#so i try to shove that complex as deeply in the closet as i can & i try to trust people that they in fact do love me unconditionally

[korusalka]

.

[shhh-no-ones-home]

december 18 - chris motionless

title: die hard for the holidays

++++

prompt: Person A has secret feelings for person B. person B has secret feelings for person A. one of them suggests having dinner together for the holidays since neither of them will be spending time with their families and all their other friends are busy

request from: @svintsandghosts

tag list: @musicsexandpizza69 @alilpunkrock @cynic-spirit @theoneandonlykymberlee @thisplace-ishaunted @lifeisabitchandsoareyou 

@xyours-eternallyx @joeynihil 

++++

i looked over his newest Instagram post and sighed. god was i that desperate? simping over my best friend? of course i was, but we'd known each other long enough that i knew nothing would ever come of it. when my phone dinged it almost startled me, prompting me to look up at the new text notification. it was my mother. i sighed, opening it and reading it.

"dads sick, doctor says its viral so we wont be able to do Christmas this year. i hope you and your siblings can get together to do something else but if not that's okay. we both hope you have a blessed Christmas anyway and will be mailing gifts out in the next week. love you."

i hummed to myself before answering her.

"hope dad gets better soon and send him my best. i don't see any of them making plans to get together but i guess we'll see. ill mail gifts too if you're okay with that and hopefully ill see you in the new year. love you both."

i closed my phone and set it upside down on my chest, rubbing my hands over my face.

"so much for getting out of the house."

i said to myself. then my phone dinged again, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. to my surprise though it was a text from Chris.

"mom cancelled Christmas this year cause they won a cruise lol. you doing anything?"

i sat up abruptly and typed back.

"my dads sick so mine was cancelled too. when and where do you want me? lol"

i waited patiently for a second before seeing a new message.

"hope he gets better soon. but how about Christmas eve, dinner at my place?"

i nodded quickly to myself.

"ill be there."

---

when the day finally came i wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. we'd hung out millions of times but this was the first time we'd be together for Christmas alone. usually we all had a party with the band and other friends but that was pushed to new years. lets just say i was beyond nervous. plus he told me to dress nice, whatever that meant. no matter what it meant to him, here i was stood in front of my full body mirror, looking over the sparkling blue velvet dress i had on.

"this is too fancy."

i said, moving to my closet. as i started flipping through things i heard my phone buzz. it was Chris.

"you on your way?"

i looked to the time. shit, it was almost six.

"getting my shoes on now. ill be there in fifteen."

i replied. so much for changing. i grabbed a Christmas jumper and pajama pants just in case and shoved them in a bag, pulling my heels on and running out the door. the car ride was fairly quiet, apart from the light Christmas music playing through the radio and my complains about the snow. i wish i would've known it was supposed to snow but it was a little late for that i guess.

as i pulled into his apartment complex parking lot i could see his Christmas tree through the open window. it looked nice, covered in colorful lights and shiny ornaments. i got out of my car and walked quickly across the lot and up the stairs to the second floor, knocking on his door and shivering as the snow flew around me. when he opened the door he offered a wide smile.

"hey! how's it going?"

he asked as he pulled me in for a hug. i breathed in deeply, trying to warm up.

"I'm good, and you?"

i asked as he let me into his apartment. i still felt over dressed, even seeing him in his button down and tie, the two peaking out from under his sweater.

"oh ya know, same old same old. i hope you're hungry, cause dinners about ready."

he said excited and i laughed.

"you know me, never not hungry."

i said and he sent me a knowing look.

"how about you go sit, and ill bring it out."

he said, motioning to the made up table. i nodded.

"you sure you dont want help with anything?"

i asked and he shook his head.

"of course not, you get to be the guest this time, now go relax."

he instructed.

"okay, okay, im going."

i said as he pointed, a demanding look on his face.

---

after dinner we both worked on dishes and things before moving to the couch, the lights all out except the tree as he looked for a movie to watch.

"im glad we could get together for this."

he said, clicking the remote and i smiled.

"you and me both. i think this is the first year i would've been alone since moving out of my parents place."

he laughed a little bit.

"you and me both. even when im not home i still usually have the band to be with."

i nodded solemnly.

"speaking of which, how are they all doing? i feel like i haven't talked to any of them in a while."

i said and he shrugged.

"theyre as good as they always are, keeping busy thats for sure. but youll get to see them for new year."

he mentioned and i nodded.

"yeah i guess so."

it was quiet for a moment, and i looked over him, his focus still on the tv.

"got any suggestions?"

he asked and i hummed.

"uh, no, not really."

i said bashfully, catching his eye when he turned his head with a frown. i guess i wasnt exactly making it subtle that i was staring at him huh? oh well.

"how about die hard?"

he asked and i laughed.

"oh yeah, a christmas classic."

i said sarcastically as he clicked on it.

"you know it."

he said, setting the remote on the coffee table, settling back into the couch. i thought for a second before slipping my arm into his and resting my head on his shoulder.

"you cold?"

he asked and i nodded, looking up as he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and down over me.

"thanks."

i said, getting comfortable against him again. we sat like that for most of the movie, until i heard him yawn, then he moved to rest his head against mine. i smiled to myself, sliding my hand slowly into his as it rested against my knee. when the movie finally ended neither of us moved.

"ya know, it looks pretty bad out there, maybe you should stay."

he said, never once looking away from the tv. i could feel a small smile making its way to my lips as we sat there cuddled together on the couch.

"you sure? i wouldnt want to be an inconvenience."

i said, feeling his head lift off mine and prompting me to look at him. he squeezed my hand.

"you're never an inconvenience. and besides i wouldnt want you to get stuck in the snow or anything."

i smiled at him.

"i guess i cant argue with that logic, huh."

i confirmed and he nodded his head once.

"great, we can watch another movie then and then go to bed together."

he said, freezing for a second.

"i mean, uh, not together together. but, like, uh-"

he said, flustered, tripping over his words. i pressed a finger to his lips gently.

"its okay chris. i get what you mean."

i said and he sighed.

"fuck it, i did mean together."

he said, slipping his hand out of mine and bring it up to cup my face. he pushed forward and kissed me fervently. a thousand things rushed through my brain at once as i melted into his touch but at the moment none of them mattered. all that mattered was that he felt the same. when he pulled away i didnt open my eyes just yet, sitting there trying to engrave into my memory exactly what he felt and tasted like. when i opened my eyes he was staring down at me, his lips sucked in like he messed something up.

"wow."

i said softly, laughing a little bit.

"im sorry, i shouldn't have done that."

he said, looking down. i shook my head.

"like hell."

i said, making him look to me in shock. i grabbed his face and kissed him again, his hand moving to the back of my head as our mouths moved together. when we both pulled away for air we panted lightly, smiling at each other like idiots.

"it took ya long enough."

i said, making him laugh.

"merry christmas y/n."

he said, stroking my cheek lightly with his thumb and i could feel a blush rising to my face.

"merry christmas chris."

[blushnote]

Hi can I request Dom!Mingyu Smut where he’s a nurse and your a doctor? Maybe where you two have been secretly dating. Throwing in Dr. Jeon Wonwoo flirting with you in office causing Mingyu to pull you into the nearest closet.

↳ requested | 3.5k words

↳ nurse!mingyu smut

a/n: i had so much fun writing this lol. it reminded me of when i used to watch house and like… the first two seasons of grey’s anatomy. i love nurse!mingyu :(

you’ve been on your feet the entire day, almost to a point where your legs feel like gel and the idea of sitting seems like an abnormal luxury. the second you emerge from one room, you immediately get paged to another, and so many patients have flown in and out that your head aches when you try to recall who you even saw first. you think you need a couple painkillers.

it isn’t until you exit the autopsy headquarters that you find yourself with some downtime. the halls are a little emptier, there aren’t so many nurses hurrying around, and you can actually hear your own thoughts. you decide to visit the cafeteria, sitting down at a table near the window with nothing but a blueberry muffin. at this point, you’re not even hungry anymore.

after picking at the muffin for a few measly minutes, you see another doctor with a white lab coat enter the space and grab a juice from the glass refrigerator. doctor jeon makes eye contact with you, and proceeds to pull up a chair at your table. he collapses with a great sigh, pushing back some of the black hair that slips in front of his gaze. his expression is tired but gentle.

“man, what a long fucking day,” doctor jeon, otherwise known as wonwoo, comments.

you push the muffin away from you while yawning, “yeah, i think i got called to the autopsy room like twenty times.”

wonwoo chuckles and takes a sip of his juice. “i spent the whole day taking MRI scans. if i have to examine another screen i think my eyes are gonna dry up.”

you both huff in half-hearted amusement. suddenly, the sound of laughter echoes from the wide hallway, and you can’t help but smile upon seeing mingyu and junhui enter the cafeteria, dressed in their pale blue scrubs. they’re two nurses from the west wing, though they don’t seem to be staying. instead, they each pay for a snack cake and get ready to leave again.

however, mingyu catches your eye, and he winks at you.

wonwoo didn’t see that exchange, thankfully. it wasn’t that relationships between doctors and nurses couldn’t be a thing, it’s just that they were strongly not advised. everyone in the hospital feels obliged to know the details and likes to gossip. you and mingyu had been secretly dating for a while, and it was extremely difficult to ensure no one caught onto your relationship.

“sometimes i hate the nurses,” wonwoo scoffs innocuously, “they always have so much energy. what’s up with that?”

“couldn’t tell you,” you respond, “but i want whatever it is they’re having.”

you and mingyu live in the same apartment complex. in fact, he’s just a couple doors down from your own room. you spend an abundance more time at his place; not only is he an excellent cook, but he keeps the space tidy, and his wine collection is definitely more established than yours.

admittedly, some of your favourite moments transpired after you two got slightly tipsy upon consuming multiple glasses of alcohol, usually preluded by an exhausting shift at the hospital. mingyu would start a warm bath, filling it with mild and pretty scents, like honey grass or lemon thyme. he’d light a few candles, prompting you to strip down and relax together in the tub.

an intense heat floods your face as you sit with wonwoo in the cafeteria. you can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to ride mingyu in the bathtub, amongst the shimmering water and candlelight, his hands guiding the movement of your hips while his cock presses into you so deeply you can’t even speak. you can sense the drool start to build in your mouth.

“hey,” you then grab wonwoo’s attention, wanting to distract yourself, “do you have any painkillers on you? my head is going crazy.”

“not on me,” wonwoo responds, “but i think i saw some in the debriefing station, at the west wing. you up for a walk?”

“i guess i am now.” you smile, already standing up from the chair. it hurt you to throw out the rest of your muffin, but you know you aren’t going to finish it.

you really like wonwoo. he started working at the hospital at roughly the same time as you, which resulted in you two figuring out the ropes together. he’s certainly the most approachable of the other doctors. he has a timid nature and great intelligence, though there’s definitely a hue of slight cockiness that permeates when he’s comfortable around his peers.

mingyu was never exactly fond of him. he didn’t like how wonwoo was constantly attempting to flirt with you, but it wasn’t like you could come clean and expose your relationship. when you entered the west wing, wonwoo seemed to have spotted something. instead of going to the debriefing room, he grabs your wrist and pulls you elsewhere.

you find yourself in the office space, which was just a room with computers and file cabinets and bulletin boards stapled with papers giving reminders about handwashing and wearing face masks. you feel the surprise drop into your stomach when you notice that mingyu is at one of the computers, typing something that he gauges from a file at his elbow.

he doesn’t look at you when you enter the room, but he shifts in his chair.

“i think there’re some painkillers in here somewhere,” wonwoo says, “i remember using them when i worked thirteen hours straight.”

“oh, it’s this here, i think.” you spot the red bottle sitting on a shelf.

wonwoo smiles. “that’s it. here, i’ll get you some water.”

you turn your back to mingyu so you would stop looking at him. after wonwoo filled you a small cone cup of water from the cooler, you set the pill on your tongue, take a sip, and swallow. you hear mingyu’s chair squeak. he gets up and momentarily disappears into the back room, to which you can ever so slightly hear him rummaging through the extra files.

“i think you’ll survive.” wonwoo chuckles.

after gulping down the remainder of the water, you toss the paper cup into the garbage and smile, “i hope so.”

“i wouldn’t wanna work here without you,” wonwoo comments, “so i have to do everything in my power to keep you alive.”

you can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you’re trained for, right?”

wonwoo scratches the nape of his neck, “oh yeah. this massive debt can’t be for nothing, surely. i could at least buy you a glass of cheap champagne if we ever went out for dinner.”

“i love it.” you respond. “cheap champagne and a box of dinosaur nuggets.”

of course, you’re only humouring the situation. as appreciative as you are for wonwoo’s company, he’s nothing more than a friend, even if you know that he often looks to push those boundaries; however, you just weren’t expecting him to push said boundaries tonight. you gulp heavily and feel yourself tense when wonwoo locks eyes with you.

“could be nice,” wonwoo shrugs, “but you – you’re so hardworking, so dedicated and smart. i’d want to spoil you all the time and give you what you deserve, y’know?”

you nearly wheeze. as much as you want to, you can’t deny it – wonwoo had set that situation up perfectly. suddenly, there’s an abrupt sound from the backroom, which resembles a filing cabinet being slammed shut. you haven’t forgotten that mingyu is still in the backroom. when he reappears, he doesn’t even give wonwoo the time of day.

he marches directly up to you and says, “doctor, there’s some records in this file i need to speak to you about.” mingyu is looking you dead in the eye, his expression unamused.

“o-oh,” you stutter, clearly caught off guard, “sure. let’s go into the filing room.”

you hardly seize the opportunity to say goodbye to wonwoo before mingyu jerks you toward the backroom again. there was definitely a puzzled colour to wonwoo’s face, though he seems to accept you’re now busy with another hospital matter and leaves the office. the second you’re inside, mingyu quickly shuts the door and corners you against a tall filing cabinet.

“i’m sick of this,” mingyu grits through his teeth, “i hate that we have to keep things a secret. i hate that wonwoo doesn’t know we’re together.”

“mingyu,” you set your hands on his chest, attempting to relax him, “calm down, okay? you know why we can’t say anything, it’s not—,”

“i just can’t get it out of my head,” the nurse rakes a hand through his thick, black hair, pushing the tresses away from his eyes, frustrated and glassy, “the way he’s always flirting with you, trying to take you out. i bet he wants to fuck you too – i know he does.” you can see how drastically mingyu is spiralling. a few gentle words won’t ground him, he needs something else.

you cup his face and pull him near to you, peering directly into the pent-up aggression that storms in the searing copper of his gaze.

“what do you wanna do?” you ask him directly.

mingyu breathes in. he looks at you for a passing moment, at your eyes, your lips, then drifting down to examine the rest of your body. you feel as though you already know his answer, to which your abdomen expands with something warm and liquid-like when he finally growls:

“i wanna fuck you, right here i don’t care. i need to be inside you.”

you lick your lips. you’ve never had sex in the hospital before, nor has mingyu ever acted so dominant. there’s an unforgiving nature in his eyes, lustful and dark, and you can’t deny the sliver of excitement that runs down your spine. there’s a rapid flicker, and suddenly mingyu is tearing the lab coat off your body and ripping open your navy blue-coloured blouse.

he kisses you roughly, prying into your mouth with his clever tongue, using his fangs to prick at your bottom lip, suckling on the flesh and tasting the sweet remnants of your lip balm. his hands reach for your pants button. as soon as it’s popped, mingyu starts to shove the fabric down your thighs, his hand immediately groping at you through your underwear.

a whimper becomes muffled in your throat. mingyu has never touched you with such rigour and fervent need. he rubs his palm into your core, feeling your thighs squeeze around his wrist while he licks at your mouth. pressed against your lower tummy, you can feel his cock through the blue scrubs. he’s already so hard, and his size engenders you to develop a little dizziness.  

“fuck,” mingyu grunts against your swelling, shiny lips, “can you feel that, baby?” he alludes to his cock, which he begins to grind against you. “see how fucking bad i want you?”

your mouth is watering, just like it did earlier in the cafeteria.

“mmhm,” you whine, “s-so big, gyu, gonna feel so good.”

mingyu smirks, and starts kissing a path toward the sweet pressure point just in front of your ear. he twists your underwear aside and glides his two fingers up and down your core, feeling how slick and soft you are. unconsciously, your hips follow his motion, they attempt to move with his fingers and receive as much contact as possible. you know he won’t tease for too long.

“baby is this wet just thinking of my cock inside her?” mingyu whispers into your ear. he rubs slow, deep circles against your sensitive clit, and you throw your head back in an incoherent agreement. “i bet wonwoo wishes he could touch you like this, huh? bet he wishes he could taste you.” mingyu then dips his fingers past your slit, in which you attempt to moan quietly.

he retrieves some of your gloss. your entire face dapples with heat upon seeing mingyu bring his fingers to his mouth, his tongue lapping the digits clean. he maintains eye contact with you, staring at you unabashedly, the satiation glowing upon his face as he watches you squirm and wither. mingyu then kisses you, letting you suckle on his tongue in order to taste yourself.

