#he's been cursed with the least professional invader out there

[reynaruina]

Do you still make art abt Competent Zim?

if so

PLS MAKE MORE (with gir i want to find out more abt them and dr mem)

its one of meh fav iv AUs beside Merzim and lovebug

(First of all, sorry to everyone who have been tossing asks my way! i've gotten them all, my inbox is just more stuffed than a gimp on a good weekend and it gives me Mad Performance Anxiety. Literally having to have a friend of mine in a corner of the ring here massaging my shounders as I sip on mineral water, to even consider tackling this. Jesus)

There will be more CZ coming, yes!! Very soon, matter of fact!! finished a new comic on stream a bit ago, just leaving it on Patreon first for the ppl there then will bring it here :D And I DEFINITELY wanna touch up more on Membrane and Gir later on!! Especially Mem and his relatiohship w the RoboParents, It's one of my favorite dynamics of this entire AU, just a lil' glimpse of how f'ed up things can get over here :D

[ellemany]

Stressed Out - Chapter VIII

<<< Index

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Kelvin

Recommended Music: Formidable - Stromae

Kelvin is the name of the thermodynamic temperature unit used as the basis of the International System of Units.

 Over the last few days, Viper felt that, on a Kelvin scale, her relationship with Chamber was dropping the temperature dramatically, approaching 273K, the freezing point of water. However, on a mission together with Chamber, they have the opportunity to warm up again.

 But maybe it doesn't turn out the way she expected.

On the fifth day, when the pain for Chamber's absence came to be physical, Viper crawled into the aircraft hangar like a zombie. She was the first person to arrive, eating a quarter of a natural sandwich while waiting for the others, with no real desire to swallow. Chamber arrived thereafter, stopping at the jet's entrance when he saw Viper. Their eyes crossed and, just when Viper thought he was going to make some joke, he broke eye contact by going to the weapons depot. Viper closed her eyes and leaned her head on the back of the plane, thinking about how that scene would have been different a week ago. When Chamber would sit next to her, hold her hand and keep talking to her about their plan for the mission. She wanted it to come back so badly.

The noise of annoying laughter invaded the jet and Viper opened her eyes to give a grumpy stare at the noisy young people arriving. Killjoy and Raze were holding hands, having a lively conversation with Skye, where the three laughed. Viper's eyes rolled automatically. Young people were annoying.

- Oooooh Viper! - Raze waved at her with a smile, heading towards her. – Hear me out. - She sat next to her, with Killjoy accompanying her and Skye going to program the jet's flight. - You would press a button that would make rainbow unicorns that their shit is ice cream and make wishes come true HOWEVER! - Raze raised her hand and Killjoy laughed more, resting her head on Raze’s shoulder. – Their food is human flesh.

That's why Viper hated young people.

She took a deep breath, feeling the plane lift off. She heard something falling into the weapons depot and turned her head in that direction.

- Hey! Wasn't everyone sitting? - Skye said from the cockpit.

Again, Viper's eyes rolled by instinct. Killjoy and Raze looked at her curiously, waiting for her answer. She'd have to deal with them for the rest of the flight or maybe, who knows, it could be, Chamber. None of the options were Viper's favorite.

That’s a lie, it was obvious she had a favorite option.

They heard another noise coming from the depot, as if more things were falling. Viper thought checking what was going on over there was a plausible excuse to get away from them two.

- I refuse to answer that. - Viper grumbled, getting up when the jet stabilized and heading toward the depot.

- Oh, come on. - Raze made a peck while Killjoy pulled her arm.

- Freudin, these unicorns aren't worth it so much.

And the brats were toxic because Viper was really pondering if it was worth having people-eating unicorns in the world. At least to devour them both and make part of Viper's suffering end.

She put her head inside the weapons depot, looking at Chamber under a table with some guns lying around him. He was cursing in French. Viper gave a slight smile of contentment to see his misfortune.

- Do you… - She stopped talking, pondering whether that would be his co-worker or his girlfriend talking. She preferred to think it was just a professional matter. It wasn’t good that the physical integrity of the agents was impaired during the mission. - Do you need help?

Chamber stood still for a few seconds until he reached out toward her.

-Yes. - He spoke dryly, crawling away from the table.

Viper nodded and approached him, holding his hand. The touch made electricity pass through her body and Viper remembered how good it was to hold his big hands. She pulled him out, helping him get up. Their bodies almost collided and she can smell her cologne mixed with cigarettes. He should have smoked that morning. Chamber walked away from Viper and ran his hands through his clothes, cleaning his pants and the well-maintained vest. Viper took a step back, feeling that if she got too close, she would eventually fall apart in his arms and lose all the dignity she had left.

- What happened to the Tour de Force so you end in the infirmary? - She spoke casually, holding her hands in front of her body.

Chamber adjust his glasses and lowered himself to pick up the guns that had fallen. Viper followed the movement, looking away.

- I didn't do the new projectiles well. The substance inside them leaked into the barrel and after a few shots, it shaded for good. - He put the guns on the table, supporting his hands there. – The friction of the bullets in the barrel created a tiny explosion in my face… - Chamber shook his head and Viper had to contain the urge to touch his face, wanting to heal his pain not even if it was a little bit. - It was… Unpleasant...

She nodded slowly, putting the guns on the table beside him.

- I'm sorry... - She spoke sincerely, sitting at the table. She put her hands together on her lap, turning her thumbs, wondering if she should say something else or not.

- It’s okay... I was able to adjust the reservation for today's mission. - He shrugged, running his hand through his hair. -But... The bullets we designed for the Headhunter are perfect.

Viper turned to him, finding his look bright. He had a simple smile on his lips, demonstrating his pride about their work.

- Show me. - She came out of the table, looking at him curiously.

Chamber nodded and equipped the heavy pistol, taking a bullet from it and giving it to Viper. Viper held the projectile near her face, seeing the greenish substance inside of it.

- Are you sure there's no way to make it purple? - Chamber tilted his head to the side, making a peck. - It would be more like me.

- A dye could affect the chemical composition and compromise the effect of the poison. - She moved the bullet in her hand, feeling its weight. - The point wasn't to kill them if it was with a graze shot?

- I've always thought it was sexy how you prioritize the suffering of others.

Viper stopped playing with the bullet, noticing the line. He let it go so naturally that it didn't even seem like he refused to talk to her informally the day before. For someone who always complained about how much Chamber was flirting with her rather than focusing on the mission, that phrase was a surprising relief. She watched his face. He'd analyze the Headhunter, as if it were the most interesting thing there.

- Priorities are priorities. - She shrugged, returning the bullet to him. - But don't keep making up with it. We still need perfect shots.

The corner of Chamber's mouth trembled with a smile, and he nodded briefly.

-Oui...

And then the silence. So deafening that she began to hear her heart beating. She changed the weight from one foot to the other, yet without looking at her. If they were in a good mood, he'd never let that silence exist.

- If you...

- What's...

They spoke together, mixing the words. Viper crossed her arms while Chamber swallowed dry.

- You can talk. - He gestured at her, his nose taking a reddish hue. Viper thought it was funny how his nose turned red when he was embarrassed. Literally a clown.

- No, no… You first. - She gestured with her head at him, squeezing her arms more against her body.

- Oh… - Chamber wet his lips and approached her, pointing to her arm. – Can I?

Viper raised her eyes at him, close enough for her to note the details of the new glasses. This one was more beautiful, with a reinforced frame. She nodded, extending her arms to him. Chamber held her arm carefully, analyzing the poison launcher, which had some broken and deteriorating parts. Viper struggled to look away from him, since he was so close to her.

- What's wrong with the chemical launcher? - He asked, turning her arm from side to side.

- Corrosion. It happens all the time. - Viper sniffed, pointing to a box in the corner of the depot. - I'm going to switch it before we get there.

-Umm… - Chamber mumbled and then looked at her, squeezing his lips a little. - I... I can switch for you.

Viper watched him for a few seconds. She wanted to ask why the hell he didn't apologize to her at once so they could go back to the way they were. She missed the lightness of being by his side.

Viper nodded at last, sitting again at the table. Chamber walked away from her to pick up the box and placed it next to her on the table, opening it and picking up the tools to change the launcher.

- I appreciate you wanting to help me, but do you know how to do that? - Viper asked, extending her arm to him.

He stood facing her, very close. Under normal circumstances, Chamber would convince her to do something far more interesting than trade a chemical launcher in that position.

- I know how your suit works. I've taken it off enough times to understand. - He held her arm, activating the launcher and starting to pull it out.

- I didn't know you were interested in it that way. - She raised her eyebrows, watching his face. - You never stopped to stare while I was wearing... Or take it off.

Chamber looked at her quickly and then turned to the launcher, taking it out.

- I was bored and wanted to know how you had done it... It's a very ambitious project to do on its own... - It seemed like he was going to add something else to the phrase, but he kept quiet, taking the new launcher and positioning it in place.

- Yes. I can handle myself. - "Except in the kitchen." She completed it mentally. - Ouch! - She made a grimace, trying to pull her arm when he squeezed her skin too hard.

- You want to end this on your own, too? - He grumbled, attaching the launcher to her suit. - You said I wasn't around when you needed it. I'm at least trying to change that.

Viper looked at him, biting the inside of her cheek. It was not intentional that her speech would become an opening for their discussion. But since they were there...

- You barely looked me in the face for five days. - She let the resentment show in her voice, thinking about how he treated her coldly. - You think just fixing my suit changes everything?

- You barely looked in my face for five days!

- Because you... - Viper started repeating the same sentence again and then pressed her lips, looking away. - You just had to talk to me.

- I had to talk to you? - Chamber walked away from her, putting one hand on his hips. - I was hoping that whole time you'd realized what you'd done and had the least decency to come and talk to me. At least...

-Me? - Viper raised her eyebrows, coming down from the table. - You're the one who freaked out for no reason!

- Oh hell that again. - He shook his head, looking away.

- Just apologize. Is it that hard? - She crossed her arms, walking in a way that would return to his field of vision. - I'm right here!

- Me too! - He looked at her angry. - Why don't you apologize?

Viper laughed humorlessly, putting her hand on her chest.

- By God, you're so childish!

- I didn't start this!

- But you're the one who chooses to continue!

- Because you broke my kitchen! I had to pass the whole night cleaning up that place and I ended up exhausted while you, madame, could sleep careless! Making such a tantrum!

- Vincent, I haven't slept properly or eat in five days. You think I'd be like this just for a tantrum?

- You wouldn't have to stay like this if you just apologized!

- I'm not the wrong one here! Stop being proud for once in your life! Please! I hate fighting with you!

- I hate it too!

And that's when Skye fell into the depot.

Chamber turned to the redhead lying on the floor and then looked at Killjoy and Raze at the entrance. Raze smiled awkwardly while Killjoy was blushing. Skye held her face in her hands, looking at the two of them as if nothing was happening. Viper squeezed her arms even more, not wanting to look at them.

- We came to pick our guns and… Well… - Skye turned to the girls, seeking support. Both denied with their heads quickly. - Yep. That's it, that's all.

Viper let out the air slowly, throwing her head back.

- Did we arrive? - She spoke in a monotonous voice, thinking about too many things at the same time and the last one she was in the mood to think about was that she had to work.

-Almost. - Killjoy stutter, helping Skye get up.

-Good. - Viper tested the chemical launcher. Chamber had done a great job. How annoying he is.

- Oh, guys! - Raze spoke out, giving a fun smile. - Are we going to stop by Cypher's place after the mission? Don't you have the keys, Skye?

- Ahw yes! He kind of lent it to me. - Skye gave Raze an awkward smile.

- Did you steal from Cypher? - Raze looked at Skye with disbelief and admiration.

- Stealing is a strong word...

The girls began a mild conversation, trying to ignore the heavy mood between Viper and Chamber. Viper was about to pick up her equipment, going around Chamber, but he held her wrist. Viper slowly raised an eyebrow at him, closing her fist, wanting to punch him.

- You really didn't eat? - He spoke low, without looking at her.

Viper pressed her lips and pulled her arm away from him.

- Focus, Chamber. We'll sort it out later. - She spoke coldly, going to get her equipment.

>>> Next Chapter

[blametheeditor]

Lost To Be Found

Prompt Roulette By Title

Character B has always been possessive over Character A in spite of Character A’s annoyance over it.

It’s one of the reasons Character A tends to make ‘escape attempts’, disappearing before eventually landing back in Character B’s arms. Little does Character B know, Character A’s ‘escape attempts’ aren’t born of hatred, they just provide affirmation that Character A is still wanted and loved.

NOT MEANT FOR EVERYONE

Content Warnings: Cursing. Weapons. Violence. Mentions of death. Mentions of murder. Mentions of guns. Mentions of burglaries. Being tracked down. Flirting. Two men flirting back and forth. Mentions of treating people as lesser than.

Alright, they’ve half-redeemed themselves

________________________________________

Cadence is known to be untouchable.

One can think of it however they like. Whether it’s in the literal sense considering the line of work he’s in. Or figuratively, being as distant as he is from relationships, either business or personal.

He’s happy the way things are. Not needing to worry about anything becoming ‘complicated’.

If he’s caught while on a job, that means mistakes. Leaving evidence behind. Losing his spot on the top of the list for professional burglars for hire.

If he gets too attached, he can’t move at a moment’s notice. The civilian job impossible to quit. Vulnerable.

“Honey badger!”

Red eyes stare down at bright blue ones smirking up at him.

He slams the door shut.

HOW THE HELL DID HE FIND ME!

“Bestest friend!”

The white haired man stares down at the blond beaming up at him.

He paces back and forth in front of the closed door.

I should shoot him right now.

“Darling~”

“That’s my line,” Cadence growls. He steps out of the way with the silent invitation to come inside. Knowing he’s an absolute idiot, but what else is he supposed to do?

Eggs is at least courteous enough not to immediately dart into a random room in order to make a giant mess from whatever he can grab. Only smiles suggestively as the taller puts a hand on his hip and pinches his nose in a picture of frustration.

“Darling. I don’t believe I ever gave you my address.”

“You’re perfectly right, my evening star,” Eggs grins. “But, you work for Harrison. Who Scott supervises. Meaning I can ask where my criminal best friend lives so I can surprise him!”

Cadence looks at his companion, impressed by the detective work and pulling of strings.

It disappears when he remembers this is Eggs. “Who gave you the idea?”

“A certain mutated grape,” his ‘best friend’ admits without remorse.

Great. So Vincent knows where he lives. And if his civilian boss knows Eggs has been looking for him, and is considerably smarter than the blond, then it’s safe to say he might be outed.

Again, I could just shoot him and get rid of this headache.

“What’s the special occasion?”

Cadence is thoroughly annoyed the man who pays him to be his best friend actively sought him out. As if their dates going 60 feet underground for Eggs’ job isn’t enough time spent together. Honestly, it’s gotten to a point their so frequent the bulgar should change his occupation to escort.

Yet he doesn’t put his gloves on and begins the long process of erasing his existence from the town he resides in. Doesn’t give the dubbed ‘mutated grape’ a reason to hunt him down and give him a slow, agonizing death.

Though he does like a challenge. He wonders how long he could hide before Vincent found him.

Eggs at least doesn’t insult his intelligence, the mischievous smile proving he was right about there being an excuse for invading the burglar’s privacy. “Well, there might be a little get-together tonight, and I was curious if my handsome angle would like to join me!”

Get-together. “You mean the weekly ones the boss constantly complains about?”

“The very same.”

...that means David knowing about him being familiar with Eggs. Which could go from ‘suspicious’ to downright ‘accusatory’ if Vincent let’s it slip he knows the purple man as well.

So many things can go wrong. He doesn’t know all of Eggs’ acquaintances. Doesn’t have an extensive background on all Fazbear employees. As meticulous as he is, even Cadence knows he can’t remember a long list of those who work for the company. Especially with how many people are fired by David and simply ‘disappear’ by who he can safely assume is by Vincent’s hands.

Even if he did find a list and memorize it, he’d never know who Eggs is associated with. Not with Vincent being nothing but a horror story and with the new information the shorter is apparently friends with Scott Cawthon if the name Scott being addressed as his boss’ supervisor gives enough context clues.

He can say no. He should say no. Not knowing everything could very well mean his death.

“...midnight?”

“The most romantic time,” Eggs grins.

“Fine. But I’m a civilian acquaintance.”

The blond roles his eyes. As if this isn’t Eggs and that line of thought was obvious. “Baby, I wanted to keep you a secret from my murderer roommate. And he only found out because he thought I was actually in danger!”

Darling, you’re three seconds away from me taking Vincent up on his claim of killing me within five seconds of me killing you.

“And when I found you at Harrison’s I still kept it a secret!”

He did. Cadence still being a waiter for Fazbear Entertainment Center is proof enough.

“Alright. It’s a date.”

The only issue? Cadence fucked up.

He can plan a complicated heist and execute it flawlessly. Can count the number of times something went awry and he actually had to use his gun on one hand.

Not to mention it’s Eggs and everything goes wrong when the blond is involved.

And yet here he is. Standing in front of a Fazbear restaurant that’s not the one he works at, nor the underground facility Eggs does. One that’s made for those who stand over 30 times his own height of 5’ 10”.

One that’s easily able to prove who’s truly a shifter like 99% of the population, and who’s not.

He isn’t. But of course Eggs is.

Cadance stumbles back as the blond who had been walking beside him the entire way there suddenly turns into a giant. Shoes capable of turning him into a smear no more than a foot away. Feels himself begin to tremble as he looks up, up, up-

“Stuck, honey badger?”

The expression miles above him seems sincere in its concern. The booming voice genuinely questioning in why the usually taller isn’t growing to match the giant building.

He’s not stuck. He can’t grow no matter what day it is.

Something no one was supposed to find out. Because humans should be nothing more than pets to those who can treat them like one. Nothing more than pests to most because they can’t climb up to incredible heights like the entire world can.

As long as he’s known his ‘best friend’, who knows what the rich brat would do realizing Cadence can’t ever escape his literal grasp.

His fear doesn’t show as Eggs kneels down once it’s clear he won’t be growing anytime soon, or ever for that matter. He can’t let it or else he’s dead.

“You know what?” he begins, taking two steps back. Needing to use every ounce of self-control not to run. “I am. And I’d rater not get stomped on by David because he refuses to look down. I’ll just head home and join another night.”

Eggs makes a soft indignant sound that rumbles like thunder. “Don’t let Harrison take our fun away! I promise, I’ll keep you safe!”

Cadence can’t breathe. Because being ‘kept safe’ could mean numerous things. All of which he doesn’t trust. Because why should he trust Eggs?

He stayed silent for too long.

Before he can do anything, a hand is behind him who knows what its held and who its crushed.

“Eg-!”

His heart leaps into his throat.

Fingers curl around him, pinning his arms and legs someone’s touching him it’s too much.

“WAIT-!”

The air rips his voice away.

The hand he’s completely surrounded lifts him tens of feet above the ground what’s happening where is he being taken why isn’t he being put down.

“I’ve gotchya.”

Cadence is distantly aware of the smile capable of crushing him too close for comfort. At the fact the suffocating grasp opened so he’s only sitting in a hand, completely still as if he turned to stone. Feel footsteps jostle him ever so slightly as he’s carried into the restaurant.

The burglar finally manages to take a deep breath as familiar sounds of people talking, albeit sounding like booming thunder, filters through the haze of panic. Unable to find his voice quite yet, but his heart threatening to burst out of his chest is given the attention it was demanding.

I’m going to die.

No, he can’t think like that. He’s stolen from shifter’s who naturally gravitate toward the larger side. He’s gotten through worse interactions with shifters before.

And...he can trust Eggs, can’t he? The one who’s saved him from murderous animatronics? A murderous roommate?

He just has to make it through the night. Or at least get the chance to escape and never be seen again.

“Eggs, what the hell are you holding?”

At the familiar, unwanted, threatening voice, Cadence’s eyes snap open to see David staring down at him with distain.

He doesn’t know what’s worse. That, or the flash of recognition due to the ‘stuck shifter’ being an employee.

“My really cute date for the night,” Eggs grins, and Cadence doesn’t dare breathe as a thumb capable of smothering him moves closer in order to nudge him, so surprised at how gentle it was he breathes out a soft laugh of hysteria.

"You mean Cadence?”

Cadence has to keep his mouth from dropping out of shock at the sight of Fritz looming above him. He might not be fond of the redhead, and it might be hell on earth walking on eggshells around his coworker to keep David from getting upset over his favorite employee being ‘mistreated’, but it’s still a slap in the face when someone he knows and is more noticeably shorter becomes a giant.

This was a bad idea.

Especially when the familiar worried look locks onto him. “Are you stuck?”

No, I’m human. With my egotistical boss who would gladly crush me under his shoe. Not to mention if you’re a shifter than every one of your friends will be one.

“Yes.”

“Meaning you’re watching where you step, Harrison,” is suddenly stated in such a serious tone Cadence can’t help but think the silent ‘or else’ is genuine.

He still needs to get out before he ends up getting crushed.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Vincent who finds him on his first escape attempt.

“While I find your skills of hiding in the shadows quite impressive.”

Cadence admits he freezes in terror as the ground trembles, threatening to send him to his knees. Because no matter who you talk to, the sight of something massive coming toward you standing well over a hundred feet is not for the faint of hearts.

Nor is it for regular humans who sprint at the sight of a hand coming toward him, yet he doesn’t make it past two steps before fingers are curling around him.

“Can’t really trick someone who is a shadow.”

Unlike Eggs, the grasp doesn’t open up around him, forcing him to stare into amber eyes the size of his head. Unable to have any semblance of control and back up until open air tells him be can’t move any further.

“Put me down.”

The demand that came out softer than intended, the eyes rolling until finally he’s given space to breathe.

I hate giants.

“Can’t exactly do that with a good conscious,” the giant grins as he carries Cadence away from the exit. Back to where Eggs looks up in surprise. Set into the blond’s offered hand. “Don’t want you getting stepped on!”

“Can’t let that happen to my evening star!”

