#the framing in that panel is very eyebrow raising though

[mari-lair]

There's flowers in this scene and teru looks shocked here too but idk why. Can u analyze it?

I talk about why I believe he is so shocked: here

And this will be very anti-climatic but I think the flowers are a part of the room T-T

Cause they are everywhere in that scene and it's always the same flowers, no matter the vibe in the panel.

[artsysurvivor]

Treat please! I'd love to read something featuring Halt with Will as a child ^-^

[Image ID: A 9 page comic featuring young Will in a baggy, patched up outfit and no shoes, and Halt in his normal attire but younger and with his hood up. They are in a large field full of flowers; behind will is a bunch of trees, and beyond Halt are rolling hills and a cloudless blue sky.

Page 1

Panel 1: The trees are framing the field of wild-flowers. Will is looking out into it, a silhouette against the colorful background.

Panel 2: Will is looking around, smiling open-mouthed.

Panel 3: Will spots something! His shoulders shrug upwards, there's a shocked look on his face.

Panel 4: Will's body relaxes as he realizes the ranger is not turned towards him (though Halt can see him out of the corner of his eye) but he still looks at the figure in front of him warily, ready to run at any given moment.

Panel 5: Will steps cautiously towards Halt. "Um... Hello?" he asks.

Page 2

Panel 1: Halt turns to look at him. Will starts sweating and backing up, putting his hands up in a "I surrender!" gesture. "Is-Is something wrong, mister?" he asks. Under his breath, he adds, "Please don't curse me."

Panel 2: Close up of Halt's face. He's squinting at Will.

Panel 3: He shakes his head.

Panel 4: Halt resumes his previous position. Will looks to the side and down awkwardly, clasping his hands together.

Panel 5: Will goes back on his heels, swinging his arms, and closing his eyes.

Panel 6: He goes forward, not quite on his tip-toes, swinging his arms back. He stares blankly at nothing. Halt watches him out of the corner of his eyes.

Panel 7: Will settles and asks "Mind if I sit here?"

Page 3

Panel 1: Close up of Halt turning his head towards him again. He asks, "Don't you know it's dangerous to be alone with strangers?"

Panel 2: Will arches his eyebrows in a frown, his pupils dilating and his mouth in an upside down 7.

Panel 3: He puts his hand behind his head and looks away. "Baron Arald told me, once. But everyone seems so nice. How could they be dangerous?"

Panel 4: Small Halt raises his eyebrow incredulously.

Panel 5: Will tilts his head, smiling nervously, he brings his palms up by his chest and faces them outwards. "I mean, aside from you of course!"

Panel 6: He looks to the other side. "I also have someone back at the ward who's mean, but I would just call him a bully. He wouldn't... I don't know... kill me... You won't kill me, will you?"

Panel 7: Side view of the both of them. Will looks up at Halt, who is crossing his arms. He says, "Are you willing to take that chance?"

Panel 8: Will puts his hand by his head, his palm facing upwards. "Well, in retrospect, I think you would've killed me already."

Panel 9: Will continues, "So, technically I already took that chance." As Halt is pinching the bridge of his nose.

Page 4

Panel 1: Halt has his eyes closed. One of his hands is like Will's, his elbow resting on the other hand. He says, "Someday, you might meet someone who won't be as merciful as me W—"

Panel 2: Will is looking up at him frowning, with dot eyes. "Boy," Halt finishes.

Panel 3: "... Maybe," Will says, looking to the side.

Panel 4: Close up of Will's eyes. He has noticed something!

Panel 5: "Hey, what's that?" Will asks, pointing at a golden heart laying in the grass. Halt turns to where he's pointing. /End ID]

More under the cut

[Image ID:

Page 5

Panel 1: Close up of the locket. Engraved on it are two gloved hands holding a heart with a simple crown above it.

"I'm-I'm sorry sir. That's too much, isn't it?"

Panel 2: A hand reaches into the panel to grab the locket.

Panel 3: Halt looks down at the locket, now in his palm. "No, no... it's a locket. I got it from someone very dear to me."

Panel 4: Halt has a small smile on his face while still looking down at it. Will looks at him with his arms behind his back. "Oh..."

Panel 5: Will leans forward. "It's very pretty," he says. Halt nods.

Panel 6: Halt looks at the locket longer. Will's mouth settles into a neutral expression.

Page 6:

Panel 1: Will's arms move to his sides and he straightens his back. "Um, so... It looks like it opens up."

"Yes, that's a function of a locket," Halt replies.

Panel 2: Will steps to the side, smiles nervously, and clasps his hands together again. "Do you mind if I look inside?"

Panel 3: "Obviously it's ok if not, I don't want to force you to do anything," Will continues. Halt rolls his eyes.

Panel 4: Will tilts his head back and looks to the side. His palms are facing upwards by his shoulders. "—I doubt I'd be able to anyway—but I was just—" During this, Halt waits with a clenched fist over top his palm.

Panel 5: Will pauses his charade, noticing the fist, and looks down at it. Halt plops the locket into his hand.

Panel 6: Will smiles, feeling the surface with his free hand. "... Really?"

"Really," Halt confirms.

Page 7:

Panel 1: Will opens the locket with a "Click!"

Panel 2: Side view of Will looking down at it, mouth open slightly reading the text engraved in it. A little ways beside him, Halt has a small smile again and is looking at him with fondness.

Panel 3: Bust shot of Will furrowing his eyebrows, a question forming in his mind.

Panel 4: "Where'd you get this?" He asks.

Panel 5: Back to the original set up, but Halt is now looking away into the distance. "... Hibernia."

"Ah," Will says, also looking into the distance. That's why he sounds weird, he thinks.

Page 8:

(The first four panels are the same set up: Will hunched over sitting Halt, both of his hands clenching the locket over his chest).

Panel 1: "What does it mean?" Will asks, a big smile over his face.

Panel 2: "You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Halt replies. Will's mouth turns to a closed smile, sparkles lighting up in his eyes similar to how a puppy's look.

Panel 3: Halt looks away. Will stays the same.

Panel 4: Halt lowers his head slightly with a sigh. Will closes his eyes and smiles with his teeth.

Panel 5: Halt holds his hand and looks away, tilting his head slightly. "It means 'Best friends forever.'"

Behind him are various drawings of Caitlyn. She has long curly hair, half of it in two braids leading to a small pony-tail. She has puffy sleeves and on her chest is a circle with a high collar. With 15 drawings overall, there are two objects scattered within: a head of a teddy bear and a book of flowers. One of them is the head of a fluffy dog, Madra, with closed eyes. 5 of the drawings of Caitlyn are portraying her younger years: her brushing a doll's hair with her tongue sticking out; her with big eyes and food all over her face; her looking up at the stars with her hands over her chest; her reaching out a hand while pointing in the distance; her reaching up as if wanting him to pick her up, and her with her arms spread out, dress and hair blowing in the wind. In her older years, looking from 10-13, she's holding paintbrushes mischievously, smiling as if she's laughing about something, and holding flowers which frame her head. Down in the right corner, there's a picture of Ferris with his eyes crossed out, Caitlyn and Halt holding hands, and older Caitlyn, smiling, with tears rolling down her—

"I hope I have one of those someday..."

Page 9:

Panel 1: Halt looks down at a hunched over Will. He's looking wistfully at the locket he is dangling in the air.

It fades to a black background. "I'm sure you will.

Now, hand me my locket and get back to the ward before I curse you." /End ID]

Um- uh- Happy Halloween!!

[mega-pixie-dream-girl]

Making Space - Part I

1990

❣ I am still very new at writing these! I know I am long-winded... I could probably edit even more and make small moment high-intensity fics, but this is sort of my style ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I have decided to make this story more of a chap book. Note: I leave some details in brackets when I don't want to associate a real name/place/thing, fill it in madlibs style ❣

This first chapter is mostly fluff and angst!

Pairing: Dave Mustaine x f!reader

Summary: Y/n is a musician--well, sort of. She is getting back into it when she meets Dave who has a practice space she can use. She wasn't looking for a muse... just a spark to ignite her creative passions. But falling for another musician is like playing with fire–falling for the frontman of Megadeth, that's like playing with an a-bomb.

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: power dynamic/mentorship, size, fluff, smut, angst

read Part II here

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

It was 1am. Not quite the witching hour… especially on a Tuesday… especially at this bar, the Diamond Saloon. But that’s what I needed–a moderately empty dive on a weeknight at an hour way too close to when my alarm clock would be going off to consider any of this a good idea. I was desperate to get out of my apartment… After all, it was summertime in the city. But it felt like everyone was traveling except for me. And everyone I wanted to be friends with was in a band… except for me. I needed to take the dive and get back to working on my music, yet somehow, being at this bar was the first plunge, dusting off of my leather pants, shaking off of the rock and roll attitude I had put on a shelf. Like lighting a candle, it was a ritual for my own confidence to be around other people, people who were actually creating.

I didn’t particularly like beer, but I cared enough to enjoy myself (...so I didn’t particularly like cheap beer either…). I took small sips from the stout that I had doubt I’d finish, letting my head bop, quietly singing along to the throwback dance hits playing in the background that painted the paneled bar room with a warmth of analog haze. 

“You sing?” asked the bartender.

“Yeah. But I’m mostly a guitarist.”

“You in a band?”

“...on hiatus.”

“Oh? Maybe I’ve seen you guys.”

He hadn’t. I averted my gaze. “I’m working on new stuff… I promised myself I would take lessons with my favorite guitarist–I’ve been saying that for 10yrs… I finally got it set up but money got unexpectedly tight last month. I’m just working on writing songs right now.”

“Have you met Dave?” The bartender pointed to a guy about 6 barstools away, “He gives guitar lessons.” I had noticed him when I had first walked in. He was hunched over the bar, long strawberry blond hair waving around his shoulders obscuring his face in a bit of a chic mess.

“Hey, Dave! She is looking for guitar lessons–” The bartender turned back to me, “what’s your name?”

“Y/n–”

Dave turned his head ¾ of the way, his eyes down for a moment before they awoke with such focus. He was beautiful–his sharp features framed by the waves of apricot around his face, curving red lips–I felt my cheeks flush a bit as I tried to suppress a stupid grin. “Actually I’m not looking for lessons–I mean, I am but–I mean, maybe I am–I mean I wanted to study with this one person.” 

He raised an eyebrow at my babbling, his hazel eyes catching the light of a disco ball floating in its own universe towards the back of the bar.

“I am looking for rehearsal space though. Do you know of any available right now?” I added.

“Yeah.” Dave said, smirking, I couldn’t tell if his eyes were curious or laughing at me. “What hours are you looking for?”

“Preferably a fixed time weekly. Preferably weekday mornings… 8am-12pm?” I responded, regaining my tongue as I acclimated to his piercing, confident gaze.

He looked down for a moment, making a slight frown as he thought. “How are Mondays for you?” he asked.

“Yes. Yeah. Mondays are great!” I smiled, trying to match his confidence as my stomach recoiled wondering if I sounded ridiculous. Ugh… I must sound like such a poser. Or worse, vapid… I reigned in my smile to a slight curl of the lips, matching his.

“I mean, if you want… we can walk over and I can show you the space now… if you don’t mind walking to a soundproofed room with a stranger at 1am, that is.” Dave replied with a smirk.

“I’m down.”

Dave closed out his tab and nodded goodbye to the bartender.

We walked down the empty street without chatting. Fluorescent lights from the 24/7 laundromat communed in the darkness with the glow of neon lotto signs from the corner deli as the hum of air conditioners fell around us. I felt the butterflies in my stomach awakening as I listened to the sound of our steps. 

There was something about Dave that seemed so laid-back yet so energetic–we had only exchanged a few words but the heat building inside me was already fueled by the hunch that he was going to be one of the smartest people I’d meet here–he knew just what words were required and his eyes spoke for the rest. I wrestled my lips to stay shut, fighting with my desire to ask him asinine things just to hear his voice and learn its inflections.

We came halfway up an industrial block to a door where he stopped, punching in a number passkey on the lock, the faint beeping of trucks backing up in the distance blipped away as a cool breeze passed us by. The door groaned open. “Ladies first.” His demeanor seemed almost as if it was a dare, as if he was observing me–I couldn’t quite figure him out but I couldn’t help but feel the electric pulse of desire, like flipping a switch that made me want to pout my lips a bit and walk a little sultrier, if only I could capture his eyes once more.

Entering the dark corridor Dave realized maybe he better lead the way. “It’s on the 3rd floor–hope you don’t mind stairs.” 

I nodded, though he was already ahead of me.

Passing a few metal doors, he finally stopped at one, fishing for his keys before opening not 1 but 2 doors back to back and disappearing through them. 

Stepping through the doorway, a wave of calm washed over me, the warmth of string lights and incense wrapping around me and softening the few strewn and crumpled beer cans littered around the floor. 

“We are pretty limited with space, but you are welcome to bring gear if you can find a spot to fit on that rack.” Dave pointed over to the side. “We’ve got a JCM800, a twin reverb, a bass amp, a kit, ummm… some mics–they hook up to that preamp, the mixer is over there. Monitors obviously… you should try it out.” His eyes floated around the space before resting back in my gaze.

Dave handed me a guitar. Grabbing the cable resting on the amp I plugged in and hopped up on the high stool to sit. I felt like I was home. I started playing… tuning… playing… for a moment I forgot Dave was there–it just felt so natural, like I belonged here. I started playing the run I had been trying to learn–I had been playing the record over and over inevitably wearing the most important part a little thinner–the one I had hoped I would learn from the man himself, [jazz guitarist]...

“[Jazz guitarist]?” Dave asked after a moment–his gaze somehow softened and attentive at the same time.

I could have gasped but instead I grinned, keeping my cool. It wasn’t often that I got to talk about this stuff with people, certainly not [jazz guitarist]’s music. “Ughhh I love his playing so much… he’s actually who I was going to take lessons with…” I replied, trying not to word-vomit my excitement.

Dave nodded slowly. “I recommend it. I took a few lessons with him and… yeah. I would not talk you out of that experience.” He replied with a warm, soft smile, his muscular arms folded across his chest.

“Really?! What was he like?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement despite the immediate embarrassment for my exuberance.

“Intense. Nice guy… but the type who will sit in front of an amp for 8 hrs and then corner you to show you this thing he is excited about, something he’s been working on… and it’s always something mind blowing.” Dave chuckled. His smile was a little goofy but I never wanted him to stop smiling.

“That sounds amazing.”

“Like this one time…” Dave turned, hand in search of another guitar before getting himself plugged in, “it was this gnarly thing…” he leaned against an amp to sit in his tight jeans, starting to play and explaining the riff to me. He was good. Like good good. “Try it–it starts on the 8th fret…”

I copied after him as he played it slower. He leaned towards me, hesitating, getting permission with a glance before delicately curving my fingers into a daunting chord shape with his own hands, which dwarfed mine. His hair tumbled down his shoulders a bit. I played the end of the riff again, the notes now more perfectly in reach.

“That’s it… oh then–you got it.” He watched my hand on the fretboard intently.

I felt the warmth that had been welling inside me start to pour over, tingling on my skin, his magnetism pulling on me so strongly now, I was desperate to feel his skin on mine again.

I needed this space. I needed to see Dave again. I looked down, breaking our mutual gaze as I felt his eyes still on me. “...how much per month for the Monday mornings?”

“Um, how ‘bout $50?” He replied.

“Done.”

“It’s yours.” He curled his lips.

I explored the crevices and textures of the cluttered room, reading the scribbles on the wall like it was an archival truth, a history I could absorb. There were some stickers and graffiti around, flyers for drum lessons and gear for sale.

“Goatmouth… Weather Friend? …Do they practice here?”

“Yeah. Warren is a friend.” Dave replied, “Um... They’re playing Friday night, we are too… um… come by, it’ll be a great show.” He rustled through the nest of papers that had collected in a corner, handing me a little black and white flier.

“Megadeth?” 

“It’s at Sally’s Place–dunno if you’ve been there–great rock venue.” He replied.

I nodded, “Yeah, um… totally, I’ll try to stop by.” 

He bit his lip for a moment. “Uh, are you going back to Diamond?” He asked.

I shook my head… It was about time for me to get home. “I gotta head out actually.”

“Cool. Um… Do you want me to walk you to the bus or something? It’s kinda late…”

“Sure.” I said with a light smile. “Also, I need to pay you for this month.”

“Just get it to me the next time you see me… I’ll be around.”

Standing at the bus stop, I wished it would never come. For all I could tell, Dave could have lived at Diamond Saloon–he was going back there for yet another round and his five o’clock shadow was coppery on his jaw–but my mind was as desperate to know what made him tick as my arms were to wrap around him and thank him for being at the right place at the right time, helping me get what I needed while the universe felt to move against me this summer. We took turns alternating between looking down the street to see if a ball of light was finally growing towards us down the street to then looking at our shoes. 

“This is me.” I said as the bus approached. I paused, imagining him pulling me into a passionate kiss with hungry need… I gave him a parting smile and waved. He nodded, as if searching for the words, but instead pressed his lips together into a line, waiting for me to board and disappear into the night. The hiss of the pneumatic risers punctuated my departure, leaving me wishing I had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him onboard with me, without any clue as to what I would have done next had I done so. I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be close to him, to know what he was thinking about.

All I could think about was his show. I had to go. When it was finally Friday night, I decided to wear something simple that would stand out without trying too hard–a white silk mini skirt, a white halter top, black fishnets, and patent red gogo boots–I figured most people would be wearing black. I made my eyeliner super smudgy and sultry and let my hair down. I was determined to be noticed without screaming for Dave’s attention from the front row.

The club was flowing with people, people chatting out front, in the doorway, at the bar, on the dance floor, by the stage… everyone seemed to know everyone… or at least someone. I kept my eyes down until I got to the bar. “Gin and tonic. Thanks.” Scanning the room the cacophony of revelers shifted as I turned my head, but I just wanted to see red, Dave’s gingery hair somewhere in the crowd. Suddenly the crowd started to shift and hush momentarily before an even louder chorus of awe came across the room. There Dave was, adjusting the height of the mic a bit higher. The bass blared out. The show started. 

My breath caught in my chest as I saw him begin the first song–it was like the guitar was part of him. His brooding eyes looked somewhere and nowhere as he curled his lips at the mic. His t-shirt had the sleeves cut off, his biceps flexing as he moved around the stage, scanning the room and making faces as if arguing with the world. The band was heavy. Loud. I had craved to know his voice and this was perhaps its most honest, raw form. It was inspiring to see him perform, but I was not going to be one of those fans jumping up and down at the front of the stage, flashing him like a groupie. Yet deep down I wanted to scream his name, entranced by his glistening body, his intention, his control over the music–he had a grip on me and I felt my own wetness envelop my heat.

Looking on from the bar, I sipped my gin and tonic. They were between songs when finally those deep hazel eyes scanning the room came to mine and stopped. I smiled. For a moment he paused, smirking and looking down before capturing my eyes once more with his. The moment felt like an eternity but the next song was already starting when the feeling of satisfaction finally landed. 

Soon the show was over and they sauntered off stage and through a nondescript door. Shit. Who knew how many girls were back there. In fact–maybe I was silly to think Dave could possibly be available at all. Maybe I should try to hit Diamond Saloon late at night again tomorrow–he would probably be there, right? I swirled the ice around in my glass as the next band finished setting up for their set and checking levels. The rock songs playing at the bar sounded so frail compared to Megadeth’s set, song after song melted into one as if it was AM radio.

“Can I buy you another?” Dave’s voice was soft behind me.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, sure. G&T” I said, turning to face him. I needed to see him with my own eyes to believe it–that Dave, frontman of the hour, got off stage and came to find me.

“Two gin and tonics.” Dave told the bartender, as he leaned between me and the guy at the next bar stool.

“You guys sounded really good.”

“Eh. The monitoring was all fucked up. All I could hear was Junior’s bass… vocals were nonexistent.”

“Yet it worked out–at least from over here.” I smiled.

“I didn’t see you right away–I mean–I–you were easy to spot.” He blushed and looked away as he let his eagerness slip. He sipped his drink.

I averted my gaze coquettishly. “So… what are you doing next?” I asked.

“Next show? Tuesday at Marz Bar. Tonight? Gotta load up my gear, but then… Um… Maybe we could get another drink somewhere else? Somewhere… quieter–if you want?”

I smirked. For the first time I felt like I was the cool one, as glints of his nerves showed through his confident facade–he must have been tired from performing. I lifted my gaze to meet his, my doe-eyed poker face holding my cards back as his searched mine for an answer. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” I replied. He smiled softly nodding as he sipped on his cocktail. 

Once Dave was ready to head out he came back to meet me where I was finishing my drink. “I know a place only a few blocks away–I think you’ll like it.” We filtered out of the crowded club, his hand placed lightly on the back of my arm sending shock waves through me. I couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

“Dave!” Junior called out, catching us by surprise. “You’ll never guess who’s here, man.”

I felt Dave’s touch tense a bit. Junior acknowledged me with a nod before continuing. “Y’know that dude whose car you pissed on because he was talking during the set but he ended up being from Capitol a few months ago? He actually came to see us tonight. He’s inside–”

Dave smirked. He was about to say something. He must have remembered that I was right there. He looked at me, looked up, looked back at me, for once he didn’t have the words nor the piercing gaze. “Hey… do you mind waiting for a moment? I’ll be right back.” He turned to me and asked. I nodded–he had to take his opportunity… maybe they would make it–maybe we would be–they were gone.

I leaned against the standpipe. People filtered in and out, some taking one smoke break, then another… I felt the time in my feet as they started to ache in my gogo boots. It was like I had traded my opportunity with him for his own–maybe I never had it in the first place… I could have been the girl of the day, I guess… and on Tuesday who knows. Feeling empty, I walked painfully to the bus stop.

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

…to be continued... read Part II here

[alarians-history-and-lore]

Leif and Mekyz

"So, you are working on that shiny new machine of yours again, my boy?"

Zevnyr looked up to see his father standing on the lawn nearby, his usually stoic expression slightly intrigued.

"What even is it, Zevnyr?"

"Ah, afternoon, papa. Yes, I certainly am." Zev twirled the tool in his fingers with a grin. "It's going to be amazing when it's done, but it's going to be a surprise." He laughed, though he took the goggles off and leaned on the wall of the house.

Zelazath Leif raised an eyebrow.

"You keep saying that, boy. I would just like to know what you keep taking the junk parts for. And using my tools. Well, but I am concerned."

Zevnyr chuckled, though his serious father really didn't. He wasn't upset, just not amused easily.

Zev cleared his throat slightly.

"Don't worry so much, papa. I can handle myself around metal and machine. You taught me well. Your tools will be okay." The confident young man grinned, spinning the tool in his fingers again.

I'm more than at home here, you should know that. You taught me everything I know.

This caused Zelazath's ear to twitch just slightly.

"That welder is expensive. If you break it, I will not hesitate to have you start working to buy a replacement."

"You got it, papa."

Zev chuckled again, putting the goggles over his eyes and getting back to work on his project.

Any day now, and I'll be able to ride with the wind. Finally, I was tired of sitting still so long.

Zelazath just sighed quietly, shook his head, and walked back into the house.

"That boy..." He muttered as he went.

---

"Throw me a '12, bro!"

Zevnyr called.

He saw the metal tool in question fly at him a moment later and caught it easily, moving to tighten the bolts holding the frame together. Finally, the assembly.

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome, man. I just want to see what the junk this thing even is." Elazeh laughed, shaking his head.

He was leaning on the wall of the garage by the wall of tools, watching his older brother put together this seemingly incomprehensible mess of metal pieces he'd worked on over the months.

He shook his head.

"I've been telling you all, it's a surprise. Also, it's mine. Only I get to use it because I built it myself." Zevnyr looked back at Elazeh. The younger just shrugged.

"Better not be overly dangerous. Mama will fret."

Zev huffed, putting the power source he'd saved his allowance for into it's casing. He looped the last wires up to the panels, and stuck the steering bar into the front.

The shiny painted panels with lightning bolts went on the side, a seat on top.

It was then Elazeh realized.

"Dude did you build your own hoverbike?? Mama's going to kill you!! Those things are crazy fast!"

Zevnyr grinned, waving his younger brother off. "Nah, I'll be fine. I've always wanted one of these things, so I made my own. It'll be great. Plus, I might be willing to give you and Katy rides, with enough... compensation."

He put a pretty well made custom key into a hole on it and turned the thing on.

The bright red and yellow hoverbike lit up, hovering quite well off the ground.

Zev made a very pleased sound and got on, loving how it felt.

"Okay, you do look cool on there. What, gonna go impress some chicks? Like maybemmmmm I dunno, that gorgeous miss you've been eyeing?" Elazeh teased.

Zevnyr blinked. "No don't be ridiculous I built this for myself. If girls see me and swoon thats their own fault."

"Swoon over you? Ha!" Katyrez' voice appeared in the doorway along with her face. "Gimme a break. Me and El are the pretty faces in this family." She laughed, walking over and nudging Elezah.

He huffed, laughing alongside her.

"Yeah, you're built like a twig, Zev. No meat on your bones. Miss Zenny isn't going to swoon for you, bike or not."

Zevnyr rolled his eyes. He was very well built. He was broad shouldered and strong, just like her.

Yeah, okay. As if I'm not built broader than a building.

"Aight sure. Well, you can just say you're jealous. I'm gonna go test ride this bad boy. I'll see you for dinner."

He revved it, loving the way the engine sounded, and drove off out, absolutely not graceful just yet.

Katy watched him go, leaning on short Elazeh with an arm.

The young woman shook her head.

"Man, he's such a nerd." She remarked.

"Wanna go fix some stuff, El?"

Elazeh looked up at his sister, shoving her off him with a grin. "Sure." She huffed at being shoved by him, shaking her head. She was built like a brick wall, it was amazing how he could manage to push her around.

The two walked off to work in their father's shop, since he enjoyed the help.

Zevnyr was sure to be grounded.

---

Zev rode to a nearby area, nice and flat. He knew it would work to practice on. He did loops and straights to work on steering and balance, having a great time of it. Woops and yips came from him, especially when he pulled off a cool trick. He didn't regret a thing.

This is awesome! Finally, some freedom! I can go wherever I want!

With his newfound confidence, he drove back to the brick streets and rode around in the summer heat, the wind whipping his dark hair around.

More and more, he would have his freedom. He already had his first tattoo, he wanted a second. He wanted an earing, too. Maybe he was a bit of a showoff, but why not be the coolest guy around? He could be safe and mature about things when he grew up all the way. He'd barely gotten old enough to make his own decisions, he was going to do that.

He couldn't wait to move out on his own soon. Start his own things. Metalworking was cool, he could be a mechanic or something...

I'm not going to be just like dad. I can't be. If I disappoint him, so be it. I'm going to be me. I'm going to be my own man. And this man wants to ride a hoverbike and get tattoos and earings.

He rode by the park, seeing groups of people playing games and having meals together. He waved and got some waves back from people he knew, most of them schoolmates.

He was looking for his crush. She just had to notice how cool he looked.

I'm not going to work in a stuffy old shop my whole life. I'm going to be free. I'm going to live.

