#like her early drag face is so distinctive in a different way from her current drag face and I love it a lot

[sexynetra]

She’s so fucking funny help

[supercorpbb]

Are you a fan of SuperCorp or a fandom creator? Want to see more art and fics like this or take part in this kind of collaboration where artists inspire writers? Follow us! Sign ups begin soon. Everyone is welcome! Now, enjoy the story.

(Thanks @iwishicoulddrawheatherforaliving for the art and @emiliarowan for the story !)

It wasn’t entirely unusual for Kara to visit Lena at work.

What was unusual, however, was Supergirl barreling headfirst through a plate glass window into the conference room while Lena was personally welcoming the newest group of L-Corp interns.

Lena stood at the front of the conference room, heart thundering in her chest, as Kara rolled around on the floor for a long moment before standing and whipping her cape over her head.

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Supergirl exclaimed in a sing-song voice not entirely appropriate for the amount of destruction she had just caused. She looked around the room with wide eyes before her gaze landed on her wife. “Lena!”

“K— Supergirl,” Lena huffed as the Kryptonian hugged her, squeezing just a bit too tightly for Lena’s human rib cage. “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy,” Kara replied. “You smell nice.”

“Supergirl,” Lena muttered as Kara inhaled deeply into Lena’s hair. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kara said innocently. “Ooo, what’s that?”

Lena looked up and realized that she had squeezed the laser pointer in her hand, and the small red dot was moving across the screen behind her. Kara released her from her hug and backed up, sticking her tongue out and furrowing her brow in concentration before launching herself at the wall. Lena’s wrist flicked in surprise, sending the little red dot across the wall and onto the ceiling. Kara, unrestrained by the laws of gravity, took off after the dot, and in doing so sent the projector screen to the floor with a loud crash.

“Miss Luthor?”

Lena looked away from the chaotic Kryptonian as her assistant poked her head into the room. “Jess, I’m not sure now is the time…”

“Agent Danvers is on Line One,” Jess told her, but she was watching as Kara chased the laser pointer into a corner, knocking over a potted plant in the process.

“Right,” Lena replied. She looked back at the dozen interns currently watching National City’s heroine pouncing on a red dot. “Okay, I think everyone should head to lunch a bit early. Orientation will resume at one thirty with your department heads.”

The young scientists didn’t even grumble as they shuffled out of the room.

“Here, keep her occupied,” Lena instructed, handing over the laser pointer to Jess as she stepped into the lobby to take the phone call. “Alex?”

“Heeeeey, Lena,” Alex answered, raising Lena’s suspicions. “I don’t want to alarm you, but, um, have you seen…?”

“Have I seen my wife? Yes, she crashed through the window into my conference room about three minutes ago, and now Jess is… entertaining her,” Lena replied, peering into the next room. In fact, Jess might’ve been having a bit too much fun leading Kara around the room using the laser pointer. Lena sighed and focused her attention back to the phone call.

“Oh, good, good,” Alex replied. “Does she seem a little… off?”

“If by off you mean high as a kite, then yes, I’d say she’s a little off,” Lena told her. “Care to explain?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Lena could practically hear Alex trying to formulate her response. “Well, the team got a call from the NC Botanical Gardens about this plant that somebody donated that they couldn’t identify and it turned out to be alien and while they were inspecting it, the plant shot some kind of pollen in their faces.”

“Some kind of pollen?” Lena interrupted. “Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t think so,” Alex replied. “It affected them all differently. J’onn passed out immediately— he’s fine, he’s sleeping it off in the infirmary. Brainy is acting like he’s had fifteen shots of espresso— he’s currently reprogramming the Roomba for combat. It didn’t affect Nia at all, probably because she’s half human. Kara flew off before I could really get an idea of how it was affecting her, but you say she’s… high? How so?”

Lena looked back into the other room to see that Kara was lying on her back beneath the broken potted palm, slapping playfully at the fronds and giggling. She really only had one comparison she could make.

When she was seven years old, Lionel had brought home a kitten as a pet. A little black and white fluff ball with a flat face, Lena had named her Duchess. Lena had doted on the cat until Lillian sent her away to boarding school, and she wasn’t entirely sure what became of it after that. One distinct memory of the cat came to mind now. She had given Duchess a catnip-stuffed toy, and the normally refined feline had spent hours rolling around on the toy, carrying it from room to room, pupils dilated, completely relaxed, stoned out of her mind.

That was exactly what Kara looked like now.

“Are you telling me my sister is—“

“Basically a human-shaped cat at the moment? Mmhmm,” Lena confirmed.

Alex let out a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, we need to get her someplace safe where she can’t do any damage until the chemicals get out of her system.”

“If I can get her home, I can turn on the red sun lamps in the bedroom,” Lena replied.

“Every time I try to forget that you had those installed, you just have to remind me,” Alex grumbled. “But yeah, good idea. Take her home, make her shower to get any excess pollen off, and then just lock her in the bedroom until it wears off.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.”

Lena made her way back to the conference room where Kara was hiding behind the edge of the table, eyeing the laser pointer on the wall yet again, and Jess was smiling gleefully as she slowly moved the light in circles around on the wall.

“Okay, I hate to break up the fun, but hand over the laser pointer,” Lena said, holding her hand out expectantly.

“Awwwww,” Jess groused.

“Jessica,” Lena warned.

Jess sighed and gave her the device. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Lena told her. “I’m gonna need you to—“

“Cancel your meetings for the rest of the day and have facilities come clean up this mess and replace the window?” Jess supplied. “On it, boss.”

“Now I remember why I hired you,” Lena said with a grin. “Come on, Kara, darling, we’re going home.”

“But—“ Kara began to argue, only to stop when Lena aimed the laser pointer at the door.

Lena managed to get the pouncing Kryptonian into the elevator, downstairs, and through the lobby with minimal incident and only one bent elevator panel of destruction. What Lena hadn’t realized, however, was that once they were outside, the bright midday sunlight made the laser pointer’s dot near-impossible to see, even for Kryptonian eyes. The city itself, however, offered plenty of things to distract Kara away from the town car on the curb.

“Ooo, look, Lena!” Kara exclaimed. “Kebabs!”

Lena grabbed Kara’s cape in an attempt to stop her, but that only resulted in her being dragged across the sidewalk towards a falafel stand. Once they were at the front of the line, Lena bought several servings of kebabs and grabbed them all up before Kara could get hold of them.

“Nuh-uh,” Lena chastised. “You only get kebabs if you get in the car. Deal?”

Kara pouted, but she reluctantly cooperated. Once they were in the car, Lena instructed George to take them to her penthouse. When they reached the apartment building, however, there was an ice cream truck serendipitously stationed on the corner, and Kara pointedly refused to enter the building without getting ice cream. Lena couldn’t help but scowl as she paid for a heaping cone of Kara’s favorite chocolate swirl. Her dour mood couldn’t last, however, with Kara happily lapping at her ice cream cone as the elevator made its way to the top floor.

Once inside their apartment, it wasn’t difficult to get Kara into the bedroom, and once she was there Lena immediately hit the button that switched on the red sun lamps and locked down all of the windows and doors. The room was awash in a coppery glow, and Kara immediately sank down on the foot of the bed.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed woozily.

“You okay?” Lena asked, immediately concerned.

“Yeah, just really sleepy all of a sudden,” Kara replied, and then she yawned in further confirmation. She stretched her arms high over her head, the remainder of her ice cream cone tipping precariously.

“Easy there,” Lena warned, pulling the offending dessert back down to face-level. “Why don’t you finish that up while I get the shower going, and then after that you can take a nap. Sound good?”

“Will you nap with me?” Kara asked pitifully

“Of course,” Lena replied. After the last half hour, she certainly felt like she needed a nap herself.

Kara finished the ice cream quickly, as Lena collected towels and pajamas. She managed to get Kara out of her super suit and into the shower without using the laser pointer or bribing her with food. For a moment Lena felt quite successful— until Kara reached out and yanked Lena, fully clothed, under the spray.

“Kara!” Lena sputtered.

Kara just giggled, eyes fixated south of Lena’s face as her white blouse became more and more transparent. “Hehe… tiddies.”

Lena put her fingers underneath Kara’s chin and pushed her face up until she met her gaze. “Eyes up here, Danvers.”

By the time she got Kara out of the shower her wife was practically falling asleep standing up. Lena managed to get Kara’s blonde hair mostly dried and forced her into a t-shirt and pajama shorts before she staggered to the bed.

“Just gonna close my eyes for a bit,” Kara murmured as she cuddled into a pillow.

“You do that, darling,” Lena chuckled. Then she made her way back to the bathroom. She cleaned up the puddles of water, dried her hair, and put on her own pajamas before returning to the bedroom.

She blinked at the sight that greeted her. In the ten minutes she had taken in the bathroom, Kara had raided their closet for all of the pillows, blankets, and extra comforters, and had used those to construct a round fort on their king-size bed.

“Kara?” Lena called hesitantly, and a blonde head appeared over the top of the nest.

“Lena!” Kara exclaimed, reaching toward her with grabby hands.

Lena went willingly, climbing carefully over the blankets and into the red-tinted pillow fort Kara had created. Once she was inside, Kara tucked a blanket over her and then curled into her body, resting practically on top of her as her head found Lena’s chest for a pillow.

“Mmm, this okay?” Kara asked.

Lena sighed, moving a bit until her body fit even better against Kara’s. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” Kara sighed. “You’re so soft. Love you.”

Lena stroked her hair and let out a sigh of her own. “Love you, too.”

[alpacaparkaseok]

Shut Eye

pairing/genre: idol!Yoongi x reader, fluff

premise: In a world where every night you meet your soulmate in your dreams only to forget their face and voice when you wake up, you’re now more desperate than ever to find them.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: I was listening to the piano version of ‘For Forever’ from Dear Evan Hansen while writing this...so maybe that explains it?? THIS IS SOOO CHEESY YOU GUYS

requested by anon - thanks for the fun request, hope you enjoy! a picture of your ask/request will be at the bottom of the post. Thank you!

_________________________________

You awoke with a gasp, the covers flung aside in an effort to grab the notebook and pen you kept handy on your nightstand. Not bothering to flip on the lamp, you used the little moonlight filtering in through your window to write down the events of your dream.

You spent most nights in the dreamscape with your soulmate, his face and voice a blurry mess in your mind. The two of you would talk for hours, that much you know. The general idea of the conversation would stick with you as well, but beyond anything else, you’d wake up with the same familiar feeling.

The specific brand of heartbreak that tends to accompany goodbyes. 

Tonight’s dream had been something entirely different, though. Try as you might, your mind can’t seem to conjure up the exact words your soulmate had so calmly whispered in your ear as you stood on a red carpet facing innumerable flashing cameras. However, one thing was for certain.

He was trying to send you a message. 

He was trying to find you out in this big world. 

You’ve made a bullet-point list now, with the words red carpet, famous?? and beautiful suit starting off the list. As the list continued on, you only grew more and more confused. Why did your soulmate choose that dreamscape? After years of the usual sitting room and long chats, something must have happened to make him change.

Frustrated, you scanned last night’s notes to see if anything out of the ordinary had happened. You nearly gave up before one of the final bullet-points caught your attention.

we talked about family

did we talk about our family??

Eyebrows scrunched and lips pouted, you wracked your brain for any recollection of the conversation from the night before. Indeed, you remembered waking up with the distinct feeling of discussing future baby names, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember what he had said he liked. What you did remember was that it was a name that had made you laugh, and that he had been upset about it for the rest of the evening. 

Not too upset, though. He’d still quietly warned you in the way he always did when he knew he was about to wake up. Softly lacing his hand through yours, running his thumb over the back of your knuckles until in the blink of an eye he was gone. 

There had been several occasions when you’d woken up still feeling the ghost of his hand on yours.

The notebook in your hands glared up at you, an unwelcome reminder that you were nowhere near close to understanding the meaning of your most recent dream. 

Normally, you would have just let it go. But today was different. Today you woke up just knowing that he had meant something by the dream. The way he’d brought you out on that red carpet, your arm linked through his as he led you toward a group that was already posing for pictures-

Wait. A group? You’d forgotten that part. Another bullet-point was added to the growing list.

part of a group (friends?)

Your eyes drifted shut as you tried to remember any more details, the ways the cameras flashed seemed to impair your vision as you’d looked at the group that had smiled as you neared. One of them had made some extra space for you and your soulmate, and you’d nearly keeled over when you saw who it was.

But who was it?

You sighed, scribbling one last bullet-point before your brain quit functioning.

I recognized the friends - famous?

It was a bit discouraging to look down at the list and see so many question marks, but you paid it no mind as you tossed your notebook back onto the nightstand and found the strength to get up for the day. 

You’d just have to wait until the next dream.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

“I have no idea where this is going,” you admitted while staring up at the ceiling,  sprawled out on your bed. “But I just know that he’s trying to tell me something. You know?”

Your best friend, Ji-eun, just laughed on the other side. “I’m sure he was...but honestly, who knows? Maybe he just wanted a change of scenery.”

“Ugh. You’re no fun.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but no more fun for you tonight. I’ve got to go to bed. Got to wake up early tomorrow, remember? It’s a big day.”

“Oh, that’s right! Are you nervous?”

You’d nearly forgotten that your best friend was also one of South Korea’s most beloved singers. On most days, you forgot her stage name, too. 

“No, not really. I just usually hate having to sit there by myself, you know? There are so many groups, and them I’m just by myself. Looking beautiful.”

“Aww, poor IU, all alone.” You teased. “I’d go with you, but-”

In an instant, Ji-eun, or IU, squealed and you knew that she had an idea. “Yes! Come with me!! I’ll sneak you in! You won’t even have to worry about the red carpet- wait.”

You winced, having held the phone at a distance from your ear so as to not immediately lose your hearing. “Oh no, now what? You know I’m not fit for award shows, Ji-eun.”

“Didn’t you say that your dream was on the red carpet?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Sooo,” Ji-eun dragged out, “Maybe you’ll see him.”

A wry laugh escaped you. “What makes you think he would recognize me even if he was there? Or that I would recognize him?”

IU made an indecisive noise. “Well, you already described his beautiful suit-”

“Hey, no teasing. It was absolutely gorgeous.”

“Exactly! If there’s a guy that shows up wearing that suit, then maybe that’s him! And, maybe he’s part of a group! You would recognize the group if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re just trying to get me to come with you,” you drawled, ignoring the little spark of hope. 

“Obviously. Hey, you know that really pretty red dress you bought not that long ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Wear that, and work your dreamscape magic or something to help him remember the red dress. He’ll recognize you when he sees you tomorrow!”

With an eye roll you’re pretty sure Ji-eun heard through the phone, you groaned. “If he’s even there. If.”

“So you’ll do it?”

In the end, it was the memory of having to say goodbye every morning without even remembering who you were saying goodbye to that had you agreeing. 

••••••••••••••••••

Falling into your dreams had always felt more like waking up, the urge to stretch and run around almost too much to deny. Tonight, you entered the familiar sitting room that you’d frequented nearly every night for the past few years.

Your soulmate is waiting for you when you enter, his back turned to you.

A part of you knows that the two of you have been through this many times before. You’ve technically met your soulmate hundreds of times - maybe even thousands at this point. But every night, it’s the same little feeling of anticipation as you wait for him to turn around. 

Always wondering who it might be. Always dreading the moment you wake up and forget his face all over again, waiting for the next dream to identify him.

He’s in the black, lightly checkered suit that he wore last night, not a single strand of his black hair out of place as he turns around with wide eyes.

Your breath is momentarily caught in your throat as you suddenly recognize him, not only from the previous dreams but from nearly everywhere else in the waking world. 

“Hey,” Yoongi mumbles, a soft smile gracing his lips as he looks at you. “You look beautiful.”

You looks down at the red dress you’re wearing, the same one you’re planning on wearing at the award show. Nodding at his suit, you grin.

“Are you wearing that to the award show today?”

He nods, stepping toward you. “I wish you could go, I know that I’d be able to find you-”

“I am.”

Yoongi stops, his mouth slightly open. He takes a single step toward you. “You are? How?”

“Ji-eun is my best friend, remember?”

He takes a moment to recall that tidbit of information about you, nodding. “So...we’ll see each other.”

“I hope so.” You tilt your head. “But will you recognize me? It was so hard for me to remember any details after last night’s dream, I feel like it’s getting harder.”

“I think it is,” Yoongi agrees, striding over to you and grabbing your hand even as a light pink dusts over his cheeks. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to forget this dress.” With a wink that belies his shy nature, Yoongi leads you out onto the red carpet, where cameras are waiting. 

He walks you through the event, glancing at you every few seconds as though afraid that you’ll disappear at any moment. That’s certainly a valid concern - it’s happened plenty of times.

You’ve just made it to where the rest of the members are standing when you feel the tell-tale pull back toward reality. 

You’ll be waking up at any moment now. Most likely because of that pesky nest of birds that have decided to camp out just outside of your windows. 

Instinctively your grip on Yoongi’s arm tightens, and he turns to you. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re about to leave.

“What if it doesn’t work?” You blurt out, taking in every last detail of him. From the way his cheeks are still pink to the fit of his suit. 

Yoongi absolutely shocks you as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, pulling you a little closer. His breath that dusts over your ear feels so real as he whispers gently to you.

“We’ll find a way. I promise.”

•••••••••••••••••••

It was the same dream as the night before; the same infuriating goodbye that seeped into your bones as you hurtled awake. However, this time, you could have sworn that you recalled a puppy-dog gaze that was begging you to remember him as you left the dreamscape.

You’d worn the red dress you currently had on, the red lace falling just below your knees. A part of you remembered the way your soulmate had reacted when you’d waltzed into the dreamscape, the way you had casually linked your arm through his as you walked onto the red carpet.

Today you couldn’t find the energy to write anything in your full notebook, opting to bury your head in your hands.

“Who are you?” You groaned. The feeling of his soft lips against your forehead has you sighing, wishing that you could replay it all over again. After shooting a glare at the red dress hanging in your closet, you grabbed your notebook to write down one note before getting up.

We love each other

•••••••••••••••••••

Ji-eun - er, IU, instructed you to wait for her at the entrance to the photo-op portion of the red carpet. She would be busy doing little interviews before that, which honestly didn’t seem that appealing to you. 

Especially not when you were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up.

Staring down at your red dress, you nearly jumped out of your skin when there was a hand on your shoulder.

“Ha! You’re jumpy today,” IU teased, “I wonder why.”

“Oh good, you’re finished.” You ignored her tease, happy to get moving. “You look amazing.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but she still deserved to be complimented. IU looked absolutely ethereal in her flowy green gown, the two of you looking like some sort of Christmas ad. 

“You look great as well!” She motioned toward the carpet. “I think we’re just after this group. Ready?”

Armed with a smile and your best friend at your side, you ventured onto the carpet. It was easier than you though it would be; most of the time you were stepping aside to allow the photographers a clear view of IU.

You’ve nearly made it to the end when a fresh round of screaming picks up. 

There’s only one group that can command that much attention.

You couldn’t help but crane your neck as you see BTS walk onto the carpet, just a couple of groups behind you. Your eyes widened on their own accord when you saw them, unable to shake the feeling of having met them before. 

Of course, they pay you no mind. However, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Suga took a moment to get up on his tippy-toes, looking around. You went to point it out to IU, nobody paying either of you any mind as you walk off the carpet. You lost all ability to speak, however, as you took a closer look.

It’s the suit. 

The one that is checkered with a light gray, the one that fit your soulmate just right. 

It’s the black hair that’s perfectly styled. 

And as Suga turned to look your way, you didn’t miss the way his eyes caught on your red dress.

Almost like he had been looking for a red dress.

In the span of a single heartbeat, you made eye contact with the idol, the same question lingering in your eyes. 

For Min Yoongi, that’s all it took. 

Abandoning all precepts, he took off down the carpet, heading straight toward you. From the way the other members took one look at you and your red dress and immediately began speaking to those present, you knew that they’d been waiting for this. Knew that they weren’t planning on keeping this low-key, because there was no real way to do that. 

Not as Yoongi saw you and knew. 

You managed to take three steps toward him before he was before you, grinning with his gummy smile even as his ears turned red. 

“Quick,” Yoongi breathed out, reaching down to take your hands in his. “If it’s really you, tell me what name we can’t agree on for a girl.”

The question threw you off guard, making you laugh. But after a moment, you found with a gasp that you remember.

You remembered everything.

The way the two of you first awkwardly stumbled into the dreamscape at the age of nineteen. How you eventually opened up to each other, grew to care deeply about the other. 

You remembered the nights when the two of you were rambunctious and laughing at stupid stories Yoongi told you about the boys. 

You remembered the nights when you sat in silence, dreading the moment you would have to wake up.

And you remembered that just a few days ago, Yoongi had brought up family. You’d spent the night talking about how many children you’d want, how you’d raise them, what you’d name them.

And there was one horrible name that he loved and you hated, and neither of you were willing to budge on it.

“Ugh,” you groaned even as you smiled. “We are not naming her Pearl! It would make her sound like a pirate ship!”

The cameras flashed, which made Yoongi’s eyes glimmer as he laughed along with you. Then, without a care in the world except for knowing for certain that it was all real, Yoongi tugged you closer until your foreheads touched and all you could see were his dark eyes pulling you in.

“I told you we’d find a way.”

Hundreds of cameras flashed, documenting the moment and effectively labeling it a dream come true.

masterlist

[girlmeetsliv3]

Lilies of the Valley I

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower’s shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

Chapter One: Hatred & Pride

“Lilies are considered a beautiful, popular flower but the orange variations actually symbolize hatred, pride, and disdain.”

Release Date: 05/18/20 @ 7 pm

next

 YN stumbled haphazardly into her apartment, as she tried to kick off heels and steer her way into her apartment's small bathroom. In her hand lay a crumpled up business card that scorched her skin, yet she couldn't let go of it. As she reached the bathroom, she flickered the yellow lighting on and stared at herself in the dirty mirror. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged making her resemble a panda, a frown etched between her brows, and colored lips turned downward. It was not her wretched appearance that had her sorrowful, but rather the bite that was visible right where her neck met her shoulder. It looked fresh, harsh red marks that displayed to the world that she was taken. "What a fucking lie."

She took off her makeup and jumped into the shower scrubbing off every trace she could of the alpha. Not wanting his scent permeating on her body any longer, then it would truly prove people's perception of her to be true. A small ding as she was exiting the shower alerted her towards her phone.

           Mark Lee: Sorry about how I acted. I just don't understand, but I don't think we should see each other anymore.

"Great," YN grumbled. There went another one that she'd managed to drive away. It would be a lot easier if she could simply date someone like her - not that it would ever be allowed. Still, there would be less judgment and she wouldn't have to feel like a let down to society or her family every time a holiday passed and she failed to present with a mate. "Fuck society." Though truly it was more like fuck Jeon Jungkook. None of this would've happened if it weren't for the alpha and his hormones. Truly none of this would've happened if his mates kept a tighter grip on the newly presenting alpha, but she couldn't blame the others for his mistake.

           On second thought, fuck them all. Why the fuck are sub-genders a thing anyway? This wasn't the first time said thoughts had filled her head. Presenting as an Omega in a family full of beta's had been difficult, not to mention the events that followed afterward. YN dragged her feet into her bed, thankful for once that she lived in such a small apartment that things were never so far apart. Though her current apartment was about the size of the kitchen in her parent's home, she couldn't complain. Few people rented unmated omegas. She was lucky that her landladies were two female betas with small children. YN doesn’t have anything against alphas but she’s aware enough to know how they perceive her: a means to an end rather than a human being. Or half of one at the very least.

           Her cell phone screen lit up again, but YN was far too tired to check it. Until it stayed on as a plethora of messages appeared. Rolling her eyes, YN grabbed her phone and unlocked it planning to send to hell whoever sent so many messages this late at night.

           Unknown: Please consider it.

           Unknown: I know you blame me for a lot of things and it is my fault, but I’d like to fix things.

           Unknown: or help at the very least.

           Unknown: Please just answer me.

           Unknown: I’m very sorry. You know I am. It was a mistake, I was presenting and couldn’t control myself. Please YN.

           Unknown: You’re my mate.

YN slammed her phone down on her bed with tears in her eyes. She regretted ever going on the date tonight, regretted ever meeting Jungkook, regretted presenting as an Omega. YN regretted being alive. She knew others felt the same way, she'd seen the look in her father's eyes when he had gone to the police station. None of this would've ever happened if she were a beta. YN would be able to get a good education, a good job, a decent place to live. She wouldn't be treated like a third-class citizen because of her sub-gender - she would just be YN. The way she'd been in school before all this happened. The way she spent seventeen years of her life living. Sobs racked throughout her body and she bit into her arm to keep the sound from reaching her neighbors. She didn't want to get into any more trouble tonight.  

           Exhaustion eventually won over and YN slipped into a restless sleep, plagued by the events of her past and the ones that occurred a few hours earlier.

          “So there was nothing you did in high school? No clubs or anything like that?”

YN shook her head, shrugging slightly. "I helped some teachers, dabbled in a couple of things but wasn't like the head cheerleader or class president." Tentatively she reached for her drink, making sure Mark didn't notice her smelling it for anything. It wasn't that he wasn't nice, but one could never be too careful. Mark laughed, "Alright you got me there, but I'll let you know the only reason I became class president is that I promised I'd get us a pool."

           “How did that work out?”

           “Terrible. The school was convinced our stupid asses would drown or something. Can’t say it wasn’t true.”

           YN giggled, taking another bite of her food. Mark was cute and he seemed aware of things, enough to not try too hard. He hadn’t asked to pick her up or asked about exes, he’d agreed to meet at the restaurant and even arrived early. Then again it might also be because they have a friend in between and it was Rosé who’d set them up together. “So YN what school did you go to?” Mark leaned forward resting his face in his hands. The warm lighting in the restaurant cast a nice glow on his features, it made him look more attractive. Or perhaps the alcohol had finally set in.

           “I went to Yeong-gwang Academy.” As soon as YN uttered the name Mark’s eyes widened exponentially. “No way, I’ve heard about that school. Isn’t it like a rich kid central or something? Wait didn’t you go to school with the Kims?!” It was an involuntary reaction the way she shivered whenever she heard that name, but her date must not have noticed. He stood waiting for her confirmation and all it took was a curt nod, for the man to begin rambling about all the rumors he’d heard over the years. It was difficult to keep up with them all, but she did manage to correct a few.

           “Haven’t you guys been ranked number one school in Korea for like thirty years or something?”

           “I think it’s only twenty.”

           “I heard all your sports teams are national champions.”