“dirty girl,” mingyu taunts, “do you like the taste of yourself?”

you feel so hazy, so overwhelmed with arousal as you hum in response.

“that’s why i can’t stand wonwoo,” mingyu growls, pressing himself against you, “because i know he wants to taste you too, pretty baby. and i don’t like sharing.” he kisses you again, messy and wet, swirling his tongue against yours, licking the sweet saliva off your bruised mouth. the skin is sore and stings mildly, but you could never stop yourself from kissing him.

one of his hands reaches under your bra, cupping the round flesh of your breast, his thumb brushing rhythmically over your nipple. as mingyu pulls his mouth away, you can’t help but follow him despite your lips tingling with a latent sensation of numbness. he pushes the bra above your chest before lowering his head, nipping softly across your warm, silk skin.

a sharp intake of air floods your chest when mingyu starts to kiss at your other breast, gently capturing the perked bud between his lips, beginning to suckle. you arch into him in an unbridled movement, your fingers quickly delving into his hair, pulling up at the healthy roots. your entire frame quivers. his stimulation was making you see stars of all shapes and sizes.

however, he can’t endure setting aside his own pleasure for much longer. mingyu abandons your chest and reaches down to the waistband of his scrubs. you swallow thickly. the anticipation welts together inside you. at first, he only strokes the large outline of cock over the material, to which his breathing becomes increasingly heavy. you try to replace his own hand.

“not right now, baby,” mingyu pushes your hand away, “i just want you to watch.”

“please, gyu,” you beg out of sheer desperation, i—,”

“not now.” he repeats himself firmly, cutting you off.

you mewl like a kitten upon seeing a bowl of cream as mingyu slightly pushes down his pants to sit low on his hips. he pulls out his cock, and you feel so unbelievably weak in the knees that you have to grip the handle of a file cabinet to steady yourself. he’s thick, long, and so, so heavy that his cock can’t even strand straight against his abdomen. your heart pounds like a drum.

mingyu bites down on his bottom lip with his fangs. he spits into his hand and proceeds to gingerly wrap his palm around the base of his length, exhaling a shaky breath the second he starts pumping himself. cum begins to bead at the engorged, purplish head. it’s maddening. you’ve never wanted him inside you to such an extent. the saliva waxes in your mouth.

“you like this, baby?” mingyu purrs huskily, his hand travelling up and down. “i can hardly wait to fuck you open. you think you can take all of it, hmm? think you can be a good girl for me?”

quickly, you wipe the bit of drool you almost hadn’t noticed forming at the corner of your mouth. there’s an echoing, intense ache that pounds between your legs. mingyu was always a lot to handle. even when you rode him in the tub, with the help of the steam and the warm, honeyed water, you needed those few minutes to adjust before he could fit himself in entirely.

however, you don’t think you’ve ever been this well-lubricated. you’re so slick that you doubt you’ll need the time you usually require. mingyu grins. he grabs your hips and turns you around, pressing you against the cold metal of a filing cabinet. with his knee, he nudges your weak legs slightly, getting you to spread wider apart. his presence dauntingly fills the space behind you.

restlessly, you kick your pants the rest of the way off.

you can’t help it. as soon as mingyu starts sliding his cock between your folds, you release an awfully loud moan, one which you can imagine him smirking at. he nestles his tip against your clit and rubs slow, lethargic circles. your mouth gapes open and a shudder trembles through your entire body. mingyu’s chest meets your back as he continues the final moments of teasing.

“you like when i do this, baby?” mingyu whispers into your ear, “you’re so sensitive, and i’m not even inside you yet.”

it’s at that moment mingyu starts pressing himself past your slit. the perspiration twinkles against your forehead. he’s only a little way past his tip and you’re already babbling incoherent sentences that don’t seem to have any meaning. both of mingyu’s hands are planted firm to your hips. he pushes in even further, and his forehead falls against your shoulder.

“holy ff-fuck,” he groans, breathing heavily, “baby, y-you’re so fucking tight – nnnrgg – s-shit, you gotta relax, sweetheart. you gotta relax if you wanna fit all of me, remember?”

his thumbs begin to massage circles against your hipbones. you can tell he’s gritting his teeth, attempting to not blow his load right then and there.

inch by inch, mingyu slowly succeeds in stuffing his cock inside you. there are dried trails of drool leaking from your lips, and you know if you open your eyes, you’ll see dots and stars. he wants to move, wants to pull back his hips and split you apart as he fucks you. he kisses your shoulder blade as your entire body trembles. you can feel yourself quickly adjusting to him.

“you almost there, baby?” mingyu asks, kissing your neck, “don’t wanna hurt you.”

the second you confirm with mingyu that you’re okay for him to move, you can visualize the long-awaited grin decorating his face. you suspect he might start slow, just to be certain, but that’s certainly not the case. it became immediately apparent just how badly he needed to fuck you. his thrusts are not soft nor docile. he slams his hips against you, jerking the whole cabinet.

every time his cock fills you up, the sensation consumes you like an otherworldly spell. it’s an array of pleasure and intensity you can’t begin to fathom. mingyu grips the top of the filing cabinet. he fucks into you with a new aggressiveness, your mouth parted in a silent, stretched out scream that can’t even form in your lungs. he abuses your golden spot, over and over.

“fuckfuckfuck,” mingyu growls through his clenched teeth, “you feel so ff-fucking good. your pussy feels s-so good, baby, s-so tt-tight and warm and – ff-fuck – fuck i need to fill you up r-right now. m’gonna make you take my c-cum, sweetheart. m-make you take all of it—,”

you feel his release, it buries deep inside of you, plentiful and thick, warm and full and so smooth, painting your walls in cream. a few seconds later, and your own release shatters the earth around you. mingyu feels the contractions around his cock. it almost stuns him. he presses his hips against you as hard as he possibly can, your walls milking him eagerly.

there’s a wet, sticky sensation that dribbles slowly down your thighs. it almost makes you wish you weren’t on birth control. it would have made for an epic pregnancy story, not that you would want to share it with anyone. you’re both breathing as though you ran an entire relay, the dim light of the backroom only growing darker as it turns to night outside the hospital.

you have no idea how you’re going to clean up, how you’re going to both slip from the filing room looking put together, how you’re going to walk out of here without a limp in your step. mingyu’s hands squeeze your hips, and he starts to pull his softened member out from your core. the moment he does, his cum starts to spill out of you, to which you whine pitifully.

“it’s so much, what am i g-gonna do?”

however, mingyu simply chuckles. “you look so pretty though, baby. you took me so well. are you feeling okay?”

“yeah, i-i just, i don’t think i can really walk right now,” your cheeks are hotly prickling while you remain leaned against the cabinet, “do you think you could run to the washroom and get some paper towels or something?”

“sure,” mingyu responds, evidently a bit proud of himself. he fits his length back into his underwear and pulls up his scrubs, “we probably should’ve locked the door, huh?”

“maybe.” you laugh, feeling a bit sleepy.

mingyu kisses you on your temple and tells you to stay put. then, he slips out the door as inconspicuously as he can, to which you reach out your arm in an attempt to click the lock shut. you can only pray mingyu doesn’t encounter wonwoo in the hallways. knowing him, he might not be able to contain himself from making a revealing comment about your relationship.

although, you feel yourself caring less and less about keeping it a secret.

some immoral part of you almost wants your coworkers to know whose been fucking you this good.

[katcadecascade]

The One Thing You Can’t Replace (ORV fic)

Summary: Shin Yoosung wakes up in tears. She will not grieve over a man who can still be saved. All she has to do is make everyone remember Kim Dokja.

Chapter One: As the World Caves In 

“Okay, everyone calm down.”

“No, no, no, Ahjussi!”

“You have a plan. Of course you do, good… But about this?”

“Well I have never seen this scenario before actually.”

“Oh god, there’s a countdown!”

“We can overcome this scenario. We just have to work together like always… Why are you all staring at me like that?”

“Bastard, you can’t be this stupid.”

“Hmm?”

“The one thing we can’t…”

“Yes I can read too and just because we’re caught off guard doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out. We just have to be smart and find out what exactly is missing when this starts.”

“…”

“Ahjussi…”

[00:05 Before Scenario Begins]

“Hey, there’s no need to cry, Shin Yoosung.”

“Ahjussi, please… please don’t…”

[00:03]

“Don’t what? I’m not going any-“

[00:00]

[Sub-Scenario: The One Thing You Can’t Replace has begun!]

   Shin Yoosung wakes up in tears.

She rubs the wetness off her cheeks in almost a painful pace but it doesn’t matter. Nothing compares to the giant ache in her heart. Dread spreads throughout her core as she looks around the room.

It’s her room obviously, a bit messy with clothes and books tossed around. There’s that animal fur smell that she is immune to but Lee Jihye always complains about when the older girl comes around. At one side of the room is her most cherished possessions.

Small animal tanks for the little frog and other small creatures she picked up. Then there are the bigger tanks that Lee Hyunsung had set up for her bigger creatures, like the tentacle monster. From the trail of water droplets, it seems like it crawled up the ceiling to perch on top of her closet.

Shin Yoosung rushed over to the tanks. For three years she did this routine, wake up only to immediately pay attention to the beasts she has gathered for two reasons.

The first is that she is a responsible beast tamer. Of course, she’ll take good care of them.

The second reason is to see if any of them could actually be…

Fresh tears erupt from the girl.

Each tank has a nameplate, craved with the unorthodox names she given them.

[Frog Who Could’ve Been _ Ahjussi]

[Elephant Monster Who Was Almost _ Ahjussi]

[Tentacle Monster Who Unfortunately Wasn’t _ Ahjussi]

They were all missing his name.

Her hands are tightly curled together, digging nails into the skin as another wave of tears pour in. It drips onto her shirt and it’s the same shirt she wore when the scenario started. Shin Yoosung knows that because she wanted to wear an outfit to match him. When she announced so his face was red but his smile was so big and Shin Yoosung wants him to smile more.

Him.

His name is missing.

He was gone for three years and they just got him back until that scenario sprang up on them.

“Shin Yoosung?”

She never noticed the door opened and before Lee Gilyoung could ask more worries, Shin Yoosung launched herself at her best friend.

“Did you forget him?” She asks with a crazed desperation, clutching onto his shoulders. She hasn’t held him so tight since they confronted the chimera underneath Paradise. “Ahjussi, Lee Gilyoung, please tell me you remember him!”

For the most part, Lee Gilyoung is utterally confused and scared of his weeping friend. That is until she said one word.

“Ahjussi?” He repeated with a daze. An odd look passes over his eyes, as if he’s having a mental crisis from sharing a mental link with a dying insect.

When he gets like this, Shin Yoosung knows to lead him over to sit on the bed in case he collapses.

“Ahjussi,” Lee Gilyoung mutters again, this time recognition sparks in his eyes. He is entirely alert and aware and now tears are falling from his eyes. “Shin Yoosung, the scenario!”

The message popped up above their heads, beaconed to their distress and awareness of the current event.

 [Sub-Scenario: The One Thing You Can’t Replace

Clear Condition: Something irreplaceable has been forgotten by the world. Participants of scenario must identify it without the help of nonparticipants. (2/9) participants have recovered the identity.

Time Limit: 12 Hours

Compensation: Retrieval of the irreplaceable thing.

Failure: The irreplaceable thing will fade from existence]

 The two kids paled at the failure consequences.

Immediately they ran out the door, nearly tripping over a tentacle.

Shin Yoosung normally would apologize whenever that happens but not now. Not when the one thing she can never replace might lose his existence.

“Hey, why are you to running?” Someone up ahead calls out to them, unknowingly becoming their target. “If Noona sees you she’s going to blame it on me and hey!”

The two kids do not drop their speed and tackle Lee Jihye to the floor.

“Lee Jihye,” Shin Yoosung rushes, “we’re in a scenario.”

The older girl shoves them off her to stand in a battle stance, pulling out her sword, “What, is something attacking the Master’s Industrial Complex?”

Shin Yoosung shakes her head, “No, we lost memories of someone.”

Sheathing her sword, Lee Jihye mutters, “Lame.”

Lee Gilyoung worriedly asks, “What did you say before? The name of this Industrial Complex?”

“Yoo Jonghyuk’s Industrial Complex,” she answers with a bored expression, “Hey are you two trying to prank me? What kind of scenario gives us amnesia?”

“Do you remember Ahjussi?” Shin Yoosung tries this method again since it worked so well with Lee Gilyoung.

It doesn’t work a second time.

“Ahjussi? You mean Lee Hyunsung?”

Seeing the pure confusion on Lee Jihye is really tormenting Shin Yoosung. She knows that out of everyone in the party, he is not Lee Jihye’s favorite person. Yet she does care in her own way, something about being the admiral of a huge ship of him and her Master.

Is this the point of the scenario, have everyone forget except Shin Yoosung and see how painful it is to ever dare live in a life without him?

Shin Yoosung knows that in the main party, she met him last. In that three-year period of heartache, she learned how the others meet this irreplaceable person.

He saved them one way or another.

He always had a risky plan that succeeded.

He was thoughtful and compassionate and…

Lee Gilyoung steps up to Lee Jihye.

“Play rock paper scissors with me,” he demanded with one fist readily above an open palm.

While Shin Yoosung was lost in her internal misery, Lee Gilyoung was also thinking deeply.

She recognizes that calculating glint in his eyes. Shin Yoosung knows who exactly he picked up that express from.

“Huh, that’s a weird change of topic,” Lee Jihye scratches her head. She shrugs and mirrors his hands. “You know that I’m very good at this game.”

“No you aren’t,” Lee Gilyoung said proudly.

“Tsk.”

They play one round. Lee Jihye throws down scissors and Lee Gilyoung throws down rock.

“Ahjussi also choose rock the first time,” he said calmly as his eyes tear up. “You played against him so many times and lost nearly all of them.”

A jab like that usually enrages Lee Jihye but right now, she is frozen. Her hands loosen up, falling to her sides as she stares at Lee Gilyoung.

“The Theater Dungeon,” she utters weakly. Then Lee Jihye laughs too sharply, smiling too pained, “He must have cheated.” Bizarre ranges of emotions quickly flash through her face, making her look a little crazy until she rubs her cheeks and snaps back into a fierce frown, “What did we do yesterday?”

In their rushed morning, Shin Yoosung didn’t recall everything, just the important bits like the fact that they were going to forget the one thing they can’t replace.

“We finished a monster hunting scenario and on the way back here this scenario came up.” Lee Gilyoung summed up and pointed at the scenario message log that appeared.

It updated.

 [(3/9) participants have recovered the identity.]

 Lee Jihye narrows her eyes at it, hesitantly muttering, “Nine?”

“We have to get to the others.”

Shin Yoosung did not wait for her friends as she dashes through the Industrial Complex to find the other party members. Lee Gilyoung is at her side but not Lee Jihye.

Instead, they hear her shout away, “I’ll find Master!”

It’s likely their best course of action. There is no time to waste.

 [Time Remaining: 11 Hours]

[mostweakhamlets]

Tedious Turning of Pages and Toys

Bea is a somewhat successful lawyer, co-parent, and divorcee whose son befriends the new girl at school with a hot aunt. Crowley is the most doting parent in the world to make up for the fact that he's never been in a committed relationship with his daughter's other father.

Together, they carpool and provide healthy snacks at Sports Day with healthy doses of bitching in between.

Read on AO3 | Posted first on Patreon

Thursday

Bea woke up to silence, which hadn’t happened in over 6 years.

At first, they thought that maybe they had woken up in the middle of the night. They thought this with a little joy, knowing they could roll over and get maybe another three hours of sleep. Maybe four. They curbed their enthusiasm at five hours. They hadn’t had more than five hours of sleep in years.

But there was a nagging feeling underneath, chewing at their stomach. Maybe they had slept through their alarm, and they were hours late to work and Cain was hours late to school.

It was silly, they thought. They had an extra cup of coffee the day before. The caffeine was keeping them up.

But they opened their eyes. And saw light through a gap in their curtains.

“Shit.”

They grabbed their phone off their nightstand. Their alarm, annoyingly, was set to 6:00 pm.

“Shit.”

They had 20 minutes to get themselves and Cain dressed, fed, groomed, and out the door. It could be worse, they thought. 20 minutes was enough time to throw on clothes and shove a granola bar at Cain. They could eat at their office—their desk had an abundance of processed foods stored away inside it—and brush their hair in the car, then their teeth in the office bathroom.

And if there wasn’t time to detangle Cain’s hair or scrub his face free od crumbs, well, little boys were supposed to be messy. No one would look at a little boy with untidy hair and think, “That’s quite unusual.” Especially when dirt and bugs seemed attracted to them like a magnet. It was a rule of the universe. Little boys get to be messy without judgment.

“Cain, get up. We overslept.” Cain whined when Bea turned the lights on and threw his blankets off of him. “Come on. Get your uniform on.”