---

Zevnyr finally spotted Zenalya standing with some friends near the lake in the middle of town, looking like they'd just finished a rousing game and were laughing and teasing each other. He swooned softly at seeing her, his heart skipping a beat. She was beautiful. He sighed, then put on the cool and hovered closer, letting the engine rumble and revv a little.

They all turned to look at him.

Perfect.

"Hey, how's it going? Having a good afternoon?" He greeted with a smile.

They blinked, then murmured some agreements that their afternoon had indeed been fun. He leaned forward on the bike, putting it into a parked state, then tried to strike up as casual a conversation as possible.

"Looks like you just finished a game, or I'd ask to join. Looks like fun. If you ever need another player, I'm always down." He gave them a suave point.

They seemed just a little starstruck by his bike, it seemed. Or maybe by how cool he was. Or both.

They exchanged glances.

"Who are you again?" One of the guys asked.

"The name"s Zevnyr Leif. My friends call me Zev, hah. Pleased to meet you."

There were a couple snickers.

...Why did they laugh?

"You build that hunk of junk yourself?" One of the others asked.

"Did you crash it already?"

One of the girls added.

Zevnyr felt his heart sink a little, but tried not to let it get him. He could save face. He was cool. "Pff. Crash? Nah, I'm an expert. Put this bad boy together with my own hands, finished it today. Cool, right?"

He could feel their stares just... on him.

Was he..... a loser? No, surely not. Besides, these were the fun and cool kids, who liked freedom and cool stuff and being tough and nice.

Why would they be mean to him specifically.

More snickers.

"Yeah, I guess." One of the girls said. "What say we all head out, there's a noise in the air."

The rest seemed to agree.

Zevnyr noticed his crush hadn't said a word, shame on her face. She wouldn't look at him.

He tried to figure out what was going on, but was drawing a blank.

"Hey, what gives? Do I have a branch in my hair or something?"

Silence.

One of the boys scoffed finally.

"We know you have a crush for Zenalya, Leif."

Zevnyr blinked.

"She doesn't like you, dude. Buzz off."

"Take the hint, hoverboy."

"Yeah, she's got a boyfriend already anyway. Did you even notice?"

"Weirdo."

They all called at him before walking away in a group, grabbing their stuff and going.

Zenny looked back at him for a moment, giving him an apologetic look. But he could see it in her eyes.

She wasn't into him. She'd known, and now her friends knew, and they didn't want him around.

And worst of all, she'd already found someone, and he hadn't even noticed.

He felt stupid and oblivious.

Had he been so transparent?

He turned on his hoverbike and drove sadly away, alone.

---

He didn't even join his family for dinner that day, his appetite dried up. He avoided them, covering up his hoverbike and leaving it in the corner of the garage.

Zevnyr didn't even feel like riding it. He made a pitiful sniffle once he was up in his room alone, away from the questioning eyes of his parents and siblings.

They were sure to see his bike and he would get some firm lecture about safety and riding it properly, but for now all he wanted to do was lie down and think about how badly it had gone.

So he did.

I mean what were the odds that I'd get with the prettiest girl in the neighborhood... nothing, right? I should have known better. I'm just the son of a mechanic. I'm not some super rad guy. No one's ever gonna like me like that. I'm not grown yet...

He sighed.

Guess I shouldn't push her, though. She found someone. If she's happy... then that's okay. I'll let go.

Zevnyr fiddled with his thin beard, a somewhat miserable expression on his face, but one of acceptance.

It was just life.

Sometimes life just didn't do what you wanted.

And that was okay.

Maybe he would find his way.

---

Zevnyr was sitting in the gazebo in the rain, having been caught in it during his latest ride on his bike after work. He watched it pour over the glass, falling across the park trees and grass, leaving that lovely rain smell everywhere.

He couldn't help but smile a little, singing to himself, thinking over the past week.

His mother had taken the hoverbike surprisingly well, just making him promise to be safe and not stupid. To not get himself into some dumb accident.

He more than agreed, assuring her he would wear protective gear and drive safely and still do his chores and work.

His parents let him keep it.

He left miss Zenalya alone, refusing to let himself be weird about her. She wasn't interested.

So he just didn't see her anymore.

It did mean he was lonelier again, since Zevnyr... couldn't seem to keep friends.

He was friendly enough to get some, but for some reason they always drifted away.

He didn't know why.

And now the friends and potential girl he had been persuing...

Just shoved him off.

So he was lost and alone again.

He kept on singing in the rain, enjoying the sound of it pattering away on the roof of the gazebo.

And then he heard footsteps and a yelp, looking up and stopping his singing just as he heard a splash and a cry of disdain.

"Oh, fiddling flipperdoodles, I'm soaked! Ugh I hate when that happens!" A voice spoke to herself.

"Oh wait shelter! Oh thank golly."

Zevnyr watched a sheepish, sopping wet woman peer into the gazebo, looking around and spotting him.

"Oh jeeps there's a guy in here... uh do you mind if I dry off in here?" She asked.

Zevnyr blinked.

"Nope. Isn't my gazebo, ma'am. Not as long as you don't mind me and my bike being here."

The woman walked in without hesitation, shaking water off of her to not much success. She was still sopping wet.

"Thank you very much, sir." She said politely. The woman shook more water off of her as best she could, her clothes and hair simply sopping wet. Zevnyr smiled a bit, and took off his much drier jacket, offering it to her.

"Here, miss. Maybe this'll help."

The woman smiled a bit, taking it and getting some of the wetness out of her wild red hair.

"Thanks."

There was some silence, with him idly watching her dry off, sitting on a seat and trying to stay warm. He could see her shivering a little, and moved to sit next to her. "Here. Can't have you caching cold, miss." He said quietly, using his large, warm body to soak cold from her.

She blinked up at him. "Uh! Thank you!" She said a bit awkwardly, sneezing once before leaning into him. "I would like to not get sick." She giggled softly, rather liking how warm and friendly this guy was. "So what's your name, big guy?"

Zev scratched at his light beard.

"Zevnyr. Zevnyr Leif." He stated.

"I'm Vohzyn. Vohzyn Moryz Mekyz." She giggled. "It's a mouthful, just like I'm a handful! That's what papa tells me!" She wiggled with glee, clearly a soul full of laughter, easily amused.

Her giggle brought a smile to Zevnyr's face.

"That certainly is a mouthful, ma'am." He murmured.

"Moryz was my great grandmother's name!" Vohzyn stated without prompting. "I'm named after her! What about you?"

Zevnyr blinked.

"Uh... Ohkan. My middle name is Ohkan. It's my father's dad's name."

Vohzyn bounced a bit. "That's such a nice name. I like it. Sounds strong and wise." She seemed to be warming up next to him in more ways than one, seemingly unafraid that they didn't know each other. He'd been nice enough to help her, so that's all she cared about. "Zevnyr is such a cool name too. You sound cool. Is that your bike?" She pointed to the machine he'd already referred to.

Zevnyr's ears twitched softly, and he turned a bit red. "Uh... uh yeah. That's mine. It's not all that cool."

Vohzyn looked confused. "Not cool? What gave you that idea? It's awesome looking! Where'd you get it?"

Zevnyr felt embarrassment wash over him. Nobody else seemed to think his homemade hoverbike was cool. Maybe the color choice was bad, or it looked like a junkyard...

"......I made it." He mumbled, looking just as embarrassed as he felt.

Vohzyn gasped, eyes wide. "You MADE that!?" She hopped up off the seat and looked closer at the machine before he could protest.

"Yeah, its no big deal... just a hunk of junk." He said quietly, kind of ashamed. Maybe those mean words had hit him more than he thought.

"Junk? Are you kidding me?" Vohzyn put her hands on her hips. "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen, mister Zevnyr. You should have more confidence in yourself. You made this all by yourself?"

Zevnyr shrugged. "Yeah. Nobody's really cared that much. The girl I liked and her friends called it junk. I guess it got to me." He tried not to look sad about it.

Vohzyn softened, looking sad for him. "Well they're wrong, and probably a bunch of bullies. It's amazing. Don't listen to them."

Zevnyr smiled shakily. "You... you think so?"

"Yup."

His smile grew into a far more genuine one, looking relieved, almost.

She felt her heart skip at the smile on his face.

What a sweet and genuine guy! Look at that adorable smile...

Zevnyr sat in a bit of silence, looking awkward, but happy. "Thanks, miss."

He looked out at the rain, noticing it had let up some, and would probably stop soon. "Guess I should probably start heading home soon, now that it's nearly stopped raining."

Vohzyn looked out as well, kind of wishing it would keep raining. What if she never saw this intriguing, wonderful stranger again?

"...Do you think I could get a ride home?" She asked, hoping for a yes. Her heart was doing funny little things around him and his warm smile, things she couldn't explain.

Zevnyr shrugged. "Uh, its a bit fast, you'd have to hold on tight. But I'd be willing to do that."

Hold on tight? I'd like that... She caught herself. He's a stranger, Voh! Calm down!

"Oh, uh no problem! I've got a good grip! I'd appreciate it a lot, Mr. Zevnyr."

He laughed softly, shaking his head.

"Just call me Zev."

She smiled. "Alright. Zev."

He snorted, grabbing his bike and leading it out of the gazebo. "Hope you're okay with speed. I'm a bit of a junkie for it. I'll go a bit slower for you."

Vohzyn felt her heart skip beats, and she made her way over. "Oh, I'm okay with that."

Zevnyr turned it on, the machine coming to life with a rumble. He hopped on, giving her a wave. She gladly settled herself behind him, arms around his chest.

Oh that's... so broad and muscular... oh dear. Get ahold of yourself, Voh. He's hot, but... you don't know him! ....then why am I about to ride his bike with him?!

He began riding off, and she barely heard him ask her where she lived, noticing the edge of a tattoo on his neck, just peeking out of his shirt.

Oh Eito. Oh my gosh he's got a tattoo. Oh he's so mysterious.

"Ma'am?"

"W-what?"

"Where do you live, miss Vohzyn."

"Oh! Uh... I'll lead you. South from here." She stuttered, face a bit red.

Was she crazy? Or was he the hottest man she'd ever met...

No, she was crazy. And it was both.

"No problem, ma'am. South it is."

And then he drove them off down the brick paths.

---

Zevnyr had not expected to see Vohzyn again, that was certain. But he did, nonetheless. He wasn't sure how, but it sure did happen.

There she was, following a tall and lanky man into their shop. Probably her father.

Uh oh. What did I do now?

He thought. Was he in trouble?

He sort of sat to the side, watching as his own father approached the visitors.

"Afternoon, Welcome to Leif Mechanics, how can I help you." He said in his usual serious tone.

The other man walked right up and offered a hand to shake, grinning.

"Howdy there, sir! Name's Kyranez Mekyz, nice to make your acquaintance!"

When Zelazath put his hand in the other man's, the grinning Kyranez shook it so soundly and excitedly that his arm was quite nearly shook right off.

He made a soft grunt of disapproval, waiting patiently for his hand to be released.

"Zelazath. Again, what would you like?" He asked very seriously.

Kyranez never frowned even a little, a big grin on his face.

"I got me a rig that needs fixin, sir! Ain't a place in town that seems able to do the job, but I heard great things about your business! Reputable sources tell me your bunch get the job done real good!"

He stood there with a big smile, friendly and radiating this unstoppable energy.

Zelazath just gazed evenly at the other man, the polar opposite. Quiet, relaxed, even and stoic. "Ah. Well, I shall need details. Follow me into my office, we can talk there."

The two men walked off, leaving Vohzyn there with just Zevnyr.

She hadn't noticed him yet, and was looking machinery parts over, humming happily and looking curious.

She hadn't touched anything just yet, but she looked like she wanted to.

Zevnyr didn't move, just sitting off to the side, and deciding to pretend he didn't see her.

He continued polishing the tools he had been working on when the Mekyz duo had entered.

He heard a gasp and looked up.

She'd noticed him and was staring right at him.

"Ooohhh Hello there! Remember me? It's me the girl from the gazebo! Vohzyn! Right? Remember?" She asked, inexplicably pink across her cheeks, bouncing foot to foot.

"I remember you a lot, Zevnyr!"

Zevnyr just..... blinked, uncertain how to even approach this.

"Yes, I remember you, miss Mekyz. Hard to forget." He said quietly.

Vohzyn walked right on over, trying to look more confident than she felt, and hoping he couldn't hear her pounding heart.

He thinks I'm hard to forget! He remembered me!

She stood in front of him now, and there was a moment of silence while he continued to polish the tools.

"....Well, that's good. Cuz it'd be a little awkward if you didn't remember. I could never forget you, Zev. Gosh, you and your incredible machine you made."

She sat down on the floor, unbothered by any of the tools or dirt of the workshop. She couldn't help but watch him, unabashedly staring, really. Admiring his features, the tattoo she could see peeking out, the little hair braids, the rugged look, the huge muscled frame, his well worn hands.

He is the hottest man I have ever seen.

Zevnyr could tell she was staring, and he slowly grew a bit red, the awkwardness growing.

"....can I help you, ma'am?"

She perked up, turned pinker, and squeaked softly.

".....yes? Yes you can." She said sheepishly, fiddling with her hands.

"Would you.... um... please..."

A pause.

"......go out with me? Like... on a... an outing together?" She asked, eyes wide.

Zevnyr's eyes widened.

"....Outing?? Um...what kind? You want to go out and do something with me? I hardly know you, and vice versa."

She nodded. "Yeah, true. But I want to. I want to know you. Not in a weird way, promise!"

He just... looked so confused.

"Uh.... okay? So what do you want to do....?"

"Maybe just... lunch and a walk?" She suggested.

Zevnyr sighed softly. "I mean, I guess so. When and where?"

She told him and they talked qietly for a few minutes, when Zevnyr heard voices.

He perked up in time to see his father come around the corner.

"Zevnyr, please finish polishing those before the day is over, thank you." Zelazath said evenly.

Zevnyr nodded sheepishly, and continued polishing. "Yes sir, papa."

Kyranez waved at his daughter, beckoning her.

"Come on, lil bug, we're headed home! Mister Leif is gonna drop by in a couple of days to look at our stuff n fix it! We best get home before your mama finishes dinner!"

Vohzyn sprung up with a bounce, following her father. "Okay, daddy. Bye mister Zev, see you later! Can't wait!"

She and her dad vanished down the road, leaving Zevnyr and his own father.

"...What was that about?" Zelazath asked.

Zevnyr shrugged. "No clue. She wants to hang out, though. Guess I have a new friend."

Zelazath raised an eyebrow oh so slowly, gazing at his son, and then shrugged.

"Very well. Stay out of trouble, boy."

"Yes, papa."

---

The first hangout had been pretty awkward, with Vohzyn trying to lightly flirt and Zevnyr entirely missing it, but they'd both otherwise had fun.

Vohzyn didn't give up easily, though.

Now that she knew where to find the hunk, she kept inviting him to things. Often with her friends, to keep him from being too uncomfortable, and since he didn't seem to have many.

He was sweet, and got along with all of the friend group, his friendly nature shining through.

How he hadn't had friends, she'd never know.

But now, he did. And he seemed happier.

More and more often, though, she'd invite him to something with just the two of them, and she'd start her flirting again, trying to get his attention subtly and smoothly.

He was seemingly oblivious.

Zevnyr did not notice a darn thing, really. He just thought she was being nice, and really didn't absorb her attempts at all. She kept complimenting him, sending him little looks, she'd even given him a tiny nose kiss.

And for nearly two years, this was how it went.

She didn't give up, though. Every day she spent with this strong, beefy, himbo hunk of a man, she only loved him more.

Eventually, though, she just couldn't stand it a minute more.

They were sitting on a bench by the lake, watching the sunset after a long day at a local festival, and she watched how the sunlight accented his strong jaw so beautifully, her heart pounding softly.

She had to say something. He still didn't understand.

"Hey, Zev?" She asked.

He made a small sound, half turning to her. "Yea?"

"I love you." She said softly.

"Ah. Okay." He murmured.

"..." She scooted closer. "I LOVE-love you. I want to be your partner. If you'll allow me to."

Zevnyr blinked, confusion crossing his face.

"Partner?" He turned to look at her, bewildered. "What do you mean, love-love? I don't get it, Voh."

She leaned even closer, practically pressing into his bicep.

"I adore you... I'm in love. Please... please let me court you...?"

Zevnyr stared, and the buff braincell in his head bounced around slowly, and then it must have hit the corner.

He yelped, standing up and putting space between them.

"WhUH?"

They stared at each other, though she started to droop. Maybe he would never feel the same.

"....You... you LOVE me." He stated, eyes wide. "You mean we've been hanging out for like two years... because you... you liked me?"

Vohzyn would have laughed if she wasn't so worried that he was about to leave her behind.

"Yes, you big dummy... I liked you the whole time. I love you so much. You're so kind and friendly and soft. And I only fell deeper and deeper in love with you."

She just bared her heart to him, hoping...

"You're the best man I've ever met, I feel so much more complete when I'm with you. I know it's silly and sappy, but you make me feel so happy, Zev. I've been trying to show you this whole time, and I guess you just didn't notice..."

Zevnyr looked in absolute disbelief, staring at her like she had four ears.

"....oh that's what all that weird stuff was. Why you kept acting like that. I thought... okay, now that makes more sense. I thought you were just... uh..."

He trailed off, watching her, and then slowly sat down again.

"I mean I always thought you were kinda cute, so. I just didn't want to say it in case you thought I was being weird. And I wasn't over my crush like I am now. So that... uh didn't help."

They just gazed at each other, bewildered and confused, but something was clicking.

"You want to be my partner, ma'am?"

She nodded, maybe a little too vigorously. "Yes. Absolutely. Please?"

Zevnyr smiled, that genuine smile. It was warm as sunlight.

"Well okay then! Why didn't you just ask me sooner? I don't do well with subtle hints. Sure, we can court."

Vohzyn felt like she could have leapt over the moons.

She tried to contain her excitement, though she did wiggle excitedly on the bench. "Oh you make me so happy!" She proclaimed, hugging into him and wiggling with glee. "Promise I'll just be straightforward with you, you big hunk."

She looked him in the eyes, transfixed by that deep dark green.

She leaned in and kissed him so hard he yelped a little, and she felt his heart pounding under her hand, her fingers pressed to his chest.

At first she wondered if he might not like it, but after a moment of tense hesitatation, he pulled her in closer and kissed right back, strong and passionate.

When they finally parted, needing air, they both just stared at each other...

And broke out laughing.

She eventually cuddled up into his side again, warmed by his body, and couldn't help but purr.

It was crazy, but it worked... I did it, I bagged me a man... and he's a dream...

---

Only a few years later, and they were so hopelessly in love it was perhaps a little pathetic.

Zevnyr was lovingly teased by his siblings, but they approved of his girlfriend. They loved her excited, bubbly personality, it lit up a room, it brought the sun in on a gloomy day.

She would talk about anything with them, always so interested in getting to know her boyfriend's family.

Vohzyn's family seemed thrilled that she'd gotten herself a boyfriend, and her father was especially supportive.

Zevnyr's mother told him to be a good partner, to treat the lady right, and his father was mostly just pleasantly surprised.

Both sets of parents met and seemed to get along quite well, to the relief of their kids.

Elkanyz absolutely adored Vohzyn, and very quickly became a very wonderful mother in law to the girl.

Really, it was all working out so well, it wasn't really a surprise at all when Zevnyr finally proposed, giving his future wife an absolutely beautiful Leif made dagger.

The wedding was soon upon them, both families getting together for the big event.

Zevnyr and Kyranez sparred fiercly, the lanky dad was an incredible swordfighter, and pretty good with a spear, too. Zev had to fight hard, but he did. He used the sword his father had gifted him when he was younger and won the spar, Kyranez nodding at the boy and bowing softly.

"I can see that you'll truly be a good fit for my daughter. You take care of her, boy." He said gently, moving aside.

A much lighter spar followed, Zev and Voh nearly dancing around each other in perfect sync, madly in love.

There were cheers, and then ooooohs when they ended up just making out at the end, nearly unable to not do so.

The celebration continued, with the two being officially declared as one, and everyone ate and drank, danced and sang, late into the night.

Zevnyr really couldn't believe it had all happened so fast, and how lucky he was.

I can't believe this woman married me...

---

After a very warm, passionate seal of the deal, the newly married duo was snuggling in bed together, enjoying the warmth of the gentle songs being sung in their chests.

Zevnyr couldn't stop purring, holding his wife close to his chest and rumbling near constantly with love.

Vohzyn was pressed as close as she could get to him, her ear to his fuzzy chest.

"....goodness.... this day couldn't have been better, my handsome man..." She cooed. "I love you so much... I hope this adventure we're on together never ends..."

Zevnyr made a soft sound of love, kissing her neck a few times, unable to contain all of the emotions and feelings. He even nibbled lightly at her neck and jaw.

"mmmnh... Voh~" He cooed.

The woman melted with a sigh.

Tonight had made her fall even harder for this man, he was so gentle but so passionate.

"I hope you do that every single time, my big strong husband... how long until we have kids, eh? I seem to remember you saying you love kids and want a whole handful... five, maybe? Six?" She giggled, swatting at him a little.

Zevnyr's eyes widened again, and then he nodded.

"As many as you want, sweetbean. Say the word and we'll have one, two, five... as many as you'd like." He peppered her in kisses, now almost on top of her again.

She giggled with glee, pretending to fight him off, not that she could. After growing up with machinery and those genetics he had, the man was a brick wall of muscle.

She wondered if their kids would be as beefy as him, and made a nervous chuckle. "...maybe we take it slow. With your genetics, I might get torn in half every time." She joked, fiddling with his fluffy hair, a hand brushing along his tattoos.

"But yes, I want so many beautiful little Leifs... just as wonderful as you."

Zevnyr made a happy himbo noise and wrapped himself around her again, prorecting her with his body.

"Our future is bright, my dear love... I can't wait to spend my life with you."

Vohzyn made a soft sigh of love, yawning and starting to drift to sleep in his gentle large muscly arms.

"It's gonna be great... I love you... my Zevvy..."

The duo fell asleep in their new home, cuddled up like they were glued together, and excited for their bright, beautiful future.

~ End ~

[reapersmarch]

get a room already

Bel winces, huffing and drawing an arm up to drape across closed eyes as daylight fills the room. It spills over his face, casting an arc across the bed where sheets and blankets lay messily across bare skin.

Bastian raises both eyebrows in amusement as he watches from his spot by the window, one arm crossed, the other hand resting on the drawn curtain. He makes no attempt to close them again, though. Instead, he approaches the bed, rough fingers gentle but firm as they curl around a slender wrist to move the arm it’s attached to. Bel opens both eyes at this, expression drawn into a slight scowl.

“Last I checked, Master Voltaggio, the world does not stop simply because you will it to.”

Bastian is close—teasingly close, enough that Bel can see the spot where he’d nicked himself shaving that morning, and catch a whiff of the cologne he’d commented on the previous night. It’s tempting to keep him there—within kissing distance—but Bel knows that tone. Bast is all business this morning, and there was no persuading him off the path. That sort of discipline was one of many reasons Bastian had made his way to Commandant.

“And why shouldn’t it?” Bel retorts in jest, voice raspy with sleep still. He pulls himself upright, arms stretching far overhead and blanket pooling at his waist. “I suspect the world shall wait as long as I require it to.”

“You are the cleric of House Voltaggio,” Bastian begins to recite, almost automatically, as though he had had this exact conversation many, many times before. “And as such, there is a standard you are expected to maintain. It won’t kill you to try and act like it.”

“Spare me the lecture, Bast.” Despite the complaining, Bel was up and out of bed, picking his robe up off the floor and shrugging it on over tanned shoulders. He picks through his wardrobe for a brief moment before the panel shuts abruptly, replaced with Bastian’s taciturn demeanour. He rests his shoulder against the polished oak door, arms folded over his broad chest, and ducks his head down close, expression inscrutable as always. Bel can’t hide his surprise at the sudden closeness, however, or the blush that begins creeping down the tips of his ears.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you, Master Voltaggio, if you would behave yourself.”

He draws back then as silence settles between them, eyebrow raised as if daring him to object. When Bel’s face pinches, Bastian instead extends his hand, the thin gold frame of his glasses held aloft. The other man takes them—snatches them, really, to Bastian’s amusement—and purses his lips.

“I would think the Commandant has better things to do than play glorified babysitter to some nobleman’s son,” he huffs, turning on the ball of his foot towards his washroom.

“That’s what I told your father,” Bastian calls after him, and Bel should’ve guessed his parents had a hand in this. “‘I can’t keep chasing after him, sir. I’m a very busy man who hasn’t the time for games,’ but you know how he can be.”

“All too well, unfortunately,” he replies dryly. “What have I done wrong this time?” Bel is meticulous in dressing himself—plainly, by his standards, and fully covered for once. “Look at someone too lasciviously? Perhaps I’ve embarrassed him by making some social faux pas? Or did I fuck one of his enemies by mistake?”

He can hear Bastian laughing, warm and from the chest. “The man makes so many, how would you be able to tell?”

“Precisely.” He smooths the front of his shirt down and steps out of the bathroom. “So? Which one is it?”

“I didn’t stop to ask.” Bastian pushes away from where he was leaning to casually approach Bel, purposefully towering over him with his full height, arms still crossed. Now it was Bel’s turn to quirk a brow, curiously peering up at the knight-commander. He takes the opportunity to reach up, brushing at a speck of dust on Bastian’s shoulder, hand lingering near the base of his neck.

“Well, let’s go find out, shall we?”

[gentlyquietly]

Thank you for shopping with us, come again soon (NSFW)

 *WARNING！！！*

Pairing: Joseph Desaulnier x Aesop Carl

This is literally my first smut(in english) ever, it’s going to be terrible. I’m sorry in advance.

NSFW, dubious consent, semi-public sex, masturbation, anal, teasing

Summary: Aesop hates shopping for clothes, since he can never find something that fits him exactly. Everything is either a bit too small, or a bit too large. Then again, there was also the fact that Aesop’s taste in clothing was...unique, from star printed blue pajamas and red striped socks to teal shirts with purple grandma print flowers, Aesop had it all. Sick of the torment Aesop brought to their eyes every time they went out, Naib and the others forced Aesop to shop for new clothes. That idea itself was fine, but they forgot one thing.

Aesop is terrible at finding the right place. 

.

.

.

“Rêves De Dentelle”

Aesop stared at the store in front of him, frowning slightly. He wasn’t sure if this was the store that Eli and the others were talking about, but then again it was the only store he found remotely similar to the one that they were talking about. 

“You’ll know it when you see it!” Naib had said, munching away on a bag of chips he stole from Norton while playing on his phone, “You can’t miss it.” He looked up from his screen, scrunching his eyes, “The name of the store, it like, starts with dream or something? I can’t remember.”

Eli nodded, “It looks fancy, but the pricing is very affordable. Oh. and the name is Day Dreams...” He paused momentarily, taking a small glimpse of what Aesop was wearing, before coughing and looking away. 

“And you can never go wrong with the styles they have.”

Well, this store was certainly hard to miss. The glass of the shop itself was slightly tinted black, making it harder to see what was actually inside. The only thing Aesop could even remotely make out was the blurry shape of mannequins modeling out some sort of clothing. The shop itself looked every high-end, with the name of the store written in a fancy font across the window panels and hanging at the top of the door. Even though the large glass door was closed, but the open sign hanging from the hook indicated that it was still open. Aesop doesn’t understand a lick of french, but he was pretty sure the name of the store was something something dream? So this had to be it, right?