He needs a plan B.

Apparently, trying to hitch a hide on a giant leaving the restaurant wasn’t as brilliant of an idea as he thought it was.

What’s worse? He, for some reason, thought Scott wouldn’t notice a human pretending to be a stuck shifter grabbing onto his shirt after leaping off the table.

But the man immediately noticed. Goes completely still.

“Were you trying to grow mid-air?”

Cadence tightens his grip, trying not to look at the ground tens of feet away, well aware what could happen if he slips and falls. He’ll admit now that he thinks about, this truly was a horrible plan.

“While that’s a valid question to ask,” the burglar begins, attempting to take a deep breath and nearly screaming when his hand does slip. He kicks toward the looming ground with panic forcing itself into his voice. “Won’t you be a darling and ask after I’m not about to fall to my death!”

At first the giant doesn’t move. That’s when Cadence yells as he slips he’s falling he’s-

“I’ve got you.”

Words that terrify him to the core and make him almost second guess himself he was invited and isn’t currently trying to steal battle with the fact he’s relieved as fingers appear beneath his feet.

Cadence sinks to his knees. Doesn’t acknowledge the gaze not looking too comfortable holding him as he’s brought before the giant he attempted to stow away on. “There’s better ways to get unstuck.”

“Eggs has just rubbed off on me,” is all the human can offer. More than exhausted.

Scott seems to think something over before he’s turning toward the very blond that was mentioned. “Next time, just remember not all shifters are familiar with the opposite size.”

“PG tries not to be around any giants when he’s small,” Eggs stage whispers, all too happy to accept the burglar quickly hopping from one hand into the next.

“That I understand,” David pipes up. “It’s the not wanting to be around those stuck at two inches tall I’m suspicious about.”

He should’ve expected it considering he’s sitting in a giant’s hand, his clingy ‘best friend’ who figured out where he lived and immediately picked up the second he got the chance.

However, it still made Cadence’s heart skip a beat when he’s carefully held in a fist once the conversation took a turn.

“What’s there to be suspicious about?”

“They’re miniscule. Easy to grab and do whatever the hell I want with! Sometimes I wish Fritz was a regular human so I have a stress ball everywhere I go.”

Eggs isn’t considered observant. Cadence is good at controlling his expressions.

Their eyes meet because the uncontrollable flinch isn’t hard to miss.

“They’re also fragile,” Scott snaps back. “Surrounded by people like you and therefore if they’re a stuck shifter it ends up taking a few hours to grow rather than minutes with the unnecessary terror. And those who can’t shift at all don’t deserve to have a David Harrison in their lives.”

With that, the eldest guard turns to complete his previous exit out of the restaurant, David following after with angry shouts.

Cadence notices how he’s essentially alone with Eggs, everyone else in different places around the main dining room. And while he might’ve been wanting to escape before, he needs to in this moment.

Yet, instead of the fist turning into a suffocating one as he’s squeezed harshly, it actually turns into an open hand. One that’s tilted toward the table only an inch below in the silent question of if he wants to get off.

Attempt another escape.

The outed human slowly folds himself up so he’s loosely hugging his legs. “I don’t have to worry about being a stress ball to you, do I, Darling?”

“Never my Honey Badger!” Eggs exclaims. And all he can hear in a genuine tone.

As well as one of relief. Because he hasn’t exactly been discreet about trying to get away for the past hour from someone who wants him to join on things like this. The normal way to display affection rather than running away and needing to be caught again.

Cadence slowly relaxes, shoving half-heartedly at the fingers carefully curling in. “Not too many dates to places meant for giants.”

“Anything for you!”

“And if I see you at my apartment again, I’m shooting you.”

“So romantic.”

[livingwithmbc]

Living with Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC)

The past few years have been rocky to put it mildly, not just as a nation or planet, but also personally.

I'm creating this space to share periodic updates and glimpses into what it's like living with metastatic breast cancer (referred to as MBC going forward because I'm lazy and don't like typing it every time) and whatever else I feel like. I don't promise to post consistently, only as I find it helpful and have the time and energy. I do, however, promise to be real, honest, crass, and vulnerable about my experiences. I curse like a sailor and if that isn't for you, no hard feelings, but this may not be the space for you, and that's perfectly okay. I don't particularly enjoy writing, nor am I great at it, but I recognize its value and how cathartic it can be. I've always been a naturally private person as I enjoy my quiet life, but there's nothing private about having BC. Appointment after I'm appointment I remove my shirt and bra as it seems like just about every medical professional needs to feel my breast lump. Just as cancer has invaded my breast, medical traumas began invading my life. Privacy seems almost comical these days, and I was living in denial while thinking I could do this all on my own without needing the support of my friends and family. I was very wrong. I didn't (and still don't) want pity from others. Life never promised to be fair. We don't choose the cards life deals us, but it's up to us to play the hell out of those cards, and I've got a killer poker face. So ask me the questions and I'll respond when I can. This is not a journey in which it's helpful to go it alone and if anything, it's detrimental to try. Something else noteworthy is that I have ADHD (thanks, dad!). As someone with ADHD, my brain jumps around. A lot. This is evident when talking with me but also in my writing as well. Bear with me and welcome to the shitshow.

For those of you that don't know me well (or perhaps at all), I turned 33 last month and work as a mental health counselor in Indiana. I've been married to my saint of a spouse for just shy of a decade and he's been my rock. In 2020, I was gearing up to graduate with my master's in clinical mental health counseling with plans to begin our family shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

During the summer of 2020, my spouse was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma at age 30, after being short of breath for no clear reason, and being gaslit by medical professionals for several months about not feeling well. To say this was a shock was an understatement. Only old people get cancer, I thought, not seemingly healthy and active 30-year-olds. Our plans to begin trying to conceive were temporarily tabled as the focus shifted to my husband's health. I was devastated but chanted the mantra, "this too shall pass". We were told we had to wait at least 2 years to try to have kids due to the intense medications and treatments he was on. He spent months doing aggressive rounds of chemo, all while working almost full time. To say he's my hero would be putting it mildly. It's been about 2 years since his diagnosis and I'm thrilled to report he's still in remission!

Fast forward to early 2022. I noticed some dimpling under one of my breasts, but genuinely didn't think too much of it. Historically speaking, I've never been an overly anxious person, and typically don't worry much until there's truly something to worry about. My spouse encouraged me to schedule an appointment ASAP (he's the worrier). I already had an OB appointment upcoming so I planned to discuss the dimpling then as my neurodivergent brain couldn't handle making more phone calls for appointments and things. Unfortunately, the doctor felt a lump (I couldn't) and the ensuing weeks and months would prove to be an overwhelming whirlwind of fears, appointments, and uncertainties.

I like to think I have a good sense of humor, even if it's dark (I'd argue you have to have dark humor to survive in the mental health field). On Friday the 13th of May I was told my breast biopsy confirmed the worst: I have invasive ductile carcinoma. Jason was nowhere in sight but I would have been more accepting of his existence than me having cancer. I'll never forget the look of pity on the nurse's face delivering that news. I could tell she was going out of her way to try and make me feel better about the diagnosis, saying things along the lines of, "it was caught early, you won't die. You'll be fine." I remember taking the news surprisingly well and not being too phased by it. "I'm going to kick cancer's ass," I thought. I'm stubbornly determined when I set my mind to a task and cancer was no different in my mind. Mind over matter, as they say. Hell, I was even given a BC swag bag on my way out the door. I quickly got scheduled with an oncologist who set up scans, blood draws, the whole gambit. Getting breast cancer at 32 was jarring for the medical providers around me given that I have no family history of breast cancer. Genetic testing was order and I learned that I have an ATM genetic mutation, pre-disposing me to breast cancer and a handful of other cancers. The results were bittersweet as it provided answers to the "why" of cancer early in life, but shifted the initial surgery treatment plan to opting for a double mastectomy. I was generally still in high spirits, and made light of it all, joking about getting a shiny new rack as a silver lining of a shitty situation. When life gives you lemons, make tittyaide, I said. As scan results began to roll in, the plan abruptly shifted. A suspicious spot was found on my sternum and a biopsy confirmed the worst: the cancer had already spread to my sternum, meaning I was now dealing with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, a completely different beast than when BC is caught early. Surgery got cancelled and starting endocrine therapy ASAP was the new plan to try and shrink the tumors. I had no idea that multiple types of BC exist, all with different treatment implications. My specific type is ER/PR+, HER2-, meaning, my cancer feeds off my hormones. The treatment? Reduce the estrogen in my body as quickly as possible and transition me into menopause, thus stifling the cancer's fuel source. In all this scary news, the thing I mourned the deepest (and still do) is the uphill journey I will face to becoming a mom. Chemo made my spouse sterile and I am unable to carry a pregnancy as I cannot stop treatment long enough to sustain a pregnancy. People mean well when they offer comments like, "you can adopt!" but I'm here to tell you how painful and invalidating that response is. There is lifelong grief associated with infertility for those that want biological children. Even if we are able to pursue foster to adoption (the only "affordable" option to becoming a parent), I will always grieve not getting the experience of being pregnant and having biological kids. As cliché as it is, it's true that you don't always realize how badly you want something until it's no longer an option.

MBC, unlike early onset BC, is considered incurable. It's not an instant death sentence, but any doctor will let you know that it's essentially terminal, meaning it's a slow death. Living with MBC is a very, very different experience as there is no end in sight unlike many other cancer experiences. I will be in treatment for the rest of my life. The statistics for long-term survival aren't great, but I know I'm much more than a statistic. My goal is to live the most fulfilling life I can for as long as I can, and I hope that means I'll be around for a very long time. There's nothing like the threat of dying to make you appreciate each and every day, including the people in your life, the jobs, the pets, nature, etc. I believe maintaining a positive mindset while looking for learning opportunities is so important in overcoming any obstacles in life and I am so incredibly thankful for all those that have shown their love and support. If you read all of my ramblings, thank you for your patience. Take time to appreciate and express gratitude for the good things in your life. No matter how bad the circumstances may be, there is always something to be grateful for. <3

[aiiwa]

SUMMERS WITH YOU — OIKAWA TOORU.

— oikawa tooru.

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff

warnings: cursing, suggestive themes, a tiny, tiny bit nsfw - i can’t help it. not really proof read since its 4am.

word count: 1.7k

— a/n: it was about time i wrote a fic for him hehe. what if i said this was originally a hawks fic i wrote but never posted lol.

— navi. | m.list

oikawa loved summer.

summer mornings where the sun would bathe you in its radiance; capturing the soft glow of your bare back, and the cheeky glint in your eyes as you rolled on your side to face him. you’d giggle at the way your hair stuck out at odd angles, leaning into his touch as he brushed the strands away from your face. and with a pretty smile on your pink lips, you’d whisper the sweetest, “good morning, babe,” leaving oikawa with no choice but to pull you on top of him. he’d claim just five minutes of cuddling, ignoring the roll of your eyes as you snuggled into his warm chest. it was always an hour later that the two of you would leave the comfort of your shared bed.

then there were summer days spent at the beach, with you laid out on your stomach between his toned legs. oikawa could taste the sea salt, and a hit of your cherry lip gloss, on his tongue; a smirk tugging at his mouth as he remembered the kiss he’d stolen from you in the parking lot. electrifying tingles spreading across the palms of his big hands, as he continued to rub the cool lotion on your smooth skin - hands moving lower and lower-

“ah, tooru.” you hiss as his wandering fingers massaged dangerously close to your clothed heat, brushing the underside of your lush thighs. you turned back to playfully glare at him. “watch it, there’s people here.”

“oh c’mon, mi amor. that’s never stopped us before, has it?” when he teasingly dips under your rose tinted bikini bottoms, pads of his long fingers trailing a scorching path against you - it was fair to say he earned the swift dig to his side with the heel of your foot. “ow, baby, shit that hurt.”

holding his side as if he were a wounded soldier, he stared at you with pouty lips and wide eyes, insisting you kiss it better. and when you had sat up to, begrudgingly, press a kiss to his poor boo boo; you’d find yourself in his lap, with his lips moulded to yours. it was easy to say days at the beach usually ended much easier than you wanted them to.

but the warm summer nights spent with you, were his favourite.

intimate dinners prepared together, were eaten on the balcony of your shared apartment - a real gem located right by the water, and a short walk away from the markets you frequented. oikawa would refuse to eat unless you had taken a seat on your throne, rather his lap; which was right where you belonged. and he always got his way. so together you would eat, with you talking animatedly about your day, and him relishing in the feel of your body against his.

after washing and drying the dishes, oikawa had offered a walk along the beach - a makeshift apology for cutting your beach time in the daylight short. though he didn’t seem the least bit sorry, you still agreed.

so walking hand in hand, you tugged him to a stop before the gentle tides.

the golden sun had long set, in its place a full moon high up in the darkened sky; wispy clouds were sparse, allowing the bright constellations of the glittering stars to be seen. but with the way you stared up into the heavens - the shadowed angle of your jaw, the soft curve of your cheek, as your sweet lips parted slightly in awe - oikawa could feel his mouth run dry. the stars, the moon, the galaxy; had absolutely nothing on you.

he hadn’t even noticed you were speaking to him, his heart beating heavily in his ears until you turned around and...and…

“holy fuck, mi amor...you’re an angel.”

your eyes widened at his admission, a giggle escaping your mouth before you shyly lowered your gaze, long lashes brushing your heated cheeks. the chalk-white moon beamed from behind your silhouette, the luminescence haloing around your body, an ethereal glow that had oikawa believing he had truly been blessed with an angel. he held his breath when you looked back up at him; pink tongue swiping across your bottom lip, oikawa mimicking the same motion wantingly.

“how about a swim?” you propose, brushing your hand across the back of your lithe neck, down to your chest.

“oh? do you want me to grab our suits?” he asks distractedly.

his eyes focus on your hand trailing down the side of your body, dusting the trim of your white baby doll dress that barely brushed the top of your thighs. his hands began to twitch at the obvious teasing, so eager to touch you.

“no need.” and with a smirk, you swiftly pull the dress over your head, revealing yourself fully to him.

oikawa gapes, as he commits every luscious curve and sexy dip of your exposed flesh. every time you stood before him, in all your unrivaled beauty, it was always like he was seeing you for the first time. as if he was still that same senior in high school who almost combusted at the sight of your naked flesh; rather than the professional volleyball player who had learned and loved your body every day and night. he couldn’t help but thank whichever god was watching over him; blessing his eyes, and his eyes only, with you.

suddenly remembering where the two of you were, and with the thought of other undeserving eyes being able to see what was his; he forced his gaze away from you. keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the beach, only relaxing a bit when he was certain the two of you were the only ones out.

“tooru.” you called out for him, the sound of your soft voice sent a shiver down his spine. you commandeered his attention and he was all-willing.

refocusing on you, he held in the groan that almost escaped his lips. you had waded into the water, shaped legs languidly gliding through the waves, and the sightly view of your full ass was obstructed once you halted your movement, hip-deep in the water. it was unfair how easily you made his body react to you; ragged breaths, heat spreading across his body, and the uncomfortable tightening in the crotch of his shorts, were telling.

“are you gonna strip and join me?” the question was almost innocent, but from the lilt in your tone, oikawa knew it was anything but. especially when you smirked and teased him over your shoulder. “come and get me, oh great king.”

oikawa was sure he’d achieved a new record with how fast he had torn off his clothes to chase after you. with a shriek you had attempted to run off, though the sound of your laughter was cut off once he easily trapped you with his arms around your waist. leaning down, he nuzzles his face into the smooth spaces between your shoulder and jaw, inhaling deeply, an crooning at the smell of your scent invading his senses.

he began peppering a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses, tasting the sweet and saltiness of your skin; your small hands grasped at his arms around your waist, arching back into him. he halted by your ear with hot, bated breaths.

“i caught you, mi amor.” he hummed throatily.

wriggling in his grasp and turning around to face him, oikawa felt his breath leave him once again. the sound of his racing heart beating echoed in his ears as he took in the vision of you before him.

you were flush against him, the soft cushioning of your chest against his own; had his straining member pressed into your belly twitch, eager for your attention. oikawa was ready to beg for your touch, to put him out of his misery, but his clouded thoughts were pushed aside.

your fingers trailed from his wrists, upwards, tracing the veins of his forearms and giving his biceps a self-indulgent squeeze. reaching his broad shoulders, you almost had to tip toe to slide the flat of your palms around his neck; one reaching further to tangle into the tufts of coffee-toned hair at his nape. tugging at the strands, oikawa releases a whine as you pulled yourself closer to him. craning your neck to look up at him, he glances down and gulps audibly at the emotion painted on your pretty features.

“i hope you know you’ve caught me for life.” you whisper to him, tightening your grip almost painfully. “i’m so deeply in love with you, if you ever left me...i-”

overwhelmed with the purity of your love and raw affection, oikawa let’s his instincts take over. bending his knees, he slides his large hands down your body, lifting you up into him by the silky underside of you ass. like second nature, your ankles lock together behind his back, and the gasp that tries to escape your mouth is swallowed as he presses his lips to yours.

at first the kiss is slow and familiar. swiping his tongue across the soft pout of your bottom lip, he welcomes the tastes of the cherry-flavoured lustre. the heat shared between your flushed besides increasingly becomes scorching hot, the shape of you searing into his skin. oikawa wonders if you can feel his heart trying to escape the confines of his heaving chest; when you melt in his hold, delicate hand tracing along the scruff of his jaw as you deepen the kiss. his fingers dig bruises deep in your thighs, grinding you against the taut muscles of his abs.

yet it was when you gently suckled on his tongue, that oikawa submitted himself to you. the guttural sound that escaped the back of his throat was slightly muffled, and only encouraged you further. feeling himself almost being fully consumed by you, oikawa pulls away. breathless - the lewd string of silver connecting your mouths, and the dazed look in your eyes did nothing to calm him.

oikawa may have loved summer, but he loved you even more. so he leans forward again, pressing his damp forehead against your own, your laboured breaths caressing his mouth as he swore to you;

“we’re forever, mi amor. i’m never letting you go, in this time or the next. i love you.”

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[scriptaed]

his side, her side finale | 00:00

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; 

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 4.6k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

No matter how infinite the pages could write itself, in the way that he catches her stealing glances from across the room or the scalding spark imprinted on her hand by the touch of his own, there really are only three versions to every story: his side, her side, and the truth’s side; and in your unsolicited albeit self-justified defense, the truth is, what was once seemingly perpetual is now merely trivial. The imagery that once had you kicking and screaming into your sheets at night, the fleeting moments that were shared by both but valued by one, and the inevitably incessant burden of jealousy brought upon by a fervent want that could never be had could only have been falsified by a break—spatially, temporally, and heartfully. The mind can only tug so much at one’s strings; and yet, to be bent, only time could prove possible.

...and that time is exactly what is needed by all.

her side;

“Are you joining us for dinner tonight, Y/N?” 

“Huh? What?” your ears perk at the sound of your friend’s call. 

“Oh, there she goes again,” your other friend interjects with the roll of her eyes. You almost collapse when she swings a hand over your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to get your ears checked?”

“No, but I might have to get my eyes checked,” you joke, despite pulling in all the performance points you could win with a disdainful scan up and down her less than professional attire. Thankfully, your act is gleefully extended by her cheesy gawk of an expression. Putting up a merciful pair of hands in the air, you laugh, “hey, in all seriousness, it’s not my fault you guys keep drooling over boys.”

“Uhuh, so you’re trying to tell us that boy talk is what’s putting you to sleep?” your friend’s accomplice crosses her arms, raising an accusatory pair of brows. 

“Yeah,” you say much too seriously so you throw in an airy laugh, “I mean, there’s more to life than boys, y’know?”

“Right, like…?”

“Like…” your voice trails off because, for some reason, your mind goes blank as you attempt to recall your lifestyle from your previous hometown. “Like… hanging out with friends! With you guys!”

“Gah! You’re only able to say that because you have dozens of boys chasing you around the office. Us, on the other hand, time just… it just keeps ticking…” the two of them sigh in synchronization and you feel the heat of her arms retract as she shakes the hand of her one and only sympathizer. 

“Psh,” you can’t help but grin throughout the frown elicited by their vivacious performance, “you guys have plenty of time. Just enjoy life for now and I’m sure you’ll find someone along the way.” 

“Wait, but seriously,” her voice suddenly rises from her previously sullen state, as does her head on her friend’s shoulder. She looks you dead in the eye, and, honestly, you almost feel as though your privacy had just been invaded. “You really haven’t ever liked anyone before?” 

“Uh…” you scatter through the disarrayed files that were your buried memories, eyes squinting at the sun that peeks through the clearing sky after a day full of rainfall. “Elementary and middle school don’t really count… too busy studying in high school… college was full of fuck boys I couldn’t care less for… and at work…”

The more that you hear yourself ramble, the more the reality of your lonesome future settles into the already burdened shoulders of yours.

“At work? You mean here? Or do you mean your last job?”

“Well,” you frown, trying to recall every male colleague that had piqued even the tiniest of interest in you; and as the two of your friends lean in, you start to lean back, despite the charging light bulb that flickers from the unlocked recollection of two years ago. “There was a guy who liked me and told everyone at work that he liked me, which I thought was really weird… nice guy, kind of a nerd, but I didn’t like him that way. Who else? Uh, hm—”

—bzzz. 

The vibration against your back pocket pulls the plug from your train of thought. 

“Aw man,” you hear your friends curse in the background, “just when we were finally getting her to spill something.” 

The name on your screen has your heart skipping with delight.

 Yezi [5:20 PM] Hey, I know you’re gonna forget, so you before you do, we’re having dinner together tonight :) 

“It’s okay,” your friend pats the back of the other, “there’ll be some cute enough boys for her at tonight’s barbeque, I’m sure.”

“Ah shit,” you curse under your breath, hastily typing a response before peering up at your friends like a deer caught in the headlights, “actually, guys, turns out I already made plans with my friend from home. I’m sooo sorry.”

“Oh, really?” the two of them gasp. “Isn’t that a two hour train ride from here?” 

“Yeah, so I really got to go now,” your phone tumbles into your bag as you begin to widen your strides like a woman on a mission. 

They shake their heads in unison, “no, no, it’s okay!”

“I’m seriously so sorry guys,” you say as you pant, the distance between you and your friends widening by the second and forcing you to whirl around as you pace backwards. “I’ll make it up to you next time and do whatever you guys want, okay?”

“Really? Anything?”

“Yeah,” your hands draw a wide, inclusive circle into the air, “anything.” 

“Even a blind date?” 

“You know what? Why the hell not?” you chime, whirling back around with your back on them and a smile hidden away. Skipping off into the opposite direction toward the train station, you exclaim nonchalantly, “new year, new me!”

Lately, either through a stroke of luck or a reset of a life in a new town, there’s been something spectacularly whimsical about tonight’s air; and when a zephyr passes by, lifting you to the tip of your toes to an invincible high and relaying the confuzzled whispers of your friends—

“—wait, it’s not a new year, it’s already April—”

—you finally acquire a two year long-sought sensation: golden.

-

“I can’t believe you almost forgot about our plans!” 

“Hey, I had a reminder set on my phone just ten minutes after your reminder” you quip with pursed lips, “and I still made it on time, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Yezi prims with a stern look plastered across her face, gesturing, “with your hair and clothes damp in rain and your face smiling like a wagging, clueless beagle.”

“Well… beagles are cute, so I’ll take that as a compliment?” 

She frowns, ignoring your remark, “did you not check the weather forecast?”

“I did.”

“So why didn’t you bring an umbrella?”

“I forgot.”

“Ugh, you forget everything these days,” she plants a palm to her forehead before returning to her plate, “well, I’m glad that at least you’re so carefree nowadays. You’ve finally settled into your new workplace, huh? You look so happy now.”

“You talk—” it’s difficult to speak with food being stuffed into your mouth “—as if I lost a loved one.”

“Well,” she grits her teeth, as if biting her tongue, and proceeds to slice the slab of steak, “I wouldn’t say that’s too farfetched.” 

Frowning, your words come out muffled through puffed cheeks, “whaddya mean by dat?”

“You can’t tell me you forgot about what happened last time you were in town.”

“Uh…?” you furrow your brows, tracing into a forgotten yet familiar field you had long neglected for your own wellbeing. Last time you were in town, last time you were working here, last time you went out on a company party, last time you walked through this town’s treacherously embracing frosty breeze, last time you were dining here, last time you got wasted, not just here but anywhere, last time you shed tears… all the last times of this town shared only one similarity, a similarity you had subconsciously left behind at some point in your transition between the past and the now. 

“Do I really have to say it myself?” she leans in, concerned. “I don’t want you bawling your eyes out again…”

Did she possibly mean… him?

“Jeon Jungkook,” she blurts, “there! I said it!”

Her utensils clatter onto her plate as she tosses her hands in the air in mercy, almost as if bracing herself for the storm after the calm, observing you intently but warily; that supposed storm, however and ever so fortunately, never arrives. 

“Oh,” you utter, words slipping from your lips like sand through a palm, “I’m not crying.”

“You’re not crying,” she confirms, astonished. 

“It doesn’t… hurt anymore?” you almost ask yourself. 

“It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t,” you utter, shaking your head. Just as she’s caught off guard, you lurch across the table to pinch her cheeks, “but that doesn’t mean I appreciate you bringing him up during a perfectly lovely night!” 

“Sho—” she furrows her brows in combination to her squished cheeks “—he doesh make you shad shtill?”

“Well, he doesn’t make me elated,” you finally release her from your wrath, returning to stare downward at your food, “but I guess it makes me reflect fondly on the past. It’s kind of like a scar. I know how much it once hurt but I can’t feel it to the same magnitude anymore. Actually, instead, the happy, jittery moments are more vivid to me than the tears that were shed. Is that… odd?”

“Like… like what? Examples?” 

Like when his arm bumped into yours for the first time on the walk after work, like when he discretely went out of his way to ensure your safety across the bridge home, like when he enamored over the ‘ripped abs’ of a fully nude female character design of an upcoming project whilst you stood awkwardly with a set of breasts in full display for the two of you, like when the two of you escaped to become the aloof, static noise of an unbefitting party, or like when he held you in his hands and kissed you at the stroke of midnight, the butterflies live on—even today—to shield you from the dampened blows struck by dull weapons of jealousy, insecurity, and remorse. 

With time, the silver lining finally showed itself like a sun shining through after a stormy night. You’ve finally accepted the truths behind every weapon. She was pretty. They were pretty. She never wronged you. They never wronged you. They deserved his love. His heart belonged to whomever he desired. 

He never badmouthed his peers and, as blunt of a man as he was, he never pointed out your flaws, even if that meant you would later return home only to find mascara flakes on your cheeks. He treated women like a gentleman, as contradictory as it may seem from his appetite demeanor; and while you fell for him for that, you also cursed him for that very reason. He didn’t owe you anything… up to a certain point until the lines were too blurred to decipher between the truth, the deserved, and the faulty. Be it Ji-eun or Jennie, you’ve come to terms with his relationships. 

As much as your relations with him seemed to run on a fragile thread of fate, your time had run out and the window of opportunity had been shut—but hey, at least you had fun.

“Are you… smiling?”

“Hm?” you look up to find her staring at you in concern. Blinking blankly, you quickly clear your throat and retract the smile you had subconsciously adorned. “I am?”

“I… don’t know if I should be worried or not,” Yezi downs another glass of iced water and you’re about to follow suit until she almost chokes on her water, “hey—isn’t that Jennie over there?” 

“Jennie?”

You almost curse at Yezi for teasing you over bygones that should’ve been left as just that, but she really wasn’t lying. You can’t believe your eyes when you whirl your head around to look through the darkened tint of the restaurant’s window panes. You might have never really spoken to Jennie, but that figure is undeniably Jennie. 

“What is she doing?” you squint, struggling to grasp a clear vision of her silhouette under the dim, orange street light beside her. You could only catch a hint of her side profile but those cheeks and unique sense of fashion definitely belonged to her; on the other hand, the constant stumbling and the hand to her head, almost as if she’s about to collapse at any second, did not resemble her. “Oh, oh, hold on, wait, whoa—we should help her!” 

You scramble to your feet and bolt out the door whilst Yezi takes care of your abrupt leave with the restaurant staff. A freezing blast of wind welcomes you as soon as you step into the sidewalk but you waste no time. Abandoning the cold behind you along with the past, your mind is set on aiding the collapsed woman on the streets. 

“Hey! Jennie, hey!” you call out to her as you sprint to her side, dropping to the floor without caring to notice the shards of glass that consequently cut your knees as you carefully roll her limp body onto its back and away from the sharp hazards. The pain has you wincing and seething under your breath, but the conditions of the person lying before you has you even more concerned. Her skin is even paler than usual. Her chest rises and falls rapidly in an evident struggle. Your taps against her shoulder gradually become frantic shakes until all you can hear is your voice and the whispering commotion of bystanders behind you. “Jennie! Can you hear me?!” 

“Y/N!” you turn around to find Yezi peering down at you from above. “What happened?”

“I don’t know but something’s definitely not right,” you say as calmly as you could, “call 911. I’ll call her family.”

“Got it,” Yezi nods, immediately dialing the numbers on her phone but pausing in the midst of the ring to face you, “wait, do you know anyone from her family?”

Gritting your teeth, you frown as you dig into your memories, “...no, I know she might have had a boyfriend back then, so he might know, but I don’t know if they’re still together and I don’t even know his number…”

“Do you know anyone who might know her boyfriend then?” 

“Well…” 

The ending trails of your voice are whisked away into the returning wind of that fateful night. Hands gripping at your phone and eyes staring at the stranger yet familiarity of a name that glares off the screen, it’s an inevitable force that has you stupefied yet marveled at the revival of a tugging string that ties you to him through the strangest, most meandering paths. 

-

his side;

It was almost like a fever dream. Her name plastered across his screen and his eyes squinting through the glaring light that illuminates his room. It had been two years since he had any contact nor mention of her; and now, out of the blue, in the midst of a nap after gym session, she calls him for help. He couldn’t believe his ears when he first heard her voice, believing it all to be another one of those numerous dreams that had him regretting his past or questioning his choices. He shot straight up in bed, phone grasped and glued to his ears that blocked out the computer fan that ran in the background. 

Even now, after throwing on a sweater and jacket and bolting out the door in a state of rescue, he can’t quite believe his eyes; because there she sits on the hospital bench, in the signature slumped boyish manner and the confused blank stare off into the distance that still has him quirking a smile in remembrance every once in a while. In her favorite white blouse and her only slack of black dress pants, it’s almost as if nothing had changed, almost as if she had never left. 

It’s almost like time had bent to his incessantly subconscious pleas and reversed its works; but the almost will always be an almost, for as long as those hallmark vivacious eyes and those rekindled mien of ambition lives. As far as Jungkook knew, she left with a dreary heart and returned with a fiery purpose. 

Despite all that, he can’t help but notice the way she fidgets in her seat, nearly sinking and avoiding all contact the second his presence had been noticed. Instead of the sheepish flickering stolen glances of the past, he finds himself at odds with the way she fights to return the locked gaze of his eyes. She fought so hard that she might have forgotten how to speak, rendering a soft chuckle from his lips because the girl he endlessly dreamt of might still live after all; and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook has to put forth the effort to fill in the silence. 

“Why did you call me?” he asks plainly as he stands before her.

“Well, I didn’t know any of her friends except you…” he watches as she fidgets with her hands, gaze falling to the floor before returning to him, “are you going to visit her? I think the doctor should be okay with it if you’re her close friend.”

“No, Kai will be here soon,” he explains, finally bending down and placing the bottle of rubbing alcohol beside her on the bench. “I have other shit to attend to.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbles. The evident surge in annoyance amuses him that he just can’t quite wipe the smirk off his face. Turning her head, she continues, “you must’ve had plans with Ji-eun tonight. Sorry for the trouble.”

This is it. This is the moment that replayed on repeat like a broken tape in his dreams. This is his chance to mend the wounds he had inflicted upon the confessing girl who cried her eyes out on the cab home that one, indelible night. 

An uncomfortable silence fills the air with the exception of the unscrewing of a plastic bottle and the gentle return of the bottle against the metallic bench, which is then followed by another staggering silence. 

“We’re not that close and I’m not dating Ji-eun now.” 

The girl turns with the quirk of a brow, especially when she spots him kneeling before her with a soaked cotton ball. “W-Wait what? Wait, shit, ow.”

“I don’t talk to Jennie as much as you think,” he states as a-matter-of-factly and continues to gently pat the cotton against the wounds on her knees. After hesitantly placing a band aid over the wound—something he had never done for anyone else nor for himself who just “sucked it up”—he finally lifts his gaze to interlock with hers, observing intently as if to soak the reality of it all in now before the inevitable tape begins to replay for the near future. “I broke up with Ji-eun before you left.” 

“And...” she utters slowly, “why are you telling me this?” 

Just like in the pool on that one night, her challenging eyes never budge and neither do his.

“I thought the past you would’ve liked to know,” he states. Head tilting to the side as if to get a better look, he remarks, “shit, you don’t look away anymore, huh?”

“Why would I?” she quips, snorting and finally breaking contact to stare off to the side. “It didn’t matter if I knew or not. It’s not like we were a thing.”

“Really?” Jungkook hums, gathering the scraps of cotton and paper before standing to his feet with a genuine soft sigh. It’s hard to brush off the two year old sinking sensation in his chest for something so nonchalant, but he manages to do it like he always does with that stoic look on his unreadable face. “Cause I thought we were.” 

“What?” she gapes and he only gazes firmly back at her. “Why? It’s not like I… liked you.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker up at the ceiling for a brief second, lips pursing as he concludes the cards on the table: the unapologetic albeit risky truth or the defensive albeit purposeless self-deception. Unbeknownst to her, Jungkook had all the cards in his hands. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze and shrugging, “and it’s not like you liked me.” 

Peering down at her from above, the boy’s crooked grin gradually settles into the silence along with the usual unreadable mien that he wears on the daily. “How would you know?”

Finally turning to return his gaze, she raises a brow at him before uncrossing her arms and standing to her feet. One step, two steps until she stands before him as close as she could recall on that night, she utters the one mutual truth of the night. 

“Because you never told me.”

The brief silence filled with tension seems to last an eternity, yet neither of the two could take their eyes off the other. A rush of thrill intermixed with panic floods his blood. His fight or flight system screams at him to obey the very laws he had followed all these years but his mind warns him that change is a necessity for this euphoric heat that radiates from this very moment. He’s never quite felt like this before: throat knotting and heart leaping nearly out of his chest. 

“Let’s—”

“—I need to catch the last train home,” she blurts, quickly taking a step back to distance themselves. 

Like a magnetic force that she is to him, her retraction almost pulls the breath from his lungs along with it.

“What?” he frowns, trying to steady his breath. “It’s 10 right now. My last ride is at midnight.” 

“Yeah, well mine is at 11 and I still have to walk there,” she shrugs indifferently to the entire ordeal—something that Jungkook takes to the heart. 

“What?” he mutters, “the station is right next to this hospital.” 

“What can I say? I’m a slow walker,” she prims, bowing her head and waving her hand to bid farewell. “Thanks for the band aid and all the help today. It was nice catching up. See y—I mean, take care.” 

He stands there in silence, too stunned by the constant turn of events. Distracted by the crestfallen weight in his chest elicited by his shattered hopes, Jungkook raises a hand in response to her pressed, upcurved lips. He can only mumble a seemingly indifferent, “...see ya.”

There she goes—as gracefully as she had reentered his life and as fleeting as she had left for a second time. All this time he knew his side of the story: growingly regretful, discovering a yearning he never knew was within his capabilities, and helplessly pondering over a past he could not change and wondering if she did the same. At some point in time, those feelings became a fragment in time and that person he wished she knew became a version of his present self. He moved on, he forgot the magnitude of the pain, but he never quite came to terms with what it all could have been. 

And all at once, the very moment he stands before her, the past him whomst he had perceived to be temporary comes flooding back into reality—flesh, fervent, and feelings of an immensity he could never have been prepared for—and if he were to be honest, he thought it would have been the same for her. 

He never really knew her side, after all; but at the very least, he desires to hear it from her, herself. She never missed him, she never thought of him from time to time, she never woke up from a dream of him so vivid that it felt so real that she was left with a melancholic loneliness in the air—those words would close the gap in his chest. 

If there’s one thing Jungkook had absolute control over at this very moment, it’s the last chapter of their shared novel in time and this is not the conclusion he imagined. 

Before he knew it, Jungkook finds himself sprinting down the train station. Across the coldly lit hallways, up and down the stairs instead of the ‘shitty, slow escalators,’ and cutting through the nearing midnight breeze of the platforms until the breeze finally brought him to the last unvisited area, his daunting final destination. 

Checking his watch, Jungkook’s chest heaves as he holds his hands to his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. It’s well past 11 now, nearing midnight, and he’s standing at the platform in the opposite direction of her new hometown. To the mere bystander, this platform really didn’t make any sense; but to Jungkook and his inkling, perhaps by a disheveled and desperate state, every twist and turn of the wind brought him right where he believes he belongs. 

Puffs of his breath mark the airy night as he watches his last ride pass by the rails before him. Every cart, every seat, he scans them all. No one. His heart sinks with each check, each flicker of the eyes, and he begins to curse himself for his state of delusion until the last cart of the train flashes by to reveal his finale. 

And as if by some sort of invisible string, life had somehow led him to her once again.

Because there she sits, across the wide yet surely crossable gap of the railway, legs crossed and hands folded in her lap, as if she had been waiting for him all this time. 

Jungkook stands there, stupefied by the works of fate, “why are you—”

“—hey, Jungkook!” she calls out to him, voice echoing across the vast, empty station. “What were you going to tell me back at the hospital?” 

Taken aback by her question, Jungkook chuckles to himself in utter amusement; and as if by the magic sifting through the night, the nearby tower bells ring across the remaining distance between the two at the precise stroke of midnight.

“Let’s date!”

The boy’s zestful holler resembles more like that of a cheerful proclamation, for the way he holds his hands to his lips before throwing them freely into the air garners a giggle from his spectator. His voice projection accompanies the bells, perhaps too softly and thereby physically undetected, but she could hear him nonetheless. 

“I liked you and I still like you so damn much, you dumbass!” 

After witnessing the boy’s courageous display, the words she’s been waiting for but never knew she needed until their paths crossed once again for a limitless nth time slips from her like second nature, almost as if she’s practiced it in her dreams all this time. Her loud proclamation, however, slips beneath the bells like an accompaniment to a ceremonious work of fate. 

The two of them stand on opposite sides of the platform, their confessions are far and wide and perhaps inaudible, but the dorky smiles adorning their lips as they gaze across at their inevitable final chapters serve to prove an undeniable fact. 

Whether by sheer will or by this invisible string, whether by his side or her side, the truth is: their eternities will be forever tied, forever golden.

[pretoriafics]

Therapy sessions with the devil

I'd did this request yesterday on my Portuguese blog, and I thought that you guys would love it!

Anonymous asks: Y/N is a therapist who works for Vought and is doing a few evaluations on the Super.

Word count: 1.806 Contain: Therapist!Reader x Homelander Warnings: Mention of sexual violence, mention of serial killers, mention of cases of children with psychopathy, mental disorders. +16 only Versão em português aqui  PART 2 THE BOYS MASTERLIST

Your profession was gratifying.

You loved the idea of helping people, getting to know each other better, and getting them to learn to deal with life's challenges. For you, being a kind of "confidant", where people could talk about their lives without any judgments, was an honor and your purpose. You believed that it would make the world a better place.

However, it also had its burdens. Some things were difficult to hear, even for you with all your knowledge and professional background. Patients who suffered from sexual violence, for example, demanded of you a stomach that you were not always able to have. It was something you talked to your therapist about, and you kept a mantra in mind: After all, you were still human, and it was okay to feel that way.

And when Vought invited you to work as a therapist for The Seven, you went nuts. It was the chance of a lifetime!

Or, at least, this was what you thought at the beginning.

It was not uncommon for you to hear things that made your stomach a little sick, just like when The Deep told you about the way he “welcomed” Starlight. You felt nauseous but, on the outside, remained impassive, just watching him as a silent request to continue to talk.

All of them were, simply, not only media products but also puppets of the advertising world. You already had some political patients, and in fact, you thought The Seven was a similar case: Both went to that market with the intention, many times, to help people. However, they ended up corrupted in the middle of the road, forgetting their whole purpose in helping others.

You saw a point in common between The Seven: Everyone, with perhaps the exception of Starlight, was too worried about their own egos to be real heroes. They were all too narcissistic.

But Homelander was the worst of them.

The childhood phase was the most important part of a person's life. A traumatic childhood could lead to a troubled adult, as in the case of Mary Bell and Beth Thomas. Homelander's case was no different: his non-affectionate childhood, being raised as a laboratory rat, was the bigger reason to make him that kind of man.

Although at the same time you were fascinated about to study a mind like that - since one of the reasons why you did psychology would be to unveil the secrets of the human mind - each therapy session was daunting and made you rethink your job at Vought.

In short, you were interviewing a serial killer. Easily one of the most cruel and unhealthy.

"Good morning, Homelander." Your voice was soft, just like the smile you gave to the super who just sat on the couch.

"Good morning, Doctor." He returned the smile to you, but the smile on his own way: The corners of your mouth pulled to the side in a smile that you recognized as fake.

"So..." You put your hands on your knee, looking at him with the best receptive look you could pretend. There, in that office, your sessions with Homelander made you feel you deserved an Oscar "How was your week?"

“Well…” He lay down on the couch, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling, and his hands joined in front of his stomach “Nothing new. In fact, he had a little incident with Maeve. Sometimes she is so… pathetic. ”

"What happened?"

It took a while for Homelander to actually get some confidence in you. In fact, he only started telling you things in detail when he realized he could get something out of the sessions. They were productive to him, they made him think. You didn't know if you were thanking God for getting something out of him, or if you should cursing yourself because of the horrors he tells you.

"Maybe you saw something about the 37 Flight on the news."

"The one who had been captured by the terrorists?"

"Exactly! Maeve and I had to rescue the plane. We managed to take down the terrorists, but when I killed the last one, in the Pilot's cabin, I hit the plane's controls with the lasers. And then, the flight was doomed. I told Maeve that our job was done and we should leave, but she was reluctant. He wanted me to save the passengers! ” He laughed, but a natural one. "Can you believe that?"

Oh, it was going to be a long therapy session...

"And what happened next?"

“What did she want me to do? That I fly 137 times from the plane to land? Ah, pathetic, pathetic! ” He shook his head, clearly humorous. "Now, just imagine: You are on a flight with 137 people shouting 'Help, Homelander!', While your stupid partner insists that you should do something to save everyone. I was losing patience so I threatened everyone with my eyes, and they finally settled down. I don't blame them, I mean, they are so vulnerable. They are bugs! ” He looked at you, the corners of his mouth pulled in a fake smile. "No offense."

Homelander was a cold-blooded killer. Not only, but like Ted Bundy, he was a narcissist. He liked the feeling of power that invaded his body when he saw that people feared him, and when he felt that he had the power to decide whether that person would live or not. He didn't mind if killing people just for fun was against the law. Homelander didn't care about the law or any kind of rules. Furthermore, just as Bundy believed he was fully capable of defending himself in his court's judgment and did not need lawyers, Homelander thought he was an incarnate God walking among the 'bugs', simply because he had powers.

"And how do you feel about Maeve?"

“She bothered me a little with the drama on the plane, but that's okay. I am sure that after I spoke to the journalists, near the wreckage of the flight, she understood. This is all going to be an excellent opportunity to make our presence in the army happen. ”

A sociopath.

Empathetic behaviors aren't part of him. He was unable to have that feeling. Self-centered, Homelander was unable to love. The relationship he had with Stiwell, for example, was far from loving. He didn't feel it, quite the opposite: Homelander had a feeling of possession with her. She was his, and nobody else's.

A doubt hammered in your head: Homelander was intending to drop the plane? Your stomach was upset, you felt bad about that therapy session. How could Vought leave someone like him in The Seven?

The answer was simple: They didn't care. Homelander was profitable, and that was all that mattered.

That was one of the times when you thanked God that Homelander was self-centered enough to lie on the couch and just think about your own life, instead of analyzing you and realizing that you were completely terrified. It was as if a misstep, a wrong word, was going to cost his life.

And you would end that today.

You conducted the therapy session normally. In the end, you shook hands with Homelander as you always did and closed the door. Tears invaded your face as you thought of each life that was lost in vain on that flight, and, worse, you were sure that Maeve would tell you about the flight at her therapy session, early next week. In an attempt to calm down, you took some coffee and sat down in front of your MacBook. There, sipping coffee, you wrote your resignation letter.

Alright. You were free.

Or at least this was what you thought.

 * * *

Another week has started, and the fact that you worked at Vought made you get a more comfortable office, in addition to increasing your service price. You were ending your day. Your last patient had left the office, and you were about to go home when you heard a familiar voice from your couch.

"I miss you in the tower."

Homelander looked at you with his pairs of sick blue eyes, his fake smile, and his murderous hands behind his body. He was standing next to the couch, and you felt your whole body freeze. A lump formed in your throat, and your hands vibrated in pure dread.

So he would kill you there? In your office?

Trying to take control of the situation, you faked a slight smile.

“Sorry, Homelander. I didn't saw you here. Need something?"

"Actually, I do." He started walking towards you slowly. "I didn't want to end our sessions, so I came to ask you what our new schedule is going to be."

You narrowed your eyes.

"I thought Vought was going to hire someone else to work with The Seven in my place."

“In fact, they put an incompetent in your place. I really prefer that we continue where we left off. ” He stopped in front of you with his smile, his eyes emanating pure insanity "I like our therapy sessions."

“I'm glad that you like my job and that you appreciate our results, Homelander” You gave him a smile, but inside you were still in pure dread “But I don't have appointments available. My schedule filled up easily after I came to this new office. ”

“Oh, but I'm sure you can fit me in your schedule. I can pay you well. ”

How to say no to Homelander without putting your life at risk?

You walked over to your tablet, on your desk. You took it in hand and slid your finger on the screen, analyzing awhile. You didn't need him to tell you that you would be paid well. In fact, you were fully aware of that. The point was that you could exchange all the money in the world to be at peace, without having to deal with Homelander. Without much choice, you concluded that you would reserve a single day for your therapy sessions with him. That way, your head wouldn't get so tired when you still had to deal with other patients.

“Are you available on Friday morning? At nine."

He nodded, giving the same smile he did when he achieved something. One of pure contentment.

"Of course!"

"Great so." You typed 'Homelander' in the space corresponding to the hour. You put the tablet down on the table, next to your MacBook “There, it's done. Friday, at nine in the morning. ”

“Ah, perfect! Thank you. Have a good night."

"Good night, Homelander."

He walked over to your balcony. With a jump, he flew through the sky. You lay on your couch, terrified. Would you never get rid of him?

All that was left for you now was to be the therapist of the incarnate Devil.

[takemyopenheart]

Waiting (part 1 of 3)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey and f!MC (Luz Beltrán) | Category: angst | Rating: M | Warnings: implied s e x and depression | Word Count: 1.8k | Ao3 link | Part 2 | Part 3

summary: Ethan and Luz grapple with the decisions made that may alter the future of their relationship. Takes place between book 1 and 2.

The memory of her body in such intimate proximity still lingered. The smell of her hair, her soft caresses on his chest as they lay spent, the enticing way she curled up beneath his arms.

He curses himself for dredging up such thoughts again. But he can’t be rid of them no matter how hard he tries. They invade his mind. It’s like a bittersweet curse he can’t break. His grip tightens around the nearly empty glass of scotch and wishes the cold glass was replaced by the warmth of her soft hand. He takes another swig, letting the rich smokiness coat his throat.

With a sigh, he rests his head back against the armchair, keeping his eyes wide open to keep the image of those chocolate brown eyes he’s come to know so well—and love—at bay.

Love.

He groans again. As much as he likes controlling every aspect of his life, nothing could prepare him for the unexpected impact Luz would have on his life, much less opening up his heart and inevitably falling for her and letting all the walls he’d built up crumble.

He should’ve stayed away. The thought stings because he knows he doesn’t mean it. Any ounce of regret immediately washes away when he thinks of the happy moments they’ve shared, none of which he regrets. Never did he ever expect someone to affect him the way that she did. She was there during the most turbulent times in his life when he had no one.

Dolores was relying on his expertise, and she was taken away so unfairly, leaving a child behind. A child Luz refused to leave on his own. It took Ethan a while to understand that not only was she there for baby Ethan while he fought for his life, but she was also there for Ethan while he was struggling to fight for a life.

His biggest fear was losing the only other person he cared about. Watching his mentor Naveen struggle for his life affected him deeply. But he had to be there for his friend and got right into finding whatever it was that was causing his debilitating illness. He hardly slept. He hardly allowed himself to feel. Naveen needed him. He was his only salvation, until she appeared and refused to leave their side.

Overtime, her presence became his comfort and lifeline. As much as he tried closing his heart to her, she won it in the end. Had it not been for her...he can’t even bear the thought.

The quiet stillness which surrounds him does nothing to ease his flurried mind, it merely aids in providing the perfect atmosphere in which he can still hear her voice, her laugh, every whisper of her soothing voice.

His eyes shut, and he sucks in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. His flight leaves in a few hours. He forces his eyes open when a thought seeps into his brain again—a cycle he’s found himself stuck in. He glances down at the coffee table where his phone lays, and two words echoe in an endless haunting loop—call her.

He knows he owes her that much, but his stubborn nature prevents him from reaching for it. His arms feel heavy, as if the weight of the turmoil he finds himself in weighs them down, preventing him from dialing the phone number he’s memorized from the moment he first dialed it. Her voice is just a phone call away, and his throat closes at the thought.

The last they spoke had been Friday, but the professional distance was there, due to the fact that he was back to being her attending. And soon, she would take her place on the diagnostics team, with Ethan being her direct supervisor. He stopped receiving her texts, unless they had to do with work. It seemed she, too, was doing everything in her power to move on. Though he knew it was the right thing, he couldn’t fill that piece that was back to being the missing part of his life.

There’s a sudden ping. Ethan’s head whips to the source of the sound and finally picks up his phone. Everything’s forgotten in that instant, and he hopes to see her name displayed on the screen. He adjusts his eyes to the brightness, only to read a notification that his ride has arrived.

He feels the urge to toss it against the wall, to let the frustration seeping into him out. He sighs deeply, and before he knows it, the glass in his hand is chucked across the room where it smashes into small fragments on the living room floor and around the packed luggage sitting beside the front door.

This is what must be done, for her own sake. He can’t hinder her professional development with whatever it is they have—had, as much as it pains him to take that step. Her career must come before anything.

The forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.

And he must go before he’s tempted again. He has to.

Two weeks later

His stubbled jaw scratches its way down her neck, lavishing her skin with open-mouthed kisses. She feels his rough hand make its way down her exposed skin, tickling her in the best way possible. He laughs softly in her ear when she begins guiding his hand toward the part that begs for his touch. It’s a laugh so deep and alluring, she wishes that sound to stretch on and on and on...

Her eyes flutter open as she jolts awake in her bed. Her heart thumps a quick rhythm as she looks at the empty cold space beside her, the only body warmth her own. She’s pulled out of the reverie, letting her heart feel that familiar ache its grown used to.

She checks the time on her phone—6:16 am. At least she got four hours of sleep this time, she thinks to herself. She can’t miss the next step of what’s become her daily morning routine. She looks at the screen for any sign of him, any message to let her know he’s okay and that he’s thinking of her. But the pang of hurt hits her again as she stares at the empty screen.

Of course he isn’t thinking of her. He’s moved on. She forces her feet to keep her going and prepare for another full day of distractions—anything to overpower the lingering sound and smell of him.

She keeps her curtains closed, she doesn’t feel like letting the sunshine in.

Her feet sluggishly carry her toward the kitchen to make herself a cup of black coffee. She isn’t surprised to find Elijah and Sienna already in the kitchen. They’ve been her support system these past few weeks. They’re still the only ones who know the truth about her and Ethan. It’s an alleviating sight to wake up from dreams about him and find them there to offer her company.

A lone empty mug sits on the countertop, and when they look over to see her approaching, Sienna fills it with the steamy caffeinated beverage. She throws them a smile and takes her seat on the kitchen stool as they prepare their breakfast.

"Have some pancakes, Luz. Or some eggs and toast," Elijah encourages her with a warm smile on his face, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares back at her desolate-filled expression.

"I’m okay. Thanks for the coffee, though," she simply says and takes the mug in her hands to take a sip. It burns her tongue, and she flinches.

"Careful, Luz, it’s still hot," Sienna warns her too late.

"I’m all right, don’t worry."

Sienna and Elijah share a concerned look. They can’t help but worry. The brightness and vivaciousness has dimmed in their best friend since he left. It was an entire week before they learned he left for the Amazon with the W.H.O. It was like Ethan to join in on fighting an epidemic, and she didn’t fault him for that. It was an incredibly brave thing to do.

She’d followed his wishes for them to resume their professional working relationship. No longer did he look at her the way he used to. Steadily, he began to revert back to being the closed-off man she first met. It pained her, but she had to respect this is what he wanted. But deep in her heart, she knew he still cared for her, which is why it hurt her that he’d decided to leave her wondering where he was. She left a message after the first few days she hadn’t heard from him, only for it to be left unanswered.

No one had any idea where he was until Naveen shared the news. By then it was too late to try to reach him, and she couldn’t help but think that was why he delayed in sharing his whereabouts. His phone was no longer in service. She had no way of hearing his voice.

Some part of her knew he was running away from her—from everything they left behind, and she felt selfish every time that thought crossed her mind. It was no longer about her. And that was a clear enough message.

She sips the last of the coffee and steps off the kitchen stool. "I’m going to go for a walk."

"Want some company?" Sienna asks with hope in her eyes.

Luz knows she can’t go on like this. She shouldn’t let her life revolve around one emotionally unavailable man, but she can’t help what her heart still feels for him. She’s going to have to accept the fact that she can’t have everything she wants. She’ll live with the memories they shared. And she hopes that’ll be enough.

Her breath hitches as she remembers the last kiss they shared. She shakes her head to be rid of the flashing thought and looks up to meet Sienna’s eyes. "You know what? Sure. I could use friends right now. But first, let’s eat breakfast."

She and Elijah brighten up at the response. "Good. Because boy, are we going to get up to some fun today! It’s a promise." Elijah grins and places a plate in front of her. His face becomes serious, and he gently pats Luz’s arm. "We’re here for you."

Luz musters a smile. "I know. Thanks, guys. It means a lot. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"But don’t keep it all inside," Sienna interrupts. "When you’re ready to talk about it, we’re open ears."

"Yeah. What Sienna said."

Luz feels tears brimming in her eyes because for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel totally alone. She won’t be as long as her friends are there. There’s always light at the end of the tunnel. It just may take some time to reach it. And that’s okay.

•

Note: For an added dose of angst, listen to Waiting by Alice Boman. Major Ethan leaving for the Amazon vibes.

•

@openheartfanfics

I haven’t been tagging anyone in these since they’re from my old blog, but if you still wish to be tagged in my reposts, let me know😊

[senacal]

Dr. Charles Xavier (Part 3)

Request: Continuation of @saltysebastianstan request.

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem Reader

Prompt: Charles and (Y/N) go out for coffee and (Y/N) has some realizations. 

Part 1 , Part 2

Warnings: Fluff 

Author’s Note: I honestly don’t know how long I want this series to be so bare with me 😬 and Sorry this took so long to get out, I had a little bit of writers block and of course my dear friend, no motivation. 

Requests Are Open!

(Not my gif)

It had been a while since Charles had felt any type of stress, sure he had been anxious recently. Who wouldn’t be anxious talking to a large group of college kids? College students could be blunt, cynical, judgmental, and assholes. Thankfully he hadn’t met many of them, the majority of the college kids who did attend his lectures either kept to themselves or ignored him altogether, it was the best possible scenario. That is until he met (Y/N). When he had stepped onto the stage that afternoon, he hadn’t thought he’d meet someone so invested in his work. While he was trying to place whose voice he was hearing, Charles made sure to answer the questions and fit it into his lecture at the same time. After all, he didn’t want to get caught. Although no one would suspect that he was a telepath, they ha no reason to. 

Somehow he knew the person behind the voice didn’t have any ill intent involving his work. How could they? Their questions were precise and specific to a field of study that couldn’t lead to a point of danger, or Charles had convinced himself that no one would use his knowledge for evil, but that was a fear he liked to ignore. Charles preferred to have a more optimistic outlook towards others because it was much more easing to think the best of someone than constantly worry about getting screwed over. But Charles could have never imagined someone as magnificent as (Y/N). 

(Y/N) was pure in mind and spirit. The benefit of Charles’s gift (other than the obvious) was his ability to sense a person’s intent. (Y/N) had raised good points when she asked why he would trust her, she didn’t know how his powers worked. How could she? She wasn’t a mutant, but that was why Charles wanted to help her. She was actively trying to understand mutants so that she could help them. Her sincerity was one of the reasons he was drawn to her, the others, well, she had an interest in his work. Most girls he spoke with were merely attracted to him because of his looks and accent, he didn’t hold it against them. He might have used those traits to pick up women before, but this time it was different. Not only was (Y/N) persistent that she didn’t like him in any other aspect than a professional relationship, she had an interest in his studies. No one had taken an interest in his work before, at least no one he was interested in dating. 

Of course, that was a moot point in the end because as he reminded himself before, their relationship was purely professional. (Y/N) wasn’t interested in him… But for a moment he could have sworn she was interested. He wished he could peek inside her mind to figure out what she thought of him, but he promised no to invade her privacy and he would keep that promise damn it. He just wished it wasn’t so frustrating. Charles was used to reading people’s minds without hesitation. It was a part of him so it was rather hard to suppress. He made a point to keep out of his friend’s minds, but he didn’t have many friends so it wasn’t too hard to remind himself. Perhaps somewhere down the line (Y/N) could become his friend if not, girlfriend.

“Professional, Charles. Stay professional,” He muttered to himself for what seemed like the hundredth time. He didn’t know what it was about her that made his thoughts keep drifting towards wanting a relationship with her, but she managed to enrapture him. It was quite frustrating, and if he was honest, stressful. That’s why he was standing in front of his full-length mirror trying to tame his hair that refused to cooperate with him. Of all days, it chose now not to stay in position. For fucks sake, he wasn’t asking for much, all he wanted was to groom it like the way he had it last night when (Y/N) seemed to take interest in his hair. That wasn’t too much to ask right? 

Charles huffed when a strand kept popping up. He had hoped not to add too much product because then his hair wouldn’t be as soft, but it looked like he’d have to.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve seen you fuss over your hair as much as you are now. And that’s saying something,” Raven commented. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe of Charles’s bedroom.

“Very funny, Raven,” Charles grumbled. He dragged his comb through his hair one more time. He narrowed his eyes at the offending strand of hair.

“Why don’t you just reapply that hair product thing you use? What is it, Vitals?” Raven shrugged.

“I’m trying not to overdo it,” Charles flattened the strand with his hand, which worked for a second until it sprung back up. “Maybe I’ll just start all over. Nothing is working.” He tossed his comb onto his dresser with a sigh of defeat.

“Here,” Raven approached him. She licked her hand and slid it over the strand.

“Raven!” Charles pushed her hand away, “Don’t be gross!” 

“Don’t be such a baby, it worked!” She defended. 

Charles checked himself in the mirror once more and frowned. It did work, but at the cost of having Raven’s saliva smeared on his hair. “What time is it? I think I’ll just shower again.” He checked his watch.

“That’s why I came up here, it’s 11:30, doesn’t your date start at noon?” Raven sat on Charles’s bed, bouncing in her seat, “Why is your mattress more comfortable than mine?”

“Shit. It’s not a date, but yes. I’ve got to get going, uh,” Charles patted his pockets for his keys.

“They’re on your dresser, genius. How you survive without me, I’ll never know,” Raven stood from her seat and pat Charles cheek as she passed him by, “Don’t forget your notes.” 

Charles grabbed his keys before he grabbed his briefcase. He thankfully had the brain to pack what he needed the night before. Raven might have told him to do it, but that’s not the point. 

Charles rushed to grab his coat, “Okay, Raven. I’ll be back, don’t wait up!” He yelled as he rushed out the door. He checked his watch once more and cursed. If traffic was as horrible as it was the day before, then he’d be a little late. If he could expand his mind and communicate that to (Y/N) he would. He didn’t want to disappoint her so early in their relationship. Professional relationship.

_______________________________________

(Y/N) sat in a booth at the coffee shop she and Charles had agreed to meet at. She glanced at the clock on the wall and tapped the pads of her fingers against the table. He still had another five minutes before he was late, why was she stressing? (Y/N) sighed and picked up her cup of coffee. Maybe it was the caffeine. She shrugged and took another drink anyway. It helped her headache, believe it or not, if only it didn’t worsen her anxiety.

“Would you like anything else?” A waitress asked once again.

Since (Y/N) had been there, which was only ten minutes now, the same waitress kept checking on her. Maybe she thought she was being stood up.

“I’m okay, maybe once my friend gets here. Thank you,” She paused to look at her name-tag, “Mindy,” (Y/N) dismissed with a kind smile. 

“Alright, sugar, just let me know,” Mindy smiled kindly and left her once more.

Maybe this was all crazy. Charles didn’t have to show up. He was a busy man and possibly had other people vying for his help and attention. Why should he show up to help (Y/N)? She was just some college kid he met because some girl wouldn’t leave him alone. They weren’t even supposed to meet. (Y/N) looked up at the clock again. Another three minutes till he’d be late. 

Yeah, who was she kidding? (Y/N) drank the last of her coffee. This was crazy. It was ridiculous. Why would she think anything he said was serious. He had so much better things to do than teach her about mutants and mutations. 

“Sorry, I’m late, love. Traffic was horrendous,” Charles panted. He plopped down in the seat across from her with an apologetic smile.

“You came,” (Y/N) smiled despite herself.

“Of curse I came,” Charles smiled back, he decided then that he’d do all he could to see her smile more often.

“Right, uh, did you want anything? I was just about to order another cup of coffee,” (Y/N) waved her hand hoping to catch Mindy’s attention.

“Uh sure,” Charles set his briefcase next to him.

Once Mindy came to their table, (Y/N) ordered her new cup of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. 

“And for you handsome?” Mindy asked.

“I’ll have the same thing, thank you,” Charles smiled.

“Coming right up,” Mindy winked at (Y/N).

Charles laughed and tapped the table, “In case you’re wondering, she was thinking how lucky you were for having such a handsome date,” He teased.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Don’t know if I should trust your word or not.”

“You can trust me,” Charles chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, “I’m a very trustworthy person.”

“Everyone thinks they’re trustworthy,” (Y/N) quipped. 

“That’s true I suppose, but I know you know that you can trust me.” Charles shrugged.

“What happened to not reading my mind?” (Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t have to read your mind to know that,” Charles grabbed his briefcase and set it on the table, “Now, I brought the notes I thought would interest you more, though I do need to know more about your thesis or the thoughts you had.” Charles opened his case and took out his stacks of notes.

“Okay, where should I begin?” (Y/N) relaxed in her seat. She could talk business; it was easier for her, and her mind would be on her thesis and not how handsome Charles truly was. Mindy had been right because Charles was dressed nicely, but he might dress like that regularly. Plus his hair was combed to perfection, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

“First, why have you taken an interest in my work? Maybe from there, we can figure out your intent.”

“Okay, When I was seven or eight years old, my parents wanted to go to the Fourth of July parade. When we were there, there was this man, I never learned his name. At first, I thought maybe he was drunk or something, but then I noticed he was injured. When I looked away for a second and then looked back at him, it was like he was magically healed. I could have been seeing things, but then someone bumped into him and he had these claws extend from his knuckles,” (Y/N) looked down at the table in thought, “At first it scared me, but then they retracted almost instantly and it was as if they weren’t there anymore. I think someone was looking for him because a group of soldiers came running in. Everyone thought they were a part of the parade, but I could tell there was something different about them. Anyway, the man tried his best to get away unseen. I don’t know what happened to him after that though. I never saw him again,” (Y/N) looked back up at Charles, “I just remember feeling sad because if anyone else had seen him, I knew something bad would have happened to him. Since then, I’ve wanted to find out anything I could so I could help any mutants who need it.”

 Charles nodded, “You’ve come to the right person then,” He shuffled through his notes, “You said you’re majoring in medicine too, correct?” 

Mindy came by with their order, placing napkins down in front of them.

“Thank you, Mindy,” (Y/N) smiled gratefully, “Yeah, my family wasn’t too happy that I wanted to study mutations. They said I was wasting my time,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. 

“Sadly, most people will think studying mutations is a waste. I’ve had the same comments when I was in graduate school,” Charles sipped his coffee and hummed appreciatively. “In a way, the second major you have can benefit you.”

“Yeah, I was actually thinking of maybe becoming an obstetrician if the whole mutation study didn’t pan out? I might have a soft spot for babies,” She picked a piece of muffin off and popped it into her mouth.

“You could still do that,” Charles smiled, “I have some great notes on mutant pregnancy, and I’m sure mutants will feel safer with an obstetrician who is accepting of them versus a doctor who won’t understand them.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, “I hadn’t thought of that,” She grabbed the notebook she brought with her and flipped it open, “Okay, so now I know where I’m headed. Time to teach me some new things, professor,” She grinned. She couldn’t remember feeling this excited before. Okay, that was an obvious lie, but still. It was always a great feeling to have.

Charles hadn’t realized how much time had gone by while he was discussing his teachings with (Y/N). Whenever she was confused or had a comment she would speak up so she could get clarification. She was engaged in their discussion which was refreshing especially since no one has ever been this intrigued in what he had to say when it came to Charles’s work. Raven usually spaced out or pressed his nose and said “snooze.” It got annoying really fast, but he supposed Raven thought the same when he talked about his work. 

“Okay, so the potentiality of a human-human couple is slim, but not impossible? What would that mean for me? If we can’t identify that the baby is a mutant, would they be examined by a regular obstetrician?”

“In that case, yes. Unless you were assigned them as your patient there wouldn’t be much for you to do. As you said, there are no tests that will let us know if their child will have the X-gene. It’s best to play it safe in that instance. You can always assist if need be, but for this purpose, we’ll have your thesis focus on identified mutant mothers or fathers. We’ll leave the human couples alone unless specified.” Charles shuffled his papers around so he could continue to keep them in order, but still have access to the next page of notes.

“I hope I’m not being rude by asking, but… your parents, did they have the X-gene?” (Y/N) asked curiously.

“I suppose my father might have, though I couldn’t ask him to verify,” Charles looked up to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, “he passed when I was ten. He didn’t give any indication to him being a mutant though.” He shrugged.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” (Y/N) spoke softly.

“It’s quite alright,  it happened a long time ago,” He ran his hand through his hair, “I do know for sure that my mother didn’t have the X-gene. Perhaps I was just special,” He teased to deflect from the topic of his family. That was something he wasn’t too keen on sharing. Only Raven knew about his family and that was only because she had come into his life while they were both still so young.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “keep telling yourself that Charles,” She smiled slightly but hid it behind her coffee cup. Throughout their talk, Charles would crack jokes as often as he could. It was refreshing and welcomed considering they were working. 

“What about you?” Charles asked.

“Not so special,” (Y/N) shrugged, “Human parents, human friends, human me.”

“That doesn’t mean that you aren’t special,” Charles tenderly said. He knew for a fact that she was special. She presented it in the way she spoke about her interests and how she spoke to others even if she didn’t find them very charming. She tried her best to treat everyone she met with kindness and that in and of itself was the most special thing about her. She didn’t talk down to people and she knew what she wanted. Charles knew that he wanted her but because of her strong morals, that wouldn’t happen. 

“You’re very charming, I bet that comes in handy,” (Y/N) deflected his compliment

“Oh it has its benefits,” Charles agreed. 

Instead of doing more work for (Y/N)��� s work, she and Charles spoke casually about their lives. It was kind of comforting talking to Charles because things seemed to come easy. They talked about their childhoods and their families. (Y/N) found out how long Raven and Charles had known each other, and Charles found out how long (Y/N) had known her best friend. It was almost surprising how comfortable she felt with Charles. Just the other day she was hesitant to even be his friend, but now that she got to know him and some of his quirks, (Y/N) couldn’t be happier. Charles was funny in a witty way, he was beyond intelligent, he was a gentleman, and there was never a dull conversation with him. It helped that (Y/N) took an interest in his work.

“It’s gotten quite late,” Charles glanced at his watch, “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything?”

“Nah, (F/N) probably would have just dragged me to another party by now,” (Y/N) gathered her things together, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“It’s no problem, really. Perhaps we can meet at my home next time? I’m sure Raven would like to get to know you better. Also, it’d probably be cozier.”

(Y/N) bit her lip in thought. What could be the harm, right? She liked Charles, and after a while, her butt did start to hurt sitting in the booth. “Yeah, that’d be nice actually.”

“Wonderful, I’ll uh- did you need a lift?” He offered, hesitant to leave her alone.

“It’s okay, I don’t live too far, remember?” (Y/N) tried to brush him off. She didn’t want to burden him with anything else. After all, he was helping her with her work.

“You’d get home faster if I gave you a ride,” Charles insisted.

“Alright, I’ll let you drive me home then,” (Y/N) agreed. 

Together they walked out of the coffee shop to Charles’s car. Once again Charles proved to be a gentleman when he opened both the store and car doors for (Y/N).  She thanked him when he was in the car. (Y/N) should have known better than to doubt Charles’s sense of direction and memory. She’d have to remember that he was powerful in his mind. Rather than being afraid of him, it only made him that much more interesting to her. (Y/N) glanced at Charles while he drove. He looked comfortable and confident in his position. (Y/N)’s heart nearly skipped a beat watching him do an everyday activity.

‘I told myself I wouldn’t get wrapped up in his charms,’ She scolded herself.

______________________________________________________________

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[orangerosebush]

Out in the fields

Wicklow has often been referred to as the garden of Ireland. The founder of St. Bartleby’s had assumed that the sprawling landscapes and fresh air would do the young gentlemen of Ireland’s high society some good — and he wasn’t wholly wrong. There was certainly a great deal less trouble to get into in the middle of a field than there was in the more populated towns.

However, those who are determined to find trouble will inevitably make do, and such is the case on this night, with the overcast spring sky providing ample opportunity to lurk if one so desires. And, let it be said, Jack Lovett was nothing if not a professional troublemaker, in the unfortunate way that sheltered rich teenagers are.

It is true that Wicklow is the garden of Ireland, but even so, there is a smattering of abandoned lots and crumbling alleys. Tonight, Jack had picked out one of the abandoned car parks that he’d evaluated to be the best of the lots, and he currently had parked himself on top of a stack of old wooden crates. His adventuring partner for the night, a first-year university student he’d met at a rather bad concert back in the autumn, was none too happy with their predicament.

However, they’d already argued about the risk factor of skulking about in empty lots on the way over, and both thought it best to save some energy for arguing about the activity later into the night.

There isn’t much to do in Wicklow if you’re a private school student.

***

Jack flicked his lighter on and off, admiring the way it spat out sparks.

“You’re going to break that,” his companion sighed, their mouth pulled into a disapproving, thin line.

Rolling his eyes, Jack made a show of flicking the lighter shut before shoving it in his blazer’s pocket.

Ozzy smiled, leaning their weight against the almost-slick bricks of the old building. “Thanks.”

Scoffing, Jack drummed his fingers against the box on which he was sitting, the noise making a slight echo. After a moment, he looked back at Ozzy. They raised an eyebrow, and he took that as an invitation.

“What do you want to do?”

“What do I want to do?” they snorted. “You’re the one who wanted to poke around weird holes in the wall.”

“It’s not like there would’ve been anything to do on campus,” he said, frowning defensively.

“So you should’ve come up to Dublin instead of making me take a taxi down here.”

“Yeah, true, Ozzy,” Jack admitted. “Ozzy — what’s your name from, anyway?” he asked, swinging his legs lazily from his perch.

Ozzy shrugged. “Poem.”

“What?” he furrowed his brow. “I thought the name was from that rocker bloke.”

“Why’d you even ask, then?”

“Dunno. Although I do admit it seemed like a weird choice and all, considering you don’t even listen to heavy metal. ”

“Well, there you go. That’s a bit stupid.”

“Eh, can’t win ‘em all.”

“Fair,” Ozzy exhaled, rolling their shoulders as they gazed out towards the empty car park. “The story I have isn’t that interesting, to be honest.”

Jack shot them a look. “We’re lurking in an abandoned lot so that I can smoke without one of the head boys giving me grief about cigs. Please, regale me with your poem.”

“Prick.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Fine. It’s basically about the narrator meeting a traveler from a faraway land, and they talk about there being this huge statue of the king Ozymandias out in the desert. The king had it engraved to say things such as that he was ‘the king of kings’ and that his enemies should fear even the sight of one of his monuments. All real braggadocio-type shit. But here’s the thing — the statue is the only thing that remains in that desert since his kingdom is now in ruins. It’s about arrogance and hubris. I can text it to you.”

“Huh,” Jack took a puff from what remained of his cigarette. At this point, the thing was almost only the orange filtration zone. Not that that gave him pause, though. “Cool.”

“I liked the themes,” they shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever, even the powerful die eventually, be careful with where you invest in real estate. Basic stuff.”

“Well, I’m gonna read it,” Jack declared, waving his hand. “So I don’t want any more spoilers.” Tiny trails of smoke formed as he gestured, with the mist making the lit end of the cigarette splutter and hiss intermittently.

“It is cool. Plus, my name makes whoever is talking to me sound like they’re buzzing.”

“The consonants are wicked, yeah,” Jack agreed, grinning. Ozzy grinned back.

Suddenly, Jack froze up. “Shit,” He hissed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and hurriedly grinding it into the wet dirt. Jack hopped off the empty boxes, fanning the air unsuccessfully in an attempt to disperse the smell of smoke.

“Do you have any Axe in your work bag?” he asked, cursing.

“It’s a research program. I’m not really doing any heavy physical labor,” Ozzy snorted. “I don’t bring stuff like Axe to work. That’d be weird.”

“Whatever,” Jack grimaced, and Ozzy craned their neck to see what he was looking at.

Across the gloom of the dusky car park, Ozzy could just about see the silhouette of a sleek, black Bentley. One of the older models, probably. They looked at Jack quizzically, taking a step back.

“Jack,” they began slowly. “There’s a car.”

“Yeah,” he said dismissively, still waving at the air. “Got any mints, at least?” he tried, hopeful.

“Dude, there’s a fecking car parked over there,” Ozzy stressed, eyes darting back to Jack. “No one ever comes out here. I think we should leg it. Now.”

“’S probably why he drove out here, the creep,” Jack muttered under his breath, moving to riffle through Ozzy’s bag anyway. They squawked, moving to kick his hand away from the bag, but he batted their boot away.

“Gross. Orange tic tacs?” he looked up, making a face.

Ozzy shoved their hands into their pockets. “They were out of the tea-flavored ones.”

Jack rolled his eyes as he crunched on the mints. “You should take one, too.”

“ I wasn’t smoking.”

“So? It’ll look weird if only one of us has mints. Take some!”

“What? No, it won’t. You’re mental — look, do you recognize that car?”

“Unfortunately. My classmate’s bodyguard has one just like it.”

Ozzy boggled. “Your classmate’s… bodyguard’s… car.”

Jack huffed. “Shut up. They’re practically inseparable. And my classmate is always blowing off school to do God knows what, so it adds up that he’d try to invade our car park behind the abandoned Foot Locker.”

“The Foot Locker lot isn’t really ours, though. It’s not really anybody’s. That’s a bit of the point of it being our haunt.”

“Yeah, technically — we still got here first, though,” Jack sent a glare off into the gloom. “If Butler comes over here and tells me to knock off smoking again, I’m fighting him.”

"His bodyguard's name is Butler — never mind.  Please don’t get into a fight with someone whose job is being able to fight.”

“Fight professionally, maybe. I never learned karate or that MMA type stuff. I learned to fight on the streets. We’ve the advantage here.”

“There… is nothing going on between your ears. Just empty air, blowing around your thick skull,” Ozzy decided, finally cautiously taking a step closer to look at the car.

“Piss off.”

“You piss off,” they muttered back, poking their head around the rusting dumpster.

That was apparently a mistake, as they found themselves making eye contact with the gigantic man stepping out of the driver’s seat of the Bentley. He was incredibly still, like the calm ocean — barely tamed strength that had been forced into a moment of inertia.

Slowly, they felt themself raise up a hand in a small wave.

“Why are you interacting with them?” they heard Jack splutter from behind them.

“They already saw us,” Ozzy said, voice low.

The passenger door to the car swung up and out stepped another figure. He was pale enough that he seemed to glow a bit under the busted streetlight, and he was dressed in a smart, black suit. He must be the classmate, then, Ozzy decided, gaze flickering between the two. He didn’t seem like any secondary schooler they’d ever seen — but money was wont to have a funny effect on teenagers who’d never known its absence. For Jack, it’d convinced him that the world was a lot smaller and a great deal more simple than it truly was. For this other fellow, Ozzy frowned, it had seemed to do the opposite. He had the gait and demeanor of someone who knew the world was all too willing to knock him down, and he had thus decided to steel himself against any future threats preemptively.

Jack had been exaggerating their rivalry. Ozzy was sure of that.

If his classmate had seen Jack as anything more aggravating than a nuisance, it was more than likely that one day, Jack would have simply stopped showing up at the lot to hang out. In fact, it was more than likely that Ozzy would have stopped seeing Jack altogether.

Feeling a presence at their side, Ozzy turned to face Jack, who was lingering nearby. He grimaced, slinging their bag over his shoulder.

“If they've already seen us, then sprinting off will look suspicious,” he explained, hoisting the bag higher. Ozzy shot him a withering look.

“I thought you wanted to fight his bodyguard, Jack. Are you telling me you’re afraid that what, we’ll get chased?”

“Uh, yes, actually?” Jack said slowly, as though explaining something to an infant. “Neither of them understand the concept of fun.”

Their petty squabbling petered out as the two people from the car made their way over.

“Artemis,” Jack said, pursing his lips at the dark-haired young man.

Ozzy made a note of that, furrowing their brow. Artemis. Interesting.

“Hello, Jack. I must say, it’s a bit of surprise to see you out here,” Artemis remarked, tone light. Turning to face Ozzy, he appraised them.

“I’m Ozzy,” they offered.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your acquaintance before, Ozzy,” Artemis quirked his head, extending a hand in greeting.

“You’ve definitely never met,” Jack confirmed, tone somewhat brusque. “They’re a fresher at Trinity.”

Shaking Artemis’ hand, Ozzy harrumphed. “I can introduce myself, thanks. But no, we wouldn’t have met before, I don’t think.”

“Trinity?” Artemis smiled, nodding approvingly. “I gave a lecture on Balkan politics there.”

“Really? Maybe one of my friends saw it. When was it?”

Artemis waved a hand. “I was thirteen. It was some time ago.”

“Oh,” Ozzy blinked. “Good for you.”

“Quite. I must say that you’ve piqued my interest with Trinity. If I might ask: what is your focus on?”

“Classics,” Jack interjected before Ozzy could respond, puffing up slightly with pride at the mention of his friend’s work. “They’re beyond smart. Actually, you should tell Artemis about some of your papers, Ozzy. Lethal stuff.”

“Maybe some other time,” Butler announced, his voice firm, and he looked at his employer pointedly. Artemis must have picked up on whatever he was implying, as the pale young man nodded apologetically.

“I’m afraid it is time for us to part ways with you two,” Artemis explained.

Jack crossed his arms.

Ozzy put a firm hand on his shoulder before he could say something. He scowled at the strange duo in front of them but turning to look at Ozzy, his face softened.

“Enjoy your stupid car park,” Jack muttered, allowing Ozzy to maneuver them both back towards the path that led to the main foot road. He was no doubt thinking he’d got the last word in, Ozzy sighed mentally.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you smoking when we pulled into the lot, Jack Lovett,” Ozzy heard Butler call after the two of them from out in the gloom. They winced, continuing to push Jack forward.

“He’s threatened to tell my mum a few times, “ Jack remarked miserably, no doubt disappointed at his grand exit being ruined. “He knows her from some damn book club group, apparently.”

Ozzy laughed, and he gave them a hurt look.

“I’m living like a hunted man, you know! It’s not funny, Ozzy,” he sulked, and they shook their head fondly.

“You really ought to quit, Jack,” they sighed, inhaling the cool night air. It smelled vaguely of roses, with the pungent smell of tobacco beginning to fade as they walked farther and farther from the lot. It was always worth coming down from Central Dublin to visit Jack in Wicklow, they shot him a glance. Despite how much Jack might complain that St. Bartleby’s was located in the middle of absolute nowhere, Ozzy knew that deep down, he liked being away from the city. Not that Dublin was in any way as busy as some of the cities they’d seen back in London, Ozzy conceded. But even Dublin was too much for someone like Jack. He needed growing room, even at the precipice of adulthood.

“Hm. I might,” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Jack .”

“No, I really think I might! It’s getting to the point where my mum would realize when I come home for the holidays, and the last thing I want is to get chewed out for using ‘her money to buy cigs when I should be learning',” he pitched his voice into a breathy falsetto at the end.

Ozzy chuckled. “You’ve already gotten caught, then.”

“Mum found a few I’d stuffed in my bag when I came home for Christmas. You should’ve seen her — she was huffing and red in the face for about an hour. I really got the business for that.”

“Good. Your dumbass should have realized that bringing cigs home was a monumentally stupid idea.”

“You’re mean tonight, you know that, Ozzy?” Jack grinned widely, shaking his head and knocking his shoulder into theirs.

“Whatever,” Ozzy rolled their eyes. Slowing slightly in their stride, they glanced backward, eyes narrowing to try to make out the silhouettes of Artemis and Butler.

“It… is a bit weird, you know,” they began, voice faltering. “That those two were at the car park.”

Jack snorted. “Weird is on-brand for Artemis. Besides, he wasn’t there for the car park, probably.”

“What?”

“You’d never guess it if you’d just met him, but he’s bonkers for all that like….,” Jack made a vague gesture with his hands. “Ancient aliens type shite. At least, he used to be when we were roommates. He’s gotten more normal since he was 10, but you never know, y’know?”

Ozzy stared at him, stopping in their tracks. “So that’s… a haunted car park, then?”

“Good idea for a band name — ‘haunted car park’,” Jack extended his arm, pantomiming putting it up across a poster. “But no, more like haunted hillfort.”

“There are fairy mounds in the parking lot?”

“Sometimes I forget you’re painfully British. Yeah, there are a bunch all over Wicklow. There’s one in the field behind the car park, but it’s so small you’d never see it on a touristy type guide.”

“Huh,” Ozzy said thoughtfully, looking out at the dimly lit concrete island.

“Huh?”

“Just ‘huh’,” Ozzy confirmed, turning back to continue walking.

Jack shrugged. “Fine by me.”

[mrsmaddiebobaddie]

MCYT High School Teacher AU

I don’t know if this has already been done but with student teaching on the brain this was invading my subconscious.

Phil: Principal

The most chill admin you’d ever find (He kind of has to be with the staff at the school)

Will let most things slide if you ask nicely

Has a quiet space in his office for students to take a moment to calm down after acting out. He’ll offer them candy and talk through the situation with them. 

Started out as a counselor at the school, so he still holds a similar mentality when it come to talking with students and staff. 

Always takes the side of his staff. The district is usually in the wrong anyway.

He knows the teachers are the experts, screw whatever requirements the state has, he lets them run their classrooms whichever way is best for the students’ learning

Technoblade:  Literature & Composition

One of the most engaging teachers at the school

Most students love him because he’s real and he’ll tell it like it is. 

Has a coffee machine in his room. It’s rare that he’s not holding a mug in his hand while he teaches

Has high expectations for his students

Rarely gets angry. Even when he’s upset he still comes across as calm.

Usually stays at the school late making sure to give the best possible feedback on papers and reports. He genuinely wants each kid to learn something from his class.

Tommy: Speech and Debate

It’s only his second year of teaching

The students would run the classroom if not for Tommy basically being a student himself

There’s a strong chance his class will be off topic at any given point. It’s always an adventure walking past his door, you never know what you’ll hear

Somehow still gets high scores on average from his students

Keeps students after class when he notices them struggling with school or life in general to talk with them. The conversations are always beneficial.

Will 100% fall asleep during professional development meetings.

Karl: Biology

Tries to act hip, fails most of the time.

Always has the most energy in his lessons, finds unique ways to teach the concepts other than slides and worksheets.

Usually the first one in the building each morning

Will give students different options for final projects so they can chose the best method of showing their evidence of learning. 

Gets lower scores than he should on observations because he doesn’t do well under the pressure. One year Phil didn’t announce when he’d be coming in and watched from the door to give a more accurate review. 

Wears a sweatshirt to class more often than he should

Quackity: Spanish 

Hands on learning whenever possible

Uses the home ec. room to make authentic Mexican dishes with his students when they cover the food and restaurant unit

Will just forget that the kids don’t speak Spanish fluently and ramble on until someone interrupts him.

Slow grader, you get your scores when you get them.

Known to be a bit chaotic with his teaching style, it works for some kids but he does need to reteach certain sections every now and then

One time a kid feel asleep in his class so he had all the other students leave and they had class outside to freak the kid out (They were right outside the classroom window, he could still see the sleeper, he told Phil)

Skeppy: Algebra

Like’s his job, pretty much your average teacher

Can’t stand freshmen, but tolerates them since that’s half the students he has. He prefers teaching advanced algebra to upper classmen

His lessons are always formatted the same, starting with a lesson on how to do that days math, with the remainder of the period being free work time

Holds math challenges with his class and gives out prizes. It’s usually candy, though one time he gave out cash. He made his kids promise not to say a word about it. 

Very good at teaching the same math concepts in different ways to help struggling learners

Always one minute away from being late for first period, but makes it just in time every morning.

Dream: Health/Football and Assistant Basketball Coach

Took the teaching job mainly to coach sports

Still cares about making connections with his students, he uses his class to teach life skills and promote positive social and mental health.

If any of his players are in his class he will pick on them. He has no mercy.

Dreads sex education because no one can be mature about it. He gets revenge by making the students film a “how to say no to sex” video with someone in the class.

His wheeze laugh is iconic. You can hear it from down the hall.

If you meet with him and are honest when you’re struggling, he’ll work with you to pass his class. He isn’t going to ruin your GPA over a project on the negative effects of smoking.

Wilbur: History & Geography/Theater 

The teacher who sits on his desk when he lectures

Is very sarcastic with his students, but knows who can take the teasing and makes sure not to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

Prefers class discussion over solo work time, he likes hearing student’s perspectives and ideas.

Turtlenecks

One of the teachers most likely to be the crush of teenage girls. 

Not afraid to mark you down for sloppy work. You use a black ink pen and draw precise lines when turning in maps and graphs or you redo it.

Speaks in musical references 

George: Physics

The chillest teacher by far

Due dates? Don’t worry, he’ll accept an assignment literally months after it was supposed to be turned in

Makes difficult topics seems simple when he describes them

He doesn’t really care if you have your phone out in class as long as you’re paying attention and learning the material

The students straight up call him George, he doesn’t seem to care

Placing near the top for the most crushed on teacher

King of multiple choice questions

Eret: Economics & Government

Makes any student in his class feel welcome

One of few teachers who can lecture the entire period without students falling asleep. He always has interesting stories

Let’s kids chose where they sit

Freshmen are always caught off guard by his voice when they hear him for the first time

Spends too much of his own money on supplies for his students and classroom (Honestly most teachers have to spend their own money on necessary supplies, he just goes about and beyond.)

There’s always a group of students who eat lunch in his classroom 

The Union Rep at their school, will fight tooth and nail for the staff members

Tubbo: Band Director

Super cheerful whenever he’s teaching

He rarely has any free time before or after school because he has so many one-on-one lessons and meetings with students

Likes to have practice outside when the weather is nice

Does his best to make his students feel comfortable and relaxed whenever he does performance based assessments. 

He’s also a new teacher, but you honestly wouldn’t be able to tell

He will be in tik toks if you ask him to, and he’s familiar with all the pop culture trends

Let’s the students chose a song to play at the last band concert. Some years have been less chaotic than others, the worst (or best, depending on who you ask) being when the students voted to play Deja Vu from Initial D.

Fundy: Computer Science/Coding 

Begins each class with a cheesy computer joke. Every class.

Everyone knows you can’t get anything past him technology wise. He can see that headphone in your ear from across the room.

Isn’t afraid to assign extra work when students are disrupting class

Once took up an entire class period showing his students how he coded different difficulties in Minecraft. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he plays the game in his spare time. 

About half the students in his class aren’t really interested in computers, they just want to have him as a teacher since everyone says he’s cool.

Known to hack school computers to bypass restrictions

Sucker for pizza parties. Has at least one per semester  

Sapnap: PE/Basketball Coach

Hella competitive 

Abuses his power of having a whistle. Someone should really take it away from him

Gyms shorts every day. Even in the winter. Sometimes he wears sweats, but never jeans.

Doesn’t let anyone sit out of activities

Tries to set up fun tournaments for each activity they do, makes sure to balance the teams so no one has too much of an upper hand.

He’s usually the teacher who mans detention, he tries to make it as positive as it can be though.

Keeps extra sets of gym clothes to give to students who forgot or can’t afford to buy them

Schlatt: Calculus and Stats/Business  

You either love him or are terrified of him

One of the only teachers who can have an “aggressive” teaching style and still connect with students

You will learn something from his class, he makes sure of it. 

Doesn’t accept late work unless you have a really good reason why you couldn’t turn it in

Wears a tie every day

If another teacher needs a last minute sub during his prep period he’ll cover them. Doesn’t matter what subject, he can wing it

He was the reason the school started offering business studies as an elective due to some vague threats towards the district

Niki: Art/German

Teaching voice is so soft

You can’t tell whether or not she’s giving you constructive criticism because everything she says sounds so positive 

Let’s her students lead learning for the most part, she will cover topics that most interest them while still trying to hit the district required standards (luckily teaching electives gives her a bit more freedom with her curriculum)

Her classroom always smells lovely

Will bring in homemade goodies each Friday for the staff room

Holds art galleries at the end of each semester to show off the arts since they often go unappreciated. It has turned out to be a super popular event for students and staff.

Bad: Special Education

This man has endless patience. It’s crazy

Even after the longest days when none of the students are cooperating, he still has a smile on his face

If he hears cursing in the halls he will call you out in front of everyone. Teachers included. 

Makes sure to keep a list of all his students favorites so he can surprise them with gifts on their birthdays or around holidays

He works closely with the other teachers to make sure his kids can be as involved in general education as possible.

Always wears something fun, be it a tie, socks, shirt, or even a full outfit. His students love seeing what new wacky garment he’ll be wearing that day. 

More Head Cannons

If someone brings food for the staff room Tommy WILL take it. Sometimes he’ll come back for seconds, there will be none left by the end of the day. He’s not as bad as Skeppy though, who will literally pack it up to take home for later.

For the past few months the staff members have been receiving anonymous email chains with photoshopped pictures of each other. Everyone was sure Fundy was behind it, Eret thought he saw him teaching his students how to use the program by editing their favorite teachers into stupid situations (they’ve all been school appropriate of course). Fundy did in fact start it, but now so many other teachers have joined in that it can’t be traced back to one person anymore.

All the teachers love going to sporting events. They’ll join in with the student section to cheer on the teams. If they know there’s a kid who doesn’t have family that will come to watch them they’ll make shirts with that players number to show support for them.

Wilbur, Niki, and Tubbo work together on musicals. Niki does the sets and costuming, Wilbur directs, and Tubbo leads the pit. There are plenty of long nights during tech week that devolve into chaos (especially when Niki isn’t there)

Spirit week is very intense, to say the least. The teachers are assigned a grade to be advisors to, and they get into it. For the duration of the week they practically become rivals with whoever isn’t in their assigned grade. They’ll pull pranks on each other constantly, especially when the students can see. It’s all playful of course, but it gets the kids more excited about spirit week when they can support their teachers and watch the amicable rivalries carry out.

Technoblade once joked that he knew every detail about every classic novel. His students took this as a challenge, and tried to find the most obscure and specific trivia questions they could ask him. He has yet to be stumped.

Dream and Sapnap had a running streak of about four weeks where they made everything into a competition. Who could enter their grades into the computer fastest? How many cups of coffee did they drink that day? Who got to school first that morning? There was a tally board in the staff room and the teachers had a betting pool going. Phil finally ended it when they accidently broke the school’s copier trying to see who could scan the most documents in five minutes. Dream was ahead by three points, Sapnap never lived it down.

In service days are incredibly boring, so the staff tries to make those days a bit more entertaining. They order in pizza or sandwiches for lunch. Since there aren’t any kids in the school they’ll do everything they’re no supposed to, like racing office chairs down the hallways and blasting non-school-appropriate music in their classrooms.

Wilbur accidentally started a black market of sorts when he took all the new whiteboard pens from the supply closest. He used this to his advantage, getting people to do him favors in return for the good supplies. When Dream found out he not-so-jokingly threatened to slowly steal everything from Wilbur’s classroom until he released the pens. The next day the closet was replenished once more

Quackity and Tommy are co-emcees for the school assemblies. They hold class competitions between the grades, including spirit chants and ridiculous games. Think minute to win it style, but way crazier. Everyone gets super into it, the upperclassmen usually win. The two have good chemistry and a fun energy.

George has a unit where students make bottle rockets and launch them outside on the soccer field. And every year Karl brings his class out to watch claiming that “it’s science, I teach science, I’ll have them write a paragraph about what they learned”. Really he just wants to watch rockets go brrr

For Schlatt’s birthday one year, Wilbur and Techno printed off shirts with his face on it for all the staff to wear. Schlatt was super confused when he came into work and all his colleagues were walking around with his face plastered across their chest. He got back at Wilbur for it by putting salt in his coffee for a week straight, but Techno never got his comeuppance. It’s debatable whether Schlatt just didn’t know he was in on it, or if he knew better than to mess with Techno.

Lesson planning and curriculum building is quite the process. Some departments can stay on task better than others. Schlatt and Skeppy get in, plan out the term, and get out. The math department has everything on lock. Social studies are also pretty good at getting pre-planning done. They tend to spend most of their time having discussions that aren’t necessarily related to the tasks at hand though. The English department is a mess. It’s really Tommy who’s a mess, he just projects that onto everyone else. Karl and George work well together to map out science curriculum. Even though teachers who teach electives aren’t required to collaborate with each other, they still get together and bounce ideas off each other and get feedback.

I have plenty more if people want a second part. I also only listed the MCYTs that I’ve watched enough to know their personalities at least a little bit, but if you wanted to see another person I may expand the staff list!

[mirukunofuwa]

Red String of Fate (part 1)

Ok so I was gonna have this be one mega fic, but online class things happened and I haven’t had the time to write any more of this >.> Part 2 will hopefully be up next week!

Based on a request from @shycoffeeparadise​ :3

Izuku Midoriya x Katsuki’s Sister!Reader WC: 2.4k Warnings: Something that appears to be unrequited love & rejection, Kacchan doing a lot of swearing, soulmate au

When you were a child, you had heard the story of the red string of fate; an invisible tether that connected you to your true beloved. It ensured that no matter what, the two of you would come back to each other.

You were 5 years old when you first heard it from one of the older kids that lived in your apartment complex. Upon hearing it, you had proudly declared that you shared a string with ‘Zuku-chan’, your neighbor that you tried to spend every waking hour with. This announcement was met with disdain from your older brother of two years, who delivered a smack to the back of your head.

“Why would you want to marry a loser like Deku?” Katsuki had grumbled, crossing his arms as he glared down at you.

“‘Cause I love ‘Zuku-chan!” You pouted, stomping your foot. “He’s gonna be my husband!”

“No way!” 

Your vision was blurred as hot tears filled your eyes, and you pushed Katsuki with all the strength you could muster, before running off to sulk on the swings.

“(Y/N)-chan?” Came a familiar, comforting voice as Izuku climbed into the swing next to you. “What’s wrong?”

“K-Kacchan was b-being mean!” You managed to whimper out, wiping at your eyes and nose. 

Izuku took your hand and squeezed it, giving you a bright smile. “It’s alright, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Kacchan didn’t mean to make you upset!”

You sniffled and nodded, getting off the swing to give Izuku a hug, which he returned. “Thank you, ‘Zuku-chan…”

Neither of you noticed Katsuki glaring at you from his spot with his friends, before storming off, telling his companions that he didn’t want to be around his “loser sister” anymore.

From then on, your love for Izuku was cemented, much to Katsuki’s chagrin. He’d have to pull you away from following Izuku around like a lost kitten, firmly reminding you that he was in charge of you, and he said you couldn’t follow “stupid Deku” around. You hated when the two would go off to middle school, and you had to stay at your elementary. You would walk with them for as long as possible, before Katsuki would flick your forehead and tell you to “go to your own damn school”. You would, but not before giving a hug to the both of them. You always made sure to hug Katsuki first, but Izuku would get a much tighter squeeze. 

In middle school, you hung off the two older boys whenever you could, usually during lunch and after school. Katsuki would always shake you off, taking a different route to leave you and Izuku behind. While you would’ve loved to have your big brother there with you, you would always cherish the time alone that you had with Izuku.

You had been rehearsing your confession to Izuku for the whole year, finally working up the courage the evening after a school festival. The two of you were walking home as usual, but something about the sunset over the city skyline, and the way Izuku swayed and hummed some of the music you heard at the festival told you that now was the right time.

“‘Zuku-chan… Do you want to go to the park? It’s just a few blocks away.”

“Are you sure, (Y/N)-chan? It’s getting late…”

“I’m sure. I… I have something I want to tell you.”

“Oh… a-alright!” He gave you a grin, following you to the park.

The two of you found yourselves at the edge of a duck pond, watching the water ripple in the wind. You sat down on the grass, prompting Izuku to sit beside you. 

“So…” Izuku started, fidgeting with his pencil. “What did you want to tell me?”

You tried to say something, wanting to tell him how you felt, but the words wouldn’t come. Before you could even think, you were surging forward and pressing a kiss to Izuku’s lips, before quickly pulling away.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with a bright red face, and emerald eyes blown wide in surprise.

“I… I…” Izuku stuttered, then scrambled to stand up. “I need to go!” 

Before you could say anything, Izuku was running out of the park in a panic, leaving you to stare after him. 

It took all your strength not to cry on your way home. The ambient sounds of the city were uncomfortably loud without Izuku to talk to you; buses and trains drove by, people chattered idly, dogs barked, but the most deafening was the absence of your friend’s excited prattling. 

When you got home, you didn’t say anything to your parents that were watching a movie on the couch, nor to Katsuki in his room. You knew if you opened your mouth it would come out as a sob.

Once your door was slammed shut and you had flopped face-first onto your bed, you finally let loose. Your entire body trembled with your sobs, and your pillow was quickly dampened by your tears. It didn’t last long, though, and you simmered down to pathetic sniffles in a matter of minutes.

Once your cries had quieted, there was a gentle knock at your door, and Katsuki’s muffled voice came through. “Hey, (Y/N). Can I come in?” When you didn’t respond, he opened the door and stood beside your bed with his arms crossed. “Mom told me to check on you.”

You finally lifted your face from your pillow, cheeks patchy red and eyes welling with tears once more.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or not?”

When you responded with silence, Katsuki gave an exasperated sigh before sitting down on the bed. “Fine, idiot. Don’t tell me.”

You paused for a moment, before finally mumbling out. “I… Izu…”

Katsuki seemed to perk up at the mention of his rival. “What did the bastard do?!”

“I… I w-wanted to tell him I l-liked him so I… I k-kissed him and he r-ran away…”

Katsuki’s fists clenched together while he tried to maintain his relative sense of calm. “Well I could’ve told you how bad of an idea that was, dumbass!”

“I d-didn’t know what to do!” You sobbed again, fat tears pooling in your eyes once more. 

“What you should’ve done is not fall for fucking Deku in the first place.” He growled, unable to help the tiny popping sounds that came from his palms. His expression softened a little when he saw you trying to wipe away your tears with your sleeve. “...you want me to go beat the shit out of him for you?”

“N-no…”

“Damnit.” He huffed and flopped back onto the bed, staring at your ceiling. “I’m still gonna make sure he stays away from you. He doesn’t even deserve to see you if he’s gonna hurt you like that.”

“Thank you, Katsuki…”

“I have to do this, idiot. How am I gonna be the number one hero if I can’t protect my own sister?”

You tried to tune Izuku out throughout the rest of your middle and high school career, but it was near impossible when he seemed to constantly be by your brother’s side. What made it worse was that he was flaunting his quirk, a quirk he only ever revealed once he stopped being your friend.

Had he been lying to you to make you feel better about your own lack of a quirk? Part of you questioned why he would do that if he didn’t love you, but you suppressed that thought immediately. He just didn’t want you to feel alone, that’s the kind of person he is.

You still couldn’t avoid him when you graduated from UA’s general ed course, not when you wanted to be a reporter. Deku was all the public ever wanted to hear about, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give the people what they want.

You’d constantly find yourself at the scene of his latest escapade, praying that some other reporter would get to him first just to give you an excuse to talk to someone else. When you were unlucky enough, he’d give you a friendly smile, but he never talked about anything other than the task at hand.

At least he was professional about it.

Aside from having to see your childhood crush, you were living pretty well. You always had something to write about, being Ground Zero’s “favored reporter”, and you got exclusive access to many events that were for heroes and their guests only.

That was how you ended up at this exclusive party. The press weren’t technically allowed, so you weren’t able to take notes or pictures, but it was a good experience anyway. You didn’t know what you were expecting when Katsuki had texted you asking to be his guest, but you were pleased to find that it was a relatively run-of-the-mill formal gathering. 

The mayor’s penthouse apartment was packed with pro heroes that you recognized from the field, some of them recognizing you in turn, making jokes about reporters not being allowed. You still hung around Katsuki and Eijirou, who was likely Katsuki’s preferred plus one, but he was going to be at the party anyway.

You knew Katsuki could’ve just come alone and met up with Eijirou, so you were thankful that he brought you along.

Mostly thankful.

You couldn’t help bumping into Izuku, because of course the friendly bastard was going to say hello to everyone he knew, especially Katsuki.

You tried to busy yourself with your champagne glass while the two exchanged niceties, but held your breath when Izuku turned to you.

“Hey, (Y/N)! How have you been?”

“I’m… good.” You gave Izuku a smile, cursing the butterflies that still invaded your stomach when you made eye contact with him. 

“That’s great!” He grinned, and you tried to hold in a sigh of relief when someone else grabbed his attention. “Oh, um… good seeing you!” Izuku gave you one more signature grin before going off to say hello to whoever it was that had called his name. 

You could still hear your own heartbeat loud in your ears, fixated on it only until you heard Eijirou’s voice.

“Katsuki, what’s wrong?”

Your brother had his fist clenched in an effort to hide the mini pops sounding off in his palm. “Nothing, Eiji. Could you go get my glass refilled?”

“Oh… y-yeah.” Eijirou nodded and took Katsuki’s glass from him, going off to find a waiter.

Katsuki stared at you for a moment, before sighing. “If you wanna go home, I get it.”

You shook your head, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You gave Katsuki a side hug, smiling at Eijirou when he got back with his and Katsuki’s glasses filled with wine. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You smiled and finished off your own glass, before heading off to get it refilled as well. 

The line was fairly long, and you stood behind a sleepy-looking woman, one that you didn’t recognize, probably the guest of a hero. 

It wasn’t long before the waiter had to run and get more drinks from the kitchen, bringing the line to a standstill. 

“Um… excuse me?” The woman in front of you had turned around, looking a little excited.

“Hi?” You gave her a nervous smile, and she returned with a smile of her own. 

“My name’s Naoko, I came with my boyfriend, Hainu.” She nodded towards one of the rookie heroes trying to network with some higher-ups. “Um… this might sound weird, but… have you heard of the red string of fate?”

You felt a pit in your stomach at the mention of the fairy tale, but you nodded. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Well, I can see people’s red strings, and… it’s probably easier to just show you, yeah?” Naoko took your left hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, leaving a bright red lipstick stain. All of a sudden, what looked like a glowing thread wrapped around your pinky, extending across the room and finally ending in a crowd of people. 

It was a few moments before your supposed soulmate was visible, the opposite end of the thread tied in a bow around his own left pinky. 

The pit in your stomach grew, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. 

“I-is everything alright? I thought this would be exciting for you.” You could barely hear Naoko’s voice over the blood rushing through your ears, but you nodded anyway.

“I just… I need to go home.” You quickly turned around, weaving your way through the crowd to find Katsuki. You set your glass down on the side table of the couch he and Eijirou were sitting on, before giving him a teary look. “I’ll see you later, Katsuki. Thanks for inviting me.”

“What happened?” Katsuki’s eyebrows knitted together as he moved to stand up, “Did that asshole say something–”

“No. I’m fine, I just… I need to be alone.” You leaned down and gave your brother a quick hug before swiftly leaving the party, taking the moment of peace in the elevator to gather your thoughts.

You were going to go home, take a nice bath, watch a show, try to forget about this. It would be hard considering the metaphysical string tied around your finger, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

Katsuki had been your ride over, so the trip home was one agonizing train ride. You looked out of place in your formal clothes, and with the streaks of mascara running down your face, but you tried to ignore the looks you garnered. 

It wasn’t long before your phone was buzzing in your purse, a text from Eijirou.

-“Hey, everything alright?”

You stared at your phone for a moment before texting back.

-“Yeah, I’m fine.” -“It’s okay if you aren’t. I won’t tell Katsuki. Wouldn’t want him blowing up the party ;P”

You smiled at your phone, thinking for a few moments before responding.

-“Do you have Deku’s phone number?” -“Yeah! Want me to send it?” -“Yes please.”

A few moments later, he sent you the contact.

You typed out your message, letting it sit unsent in the app while you stared at the words. What if he didn’t show up? What if he didn’t actually want to see you, what if he was just pretending to tolerate you in order to save face?

You gathered up your courage and finally hit send, reading over the text and wishing you had said nothing.

-“Izuku, meet me at Watanabe Park by the pond. I have something I want to tell you. –(Y/N)”

[the-apocryphal-one]

Ebb and Flow

Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel

Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!

A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).

Minor spoilers ahead!

-

A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.

She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.

-

After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.

It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.

-

That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.

Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.

But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.

His smugness is unbearable.

-

Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.

So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.

After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.

When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”

His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”

-

The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.

For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.

The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.

But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.

She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.

The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.

-

When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.

It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.

Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.

Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.

He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…

Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.

She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.

Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.

Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.

A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.

So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.

-

He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.

Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.

-

Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.

Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.

It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.

-

The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.

That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.

Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.

He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.

But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.

-

The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.

How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.

She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.

He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.

At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—

“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”

Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.

“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”

A dream…

Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.

Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.

When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”

“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”

Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.

The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”

“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”

And—oh.

That flash in his eyes. That pain.

Her throat closes.

It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.

It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.

It was her pain, before Eilistraee.

Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.

But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.

She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—

And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.

It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.

But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.

-

One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.

It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.

The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.

But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…

And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.

There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.

There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.

Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.

She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.

-

Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.

He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.

Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.

Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.

That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.

Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.

She gives the word, and he lunges.

-

The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.

But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.

She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.

-

And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.

It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.

It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.

It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.

-

Maybe it was inevitable.

Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.

The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.

Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.

Striking. Oh.

She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.

A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.

Astarion is still watching her.

Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.

But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.

Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.

[elexica]

Give & Toke

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069568

Happy 4/20 Yugihoes,

Please accept a humble posting of my puppyshipping/violetshipping weedfic. 

Joey showed up at Kaiba's shiny new dispensary for the sole purpose of kicking Kaiba's ass.

It does not go as planned.

A gift for @sky-kaijou​ / @sky-kaijou-writes​ in honor of the 2020 New Zealand Cannabis Reefer-endum. TW: Marijuana use and sale.

Title by @auroraXborealis <3 For the Professional Rivals prompt of AU-Gust. . . . (context for this fic) Marijuana is decriminalized currently in Domino City, and stores can be licensed through a regulatory scheme similar to that of California.

Full story under the cut

Joey stomped into the new cannabis shop in the neighborhood.  It looked like an Apple store: white walls, smooth white tables, iPads and clerks in matching polos.  Gentrification had taken his neighborhood by storm, spinning the older apartment complexes into glamorous condos, replacing the older styled homes with sleek modern imitations, and leaving everyone who couldn’t keep up forced to either move away or to the streets.

Joey’s own rent was soaring, and so was his bitterness towards the invaders to his territory.  And especially this cursed-ass pot shop.  The shiny new dispensary hadn’t made a terrible dent in his sales, but he couldn’t keep up with the variety, the quality, or the convenience.