The six-year-old boy sat up with a scowl that rivaled his zaza’s. Bea was pleased that he had inherited that from them even if most of the time he was a walking ball of sunshine. They had no idea where that came from with a zaza like them and a father like Gabriel.

“Come on. Trousers. Shirt.”

Cain was a spitting image of Bea. He had their blue eyes and dark, unruly hair. Everyone had said that it was a shame he didn’t look more like Gabriel—specifically, that he didn’t get Gabriel’s purple eyes. Bea usually snapped in response, “They’re not purple actually. They’re just a really odd shade of gray. And Cain would probably get bullied if he had purple eyes, so it’s best they came out blue, isn’t it?”

Every night for the past four years, Bea rejoiced in the fact that Cain looked so little like Gabriel.

Once he was in his little school uniform and running off to the bathroom, Bea returned to their own room with a prayer that they had an outfit for the day. Laundry day had been skipped when Cain needed supplies from the craft store for a project on Tuesday and the skipped again when Bea desperately needed a nap on Wednesday.

They pulled their last top out of the closet and grabbed a somewhat-clean pair of trousers from the chair in the corner. It would have to do. Laundry could be done that night when they got home. It would need to get done. Cain was running dangerously low on clean pants.

“Zaza!”

A distressed voice came from the bathroom as Bea shook out the jacket they had worn every day that week.

“What is it?” they called back.

“Zaza!”

Bea sighed. “One minute!”

While tucking their top into their trousers, they began to make their way to the bathroom where Cain was yelling. Their phone buzzing behind them stopped them and forced them to turn on their heel.

They didn’t want a call. They wanted to get Cain in his shoes and backpack and out the door.

“What do you want?”

“I have a huge favor to ask of you.” On the other end of the phone, Anthony Crowley sounded hoarse and tired, and Bea knew where the conversation was going. “Can you pick up Eden and take her to school?”

“Are you serious?”

“I have that bug that’s going around. I can’t take her.”

Bea took a moment to breathe in deeply. There was no time to get angry even if Crowley made their ears ring and heart race.

“Only if Cain gets picked up with Eden today.”

“Fine. Zira’s doing pick up. I’ll let him know.”

Bea didn’t like leaving Cain in the care of Zira. He was the only man to make Bea see red just by existing.

Cain learned bad things from him. Like to be nice to everyone regardless of what they do. And to always turn the other cheek when wronged. Bea didn’t want Cain to become a push-over. They wanted him to stand his ground and have the balls to tell people what he really thought of them. The world didn’t need any overly-friendly kindness.

And Zira wasn’t even a totally kind person. He was passive-aggressive and spiteful and hid behind his nice guy persona to maintain his holier-than-thou complex.

Bea dwelled on this as they brushed a knot out of Cain’s hair.

“We have to leave a bit earlier to pick up Eden,” they said. And then, mostly to themselves, “It takes only five minutes to get to their house, but it’s in the opposite direction from school. So, it’ll take 15 minutes instead of 10 to get to school. We’d have to leave Crowley’s house at 7:45 to get to school on time. Which means we have to leave here at 7:40. Which is…” Bea looked at their phone. “5 minutes ago.”

Bea rushed Cain through the rest of their morning routines. They brushed his teeth quickly (they had a spare toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste in their work bag for mornings like these) and shoved shoes onto feet. Bea rutted around in the glove department in their car on their way to Crowley’s house until they found an abandoned energy bar that resembled a brick under a napkin and an empty bottle of pain relievers.

“Eat that.” Cain happily began to. “I’ll get Eden.”

Crowley answered the door in his robe and childless. He was pale, and his hair was pulled into a messy bun.

“Where is she? We’re late?”

Crowley leaned in the doorway. “Didn’t you get my text?”

“No. I was trying to leave my house so I could tote your child off to school on time. I didn’t look at my texts. Why would I look at my texts?”

“Eden’s sick, too. She vomited on her uniform. I called her off—”

Bea was already storming away. They stopped half-way down the walkway and turned back around.

“Can Zira still pick up Cain?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bea wrinkled their nose when they imagined Cain walking home with him, probably being asked about the best parts of his day and being praised when Zira heard he shared a snack.

“You know, forget it. I’ll get him on my break.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

There was no way they were going to make it to school or work on time now. All because of the diseased Crowleys. All because they had tossed their phone into the bottom of their bag rather than their jacket pocket as they usually did.

“Where’s Eden?” Cain asked, mouth covered in chocolate (did the energy bar have chocolate in it?), when Bea slid back into the car.

“Eden’s ill.” Bea threw the car into reverse. “She’s bloody ill.”

--

Crowley waited until Eden was sound asleep before he called Zira. He brushed her red hair away from her feverish brow while the phone rung.

While his stomach had calmed with a cup of tea, Eden only wanted the comfort of her father to cure her ills. And who was Crowley to deny her that when he knew that a good cuddle was the best medicine?

“Anthony?”

“Hey, angel.”

“What’s the matter? You sound ill.”

Crowley smiled. Zira was so intuitive. “I am. And so is Eden. I was just letting you know that you don’t have to pick her up from school today. Or probably tomorrow. We’re taking the rest of the week off.”

“Poor things.”

“You don’t have to have her this weekend, either. I’ll keep her here.”

There was a pause before Zira spoke again. “I don’t feel like I have to have her.”

“Yeah. But you get the weekend off, either way.”

“It’s not like she’s a kid I’m babysitting. She’s my daughter.”

“I know. I know. I just mean… it’ll be a nice break, you know? Just you and yourself.”

“I like having her.”

“I know you do.”

“I look forward to our weekends together. If she’s ill, then keep her home. But I never feel like I have to look after her.”

Crowley rubbed Eden’s back. She was the best thing to ever happen to either of them. They adored her, and she was doted on every minute they had her.

If anything, she was the main reason Zira and Crowley maintained their weird-somewhat-relationship-thing. Co-parenting allowed for phone calls and texts and dinners. They went to school programs and did shopping for Christmases and birthdays together. They alternated whose house they did holidays at and occasionally took trips out of London. They had dozens of pictures of the three of them at beaches and in little shops and cafes. Crowley couldn’t have asked for a better co-parent/sometimes-boyfriend.

But Crowley felt that sometimes Zira didn’t know what to do with her. He had confessed once that he was paralyzed with fear the first he had her one his own. She was just a baby, and he barely left her side. Even at night, he slept in a chair next to her crib with everything she could possibly need on standby.

“She’s not a chore,” Aziraphale said. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale continued to struggle as she got older. He tended to spoil her with anything she wanted—too afraid to say no in fear that she would develop any resentment towards him. When Crowley said bedtime was at 8, Aziraphale would let her stay up until 8:30. When Crowley told her no sweets too close to dinner, Aziraphale would sneak whatever she wanted to her.

Crowley thought of it less as parenting and more of an anxious attempt to be Eden’s friend, which left him in the dangerous position of being the strict parent.

“If you’d like, you could always pick her up from school Monday,” Crowley said.

“I’d love to, but I’m working late Monday.”

“Right.”

“But maybe we could all have dinner then if you’re both feeling up to it. I’ll cook.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll let you two rest. Feel better. Give Eden a kiss for me.”

“Will do, angel.”

[thanksjro]

The Transformers #23- Chaos Theory Part 2: Everything Ever is Whirl’s Fault, and He Didn’t Even Do Anything This Issue

Before the war, Orion Pax is watching the news. Turns out Nominus Prime got blown up earlier in the day, as Blaster reports from the scene of the crime. We get our first mention of the Militant Monoform Movement as we take a gander at all of Orion’s awards.

Turns out Orion went to college. Wonder what tuition’s like at the Institute of Higher Programming.

An incoming storm messes with the reception, and in walk three guys looking for trouble Whirl. Whirl’s currently in custody, seeing as Orion doesn’t take too kindly to beating suspects within an inch of their life.

General rule of thumb: anyone calling Whirl “popular” or a “friend” is either trying to kill him, or has made the attempt in the past.

So these guys are trying to get Whirl out of jail, using the power of persuasion and being generally threatening. Orion Pax is too much of a good egg to be swayed by such tactics, however, so they’ll have to up the ante.

In the present day, Optimus is having a brooding session in the engine room- I’m only assuming it’s the engine room- and Ratchet checks in.

I suppose “frazzled” is a word we could use, Ratchet, sure.

Optimus feels as if his decision on whether Megatron should be executed or imprisoned for the rest of time is going to be biased either way. Dang, almost sounds like putting it to a vote with the leader of the Autobots would be a better way of handling this, huh Optimus? It’s almost as if you’re compromised here, and we need a little friggin’ democracy going on.

Ratchet asks why he hasn’t consulted the Matrix on this whole situation, breaking out the quotation fingers whilst referring to its wisdom, but Optimus ain’t too sure about all that either. When Optimus first got the Matrix shoved into his body, that shit hurt. It hurt a LOT, and he’d interpreted that as a sort of warning that carrying it was a huge responsibility. Way bigger than taking care of a dog. Now he’s questioning whether or not he actually wants the responsibility.

Hey, if you’re having second thoughts about being Prime, you ought to give Bumblebee a little more room to work and be the leader of the Autobots like you wanted him to be, and maybe consider handing the Matrix back over to Rodimus-

Oh who am I kidding? His martyr complex would NEVER let that happen.

Back in the past, Wheelarch and Springarm are waxing poetic about how cool their new boss Orion Pax is. He’s strong, and heroic, and making a difference in the world, and he’s got just the most beautiful blue eyes-

Anyway, they arrive back at the precinct to discover where all the criminal scum have gotten to- Orion already bagged ‘em.

You know, I think tying suspects to poles in the ground in the office section, packing the room so tightly they can’t even sit or stand comfortably… I think that might be a touch illegal, Orion. Unethical, if nothing else.

A bit later on, Springarm wants to know just what the hell that was all about. Orion’s been thinking about Megatron’s writing, and how he thinks the Senate is institutionally corrupt, and that visit from Whirl’s “friends” is starting to make him think that maybe the guy had a point. It bothers him.

Springarm turns to his faith when he’s feeling bothered by deep questions like whether or not the world government is is enacting a caste-system in an attempt to control the populace.

This just in, the future space pope is a goddamned atheist. Perhaps this is why interfacing with the Matrix hurts him- it relies on a mutual respect between itself and its Prime, and there ain’t nothing less respectful than thinking of the thing as a literal ornament.

Orion thanks Springarm for the advice, but he’s going to work through this without spiritual guidance.

In the present, Optimus meets with Rodimus, and asks a question he’s never been able to ask before: how did it feel to interface with the Matrix?

Well dang, Rodders, tell us how you really feel!

It should be noted that Rodimus does have some level of faith in the gods, the Matrix, the Knights of Cybertron, and several other Cybertronian legends and myths- which sort of makes the MTMTE Knight Quest look like a bit of a crusade, doesn’t it? Does believing in the Matrix let it bond more seamlessly with the bearer? Methinks it just might.

Back in the past, Orion Pax gets back from patrol to find the precinct has been broken into, and his two motorbike boys aren’t doing so hot.

Oh man, Valve’s going to be pissed.

Moving real stealthy-like, Orion moves to the holding cells, where he catches those guys from earlier trying to spring Whirl from jail. Well, two of them anyway. The third guy is behind him, and shoots him in the back.

Luckily, Orion’s old body-frame includes a backpack, and this move doesn’t kill him. He sweeps the leg of his assailant, shoots Whirl in the leg so he can’t escape, then runs to his trophy case to grab the fancy gun someone gave him. Wonder what it was for.

Alas! It’s not loaded. Which you ought to expect from an award gun, unless you loaded it yourself before you put it in the case. Which he didn’t, clearly.

Three versus one, and the solo act doesn’t have any weapons. What’s a guy to do?

This is deeply silly. I adore it.

Thinking quickly, Orion drags Springarm’s headless body into a closet. This isn’t necessarily a smart move, but give it a second. As the three thugs discuss murder-based puns, Orion prepares to enact a Roberts’ writing essential.

Corpse desecration.

Riding his coworker’s lifeless body through the precinct, he runs down his attackers, stabs one of them in the throat with one of his arm cannons in front of all the ‘bots currently in the cells, and goes to find Whirl.

Whirl, who knows to get going while the getting’s good, warns Orion that the Senate has eyes everywhere, and if he so much as touches Whirl his whole life is gonna get turned upside down and inside out, and not in a fun way. And he’d know.

Smash cut to the Grand Imperium, home of the Senate, where everything is blue and gold, fear tactics are at play on the political stage, and everyone is suffering from a nasty case of same-face syndrome. Senator Proteus is about to enact the Clampdown, a strict rule of martial law that will, under the guise of protecting the people and weeding out terrorism, in actuality allow the Senate to hoard power like a bunch of dragons.

Then Orion shows up, after fighting off the entirety of the Senate security force, while carrying a one-legged Whirl.

Got a nice shot of some bird ass, and Orion’s honkers are halfway out. I wonder if this particular chunk of fan-service was specified in the script, or if this is purely Milne.

Sentinel calls off the dogs, and Orion has his say. He throws Whirl on the floor, introducing him to everyone as the cause of every problem ever. Well, not really, but pretty close.

Orion, you can’t just say a guy caused two people to die and then not expect to have to deal with the repercussions of pummeling his psyche at some point down the road.

Orion goes on to mention Megatron, bringing up his writings and how they revealed to him the dark, ugly underbelly of the Senate that he’d been blind to until that point. This is still the guy who arrested drug addicts for using and tied them to a pole, by the by. He’s less than 48 hours into this Megatron kick, and still got a lot to rectify within himself.

Orion coins the term “Autobots”, reclaiming a friggin’ slur the other races in the galaxy have taken to calling the Cybertronians.

I wasn’t kidding.

The Senate members are starting to get rowdy about being called out on their bullshit, and have Orion removed from the building, but not before he can ask Megatron’s three questions:

1. In whose interests do the Senate exercise their power?

2. To whom is the Senate accountable?

3. How can the populace get rid of them?

No answers are given, as he’s taken away. He did use Megatron’s name, by the way. His full one, with the “of Tarn” attached and mentioned where he worked. Smooth moves, Orion. Now Megatron’s going to be targeted for politically-charged murder.

In the present, Optimus Prime’s made a decision on what exactly to do with Megatron- and his decision is to let Megatron decide his fate, because freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and part of that is getting to choose your fate.

Megatron picks death, like, immediately.

Optimus gets the Matrix back from Ratchet, who he left its care in- he wanted to be sure that he was still the person he had been back when he made that speech to the Senate. Glad your crisis of self went well, Optimus.

Back in the past, Orion Pax meets with a senator in front of the Ark-1 memorial, very secret-like. See this senator’s seen all the nonsense that goes on in the Senate, and he’s about had it. Forget what all Megatron wrote about, it’s way, way worse in reality. He can’t prove it, but the attack on Nominus Prime was an inside job, so that the Senate could get their hands on the Matrix and figure out how it creates life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Things will probably pop off very soon, so the Senator’s taken the liberty of modifying Orion Pax’s chest cavity while he was passed out receiving repairs.

So the guy made a little hidey-hole for the Matrix in Orion’s body, so that he could one day be Prime.

Hey.

Hey, Senator.

Consent is sexy, man. Don’t be like that.

[tsaritsa]

the end is the same (for everyone)

hi guys. here’s the 6k fic i wrote for day 1 of royai week. i incorporated all 3 themes bc i’m that Hoe

warnings: allusions to child trafficking (but it has a happy ending)

“He knew we were on a lead! But sure, let’s just drag us out of that because of some third-rate mobster-”

“Brother-”

It was late afternoon at Central Headquarters, with the sun lazily hovering in the sky, drenching the Western Wing in deep hues of orange and pink. The majority of the administration personnel had already turned in for the day; instead leaving the night staff flitting around the building like moths around a candle. Edward had only been inside Central Command a few times in the short years since he became a State Alchemist, but it still gave him pause when he considered just how vast the place was.

They certainly weren’t in Resembool anymore.

He threw up his hands in frustration as they rounded the corner and opened the door to the office they’d been given direction to. “Al, he knew! Next time he asks for my help-”

“I can’t think of a time when I’d be asking for your help Fullmetal, but I certainly wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as you are,” Mustang answered smoothly, standing up from the desk he had been hunched over, ink stains all over his hands. “You have been ordered to join this mission and you will perform your duties as such.” He turned to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who Edward realised wasn’t in the familiar navy of the military uniform – none of the occupants in the room were, actually. Blues had been replaced with blacks, uniforms with formal suits, and for the Lieutenant – a slinky black number that was practically dripping in what he could only assume were diamonds. It almost looked like armour, with the way the fabric was sewn, and how the gems laid on top of on another, interlocking in a complex pattern.

Mustang cocked his head to the side as he considered the Lieutenant. “Do you need more diamonds?”

Hawkeye hummed and stretched her arm out to inspect her shoulder better – the diamonds glinted and dazzled with every movement. “I think we should be fine now, sir. Anything more and I wouldn’t be surprised if Bobby suspected we were there for him.” She turned to face the brothers properly, an expectant look on her face. “You have received the dossier we sent to Eastern Headquarters, correct?”