Hesitating to open the door, Aesop adjusted his mask nervously. Did he really want to go in? Most of the shopping he did was online anyways...maybe they had an online shop? Absorbed in his own thoughts, Aesop didn’t notice the figure sneaking up behind him. 

“May I help you, sir?” A low and charismatic voice rang out from behind the gray-haired teen, startling him. Jolting and frantically turning around, Aesop came face to face with, no doubt, the prettiest male he’s ever seen in his 21 years of life.

Long silky white hair tied into a low ponytail with a golden bow and draped over his shoulder. Sapphire blue eyes, and a simple yet dashing smile on his perfect lips. He was wearing a fancy looking white button up and dark blue suit jacket with the first two buttons opened, revealing his collar bones and giving him a much more...seductive feel. Dark black trousers framed his long and slender legs, completing his outfit. He held a long caramel colored coat in his hands, staring at Aesop with a small smile. Aesop blinked, tilting his head a bit, for some reason, this man in front of him was somehow...very familiar...

“May I help you?” Joseph asked again, eyeing the young man. 

“I-I was, going in, um, the shop-” Aesop fumbled with his words, snapping out of his trance, his face was definitely bright red under his mask. “I just needed to shop for some clothes...” Standing in front of a clothing shop for clothes, as if that wasn’t the most obvious thing. Great. God kill him.

Joseph raised an eyebrow, staring at the bright red male in front of him. For some reason, he was sure he’s seen the gray-haired male somewhere...He didn’t seem like the type that shopped at his store, but then again, don’t judge a book by it’s cover, right? Looking Aesop up and down before giving a knowing smirk. “Ah, I see. In that case, I can help...but, I have to say...I am surprised someone like you would come to my store...”

Aesop blinked, not sure what he meant by that. His confusion must have not been showing through the mask, as the blond-haired man just smiled and opened the door, holding it open and waiting for Aesop to go in. Aesop quickly headed in, not wanting Joseph to be bothered any further. 

“Is there anything specific you are looking for?” Walking into the store, Aesop looked around, everything seemed pretty normal, though the clothing that the mannequins wore were a bit revealing. A lot of them seemed to be for women, mostly. The walls of the interior were a dark burgundy color, outlined with vintage golden patterns. The lights weren’t as bright as they would be in other stores, instead dim and giving the store as a whole a much more secretive vibe. There were two other customers, along with an associate that stood next to them, smiling professionally while recommending and explaining products to the young couple.

Aesop shook his head, looking down at his hands, “My friends recommended me this store...” He didn’t even know why they were so insistent on getting new clothes. What was so wrong with his own clothes? He thought they were fine. 

Joseph nodded his head in understanding, “I see. Do you prefer comfort, or mobility?” 

Comfort or mobility? Aesop thought about it, not really sure what he meant by mobility, was it really hard to move in some of these clothes? “...Comfort?” Maybe he meant like jeans, those were sometimes really restricting. He wasn’t a big fan.

Joseph nodded again, before putting his jacket down on the wine colored velvet sofa placed in the middle of the store, heading over to a rack of clothes by the wall. Picking through some of the items, Joseph grabbed a gray sweater, turning around and showing it to Aesop. 

“What about this one?” 

Aesop touched the material, it was nice and soft, definitely something he would like to wear. His gray eyes lit up, nodding.

“It’s soft. I like it.” 

Joseph observed the happy little expression Aesop was making, though a majority of it was hidden under his mask, Joseph could still tell that the man in front of him was good looking. He was squeezing the fabric in his hands much like a cat kneaded a blanket. Cute. Joseph thought. My type. 

He handed the sweater to Aesop, and motioned for him to follow him as he walked to another rack, pulling out clothes he thought would suit the gray-haired male. Joseph tried to grab for the ones where it didn’t show too much skin even though this was an adult shop, and most of the clothes he sold were lingerie, and ones that allowed...easy access to certain places. For some reason, Joseph had the feeling that if he did hand the young man revealing clothes, he would immediately bolt out the door. The thought made Joseph cough lightly to suppress his laugh. After handing Aesop the 3rd clothing item he thought would look good on him, Joseph had come to realize that the gray-haired male in front of him, might have literally thought this was a normal clothing shop. Thinking back to how he had said his friends recommended the shop to him, he might have mistaken his store for another shop. Joseph thought about stopping and telling him where he actually was, but then he saw the light pink that dusted his earlobes along with those large gray eyes that looked up at him all innocently. Joseph paused slightly, before his eyes narrowed and lips curled up into a small smirk.

...Ah.

He finally remembered where he had seen Aesop. The little cutie that got drunk with his friends and wouldn’t stop cuddling him in Joker’s bar...If he remembered correctly, the little cutie did say in the heat of the moment that he wanted to sleep with him, even going as far as trying to kiss him, only to be pulled off by his friends moments later. Such a shame. Though he wasn’t going to take advantage of a drunk man, the thought of taking the little gray mouse home was very temping, since he had looked just so appetizing. Looking at the gray haired male in front of him, memories of Aesop that night at the bar overlapped.

Oh, how he would love make him cry. Good thing he did have his own personalized break room in the shop. Hm...An idea popped into his head and Joseph smiled brightly. 

“This one?” A nod. Aesop stared at the clothes in his hands, then back up at Joseph. Joseph seemed to remember something, clapping his hands together, giving him a wide smile, “That’s right, you still have to try them on right? Here, I’ll lead you into our fitting room!” 

Something in the back of his mind told him this was a bad idea, but Aesop chose to ignore it. It was just trying on clothes, how bad can it be?

Aesop nodded lightly before following Joseph into the back of the store, not noticing how the room he was being lead into was a bit farther away from the front of the store, as well as the fact that they had already passed a door labeled ‘fitting rooms’.

Joseph suddenly stopped in front of the door, making Aesop bump into his back. 

“mph!” Aesop held his nose, the prickling pain forcing some tears into his eyes. Joseph immediately grabbed his waist and pulled him in, preventing him from falling down. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly.” Joseph glanced down, worry in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Aesop nodded, blinking away the moisture in his eyes, gray watery eyes looking up at the taller male. 

Joseph’s breathing hitched for a split second before letting go of Aesop’s waist, eyes darkening at the sight of tears in Aesop’s eyes. So...tempting. 

“I stopped because I wanted to tell you, some of the clothes you have on are a bit more harder to get on. You might want to have someone help you with it.”

Aesop hesitated, not really feeling comfortable with someone staring at him while he changed.

“If you don’t mind, I can help you with it?” Joseph asked lightly, gazing down at Aesop. “I can stand outside and only come in when you need me.”

“...okay.” If it was only with some of the clothes, then maybe it was okay? And...for some reason...if it was Joseph, then he didn’t really mind it.

Stepping into the very weird looking fitting room, it looked more like a bedroom than a fitting room, with a bed in the middle. Aesop wanted to ask about it, but maybe that would be rude? Eli did tell him that it was rude to point out obvious things and that sometimes it was hard for him to understand certain social things, maybe this was one of them. 

Unbuttoning his shirt, Aesop could feel Joseph’s gaze looking him up and down, surprisingly it didn’t make him uncomfortable, instead the places where his sight lingered seemed to burn. He held on tighter to the shirt, glancing at Joseph, “Joseph...can you look away...it’s...kind of embarrassing to change like this...”

Joseph smiled kindly, though his eyes were dark, “Of course, just let me know when you need help!”

“Thank you...” 

Now that Aesop was really taking a good look at the clothing, most of these seemed...weird? There was so much...strings and buttons and no matter how it was designed, you could still tell this was revealing clothing. The thought of putting it back and walking out of the store was so very tempting, but for some reason, Aesop wanted to try them on. He wanted to see Joseph’s reaction to it.

...Why did he want to see Joseph’s reaction to it? He shook his head, his ears bright red. 

Putting on the oversized sweater-like clothing, Aesop realized he couldn’t tie the strings on the back, after fidgeting with it for a second or so, he gathered up the courage to turn around and ask Joseph. 

“...Joseph? Can you help me with this...” His voice was small, and half of it was swallowed by the turtleneck that covered the bottom half of his face. 

“Of course, darling.” Joseph swiftly walked over and stood behind Aesop, his tall figure towering over Aesop. 

‘He’s tall...’ Aesop absentmindedly thought as Joseph fiddled with the strings, ‘probably a head or so taller than me...’

He watched as Joseph worked on the strings in the mirror., ‘his eyelashes are so long...’

Hands grazed past Aesop’s sensitive skin as Joseph innocently helped him tie the multiple strings that came with the clothing. Aesop flinched, the small yet pleasurable feeling zipping through him. 

“Is something wrong?” Joseph asked, he was so close to Aesop that Aesop could feel Joseph’s breath on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. 

Aesop shook his head quickly, clutching his hands tightly at his chest. He took in a shaky breath, “N-no, I’m fine...it’s just a bit...ticklish.” 

Joseph grinned, his little mouse was sensitive it seemed? “Well, the string seems to be a little stuck, so it may take a bit longer...” His fingers slipped down Aesop’s back, and Aesop couldn’t hold back the little moan that came out of his mouth. He clamped his mouth shut with both hands, not believing that noise just came out of his mouth. Praying to god that Joseph didn’t hear that. 

He did.

The low chuckles that erupted next to his ears were all that Aesop needed to confirm Joseph had heard his moan, in fact, if Aesop were to be honest it seemed the taller man was trying actively to get noises out of him. 

“J-Joseph?”

“Did that feel good, little mouse?” His hand slipped inside his shirt, the strings doing nothing to prevent the skin to skin contact, while his other hand slipped in front to unzip Aesop’s pants. Joseph’s knee slid in between Aesop’s, forcing his legs open. His ass was now pressed against up Joseph’s groin. His long nails grazed against Aesop’s nipple, the light pressure sending shocks throughout Aesop’s sensitive body. Aesop reached for Joseph’s hands instinctively, trying to stop him from toying with his body further more. 

“Aesop, dear, I have to admit, your reactions are cuter than I expected.” He kissed and sucked on Aesop’s earlobe, successfully seeing it turn into different shades of pink. “Do you still not remember me?”

Aesop could only whimper as Joseph grind against him, the thoughts in his head racing at a million miles per hour, but really all he could focus on was Joseph’s skin against his. Was this really happening? What does he mean remember him? Wait...

“..J-Joseph?” Joseph’s face and the way he hugged him seemed to overlap with someone in his memory. Aesop’s eyes widened, as he pieced two and two together, but soon his attention was ripped back as Joseph nipped his neck. 

“A-Ah~! not there...” Aesop held on Joseph’s sleeve as his hand slipped into Aesop’s underwear and started to lightly stroke his dick. He could feel Joseph’s erection press against his ass, the heat passing through the clothes. But the silver haired man was more focused on nipping and kissing his neck, the slight pain only adding more to the growing heat inside of him.

“I’m...hah...! Almost...I, please...! ” The pressure inside him was growing and growing, every muscle in his tensing up, waiting for the big release. Yet Joseph had other plans, purposely stopping when he knew Aesop was close. 

“Aesop, darling, you really are cute everywhere...” Feeling Aesop tremble underneath his touch, Joseph’s lust for him grew stronger than ever, easily flipping him around, Joseph came face to face with a bright red Aesop. “It’s not fair that you get all the fun now, hm?” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his already hard erection, guiding Aesop’s hands towards it.

“Wait for me.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command. 

Aesop felt shivers down his spine, heat pooling in his stomach. 

“...s-so big...” He couldn’t help but mumble out, slowly pumping up and down on Joseph’s cock with a trembling hand. Joseph’s eyes narrowed, the innocent remark going straight to his ego and dick. Not saying anything else, he lifted Aesop’s face and kissed him, his tongue snaking into Aesop’s open mouth. Aesop was taken in surprise, and couldn’t do anything but hold onto Joseph’s shirt as he felt the oxygen slowly being taken away, Joseph finding places he didn’t even know would feel good. Even forgetting he was supposed to be giving Joseph a hand job. Joseph didn’t, taking Aesop’s hands in his own and pumping up and down till Aesop was seeing stars. 

His legs were starting to give out, and was only standing because of Joseph’s grip on his waist holding him up. “ah...! Mmph...! Joseph...!” 

It didn’t take long before Aesop came, his whole frame shaking as he came into Joseph’s hands. Clinging onto the taller man with all his power. 

Joseph absolutely loved the view, pulling away and drinking in Aesop’s dazed eyes and blushing face. 

“Oh, how I could just eat you up, Aesop...” He slowly poured some lube into his hand, fingers prodding at Aesop’s entrance. He enjoyed toying with Aesop, how his gaze followed his fingers despite being so shy...yet he was so eager.

The feeling was weird, having never done this before, Aesop could only hold on tightly to Joseph, whimpering. His ass wiggling from the sensation. 

“well, this is a form of eating too, is it not?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Joseph was patient, keeping Aesop wound up at the same time making sure he was properly preparing him. Exploring his hole as Aesop tried his best to contain those little gasps escaping his mouth, clasping his hands over to muffle the noise.

Joseph pulled Aesop’s hands off his mouth, leaning in and giving a light peck to Aesop’s palm, “I like your voice, let me hear you.”

Aesop couldn’t help but moan as Joseph pressed his finger against a certain spot, biting down on his lips. Joseph raised an eyebrow, his finger grazing against that spot once more, was it right there? To his delight, Aesop let out another small grunt, confused on why it felt so good but giving into the pleasure. He looked up at Joseph with tear filled eyes, as if asking him why he was feeling this way. 

Joseph chuckled, nipping away lightly on Aesop’s bare skin as he continued to finger him. “You’ve never done this before, have you cheri?” 

All Aesop could do was hug himself closer to Joseph as his legs shook, subconsciously grinding his hips towards Joseph, chasing after the pleasure. 

“No, I..! I can’t...!” Aesop’s hips buckled as he felt a flash of heat running through his body, everything going blank. “Mphm!!”

It was a sight to see. His clothes bunched up at the chest, showing just enough to imagine, but not enough to fully take in the view. His legs were shaking, milky white staining his tummy and slowly dripping down, leaving a messy trail. Dazed eyes and flushed skin.

Joseph couldn’t help himself. What man can? After seeing this sight, certainly not him.

Turning Aesop around so he faced the mirror, Joseph aligned himself properly, and pushed in. Aesop gasped, his body much too sensitive for the pleasure he was feeling, looking back at the man towering over him.

“!!...no...! not now, Joseph...I’m-” still sensitive--

His words were cut short as Joseph thrust towards that one spot in his prostate. Making Aesop see stars as he hugged Joseph tightly, he couldn’t help but start shaking his hips a bit, chasing after the third--was it the third? he’d already lost track of how many times he’d had came--orgasm that was coming fast and hard. Aesop mewled, clawing at the mirror and trying to steady himself. 

“Please,” Aesop gasped, “Joseph--! Ah!” whimpering, he wanted to pull away from all the sensations that shot through his body. Joseph narrowed his eyes, grabbing onto Aesop’s waist, thrusting deeper and harder into the warmth. Chasing after his own release.

“You’re doing...such a wonderful job, cheri.” Joseph rasped, his movements becoming more and more erratic as he came closer and closer to the tipping point. He turned Aesop over, throwing one of his legs over his shoulder as he thrust harder. 

“!!” 

There was a searing hot sensation that seemed to fill Aesop up, he clawed at Joseph’s back, tilting his head back as he came. 

Joseph reached for Aesop’s chin and leaned in for a kiss, his tongue chasing after Aesops as he licked and sucked, sending Aesop gasping for his breath.

“I think that these clothes fit you perfectly, dear.” Joseph’s eyes roamed over the mess he had created on Aesop, chuckling. He leaned in and whispered into Aesop’s ears, “Do you want them?”

In a daze, Aesop could only nod, earning a peck from Joseph.

“Wonderful. Thank you for shopping with us today...”

Joseph opened his mouth, and bit down on Aesop’s lip, delighted at the pained yet aroused expression on Aesop’s face.

“I do hope that you’ll come again soon.” 

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Dream smut or fluff where reader and him are high key mean to eachotjer despite having so many mutual friends, but then something (very vague i know I’m sorry) makes them have to get close and the develop feelings? Sorry I’m shit at requests but thank you!!!

i know this is shitty im sorry akjsdh bls forgive me

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: dream being a dick, slight slut shaming, toxic behavior, vulgar/suggestive mentions and language, sexual harassment on a bus (not by dream, you can breathe)

⋆ song recommendation: When the Night is Over by Lord Huron

You pulled a blanket beneath your chin, yawning slightly at whatever the tv was playing. You only had it on in an attempt to drown out the noises coming from your roommate's bedroom as she smoozed her date. You were honestly shocked the two hadn’t moved in together yet with all the time they spent wrapped up.

Her door opened, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you sprawled out on the couch. He marched toward you quietly, hovering over your shoulder. You peered up at her hesitantly. “What are you watching?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to speak but she hurriedly cut you off. “Do you mind watching it at Nick’s instead?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re kicking me out again?” She gave you an apologetic smile, making you roll your eyes as you stood up and pulled on your jacket. “This would hurt less if they also paid rent,” you mumbled, with a small glare.

She thanked you repeatedly, holding onto your arm as you gathered what little belongings you needed for the night. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she courted, opening the door for you. “Tomorrow, dinner’s on me okay?” You sent her a tired look and she apologized again. She stopped you as you stepped out into the cold night, leaning through the space between the door and the frame. “Maybe you can cozy up to that Clay guy? You guys have such a good vibe,” she mocked, making you chuckle lightly.

You shook your head, waving to her. “Enjoy your night. Please, for the love of God, clean the bathroom afterward,” you called, hearing her laugh at your statement.

The bus ride was quiet due to the time of night and the weather, both of which you didn’t mind. You knew Nick’s house would be warm and loud. Before you knew it, you found yourself in front of his apartment door, kicking at the concrete ground as you heard someone stumbling to let you inside. The door opened swiftly, Clay’s large frame blocking the light from the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe mockingly as he looked at you.

He wet his lips. “Who’s the lucky guy tonight?” He joshed.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past his body to get out of the cold. “Whoever’s dick you’re not sucking, I guess,” you quipped back, making him laugh darkly. You kicked off your shoes as he shut the door. “Where’s Sapnap?” You asked, shrugging off your jacket. You’d texted him ahead of time to ask if you could stay over, which he readily agreed to.

Clay sent you a smug look. “You guys have a fun night planned?” He made a gesture with his hand to insinuate you were there to give Nick a handjob.

You bit back a chuckle. “Why? You wanna join?” You shot back. He bit his lip and moaned pornographically.

“Cut it out, Dream,” Nick grumbled as he walked into the room. He pulled on your arm to follow him.

Dream scoffed exasperatedly. “Me? I’m not the one who started it!” He called after the two of you.

As Nick pushed you out of the room, you turned your head. “You most certainly did!” You answered. You heard him chuckle at your words as Nick shut the door to his room. You plopped down on his bed as he sat in his chair, swiveling to look at you. “Why does Dream pick at me so much?” You mumbled, fishing in your pockets for your phone.

“He’s jealous,” Nick answered absent-mindedly. “What's the date look like tonight?” He asked, referring to the reason you were there in the first place. This wasn’t the first time or the last time your roommate had kicked you out. It was becoming a more frequent occurrence for you to end up on Nick’s couch or at their place in the middle of the day with your toothbrush and a change of clothes.

You moved to lean into his pillows. “I don’t know, it's the same granola fucker she’s been hanging around,” you answered.

He rubbed his chin with a slight smirk. “There’s a subtle justice to knowing she’s still with that asshat,” he commented, making you snort.

A week later, you were on your way back to your apartment after a lecture when someone felt you up. It was the straw on the camel’s back for you as you spin around to smack the guy, stirring up a few of the bystanders. You’d walked the rest of the way home, stepping through the door to be met with your roommate and her hookup twisted together in the kitchen.

You clamped your hand over your eyes, mumbling about how you just wanted to take a nap when you were once again sent to Nick’s. You let subtle tears fall as you trudged your way across the city, hoping to get out whatever darkness you had to your attitude. The last thing you wanted to do was confront Clay looking like you did. He was like the troll with the keys to the bridge. That was really the only reason the two of you ever talked, so you knew he’d be waiting to berate you before you could get to Nick.

As you walked into the building, you spotted Clay carrying a large box, his hair slightly disheveled and his hands dirty. You knew almost instantly that he was probably attempting to fix the kitchen sink and got a call because of the size of the package. That sink had been dripping since they’d moved in, making it Clay’s mission to futz around with it every Friday afternoon. You tried helping him one time, only ending up with a deflated sense of confidence and the second wave of your childhood anger issues.

He nodded at you as you held the elevator door open for him. “What’s up, babycakes?” He chirped, popping his gum. When you hesitated to answer, he looked at you fully, scoffing. “Damn, walk of shame gone sour?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, inhaling deeply to try and calm your nerves. “I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

He snorted, setting the box down between his feet. “You’re always in the mood! Isn’t that like your thing,” he continued to jeer. “You look like you had a fun night though-”

“Clay, stop. I’m serious,” barked at him. His expression twisting at your use of his name.

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Sorry, I thought we had---like a bit thing, um-” he cut himself off, awkwardly shoving his fists in his pockets. After a beat of silence between the two of you, the elevator came to a sharp halt on the wrong floor, the light switching to red. The two of you shared a look, knowing that the landlord was probably flipping the wrong switches again. Clay texted Nick to see what was going on.

It began to grow colder in the elevator, as it usually did. When it was off, the cold from outside usually seeped in through the elevator shaft. There was one time you were stuck in the elevator for a few hours with one of your neighbors and Karl when he had come to visit. Back then, the three of you played Uno on the guy’s phone. It was also summer, so the chill creeping up your legs wasn’t as intolerable as it was now.

You rubbed the arms of your sweater in hopes of generating some kind of warmth. Clay watched you carefully, his hands moving to grip the bar behind him. “Do you want my sweatshirt?” He offered. You shook your head, sliding onto the ground and hugging your knees to your chest. He hesitantly slumped down beside you, kicking his long legs out towards the door. The red light filling the space made his features look softer.

He nudged your arm gently with his own. “I know I’m not Sapnap, but…” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, shrugging slightly, “I mean, we’re stuck in here. We can talk about it.”

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill once again, your eyes burning and tired. “I haven’t slept with him, you know?” You stated, turning to look at him briefly before moving to sit cross-legged, planning with your fingers. “I’ve never even kissed him. I’ve never kissed anyone,” you scoffed. Clay was silent, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see him watching you intently.

Being this close to him, you could smell the smoky vanilla undertones of his cologne. The scent reminded you of a masculine version of the candle your aunt always burned when she went out for a night to spite her ex-husband.

Clay leaned his head back against the wood paneling, his soft blond hair flattening in the back to spread against the wall. You swallowed, sighing slightly. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I’m getting groped on the bus and kicked out of my damn apartment because my roommate and her fucking boyfriend have to hook up on every surface. Nothing is sacred.” You shook your head, wiping away some stray tears with the back of your hand and sniffling pathetically. “You can keep making slut jokes, I don’t care. But I swear to God, I haven’t done anything with Sapnap. Or Karl, or Quackity. No one.”

He chuckled softly. “I know. That’s why I used to make those jokes,” he mumbled. “It was like… ironic humor. And then it got so far that the only way I knew you’d talk back to me was if I was fucking around with you,” he admitted. You chuckled slightly at his words, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, Dream,” you sighed. “I would have hooked up with you if you weren’t such an ass,” you chided. His laugh made you feel better. He held his hand out to you, more for support than anything, but as you laced your fingers with his, your heart eased, feeling safe beside him.

After a beat of silence, he spoke up again. "I can ride the bus with you now... if you want..." He offered, a shyness that seemed so foreign to his character shown through his eyes. "I promise I won't grope you," he joshed, making you roll your eyes.

"That's really not something we should be joking about," you mumbled, wiping away the rest of your tears on your sleeve.

His thumb brushed against the back of your hand soothingly. "I mask my awkwardness around you in dark humor. I'm sorry."

[bloodcoveredwithwalls]

Content

Tags: Soft, soft, fluff, INSIDE era, gender neutral (any can read)!

Word Count: 2.7k 

You walk out of the kitchen with a glass of coffee. A spoon of sugar and enough milk. Just the way Bo likes it. Today though, he wanted it made for the evening, instead of his usual morning routine.

“Bo! Your coffee’s ready!” You scream up through the stairway.

“Coming!”

Running down the stairs was Bo, with a stack of clothes, some his, some yours. You recognize one of your favorite clothing on the pile in his hands.

“Excuse you, is that my flannel?” You ask, tugging on the cloth.

“Excuse me, and yes. Yes it is, honey.” He answers with his eyebrows raised and an awkward smile.

“Aaand, what is it for?”

“That, I may not be able to tell you now. But, come with me to the guesthouse today, will you? I’ll give you a sneak peak.” He says, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. No struggle of course, he was way taller than you.

You nodded, “Okie. Very exciting.” noticing your wool beanie in between the stack.

Bo’s been working on a new project. For at least a year now, he’s been planning on everything. The songs that’ll be in it, how it’ll be played out. Your living room, bedroom and even the kitchen has Bo’s notes and his notebooks scattered around. You’ve promised him long ago that you wouldn’t open or look into any of them. Of course, you didn’t, respecting and giving him his privacy.  

He stays in the guesthouse for hours a day. From morning to night, some days he would even sleep in the guesthouse. You’ve never been in there since he first went in to start his project. Never stepped close at all. Sometimes though, whenever you lay in bed at night, you swore you could hear him slamming the keys of his keyboard from afar, or maybe even him yelling at things.

You know he struggles with his own content. You’ve been through this quite often. He would sometimes come back to the house frustrated, unable to create something that he would like. Some days, he would come back crying, walking straight into your open arms and sobbing into your shoulder. And although you’ve offered to help, he shrugged it off and reassured you that he wants to try his best and work on it alone.

“You need anything else?” You asked as you follow behind him.

“At the moment, no. Oh, wait actually yes. You know my favorite pair of socks?”

“The one with the yellow bit at the end?”

“That’s the one. Thank you Y/N, honey.”

You place the coffee mug on the kitchen table and walked to your front door, where right next to it, is a little cabinet. You pull the top drawer open and looked for the socks, pulling pair after pair, until you found them.

“Found them!” You happily beamed. But as you look back to where Bo was last, he wasn’t there. You saw the sliding door leading to the backyard open , the gentle breeze greeting the kitchen and living room.

You closed the drawer and briskly walked to the kitchen to grab Bo’s coffee mug before stepping out through the door. You tiptoe through the cold grass, quickly making your way to the guesthouse.

Just as you were about to step into the room, Bo came out, quickly closing the door and stopping you in your tracks. He spread his arms out to cover the door. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay. Just a fair warning before you go in.  There’s a lot of random shit scattered around literally everywhere. So, don’t be too surprised. Or worried.” He smiles.

“Got it. Oh, and here are the socks. And coffee.” You throw back a smile at him. Managing a thumbs up with the pair of socks in your grip.

“Perfect. Thank you so much.”

He turns around and slowly pushing the door handle down his his left elbow, turning his head slightly to you with a shy smile on his face as you both enter into the guesthouse.

