

Cross-posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

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Two careless hand signals from her captain telling the team to scatter and engage  bring Sakura’s pristine ANBU record crashing down in blood-soaked shards.

Every logical fiber of her being had screamed at the silent command, her near-decade of experience with Team 7 having seared the importance of teamwork into her mind. If not for the rogue nin on their heels, Sakura would have pressed the issue, arguing for a tactical retreat with the information they had gathered on the budding Iwa-Ame alliance.

Not that her rookie captain - a Hyūga with a superiority complex that could have easily topped Sasuke’s during his genin days - would have listened.

Staying together was the only way they stood a chance. Their mismatched ANBU squad was as well-balanced as Tsunade could manage with the current strain on Konoha’s ANBU forces. Impending war stretched ANBU thin, and those who weren’t assigned to diplomatic security details were saddled with near back-to-back missions; in the past six months alone, Sakura had almost doubled the number of missions she had completed in her entire first year with ANBU.

Intel of a meeting between Ame and Iwa leadership reached Tsunade’s desk when most of her veteran ANBU had already been dispatched. Amegakure, which had never fully recovered from the previous war, had remained neutral despite increasing tensions between the five great nations, and it was imperative that they remain so.

Losing neutral territory that bordered both Suna and Konoha would provide the enemy a staging area far too close to home, so Tsunade scraped together the best reconnaissance team she could with the resources she had left. Sakura knew from the grim look in her mentor’s eyes as she explained the parameters of the mission that she was assigned to this team for the sole purpose of dragging them all back home alive, as was usually the case any time she was assigned outside of her unit.

Sakura counted herself lucky that there happened to be a Hyūga and an Aburame available for the mission to make infiltrating the meeting undetected easier.

Out of her four-man cell, Sakura had the most field experience with just over ninety successful ANBU missions under her belt. The Hyūga had only recently been promoted to captain, and she could read his need to prove his worth in the way he carried himself: nose held a touch too high in the air, a smirk twisting his lips, and an arrogant sway to his hips as he strutted into the Hokage’s office.

A small part of her mind, the one that kept her entertained on particularly mind-numbing missions, absently wondered if punting him halfway to Suna would fix both his ego and his stride.

Pride had no place in ANBU.

The Aburame and the boy who looked as though he had been promoted three years to young were tolerable enough. She’d seen finer control of the Aburame Clan techniques during her occasional work with Shino, but Tetsuya still managed to get the job done and relayed enough information back for Sakura to record in a sealed scroll that she would deliver to Tsunade upon their return.

Kaito, who she discovered had joined ANBU less than a month prior, had surprised her with his fine-tuned tweaks to the strategy she had laid out once she’d managed to get their captain to shut the hell up  for two seconds and listen to input from his team. Sakura became rather fond of the younger boy during their two-week mission, perhaps because his personality reminded her of a teenage Naruto.

When she witnessed Kaito’s chakra control firsthand, she’d proposed the idea of recruiting him into the ANBU medical program. She could hear the grin behind his mask through the string of eager questions he endlessly chattered about as they sprinted home. With a laugh, she promised to file the request with Tsunade as soon as they got back to Konoha.

What she didn’t expect was for him to be slaughtered as they crossed the border into Grass.

With the odds stacked against her team 3:1, Sakura decides retreat is the cleanest option for their team and turns towards her captain, expecting him to reach the same conclusion and give the order.

His two hand signals and the team’s immediate obedience lock her muscles in disbelief; sure, taking a prisoner from this situation could provide another well of information, but that was only if her team somehow managed to win the fight.

Reporting back that their team had been pursued by Grass nin would have been enough information for Tsunade to work with. A different team could have been assembled to follow up, and Konoha would have at least been warned.

Her team is at a severe disadvantage fighting on unfamiliar terrain after a full day of running at top-speed to clear Earth’s border. Torrential rain means that they will have to fight almost blind, and the Hyūga seems to have forgotten that the rest of his team doesn’t have the same benefit of a dōjutsu.

Sakura won’t even be able to provide adequate medical support for her team if they scatter, as summoning Katsuyu would both expose her identity and require more chakra than she should expend with how much further they have left to go to reach home.

Well aware that her actions could give her captain adequate grounds to write her up for insubordination on the off chance they survive, Sakura takes off in the same direction as Kaito. He’s the most likely to accept her assistance, and the faster Sakura can drag him back to regroup with their teammates, the faster they can leave.

The third rule for all medical nin rings clearly in her mind: No medic shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon.

Sakura has yet to lose a teammate on a mission, and she’ll be damned if the Hyūga’s reckless call changes that.

She catches up to Kaito quickly, calling out a quick Doton: Doryu Heki to throw up a fifteen foot mud wall between him and an enemy lunging at his back. She adjusts the flow of chakra to her feet to use the slickness of the ground to her advantage, releasing some of her traction on the mud to slide underneath the swing of a sword and slash chakra scalpels across the assailant’s heels. In a single fluid motion, Sakura thrusts herself up from her crouched position and follows through with a fist into the man’s back.

The sensation of muscle and bone snapping underneath her knuckles is so familiar that she doesn’t falter when the ANBU’s spine snapps clean in half. At some point, she’d lost count of the number of shinobi she’d broken with her hands alone.

Sakura doesn’t have time to check their surroundings further, opting instead to shunshin to Kaito’s right and weave her chakra into a Doton: Iwa no Doomu jutsu. It’s a strategic move to conserve chakra, building on her last jutsu as she wrenches additional walls from the ground to enclose them in a rock-solid dome.

She grabs Kaito’s wrist before the chokutō he jabs in her direction can make contact.

Kaito’s emotions are again an open book, even with his cloak and mask still intact. She can read the fear in the trembling left hand that clutches his shoulder, where a katon has seared his uniform into his skin.

His hoarse “S-Sakura-senpai!” instead of her codename broadcasts his inexperience; it’s pure luck that none of the Grass ANBU have gotten close enough to guess her identity. They don’t need the bounty on her head further complicating the situation.

Sakura makes a mental note to personally track down whoever gave this kid the green light for ANBU. He’s talented but clearly needs more field experience before he’s ready for ANBU-caliber missions and the heightened risks that come with them.

They have just under thirty seconds before she needs to release her hold on the dome. The Grass nins’ lightning jutsu grate at the threads of her earth-natured chakra, and there are already too many negative strategic implications for staying in one place as long as they have.

“Monkey,” Sakura speaks in code in hopes that hearing it will snap Kaito back to his senses. “I’m going to cast a genjutsu over the surrounding ten square meters. Escape underground, and get to Ant. Regroup with taichou and retreat. Move!”

She punctuates the command with a chakra laden smack to Kaito’s uninjured shoulder, just forceful enough to startle him out of the daze he had slipped into. With a shaky nod, Kaito snaps through the signs for the Earth jutsu and vanishes into the ground. Sakura drapes her genjutsu over the area just outside the dome and follows right behind.

Tetsuya is spread across the ground in pieces when they arrive at his position.

Choking down the bile that rises in her throat at the gruesome display - most field kills are more clean-cut, partly for efficiency and partly out of respect, even for an enemy shinobi - Sakura forces herself to focus on nothing but strategy and the enemies fully prepared to kill her next.

The rate she’s been burning through jutsu isn’t sustainable, but there are too many enemies left for her to engage in close-combat, and the ground is too wet to shatter. She’s already having to direct additional chakra to both her eyes for visibility and her cardiovascular system to maintain body heat.

She and Kaito are going to have to make a stand here, at least until they can thin the enemy’s numbers enough to create an opening to their team leader. With what little she’s seen of his abilities, their captain should be able to hold on for another few minutes.

Sakura is painfully reminded of why she prefers to work with her regular team when Kaito dives toward the nearest ANBU, the faint glow of lightning-natured chakra humming down his blade.

Team 7’s battle formations were second nature; they discussed mission-specific strategy setting out, but their battles were almost wordless. In this situation, Sasuke and Naruto would have taken on the long-range fighters as Kakashi drove the mid-range fighters into close-range combat with Sakura. Sai would have provided aerial support focused on mid-range fighters if Sakura had her hands full at close-range.

She resolves to never complain about her teammates’ penchant for turning every fight into a damn competition again - even with their dramatics, she’s never once doubted that her team will be there at the exact moment she needs them.

She’s yet to feel that level of synchrony with any other team, and she certainly doesn’t feel it now.

Sakura keeps Kaito in her peripheral vision as she catches a blade with her kunai and tries to fit his style into one of ANBU’s standard formations. New ANBU squads typically operate on variations of a standardized set of battle formations, as the sets allow for more flexibility between teams.

Kaito’s style, however, is erratic, driven by fear as his eyes stray towards every piece of his teammate he manages to spot on the ground. His stilted movements are more focused on keeping the enemies closest to him back than coordinating an attack with her.

Sakura adds yet another resolution to her increasingly long list, but she’s viciously stubborn that she’ll get back to Konoha and check every one of them off. She’ll need to speak to Tsunade about integrating more teamwork scenarios into ANBU’s training regimen.

Lashing out alone is the fastest way to die in the field.

Sakura sweeps her thumb along the seals on the underside of her left wrist-guard and launches a set of poisoned senbon at the three ANBU closest to her. She doesn’t actually expect the senbon to hit, and they don’t as the ANBU either dodge or deflect. Instead, Sakura takes advantage of the split second distraction to shunt chakra into her feet and drive close enough to an ANBU to trace a chakra scalpel neatly across their jugular.

The body hasn’t hit the ground before Sakura has the ANBU’s katana out of its scabbard and moves towards the next target.

She manages to hold her own for several more minutes, exchanging blows and countering a handful of A- and B-rank elemental jutsu with her own, until a scream cuts through the air. It’s the desperation in the scream - a wet, terrified noise almost ripped from Kaito’s throat - that draws Sakura’s attention from her own fight.

Time seems to slow as she realizes she’s not fast enough to stop what’s about to happen. She can almost hear Sasuke’s constant harping for her to work on her speed over the rushing sound in her ears.

Kaito stands frozen, mask shattered to pieces on the ground, as he locks gazes with one of the Grass shinobi. Before Kaito even has the chance to realize he’s ensnared in a genjutsu, the Grass nin’s companion brings his sword down on the boy’s neck.

Desperation immediately overshadows any grief Sakura might have felt over Kaito’s death as she finds herself surrounded by seven of the original twelve ANBU. Her natural chakra reserves are just over a third full, enough to push out a few elemental jutsu with her level of chakra control, and most of the wounds she’s sustained are minor sans the two-inch deep gash in her thigh. Her eyes burn from the strain of the chakra she continues to circulate through them, and she can feel the rain leeching warmth from her body.

She’s not hopeless, not yet. Not until long after she’s tapped out her byakugō and the scrolls at her waist. She’s got plenty of hell left to give.

That same desperation begins to give way to mounting anger at the brutal way her teammates have been killed, but she shoves it back in hopes of finding her captain in this mess and getting out. If they can lose the Grass ANBU even for a few seconds, she can use one of her personal genjutsu to hide their presence until they can work out a safe route to Konoha.

Her strategy is promptly dropped when the same man who captured Kaito in a genjutsu motions to one of his own teammates. Hyūga Ryota’s body drops unceremoniously to the muddy ground, at the best angle for Sakura to see that his eyes have been taken.

She’s only slightly relieved to notice the weak rise and fall of his chest.

As the pieces click into place, Sakura realizes that the attack with this large of an ANBU force was too well-timed to be a coincidence. If Grass had known there would be a Hyūga on their squad, this was an inside job.

A Leaf traitor had cost her two teammates.

It’s all Sakura can do to keep her breathing under control and steel herself against the steady voice in her mind that calls for blood. She gives Ryota a quick once over and decides that he may not survive long enough for her to retrieve the Byakugan and get them somewhere she can provide proper medical treatment.

Kakashi’s first lesson to her team - that those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum - runs through her head to damn the decision she comes to, but this is war, and she’s confident she can accomplish both objectives if she plays this smart enough. Her mind is already running through every possible scenario in which she can find the eyes in time to get Ryota out of there.

Sakura shifts into a defensive stance and surveys the ANBU who form a staggered circle around her, but curiously have yet to move against her. She promptly discards that observation, as she’ll gladly take the first move. She doesn’t even try to pretend she has a chance against all of them at once, so she prioritizes.

She’ll start with the ANBU who had been carrying Ryota and work her way through the masks she doesn’t recognize from her and Kaito’s earlier fights if that one doesn’t have the eyes.

A low laugh catches her just as she makes her way into the signs of a suiton jutsu she’d intended to use to capitalize on the relentless rain. Again, the voice is there, edging closer to the forefront of Sakura’s mind and clamoring for her to make the man who finds this amusing bleed.

She’s not sure how much energy she cares to spend continuing to stifle that voice.

“Haruno Sakura - the Tsuchikage requests your presence back in Iwagakure. Come quietly, and I’ll have the Hyūga boy dropped safely back in the Land of Fire near a well-traveled trail so he’ll be picked up soon.”

Sakura slowly drops her hands back to her sides, one with an active chakra scalpel and the other resting on top of her kunai pouch, as she unpacks that one statement. It’s evidence that Grass has joined the long list of smaller countries aligning with the enemy and that the contact in Konoha is privy to sensitive information beyond ANBU, who don’t use those regular trails.