Edward and Alphonse nodded.

She gestured to the couch, accepting the file the Colonel handed her. “Then tell me your role. This operation has to go smoothly, and the last thing we want is for you to get caught in the crossfire if something goes wrong.” Hawkeye settled herself neatly by the low table, adjusting her dress as she knelt down. It was a far cry from how he had seen her before – Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t someone Edward would personally call scary…but her no-nonsense attitude left Edward with the impression that she didn’t have the time to suffer fools. How Mustang made himself an exception to that rule was a mystery.

“We’re acting as decoys, right?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Us two, as well as Colonel Mustang will be acting as a lure for Bobby Carlsberg. The event we’re attending tonight is a charity function that’s actually a front for a black market auction. The man has done far worse than peddling illegal goods on the side, but we need to arrest him with an actual crime to ensure we can make all the other charges stick.”

“What has he done?” Alphonse asked.

Hawkeye’s lips thinned. “It doesn’t need to be repeated,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “In any case I’m sure more will be uncovered once we have jurisdiction over his financial records and can do a through sweep of his townhouse apartment. But those aren’t details necessary for tonight. What I need from the two of you is absolute compliance with any orders I give, or that the Colonel gives tonight. This isn’t an operation where you can just fight your way out-”

Edward scoffed. “We’re not that bad-”

“Tell that to the expense reports the Lieutenant is continually filling out on your behalf,” Mustang said pointedly from one of the desks, not looking up from his work. “I’m not in the mood for a tantrum tonight, Fullmetal. This is our only chance to get this guy and I will not have you screwing it up for me.”

“Please, Edward. We know you and Alphonse are capable – but in this instance you’re simply playing the role of a child.” Hawkeye’s tone was less acerbic, but no less insistent. “Working as a team is the best way to catch this man.”

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t we including Al in this? If it came to blows, then-”

“Alphonse is a civilian. We are not endangering his life when there are plenty of soldiers to spare first.” Mustang pushed himself away from his desk, passing the Lieutenant a small bracelet that glinted in the office light similarly to the gemstones attached to her dress. “Is that too gaudy for Mrs Phillips?”

Hawkeye shook her head, a small smile curling up her lips. “Such a shame you won’t let me keep these diamonds – I could afford to rent a better apartment if you kept me supplied. I doubt the lapidists would notice you transmuted them.”

“Knowing you, you’d only adopt more dogs. The economy would crumble overnight as you bought out every breeder in the country.” Mustang’s tone was teasing, and this annoyed Edward for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“I thought State Alchemists weren’t meant to use their abilities to create personal wealth.” The words were careless and thrown out, and he knew he had overstepped as soon as he had uttered them.

Mustang’s jaw tensed, and he knelt down next to the Lieutenant as she extended her wrist towards him. He was quiet for a moment as his fingers worked over the catchments. “And I thought you had been told before that I won’t have any backtalking when we have a job to do. We ordered you here because you are beholden to, and I will use any advantage in my arsenal to ensure this operation goes smoothly. If you do not follow my orders tonight, you will be court-martialled Fullmetal.” His hands dropped from the Lieutenant’s wrist and he looked squarely at Edward, eyes hard. “Do I make myself clear?”

Edward sunk further into the couch. “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that-”

“Yes, sir,” he said louder, irritation as clear as a bell. Mustang’s eyebrow lifted slightly, before he sighed.

“Lieutenant, I can trust you to get Fullmetal ready?”

Hawkeye nodded shortly, watching as the Colonel strode away towards where Havoc was preparing some handguns, hands shoved deeply into his pocket. “I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you,” she admonished, standing up and dusting off her knees. “There’s a lot riding on tonight.”

“But-”

Hawkeye shook her head, signalling him to follow her. “We’ll be back in a moment, Alphonse,” she said, opening the door and waiting for Edward to pass through.

He kept quiet as he followed her down the hallway. It was…strange seeing her out of her uniform, truth be told. The idea of her having a life that existed outside of the military – one that didn’t revolve around tailing Mustang – still seemed like a foreign concept, like those old adventure movies with the fantastical creatures that he and Al would watch when Mr Smith brought his projection box to Resembool.

The Lieutenant stopped before a door, and unlocked it, glancing down the hallway as she did so. Inside was what Edward could only describe as a costume closet and he found himself wedged between boxes marked ‘shoes’ and a rack of black suits. Hawkeye ran her hand over the selection, her tongue poking out as she peered at tags. “I guess you could always do some alterations if the pants don’t fit well,” she said, selecting one of the coat hangers and holding it at length. She passed the suit to Edward before stretching up onto the balls of her feet – as her arms lifted to pull back a box on the highest shelving level, he noticed the shoes she was wearing. The dark fabric of her dress had hidden them before but now, even in the dusty yellow light of the supply-closet-cum-undercover-outfit-storage, the diamond embellishing covering the nude satin of the heel glinted and sparkled.

“The Colonel really goes all-out for this stuff, doesn’t he?”

Hawkeye nodded as she rifled through the box. “It takes a bit of time – I spent most of the afternoon with him sewing all these diamonds on – but we’re mingling with the highest that society has to offer in Central and they’re very good at sniffing out those who don’t belong.”

Edward frowned. “Why not use alchemy? I do it with my coat all the time.”

Hawkeye laughed – a proper one, that caused her lips to stretch widely across her face. “The Colonel is very talented when it comes to alchemy, but we agreed it would be easier to simply do it by hand, rather than risk ruining the dress if he calculated a part of the transmutation incorrectly.” She handed him a tie – a deep burgundy one with flecks of gold thread woven in the silk – and pushed the box back into its place.

He adjusted the suit and tie in his arms as she shifted next to him, peering into one of the boxes labelled ‘shoes’. “I didn’t realise the Colonel could sew.”

“How did you think he managed with his gloves otherwise? I taught him the basic skills when we were younger-” she abruptly paused, hands hovering over another box before she sighed. “It goes without saying, Edward,” the Lieutenant said quietly, voice barely carrying over the hum of the heating pipes overhead, “but in the same way that we carry you and your brother’s secret – you will carry ours as well. Is that understood?”

Edward nodded quickly. There was no mistaking the ‘we’ – both on the level of the inner team themselves, undoubtedly entertaining his brother with jokes while they waited for the two of them to return; but also, the deeper meaning. It wasn’t hard to catch wind of the rumours, not certainly when he was still seen by most of Eastern Command to be something of an oddity and not truly considered part of the Colonel’s men. The most salacious ones were whispered in the mess hall with an air of incredulity and exaggeration – but there were little comments thrown his way, ones that he sometimes didn’t understand and sometimes wished he didn’t. He might’ve only been fourteen, but Edward wasn’t that unobservant.

The two of them reminded him a bit of binary stars – the theorised phenomena where the gravitational push of each affected the other in a constant, ever-shifting dance. It was easy enough to argue that was simply a result of the Lieutenant’s skill as a bodyguard, but even in the environment of his office, where danger was supposedly at its lowest, the two of them still shifted and adjusted, seemingly unaware of their actions. A shared history made a lot of sense, he supposed, accepting the shoes she passed him, still deep in thought. But it also raised questions of just how long they had known one another, and he had remembered the Colonel making a comment about the trials of trying to flirt with girls when he was a teenager and learning alchemy at the same time –

Yes, perhaps there were secrets better left untouched. Mustang’s alchemy was legendary with good reason, and men had killed for less.

He blinked rapidly as Hawkeye rested her hand on his shoulder, head cocked to the side in concern. “Are you okay?”

Edward nodded. “Yeah. Where do you want me to get dressed?” He followed her out of the small closet and waited as she locked the door.

“There’s a bathroom just around the corner. Come back to the office when you’re done.”

He shuffled into the office twenty minutes later, the tips of his ears burning with shame. The pants had been fine – one quick transmutation later and the fabric no longer bunched embarrassingly at his ankles. But the tie – the bloody tie! It wasn’t something he had ever learned how to do – there were no fancy school uniforms when he and Al were kids, and even if he did wear a military uniform, the need was only if you were a cadet. The fabric was crumpled tightly in his automail hand as he shut the door as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to attract any attention towards himself, but it was too late: as if on cue, everyone in the office turned their heads towards him expectantly.

Second Lieutenant Havoc grinned at him brightly from where he sat, his hands full of ammunition clips. “Looking good Chief!”

Mustang looked up from the desk he sat at. “Havoc’s right – you don’t scrub up too badly at all, Fullmetal. But where’s the tie?”

Edward sullenly held up the offending fabric. “I’ve never had to do one of these before.”

A small smile pulled at the older man’s lips – one that Edward was surprised to recognise not as unkind, but sympathetic. “Lieutenant, can you-”

“You know how to tie a tie better than I do, sir,” Hawkeye answered, in a manner that Edward felt was a bit more pointed than it necessarily needed to be, not looking up from a clipboard Sergeant Fuery had given her. “And I daresay you know more than just the Windsor knot.”

Mustang nodded, chastened. He beckoned Edward over, pushing himself away from the desk, which he realised was covered in blueprints and diagrams as he neared. Exits had been circled in thick red marker, with the Colonel’s familiar handwriting spread across the paper, scratched out furiously in places.

“I couldn’t do my own tie for the longest time either,” Mustang told him, flicking up the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the fabric of the tie to lie flush to his shoulders. Edward shifted awkwardly at the contact but said nothing. “My mother had to tie them all for me and then I just loosened them enough to get them over my head. But it’s bad form for the fabric to be twisted continuously.” His hands were sure and methodical as he worked the fabric. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you – can’t have you fainting in the middle of all this.”

“I thought a black tie dress code meant a black tie.”

Mustang nodded. “True. But you’re a child, and children are allowed to break the stupid rules that adults make up. It’s also so my men can identify you quickly in case of emergency.”

Edward snorted. “Would’ve thought you’d be basing that on my height-”

The knot was pulled up against his throat firmly, but not uncomfortably as Mustang drew back to admire his handiwork. “No, that would be unprofessional, Fullmetal, and I don’t have time for mucking around tonight.” He smoothed the collar back down and dusted the tops of his shoulders quickly. “And now you’re all set. We’re moving out in ten, so keep close by.” He tossed some white gloves his way, and Edward caught them easily.

“What’s wrong with my gloves?”

Mustang gave him a sceptical look, sitting back down. “Mine aren’t stained with oil.”

Jerk. Edward turned on his heel, and walked to where Al was perched, hilariously oversized on a chair that somebody had brought him. He rested his bare hand on his brother’s head, absorbing in the cool steel. “You’ll be okay without me?”

Alphonse nodded energetically, armour clinking. “Yeah! Mr Fuery is going to be in the building over handling all the communication, so I’ll be hanging out with him. It won’t be as fun as what you’re doing though.”

Edward laughed, rubbing the helmet. “At least you’ll be safe if things go sideways tonight.”

Alphonse scoffed. “If you’re going to be there, something is going to go wrong, brother.”

He flicked the top of Alphonse’s head, wincing as pain bloomed briefly across his finger. “I don’t think the Colonel has left any space in the plan for me to muck up. Anyway, you should have more faith in me! I’ve been in plenty of situations where things could’ve gone badly but didn’t.”

“Only because things were already bad enough by the time you came onto the scene,” Alphonse muttered.

Edward opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the door to the office opening once more.

“ROY!”

“Hughes,” Mustang replied in a bored fashion, standing up. “Everybody’s ready on your end?”

Hughes nodded, winking at the boys as he crossed the room. “We’re good to go on your order. Team Arthur and Bruno are already in position.” He turned to Hawkeye and placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

“First Lieutenant, I’m sure Roy has already told you numerous times how wonderful you look tonight, but truly, you will outshine every guest there.”

Hawkeye tucked some hair behind her ear. “I hope you don’t mean that literally, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. The plan rides on our ability to identify our target.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Right, right, we have a job to do, and there’s no time for dad jokes – by the way, have you seen the latest-”

“Later, Hughes.”

The subsequent briefing had been quick and to-the-point: they couldn’t arrest Bobby until after lot number two-hundred and fifty-two, and the little radio headsets that Fuery had kitted them out with would only work within a certain range in the building – if they strayed too far from the main floor they’d run the risk of losing the signal and his team would be unable to forewarn them of any issues. The earpiece felt uncomfortable in his ear but there was no point – nor time – to complain. Within minutes he was being escorted into a flash-looking car and sitting opposite the Colonel and Lieutenant.

“I still don’t understand why you needed me on this mission.”

“Bobby has a thing for blonds,” Mustang replied darkly after a beat and Hawkeye sent him a furious look.

“We weren’t going to tell him-”        

“He’s going to find out anyway Lieutenant-”

Edward frowned. “I don’t get it. Lieutenant Hawkeye is blonde, so-” Realisation dawned on him and he felt the contents of his lunch churn dangerously in his stomach. “I see.”

Hawkeye was staring daggers at her superior officer, who in turn was watching the city lights flicker by as they made their way down West Avenue. “It is insulting that you don’t think me capable, sir.” The title was thrown out bitterly, and Edward shrank back into his seat as best he could. This was a conversation he had no wish to be involved with.

“You’re more capable than any other person in the military, dear,” the Colonel answered finally, as the car slowed down in front of the glittering Heritage Hotel, “but we have a job to do and I need my wife-” he stressed the word as Havoc opened the door for him, “to be supporting me as best I can tonight.”

The Lieutenant stared at him, stony-faced as he offered her a gloved hand. “Of course, sweetheart,” she responded, a practiced smile forming on her face. “Come along, son,” she said to Edward as she accepted Mustang’s hand. “We have an auction to attend.”

Two hours into the evening and Edward was near ready to tear his hair out in frustration: auctions were the most boring thing he had ever attended in his life, and he had been subjected to some frankly inane military ceremonies before. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood out in the crowd in her bejewelled dress, but not by far – Edward was sure he had seen the entire wealth of his hometown on many a neck tonight. The numbers being tossed towards the auctioneer were absurd too – but he had long given up on his game of calculating just how much money was being transferred, instead busying himself with arranging his string beans by various qualities; first by length, then by shade, then –

“Bobby en route.” Fuery’s voice crackled in his ear and Edward felt himself stiffen despite the fact that he needed to appear as uncaring as possible. The Lieutenant had sat up straighter as well, though she masked it well by leaning to whisper something in the Colonel’s ear, who smiled after a few moments. The two of them seemed completely at ease in the roles of new money banker and ditzy socialite wife – it didn’t quite make sense to Edward why nobody was questioning his presence there: he hadn’t seen anyone near his age and he’d spent a good portion of the night people-watching from the second floor while his superiors blended in with the dancing couples below. He had noticed Bobby skulking at the edges of the dancefloor and had made a mental note to keep his distance while he wasn’t within shouting distance of either of his ‘parents’. Alphonse was right: he did have a unlucky habit of trouble finding him, and the fight that he had witnessed in the drive over put to rest any ideas of sorting the problem by himself. Trouble was sure to find him tonight, in the form of a man who boring name belied the monster within, and Edward was more than happy to delay the inevitable for as long as he could manage.

Bobby Carlsberg was a thin man with thinning hair and an even thinner moustache that only served to make the man look as sketchy as his report indicted him to be. There was an oily, slippery aspect to him too: and when he spoke Edward felt the revulsion slide down his spine unpleasantly.

“I must say sir, I have been admiring your wife all night and I’ve only just gathered up the courage to come say that.”

Everything about the man screamed sleaze and dishonesty – Edward shifted in his chair, adjusting the way he rested his head on the back of the chair so Bobby would be obscured by his fringe. The less he had to see him, the better.

Hawkeye’s laugh was airy and almost as disturbing as the man who stood before them. The auctioneer droned on in the background – some dusty old vase depicting a field of wheat was being frantically bid between two old men who looked to both have one foot in the grave already.

“You’re far too kind sir! Victor told me I had been turning heads, but I was terrified it was for the wrong reasons!”

Oh. That was why the dress had been sewn with what looked like a million diamonds – it wasn’t as a method of blending in with the society here – but to be seen, even amongst a dense crowd. For him to be seen.

“Nonsense! Your husband has an excellent eye for the latest fashion. Bobby extended his hand, and ‘Victor’ rose to shake it, a charming smile on his face. “You’re a very lucky man. The name is Bobby Carlsberg.”

“Victor Phillips. And yes, I am lucky. More than I will ever know,” Mustang said proudly, glancing back at his ‘wife’, his eyes passing over Edward as he did so. A warning. He sat up a little straighter and fiddled with his beans.

“Can I ask what interests you in this auction tonight, Victor?”

Mustang signalled a server to being them another chair and placed an order for some whiskey. “Well,” he began, casting the most obvious furtive look Edward had ever seen before leaning in closer to Bobby. “There have been a lot of very interesting auctions, but one has really caught my eye. Do you know about number two-hundred and fifty-two? I hear there’s a surprise included by request of the seller. I have a hunch I know what it is, but I’m dying to find out.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “A surprise?” His gaze slid to Edward, who grinned as toothily as he could manage before shoving all thirty-two string beans into his mouth.