           “We only really had like five or so.”

           “Don’t you have the largest private collection of flowers in Asia?!”

           “Um, it’s Lilies and I think that’s an exaggeration.”

On and on it went, YN was now beginning to regret opening her mouth. She'd heard of Academy fans before, but it was mainly people who wanted to go there and couldn't or alumni. The way Mark spoke about it made her seem like she was an olympiad or a part of history. The date was drawing to an end, YN couldn't help but feel disappointed but it could have gone worse. Mark could have seen her mark and it would've caused conflict, hearing the boy ramble about her school was the lesser of the two evils.  

           It was when YN lifted her drink to her lips that she sensed it. A hint of musk and the smell of fresh linen, she couldn’t explain how she knew it was him. It was almost instinctual the fear that spread throughout her. As discreetly as she could, YN cast a glance around the room trying to find him almost exhaling with relief when she didn’t. It’s probably a mistake.

           “Hey isn’t that Kim Jungkook right there?”

It was said a little too loudly, just enough that YN knew he'd heard it. It didn't take long for her to feel eyes peering at her, goosebumps rose through her arms. Her bite began to throb and YN could feel her heart skip a beat. Mark's eyes focused on him and eventually crawled up, letting her know the alpha was approaching. Now the scent hit her entirely, shaking her to her core. YN gripped the table to steady herself but found that near impossible when the alpha kept sending his pheromones at her.  

"Does there seem to be a problem here?" His voice had deepened over the years, no longer the voice of a teenager but that of a man.

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to call your name so loudly. Um, I'm Mark Lee. A pleasure to meet you." Mark turned his attention towards YN expecting her to acknowledge Jungkook or greet him as a classmate. YN couldn't. She couldn't look at him. It didn't help that there was a tense atmosphere between the two, the tension was palpable and it seemed Mark had enough.

           “Aren’t you going to greet him, YN?”

           Greet the man responsible for everything wrong in my life, sure. Yn’s eyes trailed upwards from the table to Jungkook’s face until her warm eyes met his golden ones. As YN parted her lips to speak, she felt it: the heat spreading throughout her body. An uncontrollable feeling that raked throughout her body. The fucker was trying to trigger a pseudo-heat. Instantly YN’s grip tightened on the table, her fingertips becoming white as she fought with nature to keep control over herself.

           “Do you two know each other?” It seems Mark was catching on and truly she couldn’t blame him if he misunderstood. She would too if the roles were reversed. Suddenly Jungkook turned to face Mark, holding his hand out to greet him.

           “I’m Kim Jungkook, her mate.”

"What?! No, he isn't. Don't listen to him, Mark." Her outcry had caused quite a few patrons to turn her way, now all paying close attention to what was happening.

"Uh -" Jungkook quickly interceded whatever Mark was going to say. "Did you not notice her mark? Or do you make a habit of seeking mated people?" At this a few people gasped, Mark looked between the two of them confused. YN snapped, "It's a partial bond. It was never completed so it doesn't mean anything." Her words only confused Mark even more. Whispers from surrounding tables began to reach her ears and it only fueled YN's rage more. This was all a big misunderstanding, but Jungkook was thriving off it. Mark and YN's eyes met as she silently pleaded with him to listen to her.

"Hey beta," Jungkook snapped his fingers together, "look at me." YN should've known she'd lost then and there. As a beta, it was impossible to resist the order of alpha, not to mention one that exuded the stench that Jungkook did.

           “You know who I am right?” Mark nodded, eyes wide as if aiming to please. “Then you know don’t you? You know…” When Mark looked back at her, there was sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry YN.” was all the beta said before standing up and walking away. YN had so many things to say, so many more explanations, but they all died in her tongue.

           Jungkook tsked, “What an asshole. Could’ve at least paid for the meal.” That was the final strand for YN, she gathered her stuff and threw all the money she had down on the table. Walking fast out of the restaurant trying to avoid the judgemental stares directed towards her, she swore some people hissed at her under their breaths. Once outside YN leaned against the side entrance of the restaurant trying to steady her breath and stop the incoming tears.

"YN. Hey!" Jungkook raced out the front, staring around panicked until his gaze landed on her. YN tried to walk away, but his long legs gave him an advantage and he reached her in a few steps. "Please YN. I'm sorry, I just- I couldn't control myself." YN rolled her eyes, trying to push the alpha aside.  

           “No please YN look.” His hands gripped her forearms and tugged her close to him. “I’ve been trying to find you, we’ve been trying to find you. But you disappeared off the map.”

           “That’s because of you. I left because of you.” YN tried to get him to release her arms, but his hold was too tight. “Wasn’t it enough for you? Isn’t it enough for you? You ruined my life and my reputation Jungkook. The least you could do is leave me alone.” She was begging at this point, trying to make him see reason.

           “I can’t leave you alone, YN. You’re my mate.”

           “You already have mates Jungkook. Fucking six of them! How could you want more?!”

           “It isn’t like that and you know it. You’re all our mates. You're the pack omega, you just don’t see it yet.”

           This wasn’t the first time Jungkook had tried to excuse his behavior by using the pack bond. Yes, it was true all seven of them shared it but that didn’t mean she did too. “Omega’s don’t have the pack bond, Jungkook. Stop trying to lie.” YN couldn’t see what he gained from this.

           “I’m not lying. It’s rare but it happens, please if you just speak to Namjoon you’ll see-”

           “Leave me alone Jungkook.” YN mustered all her strength and managed to finally push him off. The alpha looked shocked at her display of aggression, YN strongly desired to hit him but knew it wouldn’t end well if she triggered his instincts. “I’d rather die alone than be mated to you.” YN could see the spear driven through the boy’s heart because she felt something similar go through hers. YN let out a shaky breath, she leaned over resting on her knees for fear of falling over.

"I get it. I'm sorry, I ruined your date. I embarrassed you in front of all those people and that wasn't right. I'm sorry YN, I truly am. For everything, I've ever done to you. But it doesn't change the truth. You know this isn't something I can lie about: you are my mate. Our mate."

YN groaned and went to walk away, knowing that there wouldn't be an end to Jungkook's madness. As she walked past the shaken alpha, he grasped her hand placing something in it. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate, please." YN didn't even spare him a look as she walked away. It wasn't until she could no longer smell him that YN broke down, her body shaking as she tried to hold it all in. She was still in a public place and a vulnerable omega might draw unwanted attention. YN took a deep breath and steadied herself. Heading straight to her apartment and refusing to look back.

           A loud abrupt ringing awoke YN from her sleep, she jumped so high she practically touched the ceiling. Grabbing the phone, she saw Rosé’s contact picture pop-up on the screen. It was rare for her to call, especially since it was nearly six a.m.

           “Hey.”

           “YN? Oh my god.” Rosé’s tone was panicked and YN could hear the way she panted. “Someone broke into my apartment while I was sleeping.”

           “What?! Are you alright?!” YN jumped out of bed and raced to put on pants and hoodie, before grabbing her keys and wallet. “Where are you?”

           “I’m at the police station. I couldn’t see very clearly, but they’re looking at security cam footage from around the area to figure out who it is.”

           “I’m on my way. Did you call Lucas?” Lucas was Rosé’s foster sibling, his husband worked in the police and was certain to make the whole process smoother.

           Rosé hesitated, “He isn't answering. Please come, I’m here alone and I-”

           “It’s alright I’ll be there soon I promise.” YN had managed to wave down a cab and told him to drive as quickly as he could.

The sight of her best friend in tears triggered something innate in YN. She pulled Rosé into a hug and refused to let her go, terrified at the thought of what could have happened to her friend. "It's alright, I'm here." Rosé dug her head into YN's neck using her scent to calm her nerves and trying to muffle her cries. Already she could feel the sympathetic stares of some of the officers. Out of the corner of her eye, YN saw someone approaching his bloodshot eyes, and the tall way in which he stood made it seem like he owned the place.

"I told you to call your mate, not your girlfriend." He remarked voice dull yet mocking. Rosé stepped away from YN turning towards him, "I don't have a mate and my brother isn't answering." Her tone was meek and eyes were downcast, YN knew she wasn't a confrontational person and this event likely further caused her to become more introverted. The cop rolled his eyes, "Where is your mate then?" He turned his attention towards YN, now she could see the name inscribed on his uniform: Officer Hwang. "I don't have one." Her tone was too blunt, YN knew she could see the way his eyebrows raised at it.

           “Don’t lie to me, I can see your mark.”

           “I don’t have a mate.”

Annoyance was now visible in Hwang's tone before his eyes widened. "Ah, now I get it." The officer turned back towards one of his colleagues and called out, "Bo, it seems we have a cat house on our hands." Rosé's eyes widened and YN spoke quickly, words tumbling out of her mouth. "No. You're misunderstanding." Bo had already stood up from his desk and was making his way towards them.  

           “Ladies if you could please follow me.”

The two of them were talking over each other trying to explain the situation, but the officers had made up their minds about what was occurring. YN cast a glance around the room trying to find anyone who could help them, but everyone kept their eyes downward. They'd been titled as prostitutes and it would be difficult to change people's minds. Officer Bo guided them, pushed would've been a better term, towards the basement where the holding cells were.

           “Please sir, you’ve misunderstood.”

           Officer Hwang shrugged, a cruel smirk on his face. “Call your alpha then and everything will be solved.” YN resigned herself as they were dragged downstairs and locked up.

Rosé and YN were separated in different cells while a guard stood watching. Tears streamed endlessly down her best friend's face, whilst YN told herself that hers were tears of frustration rather than humiliation at everything that had occurred tonight. Eventually, as they hit the two-hour mark the guard spoke up, "I'd call your mates if I were you. The boarding house bus swing's by at nine." Both omegas stilled in fear at his words. YN turned towards Rosé, "Ro can't you try your brother?" She was pleading with her friend, but Rosé shook her head. "He won't come." There was something she wasn't telling her, but YN figured now was not the moment to press it.

           “Don’t you know someone who can help YN? What about Mark?”

Mark would be no help, considering everything that went down at the date it would be a further embarrassment to ask him to come to pick her up at the station. If he even answered that is. Unless? No, there was no way. Her pride wouldn’t be able to take it.

            "Thirty minutes, girls."

It seemed as if fate was pushing her into a corner. YN had heard about what kind of things occurred to Omega's who were taken to the boarding house, it was not a nice place. It certainly didn't provide the comfort or protection that was promised to unmated troubled omegas. Hesitantly YN cleared her throat, "Can I please make a call?"

~ Please lmk if you would like to be added to the tag list. Thank you

[lemon--squeezy]

𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 | 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Summary: 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 found love during his teen years and ended up married to his high school sweetheart. However, he hadn't been prepared for the effects caused on him by a younger Agent and coworker.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Original Female Character

Warnings: Mentions of/implied attemped rape, sexual scenes, adult language, angst, boss/employee relationship, cheating, age difference and  canon-typical violence.

A/N: Before we start I just wanted to warn you that English is not my first language so you might see some grammar and spelling errors, if you spot any just let me know please. I hope you can bear with me! This story in also available on Wattpad 

“You made a really deep cut and baby, now we’ve got bad blood…” — Taylor Swift

Rays of a morning sun shine through the many windows, bringing a needy warmth to the cold bullpen of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. As soon as one enters the room, the bitter but invitingly warm scent of black coffee would invade their nostrils; a much needed drink to endure the consuming aspects of working for the FBI. Hushed footsteps, discussions of rapports, chairs moving around and whispers of good mornings are the prominent sounds filling the environment. 

At the center of the room, three distinct agents are discussing among themselves about gossips of the office. A strong, shaved headed man, with dark skin and a smirk plastered on his face. By his side, half sitting on his desk is a woman with fluffy bright blonde hair, thick black glasses supported by her delicate nose and wearing colorful clothes, making her stick out in an ocean of grey suits and blazers. Standing in front of them is a raven-headed woman, with pale skin and dressing a dark outfit like no one else could do. 

While grabbing his mug and sipping his morning coffee, the man looks at his wristwatch, slightly shaking his head in a mocking disapproval and declares, “It’s officially five minutes since our work time started and Agent Davis hasn’t arrived,” he flashes a smirk to the black headed female who had being part of the team for barely a month and continues, “I hope you’re ready to witness your first breakfast time quarrel between the bossman and Amy.” 

Emily, the sophisticated gothic woman, stares confusedly at her teammate and says, “Okay, I’m gonna take the bait. What are you talking about, Morgan?” 

He flashes a mischievous smile, “Do you want to explain it to the newbie, baby girl?” Morgan asks the blonde and eager female to tell the new girl about the most volatile - and funny to watch - dynamic of the team. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already noted that my lovely girl Amelia Davis and our stiff yet good-looking Superior don’t tolerate each other,” Penelope happily blabbers. “Since today is Monday and Amy loooves partying hard on the weekends, she’s already late. Something that displeases the bossman who is constantly waiting to scold Amy because of her little mistakes.” 

“That is intriguing. Are you sure it isn’t all about sexual tension? That would explain their behavior.” Agent Emily Prentiss questions inducing a gasp from Penelope and a laugh from Derek. 

“We’ve all considered it at some point,” the man affirms. “Just don’t say that to Davis or she will lecture you about how terrible it is that two people of the opposite sex aren’t allowed to sincerely and deeply hate one another,” he concludes and looks in the direction of his Superior individual office through the open blinds. “Hotch seems to be especially annoyed today so I bet he won’t even wait for Davis to reach her table before he calls her attention.” Morgan deduces and the elevator cheeps in sync announcing new arrivals, making the three agents stare in its direction. They see a couple of interns hurrying to the coffee marker and the next person to come out is the disheveled figure of Agent Davis. Her crystal blue eyes are hidden by black sunglasses, the woman’s usually perfect long brunette hair is currently disheveled, her button up white shirt is supporting some wrinkles while her dark grey blazer is in her left hand along with her bag. She connects the fingers of her right hand with her temple massaging it in a foolish attempt to ease the headache obviously caused by a hangover. 

Amelia tries to walk discreetly in the direction of her desk, hoping she would pass unnoticed by her boss, but she isn’t successful. Seeing her state, Derek whistles and loudly states, “I think someone had a wild night,” he laughs with Prentiss and Penelope. His booming voice affects the balance of Davis, making her stumble over her own feet and before she gets a hold of her chair and tells the man to be quiet, the harsh sound of a door opening echoes through the entire space of the bullpen. 

“Agent Davis. My office. Now,” the chief unit’s demand rings like thunder, giving chills to the ones around.  

“Fuck,” Amy murmurs while taking off her sunglasses  and dropping her belongings on her desk. 

The brunette drags her legs, taking her time along the short way to her boss’s office. 

Amelia feels like she’s in high school and the principal is calling to lecture her, but that’s something she never experienced during her school years since her teachers adored her effort to have the best grades and eagerness to learn. Besides, she could always blast a polite amiable smile to make people bend at her will. It came easily to Amy, being friendly and kind towards others, virtues that paid off and made everyone like her. Well, everyone but him. 

The door to the room is already opened and to Amy, it resembles the entrance of a

scary and dark cave. After she’s inside, she makes sure to close it to shield herself from the curious ears of her coworkers. She goes straight to one of the chairs across from the stoic man, a journey she’s so used to, considering that Hotchner’s constantly expressing his discontent with her whether it was about being a few minutes late, or about a typo in a rapport, or even choosing to use a grey folder instead of the yellow ones. Everything would lead to criticism and by now she would just take it with humor. She mumbles a good morning but Aaron simply ignores it.

“Tell me, Agent, what’s your excuse for today? Two weeks ago there was something wrong with your car, four weeks ago it was a problem with shower. I can’t wait to hear about another one of your misfortunes,” there’s venom watering each word, his eyes colder than a winter day and his entire posture screams irritation.  

Amy thinks how he’s ever so ridge when she’s around. Every time she enters the same room as him, the jet black haired man would instantly go ridge like her mere presence was a heinous crime. She’s used to it and more than happy to demonstrate that she is also offended by his existence.  

“Would you believe me if I told you that my nanny died?” Davis playfully replies and grins, which boils Aaron’s anger further. 

“Do you think this is some sort of joke?” he snaps, standing from his chair and positioning his hands on the desk that separated them. “I can’t have people in this unit that don’t take their job seriously and I don’t have time to endure irresponsibility and lack of respect.” 

I bet you would have a lot of free time if you just left me the fuck alone, dude - Amelia thinks while maintaining eye contact with the man. 

“One more day of tardiness and you will have to suffer consequences. Is that clear enough for you, agent?” he fumes. 

She bites her lips and swallows a bitter response. Not afraid of the outcome, just too tired to deal with her boss’s intensity so early in the day. “Yes, boss.”

“You can leave now,” he grunts and sits back in his chair. Starting to reach for one of the files on his desk; at the same time, Amelia makes a quick way out of the room. Once she gets to her chair, she releases a loud sigh, longing for the day to be over already. 

“That seemed intense.” Emily comments. She and Morgan are in their respectives chairs and Penelope has made her way to her own office - after the end of the show, of course.  

“You have no idea,” Amy answers while starting her work. 

 “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between the two of you?” Prentiss carefully asks, genuinely curious.

“He’s the one who decided to hate me since my first day, I’m just returning the sentiment,” Davis explains, unbothered by the question, being a curious person herself she knows how it is once interest sparks. That’s when Dr. Reid and Agent Jareau arrive, talking to themselves. Spencer is carrying a notebook with a sketch of a boy’s face in it, moving around the room frantically and picking a telephone. 

“What’s wrong?” Amelia worriedly questions. 

“Need to get that to everyone as soon as possible,” Reid hurriedly explains while making a call. “Detective Barnes, this is Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico,” he clarifies to the person on the other side of the phone and continues rapidly, “Have you had recent murders involving prostitutes? They would’ve been stabbed to death and their hair would’ve been cut off by the killer,” that causes the other Agents to exchange confused glances, intrigued by the sudden event. 

“When was the last recent victim?” the Doctor inquires to the Detective on the line. 

Seems like we have a case, Amy processes. 

[ao3theskyisblue]

How to Woo a Texan

For @bellakitse who prompted this nearly a year ago and I had the audacity to put it off for this long 😅 Thank you for the title prompt, I hope you enjoy! 

Summary:

He was suddenly brought back to the time when he was 5 years old, gazing at the white lilies in that antique vase every morning. How he hadn’t understood why his mother carried an aura so bright and yet so soft at the same time every time she looked at them.

Oh. There you are. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

***

Or, snapshots through time of their relationship with a splash of feelings

Read on AO3

Ever since he could remember, there was always a fresh vase of white lilies that sat comfortably on the side of the kitchen counter. A 5-year-old Carlos, who was finally old enough to climb down the stairs himself (though his parents seemed to disagree) had always tried to wake up early to try and catch whoever it was that was responsible for them. They always magically appeared like clockwork every Monday morning at 7am.

Neatly trimmed, placed, and lasted a week before a brand-new batch would appear the next Monday.

He hadn’t wanted to think too much about them, but there were times that he caught his mother looking at the flowers with a soft look in her eyes. Sometimes she would brush her fingers along the petals, and other times she would lean down to delicately smell them, an ever-present smile gracing her lips.

He asked her about it once, the words coming out faster than his brain could tell him to stop.

“Mama, where those come from?” He asks one morning, lips puckered in a light pout when he realized he didn’t catch whoever it was that put them there again. His mother turned around from where she was washing some grapes to look in his direction, only to widen her eyes in horror.

“Carlitos! What have I told you about climbing onto places taller than you?” His mother scolded, rushing over to stop him from climbing onto the kitchen counter so he could reach the vase easier. She wrapped her arms gently around his waist, and he didn’t fight it when she sat him on a dining room chair.

“But I wanted to see flowers!” Carlos pointed towards the vase, and his mother turned her head to where he was looking, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She reached over to take out one of the flowers slowly, before displaying it in front of him.

“You mean the white lilies?” His mother asked, nodding at him when he looked at her questioningly. He took the flowers gently in his hands, running his fingers along the petals. They felt like any other flower he’s touched in the schoolyard, and they didn’t have a particularly distinct scent. At least, not that he could tell.

So, what was so special about these flowers?

He was about to ask, but his mother beat him to it. “Your dad is a little bit of a romantic. He wakes up early to get these from the farmer’s market every Monday morning.” And there it is again. That smile he always sees on his mother whenever his dad is mentioned, a smile that made her look so bright and happy.

There was something he didn’t understand though.

“What’s a ro…romand-romantic? Is it like…like Roman empire?” Carlos frowned, not quite remembering that book his teacher had been reading a few weeks ago but he was sure he heard ‘Roman’ somewhere. His mother shook her head, laughing fondly. He watched her get up from her kneeling position to sit on the dining chair beside him, her hands resting on his knees.

“You’re probably a little too young to understand this fully,” Carlos wrinkled his nose at that, because no, he wasn’t too “young,” he could recite the alphabet just fine forwards and backward and knew all his times tables.

His mother gave him a knowing look as if she knew what he was thinking. “Those were the flowers your father gave me when he first told me he loved me, and ever since then, he gets them every week- rain or shine. Just to see a smile on my face when I open the door for him.” His mother’s smile is radiant, and he sees her peeking at the flowers again affectionately, as if just looking at them rings in a new bout of happiness all over again.

“So…” Carlos trails off, a million thoughts circling his mind. “Love means flowers?” His mother chuckles at that, patting his leg fondly.

“It could be, but everyone expresses love differently.” His mother says, before reaching up a hand to place over his heart. He looks at her, at the warmth in her eyes as her next words resonate within his mind.

 “Love can be big things, and it can be little things. It can be complicated, and it can be easy. You’ll find your own definition of it one day, and your dad and I will be with you every step of the way.”

***

“I can’t wait to sleep for a decade.” Carlos groaned, toeing off his shoes before stumbling across the entranceway towards the stairs, regretting not building an escalator instead when he had the chance. A strong arm wrapped around his waist, and a bright laugh that never failed to make his heart skip a beat echoed in his ear.

“That’s a coma, sweetheart, not quite something I support. Experience, and all that.” TK mused, squeezing the skin just above his hip in admonishment and making him jolt. He turned a glare to his boyfriend, who was just looking at him innocently.

“You’re not funny,” Carlos grumbled as they slowly made their way up the stairs. Technically, TK was practically dragging him up the steps since he could hardly register where each step began and ended but minor details.

He didn’t need to look up to know that TK’s eyes were shining with amusement, lips curled in a wide smile with its edges softened by affection. “I’m actually very funny, you’re just grumpy when you’re tired. And on the verge of a fever.”

“Am not.” Carlos huffed petulantly, which probably just further proved TK’s point, but the latter wisely chose not to comment on it. They reached the last step and Carlos made a beeline for his bed, flopping down face-first into the soft sheets, legs dangling off the edge, humming appreciatively.

Soft and warm, perfect after a horrendously long shift with a persisting headache.

He didn’t bother moving when hands gently lifted the rest of his body to lie on the bed, the very same hands then reaching underneath him to try and undo his belt.

“You’re going to have to do all the work,” Carlos mumbled; eyes still shut tight. TK snorted, the hand stopping their administrations to swat his thigh lightly.

“I’m trying to make sure you sleep more comfortably. I’ve done my fair share of passing out in uniform and the morning after is never pretty.” TK has successfully removed his belt now, and Carlos half-heartedly lifted his hips to help him tug the pants down. “In fact, there was one particularly memorable moment where I almost stabbed myself in the leg with a belt buckle.”

Carlos was suddenly a little more awake than before, mustering the last bit of his strength to look at TK incredulously, turning over on his back. He ignored his head protesting loudly at the movement.

“I’m going to need a full version of that story when my brain can process more than 5 words a minute.”

TK shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’ll never hear it because you’ll forget this ever happened when you wake up.” He finished yanking his pants off and moved to fold them neatly in half over a hanger and placing it on the door hook. Carlos watched him through hooded eyes, absently going along with the motion of changing his shirt before shifting up to lay his head on the pillow.

“So, sleep-related injuries from passing out in work clothes. Another thing to cross off your bucket list.” Carlos gladly accepted the swat on his leg at that.  

“One more word about this and I will go sleep on the couch,” TK warned jokingly, walking to the closet and pushing aside some of their clothing. They haven’t made it official yet, but Carlos already had a key – a permanent one, not a spare one that TK currently donned – prepared hidden in his gun safe waiting to be given, and the closet once only filled with his clothes began filling up with their clothes.

“Wha’re you doin’?” He asked blearily, already feeling himself pouting at the lack of warm boyfriend next to him.

“Looking for-ah, here it is.”

TK pulled out another blanket, the one that his mother had knitted for him when he was younger, and the only thing he could tolerate to be wrapped around whenever he was feeling under the weather.

Well, one of the only things.

He watched as TK gently tucked the blanket around him, seeing the familiar smile that lights up his face whenever he sees the design stitched on – a Gemini sign that stood out proudly among a sea of stars. He remembers mapping out imaginary constellations with his fingertips when he was younger, dreaming of what the stars would feel like underneath his touch – if the galaxy could be grasped within the palms of his hands.

“You mentioned the last time that your body temperature tends to go haywire when you aren’t feeling well, and that this was the only blanket you could tolerate,” TK says softly, and Carlos closes his eyes as the back of a cool hand felt his forehead.

“When did I say that?” Carlos mumbled, the haze of sleep threatening to take over, but he pushed himself to stay awake to hear the answer. TK shuffled some things around in the bed before sitting down, back against the headboard. Carlos didn’t hesitate to roll over towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking his face into his stomach, nuzzling into the soft warmth. He heard a fond chuckle, and smiled when featherlight fingers gently stroked his hair.

“I’ll tell you later. You should get some rest.” TK leaned down to kiss his forehead, the awkward angle not deterring him the slightest as he pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to stay.” The words came out a little garbled, and Carlos wasn’t sure if TK had heard him at all. He didn’t want to make TK stay with him when he could literally be doing anything else other than sitting with him while he slept off the fever. His arm seemed to protest at that thought, though it could also be his exhaustion at play when he didn’t pull it away from its spot around TK’s mid-section.

There was a pause, before the blanket was tucked around him even tighter, an arm wrapping around him to pull him in further.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

A million butterflies danced to that, fluttering about inside him as he tried to tamper down his quickening heartbeat. He couldn’t stop the lovesick smile even if he wanted to, tilting his head down to try and hide it.

“Plus, who’s going to wring cold towels and change them for you when you wake up? And make sure you actually eat something? Gotta put my paramedic privileges to work somehow.” Carlos grumbled incoherent words at that. Just because he was a living zombie when he was sick, and his whole body ached so badly he could sometimes hardly make it out of bed, let alone make anything to eat…

He’s been taking care of himself alone for years. And realistically, he knew he would be fine if left to his own devices.