The lights were off, the room only illuminated by the sun peaking through the blinds. As you look around, you realize he wasn’t kidding at all. The floor was covered in different wires coming out from different directions. A camera on a tripod was set in the middle of the room, facing towards where you first entered. One of his keyboards was placed on its stand near the camera to a certain angle, while the other that Bo owns was on the floor, awkwardly propped up against the wall.

The desk and cabinet had different books and pieces of paper scattered on top, camera

“Alright, if you don’t mind, the sofa we have is where you can sit on for now. I know the room’s an absolute mess right now.”

He puts his hand out for you, and you grab onto him, slowly making your way to the sofa in the corner of the room with your eyes to the floor, making sure you aren’t stepping on any of the cables.

Bo sat down on the sofa, and pats on the empty space next to him, signaling you to sit. As you did so, you couldn’t leave your eyes off every corner of the room.

“So, this is it so far.”  He sighed.

“I don’t even know what most of all the stuff on the floor is for.” You said, waving your hands from the left to the right, framing what you’re seeing.

“Here, let me show you.” He stands up, walking towards on of the devices on the floor. As he stepped on one of the buttons on it, a bright purple light   projected from a panel near you and onto the right side of the wall.

He stepped on a different button, and this time the light projected to another direction from a different panel.

“Woah…” You muttered.

“Pretty cool right?”

“Very cool…” You said with your lips parted in awe.

He takes a sip of the warm coffee.  “And, tonight, I want you to be here as I record my very first step to my project.”

God, his smile could sweep you off your feet every, single, time. You were so proud of him, so happy to see him step out of his nest and finally work on something once again.  

You frantically nodded, not able to contain your excitement.

He took a sip of his coffee, “But. We might have to wait a bit, because I’ve gotta record this first bit in complete darkness.”

“You sure you want me to stay? I mean, I can wait back in the house.”

He placed his mug on the desk beside him and walked towards you. He reached his hand out and you placed yours in his.

“I haven’t been at home much for some time now. I only ever come back to sleep or to have dinner with you. And you’ve been the only person there for me throughout my process of making this.”

His blue eyes stay on yours. His voice is soft, very gentle, making sure you’re getting what he’s trying to say.

“And Y/N, it’s only fair that you get to be a part of it.”

Once again that smile of his is back. You can’t help but to jump up from your seat and hug him, landing your head on his chest. He froze for a second, hands spread apart with you in between. But in a second, he enveloped you in his warm embrace.

“I am so, so, so proud of you.” You said to him in a muffled voice, “I really am.”

He slowly releases you, and holds you by your shoulders. You notice he was a little teary eyed, his face softening from usual. You place a hand on his cheek and he rests on your hand, soon his left hand follows and holds your hand against his cheek.

“Let’s get ready shall we? I’ll help out with anything you need.” You said to him.

For the next two hours, you helped Bo get ready to record. He vaguely tells you what goes where, and you follow as instructed, moving his cameras around, testing it to see if it’s the way he wants it. Lights were moved around to different areas of the room, testing the way it shines onto him from different angles. You listened and watched as he tests his mic, adjusting how loud the audio output was gonna be, making different tracks to separate the instrumental track from his vocals. This was all a fascinating process for you.

Occasionally, you would have to leave the guesthouse to wait outside as Bo tests something out. He’d told you prior to getting ready that he wanted a few things to be a surprise to you when he starts recording. You were a sucker for his surprises. Anything that Bo’s ever made is a masterpiece to you, so, you’d be happy to wait outside to see what he’s done eventually.

It wasn’t long that you had to wait outside until finally, he opens the door to the guesthouse and tells you to come in. Even then, he covers your eyes to avoid you from looking around too much and spoiling the fun. He guides you back to the sofa, and after you’ve settled on your seat, he tells you to close your eyes.

“Keep them closed! No peeking!”

You hear his voice moving further away from you as he said so. Your curiosity grew, wanting to know where he’s going and what he was up to now.

“Okay, okay! Promise they’re closed!”

You covered your eyes with both hands, unable to hide your smile. You’ve never felt this excited for anything ever since the pandemic started.

“Okay, once I tell you to have them opened, I’ll have started recording by then. So, try your best to be as silent as possible.”

“Got it.” You manage a thumbs up with one hand, while the other now covers both your eyes.

You hear him shuffle around the room, a little “ow” coming out from him as he slaps something on. You didn’t recognize what it was. Then, you heard what you thought was the light switch being flicked. After hearing him shuffle around a for a bit more, he finally tells you to open your eyes from a distance.

“Okay, you can open them now, honey.”

You put your hands down and slowly opened your eyes, blinking a couple of times to adjust to the suddenly dark room. Bo was sat on the chair you both set up, with the light shining to his right side. You guessed what he slapped on was the headlamp stretched around his head. You had a million ideas of what it might be for, but knowing Bo, it’s probably an idea you wouldn’t have thought of.

You pressed your bottom and top lip together and did a zipping motion from the left to the right. He smiled, holding his laugh in as to not mess up the shot. You shoot him a thumbs up and he returned it by blowing you kiss.

And he started. He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard of his laptop then sat back against his chair, relaxed and a little slouched. A catchy beat came from the speaker you helped him set up. Soon after, a few synths came in, making a tune. You sat, frozen to the sofa, only able to take in what's happening in front of you.

Bo was looking away from the camera before he slowly starts lifting the mic closer to his mouth, before starting to sing on cue.

“If you’d have told me, a year ago that I’d be locked inside of my home.” In between, a pre recorded audio of him singing came up before he continued singing live again.

“I would’ve told you, a year ago, “Interesting, now leave me alone.””

You were in awe. You love his deep voice. Finally hearing him sing to these new lyrics that he’d wrote over the past year felt so surreal. You smiled seeing how Bo bounces his leg to the beat of the song.

“Robert’s been a little depressed. No~”

You felt your heart sank at the line, but you kept your cool, not wanting to distract him. Although you were quickly able to calm down a little after hearing the bridge of the song come up. You couldn’t lie, it’s a catchy song.

Once you heard the build up to the chorus, you saw Bo reach his hand up to press a button on his headlamp.

“I’m sorry I was gone, but look I made you some content.”

Bo looked up and so did you, and your jaw dropped as the disco ball hung on the ceiling appeared to be spinning around, reflecting the light shining from his headlamp. The disco ball projected all the lights against the walls of the room, making it look so bright and interactive. You looked around the walls, seeing the lights dance on every single item in the room. You couldn’t hide the smile growing on your face, forgetting if Bo might get distracted by you.

“Daddy made you your favorite, open wide.”

You snap your gaze back at Bo after hearing that, loving how he added in that line to the song. He was concentrated as ever, maintaining a leveled eye contact to one point as not to move the light shining on the disco ball. He continues on, and you stare at him, smiling as you enjoyed the catchy tune.

“It’s a beautiful day to stay inside.”

He lowers the mic with the last line, and looks down into the camera, shining it with the headlamp. You squint your eyes, to try and look at him. The room went dark as he turns his headlamp off, leaving the room pitch black. He walked over to the light switch and flicked it on.

He catches your eyes, smiling wide at you.

You stand from the sofa, making happy little hops towards him.

“How did I not see the disco ball?” You ask in complete awe.

“That’s a bit of Bo’s magic.” He jokes, grinning at you as he takes of his headlamp, throwing it to the chair.

You hug him again, tight and proud. Happy that you were able to linger in the guesthouse and watch him take his first step into the project.

“So. What do you think?” He said, throwing a glance around the room then to you.

You cling on to him, a hand around his waist while you lean on his side.

“Absolutely incredible. Loved the song, loved the lighting, and definitely loved seeing you sing.”

“I need you to know this song’s for you. You’re the reason I’m able to start making content again. So, thank you so much.”

You place other hand on his chest, still leaning onto him.

“Thank you for starting again.”

He reached around for your hand, holding both of them in his before leaning down to kiss you. So gentle, so loving. He places his hand on your cheek, letting his fingers fall to your jaw and neck, the perfect fit. He pulls away, giving you one last quick peck on the lips.

You sigh happily.

“Well, we can leave everything here for now. Give me a sec, I’ll just quickly turn everything off.”

You watch as he leaps to his laptop, then to his speaker, making sure everything’s been saved and turned off properly.

“Alright. All good.”

“Pasta for dinner?” You ask him, intertwining your hands with his.

“Anything you make, really.” Nodding in approval.

You both step out of the guesthouse, knowing that for a few months or maybe more, you won’t be able to see him in there anymore. Before he closes the door, you take a last look at the slowly spinning disco ball. You were left to imagine what’s Bo going to create next. Only surprises.

You walked back to the house hand in hand, watching Bruce wait in front of the sliding door.

“Anyways, Daddy huh?” You teased him.

“Oh hush, I know you love it.” He laughed, patting the top of your head.

- 

Boy, was this fun to write. Thank you so much to @pharlapcartoonist​ for the request and idea behind this, I hope you liked it! I’m open to more requests! Hope everyone has a great day! Please stay happy and stay safe. <3

[13uswntimagines]

Love You or Lose You (Alpha Soran x Omega Reader)

Request: This is the first part to the Prequel for Playing with Fire. Its right after the 2016 Olympics, and R missed the PK instead of Christen. Things have been rough with her Alphas and she just needs a fresh Start. Barca might be the start she was after, but her mates might not like that too much... Especially when she leaves in the middle of the night. 

Basically 4000 words of Lindsey and Emily being idiots, R being sad and Preath and Kellex being worried. 

The air was heavy in the locker room, pressing into you like an anvil settled on your soul. You could remember a time when you had felt at home here. Like you belonged here.  

A time when Lindsey and Emily had actually loved you, and you didn’t feel like an unneeded (or wanted) burden on the national team (more like your family). 

You shook your head, tucking your frame tighter into the small locker that belonged to your most dominant alpha, pulling a leftover sweater tighter against your face. 

No. The locker that belonged to Lindsey. She wasn’t your alpha anymore, she had said so herself, but your inner omega still cried out for her and Emily nonetheless. A fight didn’t change the marks on your neck, or what your inner animal knew to be true. 

Yet it changed everything if the unbearable pain ripping through your chest was anything to go by. 

Another sob left your lips, muffled only slightly by the heavy material of Lindsey’s sweatshirt that smelled distinctly like both her and Emily. It did little to ease your instincts, but you would take whatever you could get right now. 

There was no reason to hold back your tears, there was no one else there to see them anyway. No one who would come looking for the source of the distressed pheromones you were emitting. No one to care that you were falling apart. It didn’t matter that you were all in the same city. 

They were all too busy trying to process their own issues from the loss. The loss you knew fell squarely on your shoulder. If only you had made that PK, none of this would have happened. 

You shuttered at the mix of emotions trickling down your mating bond. Lindsey’s anger and Emily’s clear frustration. You gulped pushing against their emotions with an overwhelming wave of your own. You willed as much calm as you could muster down the bond-forming a little barrier between your omega and their alphas, and shoved your own despair as far away from it as you could. 

The block wouldn’t hold forever, but it would do the job for now. Bonds were a bitch to shut down completely, and a permanent block was going to have to be something you figured out later. 

Your inner omega growled, digging her claws into your brain. While the human side of your head got why you were doing this, your animal side was loath to deny your alphas the privilege of your deepest emotions. Especially when she thought they could fix it if they knew. 

You let out a little whimper at the sound of the door, tucking yourself tighter into a ball as footsteps approached.

“Hey, Kid just thought I’d let you know your Uber is here,” 

You peeked out at the kind voice, semi soothing scent, and worried eyes of the athletic. You tried to smile at the woman, but you knew she wasn’t fooled. She knew you too well for that. 

“Thanks Bailey,” You sniffled, easing into a sitting position and turning to fully face the woman, and running a hand through your wild hair (only making it messier than it was before). 

“I’m gonna miss you kid,” She said, and you could tell that she wanted to say more. But both of you knew it wouldn’t change anything. The deal was done and you couldn’t find it within yourself to regret it. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, but you know I can’t stay,” 

She nodded, she would have left too if she was in your shoes. Barça was making lemonade out of rotten lemons. 

You took another gulping breath into Lindsey’s sweatshirt before shoving it into your backpack, and standing. Your eyes strayed towards the other lockers around you, landing on several items of clothing left by your friends. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” She grumbled under her breath as she headed towards the door. 

“No, it doesn’t,” You breathed out, heading towards the various lockers instead of the door. 

Leaving here would be like leaving a part of your soul behind. Your fingers traced over the wooden panels that outlined each locker. You only paused twice. Once outside Emily’s locker to steal a coveted Virginia soccer t-shirt and again at Tobin’s taking a re-inc sweater that you knew Christen wore more than Tobin and a LFG t-shirt that smelled distinctly like Kellex. 

The quad (as the national team called them) were your team moms, and their scents all comforted you. They would make whatever apartment you ended up in in Barça feel like home. 

Bailey raised her eyebrow at you as you stuffed the items into your backpack. You just shrugged. “they won’t miss them anyway,” 

It was true, and even if it wasn’t you were sure Chris would still back you up when she found out exactly why you left. 

You paused at the door, taking one last glance around the room, looking for some sign to stay. You rubbed your chest when another wave of negative emotions from your mates passed through your bond. 

You cleared your throat and shook your head at Bailey’s raised eyebrows. The weight in your chest told you that you were making exactly the right move. 

She sighed, leading you towards the loading bay where your Uber was waiting. 

“Thank you… for everything,” You said softly, pulling the older omega into a tight hug. She knew you meant more than walking you to the car park. She was there for you when no one else was, and you would be eternally grateful for all she had done for you. 

She held you for a long moment, rocking you side to side before pulling back to hold you at arm's length. “You got it, kid. Be safe and text me when you land alright?” 

You gave her a nod and a tight smile. “Look after them?” 

She rolled her eyes. If those two idiots had done anything even close to what they had done to you to her, she wouldn’t have been nearly as forgiving as you seemed to be. 

Then again you were also moving to Spain. 

“Of course,” She said, shoeing you towards the car. 

She would make sure they were very informed on how you were doing. 

****

Christen knew that there was something wrong. Very wrong. Before her phone even dinged. She could feel it in her bond with you. The torrent of emotions that had suddenly shifted into a calm she had never felt from you before. 

The bond the two of you shared was a special one, forged the moment she had laid eyes on you (even more special than the one you shared with her mates). The second your small, skittish form had entered the dining hall (tucked carefully under Emily's arm) her omega had claimed you as its pup, and you latched onto her quiet calm nature without a second thought. 

She knew you almost as well as your mates knew you, and the bond you shared (while different) was nearly as strong. And therefore your bond with the rest of the quad was also relatively strong. 

For an unknown reason, it was keeping her awake. It was like her omega was waiting for a sign, something to tell her that you were safe and sound. 

She practically jumped out of her skin at the ding of her phone, fumbling to unlock the screen and find the message you had sent her. 

She froze when her alpha shifted against her, inadvertently jostling the two omega’s attached to her other side. 

“Wha- appened?” Tobin mumbled, nuzzling into her stomach. Christen sighed at the wave of soothing scents that Tobin let off, trying to calm her nerves even in sleep. 

“Shh, baby bear is texting me. Go back to sleep,” Christen said, scratching the alphas scalp gently with one hand and pulling up the text with the other. 

She blinked at the bright screen once, twice, three times. 

It was five words, cold and emotionless. It reminded her of the call marines made to their parents when they went to boot camp. 

Landed in Spain. I’m fine. 

She couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath at the singular line, or the anxiety that suddenly engulfed her heart (immediately jolting all 3 of her mates awake). 

Before she could even blink she was moved onto Tobin’s lap, and Alex and Kelley cuddled tightly into either side of her. She could feel their concern flowing down their bond, and their efforts to comfort even though they had no idea what had caused such a strong response. 

“What’s up with baby bear?” Tobin said, gently rocking from side to side. 

Christen’s mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to parse out what emotions were hers, what emotions were coming from her mating bond, and the irritating calm that was coming from her bond with you. 

“I…-I don’t,” She stuttered, unable to skate the feeling that there was something very bad behind the steadfast wall you had thrown up in your bond. 

“Give me that,” Kelley half growled, pulling the phone out from Christen’s loose grip. 

She didn’t like to be woken up in the middle of the night, and she would kill your mates if you were texting Christen because of something stupid they did. You had sent them way too many texts like that already if she was honest.

“What the fuck?” She breathed out when her eyes landed on the words. This was so much worse than Soran being dumbasses. 

“What?” Alex asked, yanking the phone away from Kelley. 

Be nice,” Tobin chastised lightly, leaning over to read the words that had sent her most dominant omega mate into a tailspin. 

She frowned at the bright screen, trying to remember the last time the two of you had really talked. Had you mentioned moving to Spain in passing? Had she just blown it off? 

A charged silence hung between them. They all knew you were taking the loss hard, and that you and your mates were struggling to work your way through the slew of emotions that came with it. But they never imagined it would come to this. That you would literally flee the country. 

“This is a joke right?” Kelley asked, her voice cracking. 

“It’s gotta be,” Alex mumbled in disbelief. You were her cuddle buddy, her baby bear. You couldn’t have left the country without saying goodbye first. 

“I’m going to find out,” Christen said finally, taking back her phone. 

She bit her lip, pressing your contact picture and holding the phone to her ear. It rang once and then went voicemail. She frowned, shaking her head at her mates, ending the call. Maybe you accidentally pressed the wrong button. 

She pressed your contact photo a second time. 

Again it rang once and went to voicemail. It definitely wasn’t a coincidence this time, and she would bet anything that the boring automated greeting that came on instead of your goofy one wasn’t a coincidence either. 

She sighed, waiting for the beep. “Hey kiddo, um I got your text and I thought we could have a check-in maybe? Call me back when you can,” She paused, unsure of how to finish. She didn’t think anything she said would ease the ache in her chest. “we love you,” 

“Call Lindsey,” Tobin said firmly, an order lurking just below the words. If you weren’t going to give them answers, then your alphas better be ready to explain what the fuck was going on. 

*****

Lindsey didn’t quite know what she expected when she picked up the phone, but it wasn’t a very annoyed Christen Press on the other side. 

Well, maybe she expected it a little bit (she knew you would go to the quad after the argument. You always went to the quad), but she never imagined the words that would come out of your team mom’s mouth. 

“Whoa, slow down. She said she’s where?” Lindsey said, sitting up off of Emily’s shoulder where she had been leaning. 

“Spain, she said she landed in Spain,” Emily could barely make out Christen’s worried voice through the phone over Lindsey’s low growl. 

“There’s no way!” The more dominant alpha barked, baring her teeth just slightly. 

Maybe she had said some things she shouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t just run off to another country without telling them. She pushed down her hurt and settled for frustration instead. 

Emily scooched away from Lindsey slightly, rubbing her ear. “Babe, if you’re going to be this loud at 3 am, at least turn on speakerphone.” She felt odd, her bond unusually unbalanced. She could feel the torrent of emotions running through Lindsey, but your side of the bond was silent. It had never been silent before. 

The two of you had known each other since you were in diapers, and your bond reflected that. She should have felt something. While you weren’t always outwardly expressive, you felt everything deeply, and vividly. You were the fire to Lindsey’s flood, and for your usual smoldering flame of emotions to just be snuffed out felt wrong.  

The two alphas shared a look before Lindsey gave in and gave a short nod, pressing the little button. Emily had just as much a right to know what was happening as she did, but she still didn’t like being ordered around. 

“You’re on speaker Chris,” Lindsey grumbled. She wrapped an arm around Emily and pulled her closer.

 “What did you two idiots do to our baby bear?” Christen’s voice came out in a growl, the sound low and dangerous. 

Lindsey stiffened, her alpha bristling more than it normally would at the tone. “We didn’t do anything.” 

Emily nuzzled into her neck, trying to help her settle the mix of anger, pain and shock flowing through their bond. Just because she couldn’t feel you, didn’t mean that you couldn’t feel them. 

You were not some innocent party here. Lindsey hadn’t meant all the things she said, but then you had said some pretty hurtful things too. 

Tobin’s voice through the phone was low and clear, holding an air of dominance she rarely let out. “Watch who you’re growling at.” 

Lindsey gulped. She was never very good at controlling her emotions, especially when things went wrong. It was easier to respond with anger than to admit she was vulnerable sometimes. But she really didn’t want to have a fight with Tobin, not when they both knew she would lose.  

“And don’t give us that bullshit!” Both alphas winced at Kelley’s tone. The Omega had the parental tone of disapproval down to an art. She could have been one of their parents, scolding their irresponsibility for mating you before any of you were older than 21 (Emily’s mom had been angry enough to make up for your parents’ lack of care). Emily was sure her mother had used the exact same tone. 

“We had a fight,” Emily sighed, leaning deeper into Lindsey. It was more than a fight. It was an explosion of stubborn communication that had ended in you walking out. 

“A stupid fight. We’ll call her and have it all patched up by tomorrow,” Lindsey added, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why were omegas so frustrating? 

“She left the fucking country. I don’t think getting her back is going to be so easy,” Alex said, and both women could practically hear her eye roll. 

All six of them knew how stubborn you were, and getting you to listen was going to be far from a cakewalk. 

Lindsey huffed. “Camp is in like 2 days. If worst comes to worst, we’ll just talk to her there.” If you wouldn’t answer their phone calls, then they would just corner you at camp. You weren’t good at maintaining the silent treatment when they were both in front of you. And Lindsey still wasn’t convinced this wasn't more than an overblown tantrum. 

“She put a block in our bond Linds,” Christen said sternly, trying to break through the more dominant alphas shell. 

Sure the three of you had had arguments before, but whatever this was, it was fundamentally different. 

Lindsey frowned. You would never do that to Christen. The two of you were too close for that. At least that’s what she thought. 

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. We promise,” Emily said softly, already pulling out her phone. Now hopefully she would be able to get you to answer on the other side. 

“Good luck, you’re going to need it,” Tobin grumbled, hanging up. 

If those two idiots didn’t fix it, she was going to let Kelley unleash her wrath on them. 

Emily bit her lip as she pressed your contact picture (a photo of the two of you with bright 4-year-old smiles covered in brownie batter). It rang 4 times before going to voicemail. 

Emily could imagine you staring at the screen, debating on whether or not you should answer. It hurt a little that you had declined instead. 

She swallowed down her tears, glancing sideways at her still frozen mate. 

“Hey babe, um I know we’re not really talking right now, but um. Christen called and we’re worried. Please call me or Linds back,” she worried her bottom lip, wondering if she should add more, but the time ran out before she could. 

“Damn it,” she huffed, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. She hadn’t told you she loved you. 

Lindsey smiled sadly at her, rubbing her back soothingly, and pulling out her own phone. 

Her thumb hovered over a photo of the two of you cuddled up in one of your famous nests. She smiled wistfully down at it. How had this gotten out of hand so quickly? 

She pressed the button, holding the phone up to her ear. It didn’t even ring before it went to the robotic voicemail. What happened to the one that had you giggling because they wouldn’t stop kissing your neck? 

She didn’t have time to think it through before the beep sounded. She cleared her throat. 

“Hey, um I heard you were in Spain. What’s that about? Call me back,” she too tossed her phone down. 

“I can’t feel her,” Emily mumbled after a few minutes. Lindsey sighed. 

She closed her eyes tightly with a sigh and began to feel for your presence in the bond. If you weren’t going to answer them, then she was going to make sure you knew how unhappy with this situation she was. 

Her eyebrows furrowed when she was met with a wall of unsteady calm. It was like it was pulsing like your inner omega was pacing behind it trying to get through. She focused on the wall you had created and gave it a little push. 

She smirked when it bent a little bit to her will. “I think I got it,” 

She pushed back harder, the wall you creating molding around her alpha as she tried to reach your omega. She was almost there, she could almost touch your omega. One last push was all she needed. 

But just as she went to give it, a blast of calm shoved her backward. 

Her eyes blinked open at the ping of her phone and she scrambled to pick up the device. 

It was two words. No caps, no punctuation. A simple “fuck off” that they could practically hear reverberating in their heads. 

“What do we do now?” Emily asked softly. 

Lindsy’s smirk widened. 

“We call her until she answers us again.” 

[moonlight-frittata]

I Don’t Need a Mechanic

Overwatch: Dva and Brigitte (a few others make appearances)

Word count: ~5500 

My take on when Dva meets Brigitte and the first month or so of them getting to know each other on base.

---

Six months Hana Song had been a part of Overwatch, and during that time she set a very strict precedent that no one, not even Winston or Athena the AI was allowed to touch her mech, Tokki. So seeing the back of someone inside the cockpit as she entered the Watchpoint Gibraltar hangar made her blood boil. 

“Excuse me!! What the hell are you doing??” 

The person’s body jerked, their head banging against the low roof of the cockpit ceiling they wedged their torso inside. Hana heard a short mumble of something incomprehensible and a long, thick ponytail of red hair retreated from the mech in a hurry. A very tall, buff young woman around Hana’s age emerged blushing with a sheepish grin.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I’ve always wondered what these Korean models looked like up close. But in hindsight I really should have asked first.”

Her accent was European, but it was hard for Hana to place with any real certainty. Could have been Scandinavian, remembering some of the players from Finland she competed against back in her pro days. 

“Yeah, you should have fucking asked.” 

The crimson hue on the tall, possibly Finnish trespasser’s cheeks faded and she held her ground, not scared off yet by D.va’s harsh tone.

“Right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” she said. 

Dva scoffed a bit and pushed past the buff intruder to look inside the mech to inspect if anything was out of place. A moment of stuffy silence passed between the two and Hana hoped the other girl would get the message and leave.

“I’m Brigitte Lindholm by the way.”

Hana let out an audible huff as a familiar freckled face appeared looking through the glass on the other side of her heads up display.

“Oh. Yeah, Fareeha warned me a new girl was joining,” Hana replied from inside the cockpit while she busied herself checking Tokki’s systems. 

“And you’re Hana Song, right?” Brigitte continued lightly, clearly unperturbed. “Or do you prefer to go by D.va?”

Hana paused at the mention of her gamer tag turned call sign. 

“It’s Lieutenant Song, actually.”

Brigitte raised an eyebrow at the curt reply, her smile fading to a neutral expression. It only dipped for a moment though as she extended her hand. 

It was an awkward gesture to shake hands from inside the mech, even though the front of the cockpit was partially open near the joysticks. Hana looked at Brigitte’s outstretched hand and gentle smile on the other side of the glass. Was this a joke? She pursed her lips and sized Brigitte up for a few tense seconds before reaching out. The grip was firm and Hana’s hand practically disappeared in Brigitte’s large palm.

“Lieutenant Song. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Hana sighed and rolled her eyes, a little of the bluster going out of her at the sincerity in Brigitte’s tone. Satisfied that no harm had come to the mech, she backed out of the cockpit.

“Just call me Hana. That rank doesn’t really mean anything here anyway. Lena will probably make fun of me if she hears you calling me Lieutenant.”

Brigitte walked back around Tokki to join her, a lingering hand tracing over the pink exoskeleton as she moved. “I’m surprised she doesn’t make you call her Captain.”

“Oh, she’s tried.”

Brigitte laughed. 

“Sounds about right.”