She also notes the implications of how the Grass shinobi, who she pegs as the leader, phrased his statement - the Tsuchikage seemed to want her alive, most likely to lure the rest of Team 7 into enemy territory. It gives her a bit more leeway, since she’ll be the only one fighting to kill.

Baring her teeth, Sakura bites out a tart response:

“You can tell the Tsuchikage to go to fucking hell. Keep each other company once I take you out, asshole.”

Another laugh. The circle of ANBU take a step closer. Red tinges Sakura’s vision as the leader twists his sword into Ryota’s palm, earning a broken whimper she can still hear clearly through the rain.

Sakura’s moving with a speed even Sasuke would have been proud of in the next moment, her kunai bearing down on the man’s throat. She meets his gaze head-on, wanting to see the life drain out of them, and instead sees the world melt into an inverted grey-scale before she can even nick his skin.

The lead Grass nin is a fucking Uchiha. A shinobi from one of the Leaf’s most powerful clans turned rogue.

“You traitorous bastard.”

Sakura’s low growl is met with a louder, clearer version of the laugh she’d just heard seconds before that echoes in the empty space around her.

“Just say the word when you’re ready to come willingly, Sa-ku-ra-chan. Or don’t.”

The world around her goes dark. It’s an empty, infinite blackness without the sharply defined edges that come with shadows in reality. This is a formless, all-encompassing sort of darkness that threatens to steal the air from her lungs and breathes a chill of terror down the back of her neck.

It’s a genjutsu. Focus, Sakura.

Over the course of what feels like days stretched into weeks stretched into years, Sakura watches as her friends, family, and comrades are taken apart piece by piece. She feels the phantom pain as Sasuke’s Sharingan bright eyes are torn from their sockets, all while he rages at her for being the same annoying, useless, pathetic girl she was as a child.

Escape, Sakura. Focus.

She feels the slicing and tearing of a hundred swords piercing every inch of her body as she watches the same happen to Kakashi until he bleeds out, all while he spits venom about having ever been assigned to teach such a useless little girl who has no business playing kunoichi. Dead weight, he calls her.

She screams through the torture of having her skin flayed from her bones as Naruto is stripped of his. The image of his bright smile faltering into a silent scream follows her even as she tries to close her eyes.

Lee. Neji. Shikamaru. Kankuro. Hinata. Chouji. Tenten. Shizune. Sai. Ino. Tsunade. Okaa-san. Otou-san. On and on and on.

Sakura snaps. Black lines twist out from her seal, etching themselves down her cheeks and arms. She doesn’t even notice as the force of her chakra and rage shatters the genjutsu around her, the mantra of kill kill kill ringing through her mind as she lunges to the first sign of movement.

Soaked to the bone in blood, Sakura doesn’t notice the red string that knots itself around her wrist as her hand plunges through the chest of her enemy.

_____________________________________________________________

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I was a little hesitant to post this since another one of my works starts with a fight scene as well, but hopefully I was able to convey the emotional difference between the two. A Lesson in Practicality will be a Time Travel AU (eventually), while this one is obviously a Soulmate AU! I've also never written ItaSaku, so fingers crossed.

Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time. Your feedback means the world to me. ^_^

[jpegjade]

Take Care - Spencer

diana has made an appearance for something! i have rewritten this 3 times and i feel like this time is the one. 

Request: I’ve never seen this story anywhere written but like Spencer x reader where the reader is a caretaker of Diana’s and Diana is always talking about Reid and reading y/n the letters he sends and Diana always talks about how good spencer + the reader would be together and then they meet and fall in love ugh 🥺

Warnings: none that i can think of. 

_______________________

“You look bright today, Diana.” You said, bringing her mail for the day. 

“I’m getting a letter from Spencer today.” She said, opening the letter for the day. 

“Yeah, that’s great!” You said, handing out the other residents letters from their loved ones. 

Diana was the only one who got something everyday because her son was some kind of big shot fbi guy, according to her, so he was able to tell her all this cool stuff. She reads the letters to you very formally, as you were letting her believe she was still a professor and she was just holding office hours. That always made her happy, when you played into the delusion. You weren’t on her detailed staff so you didn’t know everything but you knew enough. 

One day, a letter came in the mail, addressed to you. Your relatives didn’t write letters so you didn’t know who it could be from until you opened it. 

“Dear y/n, 

My name is Spencer Reid. I am Diana Reid’s son. I assume she has told you about me as she mentions how cute you and I would be together when I actually have the chance to talk to her on rare occasions. She speaks highly of your service to her. I wanted to thank you for that. I can not do so in person at the moment but I figured a letter is a personal way to thank someone for their service.

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

Standing in the lobby, you read the letter a couple of times. What in the world? Why would he thank you? Why you? You must not have been special. He must have hand written a letter to all of the people who help his mom. But… You’re the one person who hangs out with his mom and isn’t on the official staff list assigned to her. You were obviously perplexed but you figured that you should write one back. 

You got out a piece of paper and started writing. Then scratching out. Then writing again. Then scratching out again. Finally, you got something solid and closed the envelope, dropping it in the building’s outgoing mailbox. 

You pushed it to the back of your mind and moved on with your day. You couldn’t wait to hear about Spencer’s “adventures,” as Diana calls them. Sure, they weren’t the most interesting things but he told her secrets that no one else knew. It was like you were in on something special without prying. 

Diana read you her letter and then you got her up and moving for lunch. After that, your morning shift was over and it was time for you to return home. You bid Diana goodbye for the day, although she wasn’t going to recognize that you were leaving. She had been in a weird space lately so it was harder for her to really know what was happening. 

Life went on, going through the motions of bringing Diana her mail of the day for a few days in a row. As suspected, she was the only one with mail today until you saw your name in the same handwriting as the last one. As you rushed to open it, something fell out. A piece of paper labeled, “read me to diana.” 

“Dear y/n, 

Yes, I am an FBI profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit (or BAU). Yes, I know you aren’t in my mother’s healthcare worker detail but I also know that you spend time with her every day. I may not see my mother but I might stop by every now and then to check in on her, even if she doesn’t know I’m there. And if she doesn’t know, you don’t know. But I know you. I know you were nervous to write to me, your handwriting was shaky and wouldn’t stay on a line. The way you gripped the pen was probably tighter than normal. You slant down, meaning something is weighing on you, but not low enough that you aren’t on a relatively straight line. I suspect you’re a little younger than me, based on the way you dot your i’s and cross your double t’s. It suggests that you still believe in impossible things. And of course, you’re curious because you asked me to profile your handwriting. I’ve also seen you before so I know we’re about the same age and yes, you are very cute. My mother is a schizophrenic but she’s not completely delusional. 

How did the letter reading go? 

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

How had you never seen him? How did you never see him, as long as his mother has been here. Maybe you did see him but he was unremarkable? Diana was hardly unremarkable so her son must be of similar construct, right? 

You thought about this before you wrote him back. It was a quick message, nothing too intricate. You were a little bit more careful about how you held the pen, since he knew you were nervous last time. You wrote to him about how the letter reading went: she loved the poem. You guessed that Spencer would know that but sent it anyway to make her happy. But that still doesn’t answer the question, “why you?” 

Another few days passed but you couldn’t stop thinking of Spencer. You tried looking him up on the internet and found out he was just as brilliant as his mother. That was a plus. Negative was he was not on any social media unless it was an article about him. Eventually you gave up and just went back to trying to imagine him in your head. Was he tall? Was he short? What did he like to do in his free time? He has seen you but you haven’t seen him… That wasn’t fair. 

When you opened his next letter, you were sitting outside in the grass, across from Diana sitting on the bench. She was having a particularly tough day so she wasn’t up to reading you her letter. You told her you would still keep her company until your shift ended and she seemed to like that. 

“Dear y/n, 

You ask a lot of questions. Are you sure you’re not profiling me? And yes, I have witnessed your connection with my mother before but you wouldn’t recognize me in a crowd. I’m average, nothing special. You care for her in a way I never could… That’s why I wrote to you. I’ll see you on Friday.

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

You didn’t think about how you interacted with Diana that made a difference. You just thought about why Spencer would want to talk to you… He said Friday. Which was today. Today was Friday… He could be anywhere! You had to find him and get some questions answered up close. 

You looked for anyone who might look remotely like Diana, frantically searching while looking nonchalant. Of course, he knows what you look like so you can’t seem desperate and like you’ve lost it. You also didn’t want to worry any of the residents. 

“Excuse me.” You said, trying to get past a guy who was standing in the doorway. He turned slightly and looked at you. He had a sad smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. He looked like someone who didn’t fit into the sea of people visiting their family members. Fridays were busier than the rest of the week so he could be anyone but you had a hunch by the way the guy was staring in the direction where Diana was sitting. 

“Spencer W. Reid?” You said, watching the sad smile get a little bigger. 

“You figured me out? How did you do it?” He said, scooting over so he wasn’t standing directly next to you. 

You didn’t take that as an offensive action. His mom did the same thing. They both had a thing about people touching them. 

“You were standoff-ish. And you’re dressed like you’re important.” You said, confidently. 

You had been googling what a profiler was and how to do it since the second letter. You thought it was the coolest job in the world but you liked where you were at, caring for people close to home. 

“So you profiled me.” Spencer turned towards you a little more.

“Yes, Dr. Reid, I did.” You triumphantly put your hands on your hips. 

“I never told you I was a doctor.” He said, knowing your nonchalant facade was going to fall apart that minute. 

“Well… Okay, I googled you.” You sighed. 

“The internet has its uses... “ He said, looking over at his mom again. 

He looked like he was getting cold feet of some sort. You saw him moving a little bit more and his eyes becoming a little flighty. 

“Do you want to step outside, into the lobby?” You asked, to which he nodded. He almost looked relieved not to be forced to go over there. 

“You don’t have to go over there. I don’t have to tell her you were here.” You said, sitting on the opposite side of the lobby bench to you. 

“No, she should know I came for her birthday.” He said, looking down at his hands. 

It wasn’t very often that the visitors got anything special on their birthdays. Unless their family did something within set guidelines, there was no celebration that happened here because it could set off one of the other residents in the facility. 

“That’s sweet. She would enjoy that.” You said smiling a little bit. 

“She’ll get her wish.” He said, wanting to chuckle. 

“And what’s that?” You wondered what he could possibly be talking about. 

“Seeing us together. I mentioned it in a letter previously, that she occasionally mentions that you and I would look cute together.” He said, finally looking up at you. 

“Oh, yeah. She has said that I needed to meet you once or twice before. We talk about you a lot. I feel like I know you.” You said, breaking eye contact. You were embarrassed that you told him that you talk about him when this is the first time you’ve ever met him. 

“Well, I don’t know much about you.” He paused. “Do you think you would want to tell me more?” 

“Oh well sure. Where do you want to start? My whole backstory is wild.” You looked up at him. 

It took a second for you to recognize what he was saying. 

“oh , you mean. Yes, that would be fun.” You said, attempting to remain calm. You just scored yourself a date and you didn’t do anything but write letters. Maybe you should be a pen-pal more often.

[myglogic]

Priceless | Bang Chan | 06

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Pairing: rich kid! Bang Chan (Stray Kids) x female reader

Genre: Crime, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You and Chan decide to snoop in Chan’s father’s office. Will you find something?

DISCLAIMER: Everything in this fanfic is fiction - that includes Chan’s fictional father who of course does not represent Chan’s real father! ♥

The night you talked with Chan and explained (almost) everything, you slept like a baby. Right after work you had gone to your father to ask him about Chan. He talked fondly about Chan and how he was such a gentleman. He also mentioned something about you dating him but you ignored that comment.

You were currently at work in the office with Minho. Minho’s legs were up on his table and he started yawning. “Damn, I’m bored!”, Minho shouted overdramatically. “Let’s do something!”

“Minho, I’m working on my article. I can’t just leave.”, you said, addressing him informally just as he asked you to. The last few weeks your relationship with Minho became a very comfortable one. He wasn’t pushing you to do any unnecessary work and he didn’t act like he was superior to you, which he was. He said he wanted you to work as comfortable as possible and you appreciated that.

Minho gave you a curious glance as he started walking towards your desk. “Let me see!”

You quickly covered your monitor with your body. “No! I told you that you can read it when I’m done!”

Minho rolled his eyes. “You’re so boring. I just want the tea on Kevin Bang. Is that so bad?”, he snickered as he watched you trying to cover up your screen. “I also want to help you, that’s all.”

You were consistent when it came to your work. “I said no!”, you then closed the document. “Dude, if you weren’t my boss then I would have said something.”

“Say it.”, Minho smirked at you as he challenged you. “I dare you to say it!”, he added and propped his elbows up on your desk.

“Do you want to fire me?”, you asked him in an equally challenging tone.

“Nah. I just want to hear it. It’s fun.”, Minho assured you.

You sat up straight and moved closer to him, so your faces were close. “I will not show you my article so… fuck off.”, you said, internally panicking and quickly moving away from Minho. You didn’t know you said that. He was your boss for god’s sake! “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I-“, you started but heard a loud laugher coming from Minho.

“Nice, you’re feisty! See, if you don’t want something then you need to say so. I trust you and I’m sure your article will turn out great. And when you are ready to show it to me, I will gladly read it and recommend it if it’s good.”, Minho told you and put a hand on your shoulder. “I told you that I’m here to help you, not use you.”

You exhaled in relief and gave him a smile. “I really appreciate that Minho. Thank you.”, you said happily. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You know how you can thank me? Let’s go eat something! I am starving and I’m hella bored here.”, he practically begged you. “Pleeeease!”