“Alexander!” Hawkeye’s voice was playful as she leaned over the table to bat at his arm, but there was an undercurrent of sharpness woven into his ‘name’. “Don’t make me send you back to etiquette class.”

Victor laughed loudly. “Ah, boys will be boys, my fair-faced friend! As soon as a girl as pretty as you comes along he’ll change his tune.”

“Nobody will ever compare to my sweet Violet,” Mustang replied, his eyes glittering as he took the Lieutenant’s hand and kissed the ring on her finger. She smiled benevolently, before rising from her seat and leaning close to kiss the Colonel on his cheek.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I must dash for a moment.”

They watched her leave, and Roy waited until she had passed through the ornate stained-glass doors before leaning in conspiratorially. “I have an inking the surprise in two-hundred and fifty-two might kick my wife down to second place.” It was incredible how well Roy could change the tone of his voice to mimic that of Bobby’s. The other man’s eyes were wide, glancing quickly between him and Edward.

“Do you mean-”

Mustang tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I thought you might be a kindred spirit because you were one of the few who hasn’t bid on anything yet. I fear I’m not well-versed in the language here in Central but-”

“Not to worry my good man,” Bobby responded easily, his body relaxing as he accepted the whiskies from the server, passing one to Mustang with a lecherous grin. “We’re a little more refined than other places but I assure you the sights are even more pleasant than you could possibly imagine.”

It took everything in Edward’s willpower not to vomit his dinner as auction number two-hundred and fifty-two took to the stage. It was a necklace – even more ornate than the one the Lieutenant was wearing. Hawkeye flipped through her programme and gasped audibly as the auction house employs set up on stage.

“Oh – ! Victor! You must get that necklace for me. Bethany will go positively green with envy at Monica’s garden party next month!”

Mustang and Bobby shared a knowing smile. “Of course dear. But our good friend Bobby here also wishes to buy the necklace for his wife. We may be out of our depth, love.”

‘Violet’ pouted. “I guess we’ll have to see,” she said, disappointed. Her hands rested in her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. The tension was palpable as the auctioneer stood behind the podium and cleared his throat.

“Tonight, our last piece up for auction is the priceless Louiban set – a dazzling necklace that can be taken apart to make three more stunning necklaces. Ladies, this is a piece that only comes up for auction every blue moon, and it’s unlikely to be sold again for another sixty years. Can I get the bidding started at thirty million cenz?”

Edward choked on the water he was drinking, and the Lieutenant shot him a sharp look. Her entire posture had changed in a single moment; no longer was she a vapid socialite, but the woman he knew as the ‘Hawk’s Eye’ – and with good reason too. Other servers had slowly put down their trays – Team Arthur and Bruno were preparing too for what had every possibility of becoming a bloodbath.

A literal one.

Bobby looked back at Edward, before winking deliberately and he raised his hand. “Sixty million!” he called out in his oily voice.

What happened next was utter chaos.

The Lieutenant leapt across the table to pin Bobby down; Edward felt his chair being pulled back violently by some unknown force and then a pair of strong hands grab onto his upper arms. Shots rang out and they echoed loudly in the ballroom; there was a second of silence while everyone looked for the source of the original commotion, and then screams erupted as the high society of Central began to scramble for their nearest exit. Edward briefly caught sight of the Lieutenant wrestling with Bobby on the ground, a gun flung out of her reach while Mustang was dealing with his own mystery assailant.

Edward realised very quickly that the person dragging him away was not from Team Arthur or Bruno – and he roared as he clapped his hands together before slamming his palm onto this automail forearm as best he could manage. The scream behind him told him his aim had been true, and he fought off off the other arm that went to wrap around his neck.

He didn’t recognise the man who fell back to the ground, clutching at his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, but decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let him escape. The sound of his automail arm shattering the man’s jaw was immensely satisfying. Dimly, he could hear Fuery’s voice yelling frantically in his ear about something –

More shots rang out across the ballroom and Edward whipped his head to the front of the stage, breaking into a run. The crowd was thinning now, and he could see Mustang running towards the front of the ballroom too. It was probably only a matter of seconds before he caught sight of Hawkeye, standing over the twitching figure of Bobby Carlsberg with a gun firmly aimed at his head. Her dress had ripped: a thousand diamond crystals were scattered around the two of them, sparkling in the growing pool of blood despite the wound Bobby was desperately trying to staunch.

“Get the medics here, sir,” she said firmly, shrugging off the hand that tried to lower her gun. “We’re not risking him dying out on this floor so his operation keeps going.”

Mustang sighed and nodded, turning towards one of the approaching undercover servers. He looked pale – almost as pale as Bobby, who was busy swearing black and blue that he’d get her for this, the cocksucker –

Edward stood next to her, and she shook her head, gaze and gun still firmly aimed at Bobby. “You don’t need to see this,” she told him firmly. “Havoc and Breda will be here in a moment to escort you out-”

“But-”

“That is an order, Fullmetal,” she said tightly. “Go.”

A warm hand clapped on his back. “We’ll be alright here Edward,” Roy’s voice came from his right, his hand steering him away from the situation before him. “Simon here is going to deliver you to where Sergeant Fuery is. He’ll bring you back to Headquarters after you’ve been checked over.”

“The Lieutenant-”

“She’ll be fine.” The Colonel’s tone was worryingly hesitant. “We’ll see you back for the debriefing soon.”

Said debriefing took a lot longer than the briefing had: Edward was sure he had started to doze off towards the end as leaders from Team Arthur and Bruno recounted their version of events for the record. As far as he could tell, the operation had gone as smoothly as could be expected: Bobby, most importantly, had been captured alive, and so had a number of his associates. The child who was to be sold off had also been successfully located in a separate sting that happened elsewhere at the same time.

Edward recounted his own version of events quickly: “Some guy tried to pull me away but I stabbed him and then punched him to make sure he didn’t run off.” Hughes sat next to him on the couch, writing away furiously in a notebook. After what felt like hours, he closed it and stretched his hand.

“The rest can happen tomorrow. The details are all accounted for,” he told Mustang. “Your job is done, and Central Headquarters thanks you for your service.”

Mustang nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “Everybody get some rest tonight,” he called out as they began to shuffle out of the office. Edward blearily opened his eyes – when had he shut them? – and spied the Lieutenant sitting opposite him, curled up with a dinner jacket resting loosely on her shoulders.

“You did some quick thinking tonight,” she told him, pride evident in her voice. “I’m sorry it came to that.”

Edward shrugged. “We caught the bad guy,” he said simply.

“Hardly a good reason,” Hawkeye replied, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. He could see the need for the jacket now – in the fight with Bobby, a whole section of the dress had torn down the side. Diamonds were hanging on by mere threads, and Edward quickly ducked his head when he realised he could see the skin stretching over her ribcage, already marred with dark purple bruises. She nodded at Hughes, before wrapping the jacket tighter around herself, and slipped into Mustang’s office.

Edward let himself doze once more and was dimly aware of a blanket being draped over him.

Later, he woke to the smell of takeaways and low chatter and got himself a plate, sitting next to his brother and hearing his versions of events. From what he gathered, it had been very boring with Sergeant Fuery for Alphonse; it was only within the last five minutes before all hell broke loose that he could pick up on anything exciting.

However, there had been a friendly stray in the alleyway behind their building and so Alphonse had spent most of his time playing games with the cat and talking to the soldiers positioned there. Edward let himself drift off while Alphonse continued to talk, watching the remaining soldiers talk in low tones to each other over heaping piles of chips and fried rice. It struck him as strange that he hadn’t seen neither the Colonel or the Lieutenant since the food had arrived – glancing towards the door that led to the inner office, Edward made up his mind to let them know, if nobody else was going to. Almost everyone had gone home by this stage; the outer office was nearly empty as he walked towards the door that was left slightly ajar.

In hindsight, that should’ve been his first warning.

His hand was raised ready to knock as he pushed on the door – the heavy wood gave way under the pressure of his hand slowly, and Edward paused as he took in the scene before him.

The light was low in the office, as the two of them sat on top of the desk, looking out over the parade grounds. Hawkeye had discarded the jacket – which Edward realised was Mustang’s dinner jacket and was resting her head on his shoulder. In the dim light, he could almost make out their hands intertwined as they spoke to one another in low tones.

It was hard to look away, and even harder when Mustang turned and pressed a soft kiss onto her bare shoulder.

A hand reached out from behind Edward and pulled back the oak door. He twisted jerkily, so tired at this point he didn’t have the energy to cry out in surprise.

Hughes raised his eyebrows deliberately as he shut the door with a definitive click. “Not now, kid,” he said quietly, guiding Edward back towards where the remaining men were, dealing out cards and promising to go easy on Alphonse. “That’s a story for another time.”

[turntochapter13]

A side-project I’ll be working on for a while before I get it beta’d and such :)

March 11, 2013

His eyes are too tightly shut and it’s starting to white out the all-consuming black that comes with the comforting blanket of lids. The click of the door it prominent enough to hit Bucky’s ears from where he is shoving his face as far as it will go into the damp pillow on his bed. It makes him flinch and restart the feeble attempt of recuperation.

He has to calm down the rise and fall of his chest otherwise he’ll never get up, and he’s already given one too many shows for the few teachers that care to be considered nothing but regular old introverted teenager syndrome.

He pushes himself up with his arms and gets off the bed. It creaks unsatisfyingly and urges Bucky to look at it again, but he walks into the bathroom and avoids the mirror as he grabs the toothpaste and starts the mundane quotidian factions of life. He brushes his teeth too hard and there’s a hint of blood that comes out in the wad of spit he chucks in the glistening white sink.

He knows it was either from the harsh bristles or biting his cheek too hard because he makes sure to keep his teeth clean. He likes the pride and the way he can take control over the circumstances. It’s his.

Once he’s done all he can in the bathroom, peeing, trying to brush through the tangles of his hair and haphazardly checking it in the mirror, reluctantly washing his face of invisible grime that loves it’s obstinate hold on him, he goes out into his bedroom.

He’s so grateful he has his own bathroom. He can curl up in an enveloping bath for hours and no one will yell at him, and he can study his face in the mirror for unnaturally long while no one comes to raise an eyebrow at him impatiently. Sure, there’s that hesitation where he looks at Atty’s claiming initials on all the old hand-me-downs and hidden nooks of folds in walls and aged furniture, a brief spell of longing and grief, but the room is his now and he has his bathroom.

He finds a faded black t-shirt with bleach stains and an old rock band on the front that he loved for two months in some year long gone but able to withstand the small growth he’s had. It’s big on him actually and he vaguely remembers swimming in it when it first arrived in mail from some shady online shop that probably gave the family computer a virus. It’s relatively clean, well-worn but comfy, and he yanks it out of the closet from where he put it there about a week ago once his mother shrewdly screamed at him to organize his room.

Black jeans and a blue hoodie complete the clumsy ensemble. He feels the niggling urge to throw the hood over his head, but his dad will positively smack him on the back of the head for being the disrespectful twit he is, and they’ll laugh and laugh and shove breakfast in their faces. Though, Bucky thinks he’s already headed out.

He opts to keep the migraine forming behind the bars quiet for a little while longer and keeps the mothballed hood down. It matched his haggard black backpack. He constantly chews on whether or not he is a goth in discretion by subconscious impulse, or if he’s simply too bland to care.

Elle is frying some eggs for herself when he enters the kitchen, and she gives him a smile as he comes in before looking at him more deeply. Her face molds into one of unreadable blankness before swiftly returning to her sizzling slices of ham. Bucky has to clamp down on his tongue hard in order to not make some disconnected joke that will certainly push Elle into a whispered rant.

The Barnes kitchen in excruciatingly rusty but clean all the same. They can’t afford to replace the faded toaster or the microwave that malfunctions more than it works. The ‘tile’ peels and has been peeling ever since an incident including little Bucky flying onto the kitchen floor so hard he cuts both knees open and scabs the corner of a faux tile block stickers in the process. Since then, everyone's been apathetically scuffing their feet on it and it’s lifted a few more squares during.

It’s exponentially dead to say the least, washed over in bleach bypass, like a vacant xerox of the kitchen in a fifties show after it’s been abandoned for too many years to fend for itself. All in all, Ms. Lucille Ball would not be very pleased. A plus, though, would be the rays of sun that shine right in from the window at the sink, at least, a blessing on a good day.

But it isn't a good day, sadly. He wanted it to be a good day. The remnants of birthday cake are still laminated on his tongue. Seems like the teeth cleanse didn’t do the trick. He’s going to renew them now by having some more for breakfast. But his body is aching and the minor headache is congesting his head. He thinks he may have a sinus infection, but he’s barely ever sick, so it’s hard to sense whether it’s serious or run-of-the-mills.

He’s stressed out because he was too tired last night to finish his math homework, and he fell asleep only to lose more of the energy once he was awoken too early this morning as well. But he hopes he can straighten it all out on the bus to school. It’s not that heavy of a load.

His sweet mother walks in, t-shirt and shorts awry from rolling around in bed he’d suppose. She glides her hands through his brushed out hair and shakes it affectionately. “Morning, bug.”

“Morning,” he scrapes out.

She pays no mind to Elle and pours herself a cup of coffee. It steams up and billows soft puffs of smoke into the air. “Have a good birthday. Honey?”

“Yeah, it was great, Mom. Thank you.”

“How does the laptop work, hmm?”

“Great.”

“Come on, I work my butt off for it, and all I get is ‘great’?”

He hesitates. “It’s nice resolution. The internet’s a little slow, but that can be chalked up to the house... I really like the features, even if the storage is a bit wonky. I can even make little designs of the icons I put on my desktop. It reminds me of the old computer we had, you know, the one dad had to throw out for some mysterious reason.” He finishes off with a smirk as Elle knowingly laughs at the last sentence.

His face melts when it returns to his mom, expression clenched and taut. He goes back to the cake he’s jabbing his fork into to make pictures in the icing before he eats it. When a few seconds die and Elle’s laughter tags along, he uses his training to understand he did something wrong.

He needs to leave for school now. He needs to go to the bus and ignore the dying winter while he waits for The Big Bumblebee to come. He’s been calling it that ever since he’s being using one for transit.

“Why can’t you just be appreciative?”

“Mom… you know I appreciate you, come on.”

“”The storage, mom, and the internet, mom. Fix it, mom.’” she imitates whiningly.

“I love the laptop. It’s amazing, better than the old computer. I’m sorry that I made you upset.”

“You realize how hard I worked for that, hmm? And what? Alls ya gonna do is be a brat about it, and talk trash about it?”

“Mom, I was stupid, and i’m sorry.”

“Yeah, okay, you ain’t sorry for shit.”

“I-”

“I thought dad went to work.” Elle interrupts. She’s looking out the window, and Bucky can’t help but see her white-knuckled grip on the counter’s ledge. He imagines the frayed and stiff silestone pattern cracking under her grip and shattering as it hits the ground.

He licks his lips in trepidation. He thought his father had went to work also. A fork is clenched within his own hand. He looks down and realizes that it went right down to the bottom of the plate, bypassing airy chocolate and striking the glass with a clink.

Hands can do so much damage. Someone can try and save a ladybug from a windowsill. They could hold it between their two fingers just so it doesn’t fall, and at the same moment, that ladybug could be dying from suffocation.

His shoulders begin to suffocate as thick hands sit on them agonizingly slow. They wrap around the corners as tightly as leather on skin. It’s only for a second, and then the feeling is gone, and time has passed because his dad is kissing Bucky’s mom on the cheek and Elle is trying to pretend like she isn’t staring at Bucky while failing terribly.

“Come on, James,” He starts as he steals a piece of bacon from the frying pan and shoves it in his mouth, unorthodoxly sloppy, acutely condescending. “I wasn’t gonna leave you to have breakfast alone post-birthday. I ain’t that kinda father.” The heat on the meat had to have done something to the callous digits, but he has done everything but pay mind to his fingers, and Bucky’s timing it. Maybe he just doesn’t feel it? Numb? Toxic immunity complex?

“Welp--” Bucky starts picking up his mess. There’s a sad face etched in the gleaming white whipped icing. “--school’s calling my name.” It’s barely finished, but he throws it away so his mom doesn’t yell at him later for stashing it in the fridge.

“No, stay for breakfast, James. You barely had anything for dinner last night.”

“It’s fine, dad.”

“Elle’s already making breakfast. Sit down.”

“Actually, I was packing a breakfast. I have that the NYU tour, remember.” Elle intercepts.

Just thinking of the impending loss of his sister’s presence makes him want to leave. Both that and the clock are teaming up on one side of the tennis court to attempt to domineer the big burly monster of a player on the opposite side. He tries to hide the smirk when he imagines them all hopping up and down, up and down, just like the little old Wii avatars.

“And how are we going to afford that?” His dad’s voice filters in, flat as printer paper, lifeless as… well, death.

“Do you ever listen to anything I talk about? I’m applying for a few scholarships. My grades are decent, and my coach said a few scouts mentioned me at the last meet, you know, the one you guys were too busy to attend.”

“Watch your tongue with your father, young lady.” His mom squeezes in.

It’s a balloon ready to pop when it gets hugged too roughly between his dad, who has jumped out of his seat with a fist pound on the wood table that rattles from force for emphasis, and the indefatigable will of Ellena Barnes. The only pregnant weakness is sent with her worried eyes towards her kid brother. He doesn't get it, and goes to pick up his backpack when he realizes it’s feet away, at the table, and he’s pasted onto the ugly wallpaper.

“I’m going to head to the University early,” Elle bitterly spits. Her and their dad have never gotten along. She was basically always out of the house. She had pretty friends, nice friends.

The last friend Bucky had was Measia Alberson in kindergarten. He proposed to her with a ring pop. It was the first attempt of peer interaction, and subsequently the last.

“Bucky, do you want to walk together?” Elle is asking quietly, like it’ll withstand the laser gaze of their father. Their mom is nibbling on the rim or her coffee mug, priorly instigating spectator, what a cheap double negative guise.

“N-no, i’m- I need to get going. Really. It’s like two minutes till the bus gets to the stop.” The backpack is snatched and he’s practically skipping out of the door.

“James!” How does Bugs Bunny do it?

He walks slowly back into the kitchen on a trembling toe. He’s going to miss school. He can’t miss school. It’s really hard to catch up in History when your teacher’s too nice and too chill and says, “You’re good. Don’t worry,” when you’re unsure if you have done everything correctly, and he didn’t even actually look, but trusts his students way too much.

Three slithering shadows are haloed by stripes of sun, not so pretty, except for Elle of course, who's still glaring at their dad. Finally, Bucky’s pupils want to dial down the dramatic photography, and his dad has his hands in his armpits. His tightened lips reek of disappointment. “Aren’t you going to say you love your family?” The face softens up, a wonky dial that that changes at slap of wind.

“I love you guys.” Bucky smiles, and it hurts.

[kookadoodle]

Something Between Us (Pt 3)

PLOT: Being best friends with Min Yoongi is not always the easiest thing to do. Especially, when he finds out about your blooming relation to one popular friend of his - Jeon Jungkook. 

PAIRING: Jungkook x reader (ft. Yoongi and the other boys) GENRE: fluff, F2L!AU WARNINGS: swearing WORDCOUNT: 5.2k A/N: soft hours have arrived ppl x

Pt 4 ♥

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

{Y/N’s POV}

I look at my closet as I try to pick out something to wear. I just want something comfortable, but I still do not want to look like a complete hobo. I settle on a pair of black jeans and my favorite hoodie, hoping it will be enough to not totally expose my tired state of mind. I brush my teeth and before I know it, I am heading out the front door, locking it behind me. I walk to the sidewalk as I hear a car door being opened. I look over and as I predicted, there he is, standing by his car. Min Yoongi, my neighbor and currently not-so-popular best friend. He looks over at me from beneath his brown locks and beanie and his expression is still completely relaxed. He throws in his bag and rests an arm on the car, watching me in silence. I still for a second and tighten my grip on the strap of my bag. “Are you getting in or not?” he asks unbothered by the tension between us. I cross my arms as I furrow my brows, tilting my head slightly in hesitance. I realize something in his attitude has changed since yesterday and I kind of want to know more of his current state of mind. He seems less annoyed and slightly more apologetic. 

“Come on, Y/N, just get in already,” he says as he gets in himself and shuts the car door. I sigh as I ponder for a second before I decide to just cut my trip to school short by choosing him over the bus I never take anyway. I get in and put on my seatbelt in silence, not sure of what to say to him. It is not like I am still mad at him, but I am kind of expecting him to apologize for how he has been lately. He starts the car and we make our way down the road. I look out the window and watch the houses pass us by and count the dreadful minutes, no seconds, as they pass. Suddenly, I hear him sigh and I turn towards him. “I am sorry,” he finally says even though it clearly pains him. I relax more into my seat, waiting for him to elaborate. He licks his lips as he is putting together sentences in his complex mind. “I am sorry, I yelled and got mad. I just really hated seeing him with you… and I hate that he disrespected me like he did,” he explains, tightening his grip slightly on the steering wheel. I straighten up and run a hand through my hair as I listen. “You know I didn’t do it because I am jealous, right? I don’t want you to think that. I just…” he continues, trying to express his thoughts as clearly as possible. “I just want the best for you because you are my best friend and I really don’t think Jungkook is right for you,” he adds, seeming nervous to hear my response as if he fears I will not accept his apology or opinion. I sigh at that, slipping my hands into the pocket of my hoodie. His words make me wonder if he is right, yet the odd thing to me is that Yoongi is saying it as if me and Jungkook would naturally become a thing and knowing what I know of Jungkook, I really doubt he would ever go for me. He is the heartbreaker of our school and a lot of girls are waiting for his attention to fall on them, giving him plenty of options. I do not even know why he came over yesterday, but I assume he did it since he would not want me to say something that would hurt his image. He would never go for me but still I hear Yoongi’s point and I appreciate his concern. “I get it, okay? I know you only want to protect me and I am grateful for that, but you are totally jumping the gun. Jungkook is not into me, I swear,” I state, trying to convince us both. It hurts to say, since a part of me wishes that he was, but I have no solid prove that he thinks any differently of me than any other girl at our school. It just does not seem to be the case. “But you are into him?” Yoongi asks, voice calm and understanding. I look over at him and he returns it for a second with a look of worry in his eyes. I can tell what he is hoping to hear, but I cannot give him that answer. “It doesn’t matter if I am, he would never go for me,” I state and hope for him to drop the conversation as I do not like where it is heading. It just seems so damn depressing. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says with a sigh, surprising me. It was not what I expected to hear. I glance over at him in slight confusion as his gaze is purposely fixed on the road, leading us to school.

{Jungkook’s POV}

I lean against the railing by the front steps to the entrance with one strap hanging from my shoulder. Tae and Jimin are deeply focused on Jimin’s phone as they are reading texts he has received lately from a girl a few towns over. I feel several glances at us and I sigh, not really wanting their attention. I just want to get this day over with and I am extremely tempted to skip school because of it just to end the day already. “Dude, what about you? Have you heard from Hailie?” Jimin asks, shoving playfully at my shoulder. I smile at his teasing, straightening my posture slightly. “She actually wanted me to come over yesterday, but I was kind of busy,” I say as I receive a few intrigued expressions from them both. “Oh, right. You were with Y/N, yesterday,” Tae smiles widely. I feel my own expression soften slightly by the mention of her name. “Yeah, what’s up with that?” Jimin asks, studying my expression a tad too intensely as he is expecting to get juicy details. I scoff as I raise my brows a little. “Honestly, I don’t know. She seems into me, but she keeps calling us friends, so yeah…” I try to explain, but it comes out sounding more depressing than I intended. “But anyways, I’ll probably just text Hailie later,” I add, hoping for my desperate words to be outbalanced. They look at each other and then back at me with disbelief on their faces. “If you say so, Jungkookie,” Jimin chuckles as he pads my shoulder in disbelief. I shove back at him and he laughs as he almost loses his balance. “Speaking of the devil,” Tae says, looking past my shoulder. My heart drops a little as I sense someone walking up the steps to approach us, wanting it to be her. I turn to look and to my surprise, I am not met with the her I was hoping for. “Hey, baby,” Hailie says as she wraps her arms around me from behind. I feel her leaning into my back and looking up at me. I turn around towards her and throw an arm around her in order to convince the boys further of my previous claim. “Hey, babe,” I say back, and she reaches up to kiss me. I cup her face and kiss her hard, making the boys still before us. Tae gulps at the sight and furrows his brows at the scene I am causing. I finally pull back and leave a big grin on her face. “I figure you missed me?” she asks as her blue eyes study mine, craving more intimacy. “Sure did,” I claim, forcing a smile. I turn back to look at the boys with my arm back resting around her shoulders. “Guys, you know Hailie,” I say, formally introducing her. They both nod with strained smiles and she giggles obliviously.

{Y/N’s POV}

I move the pencil across the paper of my notebook, shading my newest work as I wait for the class to begin. My mind wants to escape to anywhere else but here and the best way to do so is to keep it occupied with something else. The drawing is nothing special, but it works as it keeps my mind from catching the contagious disease amongst the other students called boredom. I hear distant conversation gradually increasing as the owners of the vocals enter the classroom. I look up and see Jungkook in his black MA-1 bomber jacket, entering through the door with a few friends. A grin is spread across his face as he listens in on his friend probably joking about something ridiculous. I let my gaze back down onto the paper before me, continuing my work. As I do so, I sense eyes landing on me and keeping their position as he walks pass me to the back of the room. I try to ignore his disappearance from my sight until I notice a chair being dragged out from the desk right behind me and I sense his gaze fixed on the back of my neck. “Morning,” he says quietly in my ear, surprising me by his sudden closeness and my mind is reminded of when I woke with him behind me, whispering that same word. I feel a gentle rush through my body and my cheeks blush. I thank higher powers for placing him behind me, where my face is out of sight. “Good morning, students,” the teacher says as he enters the room, saving me from having to turn around and look at Jungkook only to reveal my flustered state caused by him. As the class begins, I keep wondering what is happening behind me. Is he still watching me or has his attention been averted to something else? I think, and I want to scold myself from even considering his attention was directed at me in the first place. This is why I draw. I want the pencil and paper to save me from my mind exploding on itself. I try to shake it off and focus on the words being said before me. As the class continues, I find myself less distracted. “You will have to do the assignment for Friday, so I have the weekend to look them over,” the teacher states after he has passed out the tasks and explained what the assignment was on. I always think they give us too little time to finish, which often only results in a half-done job, but so far, my grades are not suffering from it. “You can do the assignment individually or you can team up in pairs, it’s up to you,” he adds and allows us to begin working on the task at hand. I flip over the paper and start to scribble down notes on how I want the finished paper to be. Since Yoongi is not in my class, I do not bother to look up and search for a partner, making me fail to notice the chair being pulled out from beside me and someone placing themselves down on it, looking over at me. “Earth to Y/N,” Jungkook whispers in my ear and startles me yet again. “You have to stop doing that,” I sigh from surprise, causing him to chuckle. He leans in and looks down on my paper from over my shoulder. I try not to let his closeness get the best of me again. “You’re good,” he says calmly, gesturing to my notebook, lying open and revealing the work I was sketching earlier. I study it for a second myself. There is nothing groundbreaking about it, but I guess it turned out nicely. “Thanks,” I smile sincerely, and I feel him mirroring my expression as he studies the side of my face. I suddenly feel very exposed to him and I can sense he is enjoying it. “Can I ask you something?” he says, eyes not escaping their gaze at me. I look over at him and notice how intently his attention seems to be. “Sure,” I say, not knowing what to expect. “Would you work on this assignment with me? I have no idea what to write,” he says, eyes finally falling from mine as if he feels slightly embarrassed by his confession. Now it is my turn to study his features, trying to read whether or not he is actually serious about working on the paper himself or just wants me to do it. “We can do separate papers if you want, I could just really use your help for mine,” he adds as if he reads my mind and the wait of hearing my response seems to be killing him a bit. “Okay,” I say casually and return my focus to my notes, wanting not to seem totally lost around him. He looks back at me again, slightly surprised by my answer. “Cool,” he smiles relieved.

{Jungkook’s POV}

I place my bag on the table as I sit down across from Jimin. The cafeteria is as busy as always and the students are all wrapped up in conversations with each other. I look around, feeling as if I am searching for something, or someone, that I am failing to find. I set the thought aside as I bring my attention to the story Tae is in the middle of telling. “Things were getting pretty heated, you know? But then suddenly her parents come home, and she nearly throws me out the window,” he explains, lifting his arms up and imitating the movements as he talks. Jimin bursts out as he imagines his friend almost being caught in the act. Tae seems pretty amused himself as he copies the laughter escaping Jimin. “Did you at least remember all your stuff this time?” I ask, smirking teasingly as I remember the time he had forgotten his phone as he was escaping a girl’s room and had to knock on the front door to ask her parents if he could come in and study with her. We teased him for two whole weeks as he had been forced to sit in her room with her for hours after she had rejected him to pick up, where they had left off. “I did!” he says with a wide smile, showing off his desperation of never having to go through that again. Jimin’s laughter finally dies down a little as the story is done being told. I take out my phone and notice a message written across the screen.

[Today 11:37] Hailie: thinking about u <3

I read the words a few times over as I ponder on whether to reply or not. I decide to let it be for now as I am not sure what to say back. Honestly, I have not really been thinking about her since this morning and I do not think that it is the reply, she is hoping for. “Is Hailie ready for another go?” Tae asks as he leans in, trying to catch a glimpse on my phone. I pull away and slide the phone back in my pocket as I meet his teasing smile. “Jungkook is not interested in Hailie. He has his mind on someone else,” Jimin says shoving Taehyung playfully. “Ah, that’s right,” Tae says and chimes in on bothering me. I shake my head at them. “Is Y/N the one texting you filthy words?” Taehyung asks as he lets his imagination get the better of him. “You should really give that girl trouble for leaving you with blue balls, you know?” I say, trying to change the subject and bring the focus back on Tae again. Jimin laughs as he throws an arm over Tae’s shoulders in agreement with me. “You can try to change the subject all you want, Jungkookie, but we all know you have a soft spot for Y/N,” Taehyung states with a knowing smile as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. I look at them both as their eyes mock me teasingly, wanting me to confess. “You have been crushing on her ever since you met her, always showing up at her door and pretending to get the house wrong, when you clearly knew where Yoongi lived all along,” Tae smiles wide. “No one gets it wrong six times, Jungkook,” he adds, laughing a little at my attempts to get her attention. I sigh, burying my face into my hands before I drop them down to rest on the table. “Okay, so what if I do like Y/N? Yoongi is gonna kill me if get near her,” I state calmly, revealing a bit of my frustration and surprising myself by my unexpected defeat. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I suddenly feel very exposed before them unlike the usual. “Yoongi-hyung will get over it eventually,” Jimin says, seeming as if it is the most natural response. “He just doesn’t want you to hurt her, but you are not going to, right?” he asks as he studies my reaction, searching for an answer in my features – an answer even I do not know. Of course, I do not want to hurt her, but I have never dated someone before and I know Y/N is the type of girl to want that from me – something more than the casual hookups, I am used to. I would not say that I am scared of commitment, but just that the whole relationship-thing has never interested me. “Seokjin-hyung just texted me,” Taehyung says, stealing my focus away from the thoughts circling my mind. “He is throwing a party on Friday and he wants us to come,” Tae adds, looking at Jimin and me. “I definitely need to be there to see it,” Jimin says already grinning at the thought of Jin hosting a party, knowing he hates inviting people over to get drunk at his house. “Me too,” I say, copying Jimin’s expression.

{Y/N’s POV}

I walk inside the library, looking around to find an empty table. Many are already occupied by students, but I finally spot one. I walk over and place myself down on one of the chairs as I take out my laptop. I hear a sound from my pocket and I pull out my phone, reading the message on the screen.