“I’ll wait on you, hand and foot.” The words were light, teasing, reminding him of the heated debate they had the other night. There had been some history program playing in the background, and both of them had made varying sounds of contemplation when that particular phrase was said, sparking their usual bickering over the true meaning behind those seemingly innocent words.

This time, the words also carried a pleasantly heavy weight that settled in Carlos’ chest.

He was suddenly brought back to the time when he was 5 years old, gazing at the white lilies in that antique vase every morning. How he hadn’t understood why his mother carried an aura so bright and yet so soft at the same time every time she looked at them.

He could feel a stinging building up behind his closed eyes, his feelings always a tad bit of a mess when he was sick. They’ve already said the words, and the fact that they loved each other was ingrained in his mind and heart.

But there were also times like this, when Carlos wanted to grab the nearest jar and store the overwhelming love that was spilling out ardently. He wondered if the jar would feel as warm as he felt, what colour it would be, or if there would be enough space to fit it all.

It was times like these, that he would think,

Oh. There you are.

I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

 ***

One of the things they’ve agreed upon in the early stages of their relationship, was that TK was not to be allowed anywhere near the kitchen or sharp cooking utensils unless there was appropriate adult supervision and two (working) fire extinguishers within five feet. There were one too many incidences where Carlos could practically feel his heart ripping out of his chest and plopping onto the floor, stripping decades off his life.

So, when he comes home to wondrous spices assaulting his senses, he briefly wonders if he accidentally opened the wrong door.

He had been pulling a double when one of his co-worker’s wife went into labour, and he had messaged TK earlier about not knowing when exactly he’d make it home. He had expected to come home to dim lights and silence, thinking his boyfriend would have already gone to bed but he was taken off guard at the lights shining brightly in the kitchen and the soft background music playing from his speakers.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him alerted TK of his presence, and he was greeted with a smile that had his eyes crinkle happily at the sides.

“Hey, you.” His arms automatically spread apart to wrap around his boyfriend, laughing breathlessly at the way TK practically launched himself at him, trailing kisses up his neck.

“Missed me?” Carlos teased, leaning in for a few quick kisses before tucking his face in the crook of TK’s neck, his favourite spot to just breathe and take his boyfriend in after a long day. There was a heavy sigh in response, before he was met with a pair of eyes he never tired of losing himself in.

“It’s nothing new. I start missing you the second you leave our bed in the morning.” TK admits quietly, biting his lower lip nervously as if he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud. Carlos feels the familiar warmth spreading through him, and reaches up to gently pry his bottom lip free. He leans in to gently kiss the tip of his nose.

“Something smells amazing.” A welcome subject change, one that Carlos knows TK is grateful for, and he watches as his lips spread into a slow smile. Tugging on his hand, TK leads him towards the kitchen counter where various bowls of food were laid out.

“Everyone at the station has been giving me lessons. I thought Nancy was scary during training, it’s nothing compared to how she commands the kitchen. Even Paul was terrified but impressed.” TK was laughing as he continued on with a particularly hilarious incident that he repeatedly insisted was not his fault, but Carlos couldn’t help but be distracted by something scraping against his palm.

He looked down to see bandages covering the majority of TK’s fingers, looking like he had just left a particularly bad boxing match. All of his fingers had some sort of wrapping on it, most of them at the tips reaching just above the second knuckle, and a bulkier one on his right ring finger.

He looked back up to see TK smiling brightly without a care in the world, as if his hands weren’t completely covered with the scars of his labour. Not a single finger had been spared, and Carlos swallowed back the lump growing in his throat at how happy his boyfriend looked.

“Grace even swung by to indulge me in her family’s secret chilli recipe. We kind of went all out today in the kitchen, and everyone had enough to feed their entire family and their neighbours,” TK chuckled at the memory, picking up said bowl of chilli and holding it out to Carlos, a carefree grin painted across his lips. “I told them you were pulling a double, and how I wanted to take care of the cooking for tonight. They were more than happy to give me tips.”  

Carlos stared at the bowl in front of him, then at TK’s radiant smile, blinking against the mist clouding up his vision. The whiteness of the bandages contrasted sharply against the brown wooden bowl, and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss each and every single one.

Some days, the love he feels for the man before him is overpowering, sparking life in every single motion and touch. Other days, it’s warm and light, just like the perfect summer breeze flowing by in passing, or the sight of the sunrise ascending over the horizon. The gentle waves splashing by his ankles in a soothing beat.

Today, he’s filled with an ache he can’t quite describe. It’s an ache that he wants engraved into his very bones – an ache that he wants to re-live for a long, long time.

He wondered if it was possible to be numbed by pure happiness, not knowing where the tingling feeling in his body started or ended.  

Blinking a couple of times to anchor himself to the present, Carlos looked up to see TK’s worried gaze trained on him, the bowl of chilli sitting back on the kitchen counter.

Had he zoned off for too long?

“Judd, Mateo and Marjan sampled everything to make sure they were edible.” TK bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His hands were twitching imperceptibly, as if he was itching to wring them together but remembered the bandages at the last second. The almost frantic look in his eyes made Carlos shake out of his stupor, and he reaches forward the cup the back of TK’s neck with one hand, running his thumb soothingly along his nape.

“Baby, this is…” Carlos trails off, the ache in him pulsating the more he looked at the culinary production around them.

He feels truly lucky to have TK in his life, and the rest of his found family with the 126. It startles him sometimes, how he’s been living fine on his own for twenty-six years before TK came into his life, but now that he’s gotten a taste of what it was like to have an extra splash of colour, he wants to continue painting the world with all the newfound hues.

“Extra? Over the top? Too much?” TK rambled, and Carlos shook his head, meeting his gaze straight-on.

“Amazing.”

He knows he sounds a little breathless, but TK seems to lighten at that, his nervous smiling relaxing.  He silently obeys as TK gently guides him to one of the dining room chairs, arranging him around a little so that he was sitting, facing the gleamingly empty (for now) tableware.

“What would you like to indulge in first, my liege?” TK says playfully, hands kneading into Carlos’ shoulders to relieve the tension from a long day at work. He could feel himself grinning, reaching up a hand to cover one of TK’s, his thumb brushing against the bandages.

“You have been watching way too many historical dramas.” He mused, humming in approval as nimble fingers dug deeper into muscle, alleviating the residual tautness.

“There are only so many episodes of Grey’s I can handle watching without yelling at the medical inaccuracies. House is alright, but the way he treats patients would give him a lifetime of lawsuits he would never be able to climb out of. That in itself could be a whole series.” TK snorts, leaning back to plate some of the food. Carlos tipped his head back to watch him, already feeling his stomach yearning for everything his boyfriend was currently stashing onto his plate.

“I thought the point of watching those shows as a first responder is to enjoy the imperfections.” Carlos smiles fondly as TK lets out a quiet curse when a small piece of potato rolls off the plate, reaching out to grab a napkin to quickly wipe the spot on the counter.

“Pot meet kettle. You forget I watch Chicago PD with you, babe. I’m pretty sure I could recite the entirety of the Austin PD manual and 10-codes off the top of my head just from your heartfelt soliloquies every time they do anything.” TK shot him an unimpressed look, though the wide grin gave away his amusement.

He could feel himself pouting, not liking how true that was. “Yeah? Then what’s a 10-39 then?” Carlos raised an eyebrow, knowing he asked the wrong question when a predatory grin split across his boyfriend’s face.

“Something we both have abused in our professional duties,” TK smirked, walking over to place his plate in front of him before settling down at the seat across from him with his own plate, unconsciously linking their ankles together underneath the table.

“Uh, no. I haven’t. I think I would have noticed.” Carlos furrowed his eyebrows, growing more confused at TK’s quiet laughter.

“When I complained about traffic in Austin? And you very sweetly asked for a second round and offered to drive me to work with the light bars and sirens? Ring a bell?” TK wiggled his eyebrows, and Carlos makes a sound of protest.

“That doesn’t count!”

“You still offered. Which definitely counts.” TK chooses that moment to pick up a piece of lettuce to stuff in his mouth, effectively ending the conversation. Carlos rolls his eyes.

“That’s just cutting corners.” He huffs, stabbing into one of the potatoes purposefully, ignoring TK’s foot knocking against him. Conversation lulls for a while, and the more Carlos digs into the hearty meal before him, the more his skin tingles, kindled with warmth.

He reaches forward to squeeze TK’s hand, who in turn looks up at him curiously.

“Thank you. For all of this. It’s… I really appreciate it.” Carlos stutters, the overwhelming wave of emotion sweeping over him again as TK simply gives him that smile. The one smile that always seemed to be reserved for him – a smile he felt privileged to witness, and the smile he wanted to see every day for the rest of their lives.

“I can’t take all the credit,” TK’s smile is fond, no doubt remembering all the antics the entirety of the 126 were subject to earlier that day. “It was a team effort – I’m just glad it turned out alright with minor mishaps.” There was a sheepish look on his face, and Carlos notices how he’s picking at the heavier bandage on his right ring finger. He reaches across the table to take the hand gently in his, lifting it up to tenderly press his lips against it while their gazes were still locked on each other. There was a hint of pink that coloured TK’s cheeks at the gesture, making him smile against the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Minor mishaps, huh?” He remarks absently, but doesn’t push any further. TK curls his hand tighter to squeeze his before pulling back slowly.

“I added some more things to our Netflix queue. Want to call it a night and continue to preach about inaccuracies in medical and police dramas with me?” TK tilts his head invitingly, his eyes shining with mirth, and Carlos just wants everything with him.  

“I’ll get the popcorn.”

 ***

Leave work at the door.

That’s what his father had always done when he was growing up. All talk of casework, of work stress, were almost always shed like a layer of skin when he came home, a wide smile present on his lips as he lifted him up into a hug and gave his unruly curls a fond ruffle.

Which was why he was currently still at the station at 10:34pm, finishing up the unexpected paperwork that couldn’t wait when they had been called in to a tip just before his shift ended.

Sighing in both exhaustion and frustration, Carlos glared at the offending words in front of him, his pen tapping restlessly against the table as he chewed on his lower lip.

He had promised his little boy that he would make it home tonight to finally watch the new Disney movie together as a family, maybe even build a pillow fort. Now, that promise felt like a scar etched upon his heart bleeding through his every thought as he tried to focus on the papers in front of him.

Their schedules would start being asynchronous again tomorrow, and although it made it easier so that one of them could always be with their son when the other was on a shift, Carlos missed his husband. He missed coming home to more than just a passing kiss as the other left for their shift, he missed going to bed with a warm body to wrap around him, he missed seeing that smile he’s loved more and more every single day for the past seven years for longer than five seconds.

They tried to have at least one evening a week to just be husbands, to spend time with their son together as a unit, but the case he had been working on for months finally had a breakthrough and they hadn’t gotten proper family time for close to a month.

It was times like these that he didn’t get the usual satisfaction of seeing the nameplate Detective Carlos Strand-Reyes on his desk.

“That’s a very impressive scowl you have going on there, detective.”

Carlos almost falls out of his spinning chair at the amused voice speaking lowly in his ear and spun around abruptly to see TK grinning at him, their three-year-old son Micah in his arms giggling happily.

“Papa!” Micah’s ecstatic voice echoes through the almost-empty precinct, and Carlos immediately catches him in his arms when his son practically launches himself into them.

“Micah! TK, what –” Carlos was a little lost for words, but tampers down the confusion when Micah squishes his cheeks between his tiny hands, grinning broadly. He was sure if his partner hadn’t left to grab them another coffee, she would be taking pictures to last her a lifetime.

“Have gift!” Micah declares proudly, his legs shuffling excitedly as he sat down more comfortably in his lap, and Carlos tips his head up for a quick kiss with his husband before looking at TK questioningly.

“Our son didn’t like how you would be spending movie night alone doing work,” Carlos couldn’t help a laugh at TK’s terrible impression of their son. “So, we decided that since you couldn’t come to us, we would bring family to you.” TK’s expression softened at the end, and Carlos could see how his eyes were taking him in fully, his own eyes doing the same.

He notices his partner arriving back to the precinct then, pausing in the doorway of their shared office. Her eyes lit up with understanding, sending him a quick wink before mouthing out a ‘more for me,’ and gestured to the two coffee cups in her hands. She lifted one of the cups as if in cheers, and quietly slinked away to take a break elsewhere.

Carlos mentally noted to send her a gift basket sometime.

“But you were looking forward to watching the movie.” Carlos looks at his son, and Micah frowned up at him, looking at him like he had suddenly grown two heads.

“Moo’ night is moo’ night ‘cause we all there. Papa, daddy, me. Two…two…” Micah furrowed his eyebrows as he tries to remember the word and TK gently cuts in.

“Together, sweetheart.”

“Together!” Micah repeats louder, and Carlos kind of wants to cry.

TK lifts up a plastic bag between them, and he knows exactly what’s in there when Micah’s eyes light up mischievously.

“Really, Strand?” Carlos deadpans, a smile twitching on his lips at TK’s indignant pout. “A sugar rush near midnight?”

“It’s Strand-Reyes. I didn’t marry you in the pouring rain with a broken foot just for you to neglect the second half of my name. And some occasions require processed sugar no matter what time it is.” TK says softly, and Carlos is momentarily taken back to that memorable day five years ago, where everything that could have gone wrong actually did go wrong, as if testing their brush with fate.

But in the end, love won. Which meant come hell or high water, they would be standing on that altar, no matter how many hours they had to stay at the hospital afterward in lieu of their planned honeymoon.  

When he looks up into TK’s eyes, he could tell his husband had been thinking the same thing, and they shared a private smile.

“It’s chocolate.” TK grins, wiggling the bag enticingly as if his favourite flavour would make him cave, when he in fact had already caved a long, long, time ago.

“What a coincidence. I have French vanilla.” Carlos smiles as TK looks at him knowingly. He had let it slip once that he always kept a batch of French vanilla ice cream, TK’s favourite, in his private minifridge in the office ever since that night a couple of weeks into his new detective role when TK had come into the precinct soaked to the bone and on the verge of tears.

The news was never kind, and his fiancé had to find out through the grapevine that there had been a nasty altercation with the case he had been assigned to and immediately ran out of their house to search for him when he didn’t answer his cell phone. It was somehow the only thing they had at the precinct that day, and TK had stayed beside him for the rest of his shift, occasionally taking bites of the ice cream and cuddling close.

Now, the particular flavour of ice cream served more as both of their comfort food whenever they wanted to feel each other’s presence during a long shift, and sometimes just seeing the familiar packaging immerses him in comfort.

“Papa get break?” Micah’s question pulls him out of his thoughts, and he kisses the top of their son’s curls, smiling affectionately.

“It’s a good thing I have spoons, then.” Carlos pulls out the drawer meant for miscellaneous things, and takes out three plastic spoons from their packaging. He also reaches into the fridge to take out the container of ice cream, with TK doing the same with the two chocolate flavoured ones in the plastic bag. His husband passes one container to each of them, graciously accepting the one in Carlos’ hands extended to him before hopping on to sit on his desk.

“Papa happy?” Micah asked between spoonfuls, and Carlos hugs him tighter against him, leaning his cheek against the back of his head. He looks up at TK who’s watching them fondly, and he has a sudden urge to hug them tightly and never let go. He leaves that for when they all finish their midnight treats, instead reaching out to squeeze TK’s leg and kiss his son’s cheek, feeling lighter than air.

“I’m always happy when I’m with the two of you.”

 ***

Years of laughter, hours of tears. Days of contemplation, millions of joyous occasions.

And you were in every single one of them.

 “We are getting too old for this.”

TK makes a sound of disbelief, turning to shoot him a glare that’s just as piercing as they had been in their younger days, his green eyes sparkling with life.

“Says you, Mr. I’m-seventy-four-but-can-still-lift-double-your-weight. Age shaming will not be a thing that gets between us.” TK scowls, and Carlos laughs at the way the wrinkles that came with age and years of laughter and joy deepened. His husband’s hair was now almost completely grey, matching his own, and yet…

Tyler Kennedy Strand-Reyes was just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on him.

“My hips are already protesting, and you haven’t even asked me to stand yet.” Carlos mused, laughing as TK extended his hand to him then, looking down at him in exasperation. The dim light from the fireplace lit up his husband’s features in flashes of brief memoirs, with each passing of the flame’s light echoing a different time in their life.

“And when have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” TK raises an eyebrow, his fingers wiggling in front of him, and Carlos touches the palms of their hands together, admiring how well they fit together, even after all these years.

“Plenty of times,” Carlos responds, even as he gets up all the same. Like two pieces of matching puzzles, they fit together effortlessly. The lulling chords to a song whose name was just at the tip of his tongue was playing softly in the background.

“And your hips move just fine,” TK murmurs in his ear teasingly, and Carlos could feel the wide smile against his neck as he laughs.

They sway together, both of them lost in their own worlds. Carlos closes his eyes as he latches on to this moment just like all of their many others through the time they’ve spent together.

“Feeling wooed yet, babe?” Carlos couldn’t hold back a shiver at the warm current of air brushing past his ear, squeezing TK’s hip at the knowing smile pressed against his shoulder. It never ceases to amaze him how far they’ve come since the beginning, never once letting go of each other’s hands, facing anything life threw at them as a team.

All these years, and Carlos still remembered the night that forever altered their futures crystal clear. Two imperfect souls, meeting in the middle. Willing to share each other’s worlds, learn each other’s purpose, and choosing to love through it all.  

Shifting back slightly so that he could look into TK’s eyes, the beautiful green orbs that never failed to be filled to the brim with adoration since that night under the stars, Carlos smiles.

“TK, baby,” He reaches up a hand, cupping his husband’s cheek and feeling his heart stutter when he didn’t hesitate to lean into his hold. Tilting his head to gently press their foreheads together, Carlos revels in the tender warmth of their bubble of intimacy.

It’s with shining eyes as he continues.

 “You’ve been wooing me our entire lives.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 1. Back Into The Field

Intro: Picking up a few months on from the events of Stark Spangled Man, Katie finds herself on desk bound duty following a disciplinary for ignoring Fury’s orders. But when she’s finally released, and disaster strikes on the first mission she’s run in months, she kinda wishes she’d stayed there.

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of blood, injury, angst and a minor character death.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go. A relaunch of SSB thanks to my other blog being flagged. For those of you who are new, welcome! I hope you enjoy. And to all you current Stark Spangled Readers, welcome back, You might spot a few subtle differences as we go through, as things I’m not happy with have been rewritten but don’t worry, nothing will impact the mine lines in the hot mess that is Stark and Rogers.

As always, please leave your comments or send me messages, asks, anything. I love you all!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2013.

Any doctor would cry if they visited SHIELD; the caffeine and alcohol intake of pretty much every worker there would way exceed a dose construed to be healthy. Mind you, if you asked any agent whether they’d give up coffee or alcohol, they’d say alcohol in a heartbeat.

Well, most of them.

Katie couldn’t imagine surviving without an ice cold beer on a hot summer’s day, but she also didn’t function until she had her morning cup of Joe. It was a tough choice to make.

Not today though, she needed coffee. And lots of it. After ‘going rogue’ to chase the Mandarin with her brother, month’s later Fury was still pissed and as such was basically giving her the most boring thing he could think of- working through piles of mission reports to analyse and cross reference with others to pick up on common threads .To be honest, she didn’t mind it too much. After the excitement of the festive period she had welcomed a relatively quiet return to work, and didn’t particularly give a shit what Fury thought about her either.

She circling a part of the hard copy of the report she was working on with highlighter pen, before glancing back at her computer screen to cut and paste it into the Scrapbook App she used to trace trends with, letting out a groan. Who was she kidding? Desk duty sucked ass.

*****

Steve’s morning wasn’t going much better.

Whilst he wasn’t desk bound, after a particularly gruelling Ops Training session during which one of the newest kids suffered a broken nose after colliding painfully with a stray shock baton, he was almost wishing he was. Following a quick debrief, he checked his schedule on his phone and found he was free now for the rest of the day so he showered and headed up to find Katie. He found her in her office, paper in her hand as she stared at her computer screen, eyes narrowed. Steve watched her for a moment, taking in the way her nose crinkled as she read something, her bottom lip being dragged under her top teeth as she continued her work, completely unaware he was there. With a groan she dropped the notes she’d been holding to the desk and ran her hand through her dark hair.

Steve felt he was interrupting something, even though he knew he wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to appear like he’d been watching her either, which he totally had. So he gave a little cough and, as she turned round, her pretty face cracking into a smile which he returned. 

“Hey! How was training?”

“Don’t ask.” He let out a snort.

“That bad huh?”

“In a fashion.” He nodded, leaning on the door frame. “You had lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna come get some?”

She nodded instantly “God yes. Can we get FroYo after?”

“Yeah but don’t let me pile it with all that crap this time!” he shot her his best playfully disapproving look as he remembered his first trip the Frozen Yoghurt stall. He had loaded his with all sorts of different things and the result had been beyond foul.

Katie gave a laugh and picked up her jacket, shrugging it on. Standing up straight, he moved to allow her to step through the door and followed her to the elevator.

“Stick to chocolate chip, mint and cookie dough.” She said, stepping into it. “Trust me.”

They strode across the foyer and into the early spring sun. Katie pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they crossed the street, shivering a little in the cool breeze.

“How are you just wearing a shirt?” she looked at Steve as he fell into step besides her, making sure he was on the side nearest the road. He noticed that she’d long since given up chiding him on this old fashioned habit after he had revealed it was something he used to do for his mom too, and Bucky’s younger sister. In fact, today, he swore he saw something that looked like a soft smile flicker on her lips when he positioned himself on her left, but as quick as he noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s not too bad.” He grinned. “I’ve been through worse.” He opened the door to the Deli for her and followed her in as they took their place in the queue. After a moment or two he became aware that she was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, turning to her exasperatedly. Katie couldn’t help but grin, she enjoyed winding the usually mild mannered man up

“I’m trying to imagine how you would look with a beard. And with shorter hair.” she mused, causing the Captain to roll his eyes.

“Not gonna happen.”

“What the hair cut or the beard?”

“Neither.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Captain America doesn’t have a beard.” he shook his head.

“No but, Steve Rogers could…”

She was impossible, but Steve couldn’t help but want to laugh. This playfulness was the thing that he enjoyed the most, how she could just treat him like any other punk she knew.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re exhausting?” he rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his face as she stepped forward in the queue.

“Yeah, you.” she spun round to face him, grinning “Several times. But you still come back for more.”

“Well I have the distinct impression if I didn’t you’d hunt me down anyway”

They ordered and ate their lunch, Steve filling her in on the ops drill and after Fro-Yo they made arrangements to slob out that evening at his with a film. They walked back to the Triskellion where Katie headed back to her office to continue sifting through the Mount Everest of reports she had to do. As with anything, once she got the bit between her teeth, she completely zoned out. It was only when she heard a gabble of voices all bidding each other goodbye that she looked up from her work. It was dark outside, and past six.

“Shit.” she groaned as the realisation washed over her. She was supposed to be at Steve’s for half past. She clicked to save her work whilst calling him at the same time, phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder.

“So…I’m running late.” She apologised the instant he answered. He chuckled.

“I thought that you said the one good thing about being confined to desk duties was that you set the hours.”

“Yeah, well I got caught up in something, but I’m leaving now. Do you want me to grab pizza on the way?”

“Sounds good, not Chicago Style though. I’m hankering for a proper piece of pie.”

“God you’re such a New Yorker.” She rolled her eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” His voice took on a mock hurt tone and she could imagine him pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Hmmm, I’m undecided. Right, I’m leaving now. See you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

“What are you my dad?” she snorted at his stern instruction.

“Old enough to be.” he shot back.

“Touche.” she sniggered, cutting the call

*******

“Boring New York style for Mr S Rogers…” she spoke into the intercom at the main door to Steve’s apartment complex and he buzzed her in. By the time she’d climbed the stairs to his floor he was waiting, leaning on the door frame.

“Bout time.” He muttered, taking the boxes off her “Was about to send a search party.”

“Mario’s was packed.” Katie said, kicking off her sneakers and heading straight through to his kitchen to grab a beer out of his fridge without waiting for him to offer, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. 

Steve headed into the living room, depositing the thee boxes on the coffee table before he sank onto the couch and reached straight in for one of the pepperoni slices. A few moments later Katie flopped down next to him, handing him a beer.

“What we ticking off the list tonight?” she asked.

“A Few Good Men.” he said, nodding at the TV where he had queued the movie up ready.

“Wait, did you manage to navigate that Android box all by yourself?” She looked at him and he sighed. 

“I’m not completely useless ya know.”

“Jury’s out.” she teased, curling her legs up onto the sofa next to her.

They watched the movie. Steve got most of the references within it. He chuckled in the right places, and laughed out loud when Katie was unable to stop herself uttering the immortal line You can’t handle the truth. When the credits began to roll,  Katie unfolded herself from where she had been sat and they launched into Steve’s favourite part of Movie Nights- the post film analysis.

“Who was the guy who played the colonel, Jessup?” he looked at her.

“Jack Nicholson. Amazing actor. He’s in a few on your list.”

“He was good. And I know he was supposed to be the good guy so to speak but Kaffee annoyed me a little. He was so arrogant.”

“He reminds me of Tony” Katie sniggered.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything” Steve gave a little smirk and Katie shrugged.

“I get what you mean though. He is an ass, and it pisses me off a little the romance angle they take with him and Galloway. I mean, she’s portrayed as this strong woman, in the male dominated military woman and they still have to go there.”

“It does seem to be a tried and tested format.” Steve nodded, leaning back against the cushions on his couch “Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy wins girl over…even the movies I saw back in before I took a sub-zero nap were the same.”

“I suppose it appeals to the hopeless romantic in all of us.” Katie shrugged.

They continued to chat for a bit longer until Katie glanced at her watch, and seeing the time, decided to call it a night. Steve walked her down to her car, he always did without fail, another thing she had given up chiding him for and when he came back upstairs and got in the shower, he found himself straying back to the first time he had seen her, the minute she had stepped into the light in the boxing gym and he’d found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

The more he stood there in the stream of hot water, thinking about her, the more he started to feel something…well…different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it that he found her attractive? Well of course he did. To be honest, he reckoned you’d have to be blind not to. And if he was totally honest, since he’d seen her the first time in that little boxing gym in New York he had noticed how pretty she was. She had the figure of the stars of his time. Hour glass waist, brunette hair, shapely ass and legs and quite large breasts considering she was so slim. But what did it for him were her eyes. Deep, sparkling emeralds that he could lose himself in quite happily. And that smile, that fucking smile that could make him stop in his tracks when she flashed it.

But it was more than just that, she was…well…just Katie.

It was strange, really, she reminded him so much of Peggy in some ways, but in others she was so different. Both were vivacious, smart, strong willed and beautiful. But where Peggy had been harsh, after a military upbringing, Katie had a softer edge to her. She was still ferocious at times, but she was a people person, and somehow knew exactly how to explain and understand what he was trying to say even when he struggled to himself. She made him feel at ease. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising they had grown so close. He could trust her and knew that she would do anything for him because she was a good person. And she made it so easy to be around, he didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness around her. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself a friend he could be as honest and open with again, one he would happily lay his life on the line for, not just out of a sense of duty but out of a sense of love and friendship.

Who you trying to kid, Rogers? 

He knew his feelings went deeper than that. All those times he’d felt irritation at other men looking at her or touching her, all those times he’d looked at her and just wanted to smile because she was just her… the fear he had felt when he had known she was off chasing the Mandarin and he wasn’t able to help…none of that was anything to do with mere friendship. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiles of the shower cubicle and groaned. He was crushing on his best friend.

He was so fucked. *******

Katie’s desk arrest didn’t last much longer. Two weeks later she was catapulted back into the field, on what was supposed to be a simple op, simple by SHIELD standards, anyway. They had a request from the Cuban government – all very hush, hush, of course –to take down a drug lord who ran a cartel SHIELD had tangled with last year.

Katie, in her role as Mission Analyst, read the files and all the intel, pulled together a briefing and delivered it, answering questions that came her way from the team and then handed over to Steve when it was his turn to take the floor. He started issuing out his orders, and informed everyone that the three newest recruits would be joining them as it would be a fairly straight forward op to ease them into.

And it had been, for the most part, until one of those new recruits, Jack Adams, had frozen mid fire fight and as a consequence he’d taken three bullets to the chest. Which shouldn’t have been an issue given the armour they all wore. But when the man failed to get up, Katie knew there was something very, very wrong.

“Adams is down!” she loudly spoke into her radio as she took aim at the hostile responsible. As soon as she was sure the round she had let off had hit her target, she broke cover to get to Adams, as she was closest to him. She skidded to the floor, pressing her hand to his chest and her other reached to his face, turning it to look at her.

“I got you, Adams, look at me.” she urged gently, her hand warm, wet and slick with the young man’s blood. Steve dropped besides her and she turned to face him.

“Armour piercing rounds.” She shook her head. “Steve, I can’t stop the bleeding.” Her tone left the Captain in no doubt as to how worried she was and he looked around frantically for help.

“Medic, NOW! We need emergency evac…”

“Stay with us, Jack.” Katie reached into her belt and retrieved a tab of morphine as he young man’s hand gripped her other whilst she administered the pain relief.

“Son, you’re gonna be fine.” Steve spoke and Adams’ horrified eyes turned to Steve. The soldier swallowed, fighting to keep his face calm. He’d seen that expression so many times on the battle field, the one that told him the man who lay injured knew he was injured beyond repair, that there was nothing to be done for him. But this was now seventy years into the future, medical science had worked so many wonders since then, they had to be able to do something, right?

“RUMLOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT MEDIC?” Katie screamed, her tone frantic.

“Still got hostiles on us!” Rumlow replied over the coms. “Evans has taken four down but they’re approaching from the right! We need to cover the medics in and now you’re down there…”

Steve instantly looked round before he looked back at Katie “We’ll have to take him ourselves”

She bit her lip, looking at the young man, then up to Steve again. Everything in their training told them not to move casualties, but Steve knew if they stayed here he was going to bleed out. Katie seemed to come to the same conclusion and she nodded.

“Alright. Brock, we’re coming to you. Have the medics prep the bay on the jet.. Evans, we need top cover.”

“Roger, Cap…”

“Jack, we’re gonna move you now.” Katie looked at him, her voice calm and level as besides her, Steve moved to take the injured man into a lift over his shoulder. Once he had him positioned, he gave a small jerk of his head and Katie picked up his shield in one hand, and her pistol in the other as they broke cover, sprinting across the front of the industrial yard towards the jet. In the corner of his eye, Steve spotted two hostiles moving but before he could shout a warning, Katie had fired off two shots, the thumps and lack of returning fire meaning each bullet had hit its target. Soon they were joined by Rumlow and Rollins who flanked them up the ramp where Katie dropped Steve’s shield to the floor with a clang and offered her hand back to Adams as Steve placed him gently on the stretcher.

“It’s gonna be ok.” Katie soothed him as the medics bustled around, her eyes glancing up every so often to watch what they were doing.

“Can you tell my mom I love her and, and my dad.” Adams was mumbling now and Katie shook her head.

“You can tell them yourself.” She told him fiercely. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re locked down outside, local authorities are handling it now.” Rumlow informed Steve who had stepped back from where Katie was knelt by the injured man. “How is he?”

Steve turned to Rumlow, shaking his head sadly. “Not good. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that point Katie suddenly drew back slightly, looking at the hand held in hers, before she glanced at the medic who was sadly shaking his head. Katie’s shoulders slumped as her eyes closed, face screwing up into a pained expression and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger as he realised that the young man had lost his final fight.

“Shit.” Rumlow muttered.

“Radio base” Steve turned to Rumlow his voice soft “Let’s get him home.”

*******

Writing mission reports wasn’t Katie’s favourite thing to do, but this one was awful. So she’d treated it like ripping off a band aid, and after a horrific night’s sleep, she’d been at the Triskelion early to get it done. As a result it was little after ten am, she was done for the day and was about to head home until she heard a familiar voice.

“Eat me…eat me…” The voice was accompanied by a bag from her favourite bakery, which was hovering in the space between the door to the office and the frame, before Clint Barton’s head poked round the side, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey!” She beamed at her friend as he dropped a cup holder containing two coffees and the bag onto her desk before taking a seat, scooting the wheeled chair over the floor towards her.

“Heard you had a rough time of it yesterday so I brought donuts and almond croissants. And coffee.”

“Hawkeye, you are a godsend.” Katie smiled, taking a large drink and leaning back, closing her eyes.

“That the first time you’ve lost a man on a mission?” Clint asked.

“Other than Coulson.” she shrugged. “Shit, Adams was twenty-three Clint. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

Clint watched as she rubbed at her temple before reaching into the bag and pulling out an almond croissant. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, it must have at least been before the mission.

“How’s Cap taken it?”

“On the outside he seems okay, but I know he blames himself. Keeps saying he shouldn’t have taken him.” Katie shrugged “He’s gone with Fury to see Adams’ parents. Rather him than me.”

“This job is hard.” Clint said after a moment or two pause. “We fight to keep everyone safe, but y’know, sometimes not everyone makes it. Thing is, if we can’t find a way to deal with that, then maybe next time no one gets saved at all.”

“You mean like Collateral damage?” she snorted, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that everyone one of us that are out in the field know the risks Nova, hell last year 7 of us took on a horde of Aliens in New York. For hours we fought them, and did any of us give a second thought to our own safety? No, because that’s what we do.”

His words made sense. She knew they did, but that didn’t stop the feeling in her stomach that if she had done her research more, maybe she could have spotted something that would have told them about the armour piercing rounds.

*******

Adams’ parents already knew he was dead. Fury had the local authorities call ahead, common practice now, but still, Steve found himself sat on their couch, talking, informing them all about their son’s last moments. They hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed or blamed him. Instead, they’d thanked him for what he had done and for bringing him back so they could hold a proper burial.

By the time he got back to base, he was exhausted.

“Here.” Fury handed him a glass of scotch from the bottle he had pulled out of his desk. Steve took it, dropping onto one of the sofas at the side of the large office, Fury settling into the other. Steve knew the drink couldn’t get him drunk, but he liked the momentary buzz he got that lasted all of sixty seconds post sip, and the comforting burn it gave when he swallowed.

The pair of them sat in silence for a few moments before Fury sat forward, his eye fixed on Steve.

“Ever done that before, a death message?” he asked.

“Can’t say I have. Wasn’t really my job back in the day.” Steve shrugged, undoing his tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt.

“Worst part of the job. Doesn’t matter how many times you do it, never gets any easier.” Fury ran his hand over his face, and it struck Steve how tired his boss actually looked.

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly up there with my favourite thing to do.” Steve rolled his tie up and shoved it into the pocket of his old Army uniform pants.

“How’s Nova?” Fury asked.

“She’s upset.” Steve sighed “But she’s strong, she’ll be okay. I’m gonna head over and see how she is later.”

“You two spend a lot of time together outside of work.” Fury commented, innocently enough but there was something in his tone, something that was almost good natured accusation.

“Not a problem is it, Sir?” Steve asked, keeping his face straight.

“No, not at all.” Fury said “Why do you think I partnered you up in the first place? She’s a people person…”

“She’s a good friend.” Steve nodded “We get on.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fury nodded. There was another moment’s pause before he spoke again. “There’s going to be a debrief with the Secretary of Defense tomorrow.”

Steve sighed “If they’re looking to blame someone, the buck stops with me. I should never have taken the kid.”

“Bullshit.” Fury said simply “I’ve read the reports. From what they say, he just froze.”

“He wasn’t experienced enough.”

“Taking risks is part of this job. It’s a dangerous gig.” Fury held his gaze. “It was a straight forward in and out job Captain. What happened was an accident. A tragic one, but an accident none the less. From the reports, neither you nor Stark could have done any more to save his life.”

Steve shrugged, the words were kind but didn’t help him feel any better.

Three glasses of scotch later, Steve shook the director’s hand and left the office, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to appear like he was checking up on Katie, so he pinged her a text, dressing it up like it was him who needed to see her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He did. He was craving the normality she gave him.

Can I come over? I could do with seeing a friendly face

He read it a few times, before deciding it was casual enough before he sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.

My door is always open for you. And I made Mac and Cheese. Plenty left.

He couldn’t help but smile. One of the best things about this new life was the food, and her Mac and Cheese was frankly his favourite thing to eat on the planet.

He changed into a pair of sweats and a hoody, hastily making his way to Katie’s penthouse and the smile she gave him when he walked into her place instantly made him feel at ease.

“Hey.” she crossed the space towards him and gave him a hug which he happily melted into, a hug they both needed.

“How did it go?” she asked, pulling away.

“As well as can be expected.” He sighed as he followed her into the kitchen, dropping into the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “His mom broke down but they didn’t shout or yell.”

Katie flipped the lid off a beer and handed it to him. He took it, with a nod of thanks and pulled a large swig before he rest his hands on the counter, staring at the bottle.

He was brooding and blaming himself, Katie could tell, so she gently lay her hand on his, reaching over the counter.

“It wasn’t your fault Steve.” she spoke softly and he looked at her.

God, she did that all the time, knew what he was thinking. It gave him the unnerving impression that sometimes she could read his mind.

“I should have spotted that shooter.” he shook his head.

“I’m the fucking mission analyst.” she sighed. “I knew from last time those guys were packing, if I’d done more research, maybe I would have found out about the armour piercing rounds.”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself?” Steve’s frowned.

“Why not?” she shrugged sadly. She’d been over it a million times in her head that day and had come to the same conclusion every time. She should have spotted something, dug further. “I didn’t do my job.”

“Yes, you did.” he implored, his eyes locking onto hers “Your report clearly set out the layout, the learning from previous missions…Adams was just too inexperienced, I should never have taken him.”

There was a pause as the microwave pinged and Katie turned to look at it.

“You know, Clint made a good point before.” she reached in for the plate and the smell of the food made his stomach grumble again as she continued “This job, it’s hard. We fight to keep people safe but not everyone makes it back all the time…and if we can’t learn to live with that then maybe next time no one gets saved.”

“It feels like trading lives.” He took a deep breath as she placed the plate down in front of him “It’s just wrong.”

“I know.” She said, handing him some cutlery and sat down next to him.

“You eaten?” he asked, looking at her, suddenly aware she didn’t have a plate. She nodded.

“Couldn’t have waited until now, I’d have starved to death.” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly.” he replied, mouth full, instantly realising he had said the wrong thing as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that a fat joke?” she asked, making him roll his eyes as he swallowed. That hadn’t been it at all, he was referring to the fact that she never actually stopped eating, despite her tiny frame she gave him a run for his money.

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re tiny.” he said, almost choking on his food through his protests.

“So now you’re making short jokes?” She shot back. Steve looked at her, dismayed she thought he was being mean to her but then he spotted the look in her eyes and rolled his own.

“Punk.”

“Jerk” she shot back. 

It was the perfect way to escape the trauma and stress of the last few days. Once they had finished eating the two of them flopped down on her large L shape sofa, Steve’s legs extended along one side of the L shape, her legs tucked underneath her as she leaned against his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of her shampoo…apple, he thought, along with her perfume. Her proximity was making his head buzz but he wasn’t about to move her, the contact was comforting. And it clearly was for her too as about an hour or so into the film- the first in the Lord of The Rings trilogy- he felt her head growing heavy. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed and, as he watched, her head slipped slightly. He shifted so that he could catch her gently, and grabbed a cushion from behind him, placing it against his leg. He manoeuvred her head so that she was lay down, gently brushing her hair off her face. She stirred slightly, snuggling down further into the cushion as he absentmindedly rubbed between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew gentle and even.

Steve stayed like that, engrossed in the film right to the end, surprisingly. He had enjoyed it. Katie hadn’t woken up, and he looked down debating whether or not to wake her or simply carry her through to her bedroom. In the end he decided to do neither, instead he reached for the remote as he sifted through to find something else to watch. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he was too comfy and too at ease. Picking one of his favourites, Casablanca, he settled down, getting himself comfy as he immersed himself in the familiar world of Rick’s Café Americain. At one point he felt his eyes growing heavy and he lay his head back, deciding to rest them for just a little while…

**** Katie was jolted awake, quite violently, and as she jerked into an upright position she saw exactly why. Steve was thrashing in his sleep, his face contorted in horror, small murmurs and whimpers slipping from his plump lips. She placed both her hands on his shoulder and shook him. Softly at first, then a bit stronger, trying to rouse him.

“Steve…” she gave him a harsher shake and his eyes flew open, wide in panic and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Her soft voice filled Steve’s senses and, as he realised where he was and whose eyes were looking at him, he took a shaky breath and lay his head back.

Damned it, he’d fallen asleep and had a nightmare. On her sofa.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice croaky, “I err…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” Katie shook her head gently “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Whilst she was gone he leaned forward, swinging his legs off the couch so his feet touched the floor, wiping his clammy head with his hands, the memory still flashing through his dream.

Cold air was blasting his hair back…there was a hole in the side of the train…then a flash of light and Bucky flew straight through the hole. “BUCKY…” he yelled, grabbing onto the side of the train, the bar in one hand as he stretched to reach his friend with the other.

“Steve…” The voice was louder, but not loud enough. No, he had to get to Bucky…

But he was gone, Steve was grasping at nothing but air.

Just a dream, Katie had said. It was anything but…

She appeared back in the room with a glass of water and he thanked her as she passed it to him. He took a large gulp, swallowing and was relieved when his breathing began returning to normal.

“You ok?” she asked, kindly as her hand gently knotted into his, her concern evident.

“Yeah, just a nightmare.” he nodded softly “I’ve not had one for a while.”

“Understandable with what’s happened. Wanna tell me what it was about?”

“It was Bucky.” he swallowed thickly “I was replaying the moment he fell. The moment he plummeted to his death from that Hydra train and I didn’t save him.”

Katie stayed silent for a moment before her hand curled round Steve’s shoulder and she pulled him to her, causing him to lay his head on her shoulder. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more” The guilt ate Steve up every day, that he had survived. Why had he deserved that any more than Bucky?

“How?” she said again. “How could you have done anymore?”

"I should have gone after him.” he said quietly.

“What would’ve changed if you had?” Katie asked. “There’s no way he could have survived that fall.”

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.“ He replied, "I should have gone after him, brought him home, done something.”

Katie remained quiet, her hand gently running through his hair which was nice, far too nice. He took a deep breath and sat up moving away from her touch.

"What time is it?”

“Nearly six in the morning” Katie glanced at her watch.

“You’re kidding?” Steve snorted.

“Nope. You want some coffee?” she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

“Yeah if that’s ok.” he replied, following her to the kitchen. From her body language he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if she wasn’t facing him.

“I don’t know if your Ma ever told you, but it’s rude to run out on a girl after you spend the night with her.”

“And as you know, I’m useless with women.” he sat down at the barstool on the breakfast bar. He watched her, but he didn’t say anything as she bustled about, throwing some bread in the toaster and then went to the fridge for the butter, marmalade and jam, sliding them onto the island. At that point Steve held his hands up.

“You don’t have to-” he started to say, but she silenced him with a glare, similar to the ones Peggy used to give him, the look that could stop him in his tracks it was that stern.

“Shut up.” she poured them both a cup of the coffee before adding milk and a spoon of sugar to each, passing one to him. The bread popped up from the toaster, and she put it on a plate before sliding it over to him and adding more bread to the machine.

His stomach rumbled and he gave in, smearing butter over his toast. He eyed the jam curiously. He’d had marmalade before but…

He looked at Katie and she nodded. “It’s good.”

So he added some, and after a bite he concluded she was right, and nodded in agreement. Once the next round of toast was done she sat next to him.

“So, when did I fall asleep.” she asked, swallowing her food.

“About an hour into the film.”

She shook her head “What an ass…”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He replied honestly as he took a bite of his breakfast. “To be honest I enjoyed it.”

“What, me drooling on your leg?”

He swallowed, his eyes wide “I meant the film.”

“I know.” she smirked.

***** Chapter 2

**Original Posting**

[ranger-kellyn]

Do you ever think about how in BOTW Robbie says in his diary he never got to say goodbye to Purah? Like- I can't. I JUST CAN'T! 😭

WHEN I TELL U I THINK ABOUT THAT NEARLY EVERY DAY I AM ONLY BARELY EXAGGERATING

i reFUSE to accept it. i think he lied in his notebook. they all write their journals like they're EXPECTING them to be read. they all LIED and i rEFUSE-

-----

have the extended wip from my very first wip wednesday based on this VERY THING

-----

Slapping her hands over her mouth was all Purah could do to smother her own laughter, watching as Robbie smacked Link in his lower back with his rolled-up notebook.

“I’m starting to think I liked it better when you kept your nose outta things!” Robbie said, huffing and puffing his entire way back to his chair.

“I’m sorry!” Link said, keeping his distance out of swatting range.

Robbie swatted at the air, grumbling again.

Looking over at Link, all Purah could do was grin. “What’cha get into this time, Linky?” she asked.

He crossed his arms, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Journals I never said he could read!” Robbie answered, getting another laugh from Purah.

“How was I supposed to distinguish that from all your other mess of papers that you said I could?” Link asked.

The look Robbie shot her was that of, ‘Can you believe this guy?’

She shook her head. “Now he’s done it to both of us…”

Robbie continued to fuss at Link, all the way until Jerren and Zelda came to his rescue, dragging him along on their trip to Skull Lake to further investigate the shrine that was there.

Given it had been over 100 years since they last saw one another, Purah opted to stay behind with Robbie to continue catching up.

For the both of them, seeing one another after so long was...odd, at best; but in the same breath, odd always accompanied their relationship in some way, pre-calamity and post-calamity, so it wasn’t too hard to find a rhythm with one another again.

On Purah’s end, it was odd seeing Robbie as he was now. As a little old man, with a wife and a kid. (Never mind the part where his wife had been her assistant at one time)

For Robbie, even though he was fully aware of her experiment that had led to her physically reverting to a child, nothing could have prepared him to see her looking almost exactly as she did the day they last saw one another, the only key difference being a lack of dye in her hair and on her nails.

“What was he even getting into, anyway?” Purah asked, setting her cup of tea on the table separating them.

Unrolling the notebook, he leaned forward to place them down, angled to where she could read the first page -an invitation to continue reading if she wanted. “Just an old journal detailing coming out here and whatnot. My fault for having it out, I guess.”

Waiting for him to lean back, she looked down at it. “Can I?” she asked.

He nodded. “Go ahead. Nothing good in there, anyways. Just a lot of guilt,” he said, tugging at her heart.

She knew the feeling all too well. Far too many of her early journals were just detailed rants about the guilt she felt about not having done enough to stop the calamity.

As she began to read the first few pages, a smile tugged at her lips. His writing always tended to be more...poetic. Writing tended to be the only place he ever properly gathered his thoughts, whereas when speaking he could easily get off on one tangent, only to go down six other tangents before finally getting to the point.

It was one of many things that helped them get along, seeing as she was no better in the manner.

“Pushy? Me a pushy woman?” She asked, her grin evident in her tone.

He crossed his arms, returning the grin. “Don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said.

She rolled her eyes in a playful manner. “I have never been pushy a day in my life. Especially not when it came to you,” she teased.

He chuckled. “Pushiest damn woman I’ve ever worked with,” he said.

When she looked up at him over the notebook, it occurred to him that, a lifetime ago, the look would have been more than enough to drive him mad in only the best kind of way. In only the way Purah ever did.

“Oh, please, you liked it. You wouldn’t have rolled over so easily if you didn’t. Mister Rebel Without A Cause only ever let me push him around,” she added.

“You and now my wife, apparently,” he said, thinking nothing of the comment.

Purah hesitated, re-reading the same line she had been on again. “That’s because I trained her first,” she said.

She re-read the line again, still not absorbing any of the words, too suddenly consumed with the thought of her oldest partner marrying and having a child with her old assistant. An assistant who was fifty years younger than the both of them.

If there was one major drawback of suddenly being so much younger, physically, it was that her emotions had distinctly become harder to control again. All the experience from her lifetime wasn’t enough when faced with a frontal lobe that wasn’t fully developed again.

A frontal lobe that only wanted to scream about how wrong all of it was. A frontal lobe that was competing with the knowledge that the calamity had forced people into odd situations, good, bad, and indifferent.

Robbie and Jerren were merely a product of the calamity; two people making the best of a bad situation neither had any control over and--

She re-read the line for a third time, finally registering a few words.

Though, it was thanks to her third re-read that she realized something: this wasn’t Robbie’s writing.

At least, it wasn’t his writing from when it would have been written.

Despite his hasty nature, his handwriting had always been immaculate. Neat, flowing letters, always in a perfect line even without some sort of paper line to guide him.

This handwriting was...scratchier. Some things didn’t connect the way they would have in the past. It wasn’t like his current handwriting, but it was better…

As she turned the page to continue reading, she hesitated.

Up to that point, she knew his account wasn’t entirely accurate, but had chalked it up to emotions getting in the way.

The way he described their parting, however, was an outright lie.

“Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice that Dr. Purah had slipped away. I knew Hateno Village wasn't much farther along the road, and that the Calamity had barely touched that area... So I felt safe letting her continue on her own. We parted ways without even saying good-bye, I suppose. Stirring myself back to action, I set out on my own journey back to Kakariko Village.”

Closing the notebook over her finger, she looked up at Robbie. “You and I both know that’s not how we parted,” she said, keeping her voice down, as though there was even anybody to overhear.

He looked away, unable to come up with a response.

“I might have skipped over some details, but I at least implied what happened,” she continued, feeling a distinct ache in her chest, cursing her young body. She had sworn a long time ago she had put all those feelings to rest.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he carefully looked back up at her. “You know I very well couldn't have written out every little detail like some trashy novel-”

“Like I said, I at least implied…” she defended.

Though, there had been a journal, long ago, right after she set up in Hateno, where she detailed everything. From everything the two of them had done, to every emotion she had forced herself to hold back from saying.

The guilt she felt from burning it in the ancient furnace nagged at her now and then.

“Don’t know why I’m trying to keep secrets after 100 years.” He adjusted himself to be more comfortable in his chair. “That’s an amended version, Cherry.”

From the other room, she just barely heard the Ancient Oven stir to life, a low grinding sound as it moved around.

Despite herself, she felt a shiver run up her spine. It had been a long time since she last heard that nickname. A nickname he had given her after she first put the red streak in her hair. A nickname she only allowed him to use.

A nickname she realized he had omitted from the journal -something he would have never done in the past.

She leaned forward again to put the notebook back in its place, her desire to read any more thoroughly quashed. “You never told Jerren about us, did you?” she asked.

“No, but in my defense, you never did, either,” he said.

“No, but I didn’t knock her up and marry her, did I?” she asked, not holding back any of the bite.

He seemed to flinch at her words.

Over 100 years later, and she could still get a rise out of him; always knowing just how to get under his skin.

And like 100 years ago, no matter how much he wanted to fight back, he rolled over.

“Jerren wasn’t even born by the time you and I had to part ways. There wasn’t a point in bringing it up,” he said.

She’d rather he just punch her in the gut.

She wanted to fight back. To yell. To lay into him for making her think that what they had never actually meant anything.

For the life of her, she couldn’t. No words would come out.

Robbie breathed a laugh. “I know that look, Cherry.” She wanted to tell him to drop the nickname. “Whatever you’re overthinking, don’t overthink it.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing herself back into her chair. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got an old man's brain! I’m over here stuck with my dumb twenty-something brain that is determined to bring up every dumb emotion I swore up and down I had buried!”

He was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

Staring at the fire crackling away in the fireplace, she nearly jumped when he said her name.

“Humor me. Come with me a minute,” he said, sliding off his chair.

She said nothing, but stood to follow him.

He led them back into the main room, where the Ancient Oven turned to greet them, their weird voice tone still grating to Purah’s ears.

“Greetings, Dr. Robbie and FamiliarNameMissing,” they said.

Robbie chuckled, regarding the machine with a look that was probably uncomfortably soft for just about anyone else. Purah, however, remembered the look well. He had always been attached to the guardians they had drug into the Royal Research Lab, giving each of them individual names.

At the time, she pretended to think it was stupid, but, secretly, she had known all the names he had given them.

“My pride and joy, the Ancient Oven. Few things I love more in life,” he said.

She breathed a laugh, uncrossing her arms.

“Jerren, though...hates it,” he continued, getting another laugh from Purah.

“Kinda figured that. The way the poor thing sprung to life after Link finally replaced the blue flame told me it hadn’t been on for a while,” she said.

It had been rather sweet; Link not even needing to be asked to do it. The second they arrived, he saw that the outside furnace wasn’t lit, and headed off without prompt. The personality adjustment was still new to everyone, but he still had his core, endearing qualities.

“Ancient Oven wasn’t her original name,” Robbie continued. “And well...I suppose you deserve the truth.”