“Okay, okay!”, you sighed and grabbed your things.

Minho was doing a little dance. “I’ll get the car!”, he said as he went ahead. You really didn’t imagine working with Minho would be like this. When it comes to work this man was a different human being. In meetings he was serious and very professional. But when it was only the two of you, he was different. He was more himself and laid-back. You liked that he didn’t pressure you to release the article. You did help with his articles but it wasn’t just editing them. He asked you for help when it came to writing the articles and even let you write one section once and you were credited too in the actual newspaper.

Those were just small accomplishments that you had thanks to your new boss. Normally, you wouldn’t leave work just for food but because Minho gives you freedom at work you adjusted your plans according to his.

Arriving at the café, Minho got a VIP table because he was a regular customer there. After ordering your food Minho started staring at you. “Uh, do I have something on my face?”, you asked him, a little self-conscious.

“No, I just noticed that you have really nice eyes.”, he said as if him complimenting you was normal.

You started blushing a lot. “Oh, uh, thank you?”

Minho smirked. “Don’t be embarrassed!”

You started looking anywhere but Minho. Then your eyes met someone familiar. Chan noticed you too and gave you a confused glance. You quickly looked away and prayed that he wouldn’t come here.

Please don’t come here, please don’t come here, please don’t come he-

“Y/N?”, you heard that familiar voice. Chan. Oh no.

You quickly turned to the boy who was now standing right next to you. He gave Minho a sketchy look and then turned to you. “What are you doing here?”, Chan asked, confused. “And who’s this?”, you added.

“Uh. Hi! Chan. Heeey!”, you said awkwardly. You internally slapped yourself for that weird introduction. “Uhm, I’m here with my friend Minho!”

Minho’s eyes widened a little as he saw Chan. “Aren’t you…?”

“Yeah. I am.”, Chan said before Minho could finish his sentence, knowing that Minho recognized him.

Then Minho turned to you, baffled. “You know each other?”, Minho asked you, giving a weird look.

“Uh, yeah. We are… acquaintances.”, you quickly said. “I should probably introduce you. Chan this is Minho. We kind of work together. Minho this is Chan.”, you awkwardly said.

Chan gave you two a narrow look. “Work, huh? And Y/N, I thought we’re friends? Ouch, that hurts!”

Chan didn’t know what it was but seeing with another guy made him feel weird. Maybe he just worried about you. That must be it. Right? It’s not like you were his girlfriend or anything. Chan quickly shook off that thought.

“Yeah! Uh, Minho. Our break is nearly over we should leave, don’t you think?”, you ushered Minho out of his seat. You then got up and took your bag in panic to avoid more questions.

“But we didn’t eat yet?”, Minho rolled his eyes at you. “I want food!”

“Deliver it to your office, damn it!”, you said as you shoved your boss out of the door. “We’ll talk later, Chan!”, you said, leaving Chan all alone.

After arriving at Minho’s car and getting in he gave you a strange look. “So? Care to explain?”

You sighed. “I… uh…”, you didn’t know where to start.

Minho drove to the next drive through to finally get his food. “Come on, Y/N. What the hell? You are writing an article about his father and are friends with him at the same time? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Okay… He is helping with my article. Kind of. Basically, I am using him for my article. He doesn’t know that I’m a journalist. I should probably tell you why I want to write about Kevin Bang in the first place…”, then you started telling him everything about the past and what Kevin Bang has done to your family. “Chan is just a pawn in my game. I don’t even care about him. I just want information and where can I get better information than from the source itself?”, you lied. You couldn’t tell him about your plans with Chan. As cool as Minho seemed, you didn’t know how much you could trust him. He couldn’t know that you actually worked with him.

“I’m impressed, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to actually use his son, even though you are being a snitch. Nice. I can’t wait to read the article.”, Minho smirked at you and gave you a high five. “Oh, here. Your burger!”

You felt like something changed in Minho’s demeanor. You hoped that you didn’t make the wrong choice trusting him with your past.

♥

The next time you met Chan was a day after the whole Minho incident. Chan told you to come to his house or mansion or whatever you want to call it. It was a huge villa, basically. Chan wanted to snoop a little in his father’s office while he was gone for a few hours. Kevin Bang couldn’t really leave the house for a long time after all that negative press on the gala. However, today Kevin apparently had a business meeting in person.

The evidence you presented at the gala wasn’t enough to completely get him out of the picture because after all he was one of the richest and most powerful persons in South Korea. You couldn’t show evidence on the whole drug story because back then you didn’t have enough proof to show that he was the one behind the restaurant incident. The employee got evicted back then, not Chan’s father. He somehow turned the media back to his side. For every evidence you presented, he found a solution somehow.

This was your chance to prove it. You were going to his actual house and could maybe find out more about his illegal business. You were thankful for Chan because he helped you do this.

“Are you sure he’s not home today?”, you asked Chan cautiously as you got out of the car, clearly nervous.

Chan locked the car and walked around it to stand next to you. “A 100 percent. I looked at his planner and it said that he’s gone for the next three hours. We should use this opportunity.”

“Aren’t there any cameras, though?”, you asked as you entered the huge mansion. Your eyes doubled in size at the sight of Chan’s high-class house.

“Don’t worry, I turned them off. I’ll tell dad that it was a technical error or something.”

It was weird to hear about Kevin Bang as a father. He was a normal person in Chan’s life but to your he was your worst nightmare. The arrogant look that you see in the newspapers was Chan’s father. The way he always slicked his grey hair back and wore only custom-made suits. That image was permanently engraved into your brain. The way that this man lived a carefree and luxury life when your father had to rot in prison for almost two years made you sick to your bones.

Chan turned to you and gave you a worried look. “Are you okay?”, he said, concerned.

“I guess… me being here is making me feel strange. It’s a little creepy to be in the house of the man you detest. No offense.”, you said to Chan, still taking the huge house in.

“None taken.”, he assured you. “Let’s go to his office. But make sure that you don’t move anything. My father is a freak when it comes to his office. He’ll know when something is different. Be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

When Chan said that his father was a freak about his office, he meant it. The office was locked tightly with a code lock. Chan, being his son, knew his code. “My father changes the code every month but I saw him typing it in once. This should be it.”, he said as he typed in the code. “Bingo.”

Kevin Bang’s office was clean and very tidy. You had to make sure you left everything as it was. Before you knew it, you and Chan were sitting on the ground with lots of documents right next to you.

The documents seemed pretty normal. You sighed, it seemed like you missed something. Then you heard Chan groan. “I thought that we would find something. I guess dad is smarter than that. Once again, I don’t know him at all, I guess.”

You looked at him, his hair was disheveled from his frustration. “Are you close with him?”

“Honestly? I grew up with nannies and stepmoms who constantly changed. My dad was the only constant thing in my life so I thought highly of him.”, Chan said. He stopped looking through the documents.

“And you didn’t have a lot of time with your mother either.”, you concluded and gave him a sad smile. “I can understand that you didn’t want to let go of him.”

“Now that I think about it. My dad wasn’t really there for me when I needed him. After my mom died, he got remarried within a year while I was still grieving. I got emotional support from our houseworkers but it wasn’t the same as parental love.”, he said with emotion in his voice.

You moved a little closer to him and gave him a short side hug. “But you are still such an amazing person. You can give love to everyone around you if you want to. What happened in your childhood didn’t break you. You are strong, Chan.”, you gave him a genuine smile.

Chan started blushing and cleared his throat. “Uh, I found a document on future projects that haven’t been approved yet. There are actually a lot of them.”

You then took the document and looked at them. “These buildings have weird names. Maybe we should copy these?”, you asked him, just to make sure. He nodded and went to the copy machine.

You and Chan also looked up his computer and found a file that was protected by an additional firewall. “What the hell…?”, you said, confused. “What might be in that file?”

Chan was confused too. “I don’t know… Maybe some drug dealer information? I should ask my friend Hyunjin to have a look at this. He is very talented when it comes computers.”

“So, talented as in he is a hacker.”, you concluded and looked at Chan. He then smirked at you. “Yeah.”

Then there was a silence. It was a comfortable one but then you felt Chan stare at you. “What?”, you asked him, feeling observed by him.

“Uh… about yesterday. Who was that guy again? Minho, you said?”

Oh no. You expected him to ask. “Uh, yeah. He is my colleague. I help him with his work, that’s all.”

Chan blushed a little but looked away. “So, you weren’t on a date or something?”

“Why does that matter? I mean, we were just sitting there.”, you said, not aware of Chan’s reaction.

“Just curious.”, he said still not looking at you.

“If it means that much to you. No, we are not dating in any way.”, you said. However, you thought about that compliment that Minho gave you about your eyes. But that didn’t mean anything, right?

“Oh. Alright. It’s not like I care. You can do whatever you want.”, Chan told you, now finally turning back to you.

“Alright then.”, you smirked a little at his reaction to Minho.

You sighed as you neatly put away all the documents as they were. You got up but lightly crashed into Kevin’s desk which made the only pen on the desk fall to the ground. “Why is there only one pen here?”, you said and put it back in place.

“That’s his lucky pen. Whenever he signs a deal with it, the deal works out for him. I don’t even know why he believes in that.”, Chan told you. “Okay, I think we have everything. We should get out…”, before Chan could finish his sentence, he saw a car in the driveway. “Oh no… he’s back. Early!”

Then Chan quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the office. “You should get out of here before…-“, Chan started as he walked down the hallway with you.

“Before what?”, you heard another voice say. The voice that ran a shiver down your spine. Kevin. Then it dawned on you. What if he recognized you? You were his former best friend’s daughter! But the last time he saw you was when you were a child, if you’re lucky he might not remember.

Chan turned around to see his father standing right in front of you. “Oh! Dad! You’re back already?”

“I leave the house once and you already bring a girl home?”, he said jokingly. “Who is this lovely girl?” You exhaled at his reaction. It didn’t seem like he recognized you.

You felt sick. You didn’t want any compliments from that slimebag. “Uh- I am…”

Chan interrupted you. “She’s actually my girlfriend, Y/N! Sorry, I didn’t tell you.” Chan put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him.

“Huh, it’s about time you started dating someone after that last girl. What was her name again?”, Kevin started thinking while stroking his chin. “Whatever. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too, sir.”, you said in a shaky voice. Chan took his arm away from your shoulders but gave you a warm look which was supposed to tell you that he was here.

“One question, though. Your room isn’t in this hallway, Chan. What were you doing here?”, he asked in a serious tone.

Chan froze for a second. You then grabbed his hand and gave him a nod. “Sir, he was actually showing me around the house. I asked him because it’s so big and I wanted to see every corner of it. Should he not have done that?”, you asked him innocently.

“No. It’s fine. I’ll leave you two alone then. Don’t do anything stupid.”, Kevin then walked into the direction of his office.

Chan then brought you to his room where you both exhaled in relief. “That was a close one. Do you still have documents in your bag?”

You nodded. “Yes. You’re sure that we have everything?”

He sat down on his king-sized bed and then laid down. “Yeah. And I’m freaking exhausted.”

You giggled a little as you laid down next to him. “I am too. I felt like a spy in a movie.”

“Maybe we are destined to be spies?”, Chan said and laughed along with you.

“Spy partners or detective partners?”, you asked him jokingly. You both faced each other now. You were looking at his beautiful dimples and you liked his smile. You wanted to make him smile more just to see those dimples.

“Tough one. Spies are more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Huh, I guess you’re right.”

While you were having a debate over spies and detectives Kevin noticed a difference in his office. After entering he saw his lucky pen in a different position than before. “Something is up. I know it.”, Kevin said, sitting down on his chair with a serious expression on his face while picking up his precious pen.

[watsons-falling-snow]

Soulmates? A Korrasami Secret Santa Gift

@gaymergal I hope you enjoy this. It’s the first bit that I’ve written of the two of them but I really tried for you!

Soulmates were a tricky thing. Honestly. Not everyone had one, they were a rare spiritual blessing, and Asami Sato didn’t believe in them. If soulmates really existed then everyone should have one and relationships shouldn’t be such hell. If soulmates were real, she would have found her own after all the hell she had gone through in her life. From the loss of her mother, to the betrayal of her father, then to the loss of him. 

All the while, she was trying to navigate her own relationships and feelings. In her teens things had been all the more complicated, with dating Mako, then breaking up with Mako only for him to date their friend Korra, only for Korra and he to break up. Then she tried dating Mako again, only for it all to end up in disaster. If soulmates were real, why did things like that happen?

Luckily now, at twenty-seven, it mattered little. She was running her family business, being the youngest CEO and world renowned inventor in Republic City. Not to mention she, Mako, Korra and Bolin had all stayed friends despite the terrible things that had happened to them. That was the real magic in all of this, not some mythical idea of a soulmate. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ms. Sato, please look straight ahead and not at your phone.” The doctor asked with a sigh, his pen light catching the shine of her green eyes as she jerked back to him. 

“Sorry Doctor Trejo, I just… My friends are supposed to be meeting right now and they’re wondering where I am.” Asami frowned, following his finger as he finished his exam. 

“Well, I am going to be honest with you Ms. Sato, I recommend a quiet night in. You’ve had another dizzy spell and fainted. You refuse to have another CAT scan done, but this is happening more frequently. And you’ve said this is partnered with visions, now?” Doctor Trejo asked, shaking his bald head. “You need rest.” 

“Alright doctor, thank you for your honesty.” Rising up she placed a hand against his back to guide him out of her office. Shaking his hand on the way out she thanked him with a smile, before immediately turning to grab her phone. 

If she were being honest, she should stay home, she should probably tell her friends what was going on as well. But she didn’t know exactly what was going on. When she was younger she had always felt phantom pains, her mother always playfully accusing some unknown “soulmate”. Yet now as she was older, dizzy spells and visions seemed to accompany this phantom pain. How did you explain that to your friends when it was suspected you had a tumor that couldn’t be found? She’d tried doctors, healers and mystics. 

Doctors of modern medicine had told her it was likely a tumor they couldn’t find. Healers had accused a soulmate bond, which was a crock, and mystics were just… not helpful. 

‘Sorry guys, I can’t go out today - AS’ She sent to their group message, a smile on her features when messages started rolling in from her friends. Though the one that made her smile the most was from Korra. 

‘Don’t worry, we’ll come to you. K’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Settled at home the last thing Asami expected was only Korra to show up. She had said they would be coming, but perhaps the boys had been busy? 

“Korra, do you need any help?” She found herself asking as she tucked her hair behind her ear, her green gaze trailing after Korra as the woman carried bag after bag into her home. 

“Nope!” Came the cheery pop from the other woman as she finally closed the door. “You said you didn’t feel good. So I decided to make a traditional Southern Water Tribe soup for you.” Korra grinned, turning to give her friend a tight hug. 

“I’m not sure soup is going to fix what is going on Korra.” Came the bland response, though Asami was smiling. 

“Have you ever had water tribe soup before?” Korra asked with a know-it-all tone. 

“Well no but -” 

“Then you don’t know if it’s going to help or not.” The short haired woman snorted, tapping Asami on the nose with a playfully smile before she made her way towards the kitchen. 

Watching her go Asami shook her head, her hands going to her hips as she closed the front door. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why it was just Korra here, but she was thankful for it. It was sure to be a quiet and - 

“Uh… Asami? Do you have -” 

Letting out a laugh Asami took off towards the kitchen so she could help Korra before a fire broke out. The last thing she needed was for the fire department to be called out. Together the two women worked, Asami chopping anything and everything that was needed while Korra worked on actually making the soup. 

At the end of it, it was delicious. And Asami could admit her head felt much better. At least, until she felt Korra’s pressing stare. “You know - I was feeling much better until I felt your cool blue eyes boring holes into my head.” Putting her spoon down she linked her fingers under her chin, making a bit of a face at the other. 

“Well I’m worried about you!” Korra finally exploded, setting her own spoon down and throwing her arms up. “You never bail on us. And you never not tell me about what’s going on.” 

“Double negatives are not your strong suit.” Asami mocked, hoping to distract her friend. How was she meant to explain that she had visions that shook her to the core? How was she supposed to tell her that doctors believed she had a tumor of all things? 

“Asami, I am being serious here. You know I’m your emergency contact right? Like, you made that decision yourself. And here we are. With questions between the both of us.” Korra motioned between them, making a bit of a face. “If I wanted to be in your business, I could be, but I would rather you be honest with me.” 

Heaving a sigh Asami tucked her hair behind her ear, poking at her soup sadly, as she eyed her friend curiously. Did she tell her the truth? Why wouldn’t she? She had a lot to explain. “Korra… You know that I keep things to myself. And I made you my medical power of attorney because I trust you, not because I thought you were a snoop.” 

When Korra sent her a sheepish expression, her hand automatically lifting to rub the back of her neck in her age-old nervous habit. “Well I didn’t mean to snoop. I got a call to remind you about an appointment you had that you missed. Rather than leaving me here guessing the worst, you could just tell me the truth and we could work through it together.” She offered with a soft smile, her hand reaching for Asami’s. 

“You make it so hard to be mad at you.” Awkward as it was, Asami knew her friend deserved the truth. So she sighed, giving her hand a squeeze before rising up. Holding up a finger for silence when Korra went to question them she went to the bar in the corner of the dining room, grabbing two glasses and a bottle before going back to the table. 

Sitting down again she poured them each two fingers, despite knowing Korra didn’t usually drink anything other than a beer every now and then, and set the glass bottle aside. “Alright, you want to know what’s going on, I will tell you. But if the boys find out about this, I will strangle you. I mean it.” 

“You don’t mean it, but okay.” The Avatar cut in, her head shaking slightly as she grabbed the drink. If Asami prepared it, it meant she’d likely need it. 

“Truth is… I’ve been seeing healers, and mystics and doctors, all trying to figure out what is wrong with me.” Asami began, her long fingers twirling around the lip of the glass that was in front of her. “And none of them can really tell me what was wrong with me. - “ 

“Well mystics never give a straight answer ‘Sami. I can take you to Katara!” 

“I need you would offer, and no thank you. I’ve seen healers here in Republic City. I have also seen the best doctors money can pay for. And well… the thing that makes the most sense is a tumor.” She finally admitted, tossing back her drink before setting it down with a little too much force. 

“I’m sorry…. Did you say a tumor?” Korra demanded before holding up a finger much in the same way Asami had. Tossing the far too expensive liquor down her throat she winced, setting the glass down gently before turning to take her friend’s, her love’s, hands. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell us Asami? Why wouldn’t you tell me? Katara is the best healer in the world. I’m the Avatar for Raava’s sake! Surely something can be done to help you.” 

“Oh Korra, don’t cry for me.” Reaching out Asami wiped a tear she was sure the bender didn’t know she had shed, a soft smile on her lips. “I don’t need healers. They say there is nothing there. But I have these… painful headaches. They rock me to my core. And now they are affecting my vision.” As she explained Korra reached for her, gripping the sides of her face ever so gently. “Korra?” 

“Asami, this is serious. If you’re this affected by something you’re supposed to tell your friends so we can support you.” Calloused fingers a tad rough against her smooth skin Asami yelped when she was suddenly pulled into a hug. “I’m so worried about you.” 

It didn’t even occur to Korra that she had obscure visions of what her soulmate was doing and she hadn’t told her friends before. She knew Asami didn’t believe in soulmates and talking to Mako about this sort of thing was just awkward after the breakup. Bolin would likely understand, but the two of them got side tracked so easily when they were together that it was almost pointless to try and talk to him.

“Oh Korra, don’t worry about me. You know how determined I am. I’m not going to let something like this stop me.” The genius promised, her arms wrapping around her friend to soothe her. Korra simply burrowed close, hiding her face in Asami’s neck. 

“I’m always going to worry about you Asami. Always.” She promised, hugging onto her tightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night had ended with coffee and a vastly unfair snowball fight in the front yard. As Asami had to remind her friend numerous times, using your bending in a friendly snowball fight was cheating. Especially when she had no jacket and no cover to hide behind. But overall, it had ended in good fun. The play had been enough to convince Korra that it was alright to leave Asami alone, that she wasn’t going to keel over at any moment. 

Which was what brought her to the situation at hand. She had lied to Korra, and said she would stop working out but… working out helped her think. It really did! And it was just a basic run on the treadmill while she went through the tedious November report. Only to be interrupted by a sudden flash of pain that dropped her to her knees. Which of course resulted in her being thrown off the treadmill with a nasty scrape to her knee and a bump to her forehead. Laying in a heap on the ground her treadmill was still going as she was plagued by the painful visions. Running, why were they running? Away from or - After someone! “NO!” Asami called out, though her vision was blurry as she pushed herself up. Stumbling to her front door she paid no mind to the priceless vase she knocked over, or the blood she smeared on her wall. She had to help, had to do something!

“Korra!” Bursting out her front door she didn’t even make it to the stairs before she collapsed onto her snow covered porch. Her head was throbbing from the smack on the stupid machine, leaving her aching and wobbly. A fireball was thrown followed by an air blast, sirens could be heard in the distance. Asami was panicking. This was the first time her visions had given her anything useful. But she just knew those bending styles. She knew her best friend’s fighting style. Just as she knew she was working with the police to track down the members of the Triad once again. 

“Korra…” Asami’s voice was soft, weak, as the blood from her forehead dripped into the snow. The last thought she had before passing out was that Korra wouldn’t be such a bad soulmate to have. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep… Beep… Beep.... It was that steady beep that finally woke her up, her lashes fluttering open as she fought to remember what had happened. Squinting against the bright light Asami weakly lifted her hand, which was what alerted the other’s to her waking up. 

“Asami! Oh Asami we were so worried!” Bolin was the first to appear in her vision as he leaned over her. “Try not to move too much. You’re all bandaged up.” He doted, patting her shoulder gently. 

“Bolin, don’t crowd her face.” Mako’s voice was gruff as he pulled his brother back, giving him a firm look to stay back. “Glad you’re awake though, ‘Sami.” 

“Asami…” Korra’s voice was ever so soft, and that was what drew the woman’s attention to her right. “What the hell were you doing? I’ve been trying to figure it out since finding you and this is just.. I can only come up with Bolin level stupidity for answers.” 

Now that, that set her teeth on edge. “Oh… So you’re assuming I was doing something stupid?” The genius asked, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly as her anger rose. “You know that’s really rude.” 

“Well it’s rude to leave your bloody and bruised body to be found in the snow by your friends. You made Bolin cry. We thought someone had robbed you! Did… Were you robbed?” Voice having risen to show her anger Korra did her best to tone it down as she asked if the other was attacked in some way. 

“No, just… no. I fell off my treadmill and hit my head pretty hard.” At least, that was the last thing she really remembered. “I… I… mistepped, and went flying.” 

“Your knee, elbow and head were all banged up. You hit your head pretty hard because you fell face first. You’re pretty scratched up Asami.” Korra explained as gently as she could, her hand reaching out for Asami’s. As their fingers linked a soft smile touched each of their features, and Asami’s heart monitor, embarrassingly enough, spiked just a bit. 

“Well, you know me guys. If I am going to do something I have to go all in.” Asami snorted, making her friends laugh which did wonders to relieve the tension in the room. “I’m guessing I have a concussion?” 

“Actually Ms. Sato, you do not.” Her doctor chose that moment to talk in, his head shaking slightly as he sent her a frown. 

“Dr. Trejo, good to see you,” The injured CEO gave a slight smile from her place in bed, desperately trying to ignore the hand that pushed her back down when she tried to sit up. 

“I wish I could say it was better circumstances. Would you care to discuss this in private?” The doctor asked, holding open the door when she nodded. 

“Sorry guys - “ 

“Asami no -” 

“What’s going on?”

“Bolin, let’s go. Korra?” Mako stood at Asami’s silent plea, ready to wrangle his brother and best friend out of the room if need be. 

“Asami, I want to stay.” Korra insisted, taking her hand in silent plea. And unfortunately, or fortunately, it worked. 

“Korra… You could stay. But someone has to take care of the boys.” Asami whispered, sounding far too tired to be okay. “I’ll tell you all about it. I promise. I just need to talk to my doctor.” 

“Come on Korra, give her some privacy.” Mako beckoned, having already pushed Bolin out the door. 

“Fine, but you better tell me everything.” Rising up Korra kissed her friend’s forehead before following after Bolin and Mako, letting the door close behind them. The moment they were alone Doctor Trejo gave Asami a dull look, tucking his clipboard under his arm as he moved to stand at her bedside. “Ms. Sato, we need to discuss this seriously. Honestly, I am concerned about you. Before, you hadn’t injured himself, so it wasn’t an issue. But you’ve injured yourself. I think we need to perform more tests, and you need to take this more seriously.” 

“I… believe you are right.” Asami murmured, a soft sigh leaving her. “What are you thinking?” 

“Since we could find nothing on your original CAT scans, or your MRIs, we may want to consider exploratory surgery.” The doctor stated gravely, only to nearly jump out of his damn skin when the door burst open. 

“Did you say exploratory surgery?!” Korra demanded, uselessly held back by Bolin and Mako. Hands going to her hips she shoved the boys off of her, moving to Asami’s side. “That is crazy. I may not know a lot about practical medicine but I know a lot about healing. And that is ridiculous.” 

“Korra! You can’t just barge in here.” Asami frowned, looking over at the other as she came close. “We were having a serious discussion.” 

“Exactly, and I am coming in here to be serious. Let me take you to Katara, please. Asami, please?” Kneeling beside the other she reached out a hand to grasp Asami’s, giving it a tight squeeze. “Sometimes, you need a true healer. Not a doctor.” 

“No offense.” Bolin added quickly, though the doctor cut him a dull look. 

Looking between the lot of them Asami sighed, her head falling back to rest against her pillow. “Fine Korra. We can go see Katara. But then you will butt out.” 

“Oh, I’ll never butt out. But I’ll try to calm down.” Pressing a sweet kiss to the back of her hand Korra shook her head, clinging desperately to her. She had been listening at the door, obviously, and panicked at the thought of surgery. Especially an unnecessary one. At least unnecessary in her opinion. 

“Korra, you exhaust me. Doctor Trejo, I am so sorry. But, I’ll be in touch.” Asami promised, smiling slightly when she felt the kisses that trailed up her arm. Almost as if Korra just needed the reassurance that she was okay. 

When the doctor took his leave she smiled slightly, her free hand lifting to pet Korra’s hair back gently. “Korra, I will be alright.” 

“You will be, as soon as I get you to Katara.” Korra murmured against her shoulder, her voice soft as she rested against her. 

“Anyone care to catch the rest of us up?” Mako found himself asking as he closed the door after the doctor. “I mean, we just watched Korra nearly break down a door to get to you.” 

“Well…” Asami frowned slightly, her hand still stroking Korra’s hair. “There is a chance that I have a tumor. At least according to doctors. But healers that I have been too… They say that nothing is wrong with me.” She was fudging, just a little. After all, why mention something she didn’t believe in. “Obviously, something is going on.” Though… her thoughts drifted to the punch she had seen thrown in her vision. To the bending styles, the different elements… And thought of the woman beside her. There was only one person she knew who could do this, and that was the Avatar. 

“A chance you… have a tumor?” Bolin asked, a frown on his features as he moved to sit on the very edge of her bed. “Asami, that is something so serious.” 

“Don’t worry, we will get this taken care of.” Korra hummed, finally rising up from the other’s side. After all, it was embarrassing to still be kneeling beside Asami. They were friends, just friends, no matter her want to be more. Just friends was enough. It had to be. “We’ll get you to Katara and see exactly what is going on.” 

“Looks like you and I are taking a trip to the South Pole, are we taking Naga?” Asami asked with a smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“That was such a long trip.” Asami murmured softly, offering a warm smile when Korra lifted her off of Naga’s back. “Thank you though.” Kissing her cheek gently before she pulled away. “So here to see Katara?” 

“And my parents.” Korra smiled, wrapping arm around her friend. She hadn’t left Asami’s side since her getting out of the hospital. That had been a week ago, and she was worried as hell. Asami had been acting strange, from the odd glances to the constant chewing on her nails. Asami never chewed on her nails unless she was nervous. What did she have to be nervous about?

“Oh, that sounds exciting.” Her thumb lifted to her mouth nervously as she chewed on her nail, which earned her a lick from Naga. Nearly jumping out of her skin Asami’s gaze jumped over to the polardog as she wiped the slobber off of her face. “Well, thank you for the concern Naga. I’m fine. I promise.” 

“You aren’t fine, which is why we are here.” Korra gave Asami a squeeze, her gaze moving over her from the corner of her eye. Something more was going on here, she just had to figure out what. 

“Korra, you’ve returned home.” Katara’s voice was soft as she stepped out of her home. “Welcome, both of you. Please, come in. Naga, I am afraid after the last incident you will need to stay out here.” Giving the polardog a firm look the elder spread arms to welcome them before turning to lead them into her home. 

Once they were all settled with tea the water bending master spoke to the two young women. “So I understand that something is wrong, but I do not understand what exactly. Korra told me something about visions?” She prompted gently. 

“Well… I do not know if they are visions. My doctor says they are hallucinations. A healer I saw said they were well… that they were... “ Asami tried to admit it, but her cheeks flushed and she stared down into her tea. 

“They were soulmate visions.” Katara supplied, making Asami look up quickly. “Yes I’m aware that you do not believe in soulmates. Korra has told me as much. But Ms. Sato, I must tell you, sometimes the most obvious answer is the truth.” 

“But! That doesn’t make any sense. The person I’m seeing in the visions… I know them. And have for a while. Why would this just start so suddenly?” Asami attempted to deny, even while discussing such a nonsense matter. 

“You see someone in your visions? You never told me that before.” Korra frowned as she spoke to the other. 

“Well I mean… I haven’t always. It’s normally just what they are doing that I see. At first I thought it was myself doing things. But that didn’t make sense. Just like this doesn’t. I am a woman of science. Soulmates are nonsense.” Stating it firmly, as if trying to reassure herself more than anything, Asami shifted forward to set her tea down on the coffee table between them. 

“Soulmates are very real young lady. I know because Aang and I were soulmates. Just as you and Korra are.” Katara spoke calmly, never missing a beat as she sipped her tea. 

“What?” Asami gasped, her face flushing. 

“Katara!” Korra yelped the woman’s name, the tips of her ears going red in the same way that Aang’s used to. 

“What? It does not take much to see the way you care about one another. The love between you is clear. I think the people missing it were the two of you.” The master huffed, setting her tea down to speak to them properly. “I am far too old to play games with the likes of you. And I will not lie for your comfort. The truth is, soulmates are as real as you and I. As real as the two of you. What I believe you are experiencing is called Soulmate visions. It is rare that it happens in today's world. But, it can happen. Just as it has with the two of you. Korra, you have been seeing things yourself, have you not?” 

“I mean, yes I have. But I don’t know of who. I just sort of… see things? Often paperwork and well manicured hands.” Korra grumbled, feeling embarrassed that her mentor would even suggest such a thing. They were best friends! Not soulmates. Asami had never even indicated liking… Did she like…? 

“This… This is ridiculous. I came here for help, not to be made a mockery of.” Rising up Asami didn’t even so much as say goodbye as she took her leave, ready to get herself back to Republic City if need be. 

“Asami, Asami wait!” Sending the elder woman a look, who simply shrugged as she picked up her tea again, Korra rose up and took off after the other. “‘Sami, seriously, just wait!” When her friend didn’t stop she used her bending, creating a wall of ice to stop her. 

“That is cheating Korra, we’ve discussed this!” Asami snapped, rounding to face her with a finger pointed against her chest. “And I am not sticking around here just to have some crazy old lady tell me that soulmates exist when they don’t.” 

“How do you know they don’t? And Katara isn’t crazy!” Korra defended, ignoring the finger poking into her chest. “She’s elderly, and knows what she is talking about.” 

“Just because she’s old doesn’t mean she knows anything. I am a literal genius. If soulmates were provable, I would have proven them!” Throwing her arms up Asami glared at her friend, her heart pounding. This couldn’t be real. Because if it was real then it was Korra, and that would ruin everything. Statistically, they didn’t stand a chance. She’d run the numbers once. 

“Soulmates aren’t something that can be proved or disproved! They just are. Sure, the cases of them are sporadic, but they happen! Like Aang and Katara, or Kyoshi and Rangi!” 

“So you’re saying the Avatar statically always has a soulmate?” Asami challenged, causing Korra to flush. 

“What I am trying to say is, not everything is statistics!” Korra shot back, uncaring of the fact that they were arguing in the middle of their village. Her hot temper was something well known. “Sometimes it’s about feelings. Soulmates are about feelings!” 

“Feelings aren’t logical! Feelings get you hurt and why would anyone want that?” 

“Why wouldn’t you want that? Sure… You can get hurt. But it’s better than feeling nothing. Asami… Don’t you feel anything?” The avatar found herself asking, her shoulders slumping slightly. 

“Of course I feel things. I feel a lot of things. But that doesn’t mean I want to. It doesn’t mean I haven’t felt pain.” Shaking her head Asami ran her hands through her hair, trying to calm herself before she let out a sigh. “I don’t think we are getting anywhere with this argument.” 

“Well I’m not about to stop talking about it now. Katara said we are soulmates. Do you believe that? Have your visions been about me?” Korra asked, trying to keep her voice gentle in the face of Asami’s dismissal. She didn’t want to stop this conversation. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all. 

“I mean, not everyone can bend more than one element. And that was my last vision. But that doesn’t mean we are soulmates.” 

“How does it not? There are studies about this Asami. Do you… Do you not want us to be soulmates?” Korra found herself asking, having already accepted the idea the moment Katara said it. If Asami was her soulmate she would sing across her lifetimes and rejoice. It would be a proud moment. Not something to be afraid of. Yet Asami seemed afraid. And she wanted to fix it. 

“No! No, it isn’t that. It’s just… Korra you don’t really believe in this do you? What if… What if it ruins everything? You’re my best friend. I can’t risk losing that.” Shaking her head Asami reached out and took Korra by the hand, holding it between them. “You’re… everything Korra. Losing you would be like losing a part of myself.” 

“I hate to be the one to tell you Asami, but that’s love.” Without further thought the brash avatar leaned close, their foreheads bumping gently together. “This… this is love.” With that she did it, she moved in and kissed her best friend. 