[Today 13:48] Jungkook: Almost there :)

I smile at that and place down my phone as I turn to my bag and fish out the paper with the assignment on it. I look towards the door a few times as I wait for him, wanting him to step through the doors. I shake my head a little, knowing he probably would not have texted me if he was only 30 seconds away and I focus on getting my stuff ready instead. A few minutes later I sense a presence approaching me and I look up to find Jungkook already looking at me as he is walking over. “Hey,” he says with a smile and pulls out the chair across from mine to sit down on, bringing a comfortable and relaxed mood to the table. He throws down his bag beside him and leans back in his seat. “Hi,” I say back, straightening my posture. I meet his eyes and find him already watching me so intimately, exposing me to him with just his gaze.  “Did you bring your stuff?” I ask, clearing my throat as I try to escape my own nervousness. There is something slightly odd about him today and already I am not sure how to feel about it. “Yeah,” he says and brings up his bag, placing his books out and grabbing his laptop. He opens it up and leans further back, spreading his legs out under the table, so they reach mine. I flinch a little in surprise and he chuckles at my reaction without commenting on it with his words. He looks out from behind his screen and I can sense him stealing glances at me. I am confused by his actions as I do not understand why he is studying me so intently. “Do I have something on my face?” I ask as I look directly at him, a nervous smile settling on my features. He laughs at that and I find myself wanting to hear that sound more often. “No, don’t worry,” he says grinningly, leaving me without an answer as to why he is staring at me. “Okay, good,” I say and try to shake it off me. I am just not used to being alone with him, I think, convincing myself that it is the reason why his behavior seems different. I start rambling about my thoughts on the assignment and give several suggestions as to how we should write it. He listens to me without interrupting as he studies my features and nods in agreement. I try my best to keep my flustered state at bay as I talk. “I’m impressed, you definitely know your stuff,” he states with a teasing look in his eyes, making me wonder whether he is being sincere or mocking me a little. I smile, unsure of how to respond to that. “You know, I really appreciate you helping me with this. I don’t think I could get through this assignment without you,” he says, fixing his gaze straight at me in search for my attention. His statement ensures me that his words are laced with sincerity and not mockery at all. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You would probably do just fine on your own,” I say back casually, wanting to return the compliment somehow. He smiles at that, eyes falling to his hands resting on the surface of the table. “Yeah, maybe,” he says unsure. The tone of his voice suggests that his belief in my claim is non-existent, making me feel bad for him. He always seems so confident in his own abilities, but it is as if his insecure self is spilling out before me, unspoken word for word. “Actually, I have been thinking about it and I’m glad I don’t have to do this on my own,” I add as I sigh at the task. An attempt to make him feel better, I guess. “So, you’ve been thinking about me?” he asks, making my eyes dart up to meet his as a satisfied grin spreads on his lips. A blush creeps out on my cheeks as I am lost for words and he seems amused by my flustered reaction. “Are you coming to Seokjin’s party on Friday?” he then asks out of the blue as if he changes the subject to save me from feeling embarrassed by my speechlessness. I look up at him slightly startled as I did not expect his interest in knowing of my attendance. “I don’t know, maybe,” I say hesitantly. He nods with a slight pout as he watches his hand fiddling with the edge of one of his books. It is quiet for a few seconds. “I’ll be there, if that changes anything,” he says softly, eyes looking up to meet mine yet again. I study his features for a moment, wondering if it means what I think it means. Is he saying that he wants me to come? I long for answers, but before I can ask, a figure is leaning in on our table. “Hey, baby,” the girl says to Jungkook with a flirty smile on her lips. Jungkook’s eyes dart up to meet hers, seemingly surprised by her presence. “Hailie,” he says, and I sense his slightly shaky voice. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves and her blue eyes lingers on him. “Did you get my text earlier?” she asks, holding the strap of her purse. Jungkook looks over at me for a second as if to read my reaction, but he cannot make out what I am thinking. “I did, but I’ve been a little busy today,” he says, looking back at her and sending her a confident smile. My heart sinks a little at that. “It’s okay,” she smiles back, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaning into him. He looks over at me again and I try to hide my quiet heartbreak at the realization of him obviously seeing this girl. I am not sure I manage to do so entirely. “Oh well, I gotta go. Text me later?” she asks, and he looks up at her. “Yeah, sure,” he says with another smile and she steps away after giving his shoulder a light squeeze. Silence falls as we are left alone yet again. I can feel him watching me in anticipation as if waiting for my response. He taps his finger on the table a few times as if some inner debate is occurring in his mind. He licks his lips. “Y/N, I…” he says softly as he leans in closer. “I really think we should just get this assignment done,” I say casually and start flipping through a book as I discard whatever just happened. I would rather not get into it right now, since I do not even know how I feel about it. I thought I had made it clear to myself that he was just going to be a friend. I guess, now I have my prove of that. I would lie if I said it did not bother me, though. Why the hell does it bother me so much? Jungkook sighs as his shoulders drop. His brows furrow and I sense him wanting to say something, but honestly, I do not think I want to hear it anyways. “Okay, let’s work then” he says a little puzzled and sinks back down in his seat to focus on the task at hand.

{Y/N’s POV}

“I can’t believe I have to beg you to go,” Yoongi says tiredly, sitting next to me on my bed and looking over at me as I am scrolling through the feed on my phone. He has been trying to convince me to go with him to Seokjin’s party tonight, since he got here for about half an hour ago. “Just go yourself,” I say, acting as if my being there would have no effect on him. “You know I want someone there to hang out with, who is not gonna be drunk out of their mind,” he says with raised brows. I sigh as I sit up. I lock my phone and cross my arms as I lean my back against the wall. “Aren’t you afraid that one of your drunk-out-of-their-mind friends will make a move on me if I go?” I say, trying to hit a nerve in order to make him stop his begging. He scoffs. “If they do, I would expect you to fight them off yourself. If not, even my sober self would punch them in the face,” he says, making me laugh. “Besides, I need you to drive me home after the party,” he says as he gets up from the bed and walks over to my closet, opening it up. “What are you doing?” I ask already aware of his intention. “I am finding something you can wear that won’t be too revealing,” he says as he starts looking through my stuff. My mouth drops. “Are you saying that I dress slutty?” I scoff as if my pride has been hurt. He chuckles. I walk over to him as he pulls out an item and shows it to me. “This one,” he says and throws it at me. “That’s my Halloween costume from four years ago,” I furrow my brows at him as I hold up the brown cloak from when I was Grim Reaper. I cast it aside as I cross my arms. Yoongi laughs as he sees my discontent expression. “Just go with me please,” he says, placing a hand on my arm and squeezing it gently as he looks at me. I try to hold my position but fail when he starts pouting at me. I shove his shoulder, causing him to laugh again as he knows that I have given in. “I will wear what I want, though,” I state firmly. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, knowing not to butt in any further, when it comes to my outfit. He falls back onto my bed as I look through my closet. I pull out a few items, contemplating on whether or not they would be comfortable enough, but still qualify as a party-outfit. I pick up a black t-shirt with a pizza pun printed on it and my mind finds its way back to last week, when I saw Jungkook at Yoongi’s door with a stack of pizza boxes in hand. A shiver runs down my back as I think of the girl from the library with her hand on him and the way he was smiling at her. The memory does not sit well with me for some reason. Deep down I know why, but I cannot get myself to admit it. Why should I admit it, when he clearly is only interested in a friendship with me, if even that? “Have you talked to Jungkook lately?” I ask, immediately regretting it as I feel it almost unconsciously rolling off my tongue. Even though, I did not want to bring him up, it is as if my curiosity has gotten the better of me. Yoongi sighs as he lays down flat on his back with his hands under his head, looking up at the ceiling. He takes a few seconds too long to answer for my liking. “I haven’t, but we’re not at bad terms or anything. It’s different with us, since we let things go more easily than you girls do. We don’t hold grudges the same way,” he says, making the feminist in me twitch. I make an annoyed face to myself without him catching on. “That doesn’t mean I’m rooting for you guys, though,” he then adds as if he wants to voice his opinion once more – as if I did not already know. “What do you think about this one?” I ask, holding up a black dress that fits my body type well. Not too revealing nor straight out of Amish neither. “Why do you even ask me, when you know I will always be in favor of the cloak?” he asks as he gestures to the Grim Reaper costume. I roll my eyes at him as I begin to undress. He sighs and looks back up at the ceiling unbothered by my half naked body. “You really know how to instore confidence in a girl, Yoongi,” I smile as I slip on the dress. He smiles lazily at my comment. “You’re pretty, Y/N. Too pretty to be fishing for compliments from someone, who thinks of you as his sister,” he says relaxed, getting up from the bed to help me zip up my dress. I feel his hand gripping the bottom of the zipper and pulling it up to conceal my back. “Thanks,” I say as I smile at him through the mirror on my closet door. “Yeah,” he says back, nodding lightly a few times in return.

[jessahmewren]

Miles between us and miles to go. Chapter 6/6

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge and tagging @today-in-fic 

Day 13: Stockings

-0-0-0-

They were nearing the second floor parking garage when the klaxons began to sound.  He knew they had precious few minutes before the doors sealed and they were trapped.  He looked at Scully, still unsure of how to treat her, of what to say.  She descended the stairs alongside him, her hand entwined in his, the contact passionless and necessary.  Her eyes were cast downward, perhaps gauging their rapid descent, perhaps somewhere else entirely.

Mulder pressed his back against the wall, surveying the foyer that led to the parking garage through the small window in the stairwell door.  It was too open, too exposed.  They would have to risk it.  

Together, they slipped into the brightly lit hall, headed for the exit.  

-0-0-0-

Skinner’s phone rang twice before he reached it.  It was Mulder, and he rarely called him unless he needed something.  He heard the rain and the road noise first over dead air, then Mulder’s clear voice cut in. “Skinner, it’s me.”  A perfunctory greeting he usually neglected.  He heard him take a breath.  “I need you do something for me.”

The windshield wipers punctuated every blank syllable over the phone as Skinner looked up at the few agents that were still lingering after the day’s meeting.  He wordlessly saw them out with just a glance.

When they had gone, he lowered his voice.  “What’s this about, Mulder?”

“I need you to smooth things over with the hospital where Scully was.”  The change in tense was not lost on him.  “Make it look like we were apprehended, captured not far from Bethesda Medical Center.  Can you do that?”  

Skinner’s mouth forehead creased.  “Apprehended for what, Agent Mulder?”  Mulder simply pursed his lips.  

“Can you just do this please?”    

“Sure,” he said tensely, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Mulder looked at Scully, who seemed oblivious to their conversation.  “She needed to get out of there Skinner.”  

There was a pause on the other end.  Skinner seemed to accept that, and he certainly trusted his judgment where Scully was concerned.

“Ok,” he said, and ended the call.

-0-0-0-

It was raining steadily when they left the hospital, the alternating straight-down and torrential side assault not uncommon for storms off the Chesapeake.  Scully sat tense and still in the front seat, her elbow propped on the door, two fingers resting over her mouth, staring out the window.  The rain-slicked highway danced with a thousand little lights, and liquid shadows like an old film image warped and distorted the world outside, making the concrete truth of their rental car seem crudely separate instead of warmly familiar like it should have been. They drove in silence.  

“Where are we going?”

It was the first thing she’d said since they left the hospital.  Mulder hesitated, realizing he didn’t really know himself.  “We need to get out of town, keep a low profile for a few hours.”  She said nothing.  “Skinner is issuing a false report, sending it through regular channels.  That should keep us in the clear.”  

Scully looked straight ahead, past the rain.  “Yeah I know, I heard you.”  It was automatic, a knee-jerk response.  

As was mine, he ruminated, the whole affair.  While he didn’t second guess his decision, he wondered about his next move.  She was so volatile now, the thread so tenuous.  He looked at her soft features now angular in the creeping shadows and searched for something to say.  In the end, he said nothing.  There were miles between them and ultimately, miles more to go.  

-0-0-0-

Scully shifted slightly in the seat, absently fiddling with the door handle.  They’d been driving for hours and had said little.  She wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but there were no Hallmark sentiments that seemed appropriate.  She studied his face…his beautiful, driven, determined, focused face.  Single-minded.  Loving. Hers.  He broke in on her thoughts.  “Hey, you hungry?”  They were somewhere in Pennsylvania.  She really didn’t care where.  But she remembered that she was hungry, had been hungry for awhile.  

“Yeah,” she replied.  

----

The Tick-Tock Diner

Easton, PA

----

The Tick-Tock was one of those quaintly retro all-night establishments that was clean and usually had good food.  They pulled up to the side, under the shadow of the big neon clock, and walked in.

They both ordered coffee and breakfast plates.  Scully studied her fork, the scarred green Formica, and remembered she didn’t have any money.  “Oh God Mulder, I don’t—“

”It’s fine,” he interrupted, somehow finishing her thought.  He smiled, and Scully realized that the two of them, either together or apart, had smiled too infrequently in their time together.  Mulder’s smile had the youthful jubilance of a young boy who’d just gotten away with something particularly naughty, and she loved it now as she always had.  

“I don’t even have an I.D.,” she said bemusedly.  Mulder looked at her, his face a perfect, pensive mask.  “Well, if we get drinks later, I’ll do the ordering.”  

She laughed suddenly, a sharp chuckle that took her completely by surprise.  It sounded so alien to her.  She abruptly stopped, suddenly self-conscious.  

They ate in relative, comfortable silence.  Mulder studied her between bites, pleased she was eating, getting her strength back. And she had laughed.  He smiled at the memory.  A deep, throaty chuckle that had ended as quickly as it began.  That little gift was so unexpected, so beautifully spontaneous.  If only she could do that more often.  He silently vowed to give her as many reasons as he could.

“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself again.”

He’d said it before thinking and instantly regretted it.  She stopped eating then and looked at him, an array of emotions playing on her face.  Her eyes slipped closed, her face suddenly stricken.  “I can’t,” she whispered.  “I’m trying, but I can’t promise anything, Mulder.”  She looked at him with such sadness it took his breath.  She pushed her plate back.  “But I am trying.”

“That’s all I ask,” he heard himself say, and instantly realized how arrogant it sounded.  He slipped his hand across the table, carefully grasping her injured one.  “You don’t have to go through this alone.  But if you would just fight.”  His voice was low and his eyes searched her face.  And she realized with some measure of shock that his eyes were wet with tears.  

He drew her hand up to his face and gingerly pressed his cheek into it, the warmth of his tears seeping through her fingers.  “Promise me,” he almost breathed, “that if you won’t fight for yourself, that you’ll fight for me.  Promise me Scully.”  

She exhaled deeply, her eyes closed.  When she opened them, he was looking at her.  His face was warm, tangible.  She nodded quickly, stroking her thumb against his cheek in reply.  

-0-0-0-

While the storm had abated some hours before, they now found themselves in the heart of another downpour. The rain was relentless, pounding so hard it made driving nearly impossible.  He looked over at Scully.  Her shoulders sagged into the seat, her eyes were fixed on the road and glassy with exhaustion.  It was a few hours before dawn, and she needed rest.  They both did.  

“We’re stopping for awhile,” he said finally.  She didn’t protest.

----

Bear Creek Motor Inn

Rural northeast Pennsylvania

----

It was a motel just off the highway, one of those out-of-the-way places that are still family owned and one in which you can usually get a good night’s sleep.  The well-kept complex of buildings was nested in the beautifully painted woods of northern Pennsylvania, making the state a common destination for foliage enthusiasts.  

It was dark, however, and pouring rain, and the normally charming, bucolic scene loomed woeful and foreboding against the pre-dawn landscape.

Mulder and Scully walked quickly through the deluge, sloshing a trail through the generous standing puddles until they made it to the front door.  Mulder approached the desk and waited.  He looked back at Scully, who stood warming herself by a heater in the tiny lobby.  He couldn’t leave her alone, he knew, not yet, couldn’t let her out of his sight. He paid cash for one room, and accepted the key.  

-0-0-0-

Scully stood by the small heater in the shabby lobby and waited for Mulder.  Stay here and keep warm, he’d said to her, the room’s probably chill. She knew the real reason.

He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him.  She didn’t trust herself.  

She glanced at the kindly old attendant behind the desk, managing a quick smile.  Her watchdog, she gathered.  She turned away, toward the window.  The parking lot gleamed like black glass, neon and halogen light casting the world in a diffuse glow.  Absently, she tracked an oil-slick of rain as it slid lazily down the window, only to dissipate and lose its path.  

For the first time in awhile, she was glad she wasn’t alone.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder popped the trunk and retrieved a small bag of Scully’s and his duffle.  He withdrew Scully’s gun, removed the clip and shoved it in the tire well, out of sight.  Alongside that, he stashed the pistol he’d emptied and hidden in the hospital room. Right now, with Scully, he couldn’t afford to take any chances.  

She was waiting for him in the lobby by the door, her arms folded, staring out into the inky black early morning.  He shouldered his way in, shaking off the rain.  They made their way together into the parking lot.

The room was quaintly furnished and clean.  The two double beds were separated by an end table and a small lamp.  There was a television, a dresser and a small bathroom. The furnishings were austere, functional and, to Mulder at least, entirely acceptable.  

Scully stopped just inside the threshold, as Mulder placed the bags on the bed and shrugged off his wet jacket.  He walked to the far side of the room, to the small closet.  She looked at him, remembering the “guard” he’d posted in the lobby, and wondered what he must think of her.      

“I’m not going to try anything Mulder.”  She swallowed, registering his surprise.  I would never do that to you, she didn’t say.  Not again.

He was standing in front of her now, his face unreadable.  His damp shirt clung to his arms and chest, and his hair was wet.  She was shivering.  “You’re soaked,” he said roughly.  He placed his hands on her arms to quell the shaking there.   They were warm, and she craved more of them. Unexpectedly, she pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly.  His arms encircled her shoulders, her lower back.  He held her in a firm embrace and, momentarily, the gnawing dread that had roared at Scully for so long…the loss of her son, her infertility, the unseen forces that frequently used her and Mulder as pawns against each other…was silenced.  She thought fleetingly that if all of life were this, it might be manageable.  

“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck.  His skin was warm, and she let her lips linger there as if gaining life from his thrumming pulse against her mouth. Mulder smoothed the wet tendrils of her hair as he and Scully stood in each other’s arms, dripping onto the carpet.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed.  His shirt was off and spread against the heater to dry.  A small stack of clothes from Scully’s overnight bag…a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of Christmas socks with tiny stockings on them (the only ones he could find) were stacked neatly by the bathroom door.

His phone rang.  It was Skinner.  Sometimes he wondered if he ever slept.  

“Are you two ok?”  

“We’re fine,” Mulder said. “We’re in Pennsylvania.”  