D.Va chuckled for a moment, briefly disarmed by the new stranger, before she remembered how this person was rudely poking around her stuff only moments before, and snapped back into her gruff demeanor. 

“Lindholm, you said? Like Torbjörn Lindholm?”

Brigitte sighed, clearly used to this connection.

“Yes. Genius engineer of Overwatch 1.0, founder of Ironclad Industries, husband to Ingrid, and father of way too many children, including yours truly.”

“So, you grew up in an Overwatch family?” Hana asked as her full attention focused on Brigitte for the first time in their conversation.

“You could say that,” Brigitte said. She picked up a silver ratchet resting on a nearby worktable, spinning the head around between her fingers and levering the handle back and forth, testing the weight distribution of the tool in her hand. 

Hana could tell there was more to the story than her new teammate seemed willing to let on. She found it interesting that Brigitte, who had been all candid smiles a moment ago when she was caught somewhere she shouldn’t be and oversharing to someone she just met, was now hand waving around the subject.  

Overwatch kids are pretty up their own asses about 1.0 normally. Wonder what her deal is...

This was what Hana was known for back in her pro days. Seeing a flaw in an opponent’s defense and breaking it wide open. But she needed to remember she only just met this girl, who would soon be her teammate. Maybe save that for another day. 

“Well, Lindholm. As long as you stay clear of my mech, I don’t see a reason we should have problems working together. What’s your specialty?”

Brigitte perked up at the change of subject.

“Support. Both base level engineering support and in the field. I've got my bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, and I’ve been working on Reinhardt’s gear for over a year now. Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler, is training me to be certified as a field medic.” 

“Tough job. Think you can handle the gore?”

A wry smile pulled at Brigitte’s lips, her head shaking back and forth in a small, bemused gesture as she placed her hands on her hips. 

“You don’t pull any punches do you, Lieutenant Song?”

D.Va crossed her arms, holding eye contact with Brigitte who matched her gaze with amusement. 

“The best shot caller in the world is just a loud piece of shit if her team isn’t up to the same standard. So yeah, I like to know who has my back and if she can handle herself.”

Brigitte regarded D.Va for a moment, her jaw working back and forth as if chewing on the approach she wanted to take in response.

“I’ve been patching up Reinhardt for a while now. If I’m honest though, I’m scared it’s not going to be enough one day. But that’s not what I need to focus on, and instead I’ll do the best I can to support the people here.”

The plain way Brigitte shared her apprehensions left Hana uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine telling someone out loud she was afraid, especially on her first day. Though in truth, she herself felt scared shitless half the time while doing this work.

Brigitte’s smile was back. Did it ever leave that pretty face? It did suit her though, framed by the freckles and warm brown eyes. If this girl wasn’t built like a literal tank of 6 foot something muscle, Hana might have more apprehension about sending her out to fight Omnics and Talon. 

“Well Lieutenant Song, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time with my intrusion. Fareeha and Winston will be missing me very shortly for the rest of their planned orientation schedule,” Brigitte said as she carefully placed the ratchet she previously picked up back on the workstation, breaking the spell of awkward silence.

D.Va smirked, feeling tension leave her shoulders to match Brigitte’s playful demeanor. 

“Mmm, well now I understand why you were hiding down here.”

“Yes they are indeed quite enthusiastic and thorough with their material.”

She gave a wink and started to walk away, turning briefly to call over her shoulder.

“I noticed there was a small coolant leak under the left fusion cannon. Might get a bit sticky on the left hand.”

“Bye Brigitte, enjoy your 300 page orientation manual quiz.”

Brigitte waved once more and turned around, already so sure and familiar with the layout of the hangar and the base.

She’s just another Overwatch kid, and just another nosey engineer trying to get in my mech.

Hana lingered by her workstation, picking up the ratchet Brigitte had been fiddling with and thinking over their brief encounter again. 

Would this girl be a liability on the battlefield? Brigitte looked strong on the exterior, but then, so did Tokki. If you took away the mecha armor, inside was just a squishy human target bullets and fire could cut through like paper the second she was exposed and vulnerable.

Hana took a deep breath.

She walked around to the left fusion cannon and did indeed see the signs that a coolant leak was backing up inside the casing. Pretty subtle to spot with minimal visible damage to the exterior. 

Not bad, Lindholm.

D.Va pulled her headphones on, turning to her latest loop of pop songs to blast while she went to work removing the panels on the cannon to replace the broken coolant line. The task felt good, and helped her mind drift to thoughts other than her conversation in the hangar.

---

Hana didn’t see much of Brigitte the next few weeks. The new recruit was busy with training and learning mission protocols expected of field agents in addition to shifts with Mercy in the clinic to  fulfill the certifications Brigitte was required to complete. Hana would see her sometimes at dinner, often in a spirited conversation with Reinhardt or Lena. It seemed to take Brigitte no time at all to fit in amongst the old guard, but it seemed that’s what being the favorite niece of pretty much every person here would get you. 

Hana would half listen to their stories, always feeling awkward and out of place amongst their banter. Overwatch was like a family, but she was more like the stranger invited as someone’s plus one. Everyone seemed to have an ingrained familiarity with each other. A single word could trigger a whole series of anecdotes every person around had some personal insight to add on to. 

Remember this! 

Oh how is so and so?  

Damn, that was 5 years ago already? 

Even on her squad in Korea, she never had what they people here seemed to have. Dae-hyun was a close childhood friend and followed her into the MEKA squad, but the other pilots were a different story. There was always a bit of friction and distance with the rest of her teammates because of their history as pro-gamer competitors forced into an arrangement as teammates. It never really gelled beyond cordial coworker relationships. Hana’s celebrity status didn’t help either, only adding another barrier between herself and the others. The fame of D.Va closed her off in access to most people unless they were on the other side of a screen, and then they only saw a polished up version of herself. 

Not exactly the best way to get close to people.

Sometimes she was curious to learn more when she heard the Overwatch stories, but she always stopped herself before saying anything. It was easier to pull out her phone and queue up a game. Easy to pull back and ignore them, and usually they left her alone to do it.

She was okay with that. She was okay with keeping Hana and D.Va separate. She was okay with only polite greetings and trite platitudes. She didn’t need to know about the times from before, or what her Overwatch teammates did on the weekends. She just needed them to listen to her in the field and leave her room to make her plays. Like every time she started a new game, she didn’t have to focus on the past, or what others thought, she just had to focus on the objective in front of her. It’s what got the job done and what kept her alive.

---

Brigitte kept her word to stay out of Hana’s mech. She set up her own work station on the other side of the hangar where she worked on Reinhardt’s gear as well as her own. Hana would sometimes see the blue flash of a shield out of the corner of her eye over the hum of diagnostic scans or smell the burn of sparks from welding. 

One day curiosity got the best of her when she heard the loud, repetitive pounding of a hammer on metal and she wandered across the hangar. 

“You’re doing that by hand?”

Brigitte stopped working when she heard the voice behind her, the deafening echo silenced on the metal shoulder guard she was beating against.

“On this armor I do. Reinhardt’s gear is special from the time it was made. It has to be maintained with some older techniques.”

“Why?”

Brigitte looked at her surprised for a moment then laughed, loud and warm. 

“You know, I wondered the same at first. It’s a bit of the way this armor is made, modern techniques can be too harsh on it, interestingly enough. Too precise and it becomes too fragile.”

“That doesn’t sound true,” D.va said.

“Oh, questioning my methods huh? Well, maybe the truth is more I didn’t originally have the right gear out in the field, and Reinhardt didn’t have much modern tech either, so the only way to do it was by hand. But it’s nice actually to keep doing it this way, I like getting my hands dirty with it. Helps me relax.”

“See that I believe.”

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, Lieutenant Song.”

D.Va rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.

“I told you before, you can just call me Hana. Although, I do like the respect of authority.”

“Lieutenant suits you.”

Hana smirked a little at the complement, turning to pick something up on a nearby table. She picked up one of Brigitte’s gauntlets, slipping it on her hand. Her arm sagged under the weight, the glove coming up well above her elbow.

“Is it exhausting wearing all this armor? How do you run around with it on? I can barely lift this thing.”

“There’s movement assist when the unit is turned on. But I mean, I think I can handle it.” 

Brigitte smirked as she made a show of flexing her well defined arms, and Hana couldn’t help but gawk a bit before she turned back to fiddling with the glove. 

“Um, yeah I uh, noticed you seem to be in good shape.”

“Oh yeah?” Brigitte was smirking, clearly enjoying the slight fluster she was causing in her new teammate. Hana put the glove back on the table and gave Brigitte a light shove on the arm.

“Oh give me a break, you know you’re buff. Do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”

“I’m very familiar with OW 2.0’s handbook, and the dress code is quite lax about on-base personal attire. But, mostly I just like hearing you complement me.”

Hana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re strong enough to move your ass around in this armor so you can protect my blindspots while I’m doing all the real heavy lifting.”

Brigitte laughed again. Hana couldn’t help but smile too at the warm sound. Brigitte’s whole face lit up, and her eyes crinkled around the edges. No wonder she was the favorite niece.

“Fair. I’ve seen your battle footage and some news clips when you were back in Korea. You’re so strong, I doubt you even need me.”

“Ah, another fan of D.Va. Well, who can blame you,” Hana said with a flick of her hair. She continued to walk around Brigitte’s workstation, picking up random pieces of armor. Brigitte didn’t seem to mind.

“Actually Reinhardt was the real die hard D.Va fan. We used to always have a stash of the instant noodles with your face on them in our rig. Great shelf life. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you for an autograph yet.”

“Well he’s one to talk! Did you know, when I was a kid there was a Reinhardt special edition line of noodles? I remember I tried them once and they had such a weird flavor. It was like ketchup and curry powder or something. He had a pretty big fanbase in Korea actually.”

“Hah! I didn’t know that, but I’d believe it. There’s been so much Overwatch merchandise over the years, I’ve lost track. They were such celebrities back in the day.”

“Yeah.”

Hana knew a thing or two about having her image used for propaganda. She wondered for a moment what it was like for Brigitte, growing up amongst the same environment, but removed from the center of it. An image of her laughing in the cafeteria with the old guard flashed through her mind. She decided it must have not been too bad, and refrained from asking the question.

“Okay well, I’ll leave you to your meditative, hammer time. I need to get back to my mech anyway, I’ve got a mission tomorrow morning,” Hana said, turning to leave. Brigitte let out a long sigh, slumping into a chair. 

“Oh, it must be nice to leave the base.”

Hana stopped in her tracks, curious again, hearing such an outburst from Brigitte. She turned around and poked one of Brigitte’s large muscles near her shoulder.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be done with your training block soon. Fareeha is just, really particular before she lets anyone out on a mission. It took almost two months, and me breaking every score in the simulators for her to let me out in the field.”

“I know, I know. It just sucks sometimes feeling like everyone is being overprotective of me. I can handle myself, I’m not a little kid.”

Hana couldn’t help but give a little hmphf sound, her lips pulling down at the corners. 

“Yeah, I get that feeling. You can’t speed up time though, you just have to grind it out.”

Hana wasn’t normally one for listening to whining, but she thought Brigitte looked quite cute while she pouted, her arms crossed tight against her torso and her lip jutted out. It was hard not to laugh at the sight a bit, but Hana held her tongue. She really did know how it felt to want to prove yourself.

“Hey come on, there’s plenty of work you’re doing here that’s valuable. And when you’re ready, you’ll get called up and out there with the rest of us.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, seeming to blow out the negative feelings in one dramatic sigh. When she straightened up in her chair she seemed to be in better spirits, smiling at Hana again.

“You probably know better than anyone how to do that. Thanks Lieutenant, I’ll try. Let me know if my hammering gets too distracting. I can always go find something else to do.”

“It’s fine. I hardly noticed.”

“Well in that case, I’ll just be over here until dinner time.”

---

A few days later Hana almost threw her computer across the hangar. 

“Why is this piece of shit so useless!”

The MEKA diagnostic program she used to keep Tokki up to date was crashing every five minutes when she tried to run a scan of the system. It had slowly been degrading the last few weeks and after the latest mission it apparently decided it had enough. She tried every trick she knew, both from working on the mech for years and everything she could think of on her personal gaming rig, but she only had rudimentary coding skills and was vastly out of her depth.

“Everything okay?”

Brigitte’s gentle voice called out from a few feet away as she had stopped her own work to come see D.Va’s meltdown.

“Everything’s fine. Except I’m going to have to go throw this piece of crap, and then myself, in the ocean.”

“Sounds like a costly solution. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

She could feel Brigitte’s sympathetic look burning into her cheek and hated it.

“Okay no problem. I’m around though, just let me know if you want an extra set of eyes.”

Hana stared at the email she had sent to Dae-Hyun the day before that still had no response. She knew her mech’s hardware inside and out, but he was the one who really handled all the intense computer program internals. She was out of her depth here and needed him to call her so she could get this thing working again, but he wasn’t answering. Maybe he was deployed somewhere or too busy with a social life now that she was gone. 

She had decided to come here for Overwatch. So maybe she should trust Overwatch.

“Brigitte, wait a minute.”

The other girl paused and turned, only having walked a few feet away from D.Va’s workstation.

“I could probably use some help here, if you’re still offering?”

Brigitte smiled, but it was more muted than her usual mega watt grin. Hana appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal about it. 

God, why is this girl so nice.

“Definitely.”

Brigitte walked around the workbench where Hana set up her computer station and listened to the general description of the problems. As Hana started clicking through screens to show the protocol she usual ran, Brigitte held up a hand to make her stop.

“I understand what you’re saying, but looking at the text, I can’t read Korean. Does it have a translation setting?” “I doubt it. This thing was only meant to be used by the Korean MEKA squad.” Hana felt her stomach drop at how quick her hopes of getting this programming running were already dashed.

“Well lucky for us, Overwatch has some very robust translation tech we can utilize.” “Really? It’s not the AI is it? I’ve been so resistant to letting her in my computer.”

“That would be one possibility, but there are some more localized options we have. I’ve had to do this once or twice on one of my papa’s projects.”

“How long will it take?” “Don’t know! Could take a while, I’m not going to lie to you, especially with your program already acting buggy. But don’t worry Lieutenant, we’ll sort you out.”

Hana groaned, already having major doubts about letting Brigitte mess with her tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options, and this was probably the least embarrassing choice on the table at the moment. 

Brigitte moved back and forth between D.Va’s workstation and her own across the hangar, gathering cables and a laptop she would use to debug the system. Hana watched over Brigitte’s shoulder for a while, monitoring her work to get the translation program working on the MEKA diagnostic software. 

“Where’d you learn to do this type of thing?”

“Back in college. I had to learn a certain amount of coding for my major, but I helped out Winston some in his lab on campus and he taught me a lot of tricks too.”

“Jesus, is there literally anyone on this fucking base you don’t have some personal connection with?” 

Hana stepped away from the computer and dropped down into an empty chair with a huff, spinning the chair on its axis in erratic circles.

Brigitte stopped typing and watched Hana’s tantrum. “It bothers you that I’ve got a close connection to Overwatch?”

Hana did not reply, but crossed her arms and let out a frustrated sigh. Brigitte’s gaze held her for a moment but eventually shifted back to the computer screen as she seemed to weigh her thoughts on how to respond.

“Why did you leave the MEKA squad to join Overwatch?” she asked finally. “It doesn’t have the best history as an organization, you know.”

Hana stopped spinning to look at the side of Brigitte’s face, who’s eyes were still trained on the laptop screen. “Well it’s better to actually be in a fight than on the sidelines.”

Brigitte stopped what she was doing and turned to face D.va. “You’re the best pilot in the MEKA program. Why would you be sidelined?”

Hana let out a bitter laugh. “Best pilot? I was more than that. I was the face of the fucking Korean army! Which eventually meant I was too valuable to be an actual soldier.” Hana stood up walking to the end of the workbench, reaching out to touch one of her mecha’s guns. She couldn’t see Brigitte, but she could feel the other girl watching her.

“I got real banged up in a fight with the Gwishin. Like, probably should have died kind of banged up. I was out of action for months. After that, the army realized they couldn’t let the poster girl for their success stories die in an actual fight. So they moved me off the Busan base and deployed me to lead baby fights happening inland, but whose sole purpose was really just a photo op.”

Hana balled her fist in anger at her side, remembering how awful it hurt seeing images of herself on television in all those epic battle sequences, reporters singing praises of heroism, only to know the real truth that it was all a fabricated lie. She couldn’t stand it.

“So when Winston and Lena came to my apartment and asked me to join the new Overwatch, it was a no brainer. My piloting skills are too valuable to just be sidelined in a studio with a green screen.”

The MEKA squad team was fairly understanding when she told them. The same couldn’t be said for her commanding officers, but as D.Va, the amount of influence and money at her disposal proved sufficient for a smooth enough transition.

“I believed this was my shot to get back in the fight. So even if there’s some bad history there, this is a new chance for me, and I am ready to deal with any fallout.” 

Text whizzed by in the background of the computer screen as the console spat out a continuous stream of logs from the program Brigitte fired off as she listened in silence. 

“I never liked Overwatch. I still don’t,” Brigitte finally said.

Hana turned to face her, very confused. 

“Really? But, you’re like, one of the legacy kids.”

“All that means is I know more of the gritty details and seen firsthand the way people I love were chewed up by this place.”

Hana’s brow furrowed in thought, crossing her arms as she focused on Brigitte. Hana had been so taken in by all the happy scenes in the mess hall and around the base, she hadn’t even thought about the implications and complications that must have been a part of Brigitte’s life. She was so good at always putting on a bright face, how could she have known? 

Brigitte took a deep breath, looking weary as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“When I was a kid, it was like I was one of those audience members you talked about. I was told all the best stories about heroes and villains, and it so happened that my family were literally starring as those heroes. But when I was a little older, I started learning more about history, and the other side of things. The PETRAS act. In fighting and war crimes. Blackwatch. Angela’s medical tech weaponized against her wishes, by my own father it turns out. Winston and Tracer buried under so much red tape, I’m honestly surprised they were ever allowed to leave a military base of their own free will. And Reinhardt... He’s a lot like you, I think. Brave, loyal, too stubborn to be just the face of a movement without putting his own skin on the line. Not when there’s something bigger than himself he believes in.”

A deep sigh, and an almost painful expression crossed her face.

“So no, I don’t like Overwatch. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while they risk their lives, knowing I can help them. They’re my family. So here I am. Family can be complicated, ya know?” 

Before Hana could come up with something to say, the computer dinged behind them. Brigitte tapped on the keys, reading quickly when a smile crossed her lips. 

“Look at that, perfectly legible Swedish.”

“It’s fixed?” Hana hurried over to look at the computer screen.

“Well, the translation program is running. Now I need to actually debug your diagnostics program.”

“Ughhhh, I’m never going to leave this place.”

Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done. Feel free to go get some dinner if you want. This will take a while.”

“No way I’m going to leave you here all alone!”

“I promise I won’t touch Tokki.”

“It’s not...it’s not that, Brigitte. I just don’t feel right strolling off to dinner while you’re stuck here fixing my shit.”

Brigitte smiled.

“Okay. I definitely don’t mind the company.”

---

Hana tried to keep up with what Brigitte was talking about as she debugged the code. And she could follow along, for a while. Eventually she was way too lost to feel useful, and didn’t want to distract Brigitte while she was fixing the issues, so she retreated to a nearby futon against a wall. It was well past midnight, and Hana’s eyes were starting to droop. Brigitte drank one of the Dva branded nano cola energy drinks a while ago and seemed to be completely in the zone. 

The next thing Hana knew there was a strip of bright light in her eyes as the sun started to stream in through a window in the hangar. Hana stretched to pull out the discomfort her back protested with from not being in her bed, but it was really not that unfamiliar, considering some of the positions she’d fallen asleep at her gaming computer before. A blanket was draped across her body she didn’t remember picking up when laid down on the futon. She was all alone in the hangar and her watch told her it was just after 5am. 

“Brigitte?”

No one answered.

She sat up, noticing an unopened water bottle and energy bar laid out on the ground beside her futon with a little sticky note.

“Give it a go, Lt - Brig”

Hana scooped up the rations and dropped in front of the dark screen of her laptop. When she started up the terminal screen, her diagnostic programming kicked off like it normally did. All in Korean. 

The screen showed exactly where an electric circuit was tripping in the defense matrix grid of the mech, which had been glitching in the field the last few days. Hana noticed the parts and tools needed to complete the fix laid out on the workbench neatly, but when she poked her head in the mech, it remained untouched.

She smiled to herself.

“Kept her word to stay out of Tokki. These Overwatch kids are too much sometimes.”

D.Va pulled the panel off her mech and got to work.

----

At dinner that night, Hana spotted Brigitte in the mess hall with Reinhardt, Tracer and Winston. Brigitte gave her a wink when she noticed her. Hana got her meal and sat beside her, leaving her phone in her pocket for once.

“Thanks for the help with Tokki, Brigitte. Works like a charm now.”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Song.” Brigitte’s smile was kind, her expression gentle and warm. Hana noticed this close up Brigitte’s eyes were lighter around the edges, and she had a few more freckles on her left cheek than the right.

“Did I just ‘ear you call ‘ana Lieutenant?” Lena cut in. “She’s ‘Lieutenant’, but I can’ get none of you to call me Captain? Double standards round ‘ere, I tell ya what.”.

“Well, Hana was a more recent officer in her respective position, while you have been discharged from the RAF for several years now.”

“Who’s side you on Win!? Those ranks don’t expire!”

Brigitte chuckled, whipping her head around to look at Tracer’s shaking her hand dramatically in the air, eyes downcast in an over acted, scandalized look. Hana also let out a small giggle.

“Your rank on the flight simulator scoreboard sure did,” Hana said, poking her tongue out with a playful smirk at Tracer. Brigitte, Reinhardt and Winston all laughed.

“She’s got you there, Lena,” Brigitte said.

“The youth of today. Ruthless.” Tracer grabbed a fist over her heart as if shot in the chest by a bullet.

“You know, back in my days of Overwatch…”

Reinhardt started in on one of his specially tailored stories for whatever situation was at hand, this case a very detailed recount of the first time he granted a field promotion in the Crusaders. Brigitte sighed, correcting inaccuracies she heard along the way, giving a wink to Hana when Brigitte’s presence in the story was pulled into the story much later on.

Lena took up the torch after that, remembering a time she accidentally flew into restricted airspace and managed to sweet talk her way out of being shot down. They all took turns sharing more elaborate one ups from their time before Overwatch. Hana even volunteered a story, sharing the time she convinced Dae-hyun to set Tokki up to stream a battle with the omnics. She broke her single day subscriber count in under one hour.

They all laughed well into the night, and for the first time Hana really started to feel like part of the team.

---

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[redorich]

"Hello, Mr. Blade," Quackity says.

Techno inwardly groans. He knows that tone of voice; it usually precedes some awful joke, or indicates that Quackity's about to take off all his clothes and attempt to sell cocaine to people again. Possibly both. In a desperate attempt to avoid whatever shitstorm is coming his way, Technoblade resolutely reads his book and pretends he does not hear Quackity. He holds out for a whole five minutes, until Quackity starts autotune-singing about how much he and Techno love doing exceedingly nasty things with each other. When Quackity breaks out the guitar, Techno snaps his book shut.

"What do you want?" the piglin grunts.

Quackity shapeshifts into a cute little yellow duckling, presumably to persuade Techno with the power of cuteness. "Break into MCC with me," he says.

That is such a bad idea on so many levels. Challenging, sure, and very interesting...

"What's in it for me?" he says.

"I want to put a whoopie cushion on Scott's chair," the duckling quacks. "That means we've got to break into the admin room, and you can mess with the admin control panel."

Techno raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You want to break into the most secure room in the most secure event in recent history.”

Quackity nods. “Exactly!”

“To put a whoopie cushion on Scott’s chair.”

Technoblade puts his face in his hand and mourns the collective IQ of the Dream SMP, because surely Quackity lowers it just by breathing. The shapeshifter, still in duck form, hops up into Technoblade’s lap, then turns into a human so he can risk death by daring to suggestively straddle the piglin. He immediately gets shoved onto the ground.

“I’m going to regret this...” Technoblade says. “Let’s do it.”

---

Getting into the MCC server is the easy part. They’re both whitelisted, and it would be a hassle to remove everyone on the whitelist only to add them back later each time there’s another championship, so they have indefinite access. The moderators would surely come up with a way to keep everyone out if they knew about the two Dream SMP men’s plan.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Quackity complains loudly.

Technoblade slaps a hand over Quackity’s mouth and looks around quickly. The shapeshifter responds by licking Techno’s palm, and Techno retaliates by removing his slobbery hand from Quackity’s face and swatting him upside the head for the childish behavior.

“Be quiet, we don’t know who’s here,” Techno says. “And yes, I know where we’re going. The admin room is below the map. There’s a secret passageway around here somewhere...”

The two sneak underneath the bridge to the arena, locating a lever that opens a hallway inside the main gate. The inside of the hallway is mostly quartz and concrete. Obviously, the map-makers put more effort into the bits that were supposed to be seen.

They reach a fork in the hallway: they can either go left or right. Techno points to the left. When they turn the corner, they come face-to-face with another person. Quackity and Technoblade both freeze in place at the sight of Grian leaning on the door to the admin room, fiddling with his phone. When he hears the two intruders, he looks up, squinting at them from behind the thin frame of his glasses.

Why is he here?! Techno thinks. We’re gonna get in so much trouble!

“I didn’t know either of you was an admin,” Grian says casually.

Technoblade sweats. How does he pretend to be an admin?

"Uh, yeah," he says, wrapping his arm around Quackity in a gesture that's supposed to look friendly but is a bit too tight. "My friend's code is, uh, glitching really hard right now."

On cue, Quackity shapeshifts into a moaning pile of limbs, then a duck, and then his normal state again, flickering between human and limb-pile.

"It's time sensitive, so if you could please let us through," Technoblade continues.

Grian raises a singular eyebrow, totally unimpressed. "Is it, now."

Quackity begins to foam at the mouth. Technoblade hopes that that's a shapeshifting trick and not some weird disease Quackity's picked up. Grian steps to the side, allowing the other two men to pass through the door to the admin control panel room.

As soon as they’re on the other side of the door, Technoblade leans heavily against it, pressing a hand to his his chest and exhaling. “He actually bought it,” the piglin says incredulously. Meanwhile, Quackity waltzes over to Scott’s spinny gamer chair without a care in the world, placing a whoopie cushion on the seat. For good measure, he also duct tapes an air horn to the bottom of the chair, so that when Scott sits down it’ll go off.

“We don’t have all day, man,” Quackity chides. “Go do whatever admin thing it is you’ve got planned.”

Right. He’d forgotten about that. Technoblade boots up the admin control panel. The text glows brightly, most of it in Galactic Standard. It would take too long to bother deciphering it all, not to mention it would overtax Techno’s attention span. The piglin skims the characters on the screen just enough to the point where he can locate “automated_messages.txt”. This file, if he is correct, should be the one that the main script references. If he just alters this one bit right here, then heads over to “display_messages.cpp” to alter a few corresponding lines of code... There!

“I’m done,” he says.

Quackity, who’s been climbing the wall as a hot pink lizard, drops to the floor and comes back up as a human again. “Nice, now we should probably get out of here before that Grian guy realizes we’ve done something. What’d you put in the code, by the way?”