The machine looked between the both of them, Purah now regarding her...differently.

“Ancient Oven, what’s your name?” he asked.

She focused on him. “My name is simply Ancient Oven,” she responded in her odd cadence.

He shook his head. “What’s your real name? The name I gave you?” he clarified.

She hummed for a second, a slow grind of her gears. “My name is Cherry.”

There had been considerable heat emitted from the machine before, but Purah was positive the heat she was now feeling was from her own flush.

“Why are you named that?” Robbie asked.

“I am named after the first woman you ever loved...” The machine almost seemed to hesitate.

Maybe it was a part of her programing to acknowledge everyone within her vicinity while talking.

Maybe it was pure happenstance.

Maybe the machine somehow knew.

“Cherry,” she concluded, looking straight at Purah.

If she was flushed before, she was having a full-on hot flash now.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I love Jerren dearly. I love the son she gave me more than life itself...but there will always be a part of me that belongs to you.”

Run.

She wanted to run.

She wasn’t sure what was making it so hard to breathe. The heat from Cherry, her own flush, or the knowledge that she could say the very same to him.

She wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry-- I shouldn't be here,” she said, turning on her heel to leave.

“Purah-”

“No, no- I shouldn't be here. This was stupid- I’m so fucking stupid-- I knew coming here would do this! I knew seeing you would do this,” she said, ranting her way to the door. She didn’t even bother going back for her coat, or anything else she didn’t have on her person. Zelda and Link could grab it for all she cared. She needed to get out.

“Purah, please,” he pleaded, following her to the door.

The midday air outside was far cooler thanks to the constant breeze coming off the ocean.

She looked around, searching for Mule among the horses in the nearby holding pen.

“Maybe I should have left without saying goodbye! I knew it then-- I should have made you hate me! Getting you to hate me- I should have. I should have done it.” She nearly tripped down the stairs, barely catching herself in time.

“You know damn well I could never hate you. I only ever lo-”

She instantly reared on him, talking over him so she didn’t have to hear that word. “Don’t! Don’t say it! Don’t you fucking say it!” she yelled.

Words that were all too familiar.

Words she said before.

Her eyes began to sting as she fought back tears. “I don’t care if you don’t feel it now, but don’t you dare tell me you felt it then!”

He waved his hands in exasperation. “Why? What is so damn bad about hearing me tell you how I felt?” he asked.

“Because you just don’t get it! You don’t get how pathetic I feel because I never got over you! I never moved on! I promised you I wouldn’t let you hold me back, but I lied to both of us! For over 100 years, I never moved on! I’m pathetic!” she yelled.

Only the wind dared to break the silence that followed. A soft rustle of the spring leaves. A sound far softer than her confession.

It took everything in her to not crumble in on herself. “You just don’t get it, Robbie. Maybe it was easier for you to move on, but I just...I never could.”

He grabbed a hold of the railing, but made no motion towards her. He only looked pained. “I don’t know what to say here, Purah. Nothing I can think of will make you feel better.”

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ one

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you 

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part one

‎

"You said that you're with the military? I don't recall the military having ships as small as yours." If possible, your eyes would roll all the way back in your head at the man's comment. Instead, you plaster a smile on your lips, gaze flitting around the bridge as you do. 

 "Yes, Ambassador Salvadore. They sent me on a transport ship, as I am here to relieve the captain of his duties—"

 "That is not necessary, Miss."

 "—on military orders, Ambassador." Your grin continues to stretch as you gauge the state of the bridge. It is severely lacking in terms of soldiers, which is good for you on multiple fronts, but the ambassador before you is proving to be more difficult than you first anticipated.

 "Well, that is quite unfortunate then, seeing as I will never have a woman command my ship even if on supposed "military orders". Which division did you say you were from?" The ambassador is too much of a skeptic; he must be old enough to have witnessed – perhaps even taken part in – the First Military Revolt in 2143 when the first female Fleet Admiral was inaugurated, but you don't have time to argue politics with an old man.

 "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Ambassador. It's military orders, whether you like it or not. We are beyond the days of sexist remarks about women commandeering ships, are we not?" You bite out. The smile on your lips falters a bit, and the older man's gaze hardens on you. 

 "Where are your papers? I need proof of your purpose here, as well as a written record of your orders." 

 One hand slips down your thigh, brushing the holster where your pistol sits, but you bring it back up upon second thought. 

 "Papers were not given, sir. The HMS Revenge is less than 50 thousand megameters from Eros and as such, my commander did not think it necessary to send me out with papers." You bring your hands behind your back to resist the urge of putting a bullet between the ambassador's eyes, clasping them tightly and glaring at the grey-haired man before you. Whether he believes your words or not is unimportant, because he can't seem to stay focused on the topic at hand anyways.

 "Where is your seal? What rank are you? Your division? The name of your commander so that I can have a word with him once we dock on Eros again?"

 "I am wearing my seal, sir, along with my uniform. As for your other questions, I believe that if it were a man standing before you, you would ask nothing of him, Ambassador. Thus I do not feel inclined to answer any of your questions." The old man's eyes rake over your form, and once again, you feel your fingers itching to reach for your pistol as he stares. Biting down hard on the tip of your tongue, you push the desire back and grin back at the man. The uniform you're currently wearing fits awkwardly – baggy at the shoulders and waist, along with sleeves that keep falling past your wrists when you let go of them, and overall it's a bit obvious that the uniform did not originally belong to you. The excuse you can think of on the spot is that you were given a recycled uniform, but considering how stubborn and skeptical Ambassador Salvadore is, you don't think you'll be able to slip through with that lie.

 "Your uniform looks like it was taken from the garbage," the man states, confirming your concerns. You sigh then open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off before you have the chance. "You are one soddy excuse for a pirate, girl. One woman against an entire crew? A fool's errand if anything. Not at all some grand heist."

 "I am not a pirate," you spit back between gritted teeth. "I am merely here on military business. Nothing more, nothing less."

 "You see, Miss, that is actually not true. You cannot be here on military business because I would've been informed beforehand. No one elected to inform me of a change in the captainship, however. Thus, you must either be a pirate of another sort of criminal." The man takes a few steps forward, risking to be within a couple feet of you now, and you note the lack of weapon on him. He walks with a slight limp, no doubt a bummed knee from early military days that he never had surgery on, and his left foot drags a bit along the floor as he walks over. "Besides, your face looks quite familiar, Miss. Have I seen you on a bounty paper before?"

 "I highly doubt that," you whisper. Eyes dare to meet yours, and you pass a sinister smirk his way before uttering your next words. "I make a note to not leave anyone alive once they've seen me." His eyes widen. 

 "Grab her!"

 You bring your hand to your holster with the intention to use the weapon this time, but somehow the man is quicker. Well, his men are quicker. One comes from behind you – the guard who brought you to the bridge when you boarded – and another comes from your right, grabbing your arm before you have the chance to pull out your gun.

 "Cute trap, ambassador. Think of it all by yourself?" 

 "In fact, I did. Didn't take much thought since all pirates are the same."

 "This is a mistake, ambassador. You really don't want to be doing this, I promise. And I'll remind you again: I am not a pirate." You don't waste your time struggling against the grip of the men around your arms. Instead, you glare at the old man in front of you as though it'll get you out of this predicament faster. You get what you asked for, just not in the way you were wanting or expecting. The cool touch of a gun barrel finds your temple.

 "Then you're a fugitive. Or a criminal. A pirate is no different. You all bleed the same, so there's no point in making useless distinctions."

 "You bleed the same too, ambassador."

 "Kill her." 

 You brace yourself for the worst, hoping at least for a swift and painless death, but it doesn't come right away. The ground quakes underneath you, then everything jerks for a moment. In a split second, the lights dim and flash red, sirens begin to wail throughout the bridge, and you spot the captain scrambling to return to his post. The ship wobbles, and as it does, your captors lose their balance. You seize the moment, yanking your limbs from their grasp and slamming the back of your head against the man behind you. A sickening crunch follows along with a scream of pain. The man on your left is already beginning to recover his balance so you have to work fast and swing your elbow against his jugular before he can fire his gun. He crumples under the attack and clutches at his throat while you swing around to deliver a similar blow to the soldier behind you as well.

 "Captain, report! What is happening?" The ambassador yells, scampering back as you grab the gun from the man beside you. 

 "I can answer that for you," you huff. Your chest heaves from the sudden burst of exertion, and you rise to your feet slowly. The ship lurches again, sending the crew careening backward, but you steady yourself by ducking down. "You're being boarded by actual pirates. And in my time in the black seas, I've only seen one crew use this boarding tactic."

 "Who? Tell me now, girl!"

 "Give me control of the ship now or you're not getting out of this mess alive," you say, taking several steps towards the ambassador.

 "Absolutely not. I would rather see this ship blown to pieces before she falls into the hands of a pirate."

 "She'll be in the hands of a pirate regardless!" You argue, and your tone grows incredulous when the old man glares at you.

 "They're pirates. They don't stand a chance against soldiers from the Royal Military," he sneers before turning on his heel and walking towards the captain. 

 "Holy fuck… it's the Scourge of the Black Sea." It's another crew member who mutters the words, gun no longer aimed at you but just past your shoulder, and you whip upon hearing the name. You had seen the Scourge's file many many times, yet none of the pictures included in it were accurate in the slightest now that you are face to face with the man. 

 Kim Hongjoong, barely older than you yet still the most notorious pirate in the galaxy. Scourge of the Black Sea, a moniker that serves him well, but seeing him before you now changes that. First of all, he's not nearly as tall as you pictured him to be. The files never shared details about his height or hair color or anything like that, but you somewhat expected the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea to be of intimidating height; however, the three men standing around him are all taller than him, although not by a drastic amount. Still, you weren't expecting the man to look as young as he does. Someone with a track record like his surely would seem much older than his profile depicts him to be. You can't call him out for his age since you are younger than him yourself but after years of expectations about what this infamous pirate would be like, you feel a bit let down. His gaze is piercing and harsh, but a gleam in his eyes shelters playfulness. Behind that sharp gaze lies dark eyes, so dark they almost seem black from the angle you're standing at. Beyond that though, you don't find yourself scared at the sight of him at all.

 He doesn't look your way, in fact, he glances past you as though you don't exist. Someone else is looking directly at you, however, and it's his gaze that redirects your focus. You don't recognize him – or the other two men with the Scourge for that matter – but he has distinct features. Cat-like eyes, upturned and wide, alongside a captivating smile that's a bit too bright for your liking. His grin is strange, but hair even stranger – a solid head of black except for one section at the front of his head cut out like a slice of pure white strands. His gaze doesn't falter, remaining locked on yours as you continue to analyze him. It's almost as though he seems to know you and who you are, a knowing quirk in his expression. 

 "More fucking pirates on my ship!" 

 You maintain a stare with the man beside the Scourge rather than turning to look back at the ambassador again.

 "Now, now..." Hongjoong cuts through the terse silence across the bridge, voice booming throughout the room with little effort. He takes one, then two steps forward, the jacket around his shoulders sweeping back with the movement. It's only two steps, and yet you feel the intimidating aura radiating off of the man in those small movements. "All I want is what's in the cargo hold. Give me what I want, and I'll spare your men."

 "Open fire soldiers!"

 "I guess we're gonna do this the hard way then," Hongjoong mutters as the soldiers scattered throughout the bridge raise their weapons. That's your cue to duck out of the way. As fascinating as the boy with cat-like features may be, you would rather not be riddled with bullets because you were too focused on staring at him. You have no doubts that the Scourge would shoot right through you, and you're going to have to move fast to get what you're wanting without trouble from him. You push forward, running directly at a soldier off to your left, then the gunfire begins to ring in your ears along with the alarm. 

 It doesn't take much effort to wrestle the gun from its owner. One swift kick to the side of his knee and a fist to his nose suffices, and the weapon falls into your hands. You slam the butt of the gun against his cheekbone, not waiting for him to fall to the floor before you're pushing past him to get into the captain's cabin. 

 "Fucking hell," you curse under your breath when the door snaps shut behind you. 

 Gunfire and alarms still ring outside the door. You aren't sure how long the gunfire is going to last, but your getaway ship leaves when it's over meaning that you need to move quickly. Papers are strewn all across the captain's desk, but the ones you're looking for won't be lying about. You drop the rifle to the desk and squat down to be eye level with the drawers, clicking the first open. 

 "Where are you?" You mutter to yourself as you file through the mess in the drawers. Digging to the back, your fingers close around a bundle of papers. You yank them forward, seeing a neat red ribbon tied around the middle along with a wax seal placed directly over the thread. It bears the Royal Insignia of Eros. You sigh at the sight, one finger trails over the ridges of the wax, and you read the words across the front to yourself. "Papers of Free Travel and Safe Conduct. Signed by the king." A small, raspy laugh escapes your lips. Despite the chaos of gunfire and alarms blaring around you, you can't help but feel a wave of calm wash over you.

 "Put the papers down, pirate." You glance up, eyes fixating on the door, and spot the ambassador glaring you down. You tuck the letters into your shirt, your free hand gliding across the desk to grab for the rifle you set down. 

 "Sorry old man. I'm leaving with these papers. It doesn't matter whether you're dead or alive to me." You lift the rifle and point it at the man's head without hesitation. "Cross me, Ambassador Salvadore. You won't live to see the end of it."

 "The papers or your life," he spits back, shakily lifting his own pistol. Perhaps you were wrong about his endeavors in the military previously, or maybe he's just that terrified of you. 

 "Did you misunderstand me? Step aside. The pirates with the Scourge already killed all your men, didn't they? My guess is they're on the way to the cargo hold and plan to kill every soldier along the way. Do you want to join the corpses?" You let the gun slip down a little. The ambassador quakes under your movements but shakes his head once you finish speaking. "Then step aside."

 He does as told, moving away from the door as you keep your gun trained on him. You don't dare look away from him, too wary of him being trigger happy or trying to jump you once you get closer to the door. The cool touch of metal hits your back, and you feel around for the touchpad beside the door. 

 "Why are you doing this?" He asks once you lower your gun.

 "I want my freedom. I don't care what I have to do to get it."

 "So you're going to kill me anyway then?"

 "No. I'll leave that for the Scourge. They say he doesn't take prisoners." You turn away, slamming your palm against the door control. As it slides open, you pass one last glance to your dear ambassador. Eyes stretch wide as he lifts his pistol again, and you're forced to duck away as best you can. Either you're too slow or he's too quick. The resounding echo of a pistol shot follows, and you barely register that you've just been hit until a burning sensation sears through your right arm. If not for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would be crumpled on the ground in pain. It's a good thing for that too because you don't have much time to sneak aboard your getaway ship. 

 The ambassador doesn't follow you out, and you don't stop to check your wound before darting after the trail of dead bodies. 

 "Shit shit shit," you hiss under your breath. Warm blood begins to trickle down your arm, making the fabric of your ill-fitting uniform cling to your skin. If your studies of Kim Hongjoong's tactics are correct, he should've docked his ship along the corridor to the ballistics bay, and your studies must be accurate because there is one living person near the end of the corridor. Guarding the docking station. With a gun. Just your luck. 

 "Hongjoong, there's a—" You chuck your rifle at him, catching the man off guard, and he stumbles back to dodge your weak attack. Killing him would be foolish and far too suspicious, but you're doomed in hand to hand combat with a gunshot wound in your dominant arm. "Fuck. There's a girl here, she's—" You cut him off again, sweeping a foot under his and bringing him to the floor. His gun clatters to the side. You bring your left hand down in attempts to punch him, but he catches you by the wrist before you can make contact. The fabric of your sleeve slides a bit, you panic, and with frantic movements, you try to pull out of his grasp. The two of you freeze where you are and merely stare at each other for a moment. Then he grabs for his gun again, whipping a leg up to rail you in the side. You hiss at the impact but manage to kick his gun away before he can grab hold of it. 

 "Seonghwa? Seonghwa, repeat." The voice comes from the man's form, no doubt the wristband that glows as the audio comes through. You scramble for your pistol, crying out in pain as your muscles flex at the spot of your wound, but manage to bring the butt of the gun against the man's temple before he has the chance to respond to his captain. "Seonghwa. Are you there? I repeat, are you there?" 

 You sit up, a slight stumble in your steps as you get back to your feet. The man – Seonghwa, most likely – doesn't move, but you can see the staggered rhythm of his breaths as his chest heaves. He'll get away with a headache and minor concussion at best, which is better than being dead for certain.

 "Shit." The voice crackles through Seonghwa's wristband, and you can barely hear it over the still-blaring alarms in the ship. "Yeosang, come in. Go check up on Seonghwa. Kill anyone in your way. We aren't here to make friends." You step over the man's unconscious body, glancing into the ship on the other side. 

 "Cargo bay, cargo bay. Surely you have signs on your ship, Scourge," you mutter as you step onto the foreign spaceship. "Can't be much different than a military ship, right?" You slip your pistol back into its holster, right hand still dancing over the grip despite the pain radiating from that arm. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and the more you walk the more you feel the pain. Thankfully, the ship is smaller than anticipated. It's only a short trip to reach the cargo bay, no elevators either, which surprises you. You had initially imagined that the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea would have a ship that's a bit more difficult to sneak onto and carry stowaways, but perhaps you overestimated him.

 The cargo bay is littered with boxes. Some are stacked all the way to the ceiling, while others remain strewn about, all evenly spaced. Despite the volume of boxes, there isn't much space left in the bay. No doubt, they'll decide to make port on one of the trading planets soon to sell off all the stolen cargo, meaning that you'll be able to escape then. Hopefully with relative ease too because otherwise, you're going to be trapped on the ship of one of the most merciless pirates in the galaxy. 

 Slipping between the rows of boxes, your gaze trails over each label. Guns, ammunition, meats, produce, textiles, spices, crafting tools – there seems to be a box for every object in existence. You pause beside a box labeled fabrics and thumb at the clasps, clicking them open to reveal the contents. It's only about half full of spools, more than plenty enough room for you to fit inside, and it would be marginally more comfortable than a crate full of guns. You glance around the cargo bay first, eyes scanning the walls and ceiling for any signs of cameras before you duck into the crate. 

 It's a tight fit, a bit too cramped for comfort, but of course, comfort isn't a luxury you can afford to bitch about at the moment. The searing pain radiating from your right arm is a bigger concern, especially considering that it is getting worse and worse with each passing moment. You bring a finger to your arm, feeling around for an exit wound on the opposite side; however, you can't find one despite all your prodding. Meaning that the bullet is still lodged in your arm.

 "Fucking shit," you curse under your breath. Your arm falls to the bed of fabrics limply. One fucking ambassador with a shaky hand is not going to send you to your grave because of a damn bullet in your arm, and you'd sooner tear the bullet out with your own fingers.

 "Deliver the boxes here!" The sudden intrusion of voices stops your fingers from reaching for the wound, however, and you instead press your left palm over the wound in attempts to slow the bleeding. "If you're done getting beat up by soldiers, that is." The voice no doubt belongs to the Scourge, but the next one is less familiar. 

 "She wasn't a fucking soldier. I told you that." A grunt follows along with the thud of something heavy. It takes a few moments for you to realize that the "she" is, in fact, you, and the person Hongjoong is speaking to must be the man you clobbered at the docking station. "No way she was military. She had a uniform but when we were fighting, I caught her arm and there were chains branded on the inside of her wrist." Your eyes widen despite only seeing darkness around you. Subconsciously, you tighten your grip around your wound, the image of chains branded onto your skin the only thing you can see. 

 "You still got your ass handed to you."

 "Yeah well, maybe she ought to join the crew since she's able to kick my ass."

 "Why would a military traitor be of any use to me?" Silence answers the question, and Hongjoong continues speaking, his clear voice ringing loudly in your ears as though he's right next to you. "Who says that military traitor won't betray me too?"

 "I don't recall you saying that about our dear Royal Betrayer when he joined the crew. Besides, a prejudice against the military does not equal a prejudice against any sort of leadership."

 "Oh, is that so? Would you like to go back onto that ship and get her? If you're so adamant about her joining my crew, why don't you do that?"

 "No sir. I wouldn't like to do that. I am merely trying to be logical. We've lost over half our crew in the past two months, either due to death or desertion. Hongjoong, you really need to consider bringing mo—"

 "You need to consider your position on this ship," Hongjoong cuts in, voice dropping in volume and turning to venom. "You are Lieutenant, not Captain. I am the Captain. Is that not clear?"

 "Crystal clear."

 "I will consider bringing more crewmates in when I deem it necessary. Understood?"

 "Yes, Captain. It was merely a suggestion. Nothing else." Quiet falls between the men, air so tense you could cut it with a knife even from your position in this crate. "What of the survivors, Captain?"

 "Kill them all. Destroy the ship as well. I don't want to see a single trace of the HMS Revenge. We got what we needed. Nothing else matters." 

 You shift and twist in the crate, trying to adjust into a more comfortable position only to slam your arm against the side of the wood. A sharp hiss escapes your lips before you can stop it. Teeth sink into your lower lip as you attempt to contain the sound but the damage is already done. 

 There's silence outside the crate.

 Your heart thrums loud, erratic beats against your eardrums.

 Two seconds meld into five, then ten seconds pass in silence. You hear no sounds of movement, no scraping of shoes or thumps of boots. 

 "You don't have to do this, Hongjoong," the second voice speaks at last. "As you said, we got what we needed. We can just leave now."

 "I do have to do this, Seonghwa. If I don't kill a man every now and then, no one fears me."

 "What of the trail of corpses aboard that ship right now? Is that not enough fear for you? Do you think their families and friends wait at home afraid of you?”

 "I gave you an order, Lieutenant."

 "Yes, Captain." Footsteps resound, the clanking of boots against metal flooring, and the sound grows fainter until you can't hear anything except the thud of your heartbeat in your ears and the rasps of your breath. You don't risk lifting the lid of the crate yet, not until you're absolutely certain that the two men have left the cargo hold. You lie in the darkness, listening to nothing except the faint sounds of your own breathing for god knows how long. 

 When you finally creak the lid open, there is only more darkness surrounding you. The lights throughout the cargo bay are dimmed, leaving you to feel your way around the crate to little avail. The blood on your hand has grown sticky from the length of time you've been lying there but at least the steady flow of blood has subsided to a slow trickle. You grab at one of the spools of fabric in your new home. Tearing a long strip of the material off, you try your best to bandage the wound without being able to see it or have both hands to do so. It's awkward and shitty, no doubt barely a knot keeping it together, but it's just enough pressure to alleviate some of the blood flow. 

 The steady loss of blood has left you dizzy. You crawl back into the crawl with heavy limbs, barely able to close the lid back just enough so that you can still breathe some fresh air. Time seems to stretch on forever, the darkness simultaneously keeping you up and helping you fall into slumber. You finally slip into sleep between the throbbing pain in your right arm and the stinging memory of a hot brand being pressed against the inside of your left wrist, along with the words "filthy fucking traitor". You fall asleep with one hand resting over the place where you tucked the stolen papers into your shirt, the folds of the letters easing your worries enough to let you sleep.

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: on god, y'all are probably like pleASE calypso no more series istg you don't have the tiME but oh well i may not have the time but i've got the enthusiasm :D ((jk pls don't scalp me i'm just trying to have fun here)) but also hello hello thank you for reading!!! i really hope you all enjoyed it and please let me know what you think of it and feel free to send an ask if you have any questions/feedback/just overall love for me bc i’m really anxious to know what you all think!!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[thefanficmonster]

Death’s Tales

The Curator (The Dark Pictures Anthology) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None (Maybe slight spoilers and slight mentions of death)

Genre: Dark Theme, slight Angst

Summary: This isn’t Y/N’s first visit to the Curator’s repository. She’s visited two times so far and deep down she knows she’ll keep coming back. Stories have a way of trapping you in the place where they live. But then again, it’s nice to have some good company for when you are introduced to those stories. Someone to laugh with during all the humorous parts. And also someone to offer you tissues when you are going through the thick of the lives written on the pages of the many books.

Requested by Anon! Hi there! Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, though I hope the fic makes up for the wait. I hope I captured what you had in mind. Please, enjoy. Love, Vy ❤❤❤

“Hello? You here?!“ Y/N calls out as she walks into familiar room. She immediately gets the feeling that she’s in the presence of a more intense power than she could explain - the power of all the timeless stories currently surrounding her. This is by no means her first tango with the deathless death turned into words written on thin, delicate pages for people to enjoy. She has always had an odd connection to each and every story she reads, so this place was the ultimate trap when she first wandered in, expectations low and head held high. She underestimated the repository, however, it didn’t take long for it to turn the tables on her with all it has to offer. In less than an hour, she had her nose buried in a book, her expectations exceeded by miles and her mind transported to a different place and time.

“Where else would I be?” The distinct voice she’s gotten so used to hearing replies from somewhere near by, “You know I rarely leave this place.”

 “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s a sad way to be spending your time. But man, if I could stay here all my life I would.“ She struts into the room where the reply came from.

He is indeed there, standing by one of the many shelves, a candleholder with lit handles in one hand, browsing the shelf’s contents with the other. He chuckles at her statement, brushing it off completely, “I was waiting for you. Have a seat, I’ll pick a story for you.”

She gets comfortable, unwrapping her scarf and shrugging off her jacket. Sitting down in one of the leather chairs opposite his desk, she crosses her legs and waits expectantly.

“Ah, there we go. ‘House Of Ashes’, how does that sound to you?” He pulls out a book, holding it under the candlelight for Y/N to see the cover with the title engraved in the, what seems to be, leather surface.

She frowns, scrunching her nose, “You know what, no. I’m tired of these sad and scary stories laced with death. I can’t live knowing I gave those characters a bad fate. I know it’s redo-able, but I can’t help but feel shitty afterwards.” She shifts in her seat, “First all those people left stranded on that boat! Then I was tricked into sympathizing and emotionally investing into characters that were nothing more than the product of a broken mind!” She gives him a glare that’s looking through him more than at him, “I think I deserve a different story this time. Something lighter.”

The older man chuckles. “I was gonna have you choose between this one and this other oldie I have,” he points at the desk where another book is already sitting, “it’s a longer story, I might have mentioned it before.” Y/N reads the title ‘The Impatient’ engraved in the olive green cover of the large book, “But that’s not in any way lighter either. I would even say it’s among the more depressive ones.“ He pauses for a second, returning ‘House Of Ashes’ in its spot, “Perhaps I could find a story of a less melancholic premise.”

“Wait.“ She lifts her hand, putting his actions to a halt, “Why don’t we change it up for once? How about you tell me a story instead of reading me one?“

He’s very clearly taken aback by this. “I’m afraid an old man like myself doesn’t have a lot to share. Especially not when I’ve spent a rather big chunk of my life in this very place, doing this very thing.”

Y/N shakes her head, “Quite the contrary, mister Curator. I believe you have way more stories than all the people my age combined.” She smirks, “Don’t worry, I won’t tattle if you have some dirt on your name. What is it? Robbery? Fraud? Murder?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I am not that interesting.“ He chuckles, settling in his chair. “But I believe I could tell you the story of the only time I helped someone directly rather than through the riddles you hate so much.“

She’s clearly pleased with the outcome of her protest. She gives him a smile, “I’m all ears.“

He can’t help but shake his head at her child-like enthusiasm for something so simple. He’s determined to make it worth her while, so he digs through the contents of his brain, looking for the most interesting memories he has stored there - the ones that would entertain her. Eventually, he comes up with one.

“Have I ever mentioned my dear friend Alan to you, by any chance?“

Y/N thinks for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, but as usual, you were very vague.”

He chuckles, “I know you hate not being given details, so I’m gonna make sure not to leave anything out.” He absentmindedly picks up the pen on his desk, twirling it between his fingers, “Well, a brief introduction to our character Alan: he’s a psychiatrist. A year or two younger than me. He’s from Calgary. I met him in my mid-thirties, when I was still what some would consider young.” He smiles at the pleasant memory.

Y/N fakes shock, placing a hand over her chest, “You mean to tell me there was time when you, the Curator, were young? You can’t be serious. I refuse to believe that.”

“I was. And I was quite handsome, mind you.“ He takes out his wallet, opening it and handing it to Y/N. On the right, covered by a thin layer of clear plastic is a black and white photo of two men in their early to mid forties.

“You’re the one on the left, right?” She asks, staring at the photo wide eyes, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods in response. “Wow, I honestly wouldn’t have recognized you.” 

“Understandably so. Time has really taken a toll on me.“ He actually looks saddened when he says that. She can tell that was less a joke and more the truth.

“I wouldn’t say so.“ She tells him sincerely, a small genuine smile on her lips.

He returns her smile, his eyes becoming a bit livelier. “Him and I are still friends till this day. He’s a walking book of stories, I’m sure you’d like him if you ever get the chance to meet him. You see, he has spoken to me about all his patients, never once naming one of them. Until this on young man had come into his office. He was struggling with issues medicine in and of itself couldn’t completely fix. His name was Joshua. The boy was having a really tough time dealing with the loss of his sisters.” He sighs at the memory, “Alan told me he tried everything. He tried all things his years of practice and work have taught him but the boy was slowly sinking further and further down into the void of his mind.“

His voice is way different from his usual narrator tone. You can hear the weight of the events he’s reciting in every syllable that leaves his lips. She is now an accomplice, exactly like if she were there when it all happened.

“It was troubling my friend to the brink of madness, I couldn’t just stand aside and watch that. Also that kind young man, Joshua, deserved a lot better than what life was giving him. Every branch that poor boy held onto snapped. Everything he ever tried to make of himself crumbled. I admired him for the fact that he kept trying and seeking a way to succeed. What he failed to see was the obvious need for help he had. He was longing for a helping hand but no one noticed, or they simply didn’t care. Except this one girl. Her name was Samantha. She saw right through his act. But he never allowed her helping hand to reach him. He never wanted to be a weight on her shoulders. Never wanted to be nor the bump in her road nor the baggage she carried while walking it. So, I stepped in. I taught him the importance of having someone by your side, and taught her the importance of never giving up on someone who means a lot to you. Luckily for themselves and for Alan and I, they listened.“

“Forget about Alan, I want to meet Joshua and Samantha. I want to meet them and give them a big hug.“ Y/N says, her mind wandering to the images she has compiled. A broken boy and a girl with the strength to carry both her and his world in her arms. She can quite see their face, but she can picture their auras, their energies. They feel so real to her, and all just from the Curator’s words alone.

Soon enough, her eyelids start giving out, her eyes fluttering closed. She’s fighting to the best of her ability to stay awake, see this story to its end, but the Curator’s storytelling and the dark, candlelit room aren’t helping her with the battle. Her mind is drifting further and further into the land where the story she’s being told will keep expanding with elements added by her imagination. She’s certain she’ll dream of this tale.

“Oh you’re already clocking out, huh?“ The Curator chuckles, pausing his story mid-sentence.

“Can’t help it.“ Y/N mumbles, already more than half asleep, “Just tell me how it ends, you’ll fill in the gaps when I wake up.“

“Well, it hasn’t ended yet. I can tell you where it’s at at the moment.“ She hums approvingly, “It’s been five years since I stepped in and now they are happily married. They have a little one on the way. A little girl, I believe.“

A lazy smile forms on her face. “That’s nice.” the words leave her lips in the form of a sleepy sigh moments before she has been dragged into the deepest crevasses of her mind and imagination.

The Curator calmly and quietly gets up, taking his jacket from the coatrack. He drapes it over the girl asleep in the armchair on the other side of his desk. Little does this college student know, he has seen both her past and future. He has met her in several different periods of her life. She’s been like her own personal guardian angel. In her past-lives too.

Guardian angel of death.

He was lucky to have met Alan before that curse was bestowed upon him - making the psychiatrist the only man he could interact with without bringing him a sooner than anticipated and inevitable demise. He wasn’t completely honest with Y/N about the time frame of meeting the other man, but that was not an important piece of information. She could do without it. He used the only hall-pass he had to do his old friend a favor - settle the storms that raged between Joshua and Samantha. And now, he’s locked away from the world, waiting for souls to come to him instead of the other way around.

Nowadays, he just stays hidden from people and only meets with those who wander into his repository. It’s always the same pattern: they come in, not really sure how they ended up there; He coaches them through a story they think they have some sort of impact on; and then they leave and never come back.

Color the man surprised when he saw her walk in the first time. It took him no time to connect the dots, he’d recognize her anywhere. She wasn’t clueless like the others, she actually seemed like she was looking for the place. He spent the next week or so feeling like he had failed the only purpose he had - to keep her safe. That was until she showed up again, even cheerier than the first time. That’s when he knew he shouldn’t fear for her, for she was a phenomenon beyond his understanding. A soul never in death’s reach.

“I hope you never get to see the same fate as everyone else who meets me.“ He whispers, looking down at her sleeping form.

He knows she’s special. After all, he never has never met anyone more than once.

[trouvelle]

You Might Melt Me

Fandom: Detective Conan/DCMK Pairing: Heiji/Kazuha (mentioned Shinichi/Ran) Rating: PG Genre/Tags: Fluff, Comedy, College!AU Warning: Implied smut (a tiny bit of dirty talking) Summary: “So what?” Kaito asks, “Do you watch her eat and stuff?” “It’s like a ritual,” Shinichi tells Kaito helpfully.

•

Heiji is only twenty and he’s already facing a quarter-life crisis.

It’s not the fact that he has an entire class period (which dares to take up any normal person’s lunch time) every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. Yes, having to have late lunch just so he can attend his class dutifully does sort of bothers him. And no, Heiji does not hate studying. Not at all. Especially when it’s chemistry, one of the areas of study that he excels in, aside from maths... and biology. And physics. Yadda, yadda, he’s smart.

The unfortunate quarter-life crisis he’s currently facing, though, has been one and the same for as long as he can remember.

And it’s also right here, in his class, as of the moment.

Heiji pushes down the urge to bang his fists on the table surface as he tries to listen to the professor’s explanation. Trying would be so easy. In fact, scoring a perfect score would be a piece of cake with a cherry on top if only the girl beside him would stop spending the entire class period stuffing her face with food and making Heiji want to scream at him to please freaking stop for his sanity.

She doesn’t stop eating, the ends of her chopsticks stained with sauce and mouth munching at a piece of glorious fried chicken, and doesn’t seem fazed by Heiji’s intense glaring.

This is why it’s a serious crisis and not some random matter that he can shrug off and forget. He has to pass this chemistry course with flying colours but concentrating on the lecture isn’t easy when Toyama Kazuha is eating right beside him, a box of karaage on her lap and without a care in the world, and Heiji seriously considers smacking the packaging right at her cute face. Beautiful face. But also undoubtedly annoying face. Not like he pays her extra attention or anything.

Kazuha pokes a piece of chicken into her mouth and turns sideways to glance at him and he is absolutely not staring at the way the piece of chicken visibly pokes at her cheek from inside her mouth as she continues to munch nonchalantly and the way her mouth moves rhythmically as she chews and swallows down her food. He ignores the way his heart is thumping excitedly in his chest. There was a time when there is no possible way Heiji would ever think that Toyama Kazuha is cute. Nowadays, whenever he sees her, his mind is always spelling out at him, in capitalized bold glittery letters, the word CUTE.

Kazuha raises a perfect brow at him, looking like she is sizing Heiji up and has a judgmental remark at the tip of her tongue ready to be thrown at Heiji, only that she’s too busy munching to do that. She only looks away when Heiji does.

She spends the rest of class occasionally looking up to nod at the professor’s words. He spends the rest of class trying not to notice.

•

Today is Tuesday.

Tuesday means pizza at the campus cafeteria.

That doesn’t mean Heiji is going out to buy two boxes of pizza for both lunch and dinner so he doesn’t have to wait for his beloved roommate Shinichi to return to their dorm with his girlfriend’s homemade food. Well, that too, but Pizza Tuesday mainly means that Kazuha gets to eat pizza for lunch. In class.

Pizza Tuesday also means Heiji slumping down in his seat as he listens to the boring lecture (boring, because Heiji always comes to Organic Chemistry II academically prepared and knowing that he’s already had firsthand knowledge about the materials anyway) and tries not to watch the way the slice of pizza disappears into Kazuha’s mouth.

Said girl looks too cheerful for twelve at noon.

She is also wearing a sleeveless and cropped sports tank top today and he chokes on his own saliva when he sees the band of her black freaking bra as she moves to bring a slice of pizza into his mouth. Damn that top of hers with armholes too wide to even qualify as a shirt. He reaches for his water bottle and ignores the way his mouth waters at that delicious piece of… pizza! Yeah. Definitely the pizza. Heiji is undoubtedly craving for pizza right now.

Half way into the lecture he finds Kazuha turning to him with a mildly pitiful look on his face. She’s definitely thinking Heiji is salivating at his pizza. Which Heiji is. Definitely. 

Heiji slumps further down his seat and grumbles into his sweatshirt.

•

Heiji wonders if it’s possible for him to react with excess oxygen to form water and carbon dioxide because at this point, he might as well just combust. At least then he won’t have to listen to the constant sound that she lets out as she eats, the sound so loud and distinct Heiji wouldn’t be surprised if she had been eating her cookies right in front of his ears all this time.

He feels like crumpling his desk into a makeshift ball of anger and smacking it at her face as she won’t stop snacking her pretty and pouty mouth off, seating relaxedly on her chair as the sound intensifies, and he thinks he’s going insane because no one else, not even the professor, seems like they give a damn about Kazuha eating extra loudly and practically disrupting the lesson. He doubts they even notice, which is probably the case with their professor.

Heiji wants to scream.

•

Heiji doesn’t scream.

Not in class, anyway. But he does scream when he goes back to his room, lying face down on his bed with his feet resting on the headboard. It’s a very comfortable position.

“Hattori!” Shinichi growls from his desk as Heiji continues to scream and scream and scream into his comforter because if Kazuha can disrupt his studying period by making the loudest and most enticing noises possible, then he has all the rights to yell as much as he wants.

“Hattori, I swear to your pathetic wrinkled ass that if you don’t stop that—”

“My butt is amazing!” Heiji yells back at him, still into the comforter, because getting up and shifting into a different position just so Shinichi can hear him is too much work and a waste of valuable energy.

Shinichi makes a disgruntled sound.

Something flashes in Heiji’s mind and he halts his screaming to a stop. Shinichi is gathering his stuff up when Heiji lifts his head to look at him.

It’s only happened too many times, Heiji can’t even pinpoint when exactly he became entranced by the sight. He vividly remembers that one time wherein he was walking behind Kazuha (they usually walk side by side) and didn’t waste his chance to stare at Kazuha’s back figure and the way her jeans hugged her toned legs and the curve of her ass so wonderfully.

Heiji sighs, almost dreamily. She looks amazing. Shinichi makes wild, incomprehensible gestures with his arms that Heiji thinks make him look like a ridiculous flailing pigeon. Heiji sighs again, this time more heavily because he has too many unnecessary feelings. He turns to Shinichi, hoping that the pout on his face makes him look pathetic enough for Shinichi to sympathize with him.

Shinichi merely gives Heiji a disapproving look before coldly closing the door behind him and leaving twenty minutes early for his date with Ran. Lover boy.

•

Heiji confronts Kazuha one morning, on the hallway just outside the lecture hall. She doesn’t look the least bothered by it, instead sporting an amused smile on her face as she licks at her chocolate ice cream like the irksome ahou she is.

“Can you not eat in class?” He asks, looking her in the eye and trying not to stare at the way her tongue drags down the side of the ice cream. Oh, how he misses their high school days when food is absolutely forbidden during class time.

“Why?” She asks, peering up at him. She has really long lashes.

“Because,” Heiji says and wets his lips when she licks at her ice cream with a torturously slow drag of her tongue. “Campus regulations prohibit food and drinks in class.”

Kazuha merely blinks at him before bringing her ice cream up so that she can suck at the swirling tip of it. His breath hitches involuntarily, which results in him inhaling a waft of what is probably her scent that strongly smells like citrus and vanilla. “I don’t know,” she says, an innocent look on her face. “Professor doesn’t seem like he minds.”

Heiji wants to strangle her. And maybe dip his finger into Kazuha’s mouth so he can feel how that ice cream must have felt like to be licked by that⁠—wait, what?

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Heiji growls instead, voice dropping an octave lower to show how serious this matter is for his future.

“Why?” A wet tongue darts out to lick ice cream off her lips that curl upwards at the end into a mischievous, kittenish smile and Heiji feels his insides melt and twist and swirl and explode into a myriad of feelings. “Does it bother you?” Kazuha asks, looking up at him and her mouth working, savoring the taste of milk chocolate. He might also be wondering how her lips might taste like, though nobody else has to know about how long he’s been having that thought for. Too goddamn long.

“Yes,” he says before his mind can register. After it does, he quickly adds, “No!” with his forefinger pointed at her because he’s supposed to be angry. “I’m supposed to concentrate on the lecture but I can’t because you’re right there beside me and won’t stop snacking in class and it’s getting on my nerves, you ahou!”

She ignores him and runs her tongue around what’s left of her ice cream and Heiji feels like he’s the one melting instead of the ice cream.

He must look really dumb standing right there with his mouth hanging open as he stares at her speechlessly.

She watches and studies him, still with that same mildly amused smile on her face, as he tries to find something to say and fails miserably. “Ahou.” Kazuha says with finality when she’s decided that he doesn’t seem like he’s got anything else to say, and continues to munch and bite into her cone as she walks away. Just like that.

•

Heiji decides the best decision is to unleash all of it to Shinichi and Kaito after class and make them listen to a verbal showcase of his concerns because that’s what friends are for.

“Oh. You’re early,” is Kaito greeting, the man not tearing his eyes away from his bowl of noodles as Heiji barges into his room and drops himself on their couch. Shinichi barely looks up before turning back to his laptop. He’s probably gotten tired of being exasperated by Heiji at some point.

“Are you not going to ask me how chemistry went?” Heiji gurgles into the couch.

“How was chemistry?” Kaito asks, monotonously.

“That ahou brought another food to eat in class again today,” Heiji says, sighing emptily.

“So what?” Kaito asks, before he seems to get it. Is this guy even more hopeless than he thinks? “Do you watch her eat and stuff?”

“It’s like a ritual,” Shinichi tells Kaito helpfully. When Heiji turns to look at them, Shinichi is still typing into his laptop, probably doing some essay for his literature class. 

“She eats too goddamn loud. I can hear everything—her chewing, munching, swallowing—it drives me crazy! And it’s so annoying because I can’t hate her,” Heiji states, jabbing his finger at the couch and totally making a point.

“Why would you want to hate her?” Kaito asks, using his chopsticks to swirl around the remaining ramen in his bowl. “ I thought you⁠ li—nevermind.”

“Because she’s loud and she’s distracting me from studying in class,” Heiji says, glaring at the other boy.

Kaito looks up from his bowl. “She’s distracting you? Not.. you’re distracting her?” he asks, eyes narrowed looking cat-like and a lot more invested in the conversation. If there’s one thing Hattori Heiji is good at, it’s being ridiculously distracting at any given circumstance.

“Yes, and I don’t disturb nor distract people,” Heiji defends himself.

“So she’s loud… and you’re not.” Kaito repeats, this time more of a statement than a question, “And she’s distracting... and you’re not.” 

“Well, yeah,” Heiji shakes his head exasperatedly.

He’s about to snap at Kaito because this is getting ridiculous, but Shinichi joins in, looking up from his laptop. “For the record, Hattori, you’re the only one who thinks Kazuha eats that loud.”

Kaito says, with a quirk in his mouth, “The problem is on you, not her.”

What? “I don’t—”

“Kuroba is having a bowl of ramen and you don’t seem to even realize how messy he’s eating.” Shinichi points out, trying to get his message across the thick-skulled boy, earning an unamused look from Kaito instead.

Nobody says anything, the slurping sound Kaito’s making as he eats his instant ramen is the only sign of presence in the apartment. Heiji briefly recalls what she looks like eating a bowl of ramen. With broth smeared around her lips and still looking effortlessly delectable nonetheless.

“Exactly.” Shinichi finishes with an exasperated look dead set in his eyes, like the wise old man he is, and Heiji really, really hates his friends.

“I hate all of you,” he groans at them both.

“Nah, you don’t,” Shinichi says, turning back to his stupid laptop with that stupid smile on his stupid face.

Heiji trashes his limbs around their stupid couch just so he can make their living room look a lot messier. Very mature. Heiji is proud of himself.

“Nah, you don’t,” Kaito reiterates, getting up to put his bowl into the sink. “Also, you’re on dish duty today.” Heiji doesn’t think they’ve helped him at all.

“You should consider the fact that your brain simply shuts down and all your other senses are heightened whenever Kazuha is present,” is what Heiji hears and ignores before he shuts the world off with his arm draped across his forehead to cover his eyes and sulks away to his sleep.

•

Heiji drops in his usual seat beside Kazuha’s. She’s not here yet, so he concludes that her other class is running late. She walks to class with what looks like soft milk breads in her hand and has an almost unnoticeable smile on her face that she tries to hide by biting into her bread when she catches sight of him.

The next hour he finds himself trying to subtly catch glimpses of her eating. She’s so fucking adorable, sparkly eyes focused on the lecture and cheeks bulging out cutely as she stuffs her face with food. That bread must be so soft and delicious, but Heiji is more curious of how soft Kazuha’s cheeks would feel again under his palm.

It’s stupid, but he doesn’t try to suppress the smile that creeps up his face as he stares at her fondly and thinks that, yeah, maybe he can finally accept this.

•

It has become a habit that Heiji forgoes lunch every Tuesday and Thursday in favor of coming to chemistry class on time. That doesn’t stop him from getting some snacks, though, because food is a must and is absolutely important, even more so than chemistry.

Usually, he stops by the nearby vending machine to get a pack of chips before the lecture and no more. This time, Heiji buys two. He finishes his pack of chips and chucks the empty packaging into the trash can and walks to class.

The professor walks in right after and the lecture starts just as he takes a seat, placing the pack of chips on his desk and dropping his backpack onto the floor. When he looks to the side, Kazuha is sulking in her seat, slumping into her oversized camel coat grumpily. He still thinks she looks the cutest in them.

“Want food,” She whines audibly into the desk, frowning cutely. He makes no effort to resist the urge to reach over and pinch her cheek, so he did. Not before throwing an “ahou” her way to make him seem more sincere, of course.

He glances at the pack of chips on his desk. 

Kazuha looks up when he places it in front of her. “Food?” she asks, sitting up and looking at Heiji with an adorable, confused look on her face.

“Food,” Heiji says unintelligently.

The lights are turned off for a powerpoint presentation the professor is currently doing, but he can see the way her eyes narrow at him in mild suspicion. “What did you put in this?”

He turns at the expected accusation. “Nothing!” he says defensively, feeling attacked. She has apparently not forgotten their middle school prank wars. He sighs. “I just bought it. For you.”

She looks at him intently. There’s a moment of pause, and he shifts in his chair anxiously, before she raises a brow and gives him a small, knowing smile. “I thought you hated it when I eat in class?”

He is ready to respond to her with a snide remark, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels bold, confidence growing as he says, “I like watching you eat.” She is toying with the plastic packaging of the chips and grinning when he smiles happily at her.

“Not surprised. Because I eat very gracefully, unlike you.” She throws back at him, a teasing glint in her eyes as she continues to smile at him. Heiji never noticed until now, but their obligatory daily arguments have blossomed into something more comforting and teasing like these ones. He wonders why they used to yell at each other so much when they were younger.

Heiji tunes out the professor’s words as he watches Kazuha throw chips into her mouth, the frown gone from her face. He keeps his gaze until she’s done with the chips. "Do you want something else?" Heiji asks, keeping his voice down and leaning in.

She turns to him. "What do you mean?"

She doesn't tear her gaze as he reaches for his backpack and rummages in it. He smiles as she leans in curiously, trying to peek into his bag with that cute pout on her face. Her eyes widen when he fishes out a bar of chocolate and places it on Kazuha's table.

"Heiji," Kazuha whines, eyes narrowing as she stares at the chocolate bar. "You've eaten half of it," she states as a matter-of-factly.

He indeed has, just yesterday, because he was hungry and who wouldn’t if he knew he had chocolate in his bag? But he still wants to give it to her, because a hungry Kazuha without food is a sad Kazuha and a sad Kazuha is the recipe for a sad Heiji.

He shrugs, pretending to reach for the chocolate. “If you don’t want it, then…”

Her hand quickly lands on the chocolate before his does, covering it with her hand protectively. "Thanks," she says, reaching over to brush the back of her hand against his and smiling up at him with those expressive eyes. She unwraps the chocolate so she can bite into it even though they're clearly in the middle of a lecture, and Heiji can't even be angry at her. Instead he feels like vomiting butterflies and unicorns because Kazuha is so freaking cute and he has never been happier.

•

If Heiji had known that being Kazuha’s boyfriend would be this amazing, he would have stopped burying his feelings years ago and started looking for all the things he can hate Kazuha for since day one.

They’re in Heiji’s room, laptop perched at the end of Heiji’s bed and a bowl of half eaten popcorn left to rest beside it. Having kicked out an exasperated Shinichi and Kaito out of the apartment half an hour back, Heiji made sure that they have the door securely locked, just in case. It’s a fortunate thing, because, as it turns out, Kazuha has a completely different plan for them that does not involve watching the many Avengers movies he has saved into his laptop, and it’s not like he is complaining, anyway.

Kazuha has a downright feral grin on her face as she trails a palm down Heiji’s naked torso, fingers brushing lightly at the hem of his pants as she looks up at him with twinkling eyes. Her hair is tousled up from where he buried his fingers in her dark locks as they made out earlier and he gulps because he’s never seen anyone look so distractingly adorable and suffocatingly hot at the same time.

Heiji shudders at the lingering warmth of her breath on the skin just above where his pants are pulled taut because he’s so achingly hard and her teasing isn’t helping.

“Heiji,” Kazuha purrs, peering up from under long lashes and the ends of her lips pulled up into a feline smile.

He breathes out, grip tightening on the sheets as he pushes down the urge to buck up because it’s only been fifteen minutes and he’s already so desperate.

“Heiji,” He really likes the way Kazuha says his name. “Remember when I had that ice cream? Want me to do exactly what I did to it⁠—” a wet tongue darts out to lick at where skin meets the seam of jeans to leave wet trails behind and he groans as she smirks in satisfaction “⁠—to you?”

“Kazuha,” Heiji hisses out as a warning, feeling like he’s on the brink of exploding because she is so torturously slow. Too slow.

“Want me to lick you up?” Kazuha dips down to take the head of his pants’ zipper in between her teeth. “Suck you dry?” Her palm is hot and welcome as it leaves a burning trail down Heiji’s sensitive ribs. “Swallow you down?”

“Kazuha. Just—” Heiji chokes into a stop when she hushes him up with a soft sound.

The kitty grin on her face makes him want to curse. “Do you want it?”

He looks down at her, chest heaving as he breathes hard. He closes his eyes, willing himself to think because thinking is hard when the body wants otherwise.

Fuck it. “Yes. Fuck, yes Kazuha. Do it.” He all but groans as soon as his mind registers, and doesn’t bother restraining himself from bucking up when she drags her head down, pulling the zipper open with her teeth. Her lips look so beautiful wrapped around the piece of metal and Heiji feels like the luckiest man on Earth to be the sole witness to that. He’s about to melt, physically and mentally, in all sense of the word.

Later, he finally finds out how the ice cream has felt with Kazuha’s lips wrapped around it in a tight, warm heat, and feels so damn happy because, let’s be real, now that he has her, he’s luckier than the luckiest man on Earth.

[itsclydebitches]

(1/2) Something CRWBY (and many writers) seems to struggle with is the difference between a hero and a victim. Victims LOSE things, and that’s why many great heroes start as victims (Spider-Man, Iron Man, etc). But heroes will SACRIFICE something that they want for the betterment of those around them. Team RWBY most definitely check out as victims, but what have they sacrificed to make them heroes? Ironwood sacrificed just about everything he could to make a bad situation work,

That’s a really good distinction to keep in mind. Using that Spider-Man example, losing Uncle Ben doesn’t make Peter into a superhero. Neither does going through the confusion/pain of getting the spider bite. Those, as you say, make him a victim in a hard world while simultaneously providing him with the tools to potentially become a hero - the tragic backstory. But the tragic backstory belongs to villains too. It’s what you do with those circumstances that makes a difference. 

(We can drag the Batman films to the end of time but this scene will always rock). 

It’s through the act of deciding to become Spider-Man that Peter makes his sacrifices: a normal childhood, his safety, the ability to be entirely honest with friends and family, etc. The recent Spider-Man films demonstrate this beautifully by having Peter continually torn between his duties as a hero and his desires as a teenager. Do I go after that baddie or try to have one normal field trip? What makes him a hero is that he continually chooses the former, putting others before himself. 

The RWBY group... doesn’t really do this. We can absolutely argue that they’ve sacrificed certain things like their safety, but the way they went about it is with an overconfident, entitled air. Especially in Volume 5. What we see is not a group sacrificing what’s left of their childhood to join a life-long war, but a group who thinks they’re going to pop over to Remnant’s dark zone, kill Salem, and be hailed as - you know - heroes. Easy peasy. When they realize that they do need to sacrifice big things like time to a drawn-out war, or effort in regards to coming up with a plan, they balk. They turn on Ozpin and shy from that responsibility, furious that the adults haven’t given them an easy out. Which would have been a fantastic setup for their growth, especially since the story introduced this problem early on. Meaning, most of the group never wanted to be heroes. Only Ruby. Weiss wanted an out from her family, Blake wanted a very specific kind of improvement, and Yang just wanted adventure (who knows what JNR wants...) They were primed to grapple with whether they would become the heroes that Remnant needs - whether they’d make those sacrifices - but so far we haven’t seen the group step up to the plate at all. No one tried to make peace with Ozpin, acknowledging what he’s sacrificed and trying to drum up the courage to do the same. No one tries to come up with a plan of their own. The plot hasn’t even given us personal sacrifices like, “In order to defeat Salem you must work outside the normal laws of Remnant. You cannot be huntresses. In order to be a hero, you must put aside that lifelong dream.” Instead the licenses are handed to them like everything else lately: acceptance into Ozpin’s inner circle despite lacking training/vetting, crossing a closed border despite the law/their attack, getting to keep the relic despite the stupidity of that choice, etc. They’ve absolutely been victims, but that’s not the same thing as being heroes. Especially lately. The RNJR group set out on a revenge mission. 99% of the group only decided to help because they didn’t want to be separated from Ruby. They continue on to Atlas because where else are they going to go? And then they’re happy to indefinitely do huntsmen work there and pretend the Salem situation doesn’t exist. Since Volume 3 we’ve seen them doing good things because it’s convenient, not because they have any sort of drive to make a difference. The one person who does - Ruby - is now being written as overconfident to the point where she makes the least heroic decisions possible, yet the story isn’t interested in acknowledging that. 

The group needs to sacrifice something. Which circles right back around to my Volume 6 complaints: they needed to talk about the quest. Every single character needed to figure out/establish why they were there, what they wanted, and what they were willing to give up in order to dive into this mission for the long haul. No one did that. They’ve just been bouncing from one place to the next because, as said, where else are they going to go? What else will they do? It’s all a matter of convenience. A hero like Spider-Man decides to be a hero, with all the sacrifices that comes with. Forever. (Or at least until they can’t fight anymore.) Team RWBY hasn’t decided to be the heroes against Salem’s villain yet. They’re still just kids who are very pleased to get housing/food/work from the powerful general... but fighting the war he’s in is damn complicated, so let’s just ignore that until external forces make us think about it. Then we’re given Ruby confidently saying that she’ll defeat Salem and it’s like... how? Why? You weren’t interested in defeating her when Ozpin was on his knees begging for help, or Ironwood was coming up with a plan you knew was doomed, but now a whole kingdom (and the audience) should put their trust in you since Salem is conveniently at the door and you’ve helped knock out four of the others who might act as heroes instead? It’s the same issue as in Volume 6: The show emphasizes hero!Ruby who defeats the Leviathan while completely ignoring that she’s the one who brought it to Argus in the first place. The show either needs to a) have her sacrifice things to be a hero (I’ll give up my easy-going lifestyle to ask about my silver eyes and try to prepare for this responsibility I’ve accepted) or b) acknowledge that she’s currently a scared kid who doesn’t want to be a hero. Otherwise I can’t take her seriously. 

(As an aside though, not sure I agree about Aang and Zuko. Zuko was originally forced out of his position and then, yes, decides to sacrifice the potential to return. Aang has responsibility already attached to him by being the Avatar, but he still decides to be an active participant in that responsibility - seeking out masters to train with - rather than, say, running from it. He’s the opposite of our current Ruby, moving towards that goal, doing what he can to prepare for it, and helping others along the way. Then, by the end of the series he’s faced with a personal sacrifice: Am I willing to go against the Air Nomad’s beliefs and kill Ozai to restore balance? He ultimately finds a way around that, but for a long time that’s what he’s building towards - sacrificing the last tie to his people in the name of saving the world.) 

[mechmech]

Ok so I know this is like my first post but I’ve been working on it cause a friend did it for their dnd character and I was like this could be fun and give people some insight. Questions wandered as Mecha 1-100

Smell like: oil, sweat, and more recently baby spit-up

Voice: Not many people will understand this fem-V from cyberpunk. Sorta gravely

Motivator: Research mostly. Finding out new things and applying them. More recently though her kid and making a better world for them.

Most embarrassing memory: She doesn’t like to share this story, but when she was younger and moved around with her sister mecha, she was afraid to GO in the woods because she accidentally wandered onto a farmer’s land and was caught pantsless.

How do they react to pain: “ You wanna hit me go ahead, just stay away from the hands and eyes” She can deal with a great deal of physical pain but when it comes to emotions and others she is like a mage named Corren

Wear: Normally throughout the day, she wears her metal armor. Outside of her armor, she wears a simple black dress when relaxing, a work apron while working, and always Always gauntlets and a blindfold

Most positive relationship: THis is difficult because so many of them have done different things, but most probably Corren and her want to be more good like him

The weirdest thing I have ever eaten: Correns cooking

Sleep: “Alister! Corren! Cuddle me!” Yea she will cuddle up with almost any person who trusts and it depends on the person. Alister: Alister is the big spoon and mecha buries herself into his chest and stomach. Corren: Mecha is like a koala to Corren and just hugs onto a single leg.

Favorite food/ kinda food: Vegetables honestly, but also baked goods like bread

Most insecure about: How others see her

Like to wear: adaptable clothing, something that can be used for many different functions and also gotta be able to get dirty and clean when you need it

How do they react to feelings of guilt: Previously they bottled them up, but more and more they are learning to talk to others about that guilt. Ultimately she always feels guilty for something

React to betrayal: Depends on the person buuuttttt, angry, blames themself for part of it, tries to move on quickly

Greatest achievement: MOCHA

Too little sleep: quiet and most likely taking a nap in the skeleton’s arms. That's If she is actually tired. Shel heals fatigue in an instant.

What are they like a drunk: If she drinks and gets drunk and that's a big if she becomes an I love you drunk and we'll just tell everyone what she likes about them before passing out.

Music likes: A lot of Rock and techno music, a little bit of pop only because it fits.

Right or left-handed: She always works with her hammer in her right hand.

Fears: Being completely alone, losing her friends, losing Mocha, destroying the world, the unknown, diseases, being like her mother

Favorite weather: Nice sunny days with a slight breeze

Favorite color: it’s hard because it's between gold and blue

Collect anything: besides random trophies, rocks that she sometimes gives away.

Hot or cold weather: Hot because you can cool down easily.

Eye color: Goldenish/ yellow

Race/ ethnicity: Well Gremlin in Sekrezia, in the real world through it's between Brazilian and Irish

Hair color: Ginger/ red

Happy where they are currently: Nope, not even a little bit. She's upset because she believes she has possibly doomed the world and has actually found someone she can connect with/ has some feeling for and they just keep backsliding her. She also hates that she has to leave her new daughter.

Mounting person: YES!!! Up early to get shit done

Sunrise or sunset: Sunrise is extremely pretty to watch especially when you can but caves are a thing.

Messy or organized: Like myself, it's a chaotic form of organization

Pet peeves: Jumping to conclusions, mistreating machines

Objects of significant importance: Her forge hammer which is like a badge of office saying she is a member of a smithing guild and her evil eye because a really good friend helped her make it.

Least favorite food: The rock she accidentally tried to eat while she was tired delirious one night in a cave.

Least favorite color: Kelly Green. Look it looks like puke, nothing against other greens but this one ugh

Least favorite smell: Decaying flesh

The last time they cried: mhhh a few weeks but it's gonna be soon. Definitely the birth of her child.

Anybody with them: entire party forMochas birth, but other than that Corren and Alistar

The time they got injured: Well getting crushed by a giant cube was bad, the worst injury would probably be getting dragged into lava by her own creation that she loved.

Scars: Nope none so far that are physical. Some mental ones that she's working through.

Mental health issues: Paranoia, Depression, Suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, PTSD

Bad habits: Shutting everyone else out.

Why might someone dislike her: SHe can be a bit standoffish and definitely hard-headed.

Why might someone love her: He has a big heart for those she cares about, she's smart and also creates a lot of small gifts that aren't for value but personal reasons.

Believe in ghosts: Literally was in a plane of the dead, soooo yes

Anyone they would trust with their life: Corren, Alistar, Torvid, Simple,

Romantically interested in anyone: Spectra, depends on the person. ACE and Demiromantic

Dating/ Married: Complicated is what it is. Yes dating somewhat but it’s not a good relationship

Like surprises: Yes, surprises are nice and add a bit of fun to life. Other than a somewhat surprising pregnancy.

Birthday: I honestly forget but it's their weave day

Celebrate their birthday: Only with those they care about, which is few but some members of the party yes.

Family: Dad is dead, Mom is alive supposedly but she was supposed to be dead, and sister is possibly dead but in a bit of denial about it

Close to their family: Chosen family yes.

MBTI type: ISTP

Zodiac signs: I forget the sekrezian one but in real life Aquarius

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Alignment; Chaotic neutral/ good

Nightmares: Losing the entire party in ways that they caused ore were directly a part of.

View on death: CHanged a lot as their questline has gone on but “Once someone has passed from this world and seen the raven queen and chosen their afterlife that is it, they are at peace and will stay there unless the gods dictate differently. Past a resurrection people should not come back. I have learned this the hard way and watched what happens when you play with death”.

Something they always laugh at: Corren getting flustered and digging himself into holes he can't get out of.

When bored, what do they do: Read a book/ tinker with new experiments

Enjoy the outside: yes, especially new areas where there are unexplored places.

Accent: Somewhat of a german accent but I’m no good at replicating it

Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, the first reaction: “Who left this perfectly good piece of cake here?”

If they knew they were going to die what would they do/ say: Alister: Be a good father to Mocha, Corren: Be a good stepfather to Mocha and make sure Alister stays on the right path, Simple Geoff: didn't like you at first but your apart of my family now, Maple: Live your best life and don't let other people tell you what you can be also given up on revenge it's never as sweet as you think, Lautrec: (Opens box) sorry it took a while, Vlog: “you don't like me, I kinda like you, protect your own but never stop learning and exploring.

Feelings about sex: Mecha doesn’t want sex and feels really uncomfortable with it especially around people she doesn’t know, but around friends, she’s willing to talk about it but will also respect preferences.

Sexuality: questioning, but Grey-ace

Squeamish around blood: Nope “ I saved a man that had a lethal arrow through his neck”

Anything they find gross: Living hair/ hair constructs

TV trope: Reclusive nerd with a big heart

Enjoy helping people: Yes she really likes to help those who need it, but if she believes you can help yourself she will leave you to it.

Allergies: Seasonal/ pollen

Pet: Multiple constructs that range from a skeleton to a walking piece of glass

Quick to anger: No, she has somewhat of a calm head that eventually boils over and then causes a big yelling fight/ random actions such as throwing a stick of dynamite in a graveyard.

How patient is she: Rather patient especially when listening, not the greatest responder though

Good at cooking: Hell yea they are, give them a pan and they'll make you a feast

Favorite insult:” I'm coming for your knees” “Don't make me get the fume engine”

How do they act when happy: Huge grin on their face and they start fidgeting.

What do they do when they learn about others’ fears: Tease them slightly in private but keep the information to themselves.

Trustworthy: yes and very loyal to her friends.

Do they try to hide their emotions: Definitely but not always the greatest at hiding them cause everyone has a great sense of motive.

Exercise regularly: We walk and adventure every day while she carries probably over 25lb of mechanical items so yes.

Comfortable with the way they look: Mhh sometimes, but not always. She really doesn't like that she reminds herself of her sister or that she has distinct eyes.

Features they find attractive on others: Not really features, she's more into personality but she does like people’s eyes.

Personalities they find attractive: Protective, Kind, Smart, honest, loyal.

Do they like sweet foods: definitely into the sweeter things in life,

Age: in sekrezia: 204, equivalent age is like 45-55

Tall or short: 3ft pretty short but and on the shorter side of her race

Glasses or contacts: Nope just a cool ass blindfold and no it's not for BDSM

Consider herself attractive: Nope, not at all. SHes surprised if someone likes her in that way.

Sense of humor: Both dark and sexual but at the same time dad jokes as much as possible. Also random improv she comes up with on the spot, which is slightly me

What mood are they in most often: THe mood of trying to figure out how something works

What angers them: Hurting children, hurting the party, destroying art and machines, using others to your own gain, rape, slavery

Outlook on life: “Life is full of twists and turns. There is never bad without good. Take your time and really think about what you do, but don't forget to also just let go and go wild every now and then.

What makes them sad or depressed: THinking of their family/ friends being gone, children with no home, Mocha growing up alone.

Greatest weakness: Turning the mind against them/ lack of belief in herself and that she is not responsible for the world.

Greatest strength: Open mind and somewhat open heart.

Something they regret: not letting them self grieve for pax in a different way than hunting them down and screwing the world.

Biggest accomplishment: Having a kid

Hope for the future: open an orphanage and continue helping the Fucks make the world at least a little brighter.

[sourbat]

I’m apparently trapped in Magnus/Pickles hell, so them with M? :)

M: Marriage of Convenience

I…actually want to do this. A lot. In fact, here is a rough summary:

Pickles  discovers his insurance is no longer covering his testosterone. Thanks to a legal loophole, Pickles learns he can marry and get covered under better insurance, and his pal Magnus is willing to take one for the team. So, no problem, right?

“Pickles!” his mother’s voice screeched through the line. “When were you going to tell me you got married, hmm?”

Wrong.

Basically, Magnus tries to do a solid. Pickles learns his family is aware of the situation, is immediately suspicious and/or guilt trips Pickles into coming over, and offers a financial reward for the newlyweds. They need to make a good enough attempt at being a passable couple so that Pickles’ family gets off their back and doesn’t rat them out for fraud, and what better way to do that then spend the next few days learning about one another as they slowly make their way to the state? 

Potential Rating: T/M

And underneath is a rough draft for the first scene.  Let me know what you think?? 

Worst part about visiting the hospital was the location. The city he lived in had at least a dozen hospitals, but the only one that accepted his insurance was a thirty-minute drive one way, and off the corner of a busy street not nearly enough traffic signs. Nathan was always willing to make the hour-long drive just for the hell of it. Pickles figured it was mainly due in part to Nathan's abundant fascination with music, and the sheer joy he got just listening and talking about it, but the man was a saint nonetheless. Pickles had no problem taking in the demographic history of early Scandinavian death metal bands if it made the process of picking up his gel easier. Bad enough the insurers only handed him two pumps a pop. The crappy location and last year’s seven-dollar increase were just the whip cream and cherry to his otherwise bullshit sundae. Still, there were worse options. 

“Your total comes to $133,” the pharmacist announced.

Pickles’ attention swayed from the decadent row of cough drops, rising and sparkling into a flare of curiosity at the number.

“S’cuse me?” he asked, bearing a slightly disappointed smile that was directed more at himself for not paying attention, and less at the annoyed pharmacist just trying to do her job. “Can you, uhh, repeat that one more time?”

“Your prescription,” she repeated. “The amount due is $133 exactly. Will you be using cash, card or check?”

Oh? Pickles’ dropped his stare to the register. There it was: $133.00, clear as day. A vast difference from the thirty-seven Pickles was used to paying. The amount made his stomach turn and twist into an ugly, gut wrenching knot. He rolled two twenties held between his index and middle finger, feeling their inadequacy drag between the clammy appendages. 

Surely there must be a mistake.

“Can you check again?” Pickles rested his arms on top of the counter. It’s a mistake, but there’s a distinct contrast between the cool plastic countertop versus his hot reddening flesh. The sensation was an unsettling reminder of how quick he was to second-guess, but he persisted through that gathering storm of fear and figured it had to be a problem with his card. “My card,” he said, sensing some relief when he heard the words fly out his mouth. “Yeah, maybe the barcode is wrong?”

The pharmacist said nothing as she cancelled the order, then typed in the rows of numbers on his insurance card. Pickles pressed his tongue out just enough for the tip to poke through his lips, then licking the top nervously as he patiently waited for new results. He’d have to order a new card. His mind rolled around the idea, used it as a garnish to cover that steaming pile of “something’s wrong” that was building in his stomach, and when the order went through and Pickles saw the dreaded number return, his empty stomach began to fill with acid.

“Same amount,” she said, and this time turned her computer screen towards Pickles so that any chance of this being a mistake on her part was cast aside. A manicured finger jabbed the name on the screen. “This is your name, correct?”

Pickles frowned at the name. “Yeah,” he answered, then grimaced when his eyes reflexively settled on the “S” label lying just beneath the name, reflecting and taunting him with the horrid truth of the manner, and predicament he’d somehow placed upon himself. “Uhmm…”

“Do you need me to cancel your order?”

“What? No!” Pickles snapped at the question. Thankfully, the nurse barely reacted, and merely took a step to the side, creating a small bit of distance between herself and Pickles.

Eyes returning to the price, Pickles sweaty hands curled inward into vibrating fists. The weight of his legs doubled, and chest racked with panic as he anxiously performed mental somersaults trying to recall the exact amount of money he currently had in his account, and whether he’d be about to financially handle such a burden. It wasn’t like he had spent money on anything major, aside from food. Surely had enough for a… wait, didn’t he recently loan Murderface a twenty? And he spent another thirty a week ago with Magnus at that one bar. Shit. 

Pickles swallowed. His head filled with heat and cotton as he stared hopelessly at the amount, and knew he wouldn’t be able to afford the two pumps, much less a second dose midway through the month. 

“Well?” The nurse asked, growing impatient.

What to do? His nails dug into his palms as he tried to think of a solution. If it wasn’t the card, then it had to be the insurance. Something happened with his insurance… something very recent. He only paid thirty-seven two weeks ago. He needed to call his insurance and figure out what they messed up.

But first he needed his prescription.

“One sec,” Pickles said, then reached across the counter and picked up his card. It nearly slipped out from his shaking hands as he jammed it into his pocket, then hurried down the centermost hallway, head turning between each aisle until he reached the second to the last. At the far end, standing in front of the magazine selection, stood Nathan.

He was absentmindedly flipping through the pages of last week’s tabloids, when Pickles raced up to him, slapping both his hands across the man’s back. 

“Nate, dood!” Pickles said, voice giving way to panic. Heat burst out his lanky shoulders, covering the top half of his arm in a red blush.

Unaffected by the impact, Nathan slowly lifted his eyes from the article he’d been perusing. “Oh, hey Pickles,” he grumbled.

Pickles chewed his inner lip. “Nathan, I need yer help,” he said, wincing at the burn starting to build at the ends of his eyes. Shame riddled his face and darkened each freckle as Nathan picked up on Pickles’ panicked state, and started to lower the magazine.

“Uh… what’s up?” 

“I, uhh.” Pickles ran his hand through his thinning hair, feeling the drag left by his sweating hands. His gut folded again, sloshing the collected acid from before to rise and burn the bottom of his already dry throat. Pickles sighed miserably, releasing a gust of soured, heavy air. “Can you loan me some money, dood?”

[beca-mitchell]

we are the wild youth (3/5)

chapter 3: it's been so damn hard on my own

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Chapter summary: In an extremely shocking twist, Beca realizes that she had been falling for Chloe all this time.

Again, rated M/E for depictions and references to coitus. Chapter also has references to deaths of family members.

Chapter title is from A R I Z O N A’s “Let Me Know”.

Now there’s an “EP”/playlist!

Word count: 5,574

Read below or on AO3.

It is the morning that follows, a sleepy, cold morning, that Beca gets that long-awaited email from her boss. It is an email telling her that his contact in New York pulled through.

Beca is wide awake.

Sammy ended up sending his contact some of Beca’s original stuff, finally deeming it ‘good enough’ to be viable, and well—

A job opportunity—no, better. A job offer at a record label as a junior producer.

She finally gets to leave. She’s going to leave once she graduates and she’s going to finally pursue her dreams.

She drops her arm back onto the bed, suddenly more conscious and aware of her other arm, trapped beneath Chloe’s body as she snoozes next to her. Beca ends up lying awake until Chloe slowly awakens as well, stretching contentedly like a cat in sunshine against Beca’s side. There is a distinct youthfulness to Chloe’s features this early in the morning, Beca thinks—like for once Chloe isn’t plagued by her past, her present, or future.

“What?” Beca asks when Chloe stares at her with a content, sleepy expression on her face. It makes Beca nervous, but she can’t pinpoint why.

“Nothing,” Chloe says finally and instead surges up to press a deep, wanting kiss against Beca’s lips, eviscerating all other wake-up calls Beca has ever received in her life.

  — — x — —

 “I have a question,” Chloe says as they mull over formulas, proofs, and endless all-day breakfast at Carl’s later that day.

Without looking up, Beca sighs. “Chloe we just went over basic derivatives and you definitely—”

Chloe’s hand comes up to still Beca’s hand. Beca freezes.

“Do you and um,” Chloe hesitates. It’s the first time, really, that Beca has seen Choe somewhat flustered or nervous. Chloe seems to steel herself. “Do you and that uh, Jesse kid have like...a thing going on?”

It’s clear that this has been bothering Chloe to some extent, if the furrow in her brow and the questioning tilt in her eyes are anything to go by. If Beca weren’t mulling over how cute Chloe looked right then, she’d have burst out laughing right away. That being said, her laugh comes out short and delayed and entirely too awkward for her to really save anything about the situation.

Chloe is evidently taken aback and she leans back in the booth and crosses her arms, their homework forgotten. “I’m serious,” Chloe says, verging very close to a pout.

“I’m serious too,” Beca says, still laughing. “Where the fuck did you get that from?”

“I don’t know, you guys just seem…” Chloe bites her lip, looking more attractive than she has any right to be. “Close.”

“That’s what you get when a guy like Jesse forces his way into your life and somehow sticks around for three and a half years.”

“Is that what I did?” Chloe asks, her tone decidedly different from just a few moments ago. “Force my way into your life.”

"No," Beca says immediately. 

It's something closer to fate. Maybe destiny.

But it's not like those things are real anyway, so Beca can't really do much than meet Chloe's questioning gaze head-on.

  — — x — —

 Chloe just checking that we’re ok Bec?

A part of Beca threatens to burst—like she could really just spill everything she’s been feeling to Chloe right then and there. Her fingers long to type out an excessively long message, just to get her point across and just to expunge all of the emotions she currently feels.

Like the emotions dangerously resembling a dumb, gross crush on Chloe Beale.

She's sure Chloe knows by now. Chloe is the kind of girl who knows these things, likely from experience. Even more likely that she just has a better grasp on other people's emotions compared to Beca's own emotional bandwidth.

Beca Yeah, we’re ok

 "God, she definitely knows," Beca mumbles.

Chloe and you’re still coming for dinner w/ my parents?

There it is.

Beca swallows, having momentarily forgotten about it. She isn’t sure why the nerves seem to bubble up in her more than they normally would.

Beca Yeah

It isn’t like Chloe is her girlfriend and she’s meeting her parents for the first time. Just her tutoring subject. Beca is a tutor first and foremost.

Nothing wrong with that.

She’ll just make sure to maintain some distance between now and then.

  — — x — —

 So it turns out that distance is good, but Beca hadn’t thought about how distance would be completely eviscerated considering she is quite literally at Chloe’s parents’ house. Distance should be good. Or it would be if Beca weren’t such a chump and ringing the doorbell to Chloe’s massive house. Her father’s massive house.

Beca always thought her own father had a big house, but she supposes when Chloe’s father is a doctor-doctor, there’s a little bit more money than an English professor. Like a literal real doctor who has probably saved lives. That’s more than Beca can say about her father and his books.

She’s never going to give her father trouble for the size of his house again.

Chloe greets her at the door with a relieved expression. “I’m glad you came!” Chloe exclaims. She reaches out for Beca’s hand and laces their fingers together. The shock of holding Chloe’s hand makes Beca’s reply come in a lame, delayed fashion.

“You were the one who invited me,” Beca says quickly. “Of course I was going to come.”

“I know you were thinking of standing me up,” Chloe singsongs, still holding on to Beca’s hand as she drags her through a massive foyer and into the kitchen.

Beca can’t really say anything to that because it’s kind of true. She had been thinking about that, even though each instance of that thought sent sweeping guilt through her chest.

Chloe’s hand is soft and warm, unlike Beca’s cold, clammy hand. It feels nice. That’s kind of true, too.

“I’m glad you came,” Chloe repeats, more sincere than she had been at the door, not that Beca thought that was even possible. “I just...my dad’s been a lot recently. The lab is kind of struggling with funding so...yay,” she drawls. “And um,” Chloe’s eyebrows draw together. “Nothing, nevermind.”

Beca, knowing only vague things about Chloe’s father’s business, shrugs. “I’m sure it’s...it’s not as bad as you think and there isn’t anything to worry about.” She nudges Chloe. “And you’re set to take over eventually, aren’t you?”

Chloe’s expression shifts marginally before she composes herself and she shrugs. “I guess so, it’s just—” Chloe cuts herself off and sighs, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

Before Beca can inquire more into that, soft footsteps sound behind her. “Oh,” a woman’s voice sounds from behind them. “I didn’t realize we had a guest.”

Chloe sighs and turns to face who Beca assumes to be her mother. “Mom, I told you I was inviting Beca over for dinner because dad wanted to meet her.”

Her mother smiles faintly. “That’s nice, dear. Nice to meet you, Becky.” She reaches for a wine glass from the cupboard. “I hope you like steak.”

“I do,” Beca says as pleasantly as she can, not bothering to correct her.

“Chloe, if you can, dear, please run and buy a couple bottles of red before dinner. We’re running low. You’ll indulge, won’t you, Becky?”

Before Beca can fully nod or respond, Chloe’s hand comes to grip her wrist again. Beca clamps her mouth shut and instead watches on silently as Chloe’s mother shuffles away again, humming to herself.

A million questions run through Beca’s mind. She had been under the assumption that Chloe’s mother was a researcher of some kind—another powerful figure in the medical field. It was essentially a well-known fact that Chloe had been born into all kinds of privilege, intelligence and money being only two of them.

It seemed that a stable family life was not on the table.

“Are you okay?” Beca asks instead of the million other questions she wants to ask. It comes out softer than she intends. More delicate.

Chloe nods, but otherwise doesn’t respond before turning to face Beca again.

“It’s just hard being twenty-five and all of…” she gestures vaguely around the kitchen. “This.”

“Are we going to go to the store?” Beca asks hesitantly.

Chloe bites her lip. “You think I shouldn’t,” she assesses. Correctly, too.

“Chloe, it’s—” none of my business “—up to you. I’ll just do whatever you want me to do.”

The more serious conversation that needs to be had likely doesn’t involve Beca at all, if Chloe’s mother has an alcoholism problem. She feels badly enough that Chloe has to go through this on top of likely being embarrassed that Beca saw anything at all.

“Is it weird that I kind of wish we were studying right now instead of this?” Chloe asks, sounding more cheerful than the expression on her face belies.

It isn’t weird at all, Beca thinks. “Show me your room,” Beca suggests instead of the thousands of more appropriate things she could possibly say at that moment.

It seems to do the trick however because Chloe smiles.

  — — x — —

 “How is tutoring going, Beca?”

Beca struggles to swallow the huge gulp of water she had just taken while maintaining eye contact with Chloe’s intimidating father. “It’s…” she clears her throat. “It’s going well.”

“And Chloe isn’t giving you any trouble?’

Beca glances at Chloe who has gone rather still. “No, she’s been a model student.”

To Beca’s surprise, he scoffs. Chloe continues to say nothing, but begins to push her food around her plate. “Can you believe that she’s been in school for seven years and she still doesn’t have a degree to show for it? And to think that she graduated high school early. All that potential...”

It’s the beginning of a rant if Beca’s ever heard one. Beca blinks back the sudden sharp sting she feels behind her eyes, the hurt she suddenly feels on Chloe’s behalf. “That really doesn’t mean anything,” she says before she can stop herself. She glances at Chloe’s mother who has not said a word. She merely swirls her wine glass and gazes despondently at her own plate.

Dr. Beale’s gaze cuts to her and she quickly looks back down, feeling chastised. “Your father is a professor, is he not?”

“Yes,” Beca says to her plate.

“He worked hard to get to where he is, didn’t he?”

“I’m sure he did, but—”

“And I guess he doesn’t want you wasting your time. He doesn’t want you wasting your life. You’re set to graduate aren’t you?”

“Uh, I—”

“Wish I could say the same for Chloe here,” he says lightly like he’s sharing a splendid joke. Beca clenches her fist in her lap.

Chloe sighs loudly.

“You know, Chloe,” Chloe’s father says, swirling his glass. Whiskey, probably, Beca notes. “If you tried a little more, maybe you wouldn’t be such a fucking disappointment.”

Beca startles at that, not expecting such harsh words in such a calm tone. She looks up hesitantly, eyes flicking back and forth between Chloe and her father. It almost feels like she had imagined the moment because Chloe continues to move food around on her plate and her father continues to hold his gaze intently on the side of his daughter’s head, arched eyebrow and a precariously-held glass of amber liquid to the side.

It’s surreal to say the least. Beca would have never imagined this moment happening.

“It’s literally just two classes, Chloe,” her father continues. “Two classes and you can stop sucking money out of us like a damn leech and actually do something worthwhile with your life. You already have a damn job ready for you, but you refuse to step up to just take it.”

It’s hard to imagine that these words are coming from the mouth of the man who had been such a generous giver to their school—the same that many students aspired to be. Atlanta, while not small or tucked away by any measure, was still no New York or Los Angeles. Yet thousands of students still flocked to their school and city for this very reason. This man, berating his daughter in full view of his daughter’s tutor.

Beca swallows.

Beca tries not to think about Chloe’s bright smile, helping children through dance steps at the studio.

She tries not to think about it because this isn’t any of her business. She tries not to think about it because she’s just a tutor.

A friend, maybe. A tutor, definitely.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says quietly, a far cry from every version of Chloe Beale that Beca has been privy to thus far.

Chloe’s mother sniffs at her glass—white wine—and sighs before taking a long drink.

Beca isn’t supposed to be privy to this at all, she’s sure of it. She isn’t supposed to feel so fiercely protective over a student she’s meant to take money from so she can finally get out of this town. So she can finally move to New York. So she can finally make music which people care about.

She isn’t meant to care about what Chloe thinks of her music—isn’t meant to feel guilty for taking money for a job she does well.

This is all temporary.

  — — x — —

 When Chloe texts her to meet her at the diner, Beca heaves a breath. She thought Chloe was hellbent on ignoring her after that episode at Chloe’s house—horribly awkward and horribly tense. Chloe hadn’t spoken to her the rest of the time in her bedroom while they worked through a calculus assignment...except when she had quietly asked Beca if she wanted to have sex.

Beca had politely declined, not really feeling like taking advantage of Chloe in her state, but Chloe’s lackluster response, her quiet acquiescence, had been enough for Beca to quickly pack her things up.

Before she left, she hovered awkwardly by Chloe’s shoulder and felt like she ought to kiss her on the head or hug her.

Instead of doing either of those things, she had squeezed Chloe’s shoulder and half-heartedly murmured a goodbye with the promise to text her to set up another session.

And it ended up being Chloe who texted first anyway.

Now, sitting in front of Chloe, Beca realizes that she had missed her over the past few days. The past few days of not seeing Chloe’s infuriatingly innocent smile (a smile usually paired with something suggestive—suggestive enough to make Beca balk and completely fumble with her pen) had taken more of a toll on Beca than she expected.

It was because she was invested in Chloe as her student. Her tutor-subject-person. That was it.

“Hi,” Beca greets when Chloe takes out a novel and her notebook. “Are we...what are we doing today?”

“I thought we could just have breakfast for dinner,” Chloe says simply. “Then you can pretend like you enjoy tutoring me.”

It’s said so lightly and casually that Beca almost doesn’t catch it. “Hey,” she says finally. “That’s not true. I don’t pretend like I enjoy doing anything.”

Chloe relaxes and giggles. “Sorry, I just…” she sighs and shrugs off her leather jacket. Beca tries not to look at her bare shoulders. “It’s been a lot. With...you know. Especially around this time of year.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Beca says.

And with that, they don’t speak, at least for a little while. Beca orders a burger and coke because it amuses her to see Chloe’s furrowed brow when she chastises Beca for not ordering breakfast as per ‘tradition’ at the diner. Chloe orders a stack of pancakes bigger than her head.

It is not until Chloe is halfway through the pancakes and Beca is halfway through looking at Chloe’s recent homework assignment that Chloe speaks again.

“I had an older brother,” Chloe says quietly.

It is absolutely not what Beca expected to hear. The word choice isn’t lost on Beca. She slowly puts down her pencil and watches Chloe from across the booth.

“Okay,” she murmurs, gently as to not scare Chloe off.

“I...his name was James, but I called him Jamie. I guess most people did, except dad. And mom when she was mad at him.” A thought seems to bring a smile to Chloe’s face. A fond memory, Beca hopes.

A part of her wants to reach out to hold Chloe’s hand, but the more rational part tells her that Chloe would more than likely shut down if she did that. She sits on her hands to resist the temptation.

“I...we were close,” Chloe continues before clearing her throat. “I don’t know, I guess he kind of accepted that he would always work for dad’s clinic. He was in his second year of med school when he…” Chloe hums, looking thoroughly embarrassed at her own tears and hastily averts eye contact with Beca. “It was an accident. I was almost done with my last year here. I’ve felt stuck this whole time.”

What did you want to do? Beca longs to ask, she doesn’t get the chance. The words die in her throat when Chloe looks back up at her.

“I don’t want to work for my father,” Chloe murmurs. “He’s not the best person but I know he’s still family. I just...I can’t do it. I can’t see myself giving up my life like that. But not doing what Jamie was working towards feels like cheating his memory a little. Even though I know he wouldn’t have wanted that for me either.” Chloe laughs hollowly. “With how many extra years I’ve taken on here, I could have two degrees. But I just don’t…” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know how to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca says when she realizes Chloe is spent. “I...don’t know what to say. I didn’t know about your brother. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t really talk about it,” Chloe admits. “Aubrey knew because we were best friends when it happened, then she graduated and I guess I just...didn’t. It’s been a few years, but I still think about it. I guess I can’t forget about things as easily as my parents can.”

“I’m sure they didn’t forget about him,” Beca tries to say, but her voice feels weak and unused.

“Well, they’re doing a good job of making it seem that way.” She smiles wryly. “Didn’t see any family photos in my house, did you?”

Beca shakes her head, mouth too dry to speak. She wants to do nothing more than to slide into the seat next to Chloe and hold her—to at least sap some hurt away for the time being even if temporary solutions are barely sufficient for something like this.

Beca conceptually understands that people deal with grief differently, but the cold air in the Beale house had been unmistakable and immediately-apparent. She doesn’t say as much however because Chloe is right and nothing more needs to be said.

“Chloe,” Beca murmurs instead. She has no words, not really. It’s clear that Chloe is hurting—or had been at least. This impromptu study session in the dingy 24-hour diner just off-campus isn’t quite turning out how Beca initially expected.

Chloe shrugs. “I don’t...expect you to say anything. I know I’ve been kind of sucky the past few weeks and...I didn’t want you to think that it was…” Chloe licks her lips nervously, finally meeting Beca’s eyes. “Well...nothing that you did.”

Beca smiles at Chloe’s attempt to comfort her when it definitely ought to be the other way around. How are you real? She thinks to herself in wonder. “Want to know a secret?” Chloe nods, a curious look finding its way across her face. “I totally know you’ve been faking it, you know.” At Chloe’s incredibly confused expression, Beca fumbles with her napkin. “Not—not like that. I know you’re uh. Not. Faking that.”

“All those smarts and you can’t even say sex.”

“I meant,” Beca continues, pushing through the hot flush that burns across her cheeks. “That I know you’re faking this whole...not knowing calculus thing.”

Chloe smirks. “What gave it away?” she asks, the air between them losing some of the heavy feeling and tension.

Beca relaxes. Grades and homework, she knows more about. How to deal with Chloe flirting with her? Not so much. “Just...the blatantly wrong way you go about writing out some proofs. It really takes somebody who knows what’s going on to get every step wrong. Or, you know, getting all the steps right but getting the final answer wrong.”

Chloe casually leans up to flick some hair out of her eyes, taking the opportunity to swipe at her own eyes as discreetly as possible. Beca pretends not to notice and looks intently into her glass of Coke as the moment passes.

“Okay, fine,” Chloe concedes. Beca glances up to see that Chloe looks entirely too pleased with herself. “But the sex is still good, right?”

  — — x — —

 Yes, the sex is still good, Beca thinks. If thoughts could breathless, that’s exactly what’s happening in Beca’s mind as Chloe’s tongue does sinful things between her legs.

If somebody were to tell Beca when she entered college that she would thoroughly enjoy having a girl’s tongue between her legs, flicking incessantly at her aching clit, she would have run away screaming. Or at least blushed furiously to the point of passing out.

Now, she still feels on the verge of passing out, but for entirely different reasons. Better reasons. Now, she can’t imagine doing anything but tightening her grip in Chloe’s hair and keeping a steady enough hold so that Chloe can’t stop.

Not that it seems like Chloe has any plans on stopping. Her hands grip Beca’s hips with near-bruising force as she presses Beca’s hips down into the mattress.

“So good,” Beca chokes out, trying to loosen some of the pressure in her chest. Another moan escapes her and as if the sound pleases Chloe, she hums, circling Beca’s clit once with a precise tongue before latching on with her lips and sucking.

Beca cries out, arching her back against the pressure and comes hard against Chloe’s lips, tongue—her wonderful, wonderful mouth.

When she regains some semblance of sanity, she opens her eyes to Chloe smiling at her, glistening chin and all.

“You’re so good at that,” Beca murmurs lazily. “I want to be good at that for you,” she says before she can stop herself. Words keep slipping out of her mouth at an alarming frequency these days.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll teach you,” Chloe promises. “Later,” she murmurs, leaning down to capture Beca’s mouth in a lazy kiss. Her hand skates down the flat planes of Beca’s stomach, taking its time.

Later, Beca thinks when Chloe pushes two fingers into her. Later sounds perfect.

  — — x — —

 Somewhere down the line, Beca realizes the devastating truth that Chloe might actually be one of her closest friends. Jesse’s still there, sure, but everybody’s gearing up to leave. Beca wants to go to New York. Jesse wants to go to Los Angeles.

Everybody leaves eventually.

But somehow time feels like it doesn’t quite exist when she’s lying in her cramped bed with Chloe by her side, calculus all but forgotten.

“My mom died when I was a kid,” Beca murmurs, leaning up on her elbow so she can see the invisible figures she’s tracing on Chloe’s back.

Chloe’s eye cracks open, visible just barely beneath a mess of tangled, red curls. She sucks in a breath, but says nothing more, so Beca continues.

“I don’t really remember her. I mean, I guess I do. I have these memories of my favorite hugs. A soothing voice. But it never really feels tangible.”

Chloe rolls over slowly, breathing steadily as she continues listening intently. Beca feels nervous suddenly. “I’m not...I guess I was just thinking about what you told me about your brother. And I’m not trying to say I know exactly how you feel, but it’s just...I do get it.”

“You do get it,” Chloe whispers in agreement. Her eyes look softer than usual. “I...thank you for telling me. I’m sorry that you lost your mom.”

“I don’t think we ever really know how to deal with grief,” Beca explains quickly. But it helps having other people to share it with. “But I just thought I’d share that too. Not to, um, take away from your...pain, but just...”

As always, it seems like Chloe fares better with words than Beca does. “We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” Chloe says gently. “But I don’t mind hearing more about her.”

Beca sucks in a breath. Chloe looks incredibly young then. Like all the world’s traumas have lifted from her shoulders in that moment—that moment of her extending her hand to Beca in a show of support. It makes Beca giddy with a kind of childlike delight, but also sweeping pain. As the two emotions war within her, she can do nothing more than to reach out and hold Chloe’s hand—figuratively, but she does reach out to brush an errant strand of hair from Chloe’s face.

“I know talking helps,” Chloe continues when she realizes Beca is yet to speak. “Not letting their memories fade away. I don’t...want that to happen to me. And I don’t want that to happen to you.”

I wish I knew you back then, Beca thinks forlornly. Three years ago. Two years ago. Any time but now, when their time is so limited.

“Okay,” Beca agrees quietly, already slipping into a sleeping state.

You are so much more than you know.

“You make me better,” Chloe murmurs. “I hope you know that.”

  — — x — —

 Jesse Movie night w/ Amy? Benji had to bail

Beca Ugh fine

Jesse Bring your girlfriend

Beca My what?????

Jesse Chloe?

Beca What the fuck, she’s not my gf

Beca Shut up, i can hear your smirk But shes really not, jesse i swear

Beca ok i can literally hear you laughing across the library idiot

  — — x — —

 Fat Amy Bumper told me tell you that jesse told him that you have a gf and you’re not sharing her with the rest of us

Fat Amy Is she that super hot chick you’ve been tutoring and totally-not-at-all sleeping with?

Fat Amy Beca???

  — — x — —

 Maybe they are kind of dating—kind of, sort of dating. Beca’s sure unlabeled things are all the rage these days.

(“All the rage?” Beca asks. “Who says that?”

Chloe scowls at her, somehow making the unpleasant expression more pleasant than it ought to be on anybody’s face. “Shut up, I’m studying.”)

But, the fact of the matter is: They’re not dating. They’re not dating, which is why Beca agrees to go with Chloe to an end-of-semester party. Exams are almost entirely over and Beca’s confident Chloe passed this time around.

The shift between them and in Chloe’s general attitude are stark changes. Beca would have to be blind not to notice.

But the fact is, she isn’t blind. She can’t be, not when Chloe makes her want to pay more attention than ever.

Though sometimes she kind of loses track of Chloe - where Chloe loses herself in her own her head, or loses herself to the masses. It’s hard, crushing on Chloe Beale, only daughter of Doctor Richard Beale, an incredibly intelligent and powerful medical researcher with his own medical research corporation to boot.

It’s hard, knowing all of that weighs on Chloe’s shoulders and Chloe seems to want no part of it.

But tonight, Beca loses Chloe at a literal party, which would be funny if Beca’s own heart weren’t doing that super weird pounding thing.

She’s nervous.

Beca finds Chloe outside of all places. It is odd considering Chloe was the one who asked her to attend the party and then she had essentially hidden herself away.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Chloe, still leaning against the railing of the balcony, tilts her head back towards Beca. “I’ve been waiting for you to come find me.” She grins. “Gotcha.”

“Oh,” Beca drawls, feeling bold. It’s the alcohol coursing through her veins. It’s the brisk chill. It’s the high she gets from being near her crush. “So you planned this,” she continues, moving so she can stand just behind Chloe. She leans forward, letting her lips ghost the side of Chloe’s neck.

Chloe sighs, a happy little sound with only a tinge of melancholy. Beca draws back immediately, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She drops to sit against the railing opposite Chloe. “I’ll just…”

“Don’t be.” Chloe twists to face her. “It’s really dumb, but I had a big crush on you for like...the entirety of my second senior year.”

Beca freezes. She gazes up at Chloe’s silhouette in the darkness. “You what?”

“I had a crush on you,” Chloe says simply.

“But why? And how?” And you had a crush on me? Past tense?

Chloe sighs. “I don’t know, I guess I had seen you around when you were a freshman, but I knew you better because we had the same Advanced Topics in Philosophy seminar that year. You did not strike me as a philosophy major.”

“I’m not,” Beca replies distractedly. Her brow furrows as she combs through her memory for some kind of enlightening flash of red in her mind’s eye. A memory of sorts.

“I sat like right at the back,” Chloe clarifies.

Beca scoffs. “So did I. I would have remembered you.”

Chloe looks exceptionally pleased at that. “You would have?”

“Obviously, I mean…” Beca gestures at her. She feels nervous suddenly, like the ground is shifting beneath her feet. “Look at you,” she mumbles quickly. “You’re gorgeous. And like...super hot.”

Chloe’s smile dims a little. “Haven’t I heard that before,” she mutters, turning away from Beca.

Beca scrambles from her seat, moving to where Chloe is standing by the railing. She feels numb, suddenly, like she’s missing something crucial. It’s hard to think with the budding headache she feels, the rush from standing up too fast, and the incessant music from the party going on behind them.

She reaches out to touch Chloe’s elbow before she really knows what she’s going to say. Chloe turns her head slightly to face her.

“You’re so pretty,” Beca murmurs, keeping her eyes trained on Chloe’s expression. “But—but—” she quickly reaches up with a trembling hand to cup Chloe’s jaw, the tender movement stunning Chloe into silence as she opens her mouth to protest. “You’re so much more than that. You’re kind and you’re special and I know you’re insanely smart even though you feel like you’re stuck in this…” Beca shrugs. “I would have remembered you.”

She isn’t sure how she gets through all that because her body feels kind of numb afterwards. She doesn’t have much of a chance to say anything more however because Chloe is turning and swiftly pulling her in for a soft, tender kiss. The way her lips brush against Beca’s so gently and slowly, despite the urgency Beca feels in the grip Chloe has on her waist.

“You drive me crazy,” Chloe murmurs, breath hot against her mouth. “You make me feel all these stupid things that I shouldn’t—not now when we’re—”

“Shh,” Beca shushes, pulling Chloe in again for another kiss. She is addicted to this woman, all professionalism be damned. “I just want to be with you.”

Beca has no idea where any of this is coming from, like all the unwritten lyrics she has to the songs that remind her of Chloe Beale. They well up inside her like the best and worst emotions, quickly spilling out into the world; quickly spilling into the minuscule spaces left between her and Chloe’s body.

Chloe whimpers into her mouth at that, immediately ramping up the intensity of her kisses. Tilting her head, her tongue glides delicately over Beca’s lower lip like a gentle request for entry. Beca can’t deny her, not once.

“I saw you once,” Beca murmurs, pushing back against Chloe’s chest slightly. Their breathing, labored, is loud and deafening against the ringing in Beca’s ears. “In my freshman year, at the activities fair.”

Chloe laughs, a sad, hollow laugh, and presses her forehead against Beca’s. “You should have said hello. I feel like you would have somehow made collegiate a cappella fun.”

“I was too intimidated. I’m still intimidated.”

“Don’t be,” Chloe urges, voice low and hoarse. “I...want you so much that it scares me. And I feel like such an idiot for not telling you sooner. I’ve never felt like this about anybody before.”

Beca inhales sharply, struck by the sudden force of Chloe’s words and the emotion behind them.

“Somewhere along the line I—”

Beca knows what Chloe will say. It unlocks a world of possibilities, each more uncalculated than the last. The possibilities, with Chloe, seem endless, but they are unexplored and untested. Unproven.

“Don’t,” Beca chokes out, cutting Chloe off before she can finish. “I can’t, not now.”

Chloe pulls her close, into a hug that Beca immediately sinks into. She sighs, head tucked against the crook of Chloe’s neck, feeling all kinds of warmth for the first time since December started.

“We’ll figure this out in the morning,” Chloe promises, voice thick with emotion.

Right, Beca muses as Chloe’s lips meet hers again. Because we have all the time in the world.

She really believes it.

/end ch. 3

[monsterywriting]

Oct 2nd - Jack o’ Lantern (scarecrow)

word count:1,242

You stared at the scarecrow currently sprawled across your couch in complete disbelief, your mother’s note sitting on your coffee table along with the rest of the packaging the thing had come in.

‘Found this in grandma’s attic. GREAT decoration for your pumpkin patch.’

There was absolutely no way in hell this thing was going into your pumpkin patch. It’s gangly legs and arms wrapped in what appeared to be your grandfather’s clothes and misshapen body were creepy enough, but the antique tin pumpkin head took the cake on the scariness factor. Its wide grin somehow made creepier with the small circular eyes and thin triangular nose in comparison.It was also giant, probably 7 feet from head to toe. But worst of all, it weighed a ton when you tried to take it out of the box, though as you looked at it now none of its individual parts could weigh that much, a mystery that definitely screamed “cursed.”

There was no way you were putting this thing out there when you had five different elementary schools coming out on field trips this week. The last thing you needed was to lose business because you gave the children nightmares with your decor.

However, you had to admit it would be great for the off season working as an actual scarecrow in your fields. You just had no idea where to store it until then. You didn’t quite want to have a run in with the thing in your living room in the middle of the night.

                                     ...

A few days had gone by and had finally managed to stuff the scarecrow in your downstairs closet. But you also began to notice strange things at night. You lived in an old farmhouse and were used to the sounds of settling. But lately you’d begun to hear the distinct sound of footsteps treading your floors in the middle of the night, always starting around the same time and ending early in the morning.

But you were too busy with your pumpkin patch this month to think too much about it, so exhausted by the time you fell into bed that when you did wake the next morning, it felt like the noises could just be a part of a strange recurring dream.

And then one night you would wake up to see the scarecrow looking down at you from the shadows in the corner of your bedroom. Believing it was a dream, you stared back until you fell asleep. Strangely, in your grogginess you felt no fear when you saw him, as though somewhere deep down you knew he meant no harm.

The next morning, you immediately called your grandma.

“Grandma, what the hell is that thing mom sent me?” You demanded the moment she picked up her phone.

“Don’t you remember, hon, you used to love that scarecrow!” Her voice sounded genuinely confused by your apparent distaste for the thing, “He used to hang up in the fields and you were always out there playing with your toys by him no matter how much your grandpa got after you. What did you used to call him…?”

“Merdall,” the answer left you without much thought, as though you always remembered the name, though you still had no memory of it even as your grandma explained your apparent attachment.

“That’s right! Lord knows where you came up with a name like that,” you grandmother laughed, though now you had too much on your mind to pay much attention.

Shortly after you found yourself once again standing in your living room with the scarecrow sitting on the couch. You’d been petrified dragging it out from the closet, ready to take of running if it so much as looked like it would move.

Eventually, you had to go out to the pumpkin patch to greet another group of kids, this time third graders from a nearby elementary school. And, though they left an hour later, you decided to stay out there and busy yourself collecting some pumpkins for yourself, a few misshapen Baby Pams for baking and Jack o’ Lanterns for carving, all into one of your wheelbarrows as you went down each row.

By the time you finally made it back to your house, it was near sunset and you nearly had a heart attack when you walked into your living room to see the back of the scarecrow’s head. Tonight, you had decided, you would stay up and watch Merdall like a hawk, if only to prove to yourself that your mother hadn’t express-mailed you a haunted scarecrow.

With a mug of coffee next to you, you sat on your recliner in the corner and waited, the shadows lengthening as the sun disappeared under the horizon. You left the lamps in the room on because you weren’t stupid and also were very afraid to be in the dark with it.

As the time you often heard the footsteps neared, you felt the threat of nodding off before then creeping up on you, occasionally snapping awake whenever your head fell forward too hard.

Just as you felt your eyes growing heavy once again, something in the room suddenly changed, the air as heavy as the period before a lightning storm. But what held your attention was the life that seemed to breath into the scarecrow, his limbs jolting awkwardly before bright green lights appeared in the darkness of his tin pumpkin head.

You had been shaking like a leaf at the unnatural sight before you, but once the scarecrow turned his head to look straight at you, you froze, memories rushing back of a childhood spent with a friend, a nocturnal young creature hiding inside your grandfather’s scarecrow and growing up alongside you until…

“You came back,” Merdall’s rumbling voice came from deep within him, a stark contrast from the young voice you remember your childhood friend once having.

“How could I forget?” You whispered, mostly to yourself, rising from the recliner and walking up to Merdall with a look of awe.

“You went away,” Merdall said simply, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek.

You leaned into the sinewy palm, mesmerized by the reunion, old emotions rising up as though they’d never left. You always knew Merdall wasn’t human, but he had been your first crush, a standard none after could live up to even after you forgot him.

“You sound so different,” you said, reaching up and lifting the sides of the tin head.

Merdall let you, revealing his true face, his skin greatly resembling the gourd his orange mask imitated. His features were greatly exaggerated, high cheekbones with his eyes set deep in triangular shapes also resembling the look of a pumpkin carving. His glowing eyes also seemed to shine brighter now that they were released from their confines.

“You’ve changed, too,” Merdall chuckled, looking down at you with a soft smile.

Deciding to take a chance, you stood up on the tips of your toes and tugging Merdall the rest of the way down by his jacket, pressing a kiss to his lips. Merdall didn’t hesitate to pull you closer and deepen it, leaving both of you breathless once you parted.

“I’m sorry I never came back for you,” you said aloud, wondering just how long Merdall had been stuck in that attic.

“We have all night to catch up,” Merdall grinned, dipping down to pepper your face with kisses.