“How’s Scully,” Skinner asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Mulder considered, glancing at the closed door of the bathroom where Scully showered.  “She’s better Skinner.  Still got a long way to go.  Did you fix things with the hospital?

Skinner sniffed. “Yeah.  What went on there, Mulder.  Reports say you kidnapped a nurse?”

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read in the papers Skinman.”

He heard the bathroom door open.  Scully stood in the doorway, toweling off her hair with her left hand.  A fresh puff of steam followed her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.  She had changed into the t-shirt and jeans, and her skin was dewy from the shower.  He remembered he was shirtless.

“I’ll call you later Skinner.”  He ended the call, tossing the phone on the bed, and stood.  Scully regarded him easily, allowing her eyes to slip down his smooth torso.  She made no attempt to hide her appreciation of him.  This was the father of her child.  He was hers and she was his. Nothing could change that.  

“Give it a minute for the hot water to catch up,” she said huskily.  She crossed in front of him, to the far bed.  “The water pressure is not that great either.”

Mulder retrieved his shirt to put it on, but she stayed his hand.  Mulder looked at her inquisitively, then closed his eyes as she smoothed her left hand up the length of his torso and around to the back of his neck where she pulled him down to her mouth.  

Mulder was solid against her, warm and alive, and her touch seemed to wake him, for a soon as their lips touched, Mulder became emboldened.  One hand nearly encircled her waste and crushed her to him.  His mouth, that talented mouth, finally broke away from ravishing her lips to do similarly to the tender skin of her ear, her throat, the ivory column of her neck.  His kisses were desperate and unrefined; there was a message in every ministration, a word in every touch.  Mulder’s Morse Code tapped into her skin with the passion of a man possessed.  I love you. I need you.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t ever leave.  Don’t ever die.  Don’t ever scare me like that again.

When he finally released her, she was breathless and a little unsteady, but her eyes were glowing.   She looked down at her damaged arm, the bandage rent.  She looked sheepishly at him.  “I tried to keep it dry; do we have anything?”  

He realized he was staring at her, but he didn’t care.  “Yeah, I actually grabbed some things at the hospital.”  He hesitated, uncertain if she wanted him to help, if she was ok with it. Normally Scully was the doctor in these situations, but she would be working with her opposite hand.  She looked up at him, her eyes large and soft. She sat down on the edge of the bed and held her wrist out to him.  

He took the roll of gauze, tape and scissors from his bag and placed them on the bed.  He sat on the end, turned toward her.  Carefully he snipped away the ruined bandage, revealing the wound underneath.  She didn’t look away.  He held the slender arm in his hands, gently rolling it into the light to get a better look. The slashes were deep and ugly, but the stitches held.  She was healing.  

A lump rose in his throat as he looked at that mangled arm, at the woman who owned it.  Their eyes met over the scars, hers glistening with unspent tears.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as a tear escaped down her cheek.  

He looked at her fully.  “Don’t be,” Mulder said quietly, and wiped away the offending tear, allowing his fingers to slip behind her ear, to rest along her hairline.  “You shouldn’t be sorry for anything.”  

He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him.  “What happens now happens to us, not just you or me.  Us.  And what we do about it, we decide together.”  She nodded mutely.

He bowed his head, chewing his lower lip.  “I should have been there when you made that decision.” He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to even speak his son’s name.  “But I won’t fail you again Scully.  You have my word.  I will be here no matter what and to whatever end.”  

A single tear slipped down her cheek.  She stroked the side of his face, looking a bit lost.  “Do you ever miss him Mulder?”  

He gathered her up in his arms, rocking her gently. “Every day, Scully.  I miss him every day.”

-0-0-0-

[ofnifflersandkings]

Title: Close Call Character: Peter Parker Prompt: 61

•

Peter and you had long since made it a habit to walk home together after school. You lived on different floors in the same apartment complex, and the two of you used it as excuses to be in each other’s company longer.

“Hey, I’m gonna take the train today, you wanna come with?” You tugged off one of your headphones to ask him, but Peter seemed distracted by something else.

“Oh uhm, I’m gonna have to pass today. I have to do a thing,” Peter was already crossing the street away from you before he turned around for a brief moment to give an apologetic smile you had gotten far too used to in the last couple of days. “I’ll call you later though I promise!”

You watched him sprint away before you could even respond. Ever since Peter got his internship with Tony Stark, it became the thing his entire life revolved around.

And at first, you were completely overjoyed and proud of him, he just seemed so happy. But soon after, it felt like Peter wasn’t doing anything if it wasn’t for the internship.

But you’d never tell him how his sudden absence in your life upset you. You couldn’t take something away from him that he cared so deeply for. Instead, you just got the hell on with it.

Fortunately, it was becoming more and more easier to be content with your own company.

•~•

Peter quickly ran into an alleyway to pull his spider suit out his bookbag, shedding his school clothes and suiting up in record time. Webbing his bookbag somewhere secure, he then took off to the top of one the buildings to scope out for any trouble.

However, like usual, it was only small things. Peter returned a runaway dog to it’s owner, helped a blind man find his wife whom he lost in a crowd, and stopped another bike theft.

Peter pulled off his mask, sitting on the edge of one of the taller buildings with his legs dangling over. He had gone back to grab his things from the alleyway before resting on the building. He remembered his promise to call you, but just as he was about to grab his phone from his bag, there was a shout from down below.

Peter tossed everything back into the bag and slung it over his shoulders, putting the mask back on he then took off to find the noise.

He was expecting to find something like a theft or some sort disagreement between the city people.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he did find.

There was a few people surrounding a shop that was selling television screens on the front window. Flashing on the screen was a breaking news story about a crash within the metro sysem.

Apparently a train had derailed an hour or so earlier and stations were just getting word of it.

Peter was about take off again but then he remembered that you said you were taking the train home today.

And the train that derailed was the one you always took.

The news station didn’t have word of any casualties yet, but there were more than dozens of injuries among everyone on the train.

Panic finally settling in, Peter sprinted into the closet place he could have privacy and quickly dialed your number. His hands were shaking so much that he kept pressing in the wrong numbers.

He ripped off his mask and started to put his normal things back on while the phone rang.

“Please pick up, please pick up.” Peter quickly murmured as he momentarily took the phone away from his ear to pull on his shirt.

There were a few more rings but then it went to your voicemail and Peter found himself letting out a strangled cry when the same thing happened the other two times he tried to call.

“(Y/n)! I’m heading over to your place now, if you get this before I get there please, please call me!” Peter shoved his phone into his pocket and started running as fast as he could to the apartment complex.

He didn’t even bother with the elevator, your place was on one of the lower floors, so Peter ran straight to the door to the stairs.

By the time Peter got to your door he had worked himself up into a complete nervous wreck as his subconscious thought every worse case scenario for this particular situation.

He probably knocked five times more than he needed to, but his desperation to see your face, to see that you were alive and safe, was blocking most of his common sense.

When the door opened and you looked at him with a puzzled expression, Peter could only stare at while his eyes began to tear up.

“Peter? What’s the matter with you, I tried to-”

You were silenced as Peter tossed his arms around you and pulled you into what was possibly the most bone crushing hug you’ve ever received.

His arms were wrapped securely around your neck and he had his head tucked into your shoulder while a couple quiet sobs escaped him. “I saw that there…that a train had derailed, and I thought- I thought you might have been on it!”

Now all of his strange behaviors made sense.

Peter used his sleeve to wipe away his tears as he sniffled. “Look, I’m really sorry that I haven’t been around much lately. But, I promise I’ll try to make you more of a priority and I’ll follow you everywhere because I thought you were dead and that was an awful feeling that I don’t want to go through ever again.”

Your hand came up to brush the hair at the back of his neck as you tried to console him. “I’m fine, I promise! After you left I decided that a walk alone would do me some good so I bailed on the train.”

Peter’s hold on you grew tighter as he let out a bitter laugh. “And you never answer your phone, I hate that about you.”

You smiled. “Why don’t you come inside, I can make you something to eat.”

Peter felt you try to move away and he shook his head. “N-No, I just want to hold you for a little bit longer. It still hasn’t sunken in yet.”

You nodded and simply held him back. “You’re such a worry wart, Peter Parker.”

“I don’t care, please don’t ever do that to me again.”

[lynnearlington]

8 and/or 40 for supercorp please

I did both oops. 

8

Kara’s body runs hot. Lena learns that as soon as they start sharing a bed together on a regular basis. It becomes almost commonplace to be woken in the middle of the night by a person-shaped furnace on her back.

In the dead of winter, like tonight, she’d normally be all for a personal space heater in her bed, but she cranked the heat up earlier that evening when she thought Kara might be out late on DEO business. Normally she’d turn it down before sleeping, but she had gone to bed without her girlfriend only to wake up with her sudden presence, plastered to her overheated back.

The combination of the warmth of the room and Kara’s body heat is stifling.

“Kara,” Lena complains a little, pushing back with her shoulder, sweat pooling uncomfortably at her lower back. Kara barely moves against the shove and Lena sighs. She can feel her shirt stick to her skin and she kicks the covers off her legs, desperate for cool air.

Kara just mumbles in her sleep, nosing at the back of Lena’s neck in a way that would normally be adorable but Lena just feels like she’s burning up.

“Kara,” she tries again, this time twisting around to face her girlfriend. “Sweetheart, please move.”

“What?” Kara finally asks, pulling her eyes open and squinting at Lena in the darkness. “What time is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lena laughs softly, attempting to scoot away a little. “You’re just hotter than the sun right now.”

Somehow, in all her grogginess, Kara manages to smirk a little at that and it makes Lena laugh again. She sits up when Kara finally releases her and swings her legs off the bed. She’s almost standing when an arm snakes around her waist and pulls her back down.

“Where are you going?” Kara’s voice is thick with sleep, but still sounds just whiny enough to make Lena smile.

“To turn the heat down.”

“Why?”

Lena rolls her eyes though unseen by her girlfriend. “Because I’m unbearably hot and I’m sweating through my pajamas.”

Fingers pluck at her shirt and Lena looks over her shoulder at her girlfriend with a questioning arch in her eyebrow. “Just take your clothes off.”

The mannered part of her that was raised by Lillian Luthor bristles at the suggestion. It goes against how she was raised to hold herself. Sleep in her underwear? She can almost see the look of horror on her mother’s face.

“Just to make you comfortable,” Kara adds, sitting up behind Lena, chin on her shoulder. It’s gentle and soothing like Kara could read Lena’s thoughts. She wonders absently if that’s a Kryptonian power she’s not aware of. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can go turn the heat down.”

“It’s fine,” Lena says softly, gripping the hem of her shirt. It is fine. This is Kara after all and they’re in a bed they’ve shared for almost a year and she’s tried to be better about relaxing, about not letting her upbringing insert itself into their lives all the time. It’s not like Kara’s never seen her in her underwear before. It’s dark in the room anyway and they’re just sleeping. She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast, but Kara must hear it because she winds her arms around Lena, holding her just a little tighter.

“Lee,” Kara says, breath soft on Lena’s neck. “I’ll go turn the heat off.”

Lena untangles herself from Kara’s embrace and stands by the bed, turning to look down at her girlfriend with determination. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her pants and pulls them off before tugging her damp shirt off her back and throwing both items towards the closet.

Kara smiles gently at her from the bed, the expression inviting and full of understanding. Her girlfriend holds a hand out to her that she takes immediately and allows herself to get pulled back down.

Back on the bed, on top of the covers, Kara’s body heat is no longer so consuming and she exhales noisily as she snuggles back down with her girlfriend.

“You okay?” Kara asks quietly, pressing a quick kiss to Lena’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Lena answers, feeling her body relax.

“Better now?”

Lena smiles, kisses Kara’s forehead warmly and closes her eyes. “Much.”

It’s silent for a bit before Kara’s voice breaks into the quiet of the room once more. “I could freeze breath the sheets if that would help.”

Lena just laughs and shakes her head.

40

Kara’s on the other side of National City, sat on top of a tall building while she watches the warehouse four blocks over. There’d been rumors of alien gang activity there and her current assignment is more stakeout than anything else.

She’s bored.

“There’s literally nothing happening,” she complains into the night air.

Winn’s voice crackles over the comms. “Trust the process,” he says with faux wisdom.

J’onn’s voice joins him. “Just keep watch Supergirl. If our intel was good we want to be ready for it when it happens. As soon as that truck shows up, that’s our signal.”

Kara blows out a breath and kicks her legs out a little, glancing around at the buildings around her. As it often does, her mind wanders to thoughts of her family.

She checks in on Alex first, stretching her hearing to try and find her heartbeat or her voice and she winces when she does. “Oh jeez, no no no no.”

Hands on her ears and shaking her head, Kara tries to block out the sounds of Alex and Maggie as much as possible. Seriously, when will she learn? It’s Alex’s first night off in weeks and she should know better than to tune into that.

“Supergirl?” Winn’s voice comes through again.

“Yeah, sorry, Winn,” she says. “Just talking to myself.”

In an attempt to focus on something else (anything else), Kara picks a reliable target. Lena. Her wife should be home by now, as well as their young daughter and Kara smiles warmly as she searches for their twin heartbeats through the cacophony of noise that makes up National City.

She finds them easy, as always, and grins wide at what she hears. Lena’s laugh is distinctive and full and it twists around Kara’s heart. It’s always such a joy to hear. Their daughter’s giggling accompanies the sound and Kara tries to picture them, wonders what they’re doing. She wishes, not for the first time that night, that she was at home, laughing along with them and watching Lena’s unrestrained happiness - once so rare but now a common sight in their home.

Then she hears them talking.

“You can’t tell Mom,” Lena is saying and Kara’s brow crinkles in confusion. She considers shutting the sound out and ceasing her eavesdropping in the case Lena is honestly trying to be secretive, but curiosity gets the better of her.

“But Mom loves cake!”

Kara’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“She does, but I’m sure she’d have something to say about eating it for dinner. So it’s our little secret, okay?”

“Okay,” her kid agrees easily and Kara laughs a little.

The sound of Winn in her ear prevents her from hearing anything else and Kara whips her head up to look again at the warehouse, just noticing the truck she’s been waiting for pulling in the parking lot.

“I see it, Winn,” she says before pushing off the building and flying towards the target.

--

When she gets home that night it’s late and she’s exhausted. She didn’t stay in the sunbed nearly as long as she should have, but she was eager to get home to her family.

Lena’s still awake when she gets there, laptop open on their kitchen counter and a glass of red wine untouched next to it. Kara watches her wife work for a few seconds before noisily walking forward.

“Hey,” Lena greets as she notices her, shutting her laptop and standing. She crosses the space between them quickly and wraps her arms around Kara’s neck. Kara winds her arms around Lena’s waist, and buries her face in her wife’s shoulder, breathing strength back into her body. “You’re home late.”

“Yeah,” Kara says, but doesn’t offer any other explanation.

“Everything okay?’

“Yeah,” she repeats, palms sliding under the worn sweatshirt Lena’s wearing to press against her lower back. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Lena says, running a soothing hand through Kara’s hair. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Laura asleep?”

“A while ago,” Lena answers, pulling away from Kara and tangling their fingers together. Kara lets her wife lead her back to their bedroom when a memory hits her.

“You gave our daughter cake for dinner,” she accuses and she can practically sense Lena’s eyes go wide.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kara laughs, the sound continuing on at the teasing unapologetic smile on Lena’s face.

“Who would have thought you’d be the fun parent,” Kara jokes, moving quickly to strip out of her suit and throw on sweatpants.

“You’re still the fun parent, darling.”

“You’re the funner parent.”

“Funner isn’t a word,” Lena points out needlessly. “I’m a writer,” Kara says, sticking out a petulant tongue. “I know what words are words.”

It makes Lena laugh again and Kara inhales deeply, feeling at peace as she hears the genuine sound of Lena’s joy here in person instead of across the noisy city.

“Don’t distract me,” she continues, pointing an accusatory finger at her wife. “You gave our daughter cake for dinner.”

Lena arches an eyebrow as they both slide into bed. “Are you mad?”

“Did you save me some?”

“Kara,” Lena intones, shooting her a pointed look. “Need you ask?”

Kara grins, kisses Lena swiftly. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime.”

“So why were you giving her cake? Trying to bribe her again?”

Lena rolls her eyes. “I don’t bribe our daughter.”

“So why then?”

Lena shrugs, the smile on her face faltering. “It made her happy.”

It seems more serious for a moment and Kara searches Lena’s face, trying to decipher the many complexities that make up her wife’s motivations. “She’s a happy kid,” Kara says softly. “With or without cake for dinner.”

“I would have never been allowed to do that when I was her age,” Lena whispers between them, her fingers reaching to hold onto Kara’s hand. “I just want…”

It makes sense then, the hidden vulnerability shuttering in her wife’s eyes. “Lena,” Kara says, scooting closer in bed to tangle their legs together. “You’re a great mother.”

Lena holds her gaze for a moment before smiling softly and moving forward to press their lips together. “Thanks,” she breathes.