This… This was just the beginning for the two of them. The avatar and her genius. Korra and Asami. The best friends, finally becoming more. 

~~~~~~~~~End?~~~~~~~~~

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 63

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"Well, are you?" I asked Jasper.

"Am I what?" She returned from her place by the counter.

"Going to shut down the strikes. She made some pretty good points about the Grimm," I said. I leaned on one of the tables, my massive sword handle extending over my head.

"No… I told you we aren't even in charge of the strikes really. It's a bit of an avalanche that's carrying us along. And if we don't get on board we'll be left behind," Jasper returned. "I'm not saying that she didn't have any good points. And maybe the only way to get real change going is with the elections. And Robyn Hill is basically a shoe in over Schnee. Especially down here in Mantle. Money can only buy you so much. Might be for the best if things were to die down."

"But you're not sure," I affirmed.

"How can I be? Nobody's sure. It's the Cetra condition. The Happy Huntresses are about defending Mantle, though. They've been at it for a while and they've done some real good. Maybe they're right about this too. I certainly don't think the military will shoot on the crowd but if they do it would be bad."

"The Happy Huntresses don't seem to like me which is a point in their favor."

"Oh pssh. None of that. You do fine."

"So, I'll just come by again later?" I asked.

"Yeah, really sorry about this, cutie." She winked. Her fox tail swished around in the air behind her in a brownish-red and white flare.

I ignored that last bit.

Neo tugged on my sleeve from her position by my side.

"What?" I asked her. "Want one of their drinks?"

She held up a finger to her lips as though deep in thought. Then shook her head.

"Then I have no idea what you want." I turned back towards Jasper. "We'll be back later. I'm going to go scope out this Adam Taurus and the protests. I might end up having to kill him after all."

"If you say so. See you later tonight."

"Yeah well no promises, especially if I end up in a fight."

Neo and I strode out and mounted my motorcycle. "You are being a needy bitch today, Neo. What's up with you?"

She shoved a finger in out of a rounded hole made of her other fingers. "Not happening. Didn't happen. I would remember something like that."

I was like seventy-five percent sure. Maybe a hard seventy.

She shrugged at me, somehow making the gesture teasing. An 'if you say so.'

"I do say so." And I did. It did not happen.

No matter what she herself implied. I would remember. I would know. Sure the night before was little more than golden blurs. And sure I somehow ended back up at the motel with all my armor and gear.

Anything could have happened after I really started drinking and the morning when I woke up. Anything but that, that is. The warm memories I felt were probably from The Den not from you know… sex… with Neo.

I rubbed a hand over my face hard.

"Neo you're fucking killing me. You know that, right?"

She grinned and nodded.

"Yeah well even if it happened once it's never ever happening again. I'm too fucked up to be doing that level of drugs again, that was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm also too fucked up to be having sex with you."

I looked down at her as she frowned and slapped me on the arm.

"No points against you. You're drop dead gorgeous. But, well, tough shit," I returned. "For me and for you."

I revved up my motorcycle. Neo straddled behind me and flickered into a disguise for while we were driving. She was wanted, more so than my own form. No reason to give some patrol-man a reason to pull us over and start calling for backup.

And she couldn't exactly cover every camera we came across while driving. There were too many on the main roads and we went by too fast. So this little disguise helped.

She was still gorgeous in her double, with bright green eyes and dark black hair, just as long as it was when she was in her normal form which was to say waist length. Neo had that otherworldly angel-esque appearance some hunters got after a few years with aura.

It was a cure all to wrinkles and blemishes and left the user looking out of this world. Neo was no exception with her tight stomach being exposed and her muscular, relatively long smooth legs in those heels propping up her butt. Her short stature didn't detract from her beauty.

Huntresses, man. They were just like that. Like they came from another planet. Maybe I was a bit like that too, though. If I could be so arrogant. I'd had aura most of my natural life. Tall, blonde, and huntsman, I recalled a conversation in GaiLong I had with an old man about it. He told me not to be dense. I attracted more than my fair share of looks. More than my fair share.

Ruby had been like that. Beautiful like a little angel. Her hair and eyes stood out unnaturally even amongst huntresses. Yang, of course, was staggeringly gorgeous with her blonde mane of hair and lilac eyes. Weiss had a sort of pristine crystalline look to her that had drawn me to her immediately. Like she was multifaceted. Like a cut diamond. Blake had that bookish appeal but translated over to the huntress side of things it made her stand out in any crowd.

Pyrrha… well it went without saying with Pyrrha. Her emerald eyes and bright red hair flashed behind my eyelids every time I closed my own. She haunted me, Pyrrha Nikos did.

Even Jasper had started to have a bit of that. Stomach and face like a supermodel and long legs to boot.

Huntresses, man. Ain't nothing like 'em. Aura was a hell of a drug. It turned people into angelic beings.

But Neo was no exception. When I first arrived at Beacon I thought I'd have been lucky to have sex with someone as gorgeous as she was.

Now the thought only filled me with a slight sense of dread. A mix of betrayal and hurt welled up from deep inside me. Even though I had no right to feel that way. My feelings about it weren't valid. Not then when I'd first arrived at Beacon, all my feelings from then were fake. And not now when I was cruising around like a monster.

I rolled up on where the miners were picketing. It was near the open pit mine I'd been at for the bombing. They'd lined up around it, eight or ten people deep. They were armed with  protest signs and little else from what I could see. They had no weapons.

Could Ironwood really open up and fire on a crowd like this? Would that really solve the negativity problem or just make it worse? I could see it now, a swarm of Atlesian Robots mercilessly breaking up the protest with sleek assault rifles.

I thought it would make things worse. For sure, for sure but my opinion hardly counted for squat, did it.

By the crowd there were police officers lined up around the perimeter. They probably had standing orders to leave the crowd be but break up any fighting. They looked nervous. As they should before a mob like this.

The people were baying for change.

From the protestors' signs they were demanding safe improvements to their work and higher wages. Nothing crazy, at least in my opinion. In my estimation they would get it. They deserved it. These people weren't hunters. They hadn't signed up for danger. They wanted their working environments to be safe so they could go home and see their families every day.

There was nothing crazy about that. Nothing insane. These people already should have had that. Mining should be one of the safest occupations. It could be done right. It didn't have to be a dangerous, well, a minefield. Save that for the hunters.

I guess the collapse of this mine, artificial or not, had been a bit of a breaking point for the people. I trolled around the crowd for a few hours. Traffic was ground to a halt in places as the protest spilled out onto the streets, blocking vital arteries of city flow beyond the capacity to reroute. It backed up traffic for miles and miles. It was unbelievable.

It was a mess. I could confess that. But it seemed like an easy enough decision at the top level. Capitulate, and nobody would have to get hurt. Of course if old man Schnee cared more about people than the profits his company could pull in, then people wouldn't be protesting, would they.

It was hard to see him winning the election to the council with open picketing happening against his company but Atlas got a vote too and they were separated from all this. One of the benefits of keeping the people of Atlas and Mantle segregated.

It was gross but effective. Keep the different stakeholders in different places and there would be no need to capitulate. I didn't hide the disgust I felt and let it roll out onto my expression. Jacque Schnee could keep his company rolling the way it had been and become a council chairman. He could have his cake and eat it too.

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I never found Adam Taurus.

It wasn't exactly a point of shame for me either. The entire Atlas military couldn't find me but then again I was driving around in broad daylight with my own illusionist. It made me wonder if Adam had his own illusionist. Like maybe someone like Emerald Sustrai. She was an illusionist too.

What I managed to do instead was drive around and observe the absurdity of the crowd for a few hours. If I needed to find Adam Taurus bad enough I would use Aurum. Not drive around lost.

Still it was good for me to see the crowd and feel their negativity for myself. It was easy to talk about it and have it all get lost on you what ten thousand angry people really felt like against your skin. Or aura. Whichever. They felt mostly the same to me. Maybe it was my short lifespan with a relatively long period of having my aura activated but I could hardly tell a difference.

I could feel Neo riding behind me with her cruel cold. I could also feel the crowd. Blazingly hot. Burning me up. Throngs of people fired up over a common reason. A common goal.

I wasn't much of an empath but even I could feel the negativity. Ren had always been better than me at that. Ruby had been too. What did it say that I was able to feel the negative emotions rolling off the crowd like a tsunami?

It meant that even a layman could probably notice it and pick up on it. The walls of Mantle had probably been under twenty-four seven assault by the Grimm. Meanwhile Atlas rested above, safe and sound. Connected to Mantle only by shallow guide wires for the gondolas and trams.

A shallow spider web that connected the two cities. Never crossing, never overlapping, but allowing the transference of people and ideas.

They probably felt none of this rage. Atlas was an island in a sea of negativity and Grimm. Albeit a floating island but an island nonetheless.

How could two places so close together feel so disparate? Was this how the segregation had remained mostly in place for so long? How long has things been like this with Mantle's red hot rage and Atlas's grey cold apathy?

It unsettled me, the stark difference between the two.

I shifted on the bike and Neo scooted down closer to me. She kept a single arm around me and under my plate.

"Well Neo, what do you think? Think we should cut this off and kill Adam Taurus?"

Was I just hunting for a reason for me to kill someone. Maybe. Salem was driving me mad. I at least had that as an excuse.

"Of course killing Adam Taurus won't end this. We'd need to get that Dyne guy. We started this, though. We're responsible for it, to one degree or another."

"I feel bad. Last night I was getting wasted in The Den and this shit was happening down here. You couldn't even tell how bad things are from up in Atlas. All the people down here, if you even care to look and see them, just look like ants."

I rolled back up on Seventh Heaven in the evening. There were more cars parked outside than normal. I marched up to the place and walked inside with a jingle of the bells.

It was relatively crowded. It had all the members of Avalanche inside, looking as they did before with their red bandannas. Then it had another man in a white mask, red hair and a long katana. He had the horns of a bull on him.

There were two more guys inside. A taller white skinned gentleman with a white shirt, green trousers and a green vest with red trimmings. He had only one arm. The other was cut off at the elbow with red bandages around the end. He had a wiry tail like that of some kind of big cat.

Another man was in there but his opposite arm, his right, was cut off at the elbow. He was taller, taller than me, with black skin and black hair.  He had thick brown boots and a brown vest with green trousers and a darker brown under shirt. He had a thick bushy bear tail.

Everyone turned to look at Neo and I as we walked in. We were the only humans in the room.

"Cloud…" Bisque said in greeting.

"What're these humans doing here?" The man in the white mask gestured his blade forward at his hip towards me.

"We invited them, before we knew this meeting was going to happen," Jasper said.

The man with the katana growled at me. I stared him right down back. It would be inaccurate to say nothing scared me, but not this asshole.

"He worked with us. He's a mercenary who helped us blow up the mine. He fought the Turks. He's cool," Wenge said.

"You did that?" The taller dark skinned man asked.

"I did." I nodded.

"Why would a human do that?" The masked man asked.

"Money. Information. Take your pick," I shot back.

"I don't like your attitude. And I do recognize her. She's Neapolitan. She used to work for Roman Torchwick."

"She works for me now. You got a problem with that then we can take it outside."

He growled and stepped forward towards me. A hand held him back and his chest from the man without his left arm.

"I'm Dyne. This is Barret," Dyne introduced. "We could use the help of a skilled merc. The picketing is losing steam already. We need to set a fire under Schnee's ass."

"Avalanche was telling us about another operation, one to sink an SDC freighter," the man without his right arm continued, Barrett was his name. "Make them beg for the miners back."

"They told me about it. I recommended that they wait," I said. "I take it you gentlemen want the operation to go ahead?"

"That's right." The man with the sword said. "If you think you're up for it. If they think a human like you can be trusted."

"Avalanche has one of my retainers." I pulled my pipe out and lit it. I made myself look comfortable.

"Oh Cloud can I get you anything to drink?" Jasper asked.

I looked down at Neo. She nodded. "Just one of those house specials for Neo. I'm good." I'd had enough to drink the night prior. "And who's this?" I nodded at the man with the Katana. "The rest of you were polite enough to introduce yourselves."

"I'm Adam Taurus."

"Ah," I said. "The man on everybody's mind. I might get paid to kill you tomorrow."

He grabbed his sword but he didn't draw it.

"Is that a threat."

"A little." I exhaled smoke in his direction. "It's the truth. Think you can take me, Taurus? Wanna dance?"

He growled at me.

"I, for one, like you, Cloud. What was your last name?" Dyne asked.

"Strife. It's Cloud Strife."

"Well I think we just may be able to work together. Avalanche has your fee? You'll do this op for us?"

I smoked and nodded. I looked over Dyne's head at Avalanche. They were giving me pleading and grateful looks.

"Should be cinch," I said. "We can discuss my payment later."

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-WG

[joonsdiary]

the proposal

↳ part one of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing. ceo!seokjin x hotelier!reader (female) genre. arranged marriage au // humour with a dash of fluff and sprinkle of angst (mayhaps future smut?) word count. 4,8k summary. after losing ownership of your hotel to the satan-spawned ceo-to-be, kim seokjin, you are forced by the powers that be (your parents) into marrying him. you agree under the assurance that you won’t be out of job, but with the title of manager instead of owner. as it turns out, he has other plans and approaches you with a proposal that’s hard to refuse.

note. a cliché, overused trope? check. a series with (maybe) no plot and is just about jin as a billionaire ceo? check. this was initially supposed to be a sequel, but i couldn’t follow it up with the same ambience and mood, so i decided to leave the drabble [as a standalone] and write a spin-off instead. this has been in my drafts for the longest time, so i’m excited to share to you a series that literally nobody asked for.

warning-but-not-really. not all corporate ceos are as chilled out as jin will be portrayed here. may give you high expectations of literally some of the worst people on this planet lmao also purely self-indulgent! read at your own risk tbh

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

The premise was simple.

Get married so you can keep running your hotel business or refuse and lose everything to the man your parents have personally hand-picked to become the owner.

Scratch that.

The man your parents sold your hotel to, thus making him the newly appointed owner.

Choosing the latter and having your freedom would mean giving up your hard-earned company to the lousy billionaire’s first-born son, who happened to own half the hotels in metropolitan Seoul.

The Kims.

Notorious for their enormous amount of wealth, their class, and having three strapping young men for sons who knew nothing else, but privilege handed to them in a silver platter.

Despite growing up in a well-off family, you’ve always taught yourself that independence and hard work was the key to success. You distanced yourself as much as you could from your parents’ money, stuck it out for four years in college, and graduated with a degree. Running the hotel full time while attempting to finish your master’s in business administration part-time had been the theme for the past year. Until your parents dropped the bomb on you.

Words like, do you really think you had full ownership of that run-down hotel of yours and we had to sell, or we’ll go under had been thrown around. As if keeping the secret of having a huge amount of debt would make you feel better about seeing your hotel assimilated into Kim Hotels. Not only would you lose ownership, but you knew that you were bound to get fired, if not demoted. It usually came with the change of proprietor.

Conveniently enough, the Kims had other plans. Their current CEO, Seokjin’s father, agreed to let you keep working as the hotel manager instead of the owner, which is honestly miles better to you than being jobless. But it came with a hefty price: you were to marry their oldest son, Kim Seokjin. They drove a hard bargain, and you found yourself agreeing. You loved the hotel more than anything you’ve ever owned; having to pour your heart and soul into making it worth being proud of. And you were. That’s why hearing your parents say that it was in debt felt gut wrenching.

Initially, you tried to get a hold of him, hoping you could convince him to re-think the situation. You thought perhaps the media had been wrong about him, and all the talks of him being a calculating corporate shark was a lie. Maybe he would let you work as the manager without having to marry him. But the COO of Kim Hotels refused to meet with you, despite hearing from your parents that he’d been “more than willing” to be married to you.

You scoffed at their baseless statement. Seokjin had a reputation for taking women to bed one night before leaving them to dust by the next morning. As if selling his soul to the devil in order to be worth billions of dollars wasn’t enough; of course, he was sleeping around as well. You weren’t one to judge anybody’s lifestyle choices, but you were sure that someone in that calibre wouldn’t agree to be wed to a person they hardly knew just because. There was something in your gut that told you there was more to the agreement than a simple arranged marriage.

Or maybe the feeling in your gut was due to the bad pasta you had.

“Good evening, Ms. Hwang.”

You’re greeted by Mr. Park, the doorman as soon as you enter the lobby, cradling a piping hot tea you hoped would alleviate the stomach cramps you were having. His smile gave away his old age, wrinkles dotting the corner of his eyes and the lines in his cheeks. You returned the gesture.

“How was your dinner?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you laughed softly, shrugging away your coat without spilling your drink. “I’m never eating out ever again. Please tell me Yoongi is in.”

He nodded, gesturing to the entrance not too far from the lobby. You bid him good night and head to the restaurant in the hotel, which was sparse with customers. Friday nights were usually teeming with life and excitement, but unfortunately business had been relatively slow all week. The worry pooled deep in your stomach – as if you needed any more ratification that your hotel needed to be bought, or you’ll close down.

“Yoongi! I need your cure-all soup,” you called out as soon as you sat on the barstool, propping your tote on the table. Jungkook waved at you from the far end of the bar, concocting a drink for the eager gentleman waiting in front of him. Yoongi popped his head out from the kitchen’s double doors to scowl at you but was met with your beaming smile.

He returned several minutes later with your request and you quietly thank him.

“Bad date?” he asked, wiping his palms over his well-worn apron. Jungkook had inched closer by this time, mindlessly wiping the area beside you.

You nodded. “And terrible food. I should’ve just asked him to take me here to Grigio instead.”

Yoongi raised his brows, but a grin was threatening to burst from his lips. “Why didn’t you?”

“He insisted on going to that posh new restaurant that just opened last week. Said it took months to book and he couldn’t just cancel on a whim,” you rolled your eyes, carefully blowing cold air into your steaming soup.

“This is why I told you to stop looking around,” Yoongi leaned into the counter, studying your expression.

“It’s cuffing season,” you joked. “Blame social norms for my behaviour.”

He gave you an impassive stare, before sighing. “You’re literally cuffed already.” He said, followed by a quiet, “I still can’t believe you’re getting married soon.”

You waved your right hand nonchalantly before lifting the spoon to your lips. You moaned as soon as the flavour filled your senses.

“Did you know you’re the best chef ever?”

“It’s just chicken noodle soup,” he said drily.

“Exactly! The simplest meal yet you manage to bring out so many spices at once.” He rolled his eyes at your attempt to boost his ego. Either way it was true; for you, nothing beat Yoongi’s cooking, no matter how simple he thought the meal was.

You forgo the tea and asked Jungkook for a bottle of white wine. “Nothing fancy — Les Capriades is fine. I heard they came in last month, and I have yet to try them.”

He nodded at your instructions before disappearing off to the back to find your drink.

“Stop avoiding the topic, Y/N,” Yoongi rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you stated confidently, yet you couldn’t meet his gaze. “The devil incarnate himself refuses to see me. I guess I’ll have to meet him at the altar.”

“Three weeks from now,” Yoongi said, almost exasperated.

“Until then, I’ll enjoy my freedom.”

“What freedom?” Yoongi scoffed, rounding the table to slide into the seat next to you. Jungkook returned with your promised bottle and your eyes beamed with excitement before quietly thanking him. “You didn’t even date around before any of this marriage circus happened.”

You agreed with the “circus” part and ignored the indirect jab. Besides not having a say in any of the planning for your wedding, your supposed fiancé refused to introduce himself when you tried to reach out multiple times.

Okay, perhaps it wasn’t multiple times. You called his office when your parents broke the news to you a week ago, but his assistant said he was busy with a meeting and that you should call back. You didn’t, and that was the end of it. You’ve been putting off trying again, but it’s been a week and he hasn’t contacted you back either.

Maybe it was mutual disdain; if one of you was testing the other to break, you didn’t want the first to be you. It already felt undignified to be marrying someone for the sake of keeping a semblance of ownership to your hotel, so you weren’t about to grovel and demand to be spoken to when it seemed like he wasn’t willing to spare you a second of his time.

Yoongi chatted for a bit before he had to go back to work, so you were left to pull out your laptop from your tote. For the next few hours you immersed yourself into finances, staring at the excel spreadsheet displayed on the screen far longer than was medically allowed. Surely, you’ll go blind before you see your hotel overcome the negative deficit you were in.

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Hwang,” Jungkook thrummed his fingers on the table as he passed by. You looked up in time to see him mime something unintelligible. Your brows raised in confusion.

“Your glasses,” he laughed quietly, fingers hovering close to your cheek. You mumbled a quiet oh, before pushing the rim higher until it settled snugly against your nose bridge.

“Thanks.” You sighed, tipping your head to one side. After feeling the satisfying pop! you turned back to Jungkook with a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You slumped back to your work as soon as Jungkook was out of sight. Glancing at the clock on the corner of your laptop, it blinked 00:37, which automatically caused you to yawn. Yoongi should be out soon, so you willed yourself to stand up and prop the close sign by the entrance.

From where you stood, you could see the lobby clearly, as well as the spinning doors of the hotel entrance. A few patrons trickled in, no doubt coming in from their busy day, and filed sluggishly to the elevators where it would take them up their floors.

That was the most fulfilling part of being a hotelier to you. The satisfaction of giving people a comfortable stay, whether they were mere tourists or locals wanting a getaway from their normal life. It certainly isn’t as posh and sleek as the Kim Hotel with their towering glass buildings and boring black, white, and grey colour palettes. But what you had was something you were proud to consider your home, with the vibrant earth tones of the walls and furniture, as well as the rich velvet tapestry draped along the ornate windows. High ceiling chandeliers peppered the lobby, casting an ambience of warmth and security without lacking luxury.

“‘Night, Y/N.” Yoongi clasped your shoulder, startling you out of your mini daydream. “Stop using my restaurant as your office, will you?”

You mustered a small grin. “Bye, Yoongles. Drive safe.”

Yoongi turned to you as his face contorted violently. “I hate that nickname.”

“Love you too!” You called out as he exited through the revolving door before placing your hand down with a sigh. Back to work. You were about to turn and go back to your forgotten laptop when the door welcomed in another guest.

With bated breath you watched the man stalk towards you, eyeing you dangerously as if you were his prey. His midnight black suit made him look slim but highlighted his broad shoulders all the same. You were arrested at the spot, unable to look away and felt as if you’ve been robbed of oxygen. The more he stepped closer, the more unclear your thoughts became.

It’s not as if you hadn’t seen the man. He often appeared on several business magazines — gossip tabloids more so. Yet there was something different about seeing him in person, in front of you, in your hotel.

No. His hotel.

“Ms. Hwang. I was hoping to find you here.”

You blinked up at him, not trusting your voice to form words under such immense pressure. His usually slicked back ebony hair is more mussed; a day’s worth of stress was evident in his restless feature.

When you didn’t reply, he took it upon himself to study you from head to toe, and your body went rigid. Your long, honey-coloured hair had been tied up in a lazy bun and glasses framed your face. You didn’t bother changing out of your mini black dress from your date earlier, whose thin straps clung onto your shoulders for dear life.

You squirmed uncomfortably, finding a small ounce of strength to wrap your hands protectively around yourself. “What are you doing here, Mr. Kim?”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes, supple lips bending upwards for a grin. “Call me Seokjin. Mr. Kim is my father.”

And with that, he welcomed himself in the threshold of your restaurant.

Technically, it’s his restaurant now, too.

You let your anger simmer for a bit before turning to follow him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you declared. It was hard to keep your annoyance down when he had showed up unannounced after ignoring your existence for a whole week.

He slid next to the seat you had claimed yours, and you almost tripped in your heels as you followed, immediately snapping your laptop shut. There was no new information he could have garnered from looking at the finances of the hotel, as he’s probably aware of them. But the thought of him snooping around made you feel queasy.

“I wanted to see what had my father so enamoured that he’d actually buy this…” he trailed off, waving his hand dismissively, “…hotel?”

You hated the underlying judgement in his tone of voice. You had also heard rumours that he’s unabashedly forward and hard to deal with, on top of all the other rumours that plagued him. So far, all the boxes in the checklist were proving to be true.

“It’s quaint. Not at all what I expected.” His gaze studied you momentarily, and you can tell he wanted to say more but he smartly held himself back. Good. You don’t know what you would do if he strung one criticism after another.

“Well, you’ve seen it. You can kindly screw off now.”

Seokjin seemed taken aback for a second, but his surprise didn’t linger. He leaned back on the stool and swiveled forward before pointing at the shelves lined with alcohol.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.”

In an attempt to ignore his ridiculous demand, you powered up your laptop once more. No way in hell would you let him step all over you, not even when he owned the hotel where you now stood. “You have very capable legs and arms. I’m sure you can whip one up yourself.”

Was this man joking? Granted, you know your way behind the bar since you had the privilege to work as a bartender for a few years during your college tenure. But that doesn’t mean he’s welcomed here to treat you as if you were a subservient of his. Which, semantics aside, you were, though that’s beside the point. But if he made an effort to come down here and order you around like a scullery maid in an attempt to intimidate you or put you in your place, then he was barking up the wrong tree.

“I was told you have terrific hospitality. I guess they were mistaken.”

Not for the likes of you, I don’t. You rolled your eyes, not bothering with an actual reply.

Seokjin maneuvered off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his cufflinks before he rolled his sleeves up meticulously. He then rounded the bar and began grabbing materials with familiarity, not stopping to ask where anything was located. You watched in awe from the corner of your eyes, attempting to be discreet.

“Want one?” he gave you a slanted gaze.

You wrinkled your nose in disagreement and raised your wine glass.

“A refill, then?”

Pressing your lips firmly together, you gave him a defiant headshake.

The mild shock of seeing him traipsing behind the bar had rendered you absolutely mute. The fact that he knew where everything was piqued your interest. Was it an outcome of years of experience as a habitual drinker? Or did he often just randomly raid bars, hence his extensive knowledge of their layout? You didn’t want to know, but at the same time you did.

It took him a while to find a coaster before settling back to the spot beside you. Typing away at your laptop, you refused to give him even an ounce of attention despite his attention solely being yours. The silence that ensued was more uncomfortable than anything you’ve experienced.

Suddenly, you were all too aware of your crooked posture and your body snapped, straightening your shoulders rigidly. It felt stupid, but necessary for the sake of your sanity to keep your façade. Although it crumbled ever so slightly when Seokjin laughed beside you.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel tense,” his voice was languid and inviting.

You steeled yourself, refusing to be lulled into a trance by his intoxicating presence. “What did you really come here for, Kim Seokjin?”

“She speaks!” he exclaimed, clearly amused. You turned to give him an impassive stare. “Do I need a reason to visit my fiancée?”

His statement caught you by surprise, your poor heart bearing the brunt of suddenly having to pump more oxygen than usual. It brought warmth to your cheeks and you allowed yourself to fall into the fantasy of marrying the most eligible bachelor in all of Seoul. The fantasy, however, was short-lived as his wink broke the spell you were under.

“Don’t worry, this will be strictly business,” his back straightened up on cue. You tried and subsequently failed not to watch the way his deft fingers moved to loosen up his necktie. He then slightly deflated with a sigh, before grabbing his drink and taking a sip.

For courage, perhaps? It brought a small amount of accomplishment to know that you might have The Kim Seokjin nervous before you.

“It’s about the wedding, which you know is coming up soon.”

This was it. The topic you’ve been narrowly avoiding for the past week suddenly poured on you all at once like a bucket of ice-cold water. It wasn’t the most refreshing way of waking you up to reality, but it got the job done.

“I hope you aren’t getting cold feet now, Kim,” he grins at your attempt at humour.

“I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, by the way. My secretary said you tried to get a hold of me.” You remembered the woman’s monotone voice on the other end of the phone call. Part of the reason why you were reluctant to call back was due to nervousness from hearing her apathetic voice.

You shrugged in response, finding him less of an asshole than you had previously. Was your expectation of decency so low that you found anything remotely human he did to be an act of chivalry on his part?

Yes. Yes, it was.

“I tried calling because I wanted to know if I would be able to talk you out of this deal.”

Seokjin was visibly surprised by your candor.

“Oh yeah, and how would that have played out?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Surely, it was too late to take anything back, so you tossed all caution out of the window. He might as well hear your piece.

“The ceremony preferably cancelled. The Hwang Hotel back to its rightful owner, as if the whole thing hadn’t occurred in the first place.”

Seokjin regarded you with amusement in his eyes. The warm lights of the Grigio soften his rugged features, making it seem like he was glowing. You came to understand how he had the whole country enamoured by him. He was distressingly handsome.

You gagged at where your thoughts ended up and leaned back a little, terrified of feeling too intimate with the man who had claimed your hard-earned success for himself. The hotel means more to you in ways you know Seokjin will never be able to relate. A man who, with a little twirl of his fingers, would be making more money than you could ever hope to imagine. They say no hard work goes unpaid, but for him it was probably akin to: No hard work, but I get paid either way. How comfortable must it be to sit atop that domineering tower of his, overlooking the city he practically owns?

“And what do I get out of that possible scenario?” he began after a brief pause.

You refused to wilt under his imposing gaze. With a confident voice, you said, “The satisfaction of doing a noble deed.”

He barked out a laugh, tilting his head back in obvious enjoyment. You didn’t share the sentiment as you sighed before removing your prescription glasses. Perhaps hoping for the impossible was futile, after all.

“Look, I don’t care about this little passion project of yours,” Seokjin waved his hands around condescendingly, and you felt a familiar pang of anger surging from your chest. “And you’re lucky my father swooped in to purchase this hotel before you went bankrupt.”

“Thank you for the constant reminder,” you deadpanned, but he ignored you and continued. The gall of the man to show up and ridicule you made you irate. I take that back, he’s still an asshole in every aspect imaginable.

“To be frank, I think we’re both in a pinch here. You want your hotel back, and I’m willing to grant you that tiny little wish.”

You perked up; interest piqued. But you felt an ultimatum coming, so you squashed all hope arising from his statement. There was always a catch.

“My parents have been grooming me to become CEO ever since I learned how to walk. For me, acquiring the position is a no-brainer.”

“But?” you offered, and his grin widened.

“But lately my father refuses to hand me the reins. He’s been wanting to retire, but every year he keeps sticking it out. Then I unceremoniously learned my engagement with you. All of a sudden, his mood shifted, and his plans for retirement began piling up.”

Your brows creased in confusion, unable to see how you fit into all of this.

“My reputation precedes me, so I’m sure you’re aware of what I’m insinuating here.”

Something clicks in your mind, and you willed yourself to hold back a scoff.

“Enlighten me, Kim,” you propped your chin against your palm. If you were going to agree to this, you might as well have a little fun for yourself.

“My parents aren’t amused by my…” Seokjin trailed off.

“Decision to debauch half the women’s population of Seoul?” you offered, unable to hold yourself back. You grinned triumphantly; he had set himself up for that moral beating.

“I was going to say my inability to settle down, but sure, we’ll go with that,” Seokjin was unfazed, much to your disappointment. “He hadn’t explicitly said it but seeing the way everything is being handled so quickly, I can tell it’s what he wants. For me to get married; then maybe he’ll consider giving me the position.”

“And you didn’t oppose?” you asked incredulously. It seemed at the moment you were the one who is prepped to lose the most. What if it wasn’t you who the Kims chose for their son? Were you supposed to just accept defeat and give up your hotel?

“Oh, trust me, I vehemently opposed,” you nodded at his statement. At least you agreed on something. That was a start. “But that’s partly the reason why I’m here.”

“What more can we possibly do? We’re basically left with no option,” you grumbled, turning back to your laptop. For you, there was no way around this. Both your families have decided for you, so you have to either fall in line or risk losing your business.

“What if I tell you we can go back to our normal lives a few months from now? We won’t be married to each other. You’ll have your hotel back, and I’ll still be the CEO.”

You inadvertently leaned towards him, eager to know where the conversation was going.

“We just have to convince my parents and yours, as well as the board of directors of Kim Hotels and the public alike how we’re hopelessly in love with each other.”

Your mouth formed into a visible scowl, forehead creasing in confusion. You searched for hints of frivolity, waiting for him to say just kidding! at any moment. But his stoic face told you that he was being serious.

“And we’re doing this because…?” your patience had worn thin, expression marred by weariness and fatigue. You had a lot to get back to; you didn’t have time for silly games.

“It will make the divorce more believable.”

You paused, the gears in your brain turning. The agreement your parents told you about hadn’t involved a divorce; so, you were curious as to where Seokjin was going with his idea.

He was offering you an out; a way to get out of his family’s mess unscathed. You’ll have your only prized possession, and he can go back to sleeping with as many people as he wanted while retaining his coveted position. The proposition was too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” your lips pursed, and you found yourself considering his ludicrous proposal.

“No catch,” he holds his two hands up in surrender, the corner of his mouth forming a smirk. You eyed him with suspicion.

“Just that you give effort into this whole thing. Make my father and the board believe enough to think I’ve ‘cleaned up my act’,” he paused to roll his eyes, “so that they’ll hand me the position without question. I promise you full ownership of the Hwang Hotel, without debt, as soon as we separate.”

While your parents’ original plan had been to marry you off entirely (which you did not want at all) Seokjin was sensible enough to figure out that you had no desires of tying the knot to someone you barely knew. He probably shared the sentiment, hence his proposal.

“This doesn’t make sense though,” you said pointedly. “Wouldn’t they find out about your motives when we divorce? And our parents technically arranged this, so they’ll be mad — I’m sure yours will be more than mine.”

You’re all in for finding a loophole in this whole arrangement, but you’re not sure you’ll agree if it will give you more problems in the long run.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “They can question it all they want. But like I said, if we make it believable enough, we can always reason that we ‘fell out of love’.”

In an attempt to alleviate a developing headache, your hands slowly massaged your temples. The information was a lot to hand, but no matter how many scenarios you played in your head, they all seemed to have the finale you wanted. Regardless of what happened within the upcoming months, you were going to get your hotel back.

“If you’re really that worried, let’s just say I cheated,” Seokjin’s words snapped you out of your muddled thoughts.

Your eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be worse for you?”

“The public already thinks I’m a man-whore,” he said wryly. “The board is not going to kick me out of office for something tedious like a divorce once I’m CEO. And I’m sure I can reason it out with my parents when the time comes.”

You laced your fingers together, hoping to wring the concerns away. There was no use in overthinking the situation; it certainly beats staying miserably married to someone you barely know.

You let out a shaky breath, before mustering the confidence to say, “Fine.”

“Great, I knew you’d be reasonable.” He flicked his wrist to look at his watch, gaze composed despite the tiredness in his eyes. “I’ll have my secretary e-mail you a written agreement.”

“Great,” you mimicked his deadpan tone. Gone was the casual Seokjin who paced around behind the bar with much familiarity. This was the COO of Kim Hotels Seokjin; precise and straight to the point.

Better get used to that.

“Thanks for the drink, future wife,” he slid off the barstool with poise, the distance between you and him closing ever so slightly. He smelled like pine and cedar, with a hint of citrus; it was enough for you to suddenly sober up, unaware you were inebriated, to begin with.

“No need. You forced your way in, anyway.” You said dismissively, pretending to switch tabs on your screen. Where was that random website you were looking at earlier?

With a quiet laugh, he turned to leave. You listened to his rhythmic steps and perked up when he paused.

“See you tomorrow, fiancée,” he said without turning.

“Tomorrow?” you tried not to give away the surprise in your voice.

“We have to start going on dates to convince them that we’re serious about this, right? Pick you up at eight, sharp.”

With a wave of his right hand, he stalked off towards the exit, leaving you alone in the restaurant.

Suddenly, the premise didn’t appear so simple. You reached for your glass of wine and finished the rest of your courage drink in one gulp.

NEXT ; 

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated ;u;

[nevernotwriting]

You, Me, and Yancy | Chapter 1: A Proposition

Read me on AO3!

It had been a normal morning so far. Well, as normal as it could get when you worked for a kind but, quite frankly, sketchy group of people.

You pulled off of the freeway, making your way through crossroads and down a path you previously thought abandoned. After graduating from a master’s in cyber security from Caltech, you’d been lucky enough to land a job almost immediately after your project was handed in, meaning you didn’t have to haul yourself and your belongings all the way back home to the backwaters of Pennsylvania. Sure, you did have to haul yourself across Los Angeles in a giant moving van, but a couple of hours of California traffic was much better than a several thousand-mile journey across the States. Over the last few months, you’d settled nicely into a life you could call your own, filled with people from all walks of life, and with much warmer weather.

You smiled to yourself as you scanned your ID card at the gateway to your HQ, thinking of all the people you’d met so far at this bizarre yet wonderful job. There was your boss, for a start. She’d changed her name so many times that everyone lost track and instead settled on calling her ‘Shark’, which she welcomed with a hearty laugh and a flash of a mouth full of teeth. The name suited her, you thought.

You and some of your other colleagues also liked to use unusual codenames, both for privacy and for fun. There was Vakarian, who had an affinity for calibrating everyone’s computers and was a killer shot with a sniper rifle. Next was Shrike, who had named herself after a type of bird known for piercing its prey on thorn bushes. You decided not to ask her why she chose that name. For yourself, you settled on Zero, a reference to your almost lifelong affinity for binary code which led you down the tech path in the first place.

There were others who just chose to use their real names – Jasmine, Gareth, and Mark. You and Jasmine worked together regularly in the tech department, spending hours chatting in between your hacking sessions and gaining intel on building layouts for the heist experts. Jasmine had been on two heists herself, and always came in the next day talking at a million miles per hour about how fun it was, how it sent her adrenaline skyrocketing higher than any rollercoaster ever had.

By her mannerisms today, you guessed she’d been on a third heist last night. You’d been settled at your desk for all of two minutes when she waltzed in, placing a cup of coffee down for you and twirling in her chair with a gigantic grin on her face.

“Mornin’ Jazz,” you greeted her. “Another heist last night? How was it?”

Jasmine began her spiel before you could even reach a hand towards your coffee. She rambled on and on about the thrill of scaling buildings, how good her new night vision goggles were, and how she nearly got caught but managed to make it out right on schedule.

“Zero, you have to go,” she finished at last, taking a sip from her own cup. “You won’t regret it.”

You hesitated, shrugging your shoulders. “I dunno, Jazz. I’m more of a behind the scenes tech monkey.” You’d been on a few scoping exhibitions, but that just involved sitting on a rooftop watching guard rotations until the early hours of the morning. You’d never done anything more adventurous, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to just yet.

She rolled her eyes, wheeling her chair closer to you. “But think about it. You could get some more up-close-and-personal time with Mark,” she whispered, nodding her head to your left.

You followed her gesture. Mark had just entered the office, dressed in all black. He took off his beanie and swept a hand through his dark hair. It immediately flopped forwards again, so he shook his head to one side. The action seemed to go in slow motion, and you tried not to stare.

Before you could chastise yourself for definitely staring, Mark’s eyes landed on yours. He shot you a warm smile that lit up his whole face, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled back, giving a little wave before swizzling round in your chair.

“No way,” you hissed in embarrassment, snatching up your coffee before it turned cold. As it turned out, it was still very much burning hot. You tried not to wince as you forced the liquid down.

“Why not?” She shot back. “Look, he’s clearly into you. He practically jumped at the opportunity to show you the ropes of all the heist gear, and to a rooftop night shift with you. You guys are always lingering by the water cooler together on breaks, giggling away like little schoolkids. And, Shrike told me he asked you out on a date last week.”

You nearly spat out your second mouthful of molten coffee. Jasmine sat back in her chair with a smug grin as you glared at her.

“How does she know that?!” You tried not to yell as Vakarian milled into the workplace, throwing around cheery greetings.

“You know Shrike,” Jasmine shrugged. “She gets around. She skimped on the details, though. So, what did he say exactly?”

You could see Jasmine wasn’t going to let this go. You sighed, mirroring Jasmine’s posture as you began to recount the details of that evening.

~

You got out of your chair and stretched triumphantly, knowing you were just about done for the day. The last thing you had to do was collect the blueprints you’d sketched up from the printer, then leave it on Shark’s desk for her to look at in the morning. You did just that, and dusted your hands off with a satisfied smile as you made your way down the corridor to the exit.

You’d been so caught up in your daydream of getting home, changing into your pyjamas, and curling up in front of the TV that you hadn’t realised that you weren’t the last one in the building. That is until you walked straight into another person.

You gasped at the abrupt contact, shutting your eyes as your prepared to hit the ground. The fall never came. A strong hand caught yours and pulled you upright with a gentle grunt of effort. When you opened your eyes, you were face to face with a kind smile and dark, inquisitive eyes.

Mark’s eyes.

Blood rushed to your face immediately, and you stumbled out an awkward apology.

“Jesus, s-sorry Mark. Didn’t realise you were still here.”

Mark just laughed. It was a deep, hearty laugh, but not an unkind one. “No problem Zero.”

Your eyes travelled back to his from where they had chosen to fixate on the floor. He was still smiling at you, and you managed to smile back sheepishly. His face only brightened as you curled out of your awkward posture to face him properly. He’d been incredibly sweet to you ever since you joined, and you two became even closer after many hours spent on that rooftop in the middle of the night a few weeks back. That night in particular really caused a stir in your feelings, and brought up a whirlwind of emotions you’d never felt before.

That whirlwind started all over again as you realised he was still holding your hand. You cleared your throat and he broke your shared gaze, letting go and scratching the back of his head.

“Hope I didn’t hurt you,” you said, gaining a small amount of bravery and dusting off his shoulders from where you’d collided. A hint of pink appeared on his cheeks at your action, but he covered it up with a barrage of his usual confidence.

“Me? Nah, I’m a big strooong man,” he replied, puffing out his chest and grunting in an exaggerated manner. He curled his biceps for an exaggerated effect, clearly trying to make you laugh.

And boy did he. You doubled over, failing to stifle a snort. Your face grew hotter at the embarrassing noise you hadn’t intended to make, but Mark seemed to revel in it, his grin growing wider with pride at getting such a strong reaction from you.

“Anyway,” he started again as you both calmed down from your shared laughter. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something.”

You raised your eyebrows and stayed silent, waiting.

Mark let out a short exhale, running a hand through his hair and then across his stubble. Despite the joy on his face mere seconds ago, he now looked a little uncertain. It wasn’t an expression that came naturally to him; he normally paraded around with a kind yet confident smile as he told you about the heists he’d pulled off in the past, about his family, and as he asked about yours. You’d never seen him like this before, and you didn’t know what to expect.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Look, I really like spending time with you here. Showin’ you all the gear, chatting over coffee, all the usual work stuff.” His voice was quiet. He cleared his throat again, taking a step closer to you and looking into your eyes once more.

“But I’d like to get to know you better, in some place that’s not work related. Would you like to go on a date sometime?”

Your mind screeched to a halt as you stood frozen on the spot. Did you hear him correctly? It sounded like Mark just asked you out on a date. Mark the heist expert, Mark the previous engineering student, Mark your very cute co-worker, wanted to go on a date with you.

You couldn’t lie to yourself - the thought had crossed your mind several times over the past few weeks. When he held out a hand to you after you fell flat on your ass when you failed to use the grappling gun. When his form lingered around yours as he taught you how to aim a tranquiliser pistol. When you sat on that rooftop together exchanging stories and his eyes never looked away as you started opening up to him. You just never expected it to actually… well, happen.

A gigantic grin, bigger than all those before, broke out onto your face. “Mark, I’d love to!”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Great!” He exclaimed, a relieved laugh escaping him. “When works best for you?”

You hesitated, remembering your schedule was pretty booked for the upcoming weekend. “In all honesty, I’m pretty busy this weekend. Family visiting,” you tried not to sound too negative. “But maybe after then?”

Mark nodded understandingly, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling on the spot. “Sure thing. I’m free most of the time, so whenever works for you, really.”

You smiled back, heart skipping beats as reality set in. You and Mark were going on a date. Sure, you didn’t know exactly when you were going on this date, but it was definitely happening soon.

“I’ll let you know, for sure! For now though, I guess we’d better be heading home,” you replied, a spring in your step as you and Mark made your way to the exit. It was dark when you got outside, so Mark insisted on walking you to your car, even though it wasn’t too far from where he’d parked his own. You turned to Mark when you stood next to your vehicle, unsure of what to expect but not wanting to seem rude.

Mark stood with his hands in his pockets again, beaming at you like before. You felt heat rise to your face again; you’d never get used to him looking at you like that.

“Goodnight, Zero.” He took his hands out of his pockets and held his arms out for a hug, which you more than happily accepted. He was warm and his hold around you was strong but comforting, making you feel safe and at ease. Your heart was beating rapidly again as you wound your own arms around his waist and spoke into his ear.

“You can call me by my real name if you want.”

You let your arms trail away from him as his grip softened. Mark looked surprised, but flattered, by your suggestion. He pursed his lips in thought.

“How about we keep it as Zero for work?” He suggested. “I’ll switch to your real name for our date.”

You nodded as you unlocked your car. “Deal.”

He winked at you as he walked away backwards, almost tripping on his own feet. You covered a small laugh with your hand. Mark regained his composure and waved you goodbye. You waved back, getting into your car and driving into the night.

Next chapter