Technoblade stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. He can’t suppress his smirk, though. “Oh, nothing much-- every time a game is chosen, instead of saying the name of the game, the system will say ‘subscribe to Technoblade’.”

Quackity groans, heading to the door. He’s about to say something, but when he opens the door, the two see exactly what they don’t want to see.

Grian is still waiting for them when they exit the room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall casual as you please.

He tilts his head. "You two got that issue sorted out?"

Quackity beams, nodding rapidly and speaking even faster. "Oh yes, I'm completely better now! Technoblade fixed me up; it was difficult and scary but it worked perfectly, I feel so much better now! All he had to do was give me a true love's kiss--"

The shapeshifter is cut off by Techno's elbow digging into his ribs.

Grian nods. "That's good, that's good." A pause. "For the record, code isn't glitchy. It's either buggy or it's corrupted, usually corrupted. You're a really bad liar, Technoblade."

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Techno deadpans. When in doubt, deny all knowledge of the evidence!

“Team with me,” Grian demands. “I want to win the next MCC.”

Quackity immediately agrees, “Deal.” At the Look that Techno strikes him with, he simply shrugs. “Hey, I want in on this too.”

---

Grian, Technoblade, and Quackity team with Philza. They win in a landslide and Technoblade gets banned from MCC for a month. It’s worth it.

[melancholyshadow]

sunday’s with a solider || b. barnes

part one 

summary: after a good date with bucky, (y/n) figures out who she’s really getting involved with. 

pairing: bucky barnes x female!librarian!reader 

warnings: kissing (??), swearing

an: im honestly speechless, the first part of this series has 150+ notes! i’m so happy you guys liked it! i’m debating on make this a three or a four-part series, please let me know what you think, but there will definitely be at least another part. one of the next, or the next, will include some spice, if you know what i mean. and who do y’all want me to write about next? im thinking mr. steve rogers. 

tags: @biixlv​

“Please tell me you’re a booth person and not a table person.” You chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.” He laughed and rolled his eyes at you. He began walking towards one of the booths. You followed happily behind him, scooting into the opposite side of the booth. He pulled off his hat and both his gloves, setting them on the seat next to him. You propped your head on the palm of your hands, stopping yourself from looking at his metal hand, you weren’t even sure if it was metal.

The diner was one that had been in this town for, at least, forty years, and it definitely showed its age. It was trying to be a ‘retro diner’ in the eighties, so that aged it another thirty years. You grew up coming here with your family, the food was good, and you thought the inside was cute. The building was longer than it was wide, and the floor reminded you of a checkerboard. There was a long bar on the left, space for waiters to maneuver, and a long panel of metal enclosing the kitchen portion. Bright red bar stools were implemented into the floor, screwed into the floor, every two feet or so. On the right, were five or six booths, the same shade of red as the bar stools, big enough for about four people max. 

“Hey, sugar!” A familiar voice chirped to your left. Your eyes met a familiar pair of green ones, and a smile immediately filled your face. “Hey, Mabel!” You cooed, half-standing under the table and wrapping your arms around her small, fragile frame. She smelled like coffee and smoke, as she always did. The two of you pulled away, and her eyes instantly went to Bucky. “Who's your friend?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at you. “Mabel, this is my friend James. James, this is Mabel.” You explained, quickly introducing the two. He smiled at her and stuck out his ‘normal’ hand to give her a handshake, which she was very fond of. 

“Well, it is great to meet you, James! What can I get you to drink?” She had abandoned her notepad well before you were born, her ability to just remember someone’s order still amazed you. “Coffee please, no sugar or creamer please.” She smiled at him, and turned back towards me, “Regular for you, dear?” She asked, and you smiled, scrunching up your eyes and nose. She practically pranced away with a huge smile on her face. Bucky chuckled, pulling you from your thoughts, turning your head back towards him. His eyes were scanning over the faded laminated menu.

“How do you know Mabel?” He asked, looking up and unzipping his jacket, pulling it off his abdomen and onto the seat beside him, with his gloves and hat. “I grew up coming here with my family, she’s known me since I was in my mother’s stomach.” You explained, pointing to a picture above the bar. It was pretty faded after sitting in direct sunlight for over two decades, but it was a picture of Mabel, your mom, your dad, and you, you all had on party hats. “I had my first ten birthdays at this diner.” Bucky squinted his eyes and smiled once he made out the picture of baby you. 

“That’s awesome.” He said looking back at you. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mabel cut him off. “Here is that coffee, Mr. James.” She slid the coffee in front of him, “And a regular for you, (Y/M/N).” She wiped her hands on her apron, “What can I get you two to eat?” Bucky looked at me, wanting me to order first. “We’ll both take the ‘67.” You smiled. She copied, “You got it, dearie.” And she walked away. Bucky cleared his throat, “Just trust me, Bucky,” You chuckled, placing your hands on top of his, “You’re gonna love it.” He paused for a moment, “I’ll hold you to that.” He winked at you. Did he just wink at you? Was he flirting? You immediately shot back at a wink and a flirty response, “Deal.”

The two of you ate and chatted for about an hour and a half. “Okay, you were right, that was the best food I’ve ever had.” He said, stacking your plates and utensils together, making it easier for Mabel when she took them off the table. “Can I get you two anything else?” She asked, picking up the two plates with ease. Bucky looked at you and you nodded a ‘no,’ and he looked back at Mabel, “No thank you, ma’am, but I will take the check.” He smiled. 

“No, Mabel, split the check pl-” But Mabel cut you off, “Sorry, dear, my hearing aid died, I can’t quite hear you. I’ll bring that check right to you, Mr. James.” Quickly walking away. “Bucky, no, I will pay for mine.” You insisted, going to reach for your purse. You looked around you in your seat in a panic, and then you remembered, it was in the saddlebag attached to his bike. He laughed at you as you came to that realization. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You sighed, taking a sip of your drink. He simply shrugged and smiled, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Once Mabel returned with the bill and Bucky’s card, the two of you stood, and he let you walk out first. It was a lot colder now, goosebumps layered your exposed arms, like a reflex you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Here, you take this.” He insisted, placing his heavy leather jacket on your shoulders. “No, I can't, you're gonna get cold too.” You began to shrug it off, but he placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’ll be fine.” He smirked at you, his hands lingering for a little longer than normal. 

“Ready?” He asked as he straddled his bike, once more. You stuck your arms through the long sleeves, which went way past your fingertips. You took your seat behind him, and he handed you the helmet, and you slid it over your head. Similar to earlier, you snaked your arms around him, clasping your hands together, and resting around his mid-abdomen. His hands, once again, landed on your thighs, pulling you even closer to him, making a different type of goosebumps cover your arms. 

“Hang on tight, doll.” He said as the bike came to life. You were so glad you were wearing a helmet, so he couldn’t see the brush creep onto your cheeks. As you two rode, he used his prosthetic hand to steer the bike and kept his flesh hand on your knee the entire time. The sky had ditched the orange, pink, and red hues and was now littered in stars and moonlight. You didn’t want this to end, you felt like you could stay there for hours, but the library came into view a lot sooner than you wanted it to. 

The next day came and you got excited, as always, to see Bucky. Today was a little different though, after your date last night. Wait, was that even a date? It had to be, right? I mean he paid and flirted with you. 

“Bucky, why do you come in here every day?” You asked, peering at him over the book in your hands. He didn’t move for a second, you assumed he was finishing the sentence he was reading. “Well, all the libraries in New York City are crowded and noisy.” He explained, “So when I found this place while scoping out new libraries, even though it is quite a distance, I knew this place was it for me.” He smiled at you. “At least that was the reason initially.” He muttered, picking his book back up. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You set your book down this time, squinting your eyes at him, and propping your head up on your hands. “Well obviously, I now come back because the shitty coffee you offer is to die for.” He said sarcastically. You gasped and threw one of your pens at him, bouncing off his chest and onto the floor. He broke out into a fit of laughter, and you soon followed. 

“No, but now I come back to hang out with you.” He admitted to you, avoiding your stare. “Oh that so sweet…” You started, “...Dork.” Throwing another pen at him, this time hitting the bill of his hat. Bucky had come in every day for a little over a month now and missed not a single Sunday. “Hey (Y/F/N)?” Bucky asked, looking back up from his book. Your eyes didn’t leave the pages of your book, but you answered, “Yes, Buck?” You asked back, flipping the page. 

“I won’t be here tomorrow, and for a couple days after that.” When the words left his lips, a wave of sadness washed over you. Your lips twisted into a pout, looking towards him. “Why?” You asked, dragging out the word. “I have some obligations.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Okay, Mr. Mysterious.” You scoffed, feeling a bit upset. How long had he known? Why was he just now telling you? “I’m gonna be so bored without you.” You whined, leaning back in your chair with a huff. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

It was closing time now, and as usual, Bucky walked you to your car. “You better bring me a souvenir from wherever you’re going.” You joked, tossing your purse into the passenger seat, and turning back towards Bucky. “Would you prefer a T-shirt? Maybe some socks? How about a shot glass?” He joked back, leaning against the side of your car. “Surprise me.” You laughed, pushing his chest. 

As you went to pull away from his chest, his flesh hand wrapped around your wrist, softly. He placed it back on his chest, and his metal hand went to your hip, pulling you closer to him. The only distance between both of your chest was being occupied by your hand. You swore up and down that he could hear your heartbeat, but you were soon reassured because you could feel his heartbeat racing just as much as yours was. Bucky glanced down at your lips, and you did the same. 

You closed the space between your lips, and without thinking your eyes fluttered closed, taking in everything happening over your entire body. His lips were soft, tasting like coffee and mint. The growing stubble on his chin rubbed against the softness of your cheeks. His flesh hand was warm around your wrist, gripping it softly, he never wanted to hurt you. But the gestures with his metal hand were very different. It was leaving a cool tingling sensation against the small patch of exposed skin, and his grip was tighter, pushing you impossibly closer to him. You took your free hand, and placed it on his face, thumb running over his cheek, and your other four fingers resting on his neck. 

After what feels like minutes, but was probably only about thirty seconds, you pulled away from him. Reluctantly, of course. The two of you just stood there, not moving, relishing at the moment for as long as you could. “You know I meant to surprise me souvenir-wise, right?” You chuckled, messing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “Oh okay, we can just never do that again.” He sighed, messing with you. 

“No, no, we can definitely do that again.”

~

It was the first Sunday without Bucky in a while, he had been gone for almost a week now, you assumed working on his ‘obligations.’ You had been keeping yourself busy with a new book series, one that Bucky actually recommended to you. But today would be full of dusting, reorganizing, putting away some newer books, and vacuuming. It was probably around 3:30 in the afternoon, and you were dusting the large bay windows by the front of the store. 

You could feel the music moving through your body, making it impossible for you not to dance, at least just a little wiggle. You swayed your hips, the music taking over, singing into the duster like a microphone. Your free hand ran up the side of your body, from your thigh all the way up to your face. You threw your arm up over your head, and prancing around the tables, shifting the duster from a microphone to an electric guitar. When the song was finally over, and you were very much out of breath, you made your way back to the window. And when you did so, your heart dropped to your toes. There was a man standing on the opposite side of the window, watching you. 

It only took a few seconds for your fear to turn into relief. It was Bucky. You dashed to the left towards the door, unlocking the door, and running out to greet him. Practically leaping towards him, you wrapped both arms around his neck, and his arms snaked around your waist. After a few moments of swaying and just taking in his presence, you pulled away. He was smiling widely, “I didn’t mean to end your concert so soon, I was enjoying it.” Adding a chuckle. Your face blushed, and you put your hand over your eyes, peeking at him through your middle and ring finger, “Did you see the whole thing?” You asked, dreading his answer. “The whole thing.”

The two of you walked back inside, the music still playing loudly. There was a slow song playing, and you grabbed your phone to turn it down, but Bucky stopped you. “Wanna dance?” He asked, putting his hand out for you to grab. You smiled, happily taking it. He pulled your chest against his. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your fingers loosely interlocked. Both hands on your hips, both of you just rocking side to side. The music wasn’t even registering in your brain, you were just focusing on this moment with him. 

“I remember when this song came out.” He said softly. You cocked your eyebrow at him, “Didn’t this song come out in the fifties?” You asked confused, what did he mean by that? “So you really don’t know who I am, huh?” The question caught you off-guard, it sounded very egotistical. “No..?” You asked more like a question. And that’s when he explained everything, making a very long story very short. He explained the arm, the serum, and the ‘obligations.’ 

“You’re a fucking Avenger?” You asked, head in your hands, elbows on your knee. “Well, technically I’ve never been asked to be one, but kind of.” His hand on your back, rubbing it in small circles. “So you’re the James Buchanan Barnes from the Captain America museum?” He nodded. Everything kind of flooded back to your memory, you knew you heard the nickname “Bucky” before, and you knew he looked somewhat familiar, but you assumed he just looked kinda similar to an actor or something. 

It was silent for a good five minutes, but Bucky broke it. “Hey, guess what?” He asked, trying to hide the upturn of his lips. What now? Was he gonna break some more news to you? Was he also part alien? “Hmm?” That was all you said, running your fingers through your hair. He moved his hand to reach into his backpack and pulled out a book, sliding it towards you. 

“Russian Urban Legends.” You read the title, quickly flipping through the book with your thumb. “Flip to page 48, and tell me what it says.” He said, propping his head upon his hands. You did as he said and landed on page forty-eight. “The Winter Soldier.” You read the words written in a bright red font, the page decorated in grainy photos and ridiculously cheesy government lettering and drawings. Bucky looked at you, prompting you to continue. 

“A ghost story or a real threat?”

[insane-control-room]

Abstitution

Chapter 1/2: Substitution

next

Norman's working when he hears a shout- and it's very obvious whose it is. He decides to investigate the matter.

rated: T for suggestive themes

warnings: none

ao3 link

Norman’s head raised from where it was bent as he reviewed the panels of the film. His eyebrow had also gone up, and he listened to the frustrated and mildly hysterical cry slowly ebb away from the pipes that carried it. It was, judging by the nonsensical content and indignant stutter, Joey’s shout. Norman sighed and got up from his work bench, stretching out his shoulders as he made his way down to the man’s office. 

He stood in the open doorway and looked at the studio head silently, who was sitting and shaking in his wheelchair as he gripped his pen with his right hand, a bottle of ink knocked over on the desk that he was cleaning with his dominant left hand. He had not noticed the other man, and swore under his breath repeatedly, brow furrowed and eyes glossy. 

Due to how exceedingly rare it was for Joey to have trouble with animating, Norman had taken quite a few moments to realize what was going on. While his art was never particularly clean, he had an exceptional idea of motion and fluidity that made for great storyboards, and when necessary, could on his own produce fully done animations. Being that he always had the image of what he wanted to convey in his mind, much of his issues with the art would be slower scenes. 

“Can I help you, Mr. Drew?” Norman asked as calmly as he could muster, trying not to smirk too wide. The artist jolted, dropping his pen as his other hand pressed to his heart, leaving a black stain. “Ah, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Norman lied, “You seem to be having some trouble over there. Mind if I come in?”

“Oh, er, n-not at all, come in,” Joey answered, throwing away the ruined papers and emptied ink bottle, as well as the stained paper towels. “But, um… I’m not quite sure what you could do. Perhaps go home, being that it’s eight thirty.”

“It’s two.”

“... two?” Joey seemed utterly baffled by the number, as though he had never heard it before, and looked at the clock, which did indeed point at the second hour. “In the afternoon, r-right?”

“No.” Norman honestly answered. “I came in because I couldn’t sleep. It’s two AM.”

“Well,” Johan seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “Fuck.” 

“Seems about right,” Norman chuckled, and then came to the thin man’s side, propping himself to sit on the edge of the desk. “Now, let’s see… you know, I used to do a bit of, well, some kind of animation. Before I worked here, when I was at that theater. I was fired for splicing film, you see. Substituting motions with other scenes and the such.”

“That’s fascinating,” Joey remarked wholeheartedly, then blushed as he realized how enraptured he was by the man’s quick tale. “What s-sort of movements?”

“All kinds,” Norman shrugged, aware of the slightly younger man’s devoted gaze. That was a good adjective for Joey, Henry had told him, and he could see what he meant by that now. Typically he never had much of a reason to stick around the animator, and he was finding him a lot more pleasant than he was expecting him to be. “But let’s first get this all back on track. Draw the first pose.”

Johan nodded, obediently doing as the projectionist dictated. Norman watched him carefully etch out the cartoon’s positioning. Once it was complete, Norman treated the paper beneath it in the classified manner to transfer the background, and passed it to Joey. The man frowned, pen hovering over the page and about to confer his doubts when Norman pressed his hand over Joey’s wrist. 

“Now, don’t draw the next frame,” Norman instructed. “Draw the last.”

Realization dawned on the animator and he gave another brisk nod, returning to the paper to draw. Norman’s gaze followed the careful ink strokes appreciatively, humming in approval. 

“Where was I… ah, right,” Norman looked up in memory, eye coming down to see Joey looking at him intently for a moment. The other immediately looked away when Norman saw him, as if realizing how encompassing his observation of the cameraman was. “Would you like me to continue as you draw? Talking about my own excursions into animation, if you will.”

“Certainly,” Joey replied, flicking on the light table built into his desk and pushing back the panel that typically hid it from view. With great concentration, he began to draw the center panels to begin filling in the rest of the motion. “I’d love to h-hear about them.”

“You wanted to know about what I would mesh together,” Norman recalled, thinking through to that point and wondering how much he should divulge. He decided to prod a bit in jest, in a sly little way. “Dancing always was a fun one to jot together. So were conversations, you could make them absolutely hilarious. Then,” he let his smirk peek out a little more, landing on the idea that honesty would make for the best route in this situation. “There were those rare flicks that got sent in by anonymous film makers or under fake names. You know the type, where they’re not quite advertised about but hushed around, where most folk try to come in inconspicuously.” 

Norman thought that Joey’s much darker than usual face was rather cute, unwittingly pointed out by the way his pen suddenly stopped moving. 

“You mean, er…” Joey waved a hand as he tried to get Norman to fill in the blank, which he did not, only grinning wider. “‘Blue’ films, so to s-speak?” 

“Exactly,” Norman nodded, eye twinkling. Joey had no idea that one could tell when an eyepatch wearing man winked, but he certainly could see that now. The blush he was sporting intensified. Part of him worried that Norman could feel it from where he was standing. “I was very lucky that I was only fired when I was caught.”

“Why’s that?” Johan asked, acutely aware that Norman was leaning towards him, still grinning. He did not answer, instead looking all the way up Joey’s seated form. Joey thought he might have an aneurysm and slash or a stroke from both the proximity and teasing of an incredibly handsome and clever man. He swallowed harshly, and Norman’s sharp eye followed the motion. “... Norman?” 

“Come on, Jo,” Norman goaded, grin curling a bit more as he leaned closer. “You’re a smart man. I’m sure you could figure out why.”

“I’d rather you tell me,” Joey whispered, knowing the answer but unsure of himself in this situation. If he was reading it correctly, he was far out of his depth. “And if it’s what I think it is, you’re very lucky you w-weren’t murdered.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t kill me for ‘deviated’ pornography,” Norman confirmed, leaning back a bit so Joey could get a better look at him. The old animator averted his gaze instead, from a mixture of respect, fluster, and worry. Norman put a finger to Joey’s jaw, gently running his touch through his beard to get him to meet his eye. “I was only making it more enjoyable for people like us.”

Joey’s red eyes blinked, glancing down at his own chest where his pin resided. 

“I understand,” Joey softly remarked. “I’m very glad th-that they fired you. For many reasons.”

“So I can take you to bed now?” Norman teased. Joey gasped, though he was cut off by Norman leaning down from where he sat to kiss him, earning a surprised inhale. The projectionist kept it very short, only a quick feel (softer than expected, a strong smell of roses), watching with a gentle gaze as Joey licked his lips, shifting in his seat, and gave a brisk, scared, but hopeful nod. Norman grinned broadly, rewarding him with another small kiss, and moved behind him to wheel him. “May I?”

“Yes,” Joey quietly replied, and Norman brought them up to the animator’s apartment. Joey took over the wheelchair from there, guiding Norman to his bedroom. “Th-this way.”

It was much cleaner than the somewhat older man was anticipating, impressing him slightly. Going off the state of Joey’s office, one would have assumed his personal quarters to be just as scattered. The bed was carefully made and sparse, everything clearly in a specific place. Joey grasped his cane and pushed himself to his feet, a little wobbly, but Norman caught him. 

“Where were we…” Norman purred, loving the way Joey’s entire body reacted to his words, right down to his pupils. “Ah, right… mind if I substitute your air with mine?”

“I- please,” Joey murmured, the soft brown lines of his aged face accentuating his various gold scars. Norman followed the one that originated in the roots of his hair (as combed back as the waviness could allow him) the visual path going over that martian eye, down an angular cheek, through a neat little mustache, and over his surprisingly soft lips. Norman slowly leaned him to kiss him once more, Joey giving a little whimper, Norman holding him tighter. Joey hesitantly wrapped his arms around him in return, the pair rocking gently together, one afraid, the other confident. “Norman, I r-really don’t say it enough, you’re so wonderful, you’re always so clever and always know what to do, you’re like a bright l-light bulb in the studio, illuminating but hard to see, and if you try to grasp, you’ll get burned, but Norman, Norman, I’m on f-fire and I don’t want to be doused.”

“You’re too much of a romantic sappy artist,” Norman chuckled, stroking his side, making Joey shiver and press closer to him. “You feel real nice, though. Mighty soft for an old gentleman.”

“Who are you calling old, carob tree?” Joey rebuffed, wordlessly hinting at the decade or so that the other had over him. Norman only chuckled, a soft puff of air, and returned to nuzzling his affection onto the younger. Gradually, he maneuvered them to the bed, settling Joey on it and looking over him with satisfaction already. Norman had not expected to feel any true companionship to the man, but something in his genteel and innocuous nature warmed him to the willowy studio head. As Norman was about to return to the man’s more gentle features that were so enticing, that innocent part of his boss reared up, Johan pushing himself upright on the bed and looking discomfited. “Wait, Norm, c-can we not…?”

“Not what?” 

“Well, um, can w-we simply sleep together?”

“I was under the impression that ‘sleeping together’ was the plan.”

“I- I… I mean in the n-non euphemistic way.”

“I know. I was ribbing you.”

“Please don’t th-think I was leading you on, I was, and am, t-tired and unthinking,” Joey beseeched him, a thin and criss cross scarred hand coming to Norman’s cheek. “I- I would be honored and delighted to pursue a relationship with you, Norman, b-but I fear that this encounter i-is a little inappropriately hasty.”

“Hm? You mean you’re not simply acquiescing to itch a craving?” Norman teased, feigning surprise, and he dropped the advancement in favor of remaining in place above the artist. “Why, Mr. Drew, I thought you to be bawdier.”

“Really.” Joey scoffed, but he had clearly relaxed at Norman’s simple acceptance. “As if my lack of experience wasn’t b-blindingly apparent.”

“It’s sweet,” Norman softly informed him, laying beside him. “Not a lot of people’re like you. No one, in fact. I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Thank you,” Joey whispered, in a way that let you know he meant it. “It means a l-lot.”

Norman, being a large man of his own right, had never experienced being completely held, but Joey, much taller than he, was able to envelop him in his embrace. It was shockingly soft and reverent, admittedly soothing and wonderful. 

He was smiling as he drifted off to sleep, comfortable in the careful hands of the animator. 

[2jaeh]

Bibliophile | Xiaojun x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Word count: 2,3k

Warnings: mature themes

Author: SIN

Two literature master students decide to make their steamy romance troupe debates a reality.

——————————————————————————

Your heels clicked against the marble floors as you ran over to the university library, hoping the evening rain wouldn’t worsen when you crossed the open courtyard.

Most of the students were either heading back to their dorm rooms or messing around in the common areas, while the only thing that rang in your head was to not be late for your part-time job at the restricted section of the library.

At first you had no damn clue why they needed someone to work there, especially since some of the books were even restricted to lecturers. But thanks to your century old university and their obsession with keeping their sacred books in pristine condition, all they needed was a literature masters student to help out from time to time.

You entered the library and greeted the woman at the front desk before she buzzed you in through to the door that led upstairs to the restricted area.

You quickly jogged up the stares and swung open the door only to be greeted by the only other person working around here, Xiao Dejun.

“You’re late again” his lips curled into a smile as he pushed up his gold framed glasses and inspected a dust covered book.

“Yeah the rain was just-“

“Crazy ?” Dejun peered up and pursed his lips, knowing that every excuse you had always ended in the same word.

“Yeah crazy” you half chuckled and removed your burgundy coat, making your way over to sign in the shift card.

All you knew about Dejun was that he finished his masters and was offered a lecture position at the university but decided to take up this job instead. He was very reserved and once told you that he craved the utter peacefulness of the restricted area, where he was usually either on his own or with you.

“I’m halfway on my thesis now” you said casually as you started fixing the binding of a physics book from the 70s.

“Oh?” Dejun raised his eyebrow and pulled out a chair next to you to tend to his own book repair, “I’m sure you’re glad it’s almost over right?”

You squinted your eyes and sighed, burying your head in your hands as that familiar migraine began to set in. “I’m....stuck” you groaned and peered up at Dejun, “I decided to dissect the romance genre of literature and honestly most of it is hot garbage.”

Dejun let out a laugh and you admired how his dark eyebrows knitted together, making his face look quite animated.

“What books have you studied if you don’t mind me asking ?” Dejun asked, his curious eyes met with yours as he shifted closer in his chair.

“Everything from Shakespeare to Nicolas Sparks, I just hate them all” you pouted and slumped back in your chair, moving the half bound book aside,

“Don’t get me wrong, I chose romance because I love it you know ? I just don’t think that those ‘classics’ do it any justice.”

Dejun nodded at your words and shrugged, “I agree with you, not a fan of that forbidden romance and rich girl poor man stuff either.”

“Right ?” Your eyes lit up and Dejun grinned at your passionate attitude. He’d always found you cute. Every so often he had the chance to work with you on a shift we’re always his best days. He’d listen to you rant about your professors, the music you hated on the radio, or the fact that someone stole your favourite parking spot.

“So....” Dejun folded his arms, “how would you change it ?”

“Change it?” You quirked a brow.

“What’s your perfect romance troupe ?” Dejun smiled softly and his soft brown eyes drew you in and made you feel warm, safe.

“Well for starters I think intimacy should come first and then the characters learn how to love each other as they develop their relationship” you explained, getting up from your chair and began pacing the small room,

“I don’t mind the cliche of they grab the same book or vinyl, I just prefer that instead of 7 chapters of them thinking about that moment they just take the leap right there.”

Dejun pondered on your words for a bit and also got to his feet, leaning against the table as he watched you pace back and forth.

“Would it work for people who somewhat knew each other before hand though ? A friend ? A colleague ?” Dejun quizzed and you nodded quickly,

“Yeah if there’s no prior feelings or hookups then why not ?”

“I guess we can’t test it then since we like each other huh ?” Dejun smirked returning to his seat innocently as you stopped abruptly and quickly tried to process what he had just said.

“I....we...don’t like each other ?” You stammered while ignoring the fact that your heart was racing against your chest.

