#this post was prompted by me putting my computer down on a like. coffee table height table and having to bend down a lot lower than normal

[aropride]

wearing my 3 inch platforms that make me absurdly tall and wow life must be so difficult for you tall people... tables and chairs are so low down... i'm about to hit my head on the ceiling... i'm so glad i'm not always 5'2" and can go back to a normal height when i take my boots off.....

[obvious-captain-rogers]

It seems like @human-that-exists sent me this prompt about a million years ago for Spideydevil, and I had it finished for a while on my computer, but I forgot to post it until now. So here it is!

“5:30 AM, 5:30 AM,” The alarm chirped neutrally from the bedside table.

Peter groaned and buried his face between Matt’s shoulder blades, as if that would help change the fact of time as well as how ridiculously early that his husband got up every morning.

Husband.

The word hit Peter like a bolt of lightning. Because that was what Matt was now. Matt was his husband.

Peter felt himself smile a little even as Matt fumbled slightly to turn off the alarm. Matt finally pressed the button to silence it and a warm quiet blanketed the bedroom again as Peter gently scrubbed his face against Matt’s sleep-warm skin.

“First day of school,” Matt murmured and gently rubbed at Peter’s arm where it was draped around Matt’s waist. When Peter just hummed, still not thrilled at the rude awakening, Matt turned around in Peter’s grip so that he could brush a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “And you’ve got an early lecture this morning.”

“Who let me agree to an 8 AM?” Peter grumbled and tipped his face up for a kiss. Matt obliged him though he kept it pointedly chaste since neither of them had brushed their teeth yet. “Who even wants to take an 8 AM?”

“No one.” Matt snorted and he started to slip out of bed but Peter just clung on tighter, trying to keep him in place. But Matt was stronger than him and Peter was still too groggy to put much effort into it so Matt got out of bed, leaving Peter sprawled halfway across the warm spot that Matt had left behind. “Come on, sweetheart,” Matt said and he skimmed his hand down Peter’s back. When he only got a muffled grunt in response, he figured it was time to resort to more desperate measures. “If you get up, I’ll blow you in the shower.”

“Really?” Peter asked and lifted his head with interest.

“And if you go on a run with me?” Matt asked, just to see how far Peter was willing to let him go with this.

“Don’t push it,” Peter said flatly.

“C’mon, up. We’ll go to that awful place on the corner for a breakfast sandwich on the way in and everything,” Matt persuaded. He was probably laying it on a touch thick, but Peter was not know for his punctuality.

“You must really not want me to be late,” Peter teased as he pushed the covers back so he could get out of bed. “Blowjobs and slightly questionable breakfast sandwiches. This whole marriage thing is going to spoil me.” Matt just laughed as he padded out of their bedroom and towards the bathroom to go and let the water heat up.

…..

“You really do love me,” Peter sighed wistfully as he clutched onto his grease-stained paper bag that held what Matt fondly- read: with full and unmitigated disdain- referred to as the Monster Trashcan Bagel from Hell. It was a sourdough, everything bagel stuffed with a tomato, spinach, green pepper, and onion egg scramble; bacon; hot sauce that probably expired before Peter was born; and an obscene amount of cheddar cheese.

Peter had tried to get Matt to take a bite once in the early days of dating, but it had never happened and likely never would. Matt had far too sensitive of a nose to ever let it pass his lips.

“That I do,” Matt said and ducked in to brush a quick kiss against Peter’s jaw. “Have a ring and everything to prove it.”

They were early enough onto campus that they could stop at the usually crammed-full coffee shop in the middle of everything without worry about being late to their offices to do their final preps for class- while 8 AM was a new concept for Peter, Matt had been doing early classes practically his whole teaching career.

“Want me to walk you over?” Peter asked even as he let his arm slip from Matt’s shoulders. The law building was a fair distance from the science quarter.

“Nah, it’ll just be me shuffling my notes around. Go each your breakfast and nearly give Miles a heart attack when you lose track of time,” Matt teased. They both liked Peter’s TA, but Peter was significantly less organized than the grad student only a handful of years younger than him.

“Hilarious,” Peter muttered and leaned in for a kiss.

“Good luck, Dr. Murdock,” Matt said as Peter pulled away.

“You too, Dr. Murdock.” Matt could practically hear Peter winking as he started towards the science quarter. Matt just shook his head fondly before making his own way towards the law building.

…..

“Alright then,” Peter clapped his hands together as he pulled himself up to sit on his desk cross-legged. It was his trademark move to try and be more approachable since most of the time it seemed his comparative youth made him more intimidating rather than less. “Let’s just dive into the syllabus.” Peter waved at the stacks by his sneaker so Miles would stop ogling the blond in the front row and get to it. “With the term only being eight weeks, I try to give you a broad spectrum of the various topics that a more specialized class will go further into so you’ll be prepared to pick which future courses will serve your discipline.” Peter picked up his own copy of the syllabus and flipped over the first page that was his contact information and the course outline. He glanced back up and saw a handful of students frowning at their syllabi and then furtively looking around the room in confusion. “I see some confused faces, what’s up?” Peter asked and tipped his head slightly.

There was a boy closer to the back that piped up. “Uh, you’re Dr. Murdock right?”

“That’s what the plaque outside the classroom says,” Peter joked and when the furrow between his brows only deepened, Peter sobered. “Yes, I am Dr. Murdock.”

“But this isn’t Intro to Legal Ethics.”

“No, no it isn’t. This is Intro to Biomedical Engineering.” Peter’s face creased into a frown for a moment and then he cracked the smallest smile as he realized what had happened. “There are two Dr. Murdocks. Does your schedule say M. Murdock or P. Murdock?” Peter asked and swung himself down from the desk so he could walk over to the girl in the front row that had been confused and had fished out her schedule. “Yup, that’s what it is. Wrong Dr. Murdock, you’re looking for Matt.” Peter would have to talk to the office that printed the schedules about attaching lecture hall numbers to professor names.

There was a chorus of awkward laughter from both the students who were meant to be in his class and those that had gotten mixed up as books were hastily put into bags. “Don’t even worry about it, just make sure to check in with the TA if there is one for attendance since most of the scholarships check that sort of thing!” Peter called after the students that were filtering out his door.

When the door swung shut, Peter faced the rest of his class with a small smile. “Well, now that that’s sorted out why don’t we-?” Before he could say anything else, there was a light knock on the door and then some sheepish students were poking their heads around the doorframe.

“Is this Dr. P. Murdock’s class?” A boy with blond hair and bright blue tips asked, shifting his grip on the strap of his bag.

Peter gave them a nod. “Mix-up with which Dr. Murdock?” Peter asked sympathetically. The small gaggle of kids nodded. “Come on in and find a seat, we were just about to start going over the syllabus.” Peter nudged Mile’s foot with his own so that his TA would pass out the remaining syllabi to the students that had just gotten into the room.

…..

“We didn’t think this through,” Peter said in lieu of a greeting when he tossed himself down onto the loveseat in Matt’s office. It was the only casual thing in Matt’s meticulously kept office. Part of it, Peter knew, was from necessity, but the other part was just Matt.

Peter only had the one Intro class that day, so the rest of his students had had him in previous courses and could recognize him even with the name change. Most of them had even known about the fact that Dr. Parker was going to be Dr. Murdock by the time they came back to campus. He was guilty of maybe talking about his personal life a little too much in class, but he’d been stupidly in love with Matt from their third date so he could hardly be blamed for mentioning the fact that they were getting married.

Matt snorted and put his lecture notes to the side before raising a brow at Peter. “Speak for yourself. I thought about this when we talked about changing our names at all.”

Peter squawked indignantly. “And you didn’t think to mention it to me!”

Matt laughed. “I didn’t think I had to! I assumed you’d already thought of it yourself.”

Peter grumbled and sunk down further into the couch.

“Not to add insult to injury, but I think some of your mail came to my mailbox.” Matt skimmed his hand over the desk before he grabbed an envelope and held it out to Peter. “No Braille, so.”

Peter took it and Matt was right, it was addressed to Dr. P. Murdock. “I’m sorry, baby,” Peter muttered and scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is gonna be such a pain in the ass for the next couple of days.” It was going to be students in the wrong classes and mixed up mail and probably wrong emails and mislabeled assignments and-

Matt just laughed, an easy smile on his face. “Hey, it’s alright. Comes with the gig right,” Matt said and held up the hand where his wedding ring sat, flexing his ring finger pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Peter muttered but there was more humor in it, none of the pall that had lingered over his head for a moment. That was the incredible thing about Matt that Peter loved. He could pull Peter out of his weird headspaces and the spirals he nearly worked himself into. All with a few words or a small smile. “Foggy’s gonna think this is hilarious,” Peter said and rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Matt broke out into a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he probably will. And Karen will think it’s precious.” Matt wrinkled his nose slightly and that made Peter smile to himself.

Peter glanced at his watch and then sighed. “I better go before my next class,” Peter levered himself off of Matt’s sofa before he crossed over so he could bend over the desk and give Matt a proper kiss. “See you at six, right?” Peter asked, knowing full well that that was when Matt’s office hours were over.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Matt said and brushed his mouth against Peter’s one last time.

Peter grinned to himself as he ducked into the strap of his bag, settling it on his shoulder with practiced ease, and then stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards his own office. He had some time to kill before his next class and he was going to take full advantage of it to coordinate with his lab co-teacher, answer the emails that were already starting to come in, as well as probably just take a short nap. Without him realizing it, a smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth and Peter was surprised to feel how content and happy he was. It certainly hadn’t been something he was expecting- Matt had come as a surprise after they’d been set up by some well-meaning friends who knew each other- but he was happy with how his life had turned out. He had a job he loved, he had his research, and he had Matt.

What more could anyone ask for?

[dfrobertson]

Spooktober Day 1

This month I try to get better at putting out work in a consistent manner. The prompts are from the Spooktober challenge by the.plottery on Instagram.

Todays prompt is "Pumpkin Spiced Lover"

Last night I stayed up late and assembled the machine. I enjoy tinkering, so I just put on a podcast and dove into the machine parts and circuit boards. When I finished it got pretty late. I knew I was too exhausted to start a test run. If there was any problem my reaction time would be too slow to avoid permanent damage. So I got to bed. I woke up as warm rays of the morning sun reached through my window. I felt well-rested and content. I remembered I had a long weekend. The beginning of October always had two things in store:  A national holiday and a new menu item at my favorite coffee shop around the corner, the pumpkin spiced latte. I decided to treat myself before continuing on my project and put on some athletic wear, before heading out the door.

I regretted my decision as I stepped out of my apartment building. The street was still shadowed by the surrounding buildings and the wind enhanced the air that still felt of the colder nights. Braving the harrowing circumstances I made it to the coffee shop. They seemed to just have opened and there just was one other customer seated at one of the tables. As I walked in the warm air and smell of old books and coffee enveloped me.

The young redheaded woman greeted me. In my mind, she was still the “new one” although she had already worked here for over half a year.

“Good morning” I laconically said to the room. The slender, white-haired boy looked up from his book and said something resembling a morning. I remembered seeing him around the campus. I made my way to the counter and ordered two beverages, one for now and the other for later. I wanted to have something to toast the successful first run of the machine.

With my hand full of warm, spicy beverages I felt better prepared for the cold two-minute walk back to my apartment. Once there I went to the living room and placed my celebratory coffee on the cupboard behind the machine. It looked like a cross between a 3D printer and an automatic coffee maker, but the size of a wardrobe. One of the side panels was not attached but leaned on the cupboard behind the machine. The uncovered part gave me a good view of the machine's inner workings, which I needed to make sure, that I did everything right last night. Before I started I sat down on my couch across from the machine to enjoy my drink. Of course, my mind was occupied with the machine.

The machine was a project I had with other people from an internet forum. We each built our own, but we shared blueprints and code. It was an adaption of a leaked formula to print humanoid, robotic bodies. The whistleblower was of course hunted down by whatever military he stole the technology from, but he uploaded it to the internet. Where a group of Internet perverts decided to use the technology to make themselves sexbots.

I was one of those perverts and shivering with excitement. The caffeine also helped. Before I had finished my coffee I was up on the computer I hooked up to the machine. Soon all lights were green and all all running parameters had been checked. I glanced at the model file I had selected to make sure it was the right one. While the file loaded I filled the tank of the machine with a solution containing all the building blocks it required to form the desired product. I was deep in thought while I prepared the mixture from various containers standing on top of the cupboard. I was already planning out the post to the message board to tell my peers of my success.

As I finished tipping all the liquids and powders from the cupboard into the tank and sunk the mixing pump in, the computer beeped signaling that it had finished the uploading process. A last check and then I clicked the green execute button. For a second or two nothing happened, but then a slow humming signaled the machine's activity. All levels within the parts were green. The computer signaled a total runtime of eight hours. So I went about my day. Exercise, lunch, video games, and a nice hot bath. I actually fell asleep for a while in the tub. When I woke up again I was slightly confused, the bathwater had gone cold and I was unsure how long I slept. After a quick rinse with hot water and my fuzzy bathrobe, I stumbled into the living room. The machine whirred and hissed, but the monitor showed that everything was running as it should be.

Half an hour left. I took a deep breath of relief. At that moment I noticed a strong scent in the room surrounding the machine. Of Ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, clover and pumpkin. I instantly looked at the cupboard and I saw among the chemical containers a paper cup, with my name written on it. My celebratory drink.

I try to glimpse through the tinted glass of the printing chamber. The silhouette of a muscular, well-hung man is barely visible. That is the form I wanted, but it was incomplete. The head still needed to be finished printing, although it seemed wider. I prayed to the machine gods, that my mistake would not ruin everything. Slowly the thirty minutes passed.

With a pling and some steam, the chamber opened. There stood a large muscular man, with the head of a pumpkin and a sizeable erection. I gulped, I had feared the worst, but this outcome was the best. He smelled so delicious. I activated him and enabled the voice control.

“Fold me into a cinnamon roll, Daddy. Give me that pumpkin spice!”

It was going to be a great weekend.

[aiweirdness]

Pranks you can do at home

I’ve tried to generate April Fools pranks using neural nets before, to mixed success.

Char-rnn’s pranks made no sense (“Glue all the eggs in the hubcaps of someone’s computer”) while GPT-2 generated surrealist performance art (“Paint the fridge with the red spiders”). One thing I’ve noticed, though, is that many of the AI-generated pranks are ones that you play on yourself.

So for 2021 I turned to GPT-3, whose internet training has included lots of “Top Ten April Fools Pranks!” listsicles, and gave it the following list to complete:

Quarantining by yourself on April 1? Has your cat put an absolute moratorium on pranks? Not to worry! Here's a list of April Fools pranks you can play on yourself! 1.

Remember that as a text-generating neural net, GPT-3’s goal is to predict what humans would write next.

Let’s see what DaVinci, the largest of the GPT-3 variants, predicts:

DaVinci

Create a secret language that only you and your cat can understand.

Repaint your nails in an unusual color like ORANGE, and just leave them like that.

Move your bed away from the wall and sleep in the middle of the room in a pile of comfy pillows.

Stand in line for a movie for 30 minutes and then leave.

Ordering junk treats from TV ads at 3 in the morning, like those "falling in the ocean" doughnuts.

Sawing your mattress in half in order to see if it's still good.

Putting your car keys in the freezer and forgetting where you put them.

You didn't remember to make an appointment with your electrician, plumber, or cable tv provider. When you run out of excuses you can always tell people it was a prank.

Take it to the next level. Make an appointment with yourself. Say you are going to clean up your mess and go for a run. Block out a day for it. (And for goodness' sake, don't clean anything and absolutely do not go for a run).

With example pranks in the prompt, DaVinci might have stayed more with pranks and less with what is frankly an impressive picture of covid quarantine life, considering its internet training data stopped in October 2019. Next, we have the second-biggest GPT-3 variant:

Curie

Install a fake microwave on the wall that you never use.

Take a picture of your bathroom and plaster it on your fridge.

Set up a freezer in your freezer. Then put a sign on it that says "Freezer burn."

You can set up an old TV in the middle of your room and use it as a table. You can christen this "April Fools' Day TV Table".

You can take a bunch of jellybeans, put them in a Ziplock bag, and tie the bag around your neck.

Take out your credit cards and plunk them down randomly in different parts of your house. If a funny looking cat appears on the bill, you will be laughing out loud before you've even opened a door!

At least these are pranks. Pranks nobody will see coming.

The next smallest neural net is:

Babbage

Eat a banana inside your own mouth.

Go to the bathroom, then switch off the light. You will see a holographic image of your cat inside the toilet!

Have a tortoise deliver your package for you, don't be surprised if it sings "Happy Birthday" back at you.

Opt for the treadmill. You'll be running in the nude.

Showering! Flowing through the water in a reindeer-like manner while wearing a Santa hat.

Be ready for a bird.

Write a bowling ball on your wall in the shape of a letter "P."

Put your name on a balloon. Surprise!

Pour a cup of coffee on your lap. It's an oldie, but it's still a favorite.

Talk to yourself. OK, this one might not seem like a prank, but I assure you, it is. Just wait until the third day of April when your friends hear that you are still talking to yourself!

And there’s Ada, the smallest GPT-3 variant! Ada has some pranks!

Ada

Running on Leg

My cat slept through a December blizzard in Florida this year.

Placing a crown on your head

Sleep in the rafters of a converted school bus in Pewaukee, Wisconsin.

There's a square of chicken on your front lawn.

Have a small black bar, maybe six inches across, made of a giant mason jar, nailed to the side of the truck.

Decompiling your nose

Walk into a toy store and buy a pack of bathmats, an inflatable pill bottle, and a video game, but only if you're a cat.

Prank: In my house, there are porcelain ponies. I swear that they exist.

Walk to the pool with a giant ball of shapely hair and a coconut on a leash. On a poolside balcony. Really, this is the most fun you'll do in your entire life.

Make Your Own Coffee

Interestingly, some of the neural nets would get pretty elaborate with their prank explanations. Curie invented this game! Rules presented here verbatim. It takes a while to learn.

The "Untruthful Food" Game

This game takes a while to learn, but trust me, after you've played a couple of rounds, everyone will be intrigued.

Description

One person says something that sounds true, and you all shake your heads. The next person says something that sounds false, and you all shake your heads.

Example

"I'm going to eat a lemon" leads to a head shake by everyone.

"I'm going to eat sour cream from the fridge" leads to a head shake from you and all of your friends.

"I'm going to eat a balloon" leads to a head shake from you and your friends.

The next person says, "I'm going to eat a bicycle tire," and laughs, and everyone laughs. Go ahead, shake your heads for me.

I also discovered I could get DaVinci to write pranks for the post-human future, including:

Intentionally mislabeling the trash receptacles in a superintelligent machine-run city. The trash containers were labeled with signs that looked exactly like the signs used to indicate the presence of humans.

Sending spam to the moon in the meme language of old Earth. The alien life living in the oceans of Europa received many trillion petabytes of junk mail, and to this day, the native life forms are still revolting against the spam.

I collected a few more, which you can read by becoming a supporter of AI Weirdness. Or become a free subscriber to get new AI Weirdness posts in your inbox!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

CTRL+ALT+DECEIT

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; oral, fucking, stalking, hacking, threats, implied violence.

This is dark!Jake Jensen x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find your pictures on someone else’s Insta but that’s not the only thing he’s stolen.

Note: Yay, another Jensen fic at last. I’m probably gonna try to work in more one shots between my series. I’m looking at Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, or Lee Bodecker right now for next week but we’ll see.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The chirp of the chat pierced your eardrum once more as you ignored it for the spreadsheet of dates on your other monitor. Working from home could be both peaceful and distracting but the third bing had you muting and pushing your headset to your neck with a grumble. You switched windows as the chat box blinked.

‘So why didn’t u tell me u had a bf?’ Zia’s bubble blipped up followed by impatient emojis.

“Wat r u talking bout?’ you typed back and clicked back to the spreadsheet to update the status of each course. That noise came again and you flipped back.

‘I’m not stupid! Come on. He’s far away but he’s cute.’

You frowned and tapped the space bar lightly. You were utterly confused. The only activity in your daily life were the general notifications from Tindr. You repeated the question and she sent an emoji rolling its eyes.

‘I’m serious.’ you replied.

She sent a link and then a laughing GIF attached to another bubbled response, ‘I’m not buyin it.’

You clicked on the hyperlink and a new tab opened. You scrolled down on the Insta as the air was knocked out of you at the sight of your own face. Not only were their pics taken from your public profile but several you’d never even posted. Your skin crawled and the bing sounded again.

‘So… an online thing huh.’ Zia pressed on.

‘I gotta work.’ you closed out of the window entirely but stayed on the Insta.

You scrolled through about a dozen or so selfies of you, each labeled as ‘missing my lady’ or ‘she’s so sweet, sending me pics to keep me company’. Your stomached roiled with mortification and the unsettling sensation of intrusion. It was easy enough to guess you’d been hacked but to think this was what the creep did with it was even more startling.

You changed the password on your Insta and went through the process of doing so with all of your accounts and ran a scan on your PC. You would likely have to file a ticket for a proper inspection with a specialist. You couldn’t help but shake as you went back to the profile after checking your bank account and PayPal to make sure it wasn’t worse than just pics.

You went back to the profile and found photos of the culprit. His spiky blond hair and glasses were unsurprising and his comic book tee shirt was even less. Your disgust was quickly replaced with anger as you hit the chat icon above his info.

‘Hey, jackass, care to tell me how you have my photos on your profile?!’

The read icon appeared almost and you saw him typing. It stopped and then started again.

‘You’re so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.’

You scoffed at the message and cringed at the screen. ‘Are you nuts? Like actually. You stole my photos! You hacked me. Creep.’

You blocked him immediately after hitting send and logged out. You opened Excel again and tried to focus on the coloured cells. You could hardly process what you were doing as your phone began to vibe on the corner of your desk. It didn’t let up and you couldn’t focus past the incessant buzzing.

You snatched it up and several messages covered the screen as you unlocked it. ‘You really think that’s gonna work’; ‘You can’t block me’... several in a similar vein that you deleted before blocking the number. You silenced your phone and turned back to your monitor.

Suddenly the screen went black and you blinked. You hit the keyboard and clicked, assuming it fell asleep. It lit up again but all you saw was yourself staring back. Your mouth fell open and you ripped the clip-on cam from atop your monitor. You disconnected it as the notepad opened and typing flicked up across the white space.

‘I didn’t want it to be like this.’

You could move the mouse or backspace. All control was lost and you sat there helplessly watching the scrawl.

‘I think we’d be really good together if you only gave me a chance. Can’t you see I worship you?’

Your phone began to shake constantly and a private number flashed. You picked it up and hollered into the speaker, “leave me alone”. You hung up but it kept on and your screen turned to black once more. Your PC was still on but there was no reaction from the machine.

Fuck, you sat back and looked at your phone. You couldn’t even call work to tell them because the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing. You put your head in your hands and grunted in frustration. How the fuck did all this happen?

🖱️

After your initial panic died down, you disconnected your tower and shut off your phone. You left your cell behind as it was just as useless. You hauled the PC down to IT at your work and filled out the ticket without giving intricate details on everything the weirdo had taken.

You left with a borrowed laptop. You wouldn’t sign into your personal accounts and stick to the company portal. You were embarrassed but happy to have a temporary solution. You got home and set up the new computer and reconfigured your wi-fi. You finished the last of the day’s work and ended the day with a glass of wine.

When you dared to turn your phone on again the next morning, it was filled with notifications from all platforms but each one you clicked on errored and prompted you to sign-in. All your new passwords were wrong and you knew it was him. 

You checked the Insta and found a screenshot on his profile from the day before, your mouth agape in horror that could easily mistaken for surprise.

‘Her face when you pop the question on the call’. The caption made your stomach curdle and you nearly flung the phone away. You couldn’t comment without logging in or message. So you created a shell account with a throwaway email you used on Reddit.

‘Why won’t you stop?’ you sent the message through as you waited for your coffee to brew.

‘Stop what?’ he added a winky face with his reply and you growled.

‘You know who this is! Why are you doing this?’

‘Hmmm…’ he let the message hang there and you sat down with your mug and listened to the birds outside. ‘Imagine what someone else would do with everything I have.’

‘Look at what you’re doing. You’re ruining my life.’

‘Ruining? Sweetie, I’m watching over you. Protecting you.’

Your nostrils flared and you burnt your tongue on the coffee and planted it on the table so it sloshed over the sides.

‘Love you, sweetie. See ya soon.’

The chat box turned grey as you realised he blocked you. That pissed you off more than anything and you lobbed your phone away with a shout of anguish. This guy was fucked!  

You were shaking so much you couldn’t even drink your coffee. You got up and paced until you could think straight. You dialed into work and told them you were taking the day off for a personal emergency and shut down your phone. You were too afraid he would find a way onto your work laptop and you didn’t want to have to explain that to IT too.

🖱️

Zia showed up on Saturday and she wasn’t happy. She buzzed up and banged on your door impatiently. You let her in and she crossed her arms over the strap of her purse as she crooked her hip.

“I know I shouldn’t have snooped but if you’re mad at me, you should’ve just said so. I would’ve backed off,” she scowled.

“I’m not mad,” you said as you backed into the front room and dragged your feet over the rug.

“Sure, you’re just ignoring all my messages by accident,” she stayed at the other side of the room.

“Not exactly, no,” you shrugged, “it’s a long story.”

“And you couldn’t shoot me a message to say that at least?”

“Look, I’m stressed the fuck out. I’m sorry but the only reason I didn’t answer you is because I can’t.” 

“You can’t?”

“I can’t even turn my phone on anymore.”

“What--”

“Just--” you touched your temples, “I don’t even know how to explain--”

“Jesus, are you okay?” her anger slaked away as her voice softened.

“No, I’m not,” you sniffed, “I’ve been trapped in this apartment and I can’t think straight and I can’t even talk to anyone because my phone and my life is totally fucked.”

“How about we get a coffee and you can tell me once you’ve calmed down,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up.”

“You don’t know how bad it is. I really fucked up,” you whined, “I don’t even know how it happened.”

“Is this about the boyfriend?”

You huffed and shook your head, “I told you, he’s not my boyfriend-- Let me get dressed.”

After you felt presentable enough to leave the apartment, the thought of getting away ushered you down the winding stairwell and onto the sidewalk. You and Zia walked down to the cafe on the corner where you always overspent on their specialty drink and caught up.

You ordered but when you tried to use your card, the machine beeped in rejection. You tried again but still no luck. Zia offered to pay and you promised you’d pay her back. Anxiety pitted deep in your stomach as you sat. You’d have to call the bank and figure out why eight dollars would bounce.

“So,” Zia said as she shaded her eyes against the sunlight streaming onto the open patio, “he’s not your boyfriend?”

“I don’t even know the dude,” you hissed as you almost overturned your cup, “Zee, those pictures, they were all on my phone. I never sent them to anyone. I don’t even know his real name and when I confronted him, he crashed my whole system and blew up my phone. I haven’t been able to log into anything because of him.”

“You’re shitting me,” she chuckled.

“Zee, I’m not fucking kidding,” you blinked, “don’t you think if I was dating some dude out in who knows where, you’d be the first to know? You think I’m wasting my time with the idiots on Tindr for fun?”

“No way,” she scoffed.

“Zia, look me in the eye,” you said as you gave her a stern look, “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

You sat back and closed your eyes. You were so swept up in the panic, you hadn’t even thought. You could report it to the police, just get a record of it even if they didn’t do anything else. You heard horror stories of hackers and how little could be done but you had to at least try.

“I guess I should go down to the station today,” you ran your fingertips along your chin, “I don’t know, I felt so alone, I thought--”

“And call your bank right now,” she slid her phone over, “figure out what’s going on with your accounts.”

You took her cell and dialed the number on the back of the card. You dragged your finger down the side of your cup as you listened to the automated message and hit the buttons to direct you to customer service. The hold song bubbled in your head and finally picked up as you finished the last of your mocha.

You explained the issue after giving your information as Zia sat patiently across from you. She watched the other patrons and looked out across the street as you waited on the representative on the other end.

“Looks like your account has been locked. Your savings and checking have been placed on hold citing possible fraud,” the woman explained.

“Well, can’t you unlock them? Why would they be flagged?”

“Hmm, well I see no suspicious spending so possibly… it could be due to an external lock, not us.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t speak to that. Have you received any communications from the Revenue service?”

“Revenue service? I don’t--no,” you gulped.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can tell you,” she said, “you should consider contacting federal services.”

You hung up and handed Zia her phone back. “Apparently, I’m under investigation for fraud? I don’t know.”

“Shit,” she took her cell, “are you sure?”

“It sounded like it but-- I gotta check my credit card,” you stood and grabbed your empty cup and your purse.

You stormed down the street to the ATM at the corner and inserted your card. LOCKED the machine made a hideous noise and you pulled out your card in irritation. You put your wallet and touched the sides of your neck as the heat swelled through you.

“I don’t understand--”

“Um, you should see this,” Zia said.

Zia turned her screen towards you and your heart dropped to your toes. There was a picture softened by a blush Insta filter and the caption read, ‘just got into town, surprising bae with flowers’. Over the cluster of petals at the bottom of the image were you and Zia sitting at the cafe patio.

You spun and searched around for any sign of the man and the bouquet. You could hardly breath as it felt like you were being squished between invisible walls. You clapped your hand against the wall and steadied yourself as Zia gently rubbed your arm.

“Let’s go to the station,” you croaked as tears welled in your eyes, “please.”

🖱️

The police told you everything you expected. Even as you showed them the photos and explained how you never met that man in your life, they only offered you words on a piece of paper. They’d file the report and follow-up in case of any further escalation. It was a non-answer, a cold shrug.

Zia went home with you as she offered to stay the night. You gladly accepted and the two of you cozied up on your bed and spent the night watching early 00s rom coms. You found it hard to relax even with her there. You couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d been without you even knowing.

You at last began to doze off as Reese Witherspoon triumphed and exhausted by the endless maelstrom of dread, you slipped into a deep but perilous sleep. You were locked in limbo between waking and slumber, almost as if you could hear everything around you but remained blind and unknowing all the same.

You woke with a start as you felt like you were falling. You sat up and reached to the other side of the bed. Zia was gone. She must have got up to get water or use the bathroom. You took a breath and turned your legs over the edge. You got up groggily and lumbered across the room, your mouth dry and head aching. Some tylenol and water would do you well.

You hesitated as you noticed the bloom of light just around the corner from your doorway. Zia must be having trouble sleeping, you guessed as you kept on. As you came in sight of the front room, you heard a whimper and you backed up against the wall as tall figure stood before the coffee table. The flowers laid across the wood, slightly crumpled from a struggle.

As Zia whined, he jabbed her with his foot and she grunted around the rag tied around her mouth. Her arms and legs were bound behind her as the man loomed over her. You recognized his blond hair and glasses, the menacing blue eyes as he raised his chin and crossed his arms.

“Been waiting on you,” he stepped over her, “I was disappointed when I realised it was her. Good friend though, hanging around…”

“Don’t hurt her, please. What do you want?”

“You can’t figure that out?” he taunted, “huh, I’m sure you can guess what it will take for me to leave her in one piece.”

Zia wiggled and received another boot. You pushed yourself forward and he stepped closer, predatory as he dropped his arms and clenched then unclenched his fists. He chuckled as you stopped short and gaped up at him.

“She’s cute,” he said, “she can join us if that makes it easier for you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snarled and winced as he reached out to touch your cheek. You fought not to shove him away, your eyes on Zia’s bound figure.

“Play nice and I will,” he warned, “every time I hurt her, that’s on you. I wish I didn’t have to do this to show you how much I love you.”

You shook your head as your lip trembled. He pressed his palms to your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips. He leaned in and you cowered as you realised how big he was. You didn’t expect that looking at him from the other side of a screen.

“Do we put on a show for her or did you want a little privacy?”

“You won’t get away with this,” you hissed.

“Oh yeah? I locked you out of your social media, your pc, your bank… do you really want to see how far I can take this?”

He smothered your murmured answer with his mouth and kissed you gruffly. He pulled away and looked you in the eye. He bit his lip and hummed.

“So, do we do this here?”

“You’re sick,” you grabbed his hand and wrenched it away from your face. You yanked him and directed him to the bedroom, “you monster.”

“Now come on,” he twisted his wrist around and grabbed your elbow, “I could’ve killed her. Don’t think I won’t.”

You quivered as he forced you back into your bedroom, the street lights casting shadows between your curtains. He flung you ahead of him, as strong as his thick arms would suggest. You stumbled and caught yourself on the side of the bed. You turned as the door slammed and he prowled towards you like a wild cat.

“Well,” he threw his hands up and you caught a glint of light against the lens of his glasses, “you want me to undress you or you think you can handle that, sweetie?”

You puffed in repulsion and looked away from him. Even in the dark, you could feel his eyes on you. You jittered as you reached to the neck of your loose tee and slowly raised it over your head. You dropped it to crumple on the floor and you touched the top of your shorts. You heard him moving around and shied away as he flipped the switch and light shone across the room.

You pushed down your shorts as you heard a thump from the next room. His jaw twitched as his eyes lingered on you and he reluctantly glanced away. He swung the door open and stormed out into the front room. You went to the door and heard his snarl.

“Stop fucking moving,” he rasped, “every time I have to tell you, I’ll pop another out.”

Zia gave a muffled sob as you heard a sickly crack and you hurried to look around the wall into the room. He blocked your sight with his broad chest and pointed you back to the room.

“I didn’t say you could leave the room,” he spun you and slapped your bare ass, “fast, fast, fast… before I lose my patience.”

Your skin stung from the strike and you tripped through the doorway as he followed quickly. Another slam and he poked you further into the room with his knuckle. You stepped away from him and tried to cover yourself as you faced him in horror.

He quickly swooped his shirt over his head and revealed a buff chest thick with blond hair. He kicked off his shoes and fumbled to undo his fly. He tilted his head as he looked you over and groped himself through his jeans.

“You know what to do,” he said, “I’ve seen the way you touch yourself… cyber security 101, cover your webcam.”

You shuddered as he beckoned you closer. He stopped you and put your hands on the waist of his jeans. He leaned in and nuzzled your temple as his hot breath seeped into your goosebumped skin.

“My turn,” he pushed on your hands until you pulled down the denim on your own strength.

He stepped out of his jeans and snapped the elastic of his boxers. You stood and latched onto those shakily. He ran his fingers along your arms as you pulled them past his erection and they fell to the floor with a whisper. You didn’t look down, instead staring past him as his hand swept up to cup your tits.

His fingers crawled up your chest and his hands wrapped around your neck. He squeezed and turned you so that your back was to the bed. He marched you backwards as you felt his dick bobbing between your bodies. You gasped as he pushed you down onto your mattress, your legs dangling over the edge as he came up to straddle you.

“Such a good girl,” he taunted, “look at you… I bet you’re wet already.”

He pulled a hand away and stroked his length as he raised himself on his knees. He clung to your neck as he leaned over you and planted his hand on the bed above you. He hovered his dick over your head and you closed your eyes.

“Put it in your mouth,” he ordered, “now, or I’m putting it in your ass.”

You reached up blindly and angled his tip against your lips. He dipped his hips down and you choked as he prodded at your throat. Your legs twitched as he forced his cock past your gag reflex and your whole body tensed at the intrusion.

He balanced on the hand above your head and the one on your neck. He thrust harder and harder as sloppy sucking reverberated around the room between his dark groans.

“That’s it,” he purred, “look at you taking my cock. I can only imagine how tight that cunt of yours is.”

Your eyes welled and you flicked your lashes as you tried to bat them away. You kept your hand at the base of his dick as you tried to ease his motion. He ignored your reluctance and only delved deeper as he brought himself to his limit, your lips touching the fuzz along his pelvis.

When you couldn’t breath, you slapped his hard stomach and he reared out of you abruptly. You coughed up spit as he sat back on his heels and released you. He huffed as he looked down at his glistening dick and climbed off of you.

“Stand up, turn around,” he snarled as his eyes flashed. 

His glasses were low on his nose and he slipped them off entirely and folded them up on your night table. He squinted as he watched you stand and turn stiffly. He smacked his hand in the middle of your back and pushed you over impatiently. He stepped closer and tapped his tip against your cunt as you were exposed to him.

He bent his legs and poked along your slick folds. You were wet enough for him to glide in and fill you up completely. He was so big it was painful and you arched your back as you tried to take it. He pulled back and slammed into you harshly. You let out a garble and he repeated the motion, taking you off your feet.

He leaned over you and grabbed your knees, lifting them on the bed as he urged you forward. His hand brushed up over your ass and he pressed between your shoulder blades until your face was flush to the mattress, your arms bent around you like a broken doll.

He thrust again and the loud slap made you wince. He jerked his hips roughly until he found his motion, rutting into you with hissy breaths as his other hand groped your ass. He hummed as your body shook before him, ruled by his touch as your walls clenched him.

He pushed his thumb down between your cheeks and circled your asshole. You strained and lifted your head in alarm. His other hand quickly stretched over your crown and pinned your face to the bed. He felt along your cunt and slickened his thumb before trailing back to your puckered ring.

He pushed lightly at first and as he broke through you gasped and whined. You gripped the blankets as he moved his thumb in and out of you, his hips still rocking steadily into you. He slid his thumb out entirely and prodded with two fingers instead. Before you could react, he forced them inside and you cried out in surprise and pain.

“I know you want it, sweetheart,” he groaned, “I can feel…” he kept fucking you, “I can fucking hear it.”

Your holes tightened around you as he carried the pace. A new pressure began to bloom inside of you, unlike anything you’d felt before. The burning in your ass and the stretching of your cunt mingled to an agonized bliss. You sobbed into the blankets as you came uncontrollably around him, shamed by the unwanted release.

“Fuck,” he drew out the word as both his hand and his hips sped up, “look at you cumming for me. Cumming for this creep.”

You moaned and curled your fingers around the duvet tighter. You felt the same knotting deep inside and you came again as he reached a tantamount. This time, you gushed around his cock and felt the deluge down your thighs as the noise grew wetter and louder.

“Look at you, sweetheart, you can’t handle it, can you?” He snorted as he sucked in a breath suddenly and his hips staggered.

He pushed his fingers deeper and kept them there as he fucked you as hard as he could. He slammed into your cunt over and over. Your hips throbbed with each tilt of his pelvis and you smothered your cries as you felt him coat your walls in his release. 

He stopped just as suddenly and dragged his fingers out of your ass. He leaned against you until your legs collapsed and fell onto you with a sigh. He covered your body with his as his shallow breaths hazed around you. 

Your own heart raced as you stretched your arms out stiffly and quivered. You tried to pull yourself from beneath him. He kept you pinned under his weight and jolted you with a cruel thrust.

“Oh, we’re not done, sweetheart,” he muttered along the shell of your ear, “not even close.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello, a bit of a different ask but I'm struggling with my organisation. I have lots of scenes/one-shot/prompt ideas hanging around everywhere (notebooks, phone, pc). Do you have any tips or organisation methods? I know people use Scrivener, but I can't pay for the subscription. I've tried Notion, but I heard it isn't private? It doesn't even have to be a digital program, honestly. I'm at a loss, any advice would be greatly appreciated!

Organizing Story Ideas

Here are my tips for how to organize ideas for different stories...

Choose Your Storage Method

There are lots of different ways you can store ideas, but it may take trying a few before you find one that really works for you. Ultimately, you're looking for something that will let you place the ideas into different categories and potentially sub-categories. Here are some suggestions:

Writing Programs/Apps - There are several beloved writing programs and apps that offer the ability to categorize ideas. Scrivener is certainly one of them, and for the record, it's not subscription-based. As of 8/21 it's a one-time fee of $49. Minor updates are free, but very occasionally there will be a major update that requires a small upgrade fee. Pros: It's easy to type ideas and move things around. Cons: You could lose your ideas if you don't back them up.

Computer File Folders - This is the main method I personally use. In my writing folder on my laptop, I have a folder labeled "plot bunnies" that contains sub-folders for different kinds of ideas. Here's what it looks like:

I don't have sub-folders for sub-categories, but you certainly could if you wanted to. I put each idea into its own notepad file, then save it into the appropriate folder. Pros: It's easy and super organized. I know exactly where to find a certain idea when I need it. Plus, it's easy to add new ideas when I have them. Also, when I'm struggling with an WIP, it's easy to look through other ideas to see if I can incorporate them into the WIP. Cons: You could lose all your ideas if something happens to your laptop, so it's a good idea to have them backed up and make sure you update back ups often.

Notebooks - This is the method I used to use, and TBH it would be a good back up for either of the above methods. I also keep a notebook by my bed for writing down dreams and middle-of-the-night ideas, and I try to transfer them into the appropriate plot bunnies folder every now and then. Look for a multi-subject notebook. If you need sub-categories, you can buy stick-on file tabs to sub-divide. With this method, it's best to let every idea have its own page or half-page. You might also look for one that has built-in pockets where you can quickly store ideas written on post-its, scrap paper, etc. Just make sure to transfer them to their own sections eventually! Pros: Notebooks are inexpensive, easy to store, and easy to grab when you're writing. Cons: If you lose it, you lose your ideas, so this method warrants a back-up method as well.

Three-Ring Binder - This is a variation on the notebook method but one that works especially well if you need a lot of categories and sub-categories. Not only can you use tabbed dividers to create sections, you can use stick-on tabs to create sub-categories as needed. You can also add folders and pockets, or anything else you need. Pros: Binders are relatively inexpensive and come in a variety of sizes. You can fill them with whatever kind of paper works best for noting your ideas. Cons: They're more expensive than notebooks, not as easy to store, and generally work best if you have a lot of empty space on a table or desk so you can work in them. Once again, a backup method is recommended.

Index Cards/Organizer - This method would be especially good if you have a ton of ideas, need a ton of categories, and need lots of sub-categories. Ideally, each idea would go on its own card. Pros: there are a variety of index card storage methods available. You can color code different categories. You can use tabbed index card dividers for categories or make your own using stick-on tabs. Cons: Ideas take longer to find in categories with lots of cards. You need to purchase cards and container. Also need a backup method.

Kanban Board/Binder - Kanban boards are dry erase boards (or bulletin boards) that are divided into sections, each one being its own category. Tasks (or in this case, ideas) are written down on an index card or post-it note, and stuck to (or tacked to) the board in its proper category. You can also use punched, laminated cardstock to create a Kanban Binder. Here's the one I use for writing tasks. I did mine using an old Happy Planner using old Happy Planner covers (since they're already laminated,) but you could also use a three-ring binder.

Looking at the image in the bottom right, each category consists of two laminated pages facing each other. So, this could be "novel ideas" and the columns (sub-categories) are genres like mystery, romance, fantasy, etc. Or, the category could be "fantasy" and the columns could be poems, short stories, novellas, and novels. Whatever works for you! You can Google Kanban boards to see what the board version looks like. Pros: Quick reference, easy to add ideas and remove them when they've been done. Also, it's a versatile/flexible method. Cons: You may need to buy a board or binder and post-it notes/index cards. Also needs a backup method.

Figure Out Your Categories/Sub-Categories

Once you have your method chosen and set up, you'll need to think about how you want to categorize everything and what categories/sub-categories you need. You may even want to do this before you settle on a method. Genres and sub-genres would be one method, writing formats (poetry, fan-fiction, short story, etc.) is another option. You might even choose to categorize by publishing method/intention or how much you like the ideas.

Gather, Sort, and Re-Home

Now it's time to grab your phone, notebooks, and laptop/desktop, gather up all those disparate ideas, sort them into their categories and sub-categories, and put them into their new home!

Choose a Backup Method

Whether you designate a thumb drive and back up your laptop plot bunny folder every week, buy a spiral notebook to jot down new ideas before they go into the primary storage, or take occasional photos of your Kanban board/binder, you definitely want to make sure you have your backup method chosen and use it often. That way, if something happens to the main method, you don't lose all those ideas.

Keep an eye on the comments in case there are more ideas!

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READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​

[saturnsummer]

i don't mind forever.

AU: When Sol is handed a case, she doesn't realise how big the case gets. Luckily for her, her best friend is here. (AU of lawyers at Hankuk Law Firm.)

notes: all credits go to @thenerdywriter !! she gave me this prompt just days after i joined tumblr, and i’ve been working on and off on it ever since. my first au series, so please go easy on me! i know i’m practically killing myself for doing two series at once, but i’ll deal with it later. as always, big love to everyone! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4035 words

one.

Sol scrunches her hair in frustration. She twists her long, wavy light brown hair in a bun, fixing it with a jab of her white, long chopstick hairpin. She adjusts her bangs for good measure and resumes with her report. She reaches over to her coffee mug, only to find it empty. Great, it’s the third coffee she had today, and it wasn’t even lunch. Hearing her colleagues nagging on drinking too much coffee in her head, she stands from her desk and pushes the glass door of her office to the staff pantry. Her heels click against the marble floors as she strides across, filling her cup with iced water before retreating back.

It would have been a normal day at the Hankuk Law firm, but it wasn’t when she had such a pressing case.

It's been weeks. A client of hers has pressed charges against Lee Man Ho, claiming that he scammed her life savings. Lee Manho was a convict that was charged for raping multiple women and on several occasions, sexual harassment. He had been on good behaviour after his release for a couple of years, with no complaints and no news. Only now did his name resurface. He was snarky in his speech, manipulative and quick with his tongue, but most of all had a sinister smile that sent shivers.

Sol, being Sol, couldn’t say no to the poor woman. How could she? She experienced her fair share of poverty from growing up in a single-parent family that made enough to get by. She sympathised with her feelings, knowing just how stressed this poor mother must be when she can no longer afford to pay rent for her home, even less so the necessities for her toddler kids. Because, too many times, Sol was found broke and skipping meals so she could have her younger sister, Byeol, be fed instead.

With the help of the local police, she found more victims to be scammed, all similar in their scenario. Manho would call under the alias of a financial aid consultant, sometimes an insurance agent or bank teller. Then, he would extract their bank numbers from them, effectively draining their money away. By the time they victims tried to call back, the number would be out of order, or picked up by another voice, evident that he used another number to cover up his.

None of his victims had anything in common. Some were rich, some were poor. Some were female, some were male. And Manho had long disappeared in the wind the moment he got out of jail. He was said to be sighted once and when the police placed eyes on him, they lost him that same day.

His digital footprint was an utter headache as well. The police had other things to matter, and figuring out his digital footprint was the least of their concerns when they had important murders and urgent matters to solve.

But two could play this game.

Seungjae was a good friend of Sol’s. They were close acquaintances in school and kept in close contact. He, unlike Sol, was a whiz with computer codes and had his fair share of hacking experience. She remembers how he would hack into the system during school events and broadcast short music videos on the school televisions during breaks. Despite their age gap, he was always courteous, nice and kind hearted in helping others.

Seungjae eventually found a job with the police force, using his skills to legally hack criminal networks and dark nets. He was essentially part of a task force that identified suspicious activities like mass radicalisation, fake news and essentially tracking down internet hackers. It was a no-brainer that Sol would approach him, even though she knew that he could only legally hack under his work orders, not for personal favours.

Well it’s best she at least try.

She called Seungjae, who was fortunately free, and agreed to meet at a cafe. The sun was out, warming them from the autumn breeze that chilled them. Sol grabbed her coat and placed a post-it on her door, informing her colleagues of her business. Sol, while dressed in a warm coat, was undoubtedly freezing from the breeze. If only she could go back to law school, where she wore jeans and sweatshirts all day. Instead, she had a light blue long sleeved blouse, a knee length pencil skirt and a midnight blue blazer, and her only coat she had weakly shielding her from the cold.

“Sol A, what gives me the feeling that you aren’t calling for the purpose of catching up, but for a favour?” Seungjae asks as soon as his ice coffee arrives. Sol is amused at his habit, that he still calls her Sol A to differentiate her from Sol B, her colleague just working next door to her. But in response, she gives a small frown.

“Oppa, please? You have to help me with this. This case is driving me nuts!” She says in frustration as she stirs her ice tea. “Look, he’s off the grid, like properly off. I can’t even track his number or his email accounts. When the police placed plainclothes on him, he was like a ninja and they lost him within the first hour.”

Seungjae’s frown deepens. He knows of people who are good on the internet, but for an ex-convict to be running this alone? Furthermore, a convict who had no criminal record of scamming, conning and IT based crimes? There was definitely more to this.

“Sol A, do you think that he’s working alone?” Seungjae asks, stopping Sol in her speech. She tilts her head, the way she does normally when she puts the puzzle pieces in order. From her bag, she takes out a notebook and scribbles down the facts, then pushes it to the centre of the table.

“Okay, so we know that Lee Manho was convicted of rape and sexual harassment long time ago. Now, he’s running scams, and has no known background of coding or conning people, yet somehow the money appears in his bank account and it disappears the next moment.” Sol states as she circles her notes with a pencil and Seungjae nods.

“I think… I think you’re right, oppa. He’s definitely not working alone. And he could just be the middleman bringing the cash from one place to another.” Sol breaths out, realising how big the case has gotten. She’s not just going after Lee Manho, but she’s going after an entire team.

“You said that you can’t track his whereabouts, people he communicates with and where the money is going to?” SeungJae asks. Sol nods.

“Looks like someone is covering up the transfers and his tracks.” Seungjae concludes. Seungjae furrows his eyebrows. Sol recognises his thinking face and tries to plea once more.

“Please, oppa? You helped me check out and verify Yeseul’s boyfriend, which saved her life! Please, oppa…” Sol pleads with him. Seungjae knew how much Sol was going to dedicate to this, and besides, he was legally going to hack. He was fighting for those who couldn’t fight. What difference would it make? It felt wrong to ignore such a desperate plea.

“Fine. But you have to let me use a laptop that isn’t mine. I can’t have my superiors know I’m hacking into a case that wasn’t submitted to me again. God, Yeseul’s ex-boyfriend case got me a bloody earful from the captain.” He finally agrees, getting up from his seat and grabbing his coat. Sol lets out a relieved sigh and picks her coat too.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Save it for later, when I’m done hacking. Let’s head back to your office for now.” He says and walks to the door. At that moment, Sol’s phone rings, and she picks up, knowing who will call at this time of the day. If it’s lunch, it has to either be Yeseul or Joon Hwi.

“Are you joining us for lunch, sunbae?” Sol takes a moment to close her eyes in frustration. This man is going to drive her insane.

“Yeah. Are you all ordering?”

“That’s right. Extra pickles?”

“Always. Add one more jjampong and kkampungi, too.” The receiving end goes silent.

“Who’s joining?” Sol gives a knowing smile as she unlocks her car.

“An old friend of ours.”

-----

“Wah, it’s been a long time since Seungjae-hyung could eat with us!” BokGi says, as he passes out the chopsticks and Yebeom unpacks the meals. Seungjae only gives a small smile while helping out with the food.

Despite the cold weather, the odd group of friends found pleasure in eating outdoors as opposed to their office pantry. It was too noisy some days, too quiet on some, and knowing how chaotic the group can get during lunch, it only made sense to have their meals downstairs at some benches. Besides, they could use a break from being stuck in their offices all day and look at trees changing their colours to shades of red, oranges and brown.

“Thank your noona here, for convincing me to come.” He says as he nods his head over to Sol, who is busy unpacking her pickles and noodles. Joon Hwi gives a smile as he stares at the delight on her face when she sees those yellow pickles on a plastic saucer.

“Hyung, what are you here for?” Joon Hwi asks, as he unpacks his noodles.

“This lady here has enlisted my help once again for a case she is working on. But it has to be off the books. Thus, my presence here instead of my cubicle back at my headquarters.” Sol chokes and she quickly takes a sip of her tea.

“Oppa, why do you make me sound so law breaking…” Sol grumbles. Yeseul, sitting next to her only gives a small smile and squeezes her hand.

“Seungjae-oppa did help me bring Yeongchang to jail. So I would consider his work, whether under his boss orders or not, to be lawful.” Yeseul quips quietly. The table grows silent for a moment, knowing how this topic took a mental toll out of them, but Yeseul was hit the hardest.

When Yeseul first started dating Yeongchang, everyone didn’t mind it. Only when Sol witnessed how Yeseul would be frightened to pick up his call and spotting bruises on her arms did she get Seungjae to dig into his personal life. Lo and behold, not only was he abusive, he was seeing two other women and they were treated badly, if not, worse.

Yeseul’s heart broke, this being her first love and the man she envisioned marrying. But with her friends' support, she took it upon herself to press charges on him, for the women he tortured and for herself. Representing herself and the women that he had failed to protect and taken advantage of, it wasn’t easy for her, having been so blind in love and still harbouring feelings.

The group stood by and silently supported. They accompanied her trials, no matter how busy they were. Sol remembers Jiho running from one courtroom to another on one occasion when he had to immediately attend a court hearing for a client he was defending. Sol had Yeseul stay over at her apartment during the entire situation, while Yeseul searched for an apartment nearby after moving out of his house. Even Sol B, who was usually cold, bought her meals and stayed to eat when the girls spent late nights in silence and drinking.

Finally, the judge ruled that Yeongchang was to be charged in jail. For the sexual, mental and physical abuse of these women, including Yeseul. It has been months since then and time can only tell how much she has healed. The rest can only give their silent support and be there for her.

“I didn’t mean to make the mood bad. Come, let’s eat. Also, what is the case about, unnie?” Yeseul quickly breaks into a smile, an attempt to let everyone know she’s okay. Sol gives a brief description of her case to everyone while she slurps her noodles and pickles.

“This is going to be difficult. If you guys are right, you might be dealing with something bigger than just Lee Manho.” Sol B states and Sol gives a nodded reply.

“Please don’t tell Superior Kim or Superior Yang about this. I really need to break this case and Seungjae-oppa is my only way to.” Sol informs her group. They give half hearted murmurs, not wanting to be meddled into Sol’s affairs. Well, all but one.

“Yah, why didn’t you come find me? I have my own contacts in the police as well.” Joon Hwi asks, a slight frown on his face. From anyone else looking, it would have been easy to miss. But for Sol, she knew that he was upset, interpreting his complaints as “Why didn’t you come and tell me about this first?”

“Because, Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam Pass, you have been too busy! Do I really need to remind you to eat every damm moment? You drive me crazy some days!” Sol argues. They launch into a light hearted argument, as the rest of the lunch group watches with equal fervour as they eat their meals.

“Guys, stop arguing, my ears hurt.” Jiho said, his tone in slight annoyance as he dove straight into the kkampungi and tangsuyuk. Sol finally gave up fighting, earning a teasing smirk from Joon Hwi. They continued their noisy meal, chatting and catching up with Seungjae. Seungjae gives them some updates of his pregnant wife and some interesting cases.

After their meal, they separated their trash neatly. The sun now hides away in the clouds, leaving little warmth against the chilly breeze of autumn. Sol brushes her coat and rubs her hands and arms. If only she could afford a better one than this old coat she’s been using since her first year in university.

Joon Hwi notices her trying to warm up against the cold and takes his coat from the chair, layering it on her. He honestly didn’t feel cold, but he knows he has always been the stronger one to resist against the cold. For Sol, it must be freezing.

“Take mine.” He simply says, taking the packs of plastic from Sol. If Sol had a hint of blush, he pretended to not notice.

“Oh, thanks.” She said as she took wipes from her bag and wiped down the mess on the benches and tables. “But I don’t need it. We’re heading back to the office anyway.” She shrugs his coat off and drapes it over her arm, returning it to him. He pushes it to her, and leans in closer to her.

“Help me carry it, so I don’t have to, sunbae.” He teases with a smirk, sending Sol in a fit of frustrated squeaks, chasing him as best as she can in her heels. Sol knows Joon Hwi gets a thing out of his teasing, and sends him annoyed glares as she continues to clear the tables. Jiho manages to sigh and Sol B rolls her eyes as she dumps the trash in the bins.

The group grabs their bags as they head back into the office, where Sol checks Seungjae in as a visitor at the reception. The receptionist hands him a blue lanyard with a visitor pass as Sol leads him to the elevators. Jiho and Bokgi are off to meet clients, and Sol B is headed to court for a hearing. Yeseul stops at another floor to her office with Yebeom, who needs to pick up some reports from a colleague.

Joon Hwi follows Sol to her office with Seungjae, despite his office being upstairs. Sol grabs her personal laptop from her bag, which is separate from her desktop computer and passes it to Seungjae, who takes a seat opposite her and starts programming the computer to begin hacking.

“What, did you just let him use your personal laptop?” Joon Hwi asks in concern as he takes a seat on a spare chair.

“Let him do it. Don’t you have your reports to do?” Sol asks as she turns to her own reports before typing in her findings for the new Lee Manho case. Joon Hwi doesn’t reply, and Sol sends an annoyed glance. He’s not going to leave unless he knows all the information of this case.

“Okay, I got it.” Seungjae says after a series of clicks and turns the screen to show Sol what he has found. Sol leans into a chart of bank transfers.

"From what I can tell, it seems like the money enters his bank account and is transferred to an offshore account. I can't trace where the money goes from there anymore." Seungjae explains as he uses the cursor to show them. "I can't tell who owns the account either. If I could take a guess, it's probably the mastermind of this."

"Wait, look. Lee Manho is getting paid a constant amount every single time before a large sum comes in and leaves." Joon Hwi points. Sol grabs her printed papers as she matches the amounts that her clients have given here. They match exactly to the large sums, but have no relation to the constant amount that he gets every scam.

"He's getting paid to scam? Tch, God, I hate this crook." Sol says through gritted teeth. Joon Hwi sighs and observes the anger rising in Sol. He places a hand on top of her clenched fist for comfort and her fist stops clenching as she sighs in response.

"Sol A, I can't track his location with your laptop. It's not exactly ideal, since it can be tracked back." Seungjae says, eyes darting while continuously typing. Joon Hwi could sense the disappointment in Sol's face, but it can't be helped. It was too dangerous from her location and IP address.

"Oppa, thank you for helping. I owe you one." Sol says as Seungjae scrubs her laptop clean from hacking traces. Seungjae returns her laptop and stands up. "You should go back, oppa. You've been gone too long."

"I'll keep you updated." He says as Sol guides him out of the office. Once she shuts the door, she pulls the hairpin from her hair and crunches her hair in frustration. She has the information on where the money is going, but it's no use when she can't find out where he is. Joon Hwi takes a seat opposite her.

"Don't stress." He says softly, and Sol bites her lip in frustration.

"Don't stress? How can I not? The police aren't giving me any information on him, delaying his location tracking! I can't even find him! How am I supposed to get evidence to charge him, if he can't even appear to show up to court?" Sol angrily spills, her hands flailing. Joon Hwi sighs but grabs a hold of her wrist.

"Don't get swayed by your emotions." Joon Hwi firmly says, sparingly into Sol's anger-filled eyes. She pulls her wrist back, taking a deep breath before gathering her hair up again.

"Fine." She grumbles. "Get out of my office, Prosecutor Han. Don't you have work?" This earns a soft smile from Joon Hwi. As he heads to the door, he turns back before he leaves.

"Don't... Don't do anything stupid or impulsive, you hear me?"

Sol clicks her tongue and gives a half-hearted nod. She turns back to her report and updates her findings and tries to diffuse the thought of asking Seungjae to hack with her laptop to find Man Ho's location.

For Kang Sol A, such thoughts don't leave easily.

-----

"You sure?" Seungjae asks, seated in Sol's car. Sol takes a deep breath in and nods.

It was a few days after Seungjae visited the office. Sol called the police as much as she could, but they always left her on the line or just said "we're working on it." Thus, Sol told Seungjae to meet her at a park, before driving to a random alley and passing him her laptop.

"Yeah, I'll take my chances." She replied. Seungjae sighs and begins typing away.

"You know you're putting yourself at risk?" He asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

"I'll put myself at risk for the justice of my clients." She says firmly. A few minutes pass as Sol stares out of the car and watches the bright moon and the clouds floating by in misty swirls.

"Got it." Sol turns her attention to Seungjae. On the screen is a map and a blinking red dot of Manho’s location. Sol reads the map and puts her car back in drive before turning out of the alley.

"Woah, do you know where you are going?" Seungjae asks, grabbing onto the overhead handle for support and his hand securing the laptop.

"Seungjae-oppa, don't tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not Joon Hwi." Sol ignores his question as she speeds up the car, turning into a drop-off point of a train station.

"Sol A, you're-"

"Sorry, oppa. But I need to find him. I can't sit and wait for the police anymore. I promise you, I'll be safe." Sol says. Seungjae couldn't say no. He knows how stubborn Sol is, how when she decides on something, she will commit to it wholeheartedly.

"If he's armed, you could get yourself in danger." Seungjae exasperatedly sighs. It was too big a risk to see the junior he treats as a little sister put herself at risk.

"I'll be fine. Look, you're on my speed dial. You know that I can handle myself. There's a reason why I took years of self-defence classes." Sol tells him. Seungjae nods his head unwillingly.

"You better call me after you're done." He says as he opens the door and gets out of the car. "Please, please stay safe." Sol nods and gives a small smile.

"Thank you, oppa." Sol drives away immediately, leaving Seungjae to pinch his nose bridge in frustration and concern. Silently, as he boards the train, he prays for Sol's safety.

-----

Sol knows the area well. As she parks her car at a carpark, she checks to make sure Manho is still at the bar. The blinking dot stays stagnant at the bar, not moving ever since she dropped Seungjae off. Getting out, she tightens her coat around her and thanks herself for the long trousers she's wearing. At least she isn't wearing a skirt, if she needs to beat someone up.

Entering the bar, she naturally takes a slow walk around. But hidden by the corner of the bar tables sit a lone man, with a cap, dressed in black button up and holding a glass of golden whiskey. She knew that was her target.

Taking a seat next to him, she orders a glass of soda water from the bartender. Man Ho chuckles next to her as he sets his glass down. Turning his head, he faces Sol with sly eyes, lips curled at the corner.

"Prosecutor Kang, you're quick." She hears him say and a chill goes down her spine. She lets her eyes meet the cold stare of Manho.

"Oh, you think I don't know you? You're the one after me more than the police are for the past weeks." Man Ho sinisterly says, a sick grin on his face. Sol grits her teeth and takes a deep breath to soothe her anger.

"Why are you doing this? You think it's fun?Watching my clients suffer?" Sol says through her gritted teeth. He only scoffs.

"My, my. Don't want you getting agitated now, don't we? We just started." He says, sipping from his glass again.

"Answer my question." She says with force. Man Ho sips on his glass, swirling the golden brown liquid against the large square cubes of ice as he exhales.

As the words fall from his mouth, Sol grows as cold as the glass in her hand. Her hands slightly shake as she hitches her breath. When her shaky eyes turn to Manho’s, his eyes are sly with a mocking grin. No, he can’t know.

"You’re just as feisty as your sister, aren’t you?”

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate it when you stare

Wow here I am with another part, another fic. Ignooooree my typooos. Is this more soft smut? No one told me last time if what I wrote counts so uhhhhhhh

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

I really do have work to do for my class at 2:30 tomorrow but instead I finished this, so I hope you like this!

_______________________

“How is it bullshit? Everyone can tell that we’re in love with each other.”

“So, what, because other people believe it, that automatically means it’s true?”

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

Evelina was visiting home for the weekend for her mom’s birthday, which meant that you had the apartment to yourself. From Friday after work until Sunday night, you were free to do whatever you wanted by yourself. Or, you thought you were going to be doing whatever you wanted until your boss texted you saying that he wanted your project finished by Monday so you could present it that afternoon. That meant you were posted up on the couch, your hair tied in a bun on top of your head, a mug full of coffee, another of tea, and a cup with water all in front of you, the blanket normally on the back of your couch now draped over your shoulders. It was a full call to the hungover days you had back in undergrad when you woke up late and were struggling to finish the work you had due the next morning.

“It’s me!” you hear a familiar voice call from the door, snapping you out of what might have been the first and only roll you had been on working on the project.

You look up to see Matthew coming over the couch, plastic bags in hand to plop down on the table. “Remind me to change the locks.”

“That would mean you have to get up to let me in, though,” he sends a wink in your direction.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though you felt butterflies throughout your entire body at the sight of him looking so comfortable next to you. It was just because he’s a guy, not because it’s Matthew. You let out a quiet sigh as he fiddles with the remote to your TV. “Who says I wouldn’t leave you in the hallway? Plus, I thought you were supposed to have practice today?” you ask, trying to focus more on your project than on him.

“We’re done, and we don’t have a game for three days for once, so we’re resting up. I figured, why not come see my favorite girl?” he says, resting his hand on your shin once your drape your legs over his lap. 

“Because Taryn is in St. Louis so you settled for me instead?”

He scoffs, slowly running his hand up and down your bare leg while his eyes fixate on the television screen. He had to be able to feel the goosebumps that he was causing with his touch. “Fine, my favorite girl in Calgary unless Taryn is visiting, are you happy?”

“Am I ever happy when I’m around you?” you tease, lifting only your eyes from your screen to look at him. Still staring at the TV, you can see the smile on his face, but it almost looks like his jaw is clenching, like he’s fighting saying something back.

“And how could I not be happy around you when you treat me like that?” Your eyes linger for a second on his smile before scanning the rest of his body. Even under the long-sleeved dry fit shirt he was wearing, you could see the outline of the muscles that graced his abdomen. His arms looked like they were begging to rip the seam of the shirt, and you wanted nothing more than to take it off of him and just let them free. “Do you like what you see, babe?” you hear him say, snapping you out of the thoughts you were convincing yourself meant nothing as he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m trying to picture you as a more attractive guy,” you lie, “It would be so nice if Elias were here, wouldn’t it?” 

“If you’re implying that you want a threesome, then I don’t think I could do it with a teammate,” he laughs, his fingers tightening around your shin. Would Elias be better than Matthew? Any guy would be better than Matthew, you tell yourself. He’s your best friend, and nothing more. 

“What have I said about being crude?” you ask him, fixating your eyes on the way he’s biting his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna go get my headphones so I can do this project.” You bolt from the living room to your bedroom, leaving Matthew there by himself while you search for your phone in a panic. 

“Hey, is everything ok?” Evelina says on the other end of the phone call as you try to search for your AirPods in the mess that was your room.

“No, Matthew is here.”

“And that’s bad because?” she asks, drawing out her last word.

Groaning, you drop your phone on your desk, prompting Matthew to call to you asking if you were ok. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Turning back to Evelina, clearly in a panic that she could hear in your voice, “Matthew is here and I think I’m horny.”

“You’re always horny for him because you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him and I’m honry because I haven’t been touched by a man in like, three months. It’s starvation.”

You hear her groan on the other end, her parents voices in the background. “Hold on, I need to go into another room,” she says. “Ok, so you really told me two days when you got home that you and Matthew nearly fucked in public  in the liquor store. You have been touched by a man. He was also practically feeling you up at the bar a week ago, might I remind you.” 

“I don’t love him,” you say, unprompted, “And he never even kissed me.”

“Says that hickey that you somehow didn’t notice he gave you?” she says, you turning to your mirror to touch the mark she was talking about. You honestly didn’t know it was there until she said something to you when you walked in the door. “If you don’t love him, why don’t you just tell him to leave?”

“I want company and he’s the only thing I have when you aren’t here. Really, this is all your fault.”

“That was so sweet until you blamed me. If you don’t want him to leave then what’s the problem?”

“Horny,” you say at the same time. “Either do something about it or control yourself, babe, but I’ve gotta go. Miss you, love you,” she says, hanging up when you finally find your AirPods.

Pulling up your playlist so it’s already playing when you get to Matthew, you don’t even look at him as you take your computer back in your lap and throw your legs in his. You can feel his eyes tracing the outline of your body even under the baggy sweatshirt you had on from a college you never went to. 

You had worked for what was probably a solid half hour, Matthew mindlessly rubbing his hand on your leg like he did before, you needing to do everything in your power to stop from thinking about and wanting more. You were interrupted by Matthew reaching over and tugging on the hem of your shorts. “Are you really listening to Christmas music right now?”

“Is it that loud?” you ask, turning the volume down immediately.

“No, I can read your lips. You were mouthing ‘Feliz Navidad,’ and ‘Sleigh Ride.’”

“Oh, then, yes,” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment that you didn’t even realize you were doing that. 

“It’s March, babe.”

“Ok, but Christmas music is fine year round.”

“No?” he questions.

“So I’m going to tell you why you’re wrong,” you start, moving your computer to the table so you don’t drop it, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips, “While I don’t agree with all things in Catholic and the broader Christian doctrine, there are things I can agree with basically because they are up for interpretation, so I interpret them in the way I like. Take, for example, the ninth commandment: love thy neighbor. Some people take it as a literal ‘love thy neighbor’ as in ‘be a good neighbor,’ to the ones who live next door, but I think it’s a matter of caring for those around you, neighbor not being the person immediately next to you wherever you live, but just other people in general.”

“What is your point?” he asks, a devilish grin spread across his face.

“My point is that the Bible, which is the end all be all of Catholic doctrine according to some people, is up for interpretation and people use it the way that benefits them, no matter how wrong they normally are. In Hebrews 13:15, it says, “Through him let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name,” thereby, justifying and promoting listening to Christmas music year round. It praises Jesus, who is one of the persons that make up God, and doing year round is continuous.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Hey, if people can be assholes and use a 2,000 year old book to try to wrongly justify their bigotry and homophobia, why can’t I use it to rightly justify my listening to christmas music all year?”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about it and keep the things that I like with me. I’m not Jesuit but I follow their ideals like ‘care for the whole person’ and ‘be a man or woman with and for other.’ And Evelina’s parents are very religious, so we kind of put up a front whenever they visit to please them. They still think we go to Mass every Sunday.” 

“Is that why there’s sometimes a crucifix by the door?” he asks, you nodding along. “And that weird Jesus magnet where he has a chefs hat and it says ‘fish and bread are served’ underneath him?”

“Yeah, I think her dad superglued that to the fridge because no matter how many times we’ve tried to get it off it won’t budge. Plus it’s a reference to another Bible passage.” 

“I went to a Catholic high school, remember? I already knew that.” You can’t help but return the smile he was sending your way, this time your eyes flicking down to his lips, you unsure if his were doing the same. You snap out of it, biting your lip and making eye contact with Matthew, both of you breathing slightly unevenly at just thinking about what you could do with each other. Was Evelina right that you two loved each other?

No, she couldn’t be right, because you didn’t love him. You pick your computer back up to get back to work, not saying another word as Matthew turned back to the TV. You hit a deadend, finding yourself back to staring at Matthew’s perfect face while his eyes narrowed and a small smirk formed on his lips at something funny on whatever movie or show he was watching. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, Matthew’s head snapping to your direction as you cover your face with your hands. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

He reaches over and pulls your hands from your face, intertwining his fingers in yours. “Take a break, I brought food for us.” 

“You didn’t cook it yourself, did you?” you ask. The last time he had made food for you, you were sick for a week from what you’re sure was food poisoning from something being undercooked.

He laughs, the pad of his thumb rubbing your palms. You could feel your breathing get shallow by this, trying to ignore it while he’s talking to you. “No, I got it from the store down the road, already made. Mac and Cheese!” he says, pulling it out of the bag.

You roll your eyes at his stupidity. “Matthew, we’ve been sitting here for over two hours, why would you leave that on the table instead of in the fridge?”

“It’s still warm!” he argues, opening it, “Oh and it smells so bad.” You burst out laughing as he cringes, closing it immediately. “I’ll order something else.” 

You get up to go throw out the now rancid mac and cheese in the kitchen. “Hey, where do you want to order from?” you hear Matthew call, walking into the kitchen behind you.

The list. 

It’s on the fridge.

Practically throwing yourself at it to try to tear it down in time, you rip it off the fridge and fold it up in your hand just in time for Matthew to come in. “Are you ok?” he asks you, noticing your slightly faster breathing and your hands behind your back.

“Yeah, the smell was just bad,” you lie to him, shoving the list in the band of your shorts. “And I was looking at the Jesus magnet.” 

“That thing is so creepy,” he says, both of you looking at it. Knowing Matthew, you try as discreetly as possible to move the paper to your front so he can’t feel it as he inevitably presses his front to your back, his arms draping over your shoulders. Without thinking, you reach up to touch his hands as he rests his head on yours. “It’s way too white to be Jesus.”

His arms move their way down your body, settling around your waist as he starts to nibble at your ear. “God, you are so sexy,” you hear him let out.

“You’re awfully handsy lately, aren’t you Matty?”

“Oh come on,” he says, turning you around to face him, practically pinning you against the fridge, “You know we’re always like this with each other.” 

You smile at him, cupping his face in your hands as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheeks. “We have a weird...” you start, trying to figure out the right word to describe whatever it was you had with him, “friendship,” you settle on, not exactly liking the word yourself as your tried to hide the cringe you were sure was appearing on your face. 

He swallows hard at that word. Even relationship would have been better, even if it were more broad than ‘friendship.’ At least it wasn’t such a narrow word. It felt like even if you didn’t finish the list you didn’t know he knew about, you would never see him as more than a friend. “Well, that’s what makes it my favorite friendship.” 

The two of you stand there for a minute, holding each other and gazing into the others eyes. You could feel your breathing slow down studying Matthew’s facial features again, thinking only of how perfect they looked to you in that moment. “We should figure out where we’re getting food from,” you say, dragging your hands down his chest before dropping him all together. 

He could have stared at you like that forever. He really couldn’t think of anyone more perfect than you, anyone he would want to look at besides you. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, moving over to the counter. Opening your fridge, you remember you still have the list folded in the band of your shorts, throwing it in before grabbing some water out. “What did you just throw in there?” Matthew asked you, having watched your every move.

“Uh, Evelina and I have this weird list that we’re putting together, it didn’t feel right to have Jesus looking over it all of a sudden,” you tell him, “But now that you had mac and cheese on my mind, I kind of want that.”

“Oh, no, you’re not changing the subject that easily,” he says, trying to reach around you to open the fridge. 

“No, come on, it’s mostly Evelina’s and I don’t know if she would want you seeing it,” you lie, batting your eyes at him and trying to contort your face to make it look like you would cry if he tried anything else. He couldn’t see the list of things you hate about it. He couldn’t find out about it. 

He sighs, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one. “I ordered you mac and cheese but I’ll pay for it if you tell me the subject of the list?” he tries to bargain. 

“Uh, it’s a list of kinks,” you lie, not knowing what else to say, and usure why that was the first thing that came to mind.

His eyes go wide, pretending to be shocked. It was the list of ten things you hate about him. It had to be. He grins anyway, trying to hide the pain he felt knowing that the list was already started, and probably nearly finished at this point, “Are any of them your kinks?” 

“Yeah,” you start to lie to him again, a grin on your face, “One of them says, ‘When Matthew leaves me alone.’”

He scrunches up his face, pretending to be hurt by your comment as he walks back to your living room. “Oh you know just how to break my heart, pretty girl.” You follow him, plopping down next to him on your couch. 

You pick up your computer, snuggling into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. “I have no desire to do this project.” 

“Why don’t we watch something on TV then and you can work again after we eat?” he suggests. You nod, putting the computer back down, surrendering to his pout. You feel him kiss the top of your head, scrolling through the channels. “What about Lilo and Stitch?” he asks when he finds it on one of the channels. 

“Ugh, I love this movie, but the American treatment of Hawaiians is awful, and I just can’t help but think about it every time I watch,” you say, thinking you were being annoying. “Sorry,” you apologize. Evelina was used to your rants, even if you were sure she normally tuned them out. You didn’t think Matthew wanted to listen to another rant from you. 

“Don’t get me started?” he asks, referring to the game you and the guys played at the bar.

“Don’t get me started on the American colonization of Hawaii. The Cookes’ went to Hawaii and pretty much obliterated the royal bloodline. The king of Hawaii had the Cookes build boarding schools for the royal children, with good intentions that they would be able to educate his children on royal customs to effectively rule their land. Instead, the Cookes took the Hawaiian customs and told them they were wrong, imparting their own customs on them, instead. They wanted he land for America, they wanted to eliminate the Hawaiian culture and make them as American as possible,” you say. “The Hawaiian people were a very sex positive people, but oh no, American Catholic education and their ‘no sex is the safest sex’ ideal stopped the children from living the lives they grew up expected to live. If a boy was found in a girls room doing anything in these boarding schools, they would beat the children as punishment, and probably other things that weren't even recorded. There are actually a decent number of Wikipedia pages that have had this information erased, like when you go back into the edit history. The sources, as they claimed, weren’t valid, but in reality they weren’t the Cookes’ American-centric description of these schools. They even went so far as introducing sports into the schools as ‘an antidote to the worst evil of all: sexual promiscuity,’” you comment, drawing a laugh from Matthew. “Because we all know how much athletes hate sex, right?” 

You look up at Matthew, him beaming down at you as Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride starts ironically playing in the background, “Yeah, we hate that,” he whispers. You swallow hard, trying to ignore any feelings that might be coming up at the sight of Matthew biting his bottom lip. 

“American’s always just insert themselves where they don’t belong,” you finish, settling your head back onto his shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. 

“Why do you know all of this?” he asks.

You shrug, not really sure how to answer, “I don’t know. When I’m doing work I see one word and it sends my mind into this never ending tangent and I end up looking up stuff online and reading for hours.” 

“You really are the smartest person I know,” he says with a sigh, “Why hasn’t Ev told her parents about hiding the Catholic stuff until they come?” 

You shrug, “I don’t know. I never asked, she just told me it was something she needed to do, so I did it with her. That’s her own cross to bear,” you say, taking a minute to realize the really bad pun you just made. “Ah! See what I did there!” you practically yell, Matthew groaning.

“On that note, I think I need to leave,” he jokes, getting up off the couch.

“Oh, come on, no!” you beg, taking him by the hand and trying to drag him back down to the couch. “I don’t want you to leave,” you let out as he pulls you off the couch. 

“Really?” he asks you, sitting back down on the couch, your hands still connected.

Standing over him you nod as he pulls you into his lap, straddling him. He pulls you as close to him as you can, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Your mind flashes back to the liquor store, the feeling that came over you as he worked his way along your body like you had a feeling he was about to do again. 

“Come on Matthew, you know this isn’t something we do,” you tease, even though you can’t help but look at his lips, the urge to kiss him creeping up on you as you tried desperately to suppress it. If any guy had taken you into his lap like Matthew just did, you would want to do the same thing. You were just desperate for a man, not desperate for Matthew. 

“We can’t do anything?” he teases, going for your neck again. You let out a moan, praying that he doesn’t leave any more marks that you’ll have to cover up later. 

“Wait,” you say to him, pulling him off of you. He looks slightly upset, not sure what to do next. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ you think to yourself, pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side and returning the favor of the hickey he gave you. You suck on his skin, listening to the moans that escaped from his lips this time, feeling him grow hard the longer you were at it. He clenches his hands on your butt, pulling you even closer to him. You work your way up his neck and to his jaw, his grip getting tighter the closer you were to his lips. You had no idea what was coming over you and causing you to want to do this, but nothing in that moment felt better. Nothing in your life had ever felt better as you kissed his face the way he did to you the other day, hearing him moan more and more with every connection you made. 

Your lips are millimeters from his, both of you practically begging the other for connection when you’re startled by the sound of Matthew’s phone ringing. You both laugh, foreheads pressed together. One more second and it would have happened. “I think that means our food is here.” 

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters, not loud enough for you to hear as you get up to go grab the food. He couldn’t believe you just did that. He checks his neck in his phone camera, seeing it littered with the red marks you had left for him. He reaches up to touch them, smiling for some reason. There’s no way this list would work against him, would it? 

You come back, him practically throwing his phone so you don’t see what he’s doing, settling down on the couch with each other eating the food. Your mind starts racing with thoughts about what just happened. There was no way you really wanted that, did you? Well, you wanted a man’s touch, but it didn’t necessarily have to be Matthew. It could be any guy. 

‘I have another thing for the list,’ you text Evelina, your eyes moving between your phone screen and his hands holding his food, careful not to look up at his face.

‘Good, god, what?’

‘I hate the way he stares,’ you send her, finally looking up, not taking your eyes off Matthew as the two of you can’t help but stare at each other.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Return Home Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

The date begins in a conference room, where a meeting has been going on for almost three hours

When LFG invested in an online video platform called SE, LFG held a press release stating that it was a strategic move for the international film and TV market

However, just within two years, SE found itself racking up billions of dollars in debt due to its poor project management

As such, people in the know have been secretly ridiculing Victor for making an error of judgement

Fortunately, LFG’s connections with the media prevented this information from leaking out

But it doesn’t change the fact that LFG messed up this time

Victor hasn’t slept in two days - he’s been poring through documents, project materials, and would sometimes sit in the conference room alone for several hours, forgetting to eat :

When Victor returns to the hotel, there are over a hundred unread notifications on his phone. 

He doesn’t pay attention to such information, but taps on the only pinned message amid the countless lists of prompts.

Unsurprisingly, it’s filled with insignificant idle talk, coupled with several different emoticons.

Victor loosens his tie slightly, reading through the messages from top to bottom. 

“I made an improved version of omurice. Want to try it?”

“What is Goldman talking about in his Moments - something about being angry and tired. Is the meeting not going smoothly?”

“Remember to eat...”

“And remember to sleep!”

Victor’s finger pauses at this line, and there’s a gentle emotion flowing in his eyes.

“The internet celebrity lawyer you mentioned the other time agreed to my invitation for an interview, so I’ll be rushing out the proposal this Saturday. Want to be a supervisor?”

Victor opens the dialog box. Once he sends an “ok”, the other party immediately responds with an emoticon of a winking cat. 

Thinking of the time right now, he arches his brows slightly. 

-

Nestled in my quilt, I’m just about to embark on a long speech regarding the weekend’s schedule, but the phone in my hand suddenly vibrates, surprising me. 

Victor: Did you not sleep, or did you wake up?

MC: Haha...

Victor: What are you laughing at? 

MC: It feels like that is something I often ask you. Why is it now your turn to ask me?

Victor: It’s only 5am now. 

MC: I didn’t get a reply from you, so I couldn’t sleep...

I turn over, changing to a more comfortable position against the corner of the quilt. I press the phone tightly to my ear. 

MC: What project are you busy with this time? Is it going smoothly? 

Victor: Smoothly. It’s still early, you can sleep for a while longer.

MC: ...I can’t really sleep now. Are you still coming back on Thursday as you said last time? 

Victor: Before Saturday. 

MC: It’s only Tuesday today... and the sun hasn’t come out yet. 

I hear Victor laugh, his low tone mixed with some tiredness.

Victor: You find it too late? 

MC: I wouldn’t dare to. If it weren’t something important, you wouldn’t delay returning. However... even if it’s because of work, you did go back on your word, so you have to promise me one thing. 

A deep and slow sigh enters my ear, revealing a faint sense of fatigue.

Victor: You can say it. 

MC: You have to eat, and you have to sleep.

The other end of the phone call grows silent for a few seconds. 

Victor: Mm, I promise you.

The misty morning light is on the curtains. In the midst of my quiet grogginess, I close my eyes, wanting to feel the frequency of his breaths. 

MC: ...it has been raining continuously in Paris these two days. 

Victor: It’s like that during this season. 

MC: Is... is it very cold...

Victor: No, it isn’t. 

My consciousness grows increasingly darker, but I can still clearly capture his voice in my bizarre dream world. 

Victor: [in the gentlest of gentle voices] Sleep if you’re tired. I’m hanging up. 

MC: N-not tired... don’t hang up...

Victor: You can’t even speak clearly, and you’re still unwilling to sleep?

MC: ...

I just need five more seconds to be clear-headed--

I let out a sound of agreement, unsure if I managed to say this aloud.

Very soon, only Victor’s long and steady breaths at my ear remain in my world. It’s very, very close. It’s a closeness that gives one a peace of mind. 

Victor: Are you asleep?

MC: ...

Victor: Sleep then.

Victor: ...

Victor: Sleep peacefully. 

-

On Saturday afternoon, I lift my head towards the wall clock for the nth time. When the needle points to the number ‘3′, I can no longer help myself, and give Victor a call. 

After the dial tone, the notification that the other party is unable to answer the call sounds. Before I can react, the doorbell rings. 

Victor is standing at the door and just about to put his phone back into his pocket. In a daze, I look towards at his empty hands. 

MC: Your luggage...

Victor: Goldman took them back. I still have to return to LFG tonight. 

As he speaks, he enters and changes his shoes in the hallway. After that, he walks straight into my bedroom.

Victor: What have you been doing these two days? 

He walks to the coffee table, picking up the messy outline I was working on for an interview. He takes a glance and then lifts the corners of his lips. 

Victor: You said you were working seriously for several days, but you just did a few outlines? 

MC: Don’t underestimate me! I’ve looked through quite a number of materials. Look!

I point at the stack of trending societal topics and legal-related books on the floor. 

MC: Preparatory work speeds up the actual process. Also, didn’t I recognise my inadequacies and ask you to be a supervisor? 

I hurriedly drag a chair to the coffee table and place a headrest on the back of it. 

MC: Please sit. I guarantee that from this second onwards, I’ll concentrate on the proposal. Before the sun sets, I’ll definitely have the first edition out. 

Victor can’t help but laugh. He hangs his coat on the clothes rack in the corner, then pulls the chair over to himself. After sitting down, he seems to recall something and lets out a faint sigh. 

Victor: Lend me your laptop for a while.

I hand him my notebook computer, and a thought flashes across my mind -- how could he not have brought a laptop out?

MC: Victor, when did you get infected by my scatterbrained habits? 

Victor: Only this time. I forgot to take it with me after leaving it in the backseat.

Victor avoids my teasing gaze. With his expression unchanged, he starts approving documents on the LFG intranet. 

Victor: The sun is setting in two hours. 

MC: Who knows - maybe the sun wouldn’t feel like going home today. 

I return to my seat, resting my chin on my palm while looking towards Victor. 

The light golden sunlight streams in from the window, slowly enveloping Victor. The quiet, warm rays of light are coupled with a calming woody scent, and are very pleasant. 

Victor doesn’t speak. His fingers tap against the desk from time to time. In this quiet room, the sound of our breathing is amplified.

After an inordinate amount of time, he finally lifts his eyes and meets mine.

Victor: Staring at me can help you finish your proposal?

MC: I’m not staring at you. I’m silently conceptualising ideas.

After my words are out, a short “ding” sounds.

MC: Wait for a moment~ 

In a flash, I rush to the kitchen and retrieve the aromatic cookies from the oven. After carefully placing them on a cooling rack, I bring it back to the room along with two cups of warm drinks. 

MC: Afternoon tea time!

Victor casts a glance at the cups and arches his brows slightly. Steam floats from the hot cup of milk, and strands of warmth merge with the sweetness in the house.

MC: Your dark circles are so deep, so don’t drink coffee, all right?  

Victor: I’m fine. 

I thought Victor meant that he wouldn’t drink this, but he holds up the cup after speaking. 

Once I sit down, I push the plate filled with cookies towards him. 

MC: Look at my new mold - isn’t it cute?

I point at the cookies, which are shaped like cats with different expressions on them. 

MC: This one is yawning, this one is full of grievances, this one has already fallen asleep, but I like this one the most. It keeps having an angry face. I called it “Qi Gu Gu”.

[Note: Names don’t translate well into English, so I left it as it is. The original name is 气鼓鼓, which means “seething”]

Victor’s eyes sweep towards my fingers. 

Victor: Looks like you. 

MC: Is that so?

I puff my cheeks, mimicking the cat on the cookie and squinting my eyes to look at Victor. 

As predicted, Victor ignores me. There is a measure of speechlessness in his eyes.

I laugh and bring “Qi Gu Gu” to his lips. 

MC: Give it a try? 

Victor takes a bite straight from my hand, then returns his gaze to the laptop. 

MC: Aren’t you going to evaluate it? 

He purses his lips slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or not. He leans forward a little, then finishes the remaining half of “Qi Gu Gu” in my hand. 

His warm lips brush against my fingertips, leaving behind a soft, lingering warmth. A fluffy, light, and sweet sense of happiness stirs up slowly in my heart. 

Contented, I sweep the crumbs off my hands and take up my pen again. 

Soon after, MC’s mind starts wandering to how fine the weather is

And how fine her man is 👀

He doesn’t show much emotion while working, and his expression looks as calm as always. But the deep look of concentration between his eyebrows is a little different from usual.

As for what exactly is different...

It’s probably how one just can’t look away.

Victor: It’s only been a few minutes. How many times have you lost focus? 

I hurriedly retract my gaze, pretending to be scribbling on the paper like an “obedient” student who got caught doing something improper by a teacher.

But my ideas have not been completely formulated, and I can’t think of anything to write. The only thing I can do is draw a small heart at the top right-hand corner of the paper. 

Sensing Victor’s lingering gaze on me, I continue scribbling until it becomes a solid heart, then attach a tilde at the end.

After pausing for a moment, I let out a soft sigh and lift my head slightly. 

Victor: Why are you sighing.

MC: ...I can’t help it.

Victor: Can’t help what? 

MC: Can’t help looking at you. 

I cross my arms together, changing to a more comfortable position and plopping onto the table. I tilt my head towards Victor. 

He lets out a barely audible laugh. Just as he’s about to speak, a familiar ringtone sounds from his pocket. 

Watching Victor pick up the call, my messy thoughts instantly vanish, and I feel slightly downcast.

Victor: The time now is...

While speaking, Victor looks at the bottom right corner of the laptop. After a slight pause, he looks at the phone. 

Victor: 4.30pm. Have them give me a reply by 8pm. 

His words are concise. After he hangs up, I ask him a little hesitantly. 

MC: Do you... have to go back to LFG now? 

Victor: I'm not leaving. 

While saying this, he sets his phone on silent mode and places it at the corner of the table. Meeting my hesitant gaze, there’s a sense of resignation in his calm eyes.

Victor: Your laptop is set to Paris’ timezone. 

I fail to understand the implication behind his words, so I just nod subconsciously. 

MC: Mm, it’s easier to tell the time like that. 

Victor doesn’t speak. He sweeps another glance at the laptop. At this moment, the system sends a report of the weather forecast in Paris over the next five days - there will be continuous rain every day.

He smiles faintly, then closes the laptop slowly.

Victor: ...you’re really becoming more and more dumb.

MC: ...yes yes yes, taking care of a dummy like me is really a bother for Mr CEO. 

I deliberately pout, but can’t help but smile along with Victor. I stand up and retrieve our two empty cups.

MC: I'll go wash the cups. Is there anything you want to eat?

Victor: No need. Are you treating me as you? 

I let out an indignant “hmph”, then turn around and head to the kitchen. 

I originally thought it would only take a few minutes to wash the two cups. But by the time I cleaned and tidied up the tools I used for baking earlier, half an hour has passed. 

When I return to the room, Victor is lying on the bed, my incomplete outline in his hand.

I soften my footsteps and walk over, leaning close to his ear and whispering:

MC: Victor, are you asleep? 

Victor doesn’t respond, but has a shallow intake of breath, his eyelashes quivering gently under the twilight. 

MC: Are you really sleeping or just pretending to sleep? 

Very lightly, I climb onto the bed, inching towards him.

MC: Victor? 

I call his name again softly, but he still does not respond. But the corners of his lips curl up slowly, revealing a smile.  

MC: You aren’t asleep, are you.

I lean one hand on the bed, and use my other hand to lift up a few strands of his hair. 

Looking at his smooth and sharp jawline, my fingertips unconsciously rub the tips of his hair. 

MC: ...have you been very tired recently?

Victor: No.

His words carry with them a certain sleepiness - perhaps he hasn’t had rest in a few days, so he gets drowsy once he relaxes just a little. 

MC: Didn’t you already look at my interview outline? Why are you looking at it again? 

Victor: To see what exactly you were scribbling. 

I think about that heart with its little tail, and am left speechless, as though I got caught having a bad idea. 

Victor: You specially got me here to supervise you, but you only wrote these few sentences the whole afternoon? 

MC: Yeah. Next time, I won’t ask you to be a supervisor! When you’re in front of me, my work efficiency takes a nose-dive. 

I reach out to take my notebook from his hand, then cover him with a blanket. Victor turns his head, his half-closed eyes meeting mine. 

It’s very rare for me to see such a burnt-out look in his eyes. Right now, I can only feel the emotions in my heart towards this person becoming a hundred times more tender. 

MC: Sleep for a while before going to LFG? I’ll wake you up at 7.30pm.

With the rigour of Victor’s schedule, several important meetings were cancelled at short notice so he could fly to Paris. After that, his return was delayed twice.

We already agreed that he’d return before Saturday, but it suddenly changed to Saturday itself...

This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t an extremely troublesome matter. 

...and he still stubbornly said that he wasn’t tired.

I place my forefingers on his temples, making slow circles. After a while, a soft laugh drifts from his lips. 

Victor: [releases a sigh which sounds like a moan lol]...

Victor takes my right hand and encloses it in his palm, wordlessly pulling me closer to him. 

With this distance, every one of his breaths mingle with mine. I can’t help but bend down, pressing the corner of my lips to his fringe.

In the quiet darkness, I hear the frequency of our heartbeats and breathing mingling and becoming more and more synchronised.

Victor: ...there’s no need to worry about me. I haven’t reached the point where a dummy has to worry about me.

MC: Mm, I got it. 

I respond softly, but can’t hide the touch of peace in my smile. 

MC: ...I just can’t help it.

Can’t help but worry if you’re hungry or not, whether you're cold or not, whether you’re tired or not. 

Can’t help but want to see you, whether you’re in front of me or not.

Can’t help but reveal the smile in my brows and lips just because you surface in my mind. 

I look out the window - the clouds spread across the dim twilight and the stars are looming. The golden sunset and the quietness of the night meet at the end of the sky. 

The sun is about to set.

MC: Victor, I didn’t finish the interview outline before the sun set. Are you going to punish me? 

Victor: ...

The only response I get is the sound of his steady and peaceful breathing. 

I lower my head and look at his sleeping face. This familiar side profile has gotten slightly thinner over the span of just a few days. I reach out, stroking his cheek in mid-air.

Afraid to disturb him, I silently watch him.

MC: Sleep then.

MC: ...

MC: Sleep peacefully. 

[k-llama-llama]

PC Room

Seventeen AU: 14th member

Rei x Seventeen

Dino decision leaves Rei in a bad situation (I promise this is the last predebut Rei for a while)

Rei is not a permanent addition so if you have requests let me know…but she’s just an idea I had. She is NOT cannon with the rest of my AUs.

A/N: bonus post for you all today….ALSO CHECK OUT MY PATREON FOR ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND EARLY ACCESS (patreon.com/kllamallama)

Requests are OPEN!!!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“What took you so long?” Chan said as soon as Rei hurried down the steps of her school.

“Sorry.” She skidded to a stop in front of him. “I couldn’t find my rain coat.”

He looked up at the sky, which was getting pretty cloudy, and then back at her. “Where is it?”

“I didn’t find it.” Rei shrugged. “But you were waiting, so I tried to go fast.”

“Right. Well, let’s go.” He turned to walk away.

“Are we going home?” Rei asked, hurrying after him.

“The PC room.” He answered. “The guys are already there.”

When he said ‘the guys’, Rei knew that he didn’t mean the other trainees. He meant his friends from school. He hung out with them every Tuesday when he didn’t have training right after school, and had made no secret of the fact that he hated that he still had to take her along because it was also his job to walk her home from school.

Normally, Rei didn’t mind. She’d just get a computer in another part of the café and play computer games until Chan decided it was time to go home. But she’d forgotten her wallet that morning and Jeonghan had given her lunch money, so she didn’t have any extra to pay for the computer. And there was no way she was going to ask Chan for any.

The PC room was only a couple of subway stops away from her school, so she used the last of the money Jeonghan had given her to pay for the fare.

“I’m going over there.” Chan pointed to the far corner of the room. “Don’t wander off.”

“Okay.” Rei said, watching him as he walked away. She found a table in a section of the café she didn’t normally use, and started pulling out her school books. She was a bit behind on some of her math work, so she could use the time to catch up on that.

She wasn’t sure how long had passed, but it had started raining a while ago and the sun had set, when one of the employees came up to talk to her.

“Excuse me, miss.” The woman said kindly. “We’re closing now.”

“Oh!” Rei exclaimed, slamming her textbook shut. “I’ll just go get my friend and then we can-“

“I think you’re the only one left.” The woman smiled. “But you should hurry home, it’s pretty rainy out.”

Rei blinked, sure that she’d misheard. She put everything back into her backpack, walking towards the front door of the shop. The employees were turning off the lights, and she was, in fact, the only customer left.

Her heart dropped. Chan wouldn’t have left without her, right? She stepped out the front door, standing under the awning. It was raining, and her shoes were getting soaked just from the puddles on the ground. The rain was loud, blocking out the sounds of passing cars.

Her gaze settled on a coffee shop across the street, still with a few customers. She smiled. Chan had probably just gone there for a drink.

Hugging her backpack to her chest to protect it from the rain, she rushed across the road. She was soaked instantly and sighed in relief when she stepped through the doors of the coffee shop.

But a quick glance around revealed that Chan was nowhere to be found.

“Would you like a drink? We’re about to close.” The employee said to her.

“No, thank you.” Rei clutched her backpack closer, stepping back out into the rain.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “Wow, it’s really raining out there.” Jihoon laughed as he stepped into the apartment.

“You’re telling me.” Jeonghan smiled. “Do you want some ramen? I’m on my second pot.”

“Yes, please. I don’t think I-“ His gaze fell on Chan, sitting on the couch with his books spread out in front of him. “Oh, you guys are home?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.” Chan said, not looking up.

Jihoon shook his hair off, heading into the bedroom. But when he looked up at Rei’s bunk, he didn’t see her sitting there. She was always there, working on her homework until someone forced her to go to bed. But she wasn’t there, and neither was her backpack or any of her school things.

“Where’s Rei?” He asked, coming back into the living room.

Chan shrugged.

“They got home a while ago.” Seungcheol said, looking over from where he was folding towels. “Right?”

“Chan?” Jeonghan prompted.

“Hm?” He looked up from his book. “Oh, we didn’t come home together.”

“What?” Seungcheol dropped his towel. “What do you mean? I thought you guys went to the PC bar after school.”

“We did.” Chan nodded. “But the guys wanted to go for pizza and I couldn’t find her. I figured she went out.”

“And you didn’t think that finding her was more important than pizza?” Jeonghan exclaimed.

“She’s a big girl, she can take the subway home by herself.”

“She doesn’t have any money.” Jihoon picked her wallet up off the counter. “And she doesn’t have a cell phone. How is she supposed to get home?”

Chan eyes widened. “You mean?”

“Let’s go.” Seungcheol kicked off his slippers, going for his raincoat.

 ~~~~~~~~

Rei was soaked.

She wasn’t sure if she was shivering anymore, because her body had gone numb. Her backpack was still hugged tightly to her chest, but she doubted that it was still dry. Her blazer and skirt were plastered to her legs, and her shoes sloshed with every step.

She’d been walking for almost two hours, not that she had been able to check the time. She was pretty sure she was headed in the right direction, but honestly she didn’t know. She would have stopped to call – someone would have let her use their phone – but she didn’t have any of the boys’ number memorized. Which meant she had to just keep walking and hope she was heading towards home.

She saw someone sprint out onto the street in front of her, and instinctively flinched. Her walk home had been relatively incident free, aside from the cold that now had her teeth chattering to the point of being painful. But the person running down the street was coming right at her.

She glanced to the side, wondering if it would be smart to duck into the alley, when the person’s voice reached her over the rain.

“REI! Rei, is that you?”

“Chan?” She whispered, not sure if it was him.

He slammed into her, wrapping his arms around her. “Where have you been?”

“W…Wa-walking home.” She stuttered. “Where did you go?”

“I…We went…” He rubbed her shoulders.

All at once, it was too much for Rei, and she burst into tears. “You left me!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He hugged her tightly. “I won’t ever do it again.”

“I’ve been walking for hours.” She sobbed.

“I know. Come on, we’ll get you home and warmed up.” He pulled off his own raincoat, wrapping it over her head.

“I’m….already…S-soaked.” She shivered.

“I’m so sorry.” He said again, keeping one arm around her shoulders as he started to lead her home.

Another figure appeared in front of them.

“Did you find her!” Jeonghan’s voice shouted.

“I’ve got her!” Chan confirmed.

When they got back to their house, Rei was forced to take a long, hot shower, while Seungcheol put her pajamas into the dryer. Still, when she finally emerged and sat down on the couch, there was a sniffle to her voice and a slight red tinge to her nose.

“You need to drink this.” Chan set a mug of soup down in front of her.

She took it, her hands still shaking.

Jeonghan smoothed her hair back. “You should have stopped somewhere. Or at least used your backpack to cover you.”

“I didn’t want my homework to get wet.” Rei took a sip, sighing as she started to warm up.

“I can’t believe you tried to walk all the way home.” Seungcheol scolded. “You could have gotten kidnapped.”

“I thought you’d be proud of me. I didn’t get lost.” Rei gave him a tiny smile.

“You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place.” Jihoon crossed his arms.

Chan sunk lower in his seat. “I’m sorry, okay. I feel bad enough.”

“She’s sick.” Jeonghan pointed out. “You can’t possibly feel worse than she does.”

“It’s okay. He didn’t want to take me for pizza. I should have-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Seungcheol handed her a mug of tea, leaving her with two mugs. “And Chan will make it up to you.”

Chan nodded enthusiastically. “Next time I take you home from school…we can…we can go to a movie. Or we can go to one of those craft cafes you always want to visit. We’ll go wherever you want, my treat.”

Rei smiled. “There’s a shop that has an ice cream parlour in one half, and a bunch of kittens in the other.”

“We’ll go.” He promised. “And spend hours and hours there.”

Rei sneezed.

“And I’ll do your homework.” Chan reached for her books. They’d been placed out on the table, allowing them to dry. “All of it.”

“But you haven’t done yours yet.” She protested, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“I’ll do yours first.” He insisted, opening the math book. “So you can go to bed and get better.”

Rei pouted slightly, looking at Jeonghan. “I think you guys are making him feel bad.”

“Good.” Jeonghan smiled, taking the soup mug out of her hand. “Take your tea to bed with you. We’ll get a heating pad to keep you warm.”

Rei nodded, standing up and stretching. The boys all filed out of the room, leaving her and Chan.

“Hey Chan?”

“Yeah?” He looked up, biting on the end of his pencil.

“I’m really not mad.” She promised. “I don’t even mind being sick. Maybe I won’t have to go to school tomorrow.”

He sighed. “Don’t try to make me feel better, okay? This is my fault, so just…let me try and fix it.”

“If that’s what you want.” She shrugged. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sweet dreams.” He smiled. “Stay home sick tomorrow, and I’ll bring you food after school.”

“Chicken?”

“Chicken.” He promised.

“Rei! Bed.” Jeonghan called.

“I’m going.” Rei winked at Chan, hurrying off to bed.

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: A Balmy Tuesday in Hell

Taking a break from the prompt requests to wish a very happy birthday to @snailbutters! Tbh I like this idea a lot and I’m tempted to expand on it more. Cross posted on AO3. 

xxx

When Mike went looking for a part-time job to earn some spending money, he had a hard time finding one that worked around his college class schedule. All the good on-campus jobs were taken, and most of the ones he found offsite required him to be up way too early or way too late with very little flexibility. 

The front desk position at the Beelzebob, a local hair salon advertising an array of “wicked styles” for any occasion, was not the most glamorous position, but it welcomed part timers and offered flexible schedules to be discussed on a case by case basis. It was at the tail end of a long week of job hunting with little to show for it, and Mike was tired. Still, he dragged himself all the way there after his three-hour Friday seminar and put on his best retail charm for the interview. 

One of the stylists told him to wait in the lobby while she grabbed the manager for his interview, and so Mike sat in a plush, purple chair and eyed the stack of magazines on the coffee table—HJi, Professional Beauty, NHF, and others he recognized from Googling “how to work at a hair salon” last night. A playlist that seemed to consist entirely of K-pop pumped ripples of bubblegum bass through the speakers and had Mike tapping his fingers on his hip. There was no one behind the sleek, glass reception desk, so Mike got up and wandered over to it. He tried to imagine himself with the headset on, fielding phone calls and helping customers pick out one of the many luxury hair products on the walls behind the desk. He touched his own brown hair—plain and getting a bit long, but styled with a little wax for the day—and worried about whether he should have tried a bit harder for this interview. Would he be judged on his own hair? That seemed reasonable enough—

“This simply won’t do.”

Mike startled at the lyrical voice and turned around to find a seven-foot, red-skinned demon in Lululemons appraising him over an enterprising nose. Which would have been a cause for mild to moderate alarm even in Metroville—a hub for lowlifes, Supervillains, and the occasional monster on a mission out of Townsville farther north—except that Mike recognized this particular demon. At which point he got the pun in the name of this place and smiled. 

“Him,” he squeaked. And then, remembering his high school retail training: “I mean, Mr. Him.”

Him—Prince of Pestilence, Duke of Depravity, Earl of Evil, et cetera—blushed the color of an open wound. “You’re house trained, I see. All right, this way.”

Him turned on his Louboutin heel and headed into the salon. Mike hurried after Him, unsure whether this was good or bad. Him led him to a styling chair and sat him down. A purple salon cape made its way around Mike’s neck with a flamenco flourish, and Him leaned over his head in the reflection. 

“What are we thinking?”

Mike eyed his potential future employer from perfectly curled goatee to artificial mink lashes and hesitated. 

This is a test. 

It had to be. Surely, anyone manning the phones had to know something about haircare in general. If he was to be the vanguard, the watcher on the Wall, he would have to be able to alert his colleagues of the incoming threats and answer questions about how to fend off anything from tangles to split ends. Mike tried to remember the last time he got a haircut; Boomer had been with him, his eye far more discerning than Mike’s. 

“Comb over,” Mike said. 

“Quiff?”

“More faux hawk.” He tried not to think of the heat on the back of his neck, and instead of the sly grin on Boomer’s face the last time he’d been under the scissors. “With a low fade. Um, please.”

Him’s fangs gleamed when he grinned. “Good choice.”

For a demon with claws the size of dinner plates, Him was surprisingly adroit and precise to a literal razor’s edge. In fact, Mike was certain Him must sharpen his claws to get them sharp enough to shave the hair from the nape of his neck, which seemed like a sensible time-saver. Blackpink’s Pretty Savage blared over the speaker as Him coifed and styled the thicker locks that remained on top of Mike’s head, combed to the left in enviable, anti-gravity perfection. 

“Wow.” He touched the side of his head, marveling at the close but generous cut and the perfect blend. “This has to be the best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”

He got up and removed the cape, only to find Him with a broom in his claw. “I run a clean salon, Michael.”

Mike accepted the broom without question. “Yes, sir.”

Him preened. “Good lad.”

“Does… Does this mean I got the job?”

Him flipped his claw. “There will be a trial period. You young people are so used to texting that I’ll have to determine if you’re fit to answer a phone. But, considering your manners, I have a good feeling about you.”

Amazing! “Thank you so much! When do I start?”

“Honey, you’re already late. I have customers waiting.” Him snapped his claw. “Chop chop.”

Mike swept up his shorn hair and the hair around the chair next to his, dumped it all in a bin labeled “Hair,” and ran to the front desk to answer the phone ringing off the hook. The stylist who’d greeted him, Marisol, helped him with the computer login so he could manage appointments and checkout. It was easy enough, a Square card reader and a cash register and a huge logbook of every sale. 

“Middle finger up, F-U, pay me,” Mike whisper-rapped along with Lisa. 

A couple hours later, Him handed him a check for the time worked and told him to be back here tomorrow at 3 p.m. Mike accepted the check, but he didn’t pocket it. 

“Sir, I should tell you for the sake of full disclosure.”

Him peered down at him with his claws on his hips. “Oh?”

This should not be so hard.

“I’m, well, I’m involved. With your son. Boomer.”

Him clicked his claw, and Mike held his breath. 

Boomer had spoken about Him—Baron of Brutality, King of Chaos, Emperor of Enmity et cetera—on just a few occasions throughout their acquaintance. Raising souls from the dead was a hobby of Him’s, apparently, but often his necromantic offspring ended up rotting and were no fit candidates to promenade in civilized society that wasn’t eternally damned and burning. Chemical X cut out that inconvenience, and thus the perfect little boys were reborn, or something. According to Boomer, Him was evil on Sundays, a prolific genius on Tuesdays, and crocheting with his kobolds on Fridays. The rest of the time he was just a normal demon trying to survive in this capitalist post-modern society like everybody else. Anyway, Sunday wasn’t in Mike’s work schedule, so that seemed safe enough.

“I know,” Him said. “You don’t expect me to believe you’d Googled the most flattering hairstyle for your bone structure without help, do you?”

Mike was pretty sure there was a compliment in there, even if it wasn’t for him. “I guess not.”

Him beamed. “Don’t worry. I would never let my favorite son’s romantic life influence the culture at Beelzebob. You’ll be judged before an impartial tribunal of incubi, like everybody else. Now, before you go, I’d like you to dispose of the waste, please.”

Mike learned the value of separating trash that day. Discarded receipts and candy wrappers dumped in the waste bin went into the trash, lunch leftovers went to compost, and cut hair went to sacrificial offerings. 

“Sacrifices reduce our carbon footprint and offer protection against flat Earthers. It’s a proven science, you know.”

Mike supposed it would be poor manners to argue with an ancient evil on his crochet day.

xxx

Boomer was all sly smiles and discreet hand touches when Mike treated him to dinner at their favorite Thai place later that week. 

“So, your job seems to be paying well,” he said. 

“Well enough to take my boyfriend out to a nice dinner now and then.”

“Careful. Spend too much time with Him and your tastes will get really expensive.”

Mike laughed. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll switch majors to cosmetology and join the family business.”

“You know what? He’d probably love that. He tried so hard to get Brick to follow in his footsteps, but Mojo let him mess around on his E-Shares account once when we were eleven and Brick was lost to the finance track forever. I’m pretty sure Mojo did it on purpose.” Boomer leaned in and clinked his wine glass to Mike’s. “Anyway, buy me this dinner before you jump to joining the family business.”

Mike flushed. “I’m—I didn’t—”

Boomer laughed. “Chill! I’m just messing with you.”

The playlist at the restaurant began playing Blackpink’s Kill This Love, and Mike burst out laughing. 

“What?” Boomer asked. “You like this song? You know, Him is really big into K-pop lately. Butch thinks someone must have sold a bunch of souls and made a killing.”

“I know.” Mike kissed Boomer’s hand. “It’s just funny how things work out.”

Boomer smiled. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Their food arrived, and Mike happily ate his meal across from Boomer. And in the back of his mind, he said a little thank-you to Him and whatever chaotic forces he controlled for reviving Boomer all those years ago. 

It must have been a balmy Tuesday in Hell.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.

[softbiker]

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (not Stucky)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: maybe a couple curse words? I don’t remember. Lots of coffee

Summary: Steve is fond of a particular barista. Bucky has a favorite customer. Let’s see where this goes! 

A/N: Somewhat inspired by real life events, this is (hopefully) going to turn into a new series! No idea where I’m going with it or how often it will update, but let’s have fun and see where it goes! As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading <3

It’s July - early morning and already hot - and the door squeaks loudly somewhere over her shoulder as she preps a fresh batch of coffee to brew. She doesn’t look up or turn around, intent on her task, but she calls a distracted “good morning”, along with her coworkers. The humid morning air has left a sticky fog on the windows and doors, on skin and clothes, and it follows them inside, in spite of the air conditioning. She’s already regretting the long-sleeved shirt she plucked from her laundry pile, though it was the only passable shirt she could find and still be in dress code.

“Hey, you got front?” Bea, her supervisor, pipes up over the headset. Her head bobs over the open door of her bar fridge, where she’s counting milk.

With a nod, she turns back around from the brewing machine, putting on her customer service smile as she sees-

“Oh, morning, Steve,” she laughs, her smile blooming genuine. “I barely heard you come in, sorry.”

“No worries,” Steve smiles. His eyes look tired, but she knows hers are as well - it’s 6:30 in the morning and they’re already into their work day. He ducks his head, leaning a hip against the front counter. “I’m quiet, I guess.”

“What can I get for you?” she asks, tapping away at the screen to open her till. “Just the americano with stevia and almond milk?”

Steve chuckles and blushes under the dark stubble on his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It strains the seams of his plain white t-shirt, stretched too tight already across his broad shoulders.

“I’m predictable, huh?” his nose scrunches as he asks, and she drops her eyes back down to the screen in front of her, displaying his order as she rings it up.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she shrugs, pursing her lips in an effort to contain her smile. “Anything else for you?”

“Uh, yeah actually, can I get an iced coffee, too? With a little bit of cream?”

“Sure thing,” with a couple of swipes at the screen she’s got the order rung up. She pushes it through, prompts him to swipe his card, and glances down towards the bar, wondering where her coworkers have suddenly disappeared to.

“Well - I guess I’ll get those ready for you,” she quirks an eyebrow at him as she makes her way down towards the espresso machines, with Steve following along, separated by the counter between them. He watches, her head down, labeling a cup and pulling espresso shots, turning for a stevia packet.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How you been?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs. “I’m here - and it’s 6:30. And hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Tell me about it. I’m already sweating.”

“Same here!” Her face disappears as she bends down to dig in the fridge for a tetra of almond milk. “I mean, I really played myself today - wearing long sleeves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Wow, rookie mistake,” Steve shakes his head.

She slides the americano out at the end of the bar, after adding a cardboard sleeve to protect against the scalding heat of the water. Their eyes meet over the drink, his fingers just slightly brushing hers even as she spins away and grabs the cup for his iced coffee. Conversation lulls; he clears his throat, takes a small sip of the drink and enjoys the slight burn on the tip of his tongue. She’s fast and smooth, never quite looking at him but never turning completely away from him; he’s in the corner of her vision and she’s the center of his. The cream swirls downward into the iced coffee, softening the color and the taste - though Steve has never been a fan of cold coffees, but he knows how Sam takes it.

“Here you go,” she holds out the iced coffee with a polite smile, plucking a straw from the caddy next to her and extending it in her other hand.

“Thank you-” he trips over whether or not to say her name; he wants to say it, and it’s written right there on her apron, offered on the tip of his tongue. He’d like to taste it. But the leap of familiarity scares him, as it has the last two months he’s been coming in here, and he swallows down the letters. Settles for an answering smile.

“Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he half-jokes, coffees in hand, backing towards the door one step at a time. He watches her head bob as she ducks down to grab a rag out of her sanitizing bucket; she wrings it out and wipes down the counter, sparing him a lifted eyebrow, a sly sideways glance.

“Maybe-” she smirks, swiping an already clean spot on the counter before dropping her rag back in the bucket. “I might be off tomorrow.”

“Might be?” Steve’s head quirks to one side. “You don’t know?”

“Well…I asked someone to trade shifts with me so I could have the weekend off…” she sighs and crosses her arms. “But I haven’t heard back from her, so it’s probably not happening.” Her wry smile is accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just as well, though. This place would probably fall apart without me.”

“Oh, definitely,” he chuckles. “So I guess, maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good one, Steve!” she waves as he ducks out the door, bell jingling overhead at his departure. It really is hot today - her cheeks feel warm. Her whole body does, actually; but the cafe is quiet and empty now, the sun just rising over the buildings outside, and she gets a sip of water from the cup she keeps stashed under the front register.

“So how’s your man today?” Bea jokes over the headset. Looking over, she can see Bea’s mirthful expression peeking around the corner from the back of house where she’d been washing whip canisters.

“Yeah, when are you and Steve gonna go out?” Ally’s voice joins in the teasing, innocently sarcastic in her trademark way.

“Come on, guys,” she huffs, glad that neither of them is out front on the floor, where she was unable to hide her smile. “Steve is just a customer. He’s just another nice regular, that’s all.”

“Uh huh. That’s why you giggle every time we bring him up?”

“I do not!”

“Well, you just keep telling yourself that,” Bea smirks, banging through the back of house door with an armload of milk. “But you should know that store is taking bets on when he’ll finally ask you out.”

She chooses not to answer, just rolls her eyes and heads out the front door to set up the patio umbrellas. It’s July, early morning and already hot, but at least there’s a breeze out here - enough to cool the blazing in her cheeks even as she wrestles the umbrellas open to shade the outdoor tables. Her mind drifts away, to Steve’s easy smile and Steve’s breathtaking eyes, and the way he always dropped a dollar or two in the tip jar. Not to mention, the stretch of his white tees across those ridiculous shoulders.

Well, anyway. He is a nice regular. That’s why she enjoys him coming in every day, that’s all.

**********

“She there today?” Sam smirks as he eagerly plunges the straw into his iced coffee, swirling the cream into its depths. He waggles his eyebrows at Steve’s flushed cheeks while he takes the first satisfying sip.

“Yes.” Steve clears his throat, keeping his eyes down on his own drink. They’re sitting in Steve’s office - well, Steve is sitting, safely behind his desk. Sam posts himself in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his feet crossed. He watches his friend’s flustered fluttering behind the desk - Steve shuffles papers, taps on the keyboard of his computer to open his email, moves his coffee to one side of the laptop and then the other.

“Well?” Sam prompts, gleefully swirling his iced coffee, listening to the ice rattle before taking another loud slurp. “You ask her out yet? Give her your number at least?”

Steve scowls up at his buddy over his laptop screen.

“Sam you don’t get it-” he huffs. “This girl…she’s - God, she’s so beautiful, Sam. You know how many guys must hit on her every day? In a town like this?” He shakes his head. “I’d just be another asshole to her; she’d file my number away with all the other guys she’s not gonna call.”

“Whatever, dude,” Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s just an excuse for you to not take a chance on it. You just gonna keep going in there early in the morning and wasting money on coffee you used to brew at home?”

Steve doesn’t dignify that particular dig with a response, instead choosing to take a large swig from his coffee - he had to admit, she made a damn good cup. Simple as it was. But he knew, as many excuses as he made, he was addicted to more than just the espresso; her sweet smile perked him up in the mornings the way caffeine just couldn’t quite cut it.

He’d been going into the cafe at the crack of dawn for at least a month now. Sam practically begged him once to go out for an iced coffee, an early morning at the end of May, and with a sigh he’d agreed, though he complained loudly about wasting money on expensive coffee shop brews when he preferred to make his own in the coffee pot sitting three feet away from his desk.

The bell dinged over the door, the sun already streaming through the windows at the early hour, summer flushing full and bright. Familiar coffee shop sounds and smells carried across the empty cafe as he strolled in, hands in his pockets, taking in the quaint tables and mismatched chairs, an overstuffed sofa invitingly empty in one corner. Cute. He shuffled towards the counter, not really looking, till he heard a voice welcoming him in and-

She turned around from the brewing machine behind her, smiling soft and brilliant, her eyes a 6 am combination of sleepy brightness, caffeine buzzing in her own veins already.

One hit. That’s all it took to get him hooked.

*********

Her shift couldn’t have ended soon enough. The bright sun and gorgeous summer weather had her itching under her apron, aching to get outdoors in spite of the heat. Every few minutes it seemed she turned to the register to check the time, or slipped her phone from her pocket. Never quite time, never quite close enough. Until-

“Okay, if you’ll just wipe down the bar, you’re good to go,” Nat sighs as she ties her apron, looping the strings around her waist and knotting it in the front. Nat usually takes afternoon and evening shifts, so they haven’t gotten to know each other well, but there’s something about the redhead that she both likes and fears.

With a little whoop of joy, she whirls around to her bucket and grabs the rag for the last time (today at least) and wipes away the splashes of syrup, coffee, and milk that have accumulated over the course of her shift. The counter is a little sticky, but a little elbow grease dissolves the tacky syrup puddle, and with a flourish she stows her carton of coconut milk in the fridge under the counter, tosses her rag back in the bucket, and flashes a peace sign to the other baristas on the floor.

“Alright, I’m out you guys!” she calls, already tugging her apron over her head. Her tote bag hangs on a hook in the back of house, and she rolls the apron up into it before stepping over to the computer to clock out.

“Whatcha doin’ this afternoon?” Bea is off now as well, having handed off the keys to Nat, and was tucking her own apron into her backpack, her Juul sticking out of one corner of her mouth.

“Mm. It’s such a beautiful day…” she sighs. “I think I’m going to go read at that new place I like, get a cold brew, maybe sit outside.”

“Leaving this coffee shop and going to another one?” Bea laughs, taking a hit off her vape, a little cloud puffing in front of her face. She’s not supposed to have it inside the building, definitely not supposed to use it inside at least, but the current manager hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to tell her to stop, so she carries on as she pleases.

“Gotta support local business.” She swings her tote bag up on her shoulder, regretting her habit of stuffing it so full that it’s uncomfortably heavy, and then she’s on her way out the door. “See ya later!”

Besides being a proud supporter of local businesses, she’s also totally addicted to the Garage - the other café and pub she frequents whenever she gets the chance. Their cold brew? Smooth and chocolatey. Their patio? Perfectly shaded and comfortable. Their vibe? Grunge-y without being dirty, hipster without being pretentious. She’d loved it from the first moment she stepped inside on her afternoon off, looking for an iced drink and a cozy spot that wasn’t her own home. What she found? A near-perfect coffee shop with amazing sweet potato fries.

“Oh, hey welcome in!”

Well. And there’s that, too.

“Hi, Bucky - how’s it going?” she smiles at the barista and bartender behind the counter, who is currently stocking the pastry case with an assortment of mouthwatering scones. His hair is swept up in its usual bun, and his mechanic’s shirt is tucked into a pair of black jeans, the short sleeves rolled over his biceps to reveal one flesh arm bearing a full sleeve of tattoos, and one gleaming polished prosthetic.

“Oh, it’s going,” he shrugs, a little bashful. He wills his eyes back down the the pastries at hand, though it’s hard with the way she smiles, hands in the back pockets of her shorts as she approaches the counter.

“Been busy today?” she asks, giving the menu a customary glance, though she’s too far gone on their cold brew to ever order anything else.

“Not too bad, no,” he shakes his head, sliding the glass panel behind the pastry case shut and tossing paper box from the bakery in the trash bin. “Little bit of a rush earlier around lunch, but nothing like what you guys get in the mornings.”

“Oof, for your sake I hope not,” she shudders. “The morning rush is wild, you’ve got no idea.”

“Oh, I’ve got some idea, I’ve seen that drive thru line,” he smirks, leaning his elbows on the counter. Unconsciously she takes a step closer, leaning against the other side of the wood, a mere couple of feet between them.

“I’m literally triggered by the words ‘drive thru’,” she says, with an exaggerated eye twitch that makes him laugh.

“Alright, alright, I won’t bring it up again, my bad,” he raises his hands in supplication, an almost prayer, watching her nose wrinkle and rearrange the pattern of the freckles there.

“Well, anyways, can I get a cold brew, please?” she sighs, looking at him under her lashes.

“You got it,” he nods, tapping the counter. “Perfect day for it, too.” They both glance out the wide front windows of the café, where the patio furniture is arranged under a well-shaded awning strung with criss-crossed globe lights. In the midsummer afternoon, it’s a perfect place to be lazy in public, to sip a drink and read, to pretend to be the sort of person who gets to do those things in the middle of the day.

“It is,” she sighs, looking wistfully at the patio.

“You can go on and get a seat,” he lowers his voice as a couple new customers shuffle into the café. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Oh, you sure?” She glances around, noticing that he seems to be the only staff member here. Their shop is laughably less busy than hers, able to survive on a single barista for any length of time during the day, but she still doesn’t want to make more work for him. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Nah, it’s no problem,” he smiles, dimpling his scruffy cheeks. “I’ll have it out in a minute.”

She’s back out the door and at her favorite table; he can see her from his place behind the bar, with her feet tucked up on the sturdy outdoor ottoman, her bag stuffed under her chair and book already cracked open in her lap. She’s not looking at the page, though - the beautiful day seems to distract her, as she lifts her face into the breeze and stretches her legs out further across the ottoman, spreading out to catch even more of the sunlight.

Wanda hip checks him as she breezes through from the kitchen, having come in through the back door.

“Your girl here today?” she teases, raising one brow suggestively. Bucky scowls at her, embarrassed and flustered and a little guilty.

“She’s not my girl, Wanda,” he corrects her. “She’s just a customer.”

“Pretty regular customer,” Wanda shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean anything. We’ve got plenty of regulars.”

“No other regulars that you look at like that.”

He doesn’t respond. Turning his back on her, he takes a straw from the condiment bar and grabs the cup of cold brew he just poured, and stalks around the counter towards the door.

Wanda stands in the kitchen door, a bin full of dirty dishes under her arm, and watches as he crosses the patio, tucking one hair behind his ear and smiling at the sweet girl with the book in her lap. The girl smiles back, squinting in the bright summer sun, and laughs at something Bucky says, while Buck ducks his head and shoves his hands in his front pockets. He lingers, lingers far longer than required for delivering a single cup of cold brew.

Yeah, sure. She’s just a regular, alright.

[snesdudes]

28 dates with Unit Bravo

Day 1: CHOCOLATE

Pairing: Nate x f!Detective (Berenice Bailey)

Warnings: None, this is pure fluff. I don't think there's even any swear words (which for me is weird). Also Berry is a nerd and Nate loves it because he's a nerd too.

Words: ~1.7k

A/N: So!!! I've decided to join this. I should post a one shot with each of the prompts everyday this month for Mason x Alice or Nate x Berry. Let's see if I can keep up 😉

☾ 一一一一一一一一一 ☽

Not an inch of the coffee table was visible under the blanket of books spread over it, open in pages that needed revision before she had traveled to the next one. Her notebook was full of scribbles and notes in different colors, highlighted bits in a bright yellow if it was something really important, unfinished information in green, false legends in blue and so on…

And sitting on the floor, her petite body folded almost impossibly, with her head resting against a behavioral guide of some mythological creature, was his girlfriend.

Nate was observing her with a soft smile on his lips, the sight both heartwarming and slightly amusing. She was snoring softly and the pages in front of her lips trembled slightly with every breath she exhaled. Her nose wrinkled every once in a while in a way she also did when she was awake - a habit he found utterly adorable - and the corners of her mouth curled upwards… the dream was pleasant, at least.

But that posture can not be good for her back and knees, Nate mused to himself, a mug of chocolate on each of his hands as he stood a few feet away from the table.

He had been patrolling and the best gift he could receive when he went back to the warehouse was the news that Berenice was in the library researching on her own. He had to refrain himself from going running to her and instead thought of bringing her some of her favorite beverage - hot chocolate with marshmallows.

Only to find her sleeping deeply over his books.

He left the mugs on the floor for a moment before gently removing a raven strand of hair from her freckled face, placing it behind her ear tenderly.

If Berenice could see how he was looking at her - she could barely be able to believe someone could hold such warmth in only a gaze. He whispered her name in the silent library, as if it was a secret which had to stay among the books for no one else to discover.

But she jolted awake with a jump and an exclamation.

"Wolpertinger!" She yelped, bright blue and brown eyes blinking unfocused, a mark on her cheek where she had been resting it against a book. Nate stifled a laugh at her alarmed expression as her eyes fell on him, cheeks quickly warming.

"Oh? Is that my new pet name?"

She groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, proceeding then to stretch her arms as far as they could go up and behind her head, and Nate watched attentively every motion, dark eyes drinking in the sight of her slightly disheveled.

"Don't tell me I drooled over the books." She spoke, voice thick with sleep sending a delicious thrill through him, as she scanned the pages of the books she had used as a pillow. "Thank God." She muttered to herself, checking there was no harm done, and turned her face to Nate, more awake now. A wide smile instantly lit up her face at the handsome features she had come to adore. "Hi."

"Hello." Nate answered, and the pair of them let the moment linger for some seconds, eyes locked and smiles firmly planted in their lips. Their relationship was still so new, so exciting, and still so little moments had been shared, this felt like a blessing. Nate was the first to snap from the trance. "I brought you something."

She perked up, curiosity all over her features as he presented her the mug of hot chocolate. The rich smell of it instantly invaded her nostrils and she all but moaned, hands enveloping the warm ceramic.

"Thank you so much. You read my mind."

"Let's move to the couch, shall we?" Nate offered her a hand and she took it, the familiar spark lighting up her nerves at his touch making her smile widen.

They settled on the couch side to side, his arm falling over her back to surround her almost absentmindedly, bringing her closer. She sighed with satisfaction and stared at her drink.

"So many marshmallows. You're my knight in shining armor." She took the first sip as Nate grinned at her, happily watching the joy this simple gesture had brought to her features.

"Anytime, beautiful." He replied, squeezing her the slightest bit.

Berenice got comfortable, throwing her legs over his lap to turn her torso towards him more easily, the look on her eyes silently asking if it was okay, the pressure of his lips against her forehead a better answer she could have ever hope for.

"What were you researching? Are there wolpertingers in the Wayhaven forest now?" He asked with a hint of amusement on his smile. She snorted softly before taking a big gulp of chocolate.

"I was investigating how many myths repeat themselves in different countries and cultures and the differences between them." He could see in her face that innate thirst for knowledge she had, something he found incredibly attractive. "I want to create a database with all of them so we can go through it faster when we need it. A software with a collection of all the names and characteristics that had been assigned to the same creature over the years. Maybe also link them to the historic period they were first discovered? And a list of the myths that are not true? Hmm." She reached out for her notebook and a pen and started writing quickly her new ideas, leaving it on the table and looking back at Nate, who was staring at her with something akin awe in his face. She started talking faster. "I know you don't like technology, so it'll be really easy to navigate and completely encrypted so it can only be accessed from a computer in particular. I have one to spare at home and I thought, maybe, I could install it here? I would only need a corner, I know the library is your favorite place and I don't want to spoil it for you but… I'm rambling, aren't I?" She let out a breath sheepishly, hurrying herself to drink some of her chocolate, hands slightly shaky due to excitement and anxiety.

His big hands engulfed her smaller ones around her mug, the heat of it warming them both.

"You're brilliant, do you know that?" He asked softly, watching how her entire demeanor relaxed at his words. "I want to share everything I have with you. And that includes this place."

She took the last sip of the chocolate and left the mug on the floor, turning to him with a small frown. "I just don't want you to feel forced to it. I thought it would be nice to do the research together, maybe? I would do all the data dump in the software, but I need to recollect the data before I do that."

"Like a side project? Only the two of us?"

His earnest smile gained him a matching one from her. "Yeah! It will be a lot of work, but I could learn so much. And you, too, if you wanted I could teach you about the software as I create it!"

Technology was still incredibly frustrating for the vampire, but for her, he would sure as hell try. The excitement in her features so intoxicating he would have agreed to practically anything she had asked.

"I would love to."

"Really?" The question was slightly breathless.

"Really."

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, knocking him backwards in surprise, his back against the couch and his girlfriend practically on his lap.

"I can come here after work every day, and on the weekends we can use the mornings and then have the afternoons free." She spoke, her breath hitting his neck and making his heartbeat quicken. She pulled back slightly until they were nose to nose.

"And what would we use the afternoons for, I wonder?" His voice had dropped an octave and she swallowed, eyes falling to his lips before going back to those gentle ones of him.

"I'm open to ideas." She retorted, licking her lips and making his focus snap to her mouth. He moved softly forwards, giving her time to stop him. When she leaned in as well, he lost no time in capturing her lips with his.

Berenice groaned almost instantly, one hand taking the nape of his neck, the other tracing his jawline with a featherlight touch. His fingers grasped her hips firmly, digging into her flesh hard enough to let her know how much he wanted her, not enough to hurt her.

"Nate…" she sighed against his mouth, and he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, a growl forming deep inside his chest at the sweetness of her lips.

"Gods, Berry…" he pulled her even closer, chests pressing against each other, breaths quickening. "You taste like chocolate."

She giggled against his lips, the sound more enticing than a siren's song. He couldn't help but smile, their lips still touching.

"I'm gonna request for more chocolate kisses if we're going to spend so much time together." She pecked his lips one more time before pulling back, licking her lips with her neck and ears flushed red.

"I'll give you everything you want, Berry." Their eyes met and she could see the honesty there.

"What a dangerous thing to say."

"And still so true."

She got up from the couch and stood between his spread legs, his hands coming to rest at the sides of her knees. He looked up at her, for a change, her 5 foot 2 towering over him for a moment. Her soft hands took his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones before she leaned down, his hands unconsciously traveling upward to the back of her thighs.

"Then, Nate…" her breath hit his mouth, her lips brushed his so softly it could have been his imagination. He could only see the uneven colors of her eyes, drowning in them, his breathing hitching. "Help me put the books back."

And she was gone, only the smell of chocolate and her apricot shampoo surrounding him. He let out a huff and she giggled, it was nice to be the one doing the teasing for a change.

"What a mean girlfriend I have." He shot her a grin, getting up and helping her collect the books.

"Let's put these in their place and I'll show you how good I can be."

He watched her march towards the shelves with a raised eyebrow.

He had never moved so fast.

[five-rivers]

Interview With a Ghost, Part 2

Part one is here.  The Dannymay prompt used is ‘Bones.’

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"Well," said Captain Jones, over the intercom, "that answers that question."

"Not really," said Patterson. "It doesn't really explain all the ancient China stuff. We didn't even ask him about that."

"I think it does, actually," said Collins, tapping his fingers on the table. "If he didn't want people to know that he'd died and was continuing to live his human life, what better way to throw them off the trail than by mimicking a old legend like that?"

"But the Fentons said it wasn't well known," said Patterson. "Who would have known about it when the Fentons first showed up?"

"It certainly narrows down the list of potential..." Collins groaned. "What do we even call this? Victims? Suspects? Possibly dead people?"

"Before you two get too tied up in semantics," said the captain, voice coming through the intercom again. "We have some things to discuss. My office."

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Collins and Patterson weren't the only ones assembling in the captain's office. Captain Jones had called Molly, the medical examiner, in as well. She sat on the chair in front of his desk, a stack of papers in her lap.

Jones shut the door behind him and locked it. "Alright," he said, rubbing his face and sinking into his chair. "So, before you called me in to watch that interview, I was talking to Molly. She told me some interesting things about Phantom's body. I assume you've already told these two what you've learned."

"I've gotten a little more, since then, actually," said Molly.

"Go ahead, then," said Jones.

"Well, at this point we're pretty sure that the cause of death is electrocution... Or we would be, if it wasn't for the whole 'only half a body' thing he has going on." Molly sighed. "He has electrical burns on his bones. They're black in spots."

"Ouch," said Patterson. "What a way to go."

"Yeah. Let's not bring it up to him, okay?"

"It might be a way to figure out it's him, though, make him break cover."

Captain Jones cleared his throat. Collins and Patterson turned to look at him, expectant.

"That brings us to the bones of this matter, so to speak," said Jones.

Collins suppressed a twitch of his lips. The captain liked puns, but admitting that one found them humorous could be hazardous. Mainly because it would result in more puns.

"What is that, sir?" he asked.

"Do we want to expose Phantom? Assuming that he is masquerading as a living person, something I'm not entirely convinced of. Especially considering your mention of legends and 'ancient China stuff.'" The captain circled the words with air quotes. "Care to explain?"

"The Fentons believe that Phantom is the same ghost as one that shows up in a bunch of legends around the world," said Collins. "We were going to look into them, next, but Phantom showed up."

"So, in other words, there's some evidence that he's, what, hundreds of years old?"

"I suppose," said Collins.

"Which would mean that's someone else's body. Because there's no way it's that old, right, Molly?"

"Not unless all that ectoplasm in it preserved it, somehow," said Molly. "I wouldn't entirely discount that, by the way. I'm not an ectologist."

"And everyone who is, is a suspect because of the ectoplasm and the body's age," put in Patterson.

Captain Jones cleared his throat. "As long as that's not the case," he said, "that means that, if Phantom is playing at being alive, he's doing it with someone else's life."

There was a pause, the words heavy on the air.

"You don't think he actually killed anyone, do you, sir?" asked Patterson.

"No," said the captain. "I don't. But it's something we have to consider, because if it is the case, then we have an obligation to reveal him. But if it isn't... What do you think will happen if we reveal Phantom and he leaves? If he's just continuing his- his 'life,'" again his hands came up to make quotes, "and he's not hurting anyone, there's no reason to reveal him, and many reasons not to, including the safety of the city."

"There is a reason to reveal him, even then," said Patterson. "If he's lying about it being an accident. If he was murdered. Or if the accident wasn't as out there as he wants us to think it is. I mean, he's a teenager. They don't just drop dead for no reason, and, well, Dave's wife had a point."

"You mean with her comment about abuse," said Captain Jones.

"Yeah," said Patterson.

"If it helps," said Molly, "there aren't any other detectable signs of abuse on his body."

"There's another issue," said Collins.

"Yes?" said the captain.

"What if Phantom decides to object to our line of questioning more physically?"

"You mean, if he attacks us?" asked Patterson.

Collins shrugged. "He is a ghost. And a kid. And we're putting a lot of pressure on him. I don't think any of that is conducive to rational decision making."

"I guess we can't argue that he isn't violent," said Patterson, making a face. "But what can we do? We can't definitively say what's going on."

Captain Jones glared at his desk as if it had offended him. Maybe it had. It was a horrible mess.

"We need to keep investigating," said the captain. "But I want you, all three of you, to be circumspect. We need a different explanation for why you're asking questions."

"Why?" asked Patterson. "Phantom already knows."

"Because of his 'enemies.'" Air quotes again. "We don't know who they are, or the real reason he's so anxious to keep everything quiet. We don't even know if he's talking about humans or ghosts. And," said Captain Jones, after a significant pause, "I don't want the Guys in White to get wind of this at all. They can have that corpse over mine, you got it?"

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To Collins' great relief, the captain had chosen to deal with the Cult Division (aka Cameron Daily and his computer) himself, which left him and Patterson free to strategize on other fronts. Specifically, to whittle down which children they should interview, how they should be interviewed, and whether or not it was possible that any of them were Phantom.

"If he can shapeshift, then he can shapeshift," grumbled Collins, massaging his temples. It was far too early for this, and he'd been here until midnight yesterday, getting paperwork together and sending for class lists from the school. They'd had to explain why they wanted them. "His body type could be anything." He reached for his coffee. He was almost out.

"But," said Patterson, "we have his body. The body types match."

"He could have changed over two years," said Collins. "Teenagers usually do. He could have, I don't know, simulated a growth spurt in his human disguise, or whatever."

"Still, he couldn't have changed that much, not while escaping suspicion," argued Patterson.

Collins grunted. "Maybe," he agreed.

"And he's got to go to Casper High, he gets to ghost attacks there too fast for him to go to school anywhere else."

"Mhn," said Collins. "Sure, I guess."

"Has to be someone who's been there for two years, because of when everything started. So it can't be and of the freshmen or sophomores. Has to be someone who's an incoming junior or senior."

"Or someone who graduated last spring," said Collins.

"You're right," said Patterson. She tugged on the end of her braid. "That might complicate some things. Still. I think these are the most likely candidates." She pushed a list of circled names and pictures across their shared desk. "We can interview them today."

Collins glared at it, the way he glared at everything that wasn't coffee at this time of day. "Patterson, I thought we were doing interviews with kids to find the conspiracy theory kid."

"Well, we can do that, too, and ask around to see if anyone's been acting ghostly."

"Fine," said Collins. He squinted. "'Wesley Weston?' Dear god, who names their child that?"

"I don't know. It's better than some celebrity baby names that I've heard of," said Patterson, shrugging.

Collins put the list down and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What was the theory again, anyway?" he asked. "That Phantom was the Fenton kid?"

"Daniel. Yeah. I've got him circled, here." Patterson tapped on the list.

"Do you think there's any merit to that?" asked Collins. "The Fentons are ghost hunters. You'd think they'd either notice and stop hunting him, or, well, you know."

"It would explain the ectoplasm, though. And maybe the electrical burns. They're inventors, too, and that thing on their roof has to have some kind of fancy wiring."

"That would be-" Collins wracked his brain for a suitable adjective and came up empty. He shook his head. "I don't think we can make that conclusion from a forum post you barely remember, Patterson. It sounds good, but-" He shook his head again.

"But it is pretty unbelievable. I still think we should ask him."

"Just like that?"

"Why not? You saw how he reacted to your question yesterday. His poker face needs work."

Collins' desk phone rang. He picked it up. "Detective Collins speaking," he said.

"Hey, this is Molly."

"Yeah? You have something new for us?"

"The body is gone."

"What?"

"Phantom's body. It's gone. I think there's been a break in."

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I tentatively plan to continue this for day 25: Break.