It was a travesty to his profession, is what it was.  Joey had been dealing for years—he’d never gotten an allowance from his father and passing a little pot along had made up the difference.  Once he graduated high school, it morphed into something of a full-time gig.  That hadn’t been his intention.  It wasn’t like he was trying to move up the distribution ladder or become the next gang lord.  But he’d built a good network, and in an industry that ran on relationships and reputation, it was really going pretty well for him.

And this bastard had the gall to move into his territory!  Sell his soulless, corporate product to his loyal customers.  With this robotic, inhuman, unfeeling mockery of everything that weed is.

Joey spotted a mustachioed blue-polo wearing corporate shill and waved him over.  “I’m here ta talk ta yer manager.  Give him ‘a piece of my mind.”

“If you intend to make threats against Mr. Kaiba in some sort of gang turf nonsense, you have no idea the true power that you are—” the goon responded, placid energy souring.  Joey’s fists clenched tighter, body preparing for a fight.

“I’m not sure a piece of your mind would get you very far.”  While Joey was attempting to intimidate the soulless bud-tender, a tall brunet in a white suit with a light blue oxford shirt had stalked up behind him and interrupted.

Joey spun on the toe of his well-worn red Nike’s. “An’ who do ya think you are?”

The brunet crossed his arms over his chest.  “Seto Kaiba, the license-holder for this establishment.”

Joey nervously ran a hand through his messy blond hair.  He hadn’t expected the shop owner to be so young.  Or attractive.  All of his fight drained from him.  In Joey’s decade of experience, rival dealers were rarely so… professional and polished.  Joey felt instantly underdressed in his varsity jacket and jeans.

“Uh… well, yer in territory that doesn’t belong ta ya!”  Joey stammered.

“Is that so?  I assure you, I have all required state and local permits,” Kaiba answered, blue eyes narrowing.  The taller man let a stray glance to Joey’s old, green Jansport backpack. “Perhaps if you had a better view of my inventory, we could have a more amiable business relationship.  I’m not trying to alienate everyone in my industry.”

It was insane, the way the taller man could knock the fight out of him without even trying.  Joey had never considered that his enemy would possibly seek to de-escalate the situation.  Joey nodded and followed the taller man to the back, hypnotized.  He maybe shouldn’t have smoked a bowl before raiding the enemy facility.

Inside an equally pristine office, Kaiba lit a pre-rolled joint and took a long inhale.  He passed it across the desk, the rolling papers poised delicately between his forefinger and middle finger.

Joey accepted the joint and took a hit.  After an impressive pause, Kaiba released smoke rings from his lips slowly, in that perfect practiced way.  The smoke dissipated softly, fading from tight circles and clouding the air.  With no windows in the room, it seemed that his intent was to hot box it.  Joey wondered idly how the white marble of the desk was so free from dust or ash if Kaiba took to smoking here.

Joey passed back the joint before releasing his breath in a round of hacking coughs.  

While Joey was gasping for air and trying to gather his bearings, Kaiba produced a glass of water and a plain white ashtray.  He gently rested the joint on the edge.

“That was a proprietary strain—Blue Eyes White Dragon.  It’s Sativa.  I’m working on a hybrid model that has a significantly greater THC content.  But the current Blue Eyes plant has the highest percentage of CBD for Sativa plants currently on the market in Domino.  Thoughts?”  Kaiba unbuttoned his white blazer.

Joey’s eyes watered, and he managed to take a few sips from the glass.  “It tastes… unique.  Kinda minty?”

Kaiba nodded, raising the joint to take another hit.

“So, y’know, I came here to talk about ya encroaching on my business.  I’ve built up a book ‘a business in this part ‘a Domino, and I’m not gonna give up that easy!”  Joey said, straightening his shoulders.  He couldn’t tell if he was sitting up properly.  The world was already starting to feel a little warmer, fuzzier. His forehead sort of tingled like he had a third eye.

Once again, Kaiba blew out a series of flawless rings, staring into space.  The blue irises of his eyes were framed by smoke-induced redness.  “Yes, well, I have no intention of cowing to any threats.  I took this corrupt pharmaceutical company from my dead father, and I am turning it into something that can actually improve people’s lives.  And no puny street punk will stand in my way.”

“Oof.  Sorry for ya loss.”  Joey elected to ignore the last comment, as a gentleman.  And because, for the first time, he spotted a white holster tucked under the newly opened sport jacket.

“Don’t be, he was a bastard,” Kaiba said with a satisfied smirk.

Joey laughed at the insinuation.  He might’ve had more to say, under other circumstances, but Kaiba had shared the good shit.  Instead, the room felt a few degrees warmer than when he had entered and he removed his letterman jacket, revealing his toned biceps.

Kaiba was constructing another round of rings when his eyes met Joey’s sculpted arms.  His focus was completely dashed, and he ended up exhaling the rest of the smoke from his nose, like a dragon.

“Ha, ya see something ya like, rich boy?” Joey said with a signature grin, picking up the joint again.  It was already almost half-way spent.

Kaiba looked away dismissively.  “Irrelevant.  Mr. Wheeler, it was a matter of time before you paid my enterprise a visit.  As you have most likely noticed, there are certain elements of the trade in which I excel.  I am a gifted scientist, an expert businessman, and—”

“A robot?  You’ve had double the hits I have and ya won’t even crack a smile!  I dunno what yer tolerance has ta be, but ya ain’t human anymore.”

Kaiba rolled his eyes, tapping the joint against the ash tray to release some of the built-up cinders.  “There is a certain social element to this business that I have no interest in participating in.”

Joey leaned over a little in his chair.  “Is that so?”  He meant to have an interrogator’s pose and expression, but he was worried he just looked high as balls.  

Kaiba passed the still burning joint across the table, little red ember barely emanating light in the bright white office.  

“I would like to absorb your book of business and employ you as a bud-tender.”

Joey rejected the joint and cracked his knuckles, knowing that the action flexed his arm muscles.  An almost-imperceptible blush flashed across Kaiba’s cheeks.  “I’ve been my own boss, mostly, for a little while now.  Why should I be a glorified store clerk for ya?”

“You can’t possibly see this career continuing to serve you indefinitely.  You’ll need to go legit or go to jail.”  Kaiba lazily released one more puff of smoke before butting the joint.  “But, I am amenable to other arrangements.  What do you propose?”

Joey smiled at the suggestion.  “Partner.  It doesn’t haveta be fifty-fifty or anything, but I’ve built somethin’ up, and I know what I’m worth.  I gotta be making at least five g’s a month.”

Kaiba finally broke.  He laughed almost hysterically at the suggestion, doubling over and taking a full minute to get his breathing to settle.  “Yeah, ok.  That would be, maybe, a five percent share of the retail business.”

Joey stretched, resting his arms behind his head, giving Kaiba an eyeful of his tight white t-shirt and strong pectorals underneath.  “Ten percent of the retail company.”

Kaiba nodded, picked up his phone and typed away.  “The contract will be prepared presently.”

“Neato,” Joey said with a lecherous smile.  Everything felt soft, warm, comfortable—even if the room looked so sterile it could be used for a surgery.  “Now, what should we do with this time?”

Kaiba shifted in his seat and adjusted his light blue tie.

Joey leaned forward, planting an elbow on the desk.  “I got some ideas I think you’ll like, partner…”

Kaiba leaned over the desk as well, a small smile budding on his lips.  “Oh, already?”

“Yeah.  In this business, yer supposed to seal a contract with a kiss.”

“I do not think that’s custom—”

Joey closed the remaining distance and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Kaiba relaxed into the kiss almost instantly.  It was softer than Joey had expected.  Sweet and hot, with the flavors of mint, smoke, and cannabis on his partner’s lips.

Joey only broke it to walk over and climb into the brunet’s lap.

The contract was respectfully slid under the door.

FIN

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 12

[Just in time for Sinday, this chapter is more self-indulgent smut! It has a point. It really does. And the end is wholesome-ish. So you know. :3 Probably cheesy again but what can ya do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

EDIT: wow knew I would do that. It’s not sinday. I mean it is somewhere. But whatever. I hit post.]

Vegeta

"You're okay with Raditz going to find his brother?"

Vegeta snorted, checking the numbers on his key again to ensure they were still heading in the proper direction. "It's no big loss to us. He'll be the one taking the hit to his pay." He turned the corner and Nabooru followed, their rooms grouped together. 

They had arrived at their destination a day early and, at the behest of the other two Saiyans, he agreed to using the down time as a last hurrah for Raditz before his trip to a planet called Earth. Round trip, they expected him to be away nearing half a year, two months to leave their current location to make it to Earth and around four to return to the base they were currently stationed at. And that was if they weren’t moved.

"Raditz is more useful than you give him credit for. And don't give me that, 'he's weak' excuse. He's been running with you guys for decades and done fine. He's not so bad."

Vegeta ignored her, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "If this brother of his exists, he's likely dead." He paused in front of the door matching the number on his key and slipped it into the slot. The door slid open. "Or he failed what should have been an easy mission for even a child to accomplish, meaning he's worthless to us."

He only spared a glance over his shoulder when she followed him into the room. "Then, what's the point of him going?"

"There probably isn't one. But another Saiyan is another Saiyan. If he's out there, it means more firepower for us." Against Frieza. Whatever challenges they faced beyond usurping the tyrant. He knew he didn't need to voice these things; she would catch on.

The Gerudo crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, palms pressed into the mattress behind her. He narrowed his eyes briefly, but huffed and strode to the window. "Mm, makes sense. Never know what we may face down the line."

"Precisely." He allowed his tail to slip from around his waist. "Anything else you need?"

"No." He glanced over his shoulder, the corners of his lips drooping further downward and dark brows lowered. She tilted her head back and, seeing his deadpan expression, amended, "I mean, not really. Just wanted to...talk."

“Talk,” he repeated, disbelief dripping from his tone. His tail swayed in content arcs. He smirked and turned back toward the bed, arms folded over his chest. “Well, go on then. Talk.”

She scrunched her nose and flopped down on the mattress, her head hanging over the edge. His eyes remained fixed on hers in silent challenge and he could see the gears working behind those golden eyes, struggling to come up with a viable topic of conversation when chatter wasn’t on her mind. For some time after their first tryst, they both successfully remained faithful to maintaining the only once rule. For a time, that single coupling seemed to sate his physical desire for sex in general as well as how it had revolved specifically around fooling around with her. After disposing of the gloves he foolishly left on during, as her scent lingered too strongly on the leather even after washing them, everything returned to normal. The fantasies died down. She invaded his dreams less often, the return of his nightmares somehow better and less of a distraction. He didn’t leave their spars frustrated, craving the nearest cold shower or body of water he could hunt down. His behavior, his insatiable cravings, disgusted him. He felt weak and lacking control of his own body. 

Thus, when he finally caved, bent her over the bed, and finally indulged, his issues seemed remedied. Months went by without incident and he was convinced his theory worked, pure professionalism between them returned. Until a spar got too heated. Until they both drank more than they should. Until their “harmless” flirtations and teasing or an argument ignited more in the pair of them than a passing flare of desire. At the very least, they remained infrequent. Few and far between. Quick and with as little extra contact as possible.

He chuckled, switching his scouter off and removing it. He closed the gap between himself and the bed and did the same with hers, keenly aware of her head next to his thigh as he did. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

"That's what I was hoping for." She grinned up at him and he rolled his eyes. He headed for the bathroom and dropped the scouters off in the furthest corner, shutting the door behind him upon his return. Nabooru had pushed herself back up to a seated position. "When you barely argued with Nappa and Raditz, I figured you were either in a decent mood or tired. I gambled on the former."

Vegeta grunted and peeled his gloves off, a process closely watched by the woman seated on his bed biting her lip. He didn't understand it, but he had noted her odd fascination with the simple, innocuous gesture. He didn't bother asking her about it either; time with Nappa and Raditz exposed him to all manner of kinks and fetishes that were far stranger and disgusting than this. He tossed them to the side and his armor followed.

"You know," Nabooru lifted her backside off the mattress and returned to the edge in front of him, "if you'll let me, I have a few tricks to out to put you in an even better mood."

"Tch, learn that line from Nappa and Raditz? That's what they say about me after I fuck you, isn't it? That was already the plan."

Her bottom lip poked out slightly, her brows knitting together. "You're good at ruining my mood," she huffed. "And I don't want to hear it. You're the one that confirmed it for them with your damn bragging."

Vegeta cocked his head back and laughed. "It was worth it to see the looks on their faces. They're at least smart enough to keep their big mouths shut about it."

His attention snapped back to her, a jolt of pleasure shooting from the tip of his tail. In his mirth, his traitorous tail swept out from behind him and toward Nabooru. The end rested in her palm, and her thumb caressed along the fur. Heat flooded his cheeks and he whipped the appendage away from her. Understanding flashed in her eyes, and he cursed his carelessness as he returned his tail to his waist. 

She at least had the good sense not to prod him about it, and resumed to her previous ramblings. "If they knew you hadn't seen me naked, I'm not sure they would be as impressed," she said. She extended her hand out and trailed her fingertips along to bottom hem of his battle suit's top. "It's almost tragic we've always kept our clothes on."

"That's on purpose." He tried to ignore the brush of her fingertips, the invasive considerations his mind whipped up in light of her suggestion and how her touch would feel on his bare skin. "I only allow this because I need the release, which is pathetic enough."

"So, you don't actually like it when we have sex? It's just a chore?" She tore her gaze away from her finger tracing the indentations of his abdomen and glanced up at him. Her bottom lip protruded once more in a pout, but Vegeta saw a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Of course I like it! I--!" 

She slid her hands beneath the spandex of his top and cut him off, and all his mind could manage to consider with coherence was how she still wore her gloves. Leather brushed over his abs and up to his chest and back down again before she removed them entirely. He tried to keep his features neutral, but judging by her soft giggle, he failed.

"Maybe if we switch things up just this once, we can change that. Rather than you just bending me over and fucking me from behind again." She peeled her gloves off with her teeth and kicked off her boots. She extended her leg out to his side, and he fell for the trap of allowing his eyes to follow her hands in their slow procession down her thigh, over her knee and calf, to remove her stocking. His tail unraveled from his waist again as she slipped the other off. 

Bending her knees back in, she sat up tall once more, gratefully breaking his trance. She pulled her armor over her head with a pleased sigh and tossed it with his. "What the hell does it matter?" he asked. He crossed his arms as she released her crimson locks from her ponytail. "It's all the same result in the end."

"Wait. So this is just how you've always done it with every partner you've had?"

"Tch, you say that like I've had so many partners before you." He rolled his eyes, ready to kick her out with his waning patience. "But to answer your question, yes, to some degree or other." 

Her silence on the matter only further tried his patience, as did the way she observed him with roving eyes and a minute tilt of her head. Warmth filtered into his cheeks again as his mind automatically assumed she judged him but was too cowardly to voice it since her expression only revealed some form of contemplation or another. His fingers twitched into his palms and, just as he decided to flip her over and shove her face into the mattress to get this over with and move on with his day, she stood and stepped forward, further closing the already minuscule gap between them. The difference in their height placed his line of sight directly on her ample chest, a detail he noted more readily without the near shapeless armor pulled over the battle suit. The skin tight fabric left little to the imagination, fitting snugly to her breasts and defining the musculature of her arms and abdomen. All details he never allowed himself to dwell on or appreciate. He had enough trouble keeping his mind off her in a sexual sense, and she wasn’t wrong in her assumption concerning his insistence on maintaining a strict routine when he succumbed to his base desires. He assumed the less tantalization he allowed--from what he saw and heard to the amount of contact and actions he permitted from her and those he took himself--the less likely he was to seek her out for meetings such as this. While the theory had some merit in the span of time he managed to maintain control, it still seemed flawed, considering his imagination still found purchase in lewd fantasies of her from time to time and he found himself fucking her more often than he thought he would.

Movement caused him to unintentionally flinch back. Her arms crossed as she grasped the hem of her top and she pulled it over her head, discarding it with the rest of her garments. She slid her briefs-style bottoms and tossed them aside, returning to her full height and resting her hands on her curvy hips. Once more his gaze locked in at eye level, staring at her exposed breasts and any protest from his former reservations went ignored. He drank in every inch of the exposed, bronzed skin, the scars littering her body in an array of sizes and shapes from a lifetime of fighting, her toned arms, legs, and thighs. His tail swept in content arcs behind him and his gaze trailed up her inner thighs and lingered at the juncture, the managed strip of red hair acting as an arrow to her slit.

His eyes snapped up to her face when she breathed a chuckle, reminding him of just how long he stared. Confidence poured from every inch of her, from the smirk on her lips and the spark in her eyes to the brush of her hair over her shoulder and the upward lift of her chest. It only added to her appeal. As much as part of him screamed to regain control, curiosity and lust won out; he wanted to see where she would take this. Experience all that he denied himself since early adulthood.

She leaned in and her lips brushed his ear, her breath tickling his skin behind his ear and on his neck, sending a chill up his spine, as she whispered, "Relax. You're so tense." Her fingertips swept along his jaw and settled in the center of his chest, eyes meeting his. "You can trust me, Vegeta."

"Can I?" He searched her face for any change, surprise or hesitancy in her claim, but her expression remained resolute. The tip of his tail glided along her outer thigh and wound around the back of it, swishing to caress the inside. He chuckled when she stifled her gasp by biting her lip. He didn't know how far he truly could trust her, not when he still struggled with fully trusting Nappa and Raditz. But he supposed with this he could. For the moment. A lust driven decision, perhaps, but one he didn't care to amend in the moment.

He stepped back and yanked his top off and his pants followed. His smirk returned. It was her turn to stare, her plush lips slightly parted. A further boost to his ego. "Fine. We'll do it your way this time."

"I really did catch you in a good mood." Her palms found his chest and shifted outward along the breadth of it, over his shoulders and down his arms and back up again. She shifted forward and dipped down to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He felt the wicked smirk of her lips when he stiffened at the mere graze of them on the sensitive, neglected area. She nipped at his neck, the jolt of pain a welcome mix with pleasure. "Or was that just because you finally got to see me naked?"

"You talk too much," Vegeta rumbled, head tilting to the side and successfully baiting her licks and bites up his neck. He grasped her ass and squeezed, kneading her cheeks with his palms. His tail ventured further up her inner thigh. He relished in the feel of her soft skin in his hands, pressed against his body. Her roving fingers and lips, her thigh brushing along his hip as she wrapped her free leg around his to coax him toward her, the places where their heated flesh met. She had him intoxicated already, but he shoved the associated panic away; he wanted more.

Nabooru hummed her amusement and awarded his gripe with a harsher nip at his neck. "If it's so horrible, I guess I'll just have to find something that keeps my lips and tongue too busy to talk," she said, hands gliding down his body. The rest of her followed suit, a trail of kisses between his pecs and down the center of his abdomen marking a path as she sank to her knees. She traced her index finger along his half-hard length, eyes hooded and chewing her lip. A shudder raced through him, a product of the contact and the sight of her kneeling before him and the lustful admiration in her eyes.

Her fingers wrapped around the base of his shift, her thumb caressing along the underside. She pressed her lips to the tip then parted them, gaze lifting to watch his as she rubbed the head over her tongue. He bit back a groan and the corners of her lips twisted up in a cheeky grin before she closed her mouth around him. 

Her eyes closed, and her hum of appreciation as she slid his length further into her mouth and toward the back of her throat shocked him with the vibration, his whole body tense and heat coiling tightly in his lower abdomen already. She pulled back again until only the head remained in her mouth and opened her eyes again, staring up at him through long lashes. She repeated the motions in a slow, steady bob as if relishing his taste. His reactions, and her hand stroked the remaining half of the length she didn't swallow.

The sensations were wholly new to him, oral another practice he never allowed for the same reasons he kept his trysts as impersonal and quick as possible. The motion and the created friction itself. The moist warmth. The feel of her tongue and the movement that offset the bobbing. The gentle suction and occasional vibration from a hum. The top down view and the desire in her half-lidded gold eyes. He hadn't expected it to feel so different from just fucking her, but it was bliss. He discounted Nappa's and Raditz's lurid praise of it as exaggeration, their stories written off as more of their disgusting habits he wanted no part of. Not that it stopped his mind from imagining it, offering a dream amongst the nightmares in which someone--these days typically the woman currently pleasuring him--sucked him off. Vulnerable position be damned. If she bit his dick off or found some other way to kill him, so be it. It felt too good to stop her at this point. 

Vegeta breathed a shuddering sigh and muttered curses under his breath as her ministrations already had him on the brink of a climax. He brushed stray strands of crimson out of her face, earning another appreciative hum around his cock, and he tangled his fingers into her hair. Perhaps sensing his oncoming release, Nabooru quickened her pace and occasionally took him deeper into her throat, another action he didn’t realize he wanted until she did it. His grip tightened in her hair and he grit his teeth, struggling just to keep his knees from buckling. She pulled off of him and allowed her hand to finish her work, her saliva acting as lubrication. Her free hand shifted behind him and wrapped around the base of his tail, another near sickening jolt of pleasure rushing from the pressure point. He growled a “Fuck!” and bowed forward, sharp canines bared as he came. His seed spilled from the tip in spurted rivulets, down his length and over her hand.

His breath hitched in his throat again and his cheeks warmed when she licked him clean with luxuriant strokes. She pulled back and she did the same with her hand, amusement shimmering in her golden eyes and a wicked smirk on her lips. It riled both his anger and desire.

"I thought you'd like that," she said, licking her lips once more and pushing up to her feet. "And you didn't--"

He didn't allow her to finish her statement. He didn't care to hear it. He shoved her onto the bed, knocking the wind out of her in a whoosh of air. He dropped a knee onto the mattress and grabbed her hips, yanking them back toward him and the edge of the bed. He caught a glimpse of the flash of shock on her features and the dawn of gleeful curiosity and her legs settled over his shoulders, her hair a streak of red behind her from being dragged toward him. He leaned in and lifted her hips up toward his face, the strong scent of her arousal and sight of her glistening slit stirring his own once more. 

Eager to taste her, he flicked his tongue over the lips, along the full length of her slit, and swirled it around the clitoris at the apex. Though another first, a glance down her body to the woman propped up on her elbows and watching him told him he had a decent start. She bit her lip but he still picked up the stifled moan she held at bay, and he felt her muscles tense up as he sucked on the sensitive nub. He left it behind with another flick of his tongue and dipped down to her entrance. He pushed his tongue inside, nose pressing instead to her clit. He purred and swirled his tongue inside her, relishing her taste and the purposefully muffled sounds his ministrations elicited from her. Another passing wish that he could hear her let loose, moaning and screaming his name…

Her fingers wove into his onyx spikes, the sensation of her nails dragging along his scalp earning her a pleased purr and his tongue’s attention back on her clitoris. He released her thigh with one hand to plunge his middle and third fingers inside of her, pumping them in tandem with the rhythm of his licking and sucking. He watched her with a growing smirk. She pushed her hips toward him needily, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with her panting. Her other hand gripped a handful of sheets in her hands, threatening to tear. Her eyes begged him to bring her to a climax, saying what her lips could not without the risk of the entire floor hearing her. He considered halting altogether, teasing her mercilessly until she begged him for release.

Instead, he decided on a compromise, reminded of his own growing need when her heels dug into his back with the spasm of her muscles in her thighs, abdomen, around his fingers. He curled his fingers once more, flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub, and pulled back, giving her ass a firm squeeze and slap before dropping her on the bed. The prince laughed as she blinked and stared up at him, mouth hanging open. 

He climbed on top of her the instant her expression shifted to annoyance, pinning her beneath his weight as he had so many times prior in their spars. This time, he didn't have to stop himself from indulging and taking full advantage of the sexual tension between them. He didn't have to hold back like he did then with the risk of an audience or as he did in their past relations. He didn't have to resist the urge to touch her. Lick her. Squeeze her. Bite her. Mark her. He could contend with tossing his inhibitions and control out the window later; for now he wanted to sate his hunger for her and make his idiotic fantasies a reality.

Vegeta swept his hands up her toned abdomen and cupped her breasts in his hands, massaging them and circling her raised nipples with his thumbs. She arched her spine to press into his touch, her head falling back and leaving her neck vulnerable. He dipped down and licked up the column of her throat, tasting her. He heard her whine as he dragged his teeth back down the same path, sharper canines just nicking through the surface of sensitive flesh in a thin scratch. He diverted his path to one side bit down, drawing a gasp from the Gerudo and blood from the bite. A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he lapped the sanguine liquid from her skin and sucked at the spot, her pulse drumming beneath his lips. A series of the same followed along her neck, the only disappointment in the fact that the higher collar of her battle suit would hide the tender splotches from view when she dressed. 

Her arms circled around his broad shoulders. Reaching down, he positioned himself at her entrance, the moist warmth on his tip enough to put his teasing to rest. He pushed inside of her, a pleased growl rumbling in the back of his throat to the tune of her gracious praise and her nails digging into his skin. He nipped her neck a final time and pressed his hand into the mattress to push himself upright, the pain of her unintentional scratches over his shoulder blades pleasing. Grasp on her hips, he began a slow pace with powerful, deep thrusts, observing her. Deciding if he truly had missed anything with always preferring to fuck her from behind. Her writhing fanned her hair out around her like a fiery corona stark against white sheets. She wore a playful smile on her lips, and her gold eyes were once more hooded and roving along his body, perhaps doing the same as him. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and he once more admired the toned muscles of her belly. She moved her hips in tandem with his motions, and his focus was drawn to the sight of his cock driving in and out of her. He kept his new preference for seeing it from this side to himself, though if she paid attention, she would see how long his eyes lingered in the constantly disappearing space between them.

Her hum snatched his attention upward, and her back arched as she languidly lifted up from the mattress. Her thighs tightened around his waist and she straddled his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. “Don’t stop,” she breathed in response to his protesting growl, half-hearted in the wake of where the new position placed her breasts. Her hips continued to rock at the same pace they had established before, and her hands rested on his shoulders, head bowed over his. “Just trust me and keep fucking me.”

Adjusting his position, he slipped his grip to her ass and squeezed, giving one side a punishing slap for once more changing things up and, in his mind, overcomplicating the process. “If you didn’t feel so fucking good, I would stop for all your damn indecision,” he responded huskily, leaning in to catch a pert nipple in his mouth and causing her laughter to morph into a moan. He shoved his hips upward with more force, his own chuckle rumbling in his chest when her nails sank into his back and she buried her face in his hair. 

The familiar heat coiled in his lower abdomen with the quicker pace and more powerful thrusts he implemented. The needy jerk of her hips and the tightening of her walls signaled the approach of her own orgasm and pushed him closer to his own. He swept a hand up to cup her breast, lips latching onto the other to tease her nipple with teeth and tongue. Within moments, she tossed her head back and just managed to slap her hand over her gaping mouth to stifle a pleasured scream, tremors racing through her body and her nails digging deeper into his skin. 

The sound of her climax, the scent of blood and sex, the picturesque curve of her body in the throes of her orgasm were almost too much. Shoving her back again, he pinned her wrists above her head and pounded into her with reckless abandon, free hand and tail pushing her thighs toward her abdomen. His smirk grew as he witnessed her struggle to maintain the last dregs of discretion they could with their secret trysts, biting her lip but the whimpers still eeking through. 

“Scream, woman,” he commanded. Confusion flashed over her flushed features and reminded him for a split second of the stupidity of it. Of the risk it invited. But he didn’t care. His addled brain convinced him he needed to hear her more than he needed to be careful. His grip on her wrists tightened and he reinforced his demand with a rougher pace. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

Perhaps tired of holding back herself, the tension that always loomed over their coupling dissipated with his okay to let loose. She arched against his restraints and let out a full-bodied moan, hearing one properly pushing him to speed up the thrust of his hips to elicit more and earn that scream he desired. His hand slipped down her thigh to slap her backside again. 

She writhed beneath him and she tensed again, her body snapping upward against his hand. “Fuck! Vegeta!”

It was like she pulled a trigger. With a final deep thrust and a roar, he came deep inside her, legs and arms threatening to give way beneath him and stars erupting over his vision. He released her wrists and thighs and his head fell forward, his breathing came in heavy pants and a hand planted near her head for support. He rolled his hips with hers as they rode out their orgasms, a purr vibrating in his throat with her mumbled praises.

The sensation of her fingers gliding up his back and into his hair again recalled his attention to her. "See?" She nipped his bottom lip. "That was fun, and if you try to tell me you didn't like it, I'll know you're lying."

"Hmpt…" The Saiyan pulled out of her and flopped onto the mattress next to her. "Of course it was enjoyable. Sex usually is to some degree."

He heard her snort and the bed shifted beneath them, and a glance over found her lying on her side propped up by her elbow. “Coming from the guy that lets himself get pent up to the point of near desperation?” Vegeta shot her a glare to which she grinned in the face of. “It’s a little hard to believe you think that at all. But I guess I’ve seen the proof firsthand multiple times now.”

“You spend too much time with Nappa and Raditz. It has warped your perception.”

She hummed and his entire body bristled when she idly caressed the tip of his tail as it passed her by in its content swooping along the sheets between them. “You’re probably right. Even though I don’t partake, it’s easy to forget not everyone wants to constantly use sex as a form a relaxation. Escape...or a distraction...”

Vegeta eyed her a moment longer, the last two a suspected confession than an observation. He didn’t care what purpose the sex served for her; he couldn’t say his motives for caving to his desires were much different. He found that the window of time offered him a moment of reprieve from his troubles: facing Frieza and the seeming impossibility of the task, conquering planets for a tyrant instead of his own empire, how he and his cohorts could possibly bring glory back to the Saiyan race with only three possibly four still living. As a bonus, she eliminated the daunting and annoying task of tracking down a favorable partner he felt worthy of his time. Far pickier about who he let warm his bed than his cohorts, the prince welcomed the ease seeking Nabooru out offered him.

He laced his fingers behind his head and averted his gaze to the brightly painted ceiling. “Embarrassing as it is for me, I suppose they could have worse vices. And soon we’ll thankfully only have to deal with Nappa’s idiocy for a while.”

“Mm. It will be different…” She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, and he drank in the stunning sight of her torso fully extending upward and gentle arch of her back. The hint of a smirk tilted the corners of her full lips upward. “I guess I should go take a shower like I said I was going to. I’m sure we’ll have to hear it from the other two at this rate, if not for the time we’ve spent up here then for hearing me scream like that. Are you going to come down for a few drinks?”

“We’ll see.”

Nabooru rolled her eyes and began to climb over him, but paused and straddled his waist. She observed him with a tilt of her head, smirk still on her lips and biting her bottom lip. Vegeta felt the cursed fire in his cheek as his mind betrayed him and willed her to shift half a foot backward. 

“What are you doing?” he grunted, considering shoving her off but not quite finding the will to do it. “Get the hell off and go take your shower.”

She dragged her nails lightly down his chest, a tingle racing down his spine. “Just checking something. I’ll definitely have to ride you properly next time.” 

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. A first--for him in his lifetime and certainly for the two of them together--that, if the way she pulled back a few inches after mere seconds and stared at him with wide eyes, appeared to surprise her as much as it did him. A habit for her, he surmised, one that the ease of their encounter coerced her into. One he stupidly found he didn't hate as the sensation of the pressure of her lips on his lingered. His frown deepened before he cupped her cheek and leaned up to return it. He felt her physically relax on top of him as the tension dissipated once more and they parted a moment later.

As she climbed off of him and slid off the bed, instinct placed the denial of a next time on the tip of his tongue, but he had to swallow it. How many times had he claimed the same and, months later, he succumbed again? He doubted this time would be any different, so he settled on a huff and watched her gather her battle suit and armor.

"You know, I was thinking…"

Vegeta snorted. "Isn't that what got us into this mess?"

She slid the bottoms of her battle suit up her calves and thighs, snapping them over her backside. "And you should be thanking me for that." Her arms and then her head disappeared into her top and she tugged it down. "But seriously. I was thinking about how, maybe when this is all over, you, Nappa, and Raditz could make Hyrule your home base. I'm sure you'll all get along with the Gerudo well. And..."

She trailed off and sat on the edge of the bed to slide her stockings back on. Her words caused him to shift up to his elbow and narrow his eyes slightly.  She caught his gaze in the mirror across from them and rushed on. "I figured it might be nice for you guys to have somewhere you could call home after not having one for so long. A place to go in between...whatever you plan to do after."

“Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? We barely have a plan,” he sneered, pushing himself upright to sit properly. His tail curled around his waist. In truth, he hadn’t considered such details of the future. Nothing horribly concrete, anyway. Killing Frieza and securing his empire for himself was as far as he had gotten. He hadn’t considered the idea of creating a new home for himself and the other two. And he wasn’t sure if it was simply because he had grown so used to jumping from base to base depending on where he and his cohorts were needed or if deep down, the cynical voice that occasionally overpowered his confidence and bravado had indeed convinced him his efforts to dethrone Frieza were pointless.

Considering her offer further, he didn’t doubt he and the other remaining Saiyans would fit in with her people. Being new to the Empire and recently conquered by the Gerudo, their loyalty to Frieza could be flimsy, making it a decent place to start for amassing his army as well. Many of Frieza’s loyalists would refuse to follow him so willingly, after all. And...perhaps a proper home wouldn’t be all that horrible. It would never be Planet Vegeta, but he at least was too young to have too much attachment to the planet itself anyway.

Nabooru swept her hair up toward the crown of her head and tied it in a loose ponytail. “I know. But I guess I can’t help but be optimistic.” She shrugged a shoulder and glanced back at him. “I want to go home. You want revenge and to take what you feel is rightfully yours. I think we’re both determined enough to succeed. And as far as that Super Saiyan thing goes, I feel if anyone can figure that out, it will be you.”

“Tch, of course I will. But that doesn’t mean you three can slack off and leave all the work to me.”

She snorted and pulled on her boots, rising to her feet and tugging her gloves over her hands. “I can’t speak for the other two, but I have every intention of keeping up with you. Maybe I’ll become a Super Gerudo.”

“Ha! We’ll see,” he taunted, smirk returning. If he unlocked the Super Saiyan transformation, she didn’t have a prayer in keeping up with his power, but he did admire her steadfast tenacity for improving. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

“Wasn’t it you who specifically asked for my help with this?” She shot him a grin before disappearing into the bathroom and retrieving their scouters. She tossed the red to him and dangled her orange one from her index finger. "Must mean you think pretty highly of my prowess as a warrior, right? So why shouldn’t I be able to?"

"You do well enough for my purposes." Vegeta laughed at the annoyed tilt of her head and shoved passed her to the bathroom, keen on cleaning up himself. He would have enough to answer for without her scent lingering on him. “If you’re so determined, then you can spar me later. We’ll appease the fools and their stupid send off idea and then I can see just how close you are to making good on that claim of keeping up.”

“It has been awhile. I have been thinking about a few new techniques to try.” She hooked her armor over her forearm and strode to the door, her fingers lingering over the switch to open it. “You should think about what I said sometime, though. Even if not Hyrule or whatever number Frieza has given it by now...just knowing you have a home to go back to and a place to call home is….comforting.”

She didn’t wait around for his response, pressing the button and exiting the room. Vegeta gave the thought little more attention than he already had. Such sentimentality, such a longing would only hinder him at this point. If fighting to return to her planet, her home, motivated her to get stronger and aid him in toppling Frieza, so be it. For him, the word home had long since lost such meaning to him. He found his own comfort in dreaming of slaughtering Frieza and reclaiming what was meant to be his. In the freedom it would afford him to do as he pleased, to conquer for his own empire. Securing a proper home for him and the remaining Saiyans mattered little for the moment, a detail to be worked out upon his success and not a moment sooner. Or perhaps not at all, as the attachment would be a prime target for his enemies.

Vegeta clicked his tongue, closing the door behind him. He switched the shower on and stepped in, not bothering with adjusting the temperature or concerned with the frigid water pouring over him. He had no need for such distracting thoughts. The task at hand was daunting enough, improbable if not impossible. He had no room for thoughts outside of dealing with Frieza and surviving in the meantime. Though it would test his patience, he would end that bastard no matter how long it took. By whatever means necessary. Of that much he was sure.

[eat0crow]

Jasonette first meeting please?

I’ve written a couple Jasonette first meetings already but I was scrolling through a prompt list and -You just snuck into my apartment and wait is that blood-stuck out to me. Hope you enjoy!

This fic was beta-read by the lovely @the17thtearoom

Is That Blood

Kwami knows that Marinette is a scatter-brained mess no matter what time of day it is. She would like to deny it, but really, no one would believe her. She blames Tikki, even if she was a disaster before the little fortune god came into her life. Nino has the proof, and has justly been sworn to silence.

There is never a need to relive the fourth grade. Never.

There’s a general swirl of chaos that follows Marinette wherever she goes: Paris, London, New York, now Gotham. It’s one of the reasons, maybe even the reason that despite desperately needing someone around to help out with the rent—Gotham charged way too much for a studio apartment, how the hell is it more expensive than Manhattan—she’s never looked for a roommate. Not after spending a month bunking with Alya, and driving the girl insane.

Alya hadn’t been the one to ask her to leave, she’d claimed Marinette was fine. Marinette had seen the way her eye twitched after the fourth time, in a week's span, she had come home tracking some dark, vaguely sticky substance behind her.

For the sake of their friendship, Marinette had moved out a little over a week later.

With this in mind, Marinette thinks she’s being overwhelmingly okay with the situation when her first question, upon stepping foot back into her apartment, happens to be, “Is that blood?”

Not, “how did you get in here”, or “who are you?” Is that blood? When did her life get this weird? Oh yeah, when she—a newly turned fourteen-year-old girl—was entrusted with guardianship over some of the most powerful deities in creation. That’s when.

It’s only after watching the man for an uncomfortable amount of time that Marinette notices the sickly crackling of unnatural magic clinging to the air around him. There’s a pool of dark magic sitting in her living room. It’s coating him, clinging to his very being and dripping, toxic, onto the pale beige carpeting.

God the carpeting, blood stains are a bitch to get out. At least he had the sense to push back the coffee table, and not sit on the couch that Marinette’s fairly sure, has been in this apartment since before she was born.

The stranger pauses his stitching mid-action, needle freezing halfway through the gash on his leg. Marinette is concerned.

“No, it’s cranberry juice,” he says sarcastically, even as he presses a towel, her pink bunny towel no less, against his leg. It’s clearly an attempt to hide the murder scene she just walked in on, but honestly, the towel is turning a disgusting shade of rusty brown.

Marinette takes one fortifying look around her living room, paying particular attention to the sticky wet spot her home invader is sitting in. He had better not have touched her one true love. If the coffee maker is broken she will break him.

“You should finish stitching that up before you bleed to death all over my carpet.”

“I’m not going to bleed out in the middle of your living room.”

Marinette grabs her emergency first aid kit, the one she keeps tucked safely in the umbrella stand. It’s a beast, and maybe Marinette had been a little obsessive when it came to putting it together, but she had spent a good portion of her life fighting. She liked to be prepared, even if being prepared meant carrying around a walking pharmacy.

Delicately, Marinette did her best to avoid mashing the blood further into the carpet. “I have a tourniquet in here just in case, but it doesn’t look like we need it. You did remember to disinfect the cut before you started stitching, right?”

She’s close enough now, knelt next to the man, to really make out his features. The pressure she forces down on the wound makes him wince, and Marinette blinks. Green eyes, there’s an aura to them that reminds Marinette distinctly of Tikki’s magic, a faint light just barely visible—Lazarus light. Well, that explained the corruption clinging to the air.

“I didn’t think you would be too thrilled with me poking around your bathroom,” he hisses out, sharp and very clearly in pain.

Marinette would usually let a lie like that go, but her patience is getting dangerously thin. “You could have spent another minute grabbing the peroxide from the medicine cabinet. It’s not like I can’t see your bloody footprints marking your trail. You grabbed my favorite towel, but not the one thing that prevents a staph infection. Who taught you first aid? Honestly! ”

A dark brow raises upward, clear interest taking over the strangers face. “You’re remarkably calm for someone who just found a random stranger dripping blood all over their apartment.”

“I’m more than a little pissed over that. You owe me a carpet cleaning.” Marinette grabs the travel-sized bottle of peroxide out of her kit, along with her sterilized needle, lighter, actual stitching thread—why the fuck is he using dental floss? Why?—and a roll of gauze. She’ll probably need more later, but for now, this is good. “You’re giving yourself way too much credit. This isn’t even close to the strangest thing I’ve seen this week. Now, this is going to sting like a bitch, but you broke into my apartment so, you deserve it.”

He lets out a long string of curses, biting down hard on his hand as Marinette pours the disinfectant over the wound. It’s a good three inches long and at least a centimeter deep. He needs a hospital but, seeing as his first choice was breaking and entering, Marinette’s probably as close to a professional as he’ll see.

“Fucking shit,” he grounds out around clenched teeth. Marinette has to take out the stitches he’s already done. They’re uneven and sloppy, probably because he’d been using the needle from her sewing kit. She slips her surgical scissors, the fresh pair she just held under her lighter, against the floss. His face loses all color as she carefully works the four rows he made out. “I know you’re pissed, but I don’t deserve this.”

Marinette casts him her most deadpan expression as she lights the curved stitching needle on fire. “Who's the dumbass who didn’t disinfect his—what? Stab wound? It looks like a stab wound, do you have any idea where that knife could have been? You’re lucky I’m nice enough not to let you get a blood infection.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Nice enough. You’re a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who broke in.” Marinette takes satisfaction in stabbing her needle into the skin and watching as his smirk turns into a grimace. “How did you get in here anyway? The front door was still locked.”

“I kicked in the back door,” he admits, with just the faintest hint of shame. “It was hanging on by a bolt and a decades worth of rust.”

“You’re lucky you’re already bleeding.”

“I was in a hurry, okay,” he says defensively. “My friend lives in the same apartment number one complex over. I apparently was off a bit with my directions. I promise, I don't usually break into random people’s homes.”

“Guess I’m just special then.” Marinette has to hide her smile by occupying herself with cleaning up. She’s angry at him, damn it!

“I’ll fix the door for you if you want? And I’ll pay for one of those rug doctors Walmart rents.” He carefully stretches out his leg. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet. A mix between pain and blood loss no doubt. Wordlessly she offers up a bottle of Tylenol.

She regrets handing it to him a nanosecond later when he takes a double dose and then, throws back a third for good measure.

“Oh, you’re going to be paying my cleaning bill all right, but the door can wait,” Marinette says, getting up, and heading over to her kitchen. There is no problem in the world food doesn’t make better. “You look like you could really use some breakfast, and I’ve had nowhere near my daily dose of caffeine. We can figure everything out after we’ve eaten.”

The man follows her over, leaning heavily against the wall to support his weight. It’s a sorry sight. He makes an aborted move to help her before deciding that nope, he really can’t stand for all that long. “Did I tell you how weird you are yet? I feel like I should have.”

“Would you rather I call the cops and kick you out?” Marinette asks, pushing the coffee maker to the very edge of the counter. He can reach it if he tries. Marinette fully plans to make him. With a bit more force than necessary, she slams down her jar of coffee mix. “Clearly you’re lucid enough to make some coffee while I fry up some eggs.”

There’s a spark of amusement in the stranger's eyes. His smirk is back, and he watches Marinette with something like glee. “Sure thing, firefly.”

“It’s Marinette,” she corrects, not bothering to turn away from the stove. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’d say it’s nice to meet you but...you did break into my house.”

“That’s fair,” the stranger agrees. Reaching for her phone instead of the stack of coffee filters. The bastard, doesn’t he realize how thin her sanity is stretching? “Jason Todd. You mind if I use your phone for a minute. Roy can stop by Home Depot, and get you a new door. So we won’t be reinstalling something that was already on its last legs.”

Marinette feels a headache coming on. “I’ll make enough for three then. Just have him pick up some kind of cleaner so the stain doesn’t set in.”