Dejun chuckled as he carefully inspected one of the pages of his book, “the funny part is that you’re practically experiencing your ideal romance troupe and contradicting yourself by not owning up to the fact that we do in fact...like each other.”

Your mind was racing on every evening that you’ve spent with Dejun up until today. First day it’s true you both did a double take on each other and you found him extremely attractive. Day seven the two of you reached for the only hard cover copy left of Pride and Prejudice and spent the whole night critiquing the book until you lost track of time. Day seventeen you were packing books on the top shelf and as you descended down the steel steps you lost your balance and fell right into his arms.

You were literally living a goddamn romance troupe without even knowing it.

“By your words y/n, we need to skip a few steps now shouldn’t we ?” Dejuns eyes were still on his book, but he knew damn well that your eyes were on him.

“You’re right Dejun” you finally said and folded your arms across your chest.

Dejun turned his head to face you and narrowed his eyes, “I’m supposed to be the one making the move ? What happened to a change of scenery ? Uh women empowerment?”

You grabbed his hand and headed to the back of the room where the roof slightly slanted and the window panels were covered with water droplets as the night sky drew in. You neatened your blue plaid skirt and leaned against the old wood of a work station desk. Dejun cocked his head as you bit down on your lip, not knowing how to proceed to the next step.

“Why here ?” Dejun raised an eyebrow, removing his glasses and tucked them in the top pocket of his white buttoned down.

“I don’t know the setting is....pretty, also when we first met you were sitting at this desk reading the last book a literature master student would be reading” you stifled a laughter.

“Hey Harry Potter is my childhood” Dejun groaned, cutely rolling his eyes, something he did quite often and you would pester him to the point of seeing that reaction.

“Dejun,” you placed your hand on his cheek and his attention was focused on you, those soft brown eyes bore into yours as he took a step closer.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as he softly wrapped his hand around the small of your back and placed the other on the back of your head. You finally leaned in and he did the same meeting your lips, for the first time and sighed. The kiss was soft, the two you just melted in the instant connection, basking in the feeling before continuing to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until your bodies were pressed against each other, fitting each other’s silhouettes perfectly. Dejun slipped his hands down to your thighs and picked you up and placed you on the desk, not breaking the kiss as he slipped in between your legs.

“I’m afraid I’m going to want more than this” you sighed into the kiss, unable to remove your hands from his toned body as you felt the closeness of him between your legs making you feel aroused.

“Come back to my place” Dejun whispered as he began attacking your neck with kisses and played with the hem of your skirt.

You can’t remember if you said yes or just nodded but you were now in Dejuns car on his way to his place. You enjoyed the passionate kiss he shared with you at the stop street and the occasional squeeze of your thigh when he would make turn into a new road.

The rain had begun pelting down and thankfully you were already pulling into his apartment lot before it became really hazy. Dejun turned to his backseat and realized he had left his umbrella back at the library and sighed,

“Running hand in hand in the pouring rain troupe ?” He held out his hand and you chuckled, “always been on my bucket list anyway.”

The two of you ran for about half a minute in the pouring rain but it was enough to completely drench you from your head down to your shoes. Dejun quickly punched in the code of his door and pulled you inside, already covering you in kisses as his blonde hair stuck to his forehead.

It was one item of clothing after another as the trail of clothes led down to his bedroom, where he had you in just your lacy nude coloured two piece set while he was slowly ridding himself of his pants.

You fell into his bed as you watched him slowly pull his leather belt from its hoops and his black slacks finally fell to the ground,

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met you know that ?��� Dejun groaned as his eyes scanned over your body and he hovered over you.

“I could say the same about you Xiao Dejun” you mused and pulled him in for another hot passionate kiss. His warm body settled on yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him closer even though it wasn’t even possible at this point.

Dejun unclipped your bra and moved his lips down to your breasts, squeezing one in his hand while licking and nipping at the other. You arched your back wanting more but also not wanting to rush him.

“Really want this to last much longer but I’m at my wits end right now” you moaned and Dejun chuckled as he peppered kisses all the way back up to your mouth.

“We have tonight, tomorrow, the next day and the day after that” he smirked against your lips before tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

Distracted by the stinging sensation from your lip you shivered at Dejuns icy fingers that was now hooked in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down.

He watched as you squirmed beneath him. Watched how your eyes closed and how you sucked in your bottom lip, awaiting his next move.

You mewled when you felt the cool air hit your arousal and Dejun rubbed slow circles on your clit before pushing two fingers inside you, making you moan his name for the first time that night.

His fingers moved slowly but roughly while his lips softly pecked your hips, abdomen and the very top of your mound.

He was so gentle with you but his movements were still dominating, the mixture was absolutely intoxicating. You pulled him up missing the taste of his lips and before pressing his mouth on yours he caressed your cheek,

“Let me know if it’s too much okay?” He whispered against your lips and you nodded not knowing what you were in for.

Dejun locked your arms above your head and used his free hand to remove his boxers before entering you, already finding a rhythm to his thrusts. You threw your head back and moaned his name yet again as he slammed in and out of you, his grunts and your whimpers filling the bedroom.

His hand stayed locked on your wrists as he used his other hand to knead your breast, giving you multiple sensations at once. You almost hated the fact that you were close to your peak and it hadn’t been more than five minutes of him inside you.

“God I really don’t wanna cum right now” you whined as he still pounded mercilessly inside you.

“Good thing I’m not gonna let you” Dejun murmured and just as you thought your orgasm had reached, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back,

“Get on top.”

You listened to his instructions but before sitting back on his member you gave him a few pumps, finally able to see him squirm under your touch this time round. Dejun gave you a small smack on your butt, and you finally abided to his request and sat on top of him, the new position already bringing you back to where you started.

Dejun sat up to meet your thrusts as you rode him, and you found your hand tangled in his messy locks as the two of you practically screwed the hell out of each other. The kiss this time was filled with lust, filled with lip biting and exchanging of saliva as you felt your orgasm fast approaching and noticed Dejun’s pace was slowing down too,

“cum for me baby” Dejun mused as he used the last of energy to give you a few hard thrusts until you finally came undone and he followed quickly after.

It took about two minutes of trying to catch your breath before you finally rolled on the bed next to him and wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Yeah this...this was definitely missing in some of those novels” you turned to Dejun who had a smile spread across his face.

He pulled the covers over your bodies and pressed his lips to your forehead and cheek,

“Should we write our own novel then ?”

“Yeah, yeah we should” you smiled, closing your eyes feeling at peace as his warmness enveloped you.

[when-they-write-stuff]

IT WAS UNFAIR, Stiles thought, that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

It wasn’t just because it was a summer day and he swore, it had to be over a hundred degrees. It wasn’t just because the man had shed his shirt long ago, working alongside the betas as they started the paneling of the Hale house’s unfinished porch. And it wasn’t just because Stiles was a raging bisexual and Derek Hale was exactly his kind of dream guy.

Except maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was because Derek Hale was so goddamn gorgeous, so very shirtless, and so freaking muscled, Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around it all. And— and shit. It wasn’t fair, Stiles thought. 

It wasn’t fair that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

Sighing, he took another long drink of his lemonade, protected by the shade of the trees from across the lawn. He’d started out the afternoon helping the others work on the Hale house, he really had. But Stiles was just human, okay? He wasn’t nearly as muscled or effortlessly tireless as the others. And he’d never admit this any other time, but he was totally okay with being the token human for the day while the others worked their werewolfy asses off.

Sitting next to him, strawberry-blonde hair whisping slightly in the faint breeze, Lydia looked like she felt exactly the same.

“I never thought I’d look at a handful of shirtless, sweaty boys and feel nothing,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. Stiles choked on his sip of lemonade and Lydia smirked, glancing over at him before her gaze drifted back across the lawn toward Derek. “Just like I’m sure you never thought you’d look at such a hot, shirtless Hale and feel so much.”

“Oh my god, Lydia, really?”

Lydia just hummed and Stiles desperately tried not to blush, dropping his eyes to the dirt. Because his worst nightmare was that one day Derek would overhear what Lydia voiced in ‘private’, and he might just have to throw himself off a cliff if that ever happened.

And he was too young to die.

“Please, just never say that again,” Stiles said. “Like, ever.”

“You know it’s true, though.”

Stiles shot her a sharp look, which the girl completely ignored. But if Stiles had anything to say about it, Lydia was definitely wrong. And— and even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t like he was that obvious about certain things, okay? He definitely wasn’t obvious. 

In fact, Stiles would like to state for the record that he was the total and complete opposite of anything Lydia ever said. 

Always. 

Because Stiles had never tripped over his own feet after Derek flashed red eyes in his direction. And he’d never run face-first into a wall when the man had simply growled his name. He’d never accidentally spilled coffee down the front of his shirt when Derek had brushed a little too close and he’d never almost had a heart attack when Derek had shoved him into a wall after Stiles had spilled a certain... beverage all over the man’s shoes.

Okay, okay, maybe he had done these things before. Once. On the same day. But that was just once.

Just once.

And Stiles was pretty sure nothing like that would ever happen again. In that order, at least.

Yet, here he was, doing his best to pretend like a shirtless and sweaty Derek Hale wasn’t doing unseemly things to him. Unseemingly things like fixating only on the unseemly that he’d like Derek to be doing to him. Because, well, the things he’d let Derek do to him...

“Stiles,” Lydia said, interrupting his daydream. “You’re drooling.”

Stiles snapped back to reality, shaking his head, and automatically flushed at her smug look. “I am not.”

“You are. And it’s a bit pathetic.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re a bit pathe—” Lydia gave him a dangerous look and Stiles promptly snapped his mouth shut. “Never mind.”

“Wise choice.”

“But I wasn’t drooling.”

Smirking, Lydia gazed back toward the Hale house. Then, a devious look crossed her face and she glanced over at him before nodding toward where the others had stopped to take a break on the half-finished steps. “You know, you could be over there giving Derek a reason to drool over you.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, you mean get all sweaty and gross too? No thanks.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I mean stop hiding over here and go get yourself worked up over there. Show those idiot wolves what Stiles Stilinski has to offer.”

“Okay, first of all, that is never going to happen,” Stiles said. “And seriously, Lydia, you’re a menace. Do you know what lies under all of this?” He gestured down at himself and accidentally sloshed lemonade over his hand, cursing. Point one for what Stiles Stilinski had to offer. “Absolutely nothing, that’s the answer. Nothing but pale skin, weak everything, and the proof that I’ve spent most of my life living off of curly fries and milkshakes instead of that green crap I make my dad eat.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. Sighing, Stiles turned his gaze back across the lawn.

“What I would give for some werewolf abs, though.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Oh, that's absolutely how it works,” Stiles shot back. “Trust me, I know. I’m the pack expert, remember? The packspert, if you will. And you all rely on me to know these things.”

“Hm.”

Stiles took another sip of his lemonade, eyes still on Derek. Because he definitely was the pack expert, thank you very much. And werewolves like Derek Hale were definitely hot— it was part of the package deal. 

Stiles, on the other hand, was lacking hotness on many levels. 

And that’s why he was here, sitting far away from where Derek and any of the other werewolves who could catch wind of his... thoughts, daydreaming about a grumpy-growly alpha who would never see him as more than ‘skinny, defenseless, Stiles’. And he was totally okay with that, Stiles told himself. He was.

He’d always been better at lying to himself than others.

-

Three months before Stiles graduated Beacon Hills High, the Hale house was finally finished.

He thought it was a little strange how four years ago, the first time he’d laid eyes on the old house it had been nothing but a skeleton, the remnants looking like they could collapse in on themselves at any moment.

It was all different now. 

The Hale house looked a little bit like the ‘before’ pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying— although there were also a few different things added on. Like the archery targets, for example. Or the giant porch that curved around to the back of the house, complete with a fire pit and a grill. 

Stiles couldn’t wrap his mind around ever seeing Derek Hale grill.

And yeah, the house looked a bit like these pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying. The man had slammed them down and given Stiles a red-eyed alpha look before he could get a good look, but Stiles had ducked back into the room much later, finding a picture left behind that showed the Hale family standing in front of the house before it burned.

The younger version of Derek Hale had been smiling. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the older one look like that before.

He’d left the room feeling a bit conflicted.

Two weeks after that, Stiles swung by the fully finished house after school, the first one to arrive before the rest of the pack. The Camaro, he noticed, was parked near the trees, but the Hale house itself seemed quiet, the newly built porch so much more welcoming than it had been all those years ago.

Stiles hesitated before climbing out of his jeep, debating waiting for one of the others to show up. Scott would probably go to Allison’s first and Lydia would probably be at Jackson’s. Stiles had no idea what the other three betas were doing, but thinking too much about what they got up to outside of Derek’s supervision never ended well. 

Stiles had learned that the hard way years ago. 

Faintly, looking at the silent house, he wondered if it would look like this after the summer of graduation. Something about that made Stiles’s stomach clench and he shook his head, trying to banish any thoughts of Derek Hale being stuck in an empty house all alone when they were all gone.

Forcing himself out of the car, Stiles pulled his backpack over his shoulders and started toward the house.

It was eerily silent when Stiles stepped foot through the front door. He hesitated and craned his neck to glance up the stairs, then down the hall. But the house seemed completely empty.

“Uh, Derek?”

There was almost nothing in the house yet, so Stiles’s voice echoed off the empty walls. He moved through the house quietly, checking each empty room that he passed. But the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills didn’t seem to be anywhere around.

Stepping into the living room, Stiles paused. Sitting across the room was a single chair, facing where Isaac had stated the ‘necessary’ pack TV had to go. Behind it was a single picture frame on the wall and as Stiles moved closer, he realized it was the same one he’d seen weeks ago.

The glowing eyes that reflected back at the camera were only a little creepy.

“Stiles?”

“Shit!”

Stiles spun around so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Derek stood in the doorway of the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and a confused, if not a little concerned, look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I… thought we were all meeting here after school?”

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer an answer. Fishing out his phone, Stiles scrolled through his unread messages and— shit. There were a number of cancellations from the others, one after the other.

Stiles swallowed hard, glancing back up. “Okay, I might be wrong.”

Derek just continued to eye him. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Stiles glanced around the near-empty room and desperately wracked his brain, trying to think of a reason that he should not be around either. Because what was he even supposed to do now?

This was not going according to plan.

“Well then,” he said, avoiding Derek’s unnerving stare. “I should be going.”

The silence continued to reign and when Stiles glanced back up, Derek just shrugged, turning away. And Stiles didn’t know where the hell the werewolf had come from or where he was going now, but he was not going to wait around and see.

Things did not need to be any more awkward.

Gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, Stiles made for the back door instead— the quickest escape route. Though, he still paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. Derek was gone now, but Stiles noticed a single empty plate on the table next to the single empty chair— the few things in the near-empty room

The house suddenly seemed even quieter than before. 

Stomach twisting, Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head, ducking out the back door into the cool evening air. And he didn’t look back until he was in his jeep again, staring at the looming house.

He thought he saw movement in the highest window; the quickest flash of shadow. But when he blinked and looked again, the window was empty and the house stood still. Still, dark, and almost a little more menacing than before.

Stiles jammed the key into the ignition and drove away faster than was probably necessary.

-

Stiles thought his crush on Derek Hale started sometime after his freshman year.

After Derek stopped scaring the ever-living crap out of him and Stiles came to terms with his possible bisexuality, he realized that yeah, Lydia Martin was hot. But Derek Hale was hot too. And it was kind of hard to look at either of them without his heart skipping a beat or two, which Stiles figured probably meant something.

But his possible attraction to Derek didn’t matter, he’d decided. His sixteen-year-old self was sure that he’d be marrying Lydia Martin one day and with that picture in mind, he could just appreciate Derek for what he was— a hot guy.

But then sometime around his junior year, Stiles realized he probably wasn’t going to marry Lydia Martin. And that… that was fine too.

One year later, he was completely fine with how everything had turned out. 

By the time the Hale house was fully furnished, the pack spent nearly every afternoon there. It was nice; close by and large enough for them all. And sometimes, when Stiles came through the front door and met Derek’s gaze, he thought he could remember this one strange feeling he’d had the very first time he’d laid eyes on the man. So many years ago.

Or maybe, that one time in the pool. Or the kanima incident at the sheriff’s station nearly three years ago.

Or the first time Derek had come through Stiles’s window looking for research help.

“Stiles? Bro, Earth to Stiles.”

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts as an elbow jabbed into his side. Yelping, he glared sideways at the offender; and Scott just grinned innocently back, nodding toward the others. 

“We’re all gonna go see a movie tonight. You in?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah, man. They’re doing replays of Star Wars all weekend.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You do realize there’s a TV here, right? One that Isaac literally said was a ‘life or death’ necessity.”

Sitting on the floor across the room, Isaac flushed. “It is.”

“So…”

“Yeah, but Star Wars,” Scott said. Stiles snorted.

“Dude, I literally own all of them. What about a movie night here? Oh, we could even get pizza!”

Scott exchanged a dubious look with Allison, who shrugged. Stiles glanced at Erica, where she was wrapped around Boyd on the couch. The girl hesitated, then cast a dreamy look upward, smacking her lips together. “Movie popcorn easily outweighs boxed pizza, Batman. I vote for the movie theater.”

“I second that,” Jackson said, smirking over at Stiles. Stiles glared at him.

“You don’t get a vote, lizard boy.”

Jackon’s eyes flashed gold. “Say that again, Stilinsksi.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,��� Lydia said, giving Stiles a warning look. He just rolled her eyes and the red-haired girl considered for a moment, before shrugging. “I agree with Jackson.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned. “Don’t side with the snake.”

But the decision was already made up, apparently, as Scott jumped to his feet with a grin. “Sweet!” he said, pulling Allison up too. “Let’s get out of here then.”

Stiles didn’t even have a chance to protest before Erica was snatching the jeep’s keys off the coffee table and taking off toward the door, the holler of ‘shotgun!’ left in the air at her back. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair and then slowly pushed himself up too.

It was only then that he noticed Derek hadn’t moved a muscle from his spot in the furthest corner of the room.

“Uh, hey, Sourwolf, you coming?”

Grey-green eyes lifted from his book and Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

This time, Derek’s brows furrowed. And yeah, Stiles supposed the book and the whole grumpy-growly attitude Derek had going on was probably a pretty telling answer. But he still couldn’t squash a strange feeling of disappointment.

“Come on, dude, it’ll be fun! Movie popcorn! I’ll even buy.”

To his surprise, the furrow between Derek’s eyes actually seemed to soften a little. Well, maybe it did. Just a little bit. “No, Stiles. You go.”

That strange feeling of disappointment grew even more. Stiles frowned. “Seriously, dude?”

And just like that, the unimpressed furrow was back again. Along with a flicker of red. “Yes, Stiles. Go.”

And yep, that was the Alpha werewolf that used to scare the crap out of Stiles all those years ago. Sighing, he turned away and waved a hand over his shoulder in dismissal. “Fine, Sourbutt. But you’re missing out on a good time!”

Stiles didn’t get an answer. But he hadn’t really expected one.

The house was silent as he left.

-

The weekend before graduation, Lydia had a party.

Stiles had been looking forward to it for weeks. Mostly because, yeah, the last party Lydia had hosted ended up going horribly wrong, but weren’t things different now? They hadn’t faced a supernatural threat in months and Stiles was finally starting to remember what it felt like to be a normal teenager again.

So, he was pretty excited for Lydia’s party. And of course, if he had still been in love with her, this would have been the most nerve-wracking night of his life. But Stiles was all good now and he was ready to have fun, do a little dancing, and maybe get a bit drunk if he thought he could get away with it.

He didn’t get a little drunk.

Somehow, three hours after arrival, Stiles was pretty sure he was wasted.

Keeping up with the werewolves was hard, he quickly came to realize, even if they laced their drinks with wolfsbane for a little extra kick. One hour in, Scott, Allison, and Isaac were nowhere to be seen. Two hours in, Erica was doing her best to convince Boyd to go around scaring the shit out of other drunks with their flashing eyes. And three hours in, Stiles had no idea where Lydia had gone, but the entire room was spinning so fast, he was pretty sure he was either going to pass out or hurl. Whatever came first.

He didn’t actually do either. 

Instead, somehow, Stiles ended up at the Hale house when the moon was high in the sky. It was dark enough that he could barely see the way to the front door, but that proved not to be a problem when he fell face-first out of his jeep the moment he managed to open the car door.

And shit, his dad was going to kill him if he ever found out about this.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles blinked up at the dark sky and groaned. He was pretty sure getting back up wasn’t an option, not unless he wanted to just go right back down. So maybe he’d just die here…

Except suddenly, a looming figure blocked his view and Stiles shrieked, kicking upward with all his strength. His foot connected with something solid and the figure grunted— and Stiles realized much too late what he’d done.

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, voice barely a whisper. Half-bent over, Derek glared at him and Stiles mustered his best smile, desperately hoping that would keep him from getting his throat ripped out on the spot. “Er, hey there, Sourwolf. Fancy seeing you here.”

Red flickered through the man’s eyes. Stiles winced and after another long moment, Derek straightened up, giving him a look that held the promise of possible murder. 

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles blinked at the man. Then he shrugged, shifting a little in the dirt. “Resting.”

Derek’s expression tightened. The man leaned over again, sniffed deeply, and then his face twisted. “Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh, please don’t ‘dammit Stiles’ me. I came here so I wouldn’t have to hear that exact statement from my dad tonight—”

But suddenly, Derek went rigid, his eyes flashing again. Stiles cut off, looking at the man in fear, and Derek gave him the most terrifying red-eyed look that Stiles had probably ever seen. 

The man really looked like he could kill someone now. And Stiles was the only person around.

But then when Derek spoke, his words were so calm, so steady, Stiles thought that was even scarier.

“Stiles, did you drive here drunk?”

Oh, shit.

Stiles opened his mouth— then closed it again. Derek’s face was carefully blank now and Stiles was pretty sure if he could actually stand, sober him would be running right now. Because this was scarier than he’d ever seen Derek— even when the man had been that grumpy-growly “I’ll rip your throat out” asshole when they’d first met.

But before Stiles could even think of an answer, he was being scooped up. A sputtering noise of surprise left his mouth as Derek all but hauled him over his shoulder and then turned around, starting toward the Hale house.

Stiles’s head pounded. His stomach churned and as he watched the ground just a few feet away from his face, he wondered what would happen if he hurled all over Derek’s back.

As if the man could read his thoughts, Derek’s grip tightened. “Don’t you dare.”

Stiles did his best to keep everything down.

The dirt of the front driveway turned into the porch steps, and then the front door slammed as the ground Stiles was looking at became hardwood. Derek hauled him into the living room and dumped him on the couch, making Stiles groan loudly.

“Oh my god, dude, my head.”

Derek gave him a look of pure fury. Any more complaints dying on his tongue, Stiles shrank back.

“I mean, never mind. I’m completely fine.”

“No, Stiles, you’re not.” Derek’s eyes sparked red. “I can’t believe you would do something so stupid. So irresponsible. ”

“I… what?”

But Derek just shook his head and turned away, stalking from the room. Stiles stared into the darkness for a moment, his thoughts moving slowly, and he totally blamed it on the alcohol. Except, he really just didn’t know what to do with what was currently unfolding.

Derek had actually sounded upset. Concerned, even.

Stiles figured he was even drunker than he’d originally thought. In fact, maybe this was all just a spiked-punch induced hallucination. Just like last time Lydia threw a party.

Except, this definitely wasn’t a nightmare.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Stiles right back out of his thoughts and he blinked in surprise as Derek stepped closer with a trash can, a glass of water, and a white bottle of pills.

“Uh,” Stiles said, utterly dumbfounded. Derek scowled at him and he shrank back again.

“You throw up on my floor,” the man growled. “I’ll rip your throat out.”

Wordlessly, Stiles nodded. Derek shoved the glass forward.

“Drink.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He drained the water in a few seconds and Derek set the bottle of pills on the side table, giving Stiles another dark look as he took the empty glass back. “Don’t take any of those until morning.”

Again, Stiles nodded. Derek set the trashcan next to the sofa and turned away again, vanishing into the darkness once more.

This time, the silence lasted a little longer. But still, Derek came into the room after a few minutes, another glass of water in hand and a rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm. As Stiles stared, the man set the water next to the pills, then unrolled the blanket and draped it over him.

Stiles felt a little bit like a child.

He honestly didn’t know how to react.

Then, finally, finally, Derek stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, surveying the entire scene as if he was satisfied with his work. Stiles stayed stock-still, kind of worried that any sudden movements would mess everything up.

Whatever ‘everything’ was right now.

Catching him staring, Derek glared again. “I’m going back to bed. If you wake me up, I’ll kill you.”

“...Got it.”

The man gave the room one more once-over and then turned away, heading back for the hallway. But before he could vanish into the dark all over again, Stiles sat straight up, internally screeching as the blood rushed to his head. 

“Derek?”

The broad-shouldered silhouette paused. Stiles swallowed.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t get a single response. Not even a nod.

Stiles blinked and Derek was gone.

-

Graduation came and went like it wasn’t even worth the hype.

Stiles had avoided going back to the Hale house since that night, but it was like it never happened. In fact, if he hadn’t woken up to an empty house with a cup of coffee next to the glass of water and pills, Stiles might have believed it hadn’t.

But it had, which meant he’d made a complete fool of himself. And as Stiles had dragged himself off the couch and toward the front door, he’d been pretty sure he could never face Derek again. It didn’t really help that he could barely remember anything that happened that night, because what if he’d said or done something totally dumb?

Dumber than usual, that is.

So he’d decided to avoid both Derek and the Hale house for as long as possible. He’d noticed his dad never said anything too, which meant Derek hadn’t dropped by to say a word of whatever the hell had happened.

Things were fine. It was all fine.

But then, when they were all hanging out after the graduation ceremony was over, Scott told him they were holding the graduation party at the Hale house.

“Oh,” Stiles said, his throat going dry. “Oh, that’s great. Great, great, great, dude. Absolutely great.”

Scott gave him a small look of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, great, I’m just fantastic,” Stiles said. Then, sighing, he shook his head. “Okay, no, I'm not. Remember that one time I told you Lydia Martin was the only person I’d ever have feelings for? Like, ever?”

Slowly, Scott nodded. Stiles swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I think I’m in love with Derek.”

In a moment, Scott’s eyes rounded twice their usual size. Stiles winced and almost instantly wished he could take back his words. Especially when Scott nearly shouted his next words.

“You’re in love with Derek?!”

“Oh my god, Scott,” Stiles swore, clapping both hands over Scott’s mouth. But the boy just ducked away and looked at Stiles like he’d grown two heads, mouth opening and closing a few times before he spoke again.

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, gee, Scott, I don’t know. What does being in love with someone even mean?”

“You... like him?”

“Seems we’re both coming to that gradual realization, yes.”

“Like, in a good way?”

Stiles stared at the boy. “Okay, please tell me you’re kidding right now.”

But Scott just continued to stare. Then, he glanced around and leaned closer, words hushed as if he was divulging his deepest secret. “Do you mean find him... attractive?”

Stiles pulled a face and gave the boy an incredulous look. “No, Scott, I don’t think werewolves who like to growl a lot and could probably crush me like a bug are attractive. And I definitely don’t think Derek is the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Scott blinked. Then frowned.  “Okay, but you’re not lying.”

“No, Scott, I’m not!”

If Stiles could go back about five minutes ago, he would probably punch his past self for ever thinking he could tell Scott something like this in public. The boy looked like he was still lost and Stiles mentally prepared himself for more questions— before Allison came out of the crowd and linked her arm through Scott’s own, giving Stiles a warm smile.

“Hey, the others are heading to Derek’s. You guys ready?”

Scott looked from Stiles, to Allison, then back. Stiles gave him a sharp, warning look, but the boy just winced apologetically and let Allison lead him away— with knowledge Stiles never should have provided.

Closing his eyes, Stiles took a few deep breaths and then trudged after the two of them, silently hating himself for every decision he’d ever made.

-

If he wasn’t fearing for some kind of inevitable doom, Stiles might have been amazed by how the Hale house looked in the darkness that night.

Okay, that was a lie. He was still amazed.

Lights had been strung through the rafters of the porch and multi-colored garden lanterns were stuck in the ground all around the lawn. Stiles smelled barbeque before he even stepped out of the car and almost instantly zeroed in on his dad behind the grill, looking like he was the happiest person on the planet.

Except, Derek stood beside him, laser-focused on whatever the hell the Sheriff was grilling. And Stiles was pretty sure they were talking.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

But before Stiles could rush over and intercept what he could only imagine was not a very promising conversation, there was a hand on his sleeve and he was being pulled across the lawn instead. Stiles spun around, cursing, and nearly stumbled over his own feet to see Erica looking at him with a sharp grin. One that made his blood run cold.

Yeah, this might be worse.

“So, Stiles, ” the girl said, letting go of his sleeve only when they were at the very edge of the lawn, far away from the sound of music. “You’re in love with our alpha?”

Stiles froze. Then groaned. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill Scott.”

Erica barked out a laugh. “Oh, Batman, your puny little werewolf friend didn’t have to tell me a thing.”

Stiles blinked. Erica’s grin turned sharper.

“You spent the night here,” she said smugly. “Last weekend.”

“Last weeken... oh my god.”

Crossing her arms, Erica gave him a triumphant look. And Stiles didn’t even know where to begin before the girl was speaking again. “So you’re totally head over heels for Derek then? I mean, clearly you two bange—”

“Woah, no, stop!” Stiles said, waving his hands through the air. Erica narrowed her eyes but closed her mouth, and Stiles took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I did not sleep with Derek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t,” he hissed. “It was after Lydia’s party and I was drunk. I needed somewhere to crash.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. Stiles sighed.

“I almost passed out in the driveway and then nearly threw up all over him. Trust me, you menace, that’s about as far away from sleeping with Derek that I can possibly get.”

“Okay, then,” Erica said, studying him. “But you're definitely in love with him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. And the beta’s face lit right back up as she laughed.

“Oh, I knew it! I am so going to win this bet.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, Boyd didn’t think it would happen until the end of summer,” Erica continued, completely ignoring him now. “And Isaac clearly has his head up his ass because he didn’t think it was going to happen at all—”

“Hold up,” Stiles said, cutting her off. “What are you talking about? What bet?”

Erica straightened. Then, she grinned.

“Nothing. No bet.”

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles said, shooting a look over his shoulder. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed them yet and he was going to get answers out of her before anyone could interrupt. Because if this was another one of the beta’s stupid pranks— “Erica, I swear to god, I’ll skin your little wolfy ass. Talk, now.”

“Well, see, it all started at the beginning of the summer…”

But suddenly, Erica’s eyes lit up and she trailed off, brushing around him. Protests already rising on his tongue, Stiles spun around after her. Only to freeze.

Derek stood a few feet away, hands behind his back as he glanced between them. Stiles was pretty sure his heart skipped at least two beats.

“Oh, alpha of mine,” Erica said, approaching Derek and giving him a sharp grin. “So good to see you. Also, I’m gonna go now.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and watched her move around him, head tilting slightly. Then he turned to look toward Stiles, who was starting to feel like he could be sick. “Er, yeah. Hey, Derek.”

“Was I interrupting?”

“Absolutely not.”

Stiles probably spoke too quickly because Derek’s eyebrows climbed even higher. Flushing, Stiles dropped his gaze and silently cursed himself. 

“I mean… no. You weren't.”

When he finally glanced up again, Derek still didn’t look very convinced. Biting down on his tongue, Stiles searched for any other kind of conversation diversion.

“So. Grilling.”

Derek’s expression turned even more incredulous, though his lips twitched a little. Stiles winced, turned his gaze downward again.

“I saw you and my dad earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah." Derek said thoughtfully. As if that wasn't disturbing news. "He offered me a position at the station two weeks ago. Deputy. I thought it was time I gave him an answer.”

Stiles’s head snapped back up so fast, he swore he heard something crack. “What?”

Derek slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’m taking it.”

“You’re— I— what?”

Derek didn't look too bothered by the fact that Stiles was nearly having a heart attack. But Stiles’s head spun and he felt a little bit confused, a little bit shocked, and kind of betrayed all at the same time. Because two weeks ago? That was plenty of time for his dad to at least mention something about possibly hiring Derek Hale.

“Now the house is built, I’m going to need to do something,” Derek said, studying him. “Over the summer and afterward.”

“Why?”

The moment the word left Stiles’s mouth, he felt like an idiot. Because, duh, they were all going to be spread out across the state pretty soon. Except for Lydia, of course, who was going multiple states away. But all this time, Stiles had imagined Derek being lonely and isolated in the Hale house when they were gone… 

And just like that, he felt like an even bigger idiot.

Oh.

Looking at Derek with new eyes, Stiles suddenly remembered the past few months a little bit differently. 

Derek, working alongside his betas on the new house— all amused looks and soft smiles. Then, that one picture on the wall, right next to the lone chair that soon sat right alongside the rest of the furniture; with enough space for the rest of the pack to be right next to him. And even beyond that, the contented silence when they all went off to do their own thing. Like he knew they were going to be back, no matter what.

A lump formed in Stiles's throat and he stared at the man, feeling like an idiot. “You’re not lonely here."

Derek tilted his head. “No.”

“It’s home.”

Once more, Derek’s lips twitched. Stiles swallowed hard. 

“Last weekend…”

“You’re lucky I hadn’t taken the job offer yet.”

Oh.

So, Stiles hadn’t made a fool out of himself that night. But maybe he’d been making a fool out of himself long before then, and ever since. He’d found it so easy to look at Derek Hale and think about all those years ago, like the man was still a part of the past. But maybe Stiles was still the one living back then, not Derek.

“Stiles?”

Glancing across the lawn, Stiles watched the others for a moment. Music floated through the air and he didn’t see a single person other than him and Derek standing apart from the crowd. And they were all different now, weren’t they? It’d been years.

Stiles took a small breath and glanced back toward the man. They were all different now.

“Do you want to dance?”

Derek’s eyes flickered and after a moment, the man nodded. Hands trembling nervously, Stiles followed him away from the edge of the lawn, back toward the others. Gaze drifting a little ways further, Stiles's stomach flipped to see Erica watching with a wide smirk and a wad of cash in hand.

And then, like the entire world thought this was amusing too, the music slowed.

Stiles froze, looking back at Derek. But the man just raised an eyebrow and Stiles thought that maybe he could die on the spot. Because there was nothing even hot about that look. No, Derek Hale was drop-dead gorgeous and Stiles couldn’t believe he was standing literally inches away from the man that he had somehow fallen in love with. And he hadn’t even done anything stupid yet.

Then Derek stepped closer, Stiles’s heart stopped, and he promptly tripped over his own feet, spilling right into the man.

Someone barked a mocking laugh to the side; it sounded suspiciously like Jackson. Wincing, Stiles pulled himself back up and slowly met Derek’s gaze again. 

“Sorry.”

“Let me.”

Fingertips brushed against his own and Stiles’s heart hammered against his chest as Derek took his hands. And shit, how many months ago had he been drooling over Derek like a teenager? Grey-green eyes danced in the glowing lights and Stiles remembered Lydia’s words faintly, flushing a little despite himself.

Give Derek something to drool over.

“You know, it's kind of unfair,” Stiles mumbled. “That you’re so freaking hot.”

“Oh, really?”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, trying to avoid Derek's full-on gaze. “You know. Like, in a ‘I might be kind of in love with the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills’ way.”

Derek suddenly paused and Stiles’s throat tightened. 

“Only if that’s okay.”

Beyond them, the music had changed again, turning into something more lively. But Derek still didn’t move and Stiles forced himself to meet the man’s eyes once more, trying to expect literally anything— he didn’t even know what to hope for anymore.

Derek’s brows were furrowed. His expression was a little quiet, a little gentle.

“Derek?”

“It’s about time.”

And Stiles blinked, mouth dropping open. But before he could even say a word, even wrap his mind around what had just been said, Derek was leaning forward and Stiles closed his mouth right back shut as warm lips brushed against his own.

In an instant, some part of his mind screeched. Some part logged off and logged back on again. And one more part replayed that one time he’d run into a wall after Derek had simply growled his name.

Then, Stiles fell right into the kiss and thought what had he even been feeling again? 

So much.

But when Derek kissed him for the first time that night, the first time since they'd met, all soft and warm with the Hale house lit up behind them and the smell of barbecue in the air, Stiles realized he only felt one thing right now.

Full.

It kind of felt like the future. Kind of felt like home.

-

There was another picture hanging on the living room wall after Stiles went off to college, right next to the one of the Hale family. In it, some eyes glowed kind of creepily, some eyes didn't. Some people were holding each other tightly, some weren't. But they were all side by side, and they were all smiling. Older Derek Hale was smiling, just like all those years ago.

Standing next to him, eyes glowing for completely non-werewolf-related reasons, Stiles Stilinski was too.

- -

A/N: so I kind of mixed and matched prompts for this and it ended up being waaay longer than I expected. But I hope it turned out alright? I adore you both @wolfile​ & @pickosita5stwin​ !

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part I

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 4100+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: fully legal age gap; curse words; references to M/F sex; lots of yearning; a little sprinkling of angst; American readers, please be warned that this piece features the absolutely filthy fantasy of Statesman paying off your student loans in full

You left Kentucky on a sunny June morning with a rolling suitcase, six cardboard boxes, and a heart full of golden light. You were ready for the new challenges of your promotion and the move to New York, but it was still hard to quell the little butterflies that insisted on dancing and twirling in your gut. Statesman HQ was like a beacon that had been calling to you for the last three years, and you were half-convinced that the promotion and the move were a daydream; something that would be snatched out of your hands if you thought about it too much.

It was strange to leave Kentucky, your home since you were four years old. You had been raised in a small town about an hour south of Louisville, and you hadn't had the opportunity to leave until college. Even then you didn't travel very far, just to a dorm room at the University of Louisville, going back to your hometown for every vacation instead of flying off to California or Europe like some of your more glamorous friends.

You had put your time to good use, though. You busted your ass and completed an accelerated program in Criminal Justice that earned you both a Bachelor's and a Master's in one go, with a minor in statistics and data science. The result was a deep and abiding love of research and analysis, with the burning desire to do good in the world.

---

The Friday morning of your graduation ceremony, you emerged from your apartment fresh-faced and giddy, ready to walk the stage and start the next phase: adult life in the "real world." You knew that your life was about to change, but as you juggled the garment bag with your cap and gown and tried to lock your door, you had no idea just how much. You heard a soft voice say your name behind you, and it made you jump and drop your purse, spilling the contents across your doorstep. You turned to see a woman of about 40, with flawless terra-cotta skin and an adorable mop of chestnut hair. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed bright, inquisitive eyes. She immediately bent to help you retrieve your belongings, stammering gentle apologies.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you get your things. I didn't mean to scare you." She smiled sweetly at you and handed you back your sunglasses and lip gloss.

"No! It's fine, I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied." You lifted the garment bag by way of explanation. "Graduation day! Um, how can I help you?"

"You don't know me, but my name is Ginger. I work for an organization that recruits bright young minds like yours. It's a lot to explain, but if you're interested in a job interview next week, we'd love to talk with you." She handed you a creamy white business card with a Louisville address.

You frowned. "Statesman Distillery? I don't have any experience with alcohol production or marketing. I do data analysis and my degrees are in criminal justice."

"We know. We've been following your research and your schooling for a while." She gave you a mischievous smile, and it looked for all the world like she was hiding something fun behind it, something secretive and intriguing that made you want to know more.

"Please, just give me an hour of your time next week? When you have some time to pay us a visit, just call that number and ask for me. I'm really looking forward to chatting with you."

You thanked her and promised you would call, and then you tucked the card into your bag and forgot all about it for nearly a week. Graduation day was hectic, with lots of relatives visiting and interrogating you about your career plans, and the days afterward were spent attending parties and saying goodbye to friends who were scattering to far-flung places. After you had finished the last of your university-related errands like returning a few library books and picking up your official transcript, there wasn't much left to do except putter around your apartment and take a few days off before beginning a job search. Those student loans weren't going to pay themselves off.

You found Ginger's card in your purse on Wednesday morning and put it on the fridge with a magnet. On Thursday you were so hungover you didn't want to make any calls. On Friday you found yourself at loose ends with nothing planned, so you picked up the phone and dialed. When you reached the switchboard you gave your name and asked for Ginger, and they put you right through. She picked up after one ring, as if she had been waiting for your call.

"Hi! I'm so glad you called me! Can you come by today?" Ginger sounded genuinely excited to talk to you, not smarmy or fake like other corporate recruiters you had spoken with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, thank you. Are you sure today's okay? I can come next week if that's better."

"No! Please come whenever you're ready. I'm really hoping you'll like what you see."

"Okay, will I need to dress up? Will I be meeting with anyone for an interview? Should I bring copies of my resume?" You wanted to make a good impression, but you weren't sure if this was just something the distillery did casually, like a winery tour, or if you would need to be ready for a formal interview.

"Nope! Just bring yourself! We already know everything we need to know about your qualifications."

"Ah... okay. I'm all yours. I'll see you in about an hour?"

"Perfect! I'll leave your name at the front gate with the guard. Just show them your ID and they'll wave you through."

You said your goodbyes and put the phone down. What kind of data analysis job was even available at a distillery? Market trends? Did they need a criminal justice major for tracking down rip-offs, like people counterfeiting their product? But wait, didn't the government do that kind of thing? The ATF? You shook your head clear of questions and hopped in the shower. You could ask Ginger all of your questions, since she seemed to be so happy to talk with you.

When you arrived at the Statesman Distillery an hour later, you were impressed at the size of the facility. Distilleries were pretty common in the state of Kentucky, with lots of little family companies sprinkled around. But Statesman rivaled the big names for sheer square footage.

Ginger met you in a conference room and offered you coffee, and then asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You didn't think twice about it. NDAs were common in lots of industries, and you guessed that it had something to do with trade secrets, Statesman not wanting to leak information about their whiskey production details. When Ginger began the tour and you walked down a long hallway with multiple sparkling white laboratories behind thick glass, you found it unusual, but not alarming. Cleanrooms, maybe? Something to do with alcohol distillation formulas, probably.

When she ushered you into a large wood-paneled office and introduced you to Champ, the head of Statesman, you thought it was odd. Companies didn't normally introduce new college graduates to executives during tours. Based on the size of the organization, you thought you might meet the CEO or President once or twice a year, maybe at a holiday party or a company retreat. But he was friendly, and he seemed to have already heard of you; his eyebrows raised an inch at Ginger when she gave him your name. He also seemed far more interested in criminal justice and data analysis than you expected for a distillery executive, but you shook hands and answered all of his questions politely.

When Ginger asked you to step into an elevator and it dropped 10 floors, you started to wonder a little. When the doors opened and she walked you to a room with a huge bank of monitors, with screens showing all kinds of maps and security video feeds, you were downright confused. But when she revealed the cherry on top, the fact that Statesman was not in the business you thought they were? That was too shocking. You were sure she was joking. You turned behind you to look for hidden cameras, expecting a prank show host to come jumping out at you.

"This is a joke, right?"

Ginger smiled that sweet, warm smile at you. "No joke. We want you to join the Research Unit, working in the Data Analysis section. You would be keeping our agents safe, helping them make the best decisions possible. And in turn your work could save lives, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

"I... uh... I still think you’re joking. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I… are you sure you want me?"

"Yes, if you're interested. We could use you on the team." She pushed a little slip of paper into your hand, and when you saw the annual salary that was listed, you almost fainted.

"Ginger, this is way too much. I just graduated and this is, like... this is a senior analyst's salary. I'd be able to pay off my student loans in like three years!"

"Actually, we would be paying your student loans off before you start work. If you have financial burdens hanging over your head you could be vulnerable to bribes or extortion attempts from foreign governments or bad actors. We want you clear before you start with us. Think of it as a signing bonus."

"Holy shit! Sorry, I mean... I... Jesus." You looked at her in confusion. "Y'all really want me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, we really do."

"Okay, when do I start?"

And that had been it, your first "big girl" job out of college. You were welcomed warmly to the Statesman team, and you loved the fact that you did interesting work that had a real impact. The hardest part had been telling your friends and family the required cover story, saying you were doing market analysis until you could find a job in criminal justice somewhere. But since you were happy with your new job and it paid well, none of them pressured you to move on.

During your first two years with Statesman you climbed the ranks, earning promotions and new responsibilities that eventually put you in the seat of Assistant Director of Data Analysis. You had risen high enough in Statesman that your work required a code name, and you chose “Paloma,” a nod to your favorite grapefruit cocktail. You answered directly to the head of the Research Unit, and every report that your team produced was vital. You weren't wasting your talent in some corporate hole, enriching the CEO's salary at the expense of your sanity. You were saving lives, making a difference. Your reports had even been sent to the New York headquarters, where they used them as a model for operations.

And the job had brought you romance, too. One day not long after your promotion to Assistant Director, you were walking out of the conference room, so focused on your phone that you didn't see where you were going. You bumped into something large and solid in a denim shirt, and a pair of warm, calloused hands held your shoulders to steady you. You cursed softly to yourself and then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes that you had ever seen. A man with patchy stubble and a well-worn baseball cap smiled at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" His eyes looked concerned as they searched your face. You looked at him with wonder. He was so, so beautiful. The smile dropped, and then his brows knitted together into a slight frown. "I said, are you okay?"

You realized you were staring with your mouth half open like some lovestruck teenager, and that an embarrassing amount of time had passed since you first met his eyes.

"Yes!" Your voice was louder than you intended. "Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry I bumped into you. I should have watched where I was going. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"Ah, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just distracted today."

"That's okay. Sorry I startled you." He smiled again and squeezed your upper arm.

You could have stayed there forever, leaning into his touch. He let go, much to your chagrin, and then went into the conference room. You made a note to ask someone who he was, to see if you could find out more about him. He wasn't being escorted by a staff member, so he was obviously part of the Statesman organization somehow. Someone would know who he was.

You went into the ladies room, running into Ginger at the sinks. "Oh, Paloma! I'm so glad I saw you. I need to steal your boss for an urgent matter. Can you run his 11:00 meeting in the conference room? I know it's last minute, but I'll buy you lunch later."

Your brain flickered out for a nanosecond. The 11:00 meeting? The conference room? The handsome man? You recovered your composure and smiled at Ginger. "Yeah, no problem at all. Tell him to drop his notes off in the conference room and I'll be there in just a moment."

Ginger smiled and punched your shoulder softly. "Thanks, Pal. I owe you one."

You washed your hands in a trance. Oh lord, this was going to be interesting. You squared your shoulders and met your own eyes in the mirror. You looked exactly like you had this morning, just your normal self. Most of the time that was fine, but right now you wanted to be more glamorous, more devastating. You wanted to absolutely bewitch the handsome mystery man in the meeting. In the absence of some kind of last-minute emergency Hollywood makeup team, you would have to settle for a fresh application of lip balm and a quick scrub of your teeth with a damp paper towel. You flicked a stray eyebrow hair into place, sighed, and headed back to the conference room. Looks weren't important anyway, right? Statesman had hired you for your brain, not your face. And really, you were more interested in showing your boss that you could do well in your new role. So you banished your insecurities from your mind and breezed into the meeting.

"Good morning everyone." You studiously chose not to look at the handsome man you had run into, keeping your eyes on your notes for the time being. You were afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away. "The Director has been called away for an urgent matter, so I'll be leading today’s operational planning meeting. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Paloma."

You risked a glance at the handsome stranger, relieved to see that his eyes were on his notepad and not on you. You let out a breath and found your stride, walking the group through the team's findings, the data, the implications, and the desired outcome for the mission. Agent Tequila asked a few cocky, half-assed questions, probing you for weaknesses. Normally that would have irritated you, but today it was a welcome focus that took your mind off the butterflies. You knocked Tequila back in place with a few well-chosen words, and then opened up the floor for questions.

The handsome man raised his hand, and your eyes fixed on how large and thick his fingers were. Oh God, this was torture. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Catfish. Um, can you tell me more about the extraction plan?"

"Yes, absolutely." You went over that phase of the mission, giving all the details your team had gathered about the terrain and the timing. When you were done, Catfish smiled at you, and your knees went weak at the sight of the dimple that appeared. No one else had questions, so you closed the meeting and stood to leave.

Suddenly there was a warm wall of denim at your elbow. "Hey, that was really detailed information. Thank you so much for walking me through everything."

You turned and smiled. "You're welcome. Glad I could help." You fumbled for something to say, trying to extend the conversation and keep him in your orbit for however long you could while everyone else filed out of the room.

"So, um, you go by 'Catfish.' Can I ask why? That's your code name, right? There's not some kind of hidden tragedy where that's the name your parents actually wrote on your birth certificate?"

He chuckled, throwing his head back. The expanse of his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple did nothing to improve the butterflies. They only fluttered harder, rising higher in your chest.

"It's an old Army nickname, I was Special Forces about a million years ago. Now I'm here on the transport team. I'm a helicopter pilot. When we're not working you can just call me Frankie."

"Ah." You bit your lip and nodded. Why couldn't you think of something else to say? Fortunately, Frankie continued the conversation.

"And you're Paloma around here? I love that drink. Am I allowed to know your real name, or is that classified?"

You grinned and shook his hand, giving him your name. When it rolled off his lips in that deep voice it sounded like heaven to you. You didn't want anyone else to say your name ever again. Just him.

He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. “Can I ask you a question? Top secret.” He winked, and you nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?”

Your heart dropped into your pelvis, and you gulped, hard. “Y-yes. Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.”

---

When Ginger found you in your office at 2:00 p.m. you were staring off into space, smiling blissfully.

“Hey, Paloma. Why did you blow me off for lunch? I came by at 12:30, I was going to take you out.”

“Oh! Oh my god, Ginger, I’m so sorry! I had a date.”

She raised her eyebrows at you, settling down in one of your visitors chairs. “A date?”

“No! Not a date. A, um…” You burst into husky giggles, and then confessed everything to her: the handsome man, the crinkles around his eyes, his dimples and his silly code name, the easy conversation over lunch, and the fact that he had scribbled his phone number down on a sticky note that was now burning a hole in your pocket. You felt like you were 12 again, confiding in your girlfriend about crushes and cute boys.

Ginger laughed and gave your hand a squeeze. “No wonder you forgot about me. I can’t compete with a handsome helicopter pilot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ginger. I really didn’t mean to forget.”

“No, it’s okay. But definitely call him this weekend and make a real date. I’ll want details when you take me out for an apology lunch on Monday.” She winked and left your office.

You sat back in your chair and tilted back to look at the ceiling while you considered it. Was it too soon to call him and make a date? Ugh, this was agony. You decided that going by conventional rules hadn’t really mattered to you at any point in your life until now, so why the hell not?

You took a deep breath, trying to puff up your confidence. When he answered the phone on the second ring, you dove right in. “Hi, Catfish? It’s Paloma. Listen, I had a really good time at lunch, and I’d like to see you this weekend if you’re free.”

---

On Monday, you had a whole lot to report to Ginger.

Frankie took you up for a sightseeing flight on your date, and you loved the way he controlled everything; making sure he warned you before any sudden movements, and checking that you weren’t getting airsick or anxious. When the rotors were stilled and you were back on the ground, Frankie reached over to help you unbuckle your harness. Something got stuck, and the agonizing extra seconds of feeling him jostle the strap near your hip made you bold. When it was finally free and he was about to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, alarmed that something was wrong, and you crashed your lips against his, all teeth and tongue and wanting. Frankie was as good a kisser as he was a pilot, and you spent the rest of the date making out in his truck.

The next weekend, you found out that his warm, work-worn hands were also magic in the bedroom. Frankie was adept at tweaking your sensitive spots as gently as the little buttons and switches of the flight panel, bringing you to thrumming heights the same way he did his helicopter.

The rest of the summer passed in heady, humid days and nights like a dream. You loved Frankie’s easy sense of humor and his confidence in the cockpit. But Frankie was less confident about your relationship, voicing concerns about the decade-plus that separated your ages, and whether he was keeping you from dating men your own age. He made self-deprecating comments about being an “old man,” and you reassured him that there was no one you’d rather be with, no one who could sway your attention. You loved using your hands and arms and lips and tongue to reassure him, finding that he had his own sensitive spots that you could manipulate. You loved sending him to sleep with a smile on his face.

But as much as you and Frankie enjoyed the relationship, the nature of his work with the transportation team meant that he was never in town for very long. At the same time, your job was getting more complex, requiring late nights at the office that interfered with your time together. You refused to dwell too much on the fact that you were torn, that you loved your work as equally as you wanted to spend those nights with Frankie.

By the end of the summer, you both came to the realization that it was nobody’s fault, simply a case of poor circumstances, and you decided to end things and remain friends. In October Frankie left Statesman to take a job that relocated him to Florida. You were wistful, and you missed him, but at least it had been an amicable split. At least friends was something. And as sometimes happens even with the best of intentions, the time in between each phone call grew longer, and you eventually lost touch. Last you heard he was spending weekends with his old Army buddies who all lived nearby, and he had a new girlfriend. By February the ache was starting to subside, and by April you were nearly ready to date again.

In May, almost three years to the day after Ginger’s visit to your apartment had changed your life, you were offered the position to lead the Data Analysis team in New York. You jumped at the chance. Statesman located an apartment for you, and from the pictures you were already in love with it. Huge windows looked out over the city, and it was within walking distance of Statesman HQ. Your farewell party was bittersweet. Ginger offered to come visit you, and promised that New York would be everything you hoped it would be. Your team gave you such high praises that you joked that if that’s what it took to hear accolades, you would have left ages ago.

---

Your first few days in New York were spent acclimating to the Statesman HQ, and getting to know your neighborhood. It was strange to find that you could walk or take the subway for whatever you needed, compared to the Midwest where a car was required for everything. Your new team was welcoming, and you enjoyed your new duties immensely. Your first two weeks on the job passed in no time, and you went home every night feeling like you could fly.

And then you hit a wall, in the form of Jack Daniels, a.k.a. “Senior Agent Whiskey.” You knew him by reputation, of course. Ginger had filled you in on his exploits, his overbearing charm, his smarmy flirtations. You had seen him once or twice in passing when he had visited Champ’s office, but you hadn’t actually met him in person.

When you finally did, you almost asked for an immediate transfer back to Louisville. --- "Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: @honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee