#finally catching up on shrinking. this season is taking it a bit

[lasshoe]

okayyyyy mother x10

[adventuringblind]

Unrequited Understanding

Norlestappen x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Her father comes back into her life as a replacement race engineer. Now she can't escape him and his voice when she does the one thing she thought he couldn't touch.

Warnings: eating disorder, abuse, past child abuse, sef harm, suicide attempt

Notes: for @ashiekins, I hope you like it! I'M SORRY FOR THE ENDING I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

January

The new year had never felt so sweet. Her victory with Max and Redbull had been a dream. Max taking another championship, had the entire team walking on cloud nine.

She spent new years with her boys. It's tradition at this point to messily kiss all together as the new year comes around.

They'd done so much for her. She's come so far in her journey.

"What are you thinking about, Love?" Neither her nor Lando could sleep. Most nights, they end up talking to get the heavy thoughts to lessen a bit. It's why they get one half of the bed to themselves.

"How nice it feels to know I'm still here and loved." She rests her head on Lando's chest, the steady rythme of his heart lulling her into a restful state.

"Life wouldn't be the same without you." He kisses the top of her head as her mind finally gives into sleep.

February

Her and Max sit together at the large conference table. The factory is preparing for the new season. Energy is running high, and she can feel it crackling in the atmosphere.

Christian talks about how excited he is for the new season. 2023 is going to be theirs to dominate. Adrian has been working tirelessly to give them a title worthy car.

"We have had to make some last-minute changes to the team, unfortunately." Christian makes eye contact with her, and the good feeling she had dissolves. "Your race engineer has fallen terminally ill and is being hospitalized. The good news is we've found a last-minute replacement."

The door opens, and she feels the air leave her lungs. Her body shakes in fear of the man who takes confident strides to his chair.

Christian introduces them, clearly not understanding that they know each other very well. The man is her father, after all.

She has her mother's last name. Intent on separating herself from him entirely. He'd been doing Indie car for years. She never thought he'd make the switch after how they left things.

Max shoots her a concerned look, but she shakes it off. None of the boys had ever seen what her father looks like. They don't know she changed her last name.

She has no intention of ruining a good season because of her petty emotions. So, she says nothing.

March

It's not as bad as she thought it would be. They don't interact much aside from talking about data and while she's in the car.

The underhanded comments make her thoughts reel. The constant questioning of her skill while she's driving makes her think she's crazy. Her father is too good at making it look like a joke. People laugh with him, not understanding he means what he says.

He talks over her, cuts her off, bosses her around like she's still a child. She shrinks in on herself every time he cones around.

Stay silent and listen. That's what got her through her childhood. Just don't make him angry.

He lashes out when he's angry.

Charles is there when a nightmare causes her to be sick. A memory of her childhood that haunts her still.

The Monegasque holds her hair up and rubs her back as she sobs. He makes her a warm drink and holds her, letting her wet tears soak into his shirt.

"Do you want to talk about it, mon chéri?" He whispers gently against her forehead.

She inhales, breath catching in her throat as she does. "My dad, he - well - he used to say I'd never be anything. I sometimes dream about the memory."

"Your father and Jos can fuck off." Charles cups her face with his hands. "You are amazing. Whatever he told you is a lie. You've proven yourself to the world. Your younger self can rest knowing she got you here, that you are safe and loved and enough."

April

It's getting worse by the day. She's not sure where her father got the idea that he could order her around like she's still five and karting. It's getting annoying and ridiculous.

He's taken to snatching any food out of her hand and tossing it away into the nearest bin. What a waste. He could've eaten it himself.

He keeps telling her the car is too heavy. The data doesn't show that, but whatever. Her food being taken from her like when she was young was not how she expected the season to go. She takes to not eating because it's easier than fighting with him.

Her physio keeps asking her about why her weight seems to be plummeting recently. Even trying to get it back on her with altered meal plans. The concerns get brought up later in a meeting with Christian. The severity of her condition being made apparent.

Max watches her sob over a salad. She can tell he wants to push, asked what is causing the relapse. Understand where her head is at.

He hands her a water bottle and waits until she drinks the entire thing. "It's okay to struggle, but please don't shut us out. You don't have to do this alone, alright?"

She doesn't respond, simply collapses into his patient arms.

May

Lando and Charles happened to be passing by at the worst time. The Redbull garage still buzzing with the excitement of Max's podium and her mediocre result compared.

They saw her race engineer laying into her about every mistake. No other staff around to hear the conversation. Her head hung in shame as he pointed out every flaw.

Charles interrupts with such ease. He says her PR officer was looking for her earlier. It gets her to excuse herself from the conversation, leaving the two boys with her engineer.

"Mind your own business next time," scoffs the older man. He leaves the younger two confused.

Charles takes in Lando's mildly anxious body movements. "Something isn't right, Charles. She had that same look from when we were rookies."

Charles hums in agreement. "We'll have to wait for her to come to us for now."

June

The underhanded comments are getting progressively worse. People have started noticing that something is off about her race engineer and his behavior towards her.

Meetings are difficult and the team is walking on eggshells. Max looks ready to explode and has been ripping her father to pieces after every comment. He gets in trouble, so she asks him to stop.

She doesn't mind. Her whole life has been taking this kind of behavior from him. Max knows better than anyone that it's best to respect that kind of ask.

"I'm here if things ever get to a point where you want it to stop. I will always be here for you."

July

Her wight combined with her self-harming habits are making it harder to drive. Somewhere in her head she knows she can't continue like this. The car no longer works with her.

Christian keeps pulling her into his office and asking her about where she's at. Warning her the if she continues down this road, she won't be able to drive. That he'll be forced to find a replacement.

She cries as the boys hold her. She tells them she's not sure if she can do it anymore, that she's not cut out for this sport. They comfort and reassure her that's a lie.

Her thoughts remain stuck on being a burden to them. She gets better just to fall once more into her old habits. They have careers and goals that would be easier to achieve without her around.

Maybe her father is right about her after all.

August

The summer break brings them a much-needed reprieve from the fast-paced world they live in. She gets to spend time away from the incessant voice of the man she hates. Her boys occupying her mind instead.

There is a finality about this that she can't explain. Like things can only get better from here on out. That something in her future is going to bring her the one thing she's looking for.

Swimming in the ocean and eating what they want. They laugh and joke like nothing has changed. It's the first time in months that she feels normal.

This is how things should be. The smile on her face is genuine and the boys can all tell.

September

The cuts line her skin in an unorganized fashion. Angry, red, and bleeding. Her race had been ended early due to a collision. She'd been collateral damage; it wasn't her fault.

The media didn't see it that way. Her father definitely had no mercy when he mercilessly explained how she will never be good enough as a driver.

Hidden away in her drivers' room now, watching the blood pour from her skin. The boys know, they've seen the fresh lines. They are trying to find a way to get her to stop, but these feeling are fighting back harder than ever before. She's not sure how to fight them anymore.

Disappearing seems like the best option. The only way she'll be able to escape the dark thoughts swirling in her head. The one place her father won't be able to touch her anymore will be in her death.

She moans as the blade digs deeper. The ecstasy that accompanies addiction is a feeling she will always crave. Sick satisfaction bubbles in her throat and pour out on her eyes as red stains the floor.

This wasn't her plan, but it's okay. The pain makes all her thoughts go away. Lessens the weight on her chest. Forces her mind to focus on something else.

Everything is spinning and then it goes dark.

Warm hands and comforting words. That's all she's ever wanted.

October

The boys can see how sick she is. Max won't let her be alone in the garage. Not after she almost died.

Her physio is with her when none of the boys are. They keep asking her questions that she won't give answers to.

It's not until an altercation with her father is finally caught. He's condemning her over the radio while she's driving. They'd had an argument earlier about how she should be taking turn three.

The public execution is miserable. Still, she puts her head down and drives.

The second-place trophy has never felt heavier. It drags her arms downwards as she heads to the garage with Max. He doesn't know about what happened yet and she hopes it stays that way. She screams as she puts it away in her room.

She avoids her father as much as possible on the way to the press conference. The glimpse she does get of him leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Christian looks angry as he presses a finger into her father's chest.

She's zoned out majority of the conference. Until A journalist with a soft voice is asking about her feelings towards her race engineer.

"It's just how things are sometimes. I wasn't listening to instructions, and he was frustrated. It happens." She shrugs it off like this is the most normal everyday occurrence. Which, in her defense, it kind of is.

Every media outlet seems to want to know more about it. Her emotions are struggling to remain contained. the inevitable sobs escape after a particularly worded question about whether his actions could be considered abuse or not.

She breaks, collapsing in the middle of the media pen. Her boys are there blocking the view of the cameras as her body fails to move.

They know now what has been happening. Her secret is out there for everyone to see.

November

Her father is fired from the team with immediate effect. Christian apologizes relentlessly for not knowing and not seeing it sooner.

The media is asked to refrain from asking about the incident and anything regarding her past race engineer. They respect it, probably wanting to avoid another meltdown in the middle of an interview.

Max, Lando and Charles are with her through every step of the way. They encourage her to talk to them and she does. It feels nice not having to hold in her family secrets.

They want to help her, and she wants to be helped.

Her race engineer for the end of the season ends up taking the job for next year. He's kind and keeps his voice calm. Her last few drives amaze everyone.

The top step of the podium has never felt so good. She didn't need to prove herself to anyone, but the confidence it brings her is hard to deny.

Closure feels even better.

December

Her therapist is proud of her for opening up to the boys more. They don't push her to spill everything, but they encourage her when she does.

The end of the year pulls them closer together. After everything that happened, she wasn't sure she was going to see 2024 come around. She's glad she does though.

She fought to the end. She made it to her peace. A place where her father can't touch.

Warm hands and gentle words for all of eternity.

January... Again

Three boys stand in front of a grave. Her favorite flowers in hand. The silence stretches between them. None of them know how to proceed.

The memory of finding her on the floor replays in Max's head. He should've known to find her right after the race. That cold September afternoon in Zandvoort. The day she bled out for one final time.

Charles and Lando assure Max it's not his fault. IT hadn't been her plan. There was no note, not even a warning sign aside from her mental health declining.

Her father, who they now know was the catalyst for her relapse, is in jail. Christian made sure to get him put away so the boys wouldn't have to worry about it.

The other drivers came to the funeral. The journalists respect their wishes not to speak on the matter. They need to heal before they can even think about trying to explain how all three of them had taken time off.

The FIA pushed the races back since Redbull needed to sort things out. The memorial on the track has been visited by everyone on the team.

They tried so hard. They wanted her to stay. They can only hope that she found what she needed in whatever lies beyond this life.

[mjrtaurus]

Modern AU

Luff comes to visit every once in a while, bringing friends he’s made along with him. One of said friends is a young woman named Nami.

He knows a thief when he sees one, but more-so than this, he knows a thief by necessity when he sees one. He knows Luffy is aware of it, he’s warned him of it. As much of a little hellion his youngest is, Dragon trusts Luffy’s judgement of character.

And Luffy is damn right about it, too.

He catches her trying to slip one of the bits and pieces of jewelry he ended up accumulating during his relationship with Crocodile. It’s a small piece, not as valuable, easy to miss. She’s practiced.

Poor girl looked like a deer in headlights when he caught her, looking for the quickest out she could find, shrinking in on herself as if she was expecting to be yelled at or worse.

No… no, this wouldn’t do at all.

Instead of her worst case scenario, he sits her down and talks with her. Asks her why she’s been having to steal to get by for so long. If she’s struggling with anything that she hasn’t been getting the proper support for.

Whether it’s the shock of compassion or the mortification of getting caught by her best friend’s father, Dragon doesn’t know. What he does know is the girl who just tried to steal from his home needed help.

Arlong.

He’s been in his profession long enough to recognize that slimy bastard’s name. A loan shark who went to poorer communities and wrung the life out of them. Turns out he’d been doing the same to Nami’s hometown.

A failing tangerine orchard that was the lifeblood of her community, and her adoptive family’s legacy. Mountains of debt in trying to keep it all alive, and this poor girl had taken it upon herself to pay it all off. And Arlong had been cruel enough to let it be.

Luffy tells him- once he finds out what happened- that he hoped he could help do something about it. Nami says there’s no way he can.

And that’s the thing about the Monkey D Family. Telling them they can’t do something is exactly how that something ends up getting done.

Now Arlong is a slippery bastard. Had always evaded the law whenever his name and face passed before a judge. If they wanted to take him down for good, they needed to fight dirty. And luckily for Dragon, he just so happens to still be pretty close with a certain someone who may or may not have a leg in the criminal underworld…

At the end of it all, Arlong gets sent to prison, and Nami finally gets to pursue her passions for oceanography and meteorology debt free.

He takes her storm-chasing one season. After three boys, he’s always wondered what it would have been like to have a daughter. He’s learning now.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Story of a a collage varsity football player whos ability to devour guys comes in the locker room while him and half his team are in the showers

I think locker rooms make for very dangerous places in this society. Imagine how many guys must get eaten in them daily. Well, I guess you don't gotta imagine with this one.

The quarterback's stomach won't stop grumbling. He's been eating all day trying to deal with it, even going so far as to down a few twinks when normal food wasn't cutting it. But even now, his stomach won't shut up, demanding more and more food. He can't really go and do that right now, though. He's in the locker room with the rest of his team before practice. He can't quit now...but his stomach just keeps rumbling. He's gotta do something about it but the only thing to eat right now is...

He looks at the others. All of them are big, handling that college football builds like champs. They just got out of bulking season and it's done its wonders for everyone's body. The quarterback's stomach groans again and he's drooling a bit. The team's pretty big...and they aren't all going to play. No one will miss just one or two, right..? Besides, he needs it. The guys would understand.

A group of players are chatting at their lockers, getting out of their clothes and into their gear. One guy closes his locker and turns around to see the quarterback looming over him. He goes to great his teammate, only to be met with a yawning, drooling maw that engulfs his head. The others look over in time to see their teammate being scarfed down by the quarterback in hungry desperation. His legs kick in the air before they're messily guzzled down and he's packed away in that monster of a tank. the quarterback belches and his stomach is already shrinking down, messy churns and crunches ringing out as his body processes all that jock meat like its nothing. He looks at the other three guys, still drooling, his eyes like a wild animal. They all know they aren't going anywhere.

The quarterback waddles off a few minutes later, belching into his fist as his gut sloshes with each step. It's larger than before but still round, each jock little more than a meaty stew being processed away. Even so, the quarterback's tank is still grumbling, not yet satisfied. A few of his teammates walk past him, dressed in their gear and ready to hit the field. He pounces on them fast, engulfing one guy's head and starting to hork him down while he holds on tight to the other two. They yell and thrash, trying to push him away, but he gets them down one after the other just as fast. Even geared up, it didn't mean much. The quarterback just belches up a couple helmets and a jock while his guts melt everything down again. By the time the last of them is packed away, they're already dead.

The quarterback ventures to the showers next, a few guys already in there from some earlier training. He doesn't bother taking off his clothes as he walks in and starts taking them down one by one. The slick floors make it hard for any of the players to get far, and none of the six of them make it out of the shower room alive. Only as more boiling slop in the quarterback's tank as he waddles out of the showers. His stomach is the size of a beachball now, sloshing with every step, filled to the brim with boiling jock meat. He feels well enough to finish suiting up and hit the field for training.

It doesn't go well for long, though, as his hunger still isn't matched. That days' training ends up being a fight for survival with the other guys. Every tackle results in someone getting tanked, running laps just means anyone slower than him is shoveled down, and anyone who tries to catch the ball with him gets sent down the hatch as well. In the end, another twelve or so players wind up devoured and digested, and the quarterback's gut sloshes around for the rest of training. By the time he's hitting the showers, though, his stomach has finally settled down and he's feeling a million times better. The rest of the team...not so much. But they don't do anything to voice their demoralization to the hungry player. They don't want to be next. Hopefully, at least, he can hold out until their big game. If he devours enough of the other team, they could even win the match by default. Wouldn't be the first time...

[skye-huntress]

The Witch from Mercury Season 2 Reaction

Episode 16: “Cycle of Sin”

So, Prospera apparently transferred Eri into the Lfrith in order to save her. This actually makes a lot more sense to me than what I saw most people assume. And her goal is to achieve a Permit Score of 8 to grant Eri “freedom”. By the sounds of it, she wants to turn Eri into some kind of machine god using Quiet Zero. I’ve had a growing suspicion that Eri may be the final boss of this series, but it’s hardly definitive yet.

Belmeria really tried to pull the ethics card and Prospera responded with an UNO reverse

The cat’s out of the bag. Easy to cover up what happens at a restricted facility, but not at a school during in an Open Campus period.

And now the Benerit Group’s under pressure after trying to take matters into their own hands. Now they’re such a mess that they need a new President to weather the shitstorm they are currently in

Suletta really did email Miorine three times a day, even though they went unread

Looks like a lot of students are either leaving or getting pulled out of school. I did notice one of the text on Secelia’s notebook say something about not being able to sit in a cockpit again after the incident. I couldn’t help thinking, what did they think they were learning to pilot for? After all that target practice, what did they think they were learning to shoot?

Of course, Earth House is copping all the suspicion and harassment. Never mind the fact that if there was evidence they were actually found guilty of something they’d probably be thrown in a cell immediately and indefinitely, that’s not enough for their prejudiced classmates.

Yes, their friend died and that is a tragedy, but let’s not pretend that he didn’t die while piloting a machine of war, designed to kill. Well, war finally found you and if that upsets you all so much, you should probably stay as far away from a mobile suit as possible.

She’s finally back!

Earlier Chuchu was ready to go on a rampage to find Nika but when Miorine comes with some info and says to wait for more, Chuchu agrees. The girl who wakes up everyday and chooses violence is now listening to her Spacian friend/boss and taking the wait and see approach.

Everyone trying to get Miorine’s attention while Suletta kind of shrinks in the background, so leave it to the quietest person in the room to get Miorine’s attention on her behalf

The way Miorine’s mood changed when Prospera showed up is so relatable.

Guel returns and causes his brother to faint on the spot. Does this count as yet another L? He really can’t catch a break, and now it seems he’s about to do something dramatic, again.

When No. 5 was tasked with stealing Aerial, I already knew exactly how this was going to go and I couldn’t wait to see it. I was not disappointed. Suck it, 5!

Is Eri more powerful now, or did she just not see No. 4 as a threat?

Belmeria, it’s a bit late in the game to have a crisis of conscience, especially in the presence of one of your Enhanced Persons.

We have a number of different factions and schemes at play, but I’m not sure how big a role Peil will play. They are after Aerial, but now it’s clear they can’t just steal it, and No. 5 hasn’t done too well at trying to win over Suletta. After hitting another dead end, what new approach will they take?

So now we’re having that conversation. It started out well, but… It is unfortunate that that was necessary in order to save Miorine, however the problem is that it is not framed as a tragedy in Suletta’s mind but as yet another instance where her mother was right.

Suletta’s complete faith in her mother’s judgment is truly unnerving. She’d give up her dreams if her mother told her, too, and we already know she’d kill if she was told to. That’s not to say there isn’t a line, but Prospera is probably clever enough not to cross it.

I will say though, this might actually contradict the mantra that Suletta has been living by. Run and you gain one, move forward and you gain two. Allowing someone else to make the decisions for you instead standing by your own judgments is just another form of running away. Suletta will only ever truly be able to move forward if she learns to stand on her own and live true to her own principles

I expected the confrontation, but I never expected that Prospera would flat out tell Miorine she wants revenge against her father for the mass murder of her husband and colleagues. Of course, Miorine’s priority is protecting Suletta, if their parents want to kill each other they should leave their children out of it.

For a moment, I’d forgotten that Prospera was actually trying to recruit Miorine for her cause, to take over Quiet Zero. It makes a certain sense that the best way to ensure the Suletta survives what is to come is for Miorine to take over that project. It’s not like she can trust any of the other power players to leave Suletta alone, especially if they discover Prospera’s true identity and intent.

It seems we’ll be focusing on the election for the next President and Miorine has to win for Suletta’s sake

[jargonautical]

Recce

KRZYSZTOF ISN’T TOO surprised when Winter Street starts filling up before the season really gets underway. There’s still a couple of weeks to go before the Easter tours start dropping coach-loads of cantankerous pensioners at the north end car park and dispatching them in search of cream teas and postcards, but he’s already seen the usual uptick in traffic thanks to conference season. Business has been brisk all weekend, and he’s barely had time to straighten up a bit before the bell over the door is jangling yet again. 

It’s immediately evident they’ve come via Jen’s shop, since half of them are clutching the retro candy-striped paper bags she uses to dispense pear drops and humbugs from the glass jars on the shelf behind her. Before the bell has even finished jangling, he pointedly clears his throat and pushes the ‘Patrons Are Kindly Requested Not to Eat or Drink in the Shop’ sign an inch further forward on the counter, and a couple of guilty hands shrink back and put the sweets away into pockets and bags. Satisfied, he nods a vague welcome and returns to his book, occasionally letting his eyes flick up to see what they’re doing. Kids like these rarely buy anything, they just waste his time raking through everything and making a mess for him to straighten up after they leave. 

He’s unwillingly intrigued though; if they’re anything to do with the conferences, they’re far from the usual demographic. Far too young for a start, barely out of their teens some of them, all skinny jeans and floppy hair and scuffed rucksacks slung carelessly over one shoulder.  First in he mentally names Ponytail, for the thick brown hair pulled back off his broad forehead and hanging down his back. Behind him is another youngster with a distinctly indoor look about him, pale to the point of being pasty and dark eyes filled with resignation, like a teenager dragged unwillingly away from his Xbox to take a nice walk in the fresh air. Krzysztof quietly chuckles at how he touches the door handle as he comes in, fingertips delicately extended as if trying not to catch anything. He knows for a fact it’s spotless, since he personally polished the bloody thing to a shine only this morning. Third in line is something of a switch up, slightly older or a superior of some kind - or perhaps that’s the effect of how he’s dressed; a pale pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little way, blue jeans pressed to sharp creases, polished brown brogues. Dark hair dips in a perfect glossy wave over his forehead, impeccably styled, and meets thick sideburns shading to a neatly trimmed beard. He looks nothing like an academic, student or otherwise; he looks more like the junior doctors up at the county hospital, well-educated and whip-smart Indian boys putting in their residency on this backwater rotation until they can get a placement somewhere more lively. 

Last through the door is a shorter figure of indeterminate gender. A black knitted hat, a ragged fringe of ashy-pale hair and a thick scarf wound double around their neck hide the majority of their face, and an oversized sweater in broad stripes of black and grey covers their shape entirely down to the knees. Skinny legs encased in dull grey jeans end in scuffed black leather boots haphazardly laced up halfway. This one can’t be anything other than a student, not dressed like that. 

Gradually the book occupies less and less of his attention, not that they’d know it - the haphazard placement of framed maps and posters around the shop is actually carefully designed to give the cash a view of almost the whole shop floor without turning. The smart young man eventually disappears down between the bookshelves where he can be heard exclaiming occasionally over some of the titles, while the other two wander round peering curiously into the glass-fronted displays and turning over the boxes of cheaper curios. 

Finally the sour-faced one comes up to the counter with a small handful of flint arrowheads. 

“Are these all found locally?”. 

“Indeed they are, up on the edge of the moor. Kids pick them up when they’re up there playing.”. 

That clearly wasn’t the answer the boy was hoping for; his face rearranges into a displeased frown. “You shouldn’t let people just take artefacts away from a site, you know. Ruins the archaeology. Very irresponsible.”. 

Krzysztof leans back a little and widens his eyes in fake dismay. “Oh, is that right? I’m very sorry, I’m sure. I’ll be sure and tell the kids whose families have been here since Doomsday that they aren’t allowed to turn over rocks any more. I can’t promise it’ll go down too well, seeing as I’m not from around here myself.”. 

He plays up his accent to full effect, ending the sentence with a friendly smile. Ponytail calls over from his corner, “We’ve talked about this Aaron, no lecturing the locals. Leave that to Viktor.”. 

The sour one grins ruefully at the correction. “Good point. Sorry, and I’ll take them please. Oh, and a gemstone lucky dip as well.”. 

Throughout the whole process the last of the group hasn’t said a word, just loitering by the counter idly looking through the rack of carved soapstone pendants. He likes to think he’s good with youngsters even at that difficult age, so he goes for the upsell. 

“What about you, young man - nothing take your fancy today? Must be something on there that suits your style. Souvenir for your mum perhaps? Good value, only £2.99.”. 

The face crinkles into what’s probably a smile under the swathes of fabric. For a split second he’s reminded of the boss, the warming of the lad’s expression making him feel momentarily like a better version of himself. The questing hand turns over several of the designs on offer before there’s a quiet ‘huh’ of triumph and he extracts one with a pale stripe and geometric design. 

“Oh, good choice.”, twinkles Krzysztof as he wraps it in tissue paper and secures it with a tab of sticky tape. “This one is my favourite.”. 

It’s not, but it’s a useful sales spiel he’s employed on many occasions. Make them feel good about it, just like the boss says. The transaction is completed in silence, the child handing over a handful of still-warm coins extracted from a pocket hidden somewhere under the jumper, but he nods thanks as the neat package is placed in his hand. 

“Nice kid.”, Krzysztof mutters to himself as the shop empties and the bell finally stops swinging. 

.............................................................................

Beryl had just decided she could get away with nipping out back for a smoke when the cafe door rattles in its frame, signalling that someone has just fallen foul of the sticky latch. She’s told Andy a dozen times that he needs to get that fixed, and he’s waved his hands in his typical excitable way and assured her that it’ll be done by the time the season starts. Well, he’s the boss - but she’s the person who has to soothe the customers who’ve bashed their heads against the door when it failed to open the first time. She almost turns tail again seeing the four young people filing in. Bet they take forever to go through the menu, and then they’ll order four diet Cokes and a piece of cake to share. But they’ve seen her, one of them giving her a friendly smile while he grabs four laminated menus from the stand by the till, and she busies herself tidying the cutlery tray until they make a decision. 

It does take a while, but she’s pleasantly surprised. Two plates of chips, three sandwiches, tea for four, and on top of that they one by one wander up to the display to review the selection of cakes. Healthy appetites and decent manners, who’d have thought? More than you can say for a lot of so-called adults, especially the old folk who waste her time bitching about extra jam portions. 

As soon as she heads back to the kitchen they crowd together again and strike up a lively conversation. It’s incomprehensible for the most part, full of side-eye and sniggering, whatever it is that’s amusing them so much. In between snatches of conversation they’re glued to their phones as well, apparently carrying on several interleaved conversations at once with absent friends. 

In their group chat however, the topic is far more focused. 

The burst of laughter that greets this startles Beryl, whipping round to stare at them suspiciously. She wonders if they’re laughing at her somehow, even though they haven’t spared her a second glance. But when they get up to leave they’re politeness itself, even going so far as to stack their dirty plates and sweep up crumbs while the tall lad with the ponytail comes over to pay the bill. Clearing the dishes, she even finds a neat stack of coins in one of the untouched saucers – the unanticipated tip.

[unknownjpegs]

reruns

He hasn’t been sleeping well. It’s not class or school or the looming, unweaving spool of the rest of his life that hands above his head in a knot, ready to untangle now that the end of his degree program touches the horizon. victory he’s proud of, sure, but also a sort of omen. Not nasty or scary, but ominous. Unlit roadside on a dark corner.

He thinks maybe that’s a small part of it — so much in the here, now; the vastness of the future feels scarily empty when he considers it. It isn’t that he lacks for things to bring along. It isn’t as if the people he wants to bring into that space wouldn’t warm it, shrink it, fill it. There’s something in particular he wants there. Someone, rather. And he has no idea how to make that happen. 

*

He goes home for the holiday season, a decision he’d made after a good deal of agonizing. At home on his mum’s couch, they eat take-out and watch mum’s favorite old broadcasts of Star Trek. She knows most of the lines, whispers them under her breath as they sit in their pajamas. 

Benji almost asks her for advice. At what point, he almost interrupts to do so. Lips parted, brow wrinkling the center of his forehead. At the last moment, he stops himself. He thinks about a moment a few years back. Another peaceful moment with her, only it’d been summer and too bloody hot for him to sit out in the garden, watching her repot a massive plant with swiss-cheese leaves, but he’d done it to spend the time together. 

“This one might not take,” she had grumbled, straightening from her folded lean over the fresh pot. “Lad’s a bit sensitive like.”

“Whyssat?” He’d asked from his sunny spot in the grass, arms folded over his eyes. 

“Roots have gone. My fault. Overwatered them. Little bastards.” 

Her switching so smoothly between languages, defaulting to her native to swear properly, never fails to get him to laugh. But for some reason, that answer sticks in his chest. 

Stuck fast, stuck permanent. The memory rises back up to him now, years later as he’s sat with her in the living room with an empty container of rice between his knees. 

“Amma. How’s that plant doing?���

“Hm?”

Benji tilts his head towards the front room, which has slowly turned half-storage half-greenhouse since he and Saha have been out and away. “D’you remember that big one? Few years ago, yeah, you took it out to switch it into that fancy ceramic thing appa bought.”

“The monstera.” His mother intones. Gravely, respectfully; like she’s wishing well to the family of a dead distant relative. For some reason, Benji’s stomach sinks.

“Is that what it is?”

“Was.” She corrects, glancing over at him. “Dead now, so it’s nothing.”

He doesn’t want to know, but he asks anyway: “What happened?”

“The potting. Gosh! Benji, you were — what, nineteen? What a thing to remember.”

“I liked that one.” A mumbled lie as he adjusts to get comfortable. It’s a lie; he can see from her reaction, turning towards him in her spot, that she knows it. “Can’t keep a plant alive to save me.” He laughs, tries to keep it from sounding strange and thin. “Why’d potting do it?”

“Plants are difficult, Benji,” she says in aserious, grave little voice. She’s trying to be goofy, cheer up the mood shift she’d undoubtedly picked up on. “Sometimes plants just don’t like the new place you’ve put ‘em. Change is hard and it’s not meant to be.”

Benji nods. There’s a passing moment of silence. Its heaviness lingers. Then, the recognizable jingle of a local mechanic’s jingle makes them both erupt into giggles, makes them sing along, and the nastiness dissolves like candy floss in water. 

*

“I can’t believe you did that.” Xavier cackle-laughs, stumbling as they jog away from the massive brick house’s pillared porch. Benji meets his pace, as difficult and long-legged as it is, as the lights in an upstairs window flick on. 

When they finally get a distance away to the entrance of a park, they stop to lean over and catch their breath. Benji’s pilfered treasure — a pot no larger than his two palms put together — is set carefully on the asphalt. Xavier leans against the park’s welcome sign, his chest heaving laughing puffs into the cool night air.

“All that for a plant.” 

Benji, squatted close to the green sprigs to assess if it’s been damaged in their escape, glances up at him. His grin feels loose and messy; at the party, they’d both gotten stuck on some weird drink Matilda recommended. Too much hard stuff in it — fizzles a syrupy, dizzying afterburn in his vision, slows his thoughts. He’d only had one. Well. He thinks. 

He barely strings them together enough to say: “Reminds me of a plant my mum had.”

“Me mum had.” Xavier whispers back, his eyes conspiratorially wide. He always does that, especially if he’s teasing Benji over something. Wants to make sure Benji knows he isn’t actually being mocked. 

“Fuck yourself.” Benji suggests. Xavier tosses his head back and laughs. All Benji can think of on their walk home is the color of his tongue: the smear of blue in the center from whatever chaser had been added to Matilda’s recommendation. He wonders if it would taste of a lingering sweetness. And if maybe he’d feel just as dizzy to find out.

Then Benji thinks about a long dead-plant, and shoves those hypotheticals down. He finds a spot for the plant on his windowsill. Makes room, rather; somehow it stays alive, somehow he remembers to water it. It’s a bright, otherworldly emerald when the sun hits it early in the morning, because that’s when their shit flat gets a few hours of light. 

When Xavier’s over a week later, it has a new sprout shooting up from the dirt. He wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye, clutching at Benji’s sleeve and whining about ‘how fast they grow up’. Benji laughs.

*

A few months later, Benji gets locked into a conversation at a house party with a nice girl who spotted the monstera leaf tattoo — new, covered with a shiny layer of plastic wrap — peeking from his neckline. She likes plants. She likes the tattoo. She likes his other ones, asks what his favorite is, asks after his plants (he’s got only the one, the stolen lad from the rich fucker’s front porch). 

And she looks remarkably upset when Xavier comes to his rescue to drag him away. 

“We’re going home!” He announces with a big, toothy grin. It’s charming enough to dilute the disrespected annoyance of Benji’s temporary companion into something pouty instead of scene-making. 

He slings an arm around Benji’s shoulders as they push through the thinning crowd towards the exit. Leans far, far down to put his mouth to Benji’s temple. 

“Dude. You were about to get mouth-tongued.”

Benji wrinkles his nose. He stumbles when Xavier nudges himself closer; he’s had more than a few of Matilda’s recommendation. They’ve grown on him.

”What? Was not.” He takes a deep, relieved breath of cool air when they’re finally outside.

“You are so oblivious.” Xavier laughs. They stroll down the car-lined street together, the sounds of the party growing distant. Eventually, all they hear is the chitter of night frogs and rolling bass, a cat fight in a far-off alley, a car alarm beeping somewhere to the east. 

Benji makes no mention of it until they’re in front of Xavier’s flat door, until he’s watching long pale fingers fumble a heavily stacked key ring.

“It’s this one—” He reaches out to tap it. Xavier does a victorious and thankful little a-ha!. “I wasn’t, by the way.”

The door cracks open. It would stay ajar even with Xavier’s arm across it, but Benji ducks under anyway. 

“Wasn’t what?”

“Going to kiss anybody. Back there. At the party.” He frowns. “Not her, ‘least.”

Xavier rolls his eyes and, because he’s just as tipsy, kicks his shoes off in a more haphazard way then he usually might. Still he bends down to right them at the door, nudging the heels and toes together.

“Jesus H. I fuckin’ know that, man. No shit.”

He borrows a shirt to sleep in. Xavier drifts off first, his head in Benji’s lap. The television’s muted, playing old Star Trek reruns. Benji doesn’t need the subtitles, but he doesn’t mouth the words like amma. Instead, he just cards his fingers through soft locks, feeling all types of things. Guilty, content, reminiscent, uprooted, repotted — but not overwatered. Xavier’s hair is soft like candy floss and the texture between his fingers lulls him to sleep. He sleeps. Deeply, comfortably. 

He sleeps well.

[karikarasuno]

Pantone 16-1364

Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Soulmate!AU, Modern!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Dating, Domestic Fluff, Pumpkin Picking/Carving, Floor Sex, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Sappy Feelings

Word Count: 10.9k

a/n: this was supposed to be @thegetoufather birthday fic, but life had other plans for me so i couldn’t finish it in time. but nevertheless, it is here. i hope you enjoy this, my love, my other half, my soulmate. and happy birthday, you a real one. 

The world is black and white. And maybe a little less than fifty shades of grey. For those who have fallen in love, it’s rumored that they can see a few shades more. A color called red or even blue. But for you it’s still dull, love not having awarded you those rose colored glasses you’ve heard about. Yet you still hold out hope that one day, you’ll see more, that love will find you and fill your world with something colorful. Even if it’s mild compared to what a person can see when they meet their soulmate. 

Apparently it’s a rush and a daze. It’s sudden and overwhelming. The world like nothing you could’ve ever imagined before. And you crave it. But you also force yourself to be a touch realistic. The odds of you meeting your rumored other half is unlikely. Zeus allegedly had taken that from you a millennium ago. You’ve stayed up late into the night more times in your life than you could count simply imagining what your soulmate was up to, imagining what it would be like connected so physically that you shared a body and a beating heart. 

The thought alone is too much. So you focus on other things. Like the line for Starbucks wrapping around the entire store, the afternoon rush is just as unsightly as the morning one. And you feel bad for the baristas, but you’ve been up for far too long. The weight of waking at 4am hanging heavy on your shoulders as you finished your shift at the hospital. And really all you wanted was a pumpkin spice latte. The weather finally catching up to the season in a way you thoroughly enjoyed. You place your order with the young looking girl at the register, her demeanor a bit frazzled as you specified your order and walked off to the side to wait. 

The crowd is thankfully shrinking. Bodies no longer push you off into a corner and you take your first conscious deep breath of the day. You relax as much as you can and go over the other tasks you have to do once you get home. A nap at the very top of it, if you’re being honest. Your name is called some minutes later, incorrectly but you know it’s you as you walk back up to the pick up bar to grab your drink. You give the person a small thank you, grateful to finally be heading home. That is until you bump into someone. They’re taller than you, build firmer in comparison to yours. And the force with which you slam into them has your bag slipping from your shoulder and your coffee lid popping off the top of your cup. Your blessed pumpkin spice latte spilling right over the lip and all over hand as you drop it from the shock of the heat. You could cry, the tears already burning the back of your eyeballs. There’s a series of apologies falling from the other person’s lips, a hand gripping your bicep to keep you steady, and napkins being shoved into your open hands. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. One deep breath and then a broken exhale to ground you. But when you open your eyes to look at the person keeping you up, your vision is blurry and out of focus. Like a camera lens that can’t seem to concentrate on the subject. Your head is spinning, your body feeling like it’s teetering sideways. And you see it. Colors. Too many to keep track of, all bright and bold and nauseatingly vivid. This can’t be happening, not to you, not now. Not ever if you are being honest. This is too unexpected, your control snatched straight from your fingertips as you look up at him. He’s stunning. Heartbreakingly gorgeous. And you wish you had the ability to describe the extraordinary color of his hair, the color bright enough to blind you. There’s a headache forming at your temple, a building pressure behind your eyes as you take everything in. It’s too much. You feel like a newborn first opening their eyes. A world that is too foreign suddenly appears all at once and in high definition. 

He’s staring straight back at you. The moment just containing you and him in the middle of a bustling Starbucks. But you can’t bring yourself to care about anyone else. Too enraptured by him. Your soulmate. The one ripped from you by a bitter Greek god and you get it. This is terrifying in a way you cannot comprehend. Color rises on his cheeks. Irritating you because you can’t pinpoint it. But it burns and you yearn to feel it beneath your fingertips. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his voice gruff and astonished. It warms you from the inside out. The autumn chill long forgotten as your coat becomes stifling. 

“No.” It comes out confused and accidentally. 

“No?” He mimics, voice just as confused, but his hand tightens on your bicep as you sway. You bring a hand up to dig the heel into your eye, shutting them again in disbelief as a dizziness begins to take you. The pain in your head grows tenfold when you open your eyes again. Your vision continuously in and out as you stare at the man in front of you. 

Your soulmate. 

“This can’t be real,” you say, regaining some sort of composure as you register the napkins in your hand and the cold stickiness clinging to your scrubs. He seems quicker on his feet than you are, bending over to pick up your spilled coffee and laying some napkins down to soak up the mess. You can tell he’s still processing this. But not in the same way you are. Not in the outwardly life altering, mind numbingly slow way that you are. 

“Sorry,” he says again, stepping back to toss the soaked napkins into the nearby trash can. You’re still embarrassingly frozen in place. Too many thoughts and also none at all buzzing through your mind as you wrap your head around the situation. It is far too much. 

A barista is coming over with a mop soon enough, breaking your spell as you step aside to allow him to clean up the mess you made. He offers you a sympathetic smile, and you notice the colors of his eyes are light and a weird feeling twists in your gut when you can’t put a name to it. It’s almost like a pit of envy has rooted itself into your stomach at the fact that this is what you’ve been missing your whole life. And you can’t even identify what you’re seeing, just that your eyes have finally reached the full extent of their abilities and your brain is pounding because of it.

“Stop apologizing,” you respond, walking around the mess on the floor and closer towards him. You shift your bag onto your shoulder again, your feet feeling like they're on solid ground instead of walking on water. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, I should’ve been more careful, but it was like you appeared out of nowhere,” his voice is distant, like he’s thinking too hard about the situation. “It must’ve been the,” he waves his hand between your bodies, gesturing vaguely to what you assume is the bond. The inevitable entangling of your soul threads that whipped you two into each other. 

“Yeah,” you nod meekly, not sure what more to say. An awkwardness so palpable settles around you two and you almost want to run. But it’s as if you no longer have control over your limbs, your feet taking you closer to him instead of towards the door like your brain is telling them to. It still seems fake to you that he’s here, the person you’re fated to be with always within a normal distance and not halfway across the world like you always thought them to be. 

“I, um,” he pauses, sensing your apprehension and giving you a moment. You’re starting to feel cold now that the coffee is no longer hot. Your clothes are just wet and uncomfortable on your skin. “I’m Ichigo.”

Ichigo. Ichigo, your soulmate. 

You swallow. Your name stutters out from between your lips and for a second you assume you said it incorrectly. Adding syllables where there are none. But when he repeats it, sounding as awestruck as you feel, your heart grows. It knocks against your ribcage and pushes out whatever air you had left in your lungs. You’re selfish all of a sudden. The need to hear him say it again tangles its way into your being and a fast greed washes over you. 

“Ichigo,” you repeat, the name supposed to be foreign on your tongue but it’s sweet and familiar. Comforting as if you’ve been saying it for lifetimes. 

You’re not sure how you made it to your apartment after that. He was heading back to work when you gathered enough brain cells to rub together to have a normal conversation. Something about some office job. But honestly your head was still reeling and your eyes were about ready to pop out of their sockets, so you exchanged numbers and went your separate ways. Except now you stand in your living room. All the furniture and decor are a mixture of colors that you can’t decide if you like or not. Rangiku had picked everything out when you moved in together a few months ago. She met her soulmate over a year ago. But she’d fallen in love prior to that so her concept of colors has always been far different from yours. 

You need an aspirin. And a shower. And a fucking nap. 

You try to keep your eyes shut for as long as you can, bracing yourself against the kitchen sink as you chug some water and two pills. The door unlocks from behind you as you wait there, Rangiku yelling that she’s home so loudly the pain in your temple sharpens. 

“You okay?” She asks as she takes off her shoes by the door and puts her things down. She sounds concerned, her voice thankfully dropping multiple decibels to a more manageable volume for you. When you open your eyes, she’s standing much closer to you than you expected. And the first thing you notice is her hair. It’s nearly the same color as Ichigo’s. And again, a pang of jealousy resonated in your chest. 

“Your hair…” You reach out to feel some of the thick tresses hanging over her shoulder. She must’ve had a blow out this morning because it’s soft and voluminous, but really, you can only concentrate on the vibrancy of the color. 

“I just got it done,” she smiles, teeth twinkling and eyes shiny. “I saw a new lady today and she was amazing. I swear she worked some magic because my hair has never looked this good.”

And she’s right. It’s glossy and strong, each strand bouncing and smooth beneath your fingertips. But again, you’re stuck on how it just reminds you of him. “The color, it's just like-” his, it’s just like his.

“Oh yeah, the hair lady said she never worked on a natural ginger before–”

“Ginger. Is that what this color is?” You force your eyes to focus on it. Force them to concentrate on the deepness of it that’s packed beautifully within each strand. 

“Wait.” Her whole body freezes, her chattiness devolving into stunned silence as she stares openly at you. There are gears turning inside her head. Her eyes are darting all over your face in rapid tiny movements and you swear the motion makes you dizzier than you already are. “You can see my hair color?”

It’s hard to respond to her. Difficult to explain the situation when you are still processing it yourself. But there’s a rising excitement coursing through her body. She has questions. So many that you don’t know how to answer. You don’t even know if you want to. 

She calls your name, emphasizing each syllable slowly, as if your hearing changed and not your eyesight. “Tell me right fucking now if you can see the color orange.”

Orange.

You’re ready to pass out. You wanted this so badly, but now you’re not sure if you can handle it. Not in this state, at least. “I met him today at Starbucks. He bumped into me and spilled my coffee everywhere and I’m so dizzy and my head hurts so bad and he’s so gorgeous and I don’t think I can do this.”

Words are flying from your mouth before you can stop them. A tornado of emotions that was swirling inside of you is now spinning out of control and straight at Rangiku. She’s pulling you into a hug though, her arms wrapping around your shoulders and the pressure helps you breathe. It alleviates some of the pain thumping against your skull and you suddenly want to cry. 

Your world is on an axis foreign to you. Gravity is a concept you’re no longer acquainted with and your soul feels like it’s not even tethered to your body anymore. 

“How did you do it? When you met Gin for the first time, how did you keep from falling apart?”

She places a sympathetic hand on your head, cradling you to her body as she just holds you. “Come on, let’s get you out of these gross clothes and into bed. You’ve had a long day.”

As soon as you are laid in bed, your blanket tucked over your shoulder and under your chin, sleep welcomes you immediately. To be fair, you’re exhausted. Meeting your soulmate was just the cherry on top of a sleep deprived day. And if you didn’t wake up some odd hours later— pain in your head gone, but colors still attacking your vision— you would’ve sworn it was some fatigue induced delirium. But no. Your duvet is a pretty light shade of something and there’s a rug at your bedside that’s fluffy and a deeper shade of something else. The curtains are white, at least that much you know. So for a fact, you didn’t imagine him. Him and his orange hair and stunning eyes and strong hand. Your bicep is still warm from where he gripped you, almost as if he branded it into your skin from just one brief meeting. 

It’s difficult enough to thumb through all of your muddled feelings. But oddly, there is an overwhelming sense of relief. Like some weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying around for so long has somehow lifted and you’re lighter. Is this how Rangku feels? Like she’s floating?

You find her in the living room when you finally muster the strength to pull yourself out of bed for the second time today and see her with her hair tied up messily on her head as she paints her toenails. The tv is playing some random real estate reality show she’s been trying to get you to watch and her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth with concentration. You don’t make a noise at first, not wanting to disrupt her when she’s already on her pinky toe and you know damn well she will fuck up if you interrupt her. So when she’s done, a satisfied grin on her face, you plop down beside her with a heavy, huffy breath. 

“Your head still hurt?” She glances your way, sympathetic but ready to pry. She won’t ask anything if you’re still in pain, regardless of if she’s dying to know. So while her question comes from concern, it’s also laced with her own self interest. 

“No,” you say, nudging her shoulder away with your palm, “just hurry up and ask me your questions.” 

“I need every single detail. What does he look like? How did you meet? Is he tall? I need an estimate too, like feet an-”

“You’re gonna make my head hurt again if you don’t stop,” you laugh, heat touching your cheeks from the memories she’s pulling from your brain that’s still slightly foggy from sleep and distant pain. Her features soften, a tiny, excited smile on her face as she waits for you to respond. You bring your hands up to hold your cheeks in your palms, still warm to the touch as you try to decide where to start first. Images of Ichigo flash through your mind and you wonder how to even describe him to her. And you’re positive that if he wasn’t your soulmate and you didn’t meet him for the first time in dazzling colors, you would still find him dizzyingly attractive. 

“Go on then,” she urges, nudging your calf with her foot, careful not to press her freshly painted toes onto your sweats. 

“Well, his name is Ichigo.” And the story flows forth from you with ease like a rush of water lapping at the sandy shores, the words never ending as her questions meet your thoughts halfway. It’s late into the evening when you manage to end the conversation, she ordered takeout before you woke up, already knowing you’d be too tired to want to cook anything. She pulled out her laptop too, finding those flashcards you use in kindergarten to show you all the basic colors. You recognized very few. Black, grey, white, and now orange. But there are so many more that you wondered how someone could choose a favorite. 

Red is nice, it comes in so many shades you find yourself drawn to the darker ones. Blue is wonderful too, the pastel ones especially pretty. But you aren’t sure if it’s just your newfound bias because of a certain someone, that your eyes always linger on orange. 

The next time you see Ichigo is at a local cafe. It’s small and one of your favorite spots, so when he suggested it you jumped at the opportunity. It’s been a week or so since you first bumped into him. The week drainingly long and cumbersome. Your shifts seemed to last forever, the residents up your ass with misplaced pride, and you just wanted to go home. Your only saving grace is Ichigo. He likes to text you sporadically throughout the day, but never too late and never too early. He’s the one who actually reached out first, the day you met he texted you at around dinner time. A simple hey and you were smiling like an idiot at your phone for twenty minutes. 

Since then conversation was easy if not a bit stilted at the beginning. You found out he works at a publishing company in the children’s literature department as an editor and translator. Which admittedly tickled you because he didn’t seem the type. And when you told him just that he was adamant that there couldn’t be a ‘type’ to childrens lit. You decided not to die on this hill, even though riling him up was proving to be particularly entertaining. 

“See anything you like?” He asks over the menu, peeking up at you curiously. You’ve been taking turns stealing glances since you arrived a few minutes after he did. Your memory of him really didn’t do him any justice. He is slightly tanner than you remember, his eyes a stunning shade of what you now know is brown. It’s light and warm, very welcoming on his otherwise serious face. 

“I had my eye on the roasted red pepper pesto sandwich, probably with a side of chips.” Your eyes drift down the menu, reciting your usual order by memory since you haven’t paid a lick of attention to the menu since you’ve arrived. 

“Hmmm, that looks good,” he says inquisitively, his eyebrows furrowing in thought and you can’t help but admire how endearing he looks, with his lips in a thin line and his brows pinched together. He traces a knuckle down the laminated menu, running through the options again as he clearly struggles to choose one. 

“It’s really good, it’s one of the only vegetarian dishes so my options are limited, but it’s actually delicious.” 

“You’re vegetarian?” His eyebrows quirk up interested. You nod, placing the menu face up in front of you to look at him fully, instead of between glances that didn’t belong to you. 

“Not a big fan of the texture of meat, so I stopped eating it a while back,” you explain, somehow expecting an adverse reaction from him, but he simply reciprocates your stare. Taking in the information and storing it. 

He, on the other hand, ends up ordering a traditional breakfast sandwich– fried egg (sunny side up), bacon (not too crispy), and provolone cheese all on a croissant. 

“Breakfast for lunch?” You ask teasingly after the orders are placed and the waitress takes your menus. He smiles at you, small and endearing before he reclines more comfortably in his seat– gaze unwavering from yours. 

“I skipped it this morning because I was in a rush to get to work. I hate doing that, though, because it throws off my entire day when I don’t have breakfast.” Interesting, you think. You’re usually one to skip breakfast anyway, with how demonically early you have to get up to be ready for your shift at the hospital. 

You don’t answer him, just stare. Which is probably odd, maybe unnerving, but you still haven’t been able to quite comprehend the fact that he’s real. And seems just as interested in you as you are him. Especially with the way he meets your stare without any sort of shame. When the food arrives you’re pleased to see the vast arrays of colors that decorate your plates. You never expected for food to be so colorful. It’s fun. 

Ichigo runs a knife down the center of his sandwich, drags the serrated edge across the ceramic plate and you watch as a gooey bright color seeps from its center. Rangiku taught this one to you too, but the name is escaping you right about now. 

“What color is that?” You ask before you can reel the question back in, before you can think of whether he would even know it. But he looks up at you and then back at his plate. 

“This one?” He gestures with his knife to what you presume is the egg’s yolk, having seen it before but always assuming it would be a muted grey. You couldn’t have been more wrong. You nod to urge him to go on and he thinks for a moment, running the color wheel through his head like you have been doing all week and says, “it’s yellow.”

You’re dying to ask him if he’s seen it before. If colors began to make their debut in his life long before you met each other. But with a question like that comes talk of love– past love, maybe even pained love. Has his heart ever been broken? You’re not sure if you want to know. You’ve seen heartbreak on Rangiku when you two were teenagers. It wasn’t pretty. It scared you into believing that maybe a world in color wasn’t worth it. 

“That’s not what I thought egg yolks would look like,” you laugh, shaking your head and sitting back in your seat. Your sandwich hosts an array of colors as well. The red you knew already, it’s in the name. But the green of the pesto is what surprises you when you lift the food to your face. 

“Have you never seen colors before?” The question gives you pause, a squirming uncomfortable feeling starts to root around in your stomach because the implication is all you hear. The underlying question rings, have you never been in love before?

“Have you?” Slight defense in your tone, but mainly curiosity. A burning red begins to blossom up his neck and tinge the tip of his ears. He realizes the hinting nature behind his own question once it was thrown back at him. He’s embarrassed. 

“Uh, yes.” The squirming feeling rises to your chest, threatening to ink your heart with murky emotions. “Obviously never like this. Not until I met you.”

You nod and clear your throat. You shove some of the sandwich into your mouth and take a larger than necessary bite to avoid saying anything. To avoid having to say something when you didn’t know what. It’s not fair to feel this way. You had lives before each other. Lives without each other. And you’ve known him for all of 8 days, but there’s a seed that has been planted and is growing at a rate you have no control over. Maybe it’s your soulmate bond. Or maybe you’re just hopeless. 

“We were together in high school,” he starts, unprompted by you, but feeling the overwhelming urge to explain. “Broke up in college, the distance kinda drove us apart since we went to different universities. It didn’t end badly or anything, though.”

“Do you still talk?” You’re jealous, you realize a second too late. The question flies from your head and you suddenly feel like you’re being intrusive. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Your cheeks are warm, your hands slightly clammy, so you take another bite out of your sandwich. 

“Not really,” he shrugs. “We share mutual friends since we’ve known each other for so long. She’s actually engaged to her soulmate. She met him not too long after we ended things actually.”

Oh, you feel kind of bad now for asking something so private. But he doesn’t look dejected or bitter when he says it. Mostly indifferent, but you’re not sure if it’s a mask or if he truly means it. 

“You?”

Your head whips up to look at him. Heart fluttering because you forgot this conversation started with you. You were too caught up in his past to remember what even brought it up. 

“Um,” you fidget in your seat, feeling awkward now, which is probably how he felt. The seat too hot to sit in. “I dated a guy a few years ago and nothing really came of it. Not anything colorful, anyway.”

He hums, finally biting through his sandwich. Yolk smears across his bottom lip and you want to wipe it clean. The yellow is much more transparent on his lip, the skin there dusted with red. And you want to kiss him. So badly it’s sort of jarring. But you don’t, obviously. He catches you staring when he looks up. A tension that was not here before enveloping the entire table and you wish you could take a photo of him at this exact moment. His jacket is still on, his hands cradling the sandwich between long fingers, and his brown eyes sucking you into him. But it’s not that you’re dying to capture. It’s the sunlight that beams through the wide window you sit beside. The autumn rays bouncing off of his hair and the orange absorbs the light like it is meant for him. Like the sun is his. And you’re helplessly orbiting him. 

For two weeks, meeting him once your shift ends and during his lunch hour becomes routine. Weekends are a trickier battleground since plans had already been made in advance and therefore much tougher to align your schedules. But lunch is simple. Your text threads now consist of options of what to try next. Some new while others are old favorites you want to share with each other. 

You also find that sharing with him is terrifyingly easy. From family history to embarrassing high school experiences to your drunken escapades with Rangiku. It is all divulged in a single hour with a table separating you and food as your only other company. But sometimes the topics are tougher to navigate. When Ichigo told you that he lost his mother at a young age forcing him to step up and help his father care for his younger twin sisters it was over two bowls of soup– yours tomato bisque and his french onion. But most times they are much lighter, like when you find out he’s not a big fan of sweets. You had offered him a bite of your brownie and he physically recoiled. He had a tendency for physical reactions, most of the time to express disgust which you teased him relentlessly for. You caught the both of you by surprise one afternoon when he scowled at something you said, your thumb coming up to smooth out the creases that formed between his eyebrows whenever he did that.

Touching him also comes just as easy as everything else. He’s always moving pieces of hair from your face and you developed a quick habit of holding onto his arm whenever the two of you walk through crowded streets or busy restaurants. Your first kiss is actually shared at a crosswalk. The temperature that day dipped into something brisk and chilly. You were sleepier than usual so you found comfort in resting against him and allowing him to take the lead to your destination. In your state of half paying attention, you tripped over a chunk of lifted cement on the sidewalk as you were about to cross the street. But he caught you with strong arms around your waist. The sleepiness that was weighing down your eyelids disappeared with a gust of wind and suddenly your face was pressed into his broad chest. Your heart had probably stopped because you could no longer feel it beating in your chest when you looked up at him. The world had seemed to slow down, your mind filtering out everyone but him. You’re not sure who made the first move. It’s hard to remember when all that clouds that memory is the perfect brush of his lips against yours. And then he was pulling away before you could even register that the kiss had happened. He was blushing again, finally asking if you were okay and smiling when all you could do was nod at him. The alarming noise of the crosswalk signaling for you to hurry and cross the street was the only thing that tore you from that moment. Because you swear you could have kissed him forever. 

And kissing him is all you want now that your day shifts have turned into overnights for the week. You didn’t realize you could miss someone so badly until you and Ichigo started functioning on opposite schedules. You ache for him. Your soul throbs to be near him. And it does feel like losing a limb when you’re not together. The string of fate is taut and ready to snap from how terribly you yearn for him. Zeus is a bitch for carving humanity in half. 

Still, Ichigo finds ways to make you smile. Oftentimes staying up later than you know he’s used to. Or even offering to drop off food on his way home from work while you get ready to start your shift for the night. You take him up on it one night, no longer bothered by the idea of inconveniencing him because you just want to see him. He shows up on your doorstep with some takeout. His nose is tinted pink from the cold and hair windswept from walking from the parking lot to your apartment. 

“I picked up some food from that Thai spot you’ve been mentioning. I guessed a little on what you would want.” He holds up the bag, the smell already warming you and your stomach grumbles as a result. He chuckles at the sound as he strides into your apartment, toeing off his shoes near the door before bending over to kiss your cheek. You’re still in your loungewear, and you initially felt self-conscious about not changing for him but he doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. Instead gazing around your apartment with acute fascination. There are signs of you and Rangiku all over the place. An organized mess of diy projects half started and miscellaneous knick knacks you and her find whenever you go thrifting and have to buy. 

You also started experimenting with color, buying unnecessary amounts of blankets or decorative pillows or wall art simply because you enjoy the colors schemes. There is a mirror lying on your dining room table, painter’s tape lining the edges with some tentative strokes of yellow framing the outer corners. 

“You paint?” He places the takeout on the bar counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, staring curiously at the project on your table. 

“Not exactly,” you laugh, not wanting to call whatever smears of acrylic on glass painting. “I saw someone do this on TikTok and I thought it would be a good way to learn colors. There are so many shades of just one color when I walked into the crafts store a couple weeks ago I thought my head was gonna explode.”

You remember trying to find the yellow that resembled yolk, but instead fell face first into a color called mustard that you couldn’t stop yourself from buying. There were about twelve other colors you left with that day, your wallet not the happiest with you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“What’s this supposed to be?” He asks innocently, head tilted to the side as he takes in the wobbly paint. His eyes are narrowed as he scrutinizes it, it’s his thinking face which you’ve grown quite fond of. You smile as you watch him, finally feeling more like yourself than you have these last few days.

“I’ll serve us our food and then I’ll show you the video I’m talking about.”

He joins you for dinner, but when the time comes for him to leave it’s still too soon. You even contemplate calling out just so you could spend the rest of the night sitting on your couch with him. But he’s far more responsible than you are, level headedly telling you that you should probably go in and that Saturday his day is free. An excited feeling flurries around your chest because this is the first Saturday you’ve had available too, so you promise it to each other. A new motivation simmers under your skin as you go about the rest of your week. Knowing that by the end of it, you and Ichigo will have more than just an hour together. 

“Gin is picking me up soon,” Rangiku shouts from her bedroom so you can hear her in yours. She has luggage rolled out by the door, the apartment having turned into her extended closet as she packed for her getaway trip with Gin. Somewhere tropical. 

“Lucky you,” you say as you walk into her room. She’s still throwing things into a small backpack when you do. “Having a sugar daddy to whisk you away to fancy places.”

She rolls her eyes at you, throwing a stray sleepshirt at your face. “He is not my sugar daddy, he just likes to spoil me.”

Her smile brightens at the thought of him. And before you would get jealous of the far off lovey look on her face, but you are starting to think you look the same whenever you think of Ichigo.

You’re going to a pumpkin patch with him today, the leaves all sorts of pretty colors and you wouldn’t trade some beach vacation for it any day. 

“You’ll have the apartment all to yourself this weekend,” she says, cutting your thoughts in half. You don’t miss the suggestive tone in her voice. Your cheeks are heating in response. “Any fun plans?”

“Just hanging out with Ichigo later today. He’s taking me to pick out a pumpkin that we’re probably gonna carve. Maybe make some dinner together.” You try to keep your voice light and level, occupying yourself by unplugging her charger from the wall beside her bed since it’s the one thing she never fails to forget. 

“Just hanging out,” she nods, sitting on the edge of her bed with a sly smile on her face. She takes the charger from you, but not her eyes from your face. You hate that you know what she’s thinking. Because it’s been whirling around in your brain, the fact that you two will be alone together. In your home. Just the two of you. Your mind has wandered too many times to even count and your body flushes in response. 

“That’s the plan,” you shrug, hoping she lets the conversation end here and sitting beside her.

“I sure as hell hope not. It’s been fucking forever for you and you deserve some head, at least.”

“Rangiku!” Your entire body is burning and you’re not the type to shy away from conversations like this, but Ichigo makes you feel so oddly shy and you don’t want to fuck up whatever you have with him by being too forward. 

“It’s the truth, bitch. You’re overworked and under pleasured,” she laughs, your face scrunching up at her.

“What is wrong with you?” 

“You love me,” she giggles and hugs you to her chest, totally pleased with herself.

“So there must be something wrong with me then?” You joke, wiggling from her tight embrace and getting up from her bed. There’s a knock on the door that interrupts her retort and her eyes twinkle at the sound of it. “Go get your man,” you sigh exaggeratedly, barely hiding your own happiness for her. 

She squeals and gets up from her seat, practically skipping towards the door and leaving you alone. You do an additional once over of her things, making sure she isn’t forgetting anything important. Not like it matters much when she can buy whatever she’s missing wherever they land. 

“Oh, hi,” you hear her greeting rise in pitch, sounding surprised which doesn’t make any sense. 

“Hello.” Oh god, it’s Ichigo. His familiar voice matches the surprised tone of Rangiku’s. Panic is rising in your chest, afraid of what nonsense will come from her mouth. You practically run out into the hall, ready to stop the train before it wrecks itself. 

“You’re early,” you say breathlessly, glad that you had the foresight to be up and dressed by now– hair done and up in a claw clip. 

“I am?” You check your phone for the time, and yeah he’s about an hour early, but you can’t complain because you’re more than happy to see him. Less excited about the unexpected introductions you now have to do. 

“Just a little, but that’s okay.” Rangiku is smiling between the two of you, eyes even more sparkly than they were before, this time with something you should be slightly worried about. “This is-”

“Rangiku,” she finishes for you, holding out her hand for him to shake. “And you must be Ichigo.”

He takes her hand firmly, and you almost want to tease him for reverting into the shy side of him. He’s sometimes reserved, but him meeting Rangiku and being a little speechless makes you chuckle under your breath at him. 

“I am,” he clears his throat, finally walking over the threshold once Rangiku moves out of his way. “I’m assuming I’ve been talked about.” 

He slides his eyes in your direction, a hardened glance that has a playfulness behind it. One that sends a shiver down your spine involuntarily. 

“Mmm, in various degrees,” Rangiku adds, not missing the way his look made you react. Ichigo’s eyebrows raise, inquisitive and asking for more information through his expression.

“Nothing crazy,” you explain because it really hasn’t been anything crazy, Rangiku just likes pushing your buttons. He hums in response, not saying anything to her amusement. He has a small bag in his hand that you missed when he initially walked in, placing it onto your dining room table that is now clear of the mirror that you were painting. 

“I bought carving stuff from that store you like in downtown,” he says as he starts unbagging the items he bought. You notice a tube of paint rolling in the bag, sneaking an arm under his and plucking it from the plastic.

“What’s this?” You’re twirling the paint between your fingers and looking for the name, it seems like a shade of green but very light.

“I saw it and thought of you.” He feigns nonchalance, shrugging one shoulder and flicking his eyes over the other to find Rangiku smugly staring from the kitchen. “It’s sage green.”

You find the label name as he says it, running a finger over the word sage and already thinking of what colors it would pair nicely with. It’s sweet that he thinks of you, buys things that remind him of you. Your chest goes tight, and it should be uncomfortable but you’ve never felt more at ease. 

“Thank you,” you smile fondly his way, wanting to lean over and kiss him, but restraining yourself since you have company who will very much ruin the moment. He nods, and you can tell the same thought is running through his head because he steps towards you before stopping halfway. 

Not too long later, Gin stops by to grab Rangiku for their trip. As they are walking out she makes sure to call over her shoulder, “you kids have fun, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” And you almost strangle her for being so ridiculous as she winks and then scurries away into her soulmate’s arms. 

Ichigo sighs once you two are alone, visibly relaxing now that Rangiku is gone. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, and you hadn’t realized how tense you were until the warmth of his palm is staining your skin through your sweater. 

“Come on,” he says, bending slightly at the waist to whisper against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps tighten your skin and you suppress a shiver, eyes blinking slowly. “These pumpkins aren’t gonna pick themselves.” 

You snort out a laugh, elbowing his side and he grunts like it actually hurt him. “You’re lame.” 

Picking out the perfect pumpkins proves to be a stressful process. Ichigo is pickier than you would’ve assumed, his eyes scrutinizing each one. You decide to part ways to choose your own. And when you reconvene he has managed to find the most perfect one, it’s smooth all the way around, the shape almost cartoonishly pristine. Like he drew it himself and molded it with his fingers. It’s a good size too, not too big and not too small. 

You, on the other hand, pick out two pumpkins. One humongous and hard to carry. It’s slanted to the left and dotted with pimpled skin. The other is the complete opposite, tiny and cute with a long stem sticking out the top. 

“We agreed on one each,” he narrows his eyes, sticking his choice under his arm in an attempt to help you with yours. 

“This one is so small it hardly counts,” you argue, trying to swat his hand away to show him you can carry it yourself, but it’s up and out of your arms before you can fight him off. He makes the pumpkin look like a normal size with the way he holds it against his chest with an arm wrapped around the circumference. You’re upset that he makes it look so easy, but your body heats up when you recognize how broad he is. Wishing it was you in his arms instead of those damn pumpkins. 

“It 100% counts.” He walks over to the little old lady under one of the tents set up on the outskirts of the field. You move to pull out the cash in your wallet to pay her since his hands are full, but before you can wrestle it from the bottom of your purse he’s already handed her money with the pumpkins securely in his arms. 

“You’re so impatient, y’know that?” 

“I’m not impatient,” he argues back, shifting the pumpkins in his arms and heading towards the car. “Now hurry up, my fingers are frozen.” 

At the apartment, the pumpkin carving is a disaster. He’s hopeless when it comes to any kind of creativity. Every time you cut into the thick skin he swears he has no idea what you’re trying to make and your stomach hurts from laughing so hysterically at all of his faces of frustration. 

“It’s literally just a face, Ichigo,” you breathe heavily to even put your breaths from laughing at him. 

“A weird one,” he grumbles, grabbing some seeds and pulp that you scraped out when you first started and tossing it at you. The cold wet strings stick to your neck and sweater and you gasp from the feeling. When you turn your face to look at him, he’s hiding a laugh behind his hand. His shoulders shake from the restraint and you’re positive your expression is only fueling him.

You lean over to grab a fistful of the squishy contents, cringing at how gross it feels but then repaying the gesture by throwing it at him. He tries to dodge it, but it lands right on his collarbone and shoulder, one of the seeds finding its way into the hair behind his ear. His eyes are wide when he meets your eyes, a glint of something devious in them and your instinct is to run. But he’s quick, and his hand already finds some more and as you’re jumping from your seat he hits you right across your torso. 

“You’re making a mess,” you scream over your shoulder, using the chair as a barricade to separate you two. You make a fast break to the right, grabbing whatever is left of the pumpkin insides and raising your arm. 

“For the record,” you exhale on a laugh, “you started this.” 

The pulp flies from your hand and in his direction. His reflexes are faster than you imagined them to be because he dodges with ease. A squeal leaves your throat as you spin and run in the opposite direction. He’s chasing you all around the apartment as you throw the decorative pillows you had lying around the living room at him to keep him away. 

You’re out of breath. The air in your lungs fighting against every laugh and scream you steal from it. You barrel into your bedroom, kicking the door open with your side and stumbling on your carpet. When you look back at him, he’s cleanly jumped over the couch, now only arms distance away. You have no time to shut your door, but you also have no intention to. You’re tired and panting. Your bedroom is completely dark as you run further inside of it. The sun set probably an hour ago, time taken from you like it only does when you want it to slow down. 

Your guard is down. Your chest heaving from the lack of oxygen circulating and you’re in his arms anyway. He’s wrapped them around your middle, fingers digging into your sides to keep you from wigging out of his embrace. 

“Are you done?” His voice is rugged and heavy, dipping lower as he also tries to catch his breath. Your thighs clench in response with a will of their own and your stomach twists when his hot breath fans across your neck. You kick out your legs half heartedly, stubbornly not wanting to admit to him that you have given up the fight.

Ichigo’s grip tightens, and you feel the expanse of his chest fill against your back when he inhales deeply. He tickles your sides, pulling out a surprised laugh from you as you squirm and try to get away from him.

“I’m done!” You shout between laughs, pulling at his fingers with your hands. “I promise! I'm done!”

“You won’t run away from me?” He asks, fingers pausing but his hold is still as tight. 

“No, I won’t,” you sigh, pressing most of your weight into him. “Pinky promise.”

You hold up your pinky, not even sure if he can see it in the darkness of your bedroom. He loosens his arms and your feet fall flat on the floor. You turn to face him, pinky still in the air and you can just barely make out his features. His orange hair is one of the only things visible so that’s what you focus on. He wraps his pinky around yours, your bodies still flush together. 

You tilt your head up at the same time that his bends towards you. His nose brushes the slope of your own, and you share a breath. One that’s stuttered and charged. 

“Can I-,”

“Yes,” you gasp, tugging on his pinky and slotting your lips together. His are soft and taste like original Chapstick. You briefly wonder when he put some on because they’re smooth like it’s been freshly applied. You grab hold of his shirt, fisting it and refusing to let him go. Not this time. You want him completely uninterrupted. You want to kiss him until your lips swell and your cheeks burn. 

His arms are around your waist again, his hands twisting your sweater between his fingers and you are so firmly carved against his body you can feel his abdomen tense against your torso. 

He tries to take a step towards your bed, the intention clear enough, but when you try to follow suit your foot catches on the edge of your shaggy rug. Neither of you are paying enough attention to regain your balance. The kiss breaks and your bodies are stumbling backwards and landing on the soft rug with an umph. He somehow twisted his body in a way so that he’s not resting most of his weight on top of you, instead you’re laying side by side, limbs entangled in each other. 

There’s a heady moment of silence, one that still lingers with fresh desire but is tinged with a relief that’s comical. He breaks the silence first with a chuckle. It’s pressed into the top of your hair, the vibrations rattling around your skull. It has you joining him, a surprised laugh of your own bubbling up from your chest. 

“You’re always tripping over yourself,” he says, the hand that used to be caught in the fabric of your sweater slipping beneath until he’s touching bare skin. 

“You usually do a better job of catching me,” you tease, brushing some of his hair from his forward. His bangs have grown some since you first met and he looks even more endearing when he’s unkempt. 

“I was kind of distracted,” he whispers, his forehead knocking against yours as his hand slips deeper beneath your clothes. You will your body to relax, fight the shiver that’s threatening to tense your body and just feel his hand exploring your exposed skin. 

“Doing what?” You crane your neck so that your lips are merely a centimeter apart again, nails lightly scratching through the hair on the back of his head. 

“This.” And he’s closing the distance again, his lips now tasting like yours. The strawberry lipgloss you swore was gone by now still taints the taste of each open mouthed kiss. You slide your tongue against his bottom lip, asking for more. You sense that you catch him by surprise because his lips part but around a deep groan. One that has the hair on your arms standing and your hips rolling forward against his. 

He moves to your neck, hands becoming desperate in the way that they map out your frame. He rolls so that he’s hovering over your body— tongue licking at the space just above your collarbone. Your head lulls to the side to give him better access, your eyes closing instinctively when he sucks tenderly at the skin there. 

The black that overwhelms your vision frightens you though, for once not used to it after so long of it being your only companion. You nudge him so that he’s sitting up, and your heart aches when you can’t see his eyes. Or the look of concern you know that’s there. 

“Wait,” you rise to your elbows, your voice only air with how breathy you sound. He doesn’t move, just waits patiently for you to say something else. Worried that something is wrong. But instead of reassuring him you worm out from beneath him, arm rising above your head as you twist your torso to reach the lamp that resides on your bedside table. 

The room is immediately filled with a golden glow when you tap the base. The colors that you thought were beginning to fade flooding your senses to remind you that it’s true. That you aren’t dreaming this. Or having some expertly wild delusion. That your soulmate is here and offering you a kaleidoscope of new beginnings. 

“I wanna see,” you explain, hand coming up to rest on his cheek. “ All my life I’ve been living in shadows. Let me see you.” 

His eyes soften, irises like melted chocolate. He understands you. Better than anyone ever has before. It could be proof of the bond that’s destined to tie you together. Or proof that Ichigo is someone like no other. He has a presence that you can no longer live without. And you are terrifyingly in love with him. You don’t have to know what love is like to know what the feeling that clouds your senses is. It makes you want to run but not away from it, straight into its embrace without the fear of uncertainty holding you back.

You pull him in for another kiss. Less rushed, but purposeful. He takes his time undressing you, eyes lingering and stalling on every new exposed inch of your skin. You thought you’d feel the prickling of self-consciousness whenever this moment came, but you have never felt more self-assured. He kisses his way down your body, lips paying special attention to the spots that make you whine. That makes your fingers curl against his arms. 

He’s stripped down to his underwear and is now towering over your completely naked form. You reach for him, wanting him impossibly close, but he grabs your wrist to stop you. His eyes burn with an unwavering desire and you could explode just from the heat of his gaze, so you don’t understand why he’s stopping. When you open your mouth to question him, when you rise to your elbows to ask him if he’s okay, he stops you with a large hand against your stomach to push you back down onto your back. 

“How do you like to be touched?” It’s innocent within itself, but the circumstances are anything but. The shyness you assumed was far away is creeping into your brain as you fail to answer him. 

“I-, just touch me,” you say, hoping that it’s enough to urge him to continue. But he leans over so that his face is just over yours, eyes even more intense with the reflection of the golden light. 

“No,” he says firmly, brows furrowing like they always do when he’s frustrated or thinking too hard about something. “Teach me how to touch you.” 

Your eyes flutter close, heat that couldn’t get any hotter flaming throughout your core and you toss your head back against the carpet. Your chest rises with a broken inhale, your mind glitching momentarily at his words. 

“Fuck- uh, okay,” you swallow, finding his wrist and wrapping your fingers around it. You place his hand at the base of your neck, pushing it down to feel the weight of his palm there. You hear his breath hitch, too busy focusing on the feeling of his hand moving across your skin to see it for yourself. 

You drag it down further, using the confidence that’s simmering somewhere within your blood to guide his hand across your breasts. 

“Squeeze,” you pant when his fingers envelope the sensitive skin. Your nipple is already pebbled beneath his hand and you moan when he follows your direction. There’s a trembling vulnerability to this moment. A comforting one that forces you to keep going. 

“Like this?” He asks when he squeezes again, taking his thumb and dragging it over your hardened nipple. 

“Mmm,” you hum, not able to do much else other than enjoy him. But you tighten your fingers around his wrist once more to push him down even further. Straight between your parted legs where you already feel the slick begin to gather and wet your inner thighs. Your breath halts in your throat, stuck against the walls of your trachea as his fingers slip between your folds. 

He moans with you this time, parting your lips and gathering as much of your slick as he can on his fingers while you limply hold his wrist. You take your other hand and slide your fingers between his, touching yourself alongside him when you focus his fingertips against your clit. 

“P-pressure,” you stutter, hips canting to meet his firm circles. “Just like that.”

Your head is swimming with lust, a sickeningly warm pleasure caresses your veins as you lose yourself. You’re no longer concentrating on guiding him, perfectly content in leaving him alone to learn your body on his own. He moves his fingers down to your entrance, fingertips prodding at the opening without dipping inside like you so badly want him to. 

“Ichigo,” you sigh with enough need that has him looking up at you inside of where his fingers meet your sex. “Please.”

His shoulders slump forward and his chin falls towards his chest. If you didn’t know any better he’d look like he was in pain. The muscles all over his body pulled taut and tense. He’s slipping two fingers inside of you then and you clench harshly around them. You’re unable to breathe properly, not with how he curls them upward in search of the spongy tissue you know is there. You force yourself to keep your eyes open and trained on him, unwilling to lose every frame of him he is giving you. 

His other hand moves over to palm over the tent in his briefs, harshly rolling the heel of his palm against his cock and guilt pulls in your chest at the sight of it. There’s a dark spot forming where his tip is and your mouth waters at that thought of how he might taste in your tongue. But you can’t focus on it for too long when Ichigo manages to press against your swollen walls, using that motion to drag his palm over your clit at the same time. 

“Oh,” your head falls to the side, neck no longer able to hold it up as he focuses entirely on forcing you to the edge. His fingers are targeting every nerve ending that’s there, and there’s a fuzziness clouding your vision as he drives you towards your release. You can barely note from your peripheral that he’s pulled himself from his boxers, his long fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking himself at the speed with which he’s touching you. 

The sight has your heart racing and your clit throbbing in anticipation. Your hands are gripping the tresses of the rug at your sides, and your moans are rising in pitch the closer you get to your release. Your thighs close around his wrist when he groans your name roughly. You vaguely comprehend that it’s a plea for you to come. But the tone scratches at your brain and before you can understand the pressure that’s built in your gut, your back bows off the floor and your vision spots with noisy mosaics of color. All you can hear is your own voice catching in your vocal chords and the brief gasp of his name as waves of unadulterated pleasure wash over you. 

He doesn’t stop until your back is safely pressed onto the floor again, his fingers slowing inside of you before he’s pulling out altogether. You wince at the emptiness, blinking your eyes back open and wondering when you allowed them to close. 

You’re satisfied and your limbs are so heavy. Your brain is mostly mushy endorphins and the first signs of sleepiness are beginning to make an appearance when your eyesight goes wonky. 

It’s not until you see him fully, and the blush that’s coating his skin. The blossoming redness that stains his cheeks all the way to the tip of his weeping cock that your walls flutter again with the hopes of feeling him inside of you. 

“Let me,” you sit up and reach for him like you did earlier, this time solely wanting to hold him in the palm of your hand. He’s sticky from the precum that’s been dripping from his head. And your mouth waters again with the need to wrap your lips around him. It’s like he can sense where your thoughts have taken you because he’s laying you back down with a hand to your shoulder.

“Next time.”

“But-,”

“Next time,” he promises, stealing any retorts from your lips with a heated kiss. His tongue swipes into your mouth and you nearly forget how wound up he must be. Every kiss is punctuated with a rumbling sigh straight from his chest. He's maneuvering the two of you onto your sides, pillowing your head on his bicep as he continues to mold your lips together. You automatically hook your leg over his hip, his cock slotting between your thighs and slipping easily through the mess of your pussy. 

“Shit,” he pauses, panting against your mouth when he pulls away. You whine for him to continue, body screaming for him to bury himself inside of you. “I don’t have a condom.”

The white noise that was raging in your ear drums dials down and you breathe out a small laugh. You meet his gaze and you see the apprehension there, making you kiss the tip of his nose and rub a thumb over his heated cheek. 

“It’s been a while for me, so I’m clean,” you explain, your heart thudding against your ribcage. “I don’t have one either so if you want to wait we can, but if you’re comfortable…”

You let your sentence trail off, still stroking his cheek with your thumb as you wait for his response. 

“I am too,” he starts, breathing gentle puffs across your face. “Clean.”

“So then, fuck me, Ichigo.” You grip his hair between your fingers and gently tug it. His entire body shudders at the action and you grind down so that his head catches your entrance. He hugs you to him, face moving to bury itself in your neck as he thrusts into you. You can tell he meant to go slower, that he meant to take his time inching his way into your cunt, but your patience is wearing thin. And so you match his thrust with a roll of your own and in one motion he’s seated between your walls with a stuttered groan dampening your neck as his grip on your hip becomes bruising. 

Your sweaty bodies stick to each other as he continues to drive in and out of you. You’re sensitive from your first orgasm, so being full like this saturates every thought and feeling and function that should come naturally. His pace is rhythmic, every drag of his cock perfectly timed with each exhale. You drop your forehead into his shoulder, losing sense of yourself because you can only think of him. And his strong frame and soft lips and thick cock. 

It’s too much. There’s a sharp tug in your stomach, a warning that you’re about to come again. Your fingers unconsciously strengthen their hold on Ichigo’s hair, and you smear a kiss across his shoulder and wherever your lips can reach. 

“M’gon-,” the words are punched from you when his thrusts harden, his hips smacking against you in rapid succession. 

“Cum with me,” he barely grits out between a clenched jaw. “Fuck, please.” 

“Ichi,” you moan, high pitched and shattered. This one is harder than the last, instead of colors gracing your screwed shut eyes, it’s just white. Pure, untainted white. 

He's pulling out of you suddenly and with hardly enough time to aim his cum anywhere. Instead it rushes out in hot spurts all over your pussy, the temperature covering your sensitive clit and jolting your hips back in surprise. His arms are securely around you as he comes down. As you both breathe in jagged breaths of air to compensate for all the ones you lost. 

When you open your eyes, the colors are too bright for you. The tan planes of his shoulder and the vibrant orange of his hair greet you first. Your body sags in his embrace, hand rubbing soothing circles onto his back as he finds his way back to you. 

He stretches against your body when he finally grounds himself into this reality, his hands smoothing over your hair and thigh as he moves back to peer at you. His eyes are drunken and hazy. His lips are reddened and rosey. 

His smile is broad and amused when he gets a good look at you. An entertained little laugh tumbling from him. 

“What’s so funny?” You pull on his earlobe after you pinch it between your thumb and finger. 

“You have a dried pumpkin string on your lip,” he laughs again, plucking it from your bottom lip and showing it to you. 

“How?” You scrunch your brows together in confusion. Only then seeing the bits of pumpkin that you threw at him earlier still clinging to his collarbone and dried on his skin. 

“I can’t believe you threw pumpkin insides at me,” you playfully pout, biting your lip to hide your smile from him. 

“It was payback,” he grins, cradling your cheek in his hand until his fingers massage parts of your neck. 

“For?”

“For waiting so long to bump into me at Starbucks.”

[ssadumba55]

Rookie Racer (Lightning McQueen X Reader)

Request: So I saw this on another author's request page and the author didn't write it(the idea was interesting) so I wanted to ask here (Lightning McQueen x Reader) So the reader is a race car racing at the Piston Cup/Grand Prix and he gets jealous of them but gets to know them better and falls for them. So kind of a enemies to lovers trope. The original request is here

The stands were filling up, but you were completely focused on your prerace routine, locked neatly away in your trailer. By prerace routine, you just meant trying not to panic and trying to remember as much of your training as possible. You’d been in plenty of races before, but this was different. Finally, you were good enough to race against the best of the best, the cream of the crop.

Some of your favourite racers were here tonight and it was taking everything in you not to squeal like a little girl. Breathe, (Y/n), there will be time to freak out later. Right now, you have a race to win.

‘I wonder if Lightning McQueen will sign something for me, I should find him after the race and-‘ you quickly shook the thought out of your head. This wasn’t the time for these thoughts.

Slowly, you rolled out of the trailer, and everything became a lot louder, clearer. Thousands of fans were cheering from the stands. You wondered briefly if your family were enjoying the seat that you’d gotten them. They had always supported your racing career, especially when they realized how good you were at it.

“Racers, please make your way to the track. The race is about to begin!”

A loud announcement blared, cutting over all the noise and hubbub. You glanced back at the safety of your trailer, almost wishing you could retreat into it… but no. A race to win. You had to prove to these other racers you were just as worthy to be here as they were.

Once you reached the start up line and were getting ready to start up your engine, you realized how truly intimidating all of this was.

Lightning McQueen was in the front, he almost always started at the front now that he’d found his stride a couple years ago. He almost never lost…

“On your marks, get set… go!”

And there it was, your cue to get your head in the game and start racing.

At the beginning, you spent most of your time in the back, comfortably wedged between two other cars and taking your time. There was no need to rush yet, slow and steady always wins the race. As the laps began getting up there though, you knew it was time to start proving your worth. Here it comes. An opening!

You slide up through the ranks, passing other cars and watching them shrink behind you. You felt exhilarated, swerving to make sure cars that you passed stayed behind you and picking up the speed to keep going.

Further and faster, that was your motto.

You were having so much fun, you didn’t even realize that you and McQueen were now fighting for the number one position. You were straining and so was he at your side, but you didn’t want to make it easy for him even if he did win this race. The two of you danced like this for the remaining three laps, in the end, you ended up pulling ahead just enough to be crowned the winner of the first race.

“I DID IT!” It didn’t hit you until you had slowed down what had really happened. You were the winner. You had beat your idol Lightning McQueen… Lightning… wait, where was he?

You turned to see where he’d gone off to, but he had vacated the track.

The rest of the night you didn’t see him, which was a real damper on your victory. You would’ve liked to talk it over with him, maybe get a few pointers on how you could do a little better next time, congratulate him on his previous wins… maybe get him to sign something.

Oh well, you could always track him down at the next race.

The only issue was you never could catch Lightning McQueen to get his advice. The only times you ever saw him after that were on the track, when the two of you were neck and neck. Sometimes you would pull through and win, sometimes he would, but either way the result would be the same.

He would disappear.

Even when you’d waited after one of his interviews once to talk to him, he’d still managed to evade you.

Was he hiding from you?

You laughed that idea off, that was ridiculous. He was Lightning McQueen; he didn’t hide from people… Except for those times he randomly disappeared to Radiator Springs just to get away from it all. Okay, maybe he was hiding from you.

By the time the last race came around, you were determined. You would talk to him face to face if it was the last thing you did.

He ended up winning the race, which was no surprise to you. You were off your game, thinking about your plan of attack for how to best tackle McQueen. Eventually, you came up with the perfect plan.

While Lightning was at his interview, you asked his truck if you could wait inside his trailer for him, stating it was urgent. Mac didn’t bat an eyelid at that, agreeing and opening right up for you. When he came back from his interview a while later, you were waiting inside.

“Oh, (Y/n), it’s you,” he sounded mildly annoyed, but you’d never really had a proper conversation with him so maybe he just always sounded like that. You did, however, note that he didn’t congratulate you on your wins or even say hi.

Still, even though you wanted to make a good impression on him, you couldn’t help but let the words and thoughts that had been tangling in your head for months now come out.

“Did I do something to offend you? I’m really sorry if I did, I do and say things a lot without thinking. It would really suck if I offended you, oh my god, you’re like my hero. You’ve been a huge inspiration to me for so long. You’ve been avoiding me since the first race when I beat you and I just… You spend time with all the other racers, so I thought maybe it was… it was me?” It all tumbled out, everything that had built up over time.

He seemed genuinely shocked to hear all of that come out of your mouth. He took a few moments to process everything you’d said, clearly slightly shaken.

Finally, he closed his eyes and then opened them again. “No, no… Look, I’m sorry. I guess I got a little sore with you after you beat me that first race… I mean, I’ve been on a good winning streak, you know? You were so effortlessly good, you made it look like you weren’t even trying. I- I guess I kind of just villainized you a bit in my mind because I was a little jealous.”

You felt your body heat up a little. He was jealous… of you? You weren’t that good, were you?

Anything else you were going to say got caught in your throat, how could you even respond to this?

“Come on, let’s go out. I’ll buy you something to make up for judging you before I even really met you,” he began to drive off, glancing back when he realized you weren’t following, “(Y/n)? You coming?”

Before he could change his mind, you hurried to follow.

“Sorry, just got lost in my head a little there. I never thought Lightning McQueen would be jealous of me… or offer to take me somewhere to make up for it,” you admitted as the two of you drove through the now quiet and peaceful stadium.

He grinned over at you sheepishly. “Well, I feel bad. You’re a nice car, I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

The two of you drove in comfortable silence.

You got something to eat at a place both of you liked and talked about a lot of things. You told him about your family, and he told you all about Radiator Springs.

“Sounds like a really quaint place. I think I’d like it there,” you grinned as he finished telling you a story about him and his best friend Mater.

He hesitated slightly before saying, “you should stop by. If you want to, you know. I just thought because race season is over maybe you’d like to relax a bit. But if you have plans that’s okay too!”

You laughed, saving him slightly from his own rambling.

“I think I’d like to spend a little more time with you,” you admitted, and he met your eyes.

“I think I’d like to spend a little more time with you, as well.”

“It’s a date then, McQueen.”

“Can’t wait, (Y/n).”

[bvccy]

Hi!!! Hope you're doing great

Can I please have a mix between number 2 from the soft and 8 from the dark one

Thanks, lost of love ❤❤❤

Thank you so much, nonnie! I am so sorry this took so long, I meant to post yesterday but it wasn’t done. Also, the 8th dark prompt was requested just before you sent in this one, so that is filled separately here.

I tried to do the mix you asked for, and I took the liberty of writing this with Bucky (specifically 40s!BB), and I hope that it’s ok. It’s a bit of a more specific story, actually, that I’d wanted to write for a while. I also did a kind of first for me, because it involves Steve x reader as a backdrop 😂 Anyway.

Lots of love to you too, my dear! 💗💗💗

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Bucky x Reader • preserum!Steve x Reader — PROMPT: Asteria - gazing at one’s object of affection, from afar + Prassius - an impossible desire, and unclean love — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

It had taken long enough, and sometimes it seemed like it would never happen, but he finally found Steve a girlfriend — or rather, his girlfriend found him one. Dottie had exhausted several of her close friends and most acquaintances, but she knew how tired Bucky was of seeing his friend mope around, feeling like a third wheel, getting into trouble to pass the time. And honestly she liked Steve too, just not like that — but, wonder-worker that she was, Dottie found a girl that did.

She agreed to come on a double-date one night, and she and Stevie hit it right off. It was the first time Bucky met her too, and he didn't think much of the girl. Small, shy, not quite sickly-looking but not far from it, shoes a bit scuffed, clothes a bit too big for her and smelling of plain soap — in a word: perfect. She was perfect for his sickly, skinny friend who nobody else wanted, and by the looks of things, nobody had wanted her either because she seemed to have no idea what to do around a dance hall. As they were returning home that night, he even heard her confess to Steve that she had never been to one before.

They went out on two more dates, all four of them, within as many weeks. Bucky loved to dance, and Dottie too, but Steve and his girl weren't so fond of tripping over their feet and being laughed at. So they sat together at the table like a pair of broken toys, sharing an ice cream sundae, swinging shoulder-to-shoulder with the music when they liked the tune. Bucky waved at them when their eyes met, and they waved back and cheered at his dancefloor performance, but that happened less and less as they got caught up in each other. Steve would start to sketch things on the napkins while they chatted: the band, the sea of dancers, the fancy chandeliers, and eventually her.

"She said nobody's ever drawn her picture before," his friend said dreamily as they walked back, after they wished a good night to the girls. "Can you believe that?"

"Sure can…"

"She almost didn't let me do it. But she's so pretty, Buck."

"Mhm, nice girl."

"I mean yeah, she's no Dottie, but… I don't know, there's just somethin' I like so much about her… I guess her eyes, the way they look when she's smiling, or how her hair looks when the sun shines on it…"

"Get a load a' you," he grinned, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulder in a playful grip that moved his friend's whole body. "One dame's sweet on you, and all of a sudden you're Romeo."

"At least I'm not a punk like you," Steve teased, slipping from his grasp.

"You know what I like best about her?"

"What?" he asked, with a hint of jealousy.

But Bucky smirked without a care. "How she keeps you out of trouble."

It had, indeed, been a while since Steve got in an alley brawl, and by their fifth date his last few bruises healed. He'd almost gotten into one by a cotton candy stand at Coney Island, but his girl was there to pull him back.

"Stevie, leave him alone…"

"You heard what he said?!"

"Who cares," she sighed, clinging to his arm and throwing the other man a hateful look. "Come on, didn't you want to win me that stuffed teddy bear?"

"Better listen to your girl, pal."

"Oh go find a sty to wallow in," she hissed.

"I ought'a smack some manners into you, you two-bit broad!"

"I'd worry about my own manners if I were you, buddy." Bucky slipped between them, coming from behind, standing now close enough to punch the guy if things got heated. But, seeing himself outnumbered, the other man cursed them and left. Just then, Dottie finally caught up.

"What's going on?" she asked, a little out of breath.

Bucky turned around, and was met by the heart-melting sight of Steve and his girl holding each other, her hands on his cheeks as she quietly chastised him, but loving enough that it made him smile and giggle. She closed it with a kiss to his cheek that made the boy blush, and a kittenish rub of their noses together.

"Nothing, everything's fine."

It was around the time they went to see a movie together that Bucky's joy for Steve turned into something else. They sat in the back while some musical played, and through the flashing lights and the corner of his eye, he could see his friend with his sweetheart holding hands on top of her lap throughout the whole performance. Meanwhile Dottie kept rubbing up against him, sometimes leaning her head on his shoulder, daring in the darker scenes to kiss his neck, but when she tried to get more of his attention —

"Buckyyy, what's wrong?"

— he shook her off. Hearing his name spoken by her voice suddenly felt disappointing.

He caught himself staring more and more, and not just when they went out together. Sometimes, the girl came by and spent some time with Steve, looking at his newer sketches, trying her hand too — oh and how disgusting they looked, Steve taking advantage of the situation to sit behind, and wrap his arms around her, and whisper in her ear. The pair greeted him cheerfully when he stepped through the living room and caught them, and he grinned back at them as he took a glass of milk, but all his appetite was gone.

And when they walked together through the park, and he saw them holding hands again… When Steve dug for some change to get her an ice cream, and they giggled stupidly as they made a mess of sharing it… When she fell asleep by his side one night at the dance hall, and Stevie woke her up with a tickle down her cheek, and she shivered and murmured like a bird and hid her face in his unworthy shoulder…

"Why don't you ever wanna dance, doll?" he asked as they were fetching drinks.

"Not much good at it, I guess," she shrugged. "The fast ones make me dizzy and I always trip."

"I can teach you. It'll work out great! Stevie teaches you to draw, I teach you how to dance… What do you say?"

The girl seemed to think, but shook her head. "Hmmm… No, not right now. Thanks," she smiled politely. "Besides, what would Stevie do meanwhile?"

She told him no just for the sake of keeping his scrawny little friend company, and Bucky had never felt more insulted — not that she wouldn't dance with him, although that hurt enough, but that he couldn't remember the last dame that gave something up just to stick with him, or got into fights for him, or kissed his wounds away, or held his hand in hers with no ulterior motive, and he'd found a girl that did that, and he wasted her on Steve.

So what if she was a little on the smaller side? So what if her dresses didn't fit right? So what if she came down with the cold at every change of season? He put up with it for Steve and he wasn't half as charming. The girl, instead, looked very delicate, more feminine in her own way, like when she braced her fingers on a table as she talked and mindlessly swung back and forth, animated in whatever she was saying, and her digits bent in such a childish way he feared they'd break, and it only made him want to kiss them. Or when she took her shoes off when she came to their apartment and he could catch a hint of shapely ankle, just perfect for his grip, or a peachy pink instep small enough to fit his palm. And when she fell asleep on their couch that one time and Bucky saw her all curled up, and noticed the arch of her hips and the cinch of her waist and pictured how good it would feel to hold them, and angle them upward, and…

Slowly, he started to appreciate some of what his friend had said that night, because she did have lovely eyes, and hair that looked so soft and warm, and her scent, unburdened by perfume, was sweet and girlish, and her lips looked kissable, and her wrists and knees and ankles too…

"Going out again, tonight?" he asked as the blond boy fixed himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, she wants to try this new place we —"

"Alright, alright…" sighed Bucky, already sick of hearing more. "So, that's all you're gonna do?"

"Well… yeah."

And then he voiced an evil thought. "Don't you ever want to… you know?"

"Y-you think we should?" Steve asked, turning away from his pallid reflection.

Bucky sat sprawled across the couch, and shrugged. "If she really likes you, she'd be up for it, don't you think?"

"I don't know about that, Buck."

"No? Ok," he nodded. "After all, what do I know?"

The aftermath of this particular advice was a draught of dates for poor ol' Steve, because just like Bucky had expected, the girl shrinked at the suggestion and couldn't stand to see him. For a while.

"Can you believe it, Buck?!"

"Yeah…"

"She'll see me again!"

"That's great, Stevie."

"What's wrong? You're lookin' real dour today."

Bucky knew he shouldn't. "I just…" He knew that it was wrong. "Look, it's great that she's forgiven you, but you gotta be realistic about this, pal." He had been happy for Steve at one point, long ago.

"What do you mean?"

But that was before he saw just how much love a girl could give, and realised he'd never felt it.

"Just don't delude yourself this is anything more than what it looks like, ok? She's only forgiven you because she knows nobody else will have her."

"That's mean, Buck."

"Yeah, well… I'm just looking out for you. You're my best friend, you know that. I don't want you getting hurt." It stuck in his throat to say it, but the bitterness stuck more.

And after Steve went to bed that night, Bucky took out the box of candy and the pricey perfume he had bought for her, threw them in the trash, and firmly promised to himself to never wait too long again.

But as he learned a bit later on, when they went back to double-dates, he might not have had a chance at all, because there was an unwitting element of truth to this cruel tirade.

"I can't exactly blame you, honey," Dottie consoled her as they stood in line for the ladies room, not knowing Bucky was just behind the thin divider leading to the men's. "If he does something like that again, I know this other fella —"

"Oh no, Dot, please… We're fine now. He explained things and… he's really sweet, I think he just had a moment of —"

"But just let me introduce you to Jim, see if you don't like him better."

"I… I don't know."

"He's a real charmer," Dottie grinned, "and he has these big, broad hands, jaw like an anvil. He just broke it off with Marcie cause she was a flirt."

He didn't hear anything next, but the girl must've shook her head cause Dottie asked, "You're sure?" and "Really? Well, if you change your mind…"

"Thanks, Dot," she lightly laughed.

"I don't know why you're so stubborn though, it's not like he's that far out your league. You just need to fix your hair a little bit and get a better brand of powder."

"It's not that easy."

"It's all it took me to get Bucky on my arm. That, and a better set of heels," she laughed.

"Yeah but you've always been pretty, Dot. Like, really pretty, and you know it. I guess some girls are for the James Barnes of this world, and some are the for the Steves."

She giggled as she said it, with not a hint of anger or resentment, and that's what stung the worst.

Bucky arranged to go see a late night movie with Dottie after that, while Steve and his girl went back to the apartment to listen to a boxing match on the radio and have some cherry sodas. Dottie went ahead to buy the tickets while Bucky walked them home, and after wishing him good night, she went upstairs to set things up. Steve was meant to go to the store and buy the drinks, but he stayed to chat with his friend a while.

"I can get some eggs and milk as well while I'm at it," he offered, swinging on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

"Sure."

"Or do we have enough for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Go ahead and buy them, pal," Bucky smiled, pretending to be less tired than he felt.

"Ok. And what about — darn!"

"What is it?"

"I just realized, I forgot to give her the keys," he said, taking a hand out of his pocket and holding them out. "I gotta get to the store, can you go up and give them to her?"

"Er, why don't —"

"You know I always trip on the stairs when I'm in hurry, Buck, they haven't changed the lightbulb yet. Don't make me do it."

"Fine, I'll go."

"I owe you big."

"You always do," he grinned, and took the keys from him.

Steve made off for the corner store, while Bucky started the long slow climb upstairs. It was completely dark inside at that hour, and the few candles some neighbours left to light the way had all gone out.

"Stevie, is that you?" he heard her call, standing right outside their door.

He kept one hand against the wall and walked his way toward her, stopping as he heard her whisper, "I think I lost the keys."

Blindly, she moved her hand forward, coming right across his chest. He felt her jolt at the unexpected contact, then burst into a giggle. Bucky could already feel the fanning of her breath right at the level of his chin. With an unseen smile, he took her hand, and placed the keys within it.

"Oh," she laughed. "You had them."

As her hand closed around them his own moved up her shoulder, fingers threading around her hair, and as he touched her jaw he felt her tilting slightly upward, shivering under the feeling.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

He felt the warming tickle of her breath as he leaned close until, through the pitch black, he touched his lips to hers. Bucky did it lightly, just a little, just enough to taste and sip a kind of love he'd never really had. She stood surprised but took his kiss, and he felt her smiling into it, even beginning to kiss back just as he was parting from her.

"Your lips are softer than before," she giggled, in a sweet but altogether crushing way that made Bucky's heart beat stronger. "Stevie?"

Her hand moved through the air to touch him but felt nothing anymore, and down the stairs the heavy steps echoed, moving downward and away.

[beca-mitchell]

little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally. 

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick​: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

 * * * * *

 It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

 * * * * *

 Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

 * * * * *

 The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

 * * * * *

 “Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

 * * * * *

 They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

 * * * * *

 “I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

 * * * * *

 When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Bedtime Stories

Penny (Stardew) x They/Them Reader

A/N: Woo! With this, I have completed a fic for all the Stardew Bachelorettes! Hope ya’ll are ready for Penny time! Word Count: 5,618

(Y/n) stretched their arms way above their head, reveling in the pulling of their back muscles and the dull crack of their spine. They had been out foraging all day and their pack was full of blackberries, mushrooms and nuts. A very good haul.

They shivered a bit as another breeze blew through. The skies had only gone dark about an hour ago, but (Y/n) was ready to call it a night and turn in to their warm and cozy farmhouse.

They walked up the dirt path past Marnie’s ranch to their farm, smiling when they saw the light of their house in the distance. The children must have been giving Penny a hard time tonight. Usually they’d be asleep before (Y/n) got home, but they could get restless on occasion.

As soon as (Y/n)’s boots thudded against the wooden stairs, they could hear excited cries from within, and soon a small head poked out from behind the front door before swinging it fully outward.

(Y/n) flung their arms out to catch the small body that flew into their legs, soon joined by a smaller, more clumsy one.

“You two are up rather late, you aren’t giving your mom a hard time, are you?” (Y/n) asked their children.

“Mommy said we could wait for you if we ate all our veggies at dinner so we did. We did good so we’ll grow up to be strong farmers like you!” The older of the two exclaimed.

“Oh yeah?” (Y/n) grinned.

“Yeah!” The younger child shrilled.

“Well, now that I’m here, it’s time for bed isn’t it?”

A duet of displeased noises met (Y/n)’s ears but they quickly devolved into giggles when the farmer attacked them with tickles. Once the children were disarmed, (Y/n) slung them over their shoulders and bounced them into the house, meeting the loving eyes their spouse gave them from the couch.

Penny sat in a pile of rumpled blankets no doubt put there by their rambunctious children. In her lap was a book of fairy tales that usually served her well when bedtime came around but tonight it seemed it was not enough.

“Hi, love. Welcome home.” Penny smiled sweetly, getting up to meet (Y/n) halfway. She hugged them around the middle before lightening their load by taking the smaller child off their hands.

“Hi sweetheart, how was your day?” The farmer asked, setting down their eldest child so they could remove their bag and boots.

“It went well. The children were so diligent with their studies. I was very impressed.” Penny said, making sure the kids were aware of how proud she was of their work.

“That’s great! I’m really proud of you two.” (Y/n) praised their children while they glowed with pride.

“So we can stay up late and watch tv?” The eldest asked hopefully, the parents merely laughed at the suggestion, making the children pout.

“Afraid not, sleep is very important and I think now would be a good time to hit the hay.” (Y/n) said, already trying to corral the kids into their bedroom.

“Not yet! We want a story at least!” The younger proclaimed, agreement was quickly voiced by their older sibling. Rarely it seemed they could come to a consensus so quickly.

“Oh? Well, I suppose one story wouldn’t hurt.” (Y/n) agreed. “Go brush your teeth first, please.”

The children toppled over each other, trying to get to the sink first so they could rush back to the living room.

“They have so much energy.” Penny remarked with a content sigh, leaning into (Y/n)’s side.

“No kidding,” (Y/n) chuckled, rubbing Penny’s arm, “I could have really used the extra help in my first year of living here. Now I’ve got auto-feeders and sprinklers. A little late for fall, but I suppose they could help with the spring planting, maybe that would slow them down a bit.”

“Shhh, it’ll be a long winter and I don’t need to hear, ‘is it spring yet?’, everyday before then.” Penny playfully warned.

“Your wish is my command.” (Y/n) nodded, pulling Penny down onto the couch to cuddle with her, making the teacher hum with delight and shyly steal a quick kiss.

A few minutes later, two bouncy young children crawled over their parents and wiggled into their sides and under the blankets with happy giggles.

“Alright kiddos, which one?” (Y/n) asked once they were all settled, patting the heavy book on their lap.

“We don’t want one of those stories tonight.” The eldest said.

“You don’t?” Penny blinked, confused by declaration.

“We want to know how you met each other and got married.” The eldest explained, the younger nodded along.

“It’s a long story kids.” (Y/n) said. They may have been trying to dissuade the children, but there really was a lot to cover. Seasons and seasons worth.

“What’s so long about it?” The younger child asked. “Didn’t you just know you liked each other so you got married?”

“People don’t get married right after they meet each other, honey.” Penny gently corrected.

(Y/n) definitely had a, ‘well, not usually anyway’, kind of look on their face but the warning look Penny gave them convinced (Y/n) to keep their mouth shut.

“Oh, I still wanna know though.”

“Me too!”

“(Y/n)...” Penny called upon her spouse.

“Okay, an abridged history, how ‘bout?” (Y/n) shrugged.

The children seemed content with that, once Penny explained to them what abridged meant, and looked to (Y/n) expectantly with shining eyes.

“Okay, it all started—“

“Once upon a time!” The youngest screeched, making everyone wince.

“Inside voices, dear.” Penny reminded.

“Sorry, but the story has to start with once upon a time.”

“It’s not a fairytale, you know.” The older said.

“It’s alright,” (Y/n) interjected with a grin, “it feels enough like one being married to such a sweet person.”

Penny turned away and blushed, a small bashful smile working the corners of her lips upward.

“Once upon a time...” (Y/n) began again, much to their youngest child’s delight.

***

“Oh my Yoba, this place is a mess.” (Y/n) groaned.

They had kept a brave face for Robin and Mayor Lewis, but now that they were gone, they voiced how overwhelmed they felt freely. They looked over the overgrown lot that was supposed to be the farm their grandfather had left for them.

“What if this was a mistake? Am I doing the right thing? I don’t want to crawl back to Joja but...” (Y/n) growled, thwacking the dirt hard with their hoe, “No! I just got here, I can’t quit yet.” They said, strengthening their resolve.

After a few hours of alternating between being proud with their progress and wanting to cry because there was so much left to do, (Y/n) decided they wanted to check out town. They just really needed to freshen up first.

To their dismay, but not surprisingly, the old farmhouse didn’t have indoor plumbing, but they didn’t worry because they knew there was a bathhouse in the mountains they could use.

“When I get paid, the first thing I’m gonna do is contract Robin to build a bathroom. I hope she’s as savvy with plumbing as she is with carpentry.” They mumbled to themself as they walked up the mountain path.

Entering the bathhouse, the space seemed void of life, the only sounds being the steady drip of water over the tiled floor. (Y/n) claimed a vacant locker and took a shower. After the day they had, it was the best shower they had ever had.

Once clean, (Y/n) decided they’d spoil themself and swim around in the heated pool for a bit before heading back to the farm. They put on their swimsuit and headed on in. Expecting to be alone, they hummed and sang as they made their way to the main room, enjoying the way their voice reverberated off of the walls and echoed back into their ears.

“Um, hello.”

“Wah!”

(Y/n) nearly slipped on the wet floor from the shock. A woman with vibrant, orange hair was sitting in one of the near corners of the pool. She seemed to shrink into herself under (Y/n)’s wide gaze.

“Oh wow,” (Y/n) laughed awkwardly, embarrassment flooding their tone, “I, uh, didn’t realize anyone else was here, sorry you had to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” the woman smiled albeit, a bit tightly it seemed. “I was thinking about getting out anyway.”

“You don’t have to leave!” (Y/n) fumbled with the towel in their hands, “I promise to be quiet and give you your space. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

They skittered across the tiled floor and slid into the opposite side of the bath, giving the woman her space.

A few painfully awkward minutes passed. (Y/n) leaned over the pool edge and counted the nearby tiles, the bricks on the wall... anything to occupy them until the other occupant left or a non-suspicious amount of time passed and they could leave themself.

“Who... who are you?” The woman asked, finally breaking the silence.

(Y/n) craned their head to face her, eager to introduce themself and hopefully make a better impression.

“I’m (Y/n). I just moved in. I live at the old farmhouse just west of town so you’ll probably see me around from time to time.”

“Oh, I see,” the stiffness of the strangers shoulders seemed to lessen, “Well, I’m Penny. It’s nice to meet you.”

(Y/n) grinned brightly as they swam closer to Penny, all previous worries forgotten. “It’s nice to meet you too, Penny! I hope we will be great friends.” (Y/n) suddenly splashed the water beneath their hand as another thought popped into their mind. “Hey, do you have any favorite vegetables or fruits?”

“Um,” Penny shrunk back, a bit intimidated by the farmer’s sudden approach, “Oh, I don’t know...”

“Surely there’s something, don’t be shy.” (Y/n) encouraged.

“I, I like melon?” Penny more asked than told. Her back digging into the edge of the pool a bit uncomfortably.

“Melon,” (Y/n) nodded sagely, backing up a bit from Penny’s personal space. “Yeah, I could do that! You’ll have to wait for summer though, is that okay?”

“Wait?”

“Yeah, I can start planting melon in the summer. I’d do it sooner, but the seeds won’t take. I’ll be sure to give you the first one I harvest though!”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Penny waved her hands in front of her.

“I insist.” (Y/n) heaved themself out of the warm water, “Man, Penny, I have to thank you. You’ve inspired me to get back to work! I got to see if there’s anything else I can clean up around the farm before nightfall. I’ll see you around!”

“Okay, bye...” Penny watched them jog into the changing room, gasping when the farmer slipped on the tiles but continued on their merry way. She wasn’t sure what to make of the new addition to Pelican Town, but they seemed kind enough.

***

The next time Penny had seen (Y/n) was during one of her lessons with Vincent and Jas. She had been reading about the history of the valley when Vincent had waved excitedly at someone behind her back. Thinking it was just Sam or Jodi, Penny attempted to continue on with her lesson but she soon came to a stop when Vincent took to excitedly calling after the passerby.

“Hey, farmer! Good morning!” Vincent yelled.

“Really now Vincent,” Penny lightly scolded as she held her finger over the paragraph she had been reading, “you need to focus on the lesson.”

“Sorry Miss. Penny.” Vincent apologized. “But I see Farmer (Y/n). They’re so cool.”

“They’re probably busy—“

“Hi, Vincent! And a hello to you Jas and Penny.” A friendly voice cut in.

Penny looked up from her spot in the grass and watched (Y/n) approach, their arms full of daffodils.

“What’s going on here?” They asked once they were standing next to the group.

“School.” Vincent answered matter-of-factly. “Miss Penny is reading about history.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a teacher Penny. That’s really neat. I’m sorry for interrupting your lesson.” (Y/n) said, turning their attention to Penny.

“It’s alright, you didn’t know. I apologize if Vincent has distracted you from your own work.” Penny politely stated in kind.

“No worries, I’ve just been foraging around the valley. Leah posted a request for some dandelions but I couldn’t seem to find any today. I got a whole bunch of daffodils though. Would you three like to take some off my hands?”

“Wow, thanks!” Vincent quickly grabbed one before Penny could even think about declining.

Jas shyly took one for herself, still a little intimidated by the fresh face. She’d been growing a little more used to them though, thanks to Marnie’s encouragement.

“A flower, milady?” (Y/n) asked Penny again, sporting a warm smile that made the teacher feel like the heat of the day was starting to get to her.

“Thank you, this looks special.” She said, gently cupping the flower in her hands.

“You’re welcome. It’s no melon, but rest assured that summer will be upon us before you know it,” the farmer declared before spotting Willy in the distance. “Oh! Hey guys, I gotta go catch Willy to tell him about all the chubs I caught yesterday. It was good talking to you, see you all later!” They said before jogging off.

“Bye (Y/n)!” Vincent waved.

“Bye...” Penny and Jas said together, much more subdued than the young boy.

Penny watched (Y/n) until they disappeared into the saloon before turning back to her book. Her face tinged pink as she twirled her daffodil in one hand and picked up where she left off.

***

Summer rain pelted the metal of the trailer, thumping loudly with each drop, but Penny blocked it out easily as she read all cozy in her bed. Occasionally she would snap up a bit of freshly cut melon from the Tupperware resting on her nightstand and smile to herself.

(Y/n) had made good on their promise and had been pushing their fresh melons onto Penny since midsummer. Another sweet bite and Penny sighed pleasantly whilst marking her page with the daffodil (Y/n) had given her in the spring, now a dried and fragile makeshift bookmark.

The farmer was so warm, gentle. Better than anything her books could come up with and yet they somehow existed in her reality despite being too good to be true.

Since their somewhat uncomfortable origin, Penny could not have been more happy to have encountered them in the bathhouse that day. Even after getting to know each other better, even after (Y/n) had seen the messy state her mother kept the trailer in, they never treated her any differently.

“Penny,” the teacher jolted at the sudden knock and the rasp of her mother’s voice through the door, “I’m heading to the saloon. You want anything?”

“No thanks, mom.” Penny sighed. “I was thinking of making dinner myself tonight.”

“Alright honey. I’ll be back late.” Pam informed, her footsteps rocked the trailer slightly and the rickety front door closed loudly, signaling the older woman’s departure. At least now that the bus had been fixed (by who else but the resident hero farmer) her mother had less time to spend drinking.

Penny scooted out of bed and headed to the kitchenette and turned on the stove, putting a large pot on the flame. She had been trying to make something to give (Y/n) in thanks. Something for all the good they’ve been doing for the town and for treating her so kindly.

She began her experimental stew, pouring whatever she had on hand into the pot that she thought would taste good. She was so absorbed in her creation that she almost missed the knocking on the trailer door.

Penny turned off the heat and went to answer the door thinking it was probably just Vincent with another excuse why he couldn’t return his homework in time. She was surprised to see (Y/n) waiting outside.

“(Y/n), hello,” Penny greeted, beckoning the farmer out of the rain, “please come in, it’s pouring buckets out there. You must be soaked.”

“I’m okay, it’ll take more than a little rain to take me out.” (Y/n) smiled as they stepped into the trailer. “Hi Penny, hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all. I was just cooking.” Penny bashfully admitted. So much for the surprise.

“Oh that’s cool. What’re you making?”

“Oh just some stew, I was actually hoping to give it to you,” Penny blushed, “for all the good you’ve done for the town.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet of you Penny. You didn’t have to do that.” (Y/n) said. They could feel their heart beat pick up in tempo at the gesture.

“I wanted to. Here, have a taste.” Penny presented a ladle full of soup to (Y/n), her blush grew warmer as the farmer leaned in close to take a taste before pulling themself to stand straight once more.

(Y/n)’s smile tightened the more they chewed, sweat dotted their forehead.

“Are you alright?” Penny asked, watching the farmer continue to chew.

“Mhmm.” (Y/n) squeaked, giving Penny a shaky thumbs up. Then they swallowed none too easily. “Wow,” they breathed, well, more like gasped, “that sure was something Penny. Thank you for sharing.”

“Is it really that bad?” Penny frowned, disappointed.

Immediately (Y/n) jumped into action, waving their arms, “It wasn’t bad at all! I was chewing so long because it tasted so good, I didn’t want it to end!”

Penny gave the farmer a doubtful look before looking down at the leftover stew in her ladle and raising it to her own lips.

“Wait, Penny—“

“Oh dear, that is vile...” Penny gagged. She hardly had so much as a sip before tossing the rest back into the pot. “I’m sorry, (Y/n). I should have tested it first...”

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re learning. It took me a lot of practice to learn how to cook too.” They assured. “If you want to come over sometime I could teach you a thing or two.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt. You’re always so busy...” Penny said, already contemplating how she was going to get rid of her hot, liquid garbage.

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. All I really need to do is water the crops and feed the chickens. I can take it easy every once in awhile. Besides, I’m always looking to spend time with you anyway so... yeah,” They rubbed the back of their neck.

“Really?”

“Yeah, so if you ever want to plan something... I’d really like that.”

“Okay.” Penny nodded, nervously fiddling with her hands. “I’d like that too. Very much.”

“Cool! Nice, yes.” (Y/n) practically sparkled at the affirmation. “When do you want to meet up?”

“Is Tuesday fine?”

“Tuesday is great! This is so exciting!” Just as the farmer pumped their fists over their head, a loud burst of thunder shook the trailer. “Wow, it’s a monster out there.”

“Yes, you should stay for awhile. At least until it calms down a bit... movie?” Penny suggested, gesturing to the little DVD player in the corner.

“That sounds like a great idea,” (Y/n) followed, their hand reaching into their bag, “I almost forgot I came to give you more melon!”

“You spoil me, really. How much melon do you think one girl can eat. I’m still working on the last one you gave me.” Penny giggled quietly.

“Fall will be here before long. Best to enjoy them while you still can.” They half-joked, sliding into the seat of the booth.

Penny slid into the seat beside them and popped open the DVD player. Maybe the melon season was coming to an end, but at least the farmer who planted them was here to stay.

***

By mid fall, Penny and (Y/n) were nearly inseparable. Any free time they had they usually spent together cooking in (Y/n)’s farmhouse, relaxing in the bathhouse or curling up with some books or other media.

The day was unusually warm for fall and Penny decided to treat Jas and Vincent to a picnic in the Cindersap Forest for all their hard work. While they ate and went through their lesson, Penny saw the farmer and waved them over without a second thought. She was simply thrilled to see them and thought their presence in the woods must have been fate.

“(Y/n), wonderful timing seeing you here. I was just teaching the children about natural resources. Could I trouble you to talk about how natural resources are involved in farming?” Penny asked once the farmer came up to them.

“Sure, I’d love to!” (Y/n) nodded.

Penny stared off dreamily at (Y/n)’s side as they explained what they knew about the valley’s resources while wondering how she could be so lucky as to know them. Once (Y/n) had explained a large amount of their process, Vincent raised his hand.

“Question, Vincent?” Penny asked, impressed that the boy seemed so invested in the lesson.

“Yeah, are you dating anyone Farmer (Y/n)?” Vincent asked.

“Uh, no. No I am not.” (Y/n) laughed, rubbing the back of their neck.

“Vincent!” Penny said, aghast.

“What?” The young boy questioned.

“You can’t just ask people stuff like that, Vincent.” Jas spoke up. “My auntie Marnie told me that when I asked her if Mayor Lewis was her boyfriend.”

(Y/n) and Penny gave each other an awkward side glance. After the incident with the bush, (Y/n) had to tell someone about it, and Penny had been the unfortunate mock therapist in that scenario.

“Ah, well, no harm done.” (Y/n) laughed. “Any questions related to the topic of natural resources?”

Penny observed how well (Y/n) got along with Jas and Vincent and thought they would make a wonderful parent. When the lesson had concluded and the children were playing by the river, Penny couldn’t help but ask (Y/n) if they had ever thought about having a family before.

“Every once in awhile I do. I think it would be nice. It would make the farm more lively at least.”

And with that admission, Penny couldn’t help but hope that one day, (Y/n) might see her as a suitable partner to share their life with.

***

Winter was, well, cold.

But Penny was glad for it because there were no crops (Y/n) needed to attend to and they were therefore, more available. They spent much more time together in winter than the previous seasons.

Today, Penny was heading to the farm for another cooking lesson from (Y/n). She was getting much better with the skill. She could even get her mother to spend more nights away from the saloon with the promise of a hot meal.

Penny stepped up onto the snowy porch and knocked her gloved hand against the wooden door. She could hear clattering from within the farmhouse and waited patiently for (Y/n) to usher her in.

“Penny, hi, glad you could make it!” (Y/n) grinned as they opened the door, guiding Penny in by the waist,

“Thank you for having me.” Penny flustered at the contact, despite her thick coat blocking the farmer’s touch. “What are we making today?”

“I thought some warm snickerdoodle cookies would be great on a cold day like this.” (Y/n) said.

“That does sound good.” Penny nodded as she hung up her coat and stepped out of her shoes. Then she followed (Y/n) to the kitchen and they got to baking.

Before long, the smell of cinnamon and sugary goodness permeated the space and the chill of the winter air outside was long forgotten. They were just getting ready to settle in with a movie when (Y/n) excused themself for a minute to go grab something from another room. It reminded Penny how small the farmhouse used to be before (Y/n) had commissioned Robin for a few projects.

Penny nervously eyed the bag she had left at the door. Was now a good time to bring out the bouquet? Penny had been silently agonizing over it all day. She had bought it from Pierre almost on impulse, she knew who she wanted to give it too, but what if (Y/n) saw her only as a friend and wasn’t looking for anything different? It was sure to make things weird between them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Penny jolted in her seat as (Y/n) reappeared, something held behind their back. She quickly assured (Y/n) that it was alright and motioned them over to the couch so they could start their movie.

“Wait, Penny, can I ask you something first?” The farmer asked, still standing in the stairway.

“Of course.” Penny nodded, concern seeping into her tone. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No! No, at least, I don’t think so. I just wanted to ask if you would want to... and you can always say no, you won’t hurt my feelings... okay, it might sting a little but I’ll get over it—“

“(Y/n), what is it?” Penny asked, standing up and walking over to the fumbling farmer. She had never seen them look so shaken.

The farmer seemed at a loss. Opening and closing their mouth until finally they just brought their hand out from behind their back and presented Penny with a bouquet of their own. The teacher gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth in elation and surprise.

Without saying anything Penny bounded over to the front door and opened her bag, producing her own bouquet and delighting (Y/n) to no end as she wrapped the farmer in a tight hug.

After hours of cuddling on the couch and half paying attention to their movie, Penny decided she had to get home, despite (Y/n)‘s offers to have her stay over. She needed to make sure her mom didn’t overdo it at the saloon.

A quick glance around the bar and she noted that Pam wasn’t there. She gave Gus a polite wave before heading home. Upon arriving, she found her mother already settling into the pullout for the night and their eyes met. Pam’s eyes drifted down to the bouquet secured in Penny’s arms and grunted.

“It’s about time.” Pam grumbled before turning over on the noisy mattress.

Penny could only smile at her mother’s gruffness before retiring to her room to quietly continue celebrating in her own space.

***

By the fall of the third year since (Y/n) had moved into town, the pair became a well established couple and it was just common knowledge to suspect if one was out and about, the other couldn’t be too far off since they were practically joined at the hip.

Some of the townies had expressed worry that the farmer was shrinking off too much of their duties but in reality, the farm was a well oiled machine now and required little maintenance. The farmer had worked themself to the point of passing out on their farmhouse floor on occasion to get to this point. Money was hardly an issue anymore for the farmer who, quite literally, built their legacy on five hundred gold and a handful of parsnip seeds.

“There you are,” Penny kissed (Y/n)’s cheek chastely as they plopped down next to her under her favorite tree, “where have you been?”

“Just needed to take care of something quick.” They said, leaning their head against Penny’s shoulder.

“And what would that be?”

“I was talking to Robin. She had a request up.”

“And what did she want?”

“You are full of questions today, sweetheart.” The farmer laughed.

“And you aren’t being as forthcoming with information as usual. Usually, I wouldn’t even have to ask before you tell me all about your adventures, big or small.” Penny pointed out, “I do believe you might be hiding something.”

“No way!” The farmer scoffed before slouching a bit more because of the look Penny gave them, “Okay, maybe I am hiding something, but it’s a surprise. Give it a few days.”

“Just what might you be up to, hm?” Penny smiled, cupping (Y/n)’s cheek.

“You’re a teacher,” (Y/n) laughed again, “you should know what surprise means.”

Penny sighed before laughing along with her partner. Then the couple went in about their day and before long, the thought of (Y/n)’s surprise left her mind and she had forgotten all about it by the time Jas and Vincent’s lessons were over for the day.

A couple days later, (Y/n) had invited Penny and Pam over for lunch. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. One of the things Penny appreciated most about (Y/n) was their willingness to reach out to Pam and build a good relationship with her as well. However, what made this trip particularly extraordinary was what waited for them where their old, rundown trailer used to be.

“Oh, Yoba...” Pam breathed, a hand placed heavily over her heart as she stared up at the grand looking house.

“Robin, what is this?” Penny asked, nearly as breathless as her mother and just as overwhelmed.

“I got commissioned for a community upgrade,” the carpenter smiled, “I hope you guys like it!”

“This is too much... how can we— who commissioned this?” Penny asked, running her fingers through her bangs.

“Anonymous donor,” Robin winked before making her way back up to the mountains, “enjoy the new house ladies.”

Penny hugged her mother while she cried and together they entered their new home, unsure how they could ever thank the donor enough. It didn’t take long for the mother daughter duo to figure out the identity of the commissioner. After all, there were only so many people who could pull off such a project and have the funds necessary to complete it.

“I’m going back to (Y/n)’s!” Penny called out. It felt weird having to actually throw her voice enough for her mother to hear her across their new house.

Pam managed a wave, still a bit overwhelmed by the vast space surrounding her.

Penny practically ran to the farm, the seashell pendant her father had gifted to her mother so long ago grasped tightly in her hand. Breathing heavily, she knocked on the door and waited for the farmer to appear.

“Hey Penny, did you forget a book or something? It must be good for you to run all the way over here for it.” They laughed, “come in, do you need some water—“

“I love you,” Penny declared, leaping into (Y/n)’s arms, “I can’t believe you did that for us.”

“Did what?” (Y/n) asked, looking a bit coy.

“You built my mom a house you wonderful busy body.” Penny said, smacking their shoulder.

“What? Did Robin tell? I asked her to keep it a secret.” (Y/n) pouted.

“(Y/n), it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you were behind that project,” Penny sighed, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything. I was happy to help get the ball rolling. I love you guys and you do so much for Jas and Vincent, you deserve it. Now,” (Y/n) shifted a bit uncomfortably, “what exactly is digging into my back right now?”

“Oh!” Penny pulled back a bit, but kept the pendant out of (Y/n)’s sight. “I’ve only dreamed of doing this until I met you, it’s never felt more real, tangible. Oh my, this is nerve wracking.” Penny blushed.

“Take your time dear, breathe.” (Y/n) regarded Penny with soft eyes, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“(Y/n),” Penny spoke after a moment of collecting herself, “will you marry me?”

Penny presented the pendant, her eyes struggling to look at the farmer directly, but when the farmer pulled her back into another tight embrace she melted into their arms like warm butter.

“Yes, I love you! Yes.” The farmer cheered, their voice muffled by Penny’s shoulder. The vibrations, and words that created them, made Penny giggle with delight.

They stumbled into the farmhouse to celebrate their engagement, basking in each other’s company.

“I almost feel bad.” Penny suddenly stated, curled up in (Y/n)’s arms.

“Hm? What for, sweetheart?” (Y/n) asked as they ran their fingers through Penny’s hair.

“Mom will be in that big house all by herself. I’ll still see her everyday though, it’s not like I’m moving to Zuzu City... the idea of not living with her after all this time just feels odd.”

“I can understand that. It’ll take some getting used to. Just think of how nice it’ll be though, when somewhere down the line, we send our kids to grandma’s house for visits.”

“That does sound really nice. I’m really looking forward to starting a family with you.”

“Me too.” (Y/n) said. Then they leaned in to kiss Penny’s nose with great care and affection.

***

“Then a couple days later, we were married in front of the whole town.” (Y/n) finished softly, looking fondly over at Penny.

“That’s a nice story,” the eldest child yawned, “I wanna stay at grandma’s house again soon.”

“Of course, sweetie. We’ll work something out soon.” Penny promised whilst adjusting the fast asleep younger sibling in her lap, “now, it’s time to go to bed.”

“Alright,” The older child sighed before yawning again. “Carry me.”

(Y/n) released an amused exhale before standing and hoisting their child into their arms. Penny followed suit with the other, tucking them into their beds and kissing them goodnight.

Together, (Y/n) and Penny retired to their own room, falling into bed with tired groans.

“Those kids can be handful sometimes.” (Y/n) said, smiling all the while.

“Yes, and I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Penny rolled over to peck the farmer on the lips, “love you, sleep well.”

“I love you too, sweet dreams. I can’t wait to do this all again tomorrow.”

“Neither can I.”

[raayllum]

for the no excuses writing game, pov?

So I don't have anything in particular I want to write a different POV for (esp bc I have a big body of fic to choose from) so I'm just going to toss up two post-1x06 scenes I've written that are Callum and then Rayla's POV respectively.

It takes a bit of time for Ezran to fall asleep, and Callum considers himself a lost cause. They really all should, he knows. Before the brightness of the Egg could sometimes be a distraction, but now the way it's flickering just worries him past the point of sleep. Rayla settles and sits beside him, occasionally watching him draw. He's glad he's moved past the sketch of his mother now. It's not that he doesn't trust her with memories of his family—gods, had I do trust you really been just earlier that day?—but because it's painful to talk about his mother with anyone but Ezran, honestly, only softened by the fact that stories of their mother is all his baby brother has. "You really do have a gift," Rayla says quietly, and he pauses in the middle of his sketch of the Egg the way it used to be. Looks up. "Really?" A smile tugs at his mouth. She nods, a soft smile on her own face, before it gives way to a wince, just as it had yesterday on the shore. This time Callum knows why, her hand curling over her bound wrist. He frowns and sets down his charcoal. "I'm sorry," he says. She tilts her head. "For what?" "For today. On the mountain. I should have—" She cuts him off, a tad stern. "You already apologized for that." I'm sorry if I was a jerk before. "And you weren't entirely wrong, either," she adds, shrinking in on herself a bit. "I wasn't telling you everything, and I owe you an apology too—" And maybe she does, he thinks, but that's not the point. "No. I'm sorry that I made assumptions. I thought if you were keeping something from us... from me, it's because—I don't know why, I guess, but—I didn't consider the fact it might be you hiding your own pain. And I'm sorry if I made it harder today. You shouldn't have had to be going through that alone." "I'm kind of used to it," Rayla admits, almost without thinking, and Callum can watch her catch herself, a warning sign of Too vulnerable practically flashing behind her now wide eyed gaze before she swallows and shifts away. "Huh. Well, times are changing," he replies. "And you can trust me with your secrets, next time. If you want to." He gives her a small smile. "I'll try not to push." "Thank you," Rayla says quietly and he's willing to leave it at that. "I really am sorry," she says after a long silence. She was pushy too, all day. Angry and pushing him away but he shakes his head. "It's okay," he says, and then to placate her when she shoots him a look, "Apology accepted," because she can accept that. She falls asleep first, huddled close to the fire with her weight resting on the opposite side of her injured hand. He hopes next time she'll be honest about her pain, if not also open, and not wait until her breaking point. It hurts to see her in pain more than he thought possible, especially when he knows he wasn't helping matters, even if she was jerk back to him. And if she's a jerk to him again, because of something like this, Callum knows he won't push again, now that he knows why. Now that he understands where it comes from. And that she really, really needs a friend who'll have her back the way that she had his today, on the ice. She hadn't let go of him. Callum just hopes he can return the favour.

from "because she's rayla," ch1, which follows season one (and will be updated later this week with season two's chapter)

Afterwards, in the cave, when Ez has finally fallen asleep by the fire, covered by Callum’s cloak, the egg cocooned safely in the corner, Rayla catches Callum shivering from where she sits beside him. His fingerless gloves can only do so much. She turns towards him and holds out her hand. Callum blinks at her and she gives her hand a light shake. “It can’t hurt,” she mumbles, ignoring the heat that rises to her cheeks. Dumb human prince. He smiles like something’s a little funny—maybe the absurdity of their circumstances, and the fact she thinks she’d die for him and Ez, even though four days ago she was trying to kill them, him—but he takes her hand anyway. Rayla finds his shivering wasn’t an act; his fingers are freezing . “Do humans just have poor circulation?” she asks, prodding at his strange pinky finger, and Callum laughs, although they’re both sure to keep their volume down. They don’t want to wake Ezran. “Do elves have good circulation?” he says. “I don’t exactly have anything to compare it to.” “Fair enough.” She lets go of his hand once it’s warm enough, and he puts away his sketchbook proper. Each of them should be turning in soon anyway. It’s been a long day and largely one disaster after another (she hopes this won’t be a pattern). Callum takes off his scarf and starts making a pillow, and then stops and turns back to her. “Rayla?” “Yes?” “I’m glad we’re friends.” It’s then that she realizes she hasn’t said it back, and that it might not matter, at least, not to him. But if it matters to her, now. There’s a sweet smile on his face, endearing again. The fire dims as her chest warms and returns it. “Me too,” she says. Maybe they like each other just the right amount.

from "pivot," a oneshot set during 1x05 and 1x06 written for the rayllum fanzine

[pocketseizure]

A Noble Pursuit

None of the lessons from the Gerudo Classroom have prepared Rhondson for married life with Hudson, who has grown restless and disappeared from Tarrey Town a year after its founding. She travels to the Akkala Citadel Ruins to hunt for her husband while reflecting on the bridges that will need to be rebuilt in order for Hyrule to embrace a peaceful future.

This story about archaeology, castles, ruins, cultural differences, giant monster friends, and what it means “to live happily ever after” was written for @memorabiliazine​, and it’s also on AO3 (here). The accompanying illustrations are by the stylish scholar @pocketwei​.

. . . . . . . . . .

This wasn’t the first time Rhondson had set off on a husband hunt.

It was late summer, almost a year after the ghost of the Great Calamity vanished from the castle. Most of Hyrule was still green, but the first touches of red and gold had already begun to appear on the trees of Akkala. It was chilly when Rhondson left Tarrey Town, but the morning fog had lifted and the sky was crystal clear.

Rhondson had always enjoyed mornings. Most people woke up early in the desert and took a nap during the worst heat of the afternoon so that they could stay up late into the evening. Rhondson kept the same schedule in Tarrey Town, a practice that Hudson found inexplicably upsetting. He complained, almost every day now, that she never went to bed with him. He insisted that a man and his wife should fall asleep together. Rhondson explained that she enjoyed sewing by lamplight at night, when the world is quiet and even the plainest thread shines like gold, but he refused to understand.

Hudson had recently grown restless. Perhaps it was because of the tension in their relationship, or perhaps it was only the change of season, but he left Tarrey Town one afternoon and never returned. Ashai’s classes hadn’t prepared Rhondson for this. They’d talked so much about how to catch a man, but never about how to keep him. She wondered if other vai had the same problem. All of the romances she read when she was younger ended with a “happily ever after,” but what was supposed to happen the next day? And the day after that?

All things considered, Rhondson was content with her life in Tarrey Town. Her feelings about the settlement had been ambiguous at first. The location was out-of-the-way, to say the least, but the town received more visitors than she’d expected. The son of the two Sheikah researchers who lived in an old lighthouse up on the northern cliffs made his living as a traveling merchant of fine clothing, and he saw to it that Rhondson always had work. Tarrey Town was unique in its appeal as a marketplace for goods from all over Hyrule, and Hudson’s brightly painted modular houses had become something of a tourist attraction. He’d been flooded with orders for summer rental homes, and a satellite community had sprung up on the other side of the bridge to satisfy the demand.

Hudson managed to keep himself busy, but he seemed to harbor doubts about establishing Tarrey Town on such a small island. To make matters worse, many of the people who’d come to town for the summer were starting to drift away as the days became shorter. Perhaps they were worried about Akkala’s infamous autumn thunderstorms. Rhondson happened to enjoy the heavy rains, whose gale winds and lightning crashes reminded her of the sandstorms back home, but she understood how the violent weather and sudden drop in temperature might put off people who weren’t accustomed to the climate. She’d camped at more than a few oasis waystations during her travels, and she knew it was perfectly natural for the population of a place like Tarrey Town to wax and wane with the season.

Rhondson tried to explain to Hudson how it was normal for people to come and go. Many of the town residents were nomadic by nature, she said, and they had no excuse not to indulge their wanderlust now that it was safe to travel. Hudson adamantly refused to listen. He insisted that a man’s home was his castle. But why not have two castles, Rhondson objected. And people would come back next summer, she reasoned. They’d had to hire new workers to perform upkeep on the vacation homes during the winter, after all, so it wasn’t as though the population was shrinking. If he was feeling ambitious, she added with a wink, they might be able to add their own contribution to the town’s population.

“I’m just not sure how long this town will last,” Hudson replied, ending the conversation with a sigh.

His admission put Rhondson ill at ease, and she couldn’t help recalling Hudson’s anxiety when she realized that he hadn’t come home during the night. “Sometimes you have to treat voe like children,” Ashai had once explained. “There will be times when they take action without thinking about how it will affect you, but it’s likely that their behavior comes from simple thoughtlessness, not spite.” Rhondson didn’t know about that. She’d met enough silly and immature vai in her life to understand that voe didn’t have a monopoly on being pigheaded. Still, if Hudson had gone out and gotten himself lost, purposefully or otherwise, she might as well go find him.

Rhondson set out from Tarrey Town and walked due south, pacing herself as she made her way up the gentle slope of the hills leading to Upland Zorana. Once the mountains began in earnest, she turned west at the road leading to the old stone quarry and kept going until she could see the waterfalls at the source of Lake Akkala.

She’d crossed the Sokkala Bridges when she first came to Tarrey Town instead of taking the longer road to the north, and she was just as impressed by them now as she was then. The log bridges were simple structures, really, not much more than planks laid over support pillars embedded in the banks of the rivulets flowing from the waterfall basin, but they were sturdy and well-constructed. A traveler could cross them with ease, secure enough in their footing to look up and appreciate the rainbows that danced in the misty spray of the waterfalls.

Not every bridge needed to be the Bridge of Hylia, Rhondson thought. Perhaps it was better if most bridges weren’t, in fact. The Bridge of Hylia was a magnificent piece of work, to be sure, but it seemed as though it was already in a state of disrepair even before the Great Calamity. Judging from the conversations between Hudson and his former boss Bolson, no living stonemason had any idea how to repair its gargantuan supports. Meanwhile, more modest structures like the Sokkala Bridges could be maintained whenever the need arose. In their own way, the Sokkala Bridges were just as important at the Bridge of Hylia, even if they never became monuments.

As she crossed the final bridge, Rhondson could see the hazy outline of Akkala Citadel rising in the west. Its massive size was impressive, but she couldn’t imagine it being particularly beneficial to anyone. Truth be told, the ruins weren’t much more than a glorified pile of old stone bricks that could almost certainly be put to better use elsewhere. Speaking of which, Rhondson was starting to get an inkling of where Hudson might have gotten himself off to. “A man’s home is his castle,” he liked to say, and how intriguing it must have been to have an actual castle so close to home, especially if its materials could be repurposed.

Rhondson headed north when the road forked and made her way across the old high bridge over the river, carefully navigating the deep fissures in the stone. Once she was safely on the other side, she began climbing the winding path up the mountain.

The leaves of the trees on the upper slopes of the hill had already turned a bold shade of crimson, and the weathered steel of the Sheikah Tower gleamed in the sun. Rumor had it that the citadel used to be patrolled by Guardians, but nothing confronted Rhondson save for a few moss-covered remnants of ceramic casing. Parts of the road had been washed away in a landslide, probably after the Malice swamp dried up, but the majority of the paving stones were still intact.

Rhondson entered the gatehouse at the foot of the outer wall surrounding the citadel. The inside was littered with rubble from a century-old battle, and the remains of more recent Bokoblin campfires were scattered across the floor. A partially overturned Guardian occupied a corner of the room, its segmented legs folded neatly underneath its casing like the paws of a sleeping cat. When she first set out from the desert, Rhondson had been terrified of encountering a Guardian, but she’d grown fond of the broken bits and pieces of their chassis that had been left beside Hyrule’s roads to remind travelers to remain vigilant. Their round faces and decoratively textured bodies were actually a bit cute, like oversized toys.

Rhondson passed through the gatehouse and entered a small courtyard. The walls of the citadel rose on every side of the open space, but the gaps between turrets were wide enough for the sun to shine through and warm the paving stones. One side of the courtyard was dominated by a large alcove that was probably used to shelter horses. The bare soil under the dilapidated wooden awning was covered in pale green scrub bush and dotted with bright yellow wildflowers.

A covered walkway ran along the opposite wall, connecting the gatehouse to the larger body of the citadel. As Rhondson followed the shaded path, she imagined how heavily the snowfall would accumulate at this altitude. She didn’t envy the soldiers tasked with shoveling duty. She glanced at the enormous wooden door that marked the entrance to the main hall, but its iron fittings were orange with rust. Thankfully, the smaller door at the end of the walkway was barely hanging by its hinges, and Rhondson had no trouble pushing it open.

She called Hudson’s name into the shadows of the citadel. Aside from the echo of her own voice, there was no answer. It probably wasn’t safe to go inside, but she had already come so far. Rhondson figured that she may as well make sure that Hudson wasn’t here before she left. 

The interior of the fortress wasn’t nearly as impressive as its silhouette. The entryway was much smaller than she expected, and the floor was made of packed earth. As Rhondson’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see that the wooden beams of the ceiling were exposed. They were dark with ash. The smoke had probably come from the tall braziers secured to the pillars set into the stone walls.

Rhondson walked across the hall, glancing around her with interest. A few piles of old leaves moldered just inside the open service door, but the room was remarkably clean. The tapestries displayed in the bays between pillars still retained some of their color, and wooden weapons racks still clung to the stone walls next to the main gate. Rhondson realized that the earth floor must absorb the humidity of summer and the chill of winter, keeping the wood and cloth relatively preserved. The layer of ash coating the wooden beams of the ceiling probably helped protect them from the elements as well.

Large passageways ringed with shallow arches connected the central hall to the east and west wings, but Rhondson was more interested in a spiral staircase carved into the back wall. Although she had to bend her head to enter, the stairs bore her weight. Each step dipped slightly toward the middle from centuries of use. As she climbed to the next floor, Rhondson was amused by the thought of walking in the footsteps of people who had lived so long ago.

The room above was much smaller than the citadel’s entrance, but its ceiling was almost as high. The walls were constructed of the same unpainted white limestone as the fortress exterior. Their rough surfaces were irregularly broken by small rectangular windows positioned slightly above eye level. Some of the glass panes were missing, allowing a cool breeze to enter the bright and sun-warmed space, but the floorboards were level and seemed solid enough

Rhondson began to make her way from room to room. Her first thought was that the haphazard layout was due to poor planning, but she gradually realized that different parts of the Akkala Citadel must have been built at different times, more than likely after various battles. Very few furnishings remained in the deserted fortress, but the architecture differed so drastically between rooms that it was clear she was walking through different periods of history. Rhondson was amazed by the evolution of the windows, which became larger and more ornate as she walked. She imagined that this was what Hyrule Castle must look like, an amalgamation of architectural styles that had grown and transformed along with the kingdom itself.

Rhondson enjoyed her stroll through the ruins, but Hudson was nowhere to be found. The sun was already low in the sky, so she made her way outside and began her descent. From her vantage point at the top of the path, she could see a flat patch of land at the base of the hill. The soldiers stationed here must have used it as a parade ground for exercise and training. It would be as good a place as any to make camp.

Dusk had begun to gather by the time she arrived on the field, and the shadows lay long across the tall grass. Rhondson didn’t see the Hinox immediately, but she could smell it. The odor wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unmistakable. As soon as she realized that she wasn’t alone, Rhondson turned to leave. Most Hinoxes tended to ignore the travelers that wandered into their vicinity, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Without warning, the Hinox bellowed. Its scream sent startled birds up from the nearby trees in a rush of beating wings and angry squawking. Rhondson prepared herself to make a run for her life, but she was stopped in her tracks by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“Don’t cry, you big baby. It only stings at first. You’ll feel better in two shakes of a blupee’s tail.”

Rhondson shook her head with amusement as she walked across the field toward the source of the voice. The Hinox pouted at her, giant tears spilling from its eye.

“Hudson?”

The broad-shouldered man crouching beside the Hinox jerked his head up. “Rhondson? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I came looking for you. Is this where you’ve been this whole time?”

“I meant to come back last night,” Hudson replied, averting his eyes. “But this oaf hurt his foot while helping me clear away the rubble on the path up the mountain, and I couldn’t just leave him like this. The wound would have suppurated, and he’s all alone out here.”

Rhondson gave the Hinox a closer look and saw that it – he – had a deep gash on his heel. Hudson was cleaning it with a balled-up wad of fabric. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the first workshirt she’d sewn for him. She’d made it just as they were starting to get to know one another, before she knew his measurements, and it fit him poorly. She asked him to throw it away and bury it with the compost months ago, but he’d apparently kept it. Hudson was surprisingly sentimental for a man who insisted on utility over decoration. It was one of the things she liked about him.

Rhondson smiled as she shrugged her pack onto the ground and dug out a jar of safflina salve. As Hudson helped her dress the Hinox’s wound, he explained that he had indeed come here to assess the state of the stonework. He assumed the citadel would be in ruins, but the structure was still sound. It would be a shame to dismantle it. With a few minor renovations, it would be almost as good as new. Still, making it more habitable would mean reducing its efficacy as a fortress.

“But what does that matter?” Rhondson asked. “Who’s going to attack it?”

“There are monsters roaming about, and…”

“Does this ‘monster’ look like he’s going to attack anyone?”

The Hinox had fallen asleep as they talked and was snoring lightly.

“He’s not a monster,” Hudson replied with a frown.

“Exactly. It seems to me that you’re already thinking about hiring him to work for you.”

“I’m not… Well, I guess I am. Having a Hinox around would be useful, especially if I decide to fix up this place, but we’d have to knock down some of the interior walls to make more room for him.”

Rhondson winced as she remembered all the times she’d banged her forehead on Hylian doorways. Now that she thought about it, there was no reason for those doors to be so low in the first place, especially not when her husband could so easily make them more accommodating. “Weren’t you planning to knock down the walls anyway?” she pointed out. “You could use the materials to repair the bridge.”

“But it’s disrespectful not to honor the past,” Hudson objected. “Shouldn’t the history of the Akkala Citadel be preserved?”

“It’s in ruins.” Rhondson put a hand on his shoulder. “One day you’ll have to come with me to visit my family. Everything in Gerudo Town is built on top of history. Nothing gets done if you worry about preserving the past as it once was. Living things change, and that includes old castles like this.”

“Maybe it includes towns too,” Hudson replied. “I guess it won’t be so bad if Tarrey Town grows. We could have a sister city maybe, right here on this hill. It would be a convenient waystation for travelers.” He thought for a moment. “And a good place for Hinoxes, too. It’s built on their scale, at least, and they’re all over Akkala. It’s a shame they always have to sleep in the open. Besides, Mason looks like he could use a friend. He’ll be lonely without me.”

Mason? Rhondson grinned at the name her husband had assigned to the Hinox. “Are you going to bring him home, then?” she asked.

“Home is wherever you are, Rhondson. We’ll go wherever you like. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but we can spend a night or two away from Tarrey Town. I’d like to go back to the citadel tomorrow morning. I don’t think anyone has been inside this place for at least a hundred years.”

The sun had finally set, and stars were beginning to shine in the deepening indigo of the twilight sky. Rhondson smiled as she pictured the castle on the hill once again filled with lights. There was a certain charm to speculating on what the past might have been like, but the future held much more potential for imagination.

[winterscaptain]

constellations.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: as usual, an ajf fic that requires very little context. i’m so sorry this took so long!! i was busy thinking about how to quit my job this week and then KIRA CAME TO VISIT ME (we’re being safe and covid-conscious!) so this took a couple of days longer than expected. also - i see your beautiful messages! i will keep chipping away at them :)

you can expect the route 66 fic on tuesday at 11pm pdt!

words: 4.4k warnings: canon-typical discussions of violence, some mention of canon-typical sexual assault, language

summary: as hotch recovers from the explosion in new york, you find yourself more concerned than you expected. (au!2008)

masterlist | a joyful future master list | requests closed!

“The Angel Maker. I remember the case.” 

It’s a fairly normal start to the week, with a case packed and ready for you at 10am. Aaron was out of the field for a week or so with his injuries, but his presence at the round table and the go bag you spotted beside his desk this morning warms you. 

He’s back. Not completely, but that’s better than not at all. 

“They caught that guy.” Reid’s flipping through the case file, but you know he’s got one ear open. 

Rossi’s on the same page, and finishes Reid’s thought. “And executed him.” 

“That’s right,” JJ says. “He was put to death by lethal injection a year ago yesterday.” 

You release a little breath you were holding. “Yesterday?”

That’s a clear enough trigger for a fanatic. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen something like this, either with your tenure at the BAU or in previous case studies at the academy. It was always a little shocking - the lengths people go to complete the work of the devil they romanticize...

Derek throws a finger at you as if to say Exactly. “So we’re looking for a copycat.” 

“Honoring the anniversary of his hero’s death.” Dave sits back in his chair, almost satisfied. You smile a little. 

The confidence of a seasoned profiler. 

Aaron catches your smile, and his lips pull just the barest amount. You shake your head, suppressing a wider grin. 

Funny, isn’t it?

His brows tug. What?

It’s so...normal. And so predictable. You sit back, peering at Aaron over your copy of the file. He huffs (you recognize it as a laugh, though the rest of his face remains exactly the same) and turns his attention toward Reid, who’s still flipping through the file. 

“It says here they found semen at the crime scene. Perhaps locals will get a DNA match through VICAP?” When you follow Aaron’s gaze to Spencer, you’re not surprised to see him already absorbed in the latter half of the report. 

“See, that’s where things get weird.” Her face screws up. “They already ran it, and got a match.” She throws the file toward you, and you open it. 

“If they already have a name, why’d they call us?” Emily’s confusion is swallowed up in your own. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” You look over at Hotch, who takes the file from your hands. “The match they got back on the DNA is to Courtland Bryce Ryan -” 

Hotch lets out a sharp huff. “The Angel Maker.” You meet his gaze again. 

This is going to be a weird one. 

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

+++

You lean against the back of Hotch’s chair, peering over his shoulder as ideas bounce around the cabin. He’s focused on Reid along with the rest of you as the younger agent spins a theory. 

Derek’s the first one to question his particularly amusing line of thought. “Reid, you’re not seriously floating the idea of an evil twin, are you?”

“No. I’m floating the idea of an eviler twin.” Reid looks dead serious, and Hotch glances up at you. You shake your head a little, and he shrugs before restoring his attention. “Traditionally the concept is good twin and an evil twin. But in this case, it’s evil twin, eviler twin.” 

You swallow a laugh as both Derek and Emily look at him like he’s grown three extra heads all at once. 

Before any of you can say anything, Aaron’s hand rises to his forehead and his face scrunches up in pain. You place a hand on his shoulder from over the seat, patting him for his attention. “Hotch?” 

He hums something that sounds like, “Yeah?”

“Are you cleared to fly?”

He sucks in a breath to cover a wince, and you take that as a no. 

You sink your hands into his hair as he tips his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. The tips of your fingers find the little pressure points around his head, and you lean forward, keeping your voice soft. “Does that help?”

He nods, just a little, and you’re satisfied. You look at Derek over Hotch’s head, and he looks just as concerned as you feel. 

+++

“I give you a legacy. A breath of life from the Angel Maker himself. Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.” Reid recites aloud from the letter, and you listen with your head propped on your hand. 

The sheriff sighs and crosses his arms. “That’s the last thing people need right now.” 

“Reid, how does that compare with the original correspondence?” Derek ignores the sheriff, redirecting his attention to the letter and the genius holding it. 

You jump on Derek’s line of thinking. “It can’t be authentic, can it?” You drop your hand from your chin and lean toward Spencer, feeling Aaron hover over your shoulder. 

“They share some compelling characteristics. I’d obviously like to look at it under a magnification under a better light…”

Obviously.

Hotch’s voice almost startles you, right by your ear. “Best guess, Reid?”

“I’d say it’s authentic.” Rather than looking at Hotch, he looks at you. Your furrowed brow speaks for everyone present. 

“How can it be authentic if the guy’s been dead for over a year?” Looking over at Hotch, you hope he has something better than paranormal speculation. 

He doesn’t disappoint. “It could be an elaborate forgery.” 

“Or,” Reid adds, “it could be a genuine article, just written before his death.” 

You hum. “That's my favorite of the theories so far.” 

The sheriff shakes his head, coming up on your other side. It’s almost comical the way you’re all crowded around the letter. “Mail here isn’t that slow.” 

Derek’s the only one who hasn’t joined you. He’s still happily posted up at the desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed. You glance at him before offering, “Could have been released through an intermediary.”

“You mean the copycat?” Reid asks. 

Nodding, you suggest, “He could be buried in those visitor logs - we’re checking them out now to see who visited Ryan and how often.” 

Derek finally joins you. “That’ll narrow the suspect pool.”

Hotch flinches again and his fingers press to his brow as the front door opens, allowing the rush of a truck to sound through the room. 

“Hotch?”

He waves you off. “I’m fine.” 

Liar. 

There’s nothing you can do. 

+++

You’re with Derek in one of the interrogation rooms, going through letter upon letter from Ryan’s time in prison. “What happens if Hotch actually loses his hearing?” You can’t help the overwhelming notes of concern coloring your voice. “I mean, what are we going to say to Strauss? ‘Excuse me ma’am, if our unit chief goes deaf because he won’t fucking slow down, can he still be our unit chief?’ I mean - “

You shut your mouth as Hotch walks into the room. Shame floods through you. It was more than unkind to talk about him behind his back as it was, and here you were - broadcasting your worst fears about his condition to one of your closest mutual friends. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” 

Aaron once again waves you off. “It’s alright.” He comes to rest beside you, and you reach for his arm in apology. 

“How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, and Derek leaves the two of you alone, closing the door behind him. Hotch looks over his shoulder, satisfied that you’re on your own. 

“Dizzy. Nauseated. Tired.” It’s like a checklist - matter-of-fact and without bias. 

You take stock of him. The cuts on his face are healing nicely, and the bruise on his cheek is fading. The bags under his eyes, though, betray the lack of sleep. “What can I do?”

He shakes his head with something that isn’t a smile if you don’t know him. “Nothing. Just keep doing good work.” 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive earlier.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m just worried, is all.” Your voice tapers off at the end of your thought, just a little embarrassed. 

A little breath leaves his nose, and you know it’s sort of a laugh. “I know.” He presses a hand to your shoulder for a moment before diving into one of the boxes himself.

+++

Hotch walks quickly, and you keep up as best you can as he informs the sheriff, “I have to advise against this.” 

“All due respect, this isn’t your town. I have to convince them that Courtland Ryan is dead and buried.” 

Hotch glances back at you, and you shrug. 

Small towns. Serial killers. What are you gonna do?

The cemetery is relatively quiet, the sleepy town waiting for something to happen with bated breath. It’s not like anyone would be taking late-night walks anytime soon. 

His head tips, and you know he agrees. Nevertheless, he turns back toward the sheriff. “You’re indulging the killer by perpetuating the ruse he’s created.” 

Nice. Five dollar words for the two-bit sheriff. 

“He’s right. It may embolden him. Prompt more murders.” Emily says, watching the proceedings with a discerning eye. You can only agree. 

The sheriff shakes his head. “Celia lost her only daughter to that murdering bastard. We met when I was working the case and had gotten close. I thought we were past all this, but...I guess I was kidding myself.” 

The crane starts up, and there’s a sinking feeling that you’ve forgotten about something as the chains tighten and begin to lift the coffin. All at once, you remember and turn as Hotch steps away, his hand over his ear and the other pressed against his brow again. 

You hover beside him, not sure what to do. Pressing your hands to his forearms, you do your best to shield him from some of the sound with your body. 

He makes a weak attempt to wave you off, but his voice startles you. It’s so small as he insists, “I’m alright. I’m fine. Just -”

“Hotch -”

“I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay. Yeah.” 

You don’t believe him for a second, but as the noise decreases, so does his agony. He removes his hands from his ears for a moment. He’s blinking rapidly, looking simultaneously dazed and far too aware. 

“Aaron…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m fine. I’m okay.” 

Your lips press into a thin line and you remove your hands from his arms. “Take it easy. I can’t make your life hell if you can’t hear me, alright?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, and he levels you with his signature glare that’s only halfway playful. 

+++

“The victim is Maxine Chandler. The neighbors say she’s lived here her whole life. All twenty-eight years of it.” 

The house is infused with the presence of children - play structures, toys, the whole nine. Aaron voices your thoughts. “How many kids does she have?” 

“None of her own. She runs a daycare. The guy who called 911 came here to drop off his toddler and found Maxine in her bedroom.”

That’s an eventful morning. 

“Well,” you note, “now that we have more than one victim, we can compare victimology.” 

Hotch nods, and you meet his eyes for a moment. “Different data points should help us significantly narrow the profile.” 

“I’ll get JJ to bring us the files on the first victim.” Morgan says, his phone already in his hand. 

“What did you find?” 

The coroner runs you through his findings, and they’re not much different from the first murder, but there is one notable difference. 

“Nine puncture wounds,” Emily notes, her dark eyes roaming over the body. 

You’re close to Hotch, watching them bounce off each other. It’s always inspiring to watch them. As close as you and Aaron are, you were deeply impressed but his professional relationship with Emily. There’s part of you that chalks it up to your age - they are only two years apart. They form their own little age bracket on the team while you, JJ, and Spencer make up the younger strata. 

More often than not, the three of you were able to keep up with each other just like Emily and Aaron. 

“Can I have your pen?” Emily asks.

“Yeah.” Hotch pulls the pen from his inside pocket, handing it over into her eager hands. “What is it?” 

You wait as she doodles something into her notepad before her head whips up. “She did this.” 

“What do you mean?” You’re not following, and you can tell Hotch isn’t either. 

“The unsub. She made this before she made the puncture wounds.” 

Hotch tips his chin, understanding. “That’s why the coroner found paper in the wounds.” 

“It was a template. The Angel Maker did it from memory, but she needed a guide to get it right.” 

You pull your phone out, already dialing Reid as Hotch says. “We need to go back and re-examine each of the patterns. Where’s Reid?” 

“Spence. Hey. We have something for you.” You pass the phone and a little smile to Hotch, who takes both with a grateful look. 

Emily watches the exchange, feeling suddenly like an outsider - almost an intruder. There’s something between you two, always has been, but this moment is such a clean-cut outline of it. You’re constantly anticipating the needs of the other, ready with a warmth and fondness at a moment’s notice. 

She sees it again when he presses your phone back into your waiting hand. You take it and brush past him as he turns over his shoulder to follow you out the door. It almost looks choreographed. In fairness, you’d both done it what feels like thousands of times before. 

When you pause in the living room, both turning at the same time when Derek calls for Hotch, a shadow of a thought crosses her mind. It’s gone before it’s truly there, and she lets it go. 

+++

Reid’s finally cracked it, and you’re all crowded around him again as he explains what he’s found. He profiled the author, figured out the cypher used by the Aryan Brotherhood, and generally made use of his insane brain. The patterns themselves are constellations, woven into every aspect of their relationship. 

You find a smile breaking out over your face as you listen to Spencer spin. Hotch leans over and whispers, “He hasn’t let loose in a while, has he?” You’re standing on his left, of course, just in case. 

Shaking your head, you laugh a little. Emily’s looking at Spencer like he’s from another planet. She pokes him and voices the thought you’ve all had at least once. “He’s so lifelike.”

Her comment gets a laugh out of you and a smile out of Aaron. You’re warmed by it. 

+++

You clear and search Chloe Kelcher’s house, staying firmly attached to Aaron’s seven o’clock position, right off his left shoulder. 

“Alright. We all know what the endgame is. She’s looking for her final victim. She may have already chosen one.” Hotch looks around, suggesting assignments with the flicker of his eyes around the house. “Let’s tear this place apart, look for anything that might tell us who she’s targeted.”

You follow Hotch and Derek into the nursery, noting the stars on the ceiling. The crib captures your attention - the carefully placed onesie indicating the pain of a woman in denial. Your brow crumples, and Aaron steps up beside you, nudging a couple of stuffed animals out of the way as a cursory search. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just...thinking.” The trigger is as clear as a neon sign, and you’re sure much saner people would break down like this at the loss of a child. There’s a silent prompting as he stands beside you, waiting for you to elaborate. “I dunno. I can just see how someone close to reasonable would be in bad enough shape after something like this, not to mention someone as unstable as our unsub.” 

He sighs. “It must have devastated her to think that she could hold on to Ryan by having his child and then lose the baby.” 

Derek hums from across the room, joining the conversation. “Completing his murders became the only way she could hold onto him.”

Something strikes Aaron then - something intangible. He turns and opens the trunk in the corner of the room. Its contents pull your upper lip up in disgust.

With a dubious pair of eyebrows, Aaron notes, “Not the only way.” 

“Guess that answers that.” 

+++

You reach the final victim’s house, and you can only hope you’ve made it in time. Hotch immediately assumes authority, leading collaboration between the BAU and local law enforcement. He assigns Derek to find an opening into the house, while he directs the sheriff to bring all the cars to the front, no lights. 

He finds a megaphone for Emily, and you take your place at his left side, crouched to take the low firing point through the car’s open window. 

“Hit the lights,” he directs, and they do. 

All at once, it’s bright - nearly daylight. Emily starts talking, and you’re singularly focused on the front of the house. The windows, the door, and the curtains are all within your purview. You glance up at Hotch, who glances down at you. He unholsters his weapon, and you bump his hip with your elbow and return your attention to the front of the house

“Go into the pouch next to my extra magazines.” 

You can sense rather than see his frown. 

“Just trust me. Open it.” 

His left hand finds your belt while he continues to scan the area, unclipping the pouch without looking. You hear a huff of laughter as he finds what you left for him. 

“Put one in your right ear and don’t argue with me.” Your voice is still low, but you dropped into the tone you learned from him, only half-joking. 

He rolls his eyes and stuffs the foam earplug in his bad ear before unholstering his weapon. 

“Door,” you warn as the front screen opens.  

“Chloe. Drop the gun.” Aaron’s voice is heavy with authority, and the sheriff backs him up. 

The world slows down when she raises the gun toward you all, and the sheriff fires. Despite the earplug, Aaron immediately collapses, dropping his service weapon at your feet and covering his ears with his hands. You holster your weapon and turn toward him on sheer instinct. 

You retrieve the gun, checking the safety and slipping it into your waistband. When you return your attention to him, he’s almost folded completely into himself, pained groans leaving him. Rossi beat you to him, half-holding him up, but he shifts Aaron to you when you reach them both. 

“Aaron.” You wrap him in your arms and he takes some of his weight as his feet get back under him. He leans into you, and you do your best to support him. “Hotch, are you okay?”

He reaches out, finding your arm and gripping tight. You stay steady, almost in tears. It’s agonizing to see him in pain. 

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Liar.

+++

The next day, it’s decided he’ll drive one of the cars home, instead of taking the plane. 

You laugh as Derek throws the keys at Spencer. Hotch steps up beside you, throwing his go bag in one of the cars. Going out on a bit of a limb, you ask, “Want any company?” You keep your voice low, just in case anyone’s listening. 

First of all, you don’t want to out yourself in front of your colleagues - they all know how much you care about him and you don’t want them getting any ideas. Second of all, you know how Hotch gets when he’s alone too long. 

He raises his eyebrows for a second, but Dave interrupts his thought before he can share it with you. “Why don’t you two drive together? It’ll be a better trip with some company and you can’t stand the rest of us for more than three hours at a time.” 

Hotch snorts. “Fine.” He looks over at you and you shrug and throw your go bag in the backseat with his. 

“I’m good with that. What are you thinkin’? Straight through, or are we taking a the scenic route?”

Dave pipes in again. “I think a couple of days could do you both some good. It’s been a long few weeks.” 

You and Hotch look at each other. You look back at Dave. “Good idea. See you Tuesday?”

He nods and joins the rest of the team in the other car, slipping into the passenger seat. 

+++

The car is quiet for the first half hour or so. You’re driving - it’s the only way Aaron can hear you in the car, so you’ll probably nap or post up in the backseat when it’s his turn to take the wheel. 

You glance over at him before you hit the state line. “You’re thinking very loudly over there.” 

A smile pulls at his lips. The heel of his hand supports his cheekbone as his elbow rests on the window ledge. “Am I?”

“Mhmm.” 

He shrugs a little. “It’s weird not driving.” 

“Ah. So that’s why you’ve been silent for the last…” you check the clock on the dash, “thirty nine minutes.” You’re teasing him and he knows it, but it’s also loaded with questions. 

There’s silence, and you wait for him. It’s another thing you’ve learned about him in the last year. Sometimes he’s quiet, but he never avoids you for long. 

“I’m thinking about Kate.” 

There he is. 

You prompt him a little, intrinsically knowing he needs a direction. “Did she have family?”

He nods. “An older sister. She’s flying in from London for the service, but their parents are gone and she wasn’t married, so...that’s it.” 

Still looking at the road, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

His hand covers yours for a second. “Thanks.”

You pull back, adjusting your grip on the wheel. A question pushes at your lips, but you roll it around in your head before you really consider asking it aloud. 

“You can ask.” 

Your head whips toward him for just a moment. “What?”

“You can ask,” he repeats, the shadow of a smile crossing his face. “I know you want to.”

You concede with a little chuff. “Fine. What happened between you and Kate?” 

“In what sense?” He’s totally fucking with you, and you shove at his shoulder. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

He shakes his head. “Alright, fine. There was…” he searches, “a moment when she and I were finished working together on the Scotland Yard case that something...happened.” 

“Something?”

“Well,” he amends, “nothing actually happened, but let’s just say she had a couple too many and made her intentions very clear.” 

Can’t blame her for that one. 

Yeah, and that’s why we don’t get drunk with everyone else. Shit happens. 

You glanced at him, suppressing a smile. “So what happened?”

He shakes his head, and there’s a sort of dry humor in his voice when he answers,“Obviously, she was pretty out of it, so I took her back to her place and made sure she was settled for the night with a glass of water and some aspirin.” A smile cuts through his huff of laughter. You’re not surprised to hear mourning in it, too. “She was miserable in the morning, and called me to ask what happened the night before. I may have...very loosely implied that something small might have happened, just to save her the embarrassment.” 

He pauses, and you know he’s a little reluctant to be this vulnerable - you’re almost sure he never expected to tell this story to anyone, let alone you. 

“The attraction was mutual, so I didn’t feel too bad about omitting the consequences of her…” he searches for a word again, “forwardness. It was - is - something I respect about her both personally and professionally.” 

“Did you ever tell Haley?”

He shook his head. “I told her the truth - that she needed some help getting home, I set her up for the night, and came right back. She wasn’t thrilled, but she and Kate got on well enough that she didn’t mind too much. I think she was more annoyed that I got home so late even without a case, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

You laugh a little. “That sounds like her.” 

“She wasn't always like this, you know.” His voice takes on something a little more pensive, and you settle deeper into your seat to let him know you’re listening, even if your eyes hardly stray from the road. “We had a ridiculous amount of fun together when we were younger - first married, I was fresh out of law school, everything ahead of us, and all that.” He heaves a sigh. “It’s really only since Jack was born that things got...bad.”

He pauses, thinking for a moment. “I wish I could explain the work to her - I sometimes wish she could see it, even though I never actually want her to see the things we see every day.”

You keep your voice light, understanding. “I get that. It can’t be easy knowing that we’re your family, too, and even that’s difficult to explain.” 

There’s silence, and you know there’s a tacit agreement in it. 

His next comment comes a little from left field, but it makes you smile. “She likes you, by the way. She really does.” 

“Good.” You glance over at him. “I’m glad.” 

There’s something he wants to say, and you raise your eyebrows expectantly, knowing he can see it in your profile. 

“Would you want to come over sometime and spend some time with Jack? I -” he exhales, and tries again. “It’s sometimes...weird to have him all to myself.” He laughs a little. “I almost don’t know what to do with him all day when it’s just the two of us.” 

A real smile breaks across your face. “I’d love to.” 

He nods, satisfied with himself. “It’ll be nice for Haley to see you as well. I know she feels a little cut off these days.” 

“Understandable.” 

Another bout of silence fills the car. It’s comfortable. Safe. 

“Thank you,” he says, after a long while. 

You look over, letting your eyes wander down his profile for a moment. “Of course.” 

+++

You stay at a little motel off the highway, pulling over after about four hours on the road. It’s only a little ways back to Fairfax, where you’ll drop him off at home before returning the car to Quantico, but Rossi’s right - it’s nice to take some time. 

In two separate double beds across the room from each other, you wish each other good night in the dark. 

+++

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[mexcraziness-art]

Monkie Kid/JTTW OC: Liang Xingti

Okay, so this bio is going to be pretty messy, mostly because I’m really tired these days, but also because I’m still reading Journey to the West, and still waiting on the new seasons of the show. So I can’t go into details too deeply until I find out more, this is more of a general outline of what I have in mind for her so far!

Name: Liang Xingti (亮星体),Tong Bi Yuanhou (通臂猿猴) Nickname: Gab Gender: Female

Liang Xingti, also known as the Long/Magic Armed Gibbon or just „Gab”, much like Wukong, she’s one of the Four Spiritual Monkeys, see the one and only mention in Journey to the West:

„The third kind is the magic−armed gibbon that can catch the sun or moon, shrink mountains, see what is auspicious and what is not, and fool around with heaven and earth.”

History: Xingti was born from a cloud after a full solar-eclipse, as the circumstances of her birth concerned Heaven she was soon taken in by Taibai Jinxing, the Gold Star of Venus, as a discipline. She grew up in the Heavenly Court, and was trained in combat by Erlang Shen. Despite now being a Heavenly Warrior she was mostly running errands for Jinxing and the Jade Emperor. After Wukong showed up in Heaven she was really intrigued by him, as she never met a monkey like her before. She developed a strange mix of appreciation and irritation towards Wukong as time went on, and after he became the Great Sage Equaling Heaven the two of them became semi-friends, usually sparring together. Wukong also showed her a new perspective on life, and she began to internally question her life and role in the heavenly court. When Wukong rebelled against and rampaged through Heaven she tried to fight him as well, and meanwhile normally they were pretty evenly matched, she didn’t stand a chance, as her doubts held her back and Wukong’s rage filled War Form was simply way out of her league at the time. After the Buddha trapped Wukong under the mountain her doubts in Heaven increased, now with added guilt on top. After Heaven banished Sandy, and their treatment of Bai Long Ma, she finally had enough and tried to leave Heaven. She was warned by her master Jinxing that Heaven might take this as an act of rebellion, so she was forced to stay, but she took more and longer trips to Earth. When she heard Wukong was freed she occasionally visited him and his company of their Journey, though his situation left a bad taste in her mouth. After this she spent the next few hundred years doing the same, running errands for Heaven and fighting demons on their orders.

(The following is mostly relevant to the 4+1 Monkeys AU)

In the present day she was sent by Heaven to Earth to find Wukong and get help to investigate and try to capture Macaque for reasons the Jade Emperor didn’t share with her, this lead to her being suspicious about her mission from the start. When she went to Flower Fruit Mountain to get Wukong’s help, she ran into MK, and soon found out that Wukong trains him as his successor, which lead the two of them to having a fight, and Xingti leaving to capture Macaque alone. However she was followed by MK who offered to help her, which she accepted, endangering MK in the process. Of course Wukong showed up last minute and the two of them captured Macaque. Later Xingti revelaed she doesn’t want to turn Macaque over to Heaven until she finds out more about their motivations, so she decided to stay on Flower Fruit Mountain with Macaque as their prisoner until they find out more, which left Wukong less than impressed.

Personality: Having grown up in Heaven, Gab was a model discipline, she never questioned authority, or the orders she was given. She was trained to be level headed and controlled as Heaven was vary of her possible wild nature. After she met Wukong and started to question Heaven she slowly became more rebellious, second guessing her orders and asking too many questions. As she spent more and more time on Earth and away from Heaven, she developed a loud, brash and snarky personality, she has a crude sense of humor, and likes to mess with people for the fun of it. She’s playful but likes to see just how far she was push someone by annoying them before they get pissed off. However also having grown up in Heaven, she grew up pretty isolated, and making meaningful connections is pretty hard for her. She doesn’t handle rejection well, and gets quickly angered when she feels confused or conflicted about something, specially if it’s relationship related. She also uses this to hide her sensitivity, which she views as a weakness. She mostly tries to show the affection and fondness she has for someone by being an absolute pest in their lives, and hope for the best.

Powers and Abilities:

She has all the standard abilities of a Spiritual Monkey and a Heavenly Warrior, including: -Immortality -Super strength and super speed -Chi manipulation -Cloud Generation -Flight

Other Abilities: -36 Heavenly Transformations (much like Wukong, she can’t change her tail) -Cloud Clones -She can use the essence of the Sun and Moon for various spells and magical abilities, she can also cause full lunar and solar ecplises by forcing the sun and the moon to move in place, this gives her a full power boost however this is also one of the things that can kill her. -Size changing of objects: She can change the size of anything to any size at will. -Fortune Sense/Opportunity Sense: She can sense how favorable a situation/decision could be.

Weapon: Her staff, made out of a droplet of Sun and Moon, is her signature weapon. She usually keeps it in her belt on her back, in it’s basic Handle form. She can command it to grow into a staff, which is how she usually uses it in combat. And at it’s strongest, she can summon a Sun and Moon blades on each end, as it’s third form.

Relationships:

Sun Wukong: She has sort of a back-and-forth relationship with Wukong. She loves to annoy and pester him and constantly challenge him to sparring matches, as they’re one of the few people who actually pose a challenge to the other. She likes to get a rise out of him, to knock him down a peg from his high and mightiness. She also loves to constantly remind him of his embarassing events in Heaven. Generally she’s just a little shit towards Wukong, but in a friendly, familiar way. To Wukong she’s more of an unwelcome nuisance that he’d rather avoid, but at the end of the way they both hold a fondness for eachother, just locked away deep, deep down, due to their shared experience with Heaven, and really both of them would rather die than ever admit it out loud.

MK: Much like Wukong, she likes to bully MK in the friendly way. She constantly pesters and makes fun of him, sometimes even „showing him some fighting moves” just so she can knock him around a bit. She sees the potential in him, how powerful he could become, and how he’s better than any of them ever were. However this is also the reason she doen’t go easy on him. Despite all this she has a soft spot for MK, when she’s not messing with him, she’s always telling him cool stories of her and Wukong’s old days, that didn’t make it into the legends. She also always makes sure to tell the embarassing bits about Wukong.

Macaque: Her relationship with Macaque is… complicated and a massive WIP to put it simply, so this one will be super brief.

After they captured him, Xingti basically became his de facto prison warden. She constantly followed him around and just kept an eye on him in general. Because of this she soon became super intrigued by him, not only beause he was the second Spiritual Monkey she ever met, but mostly because she felt as if they were on a common wavelength. After Macaque’s initial escape attempts, and various arguments with Wukong, she set out to try to understand him and his past. As time passed and Macaque actually warmed up to them they grew pretty close. As it turns out they have a similiar sense of humor, and both of their favourite hobbies is making Wukong miserable, she quickly grew a soft spot for Macaque and before she even realised it she had all but developed a crush on him. Macaque had soon noticed the obvious changes in her behaviour, and as he had been faking his redemption this whole time, he decided to take advantage of her feelings for him. He played along and peretended to fancy her as well, they have even developed sort of a romantic relationship, (this whole thing of course didn’t leave Macaque as unaffected as he liked to believe) and things were actually pretty good, until Macaque saw an opportunity to betray them and make it hurt. This of course left Xingti more than emotionally devastated, and she swore to make Macaque pay herself. This is pretty much what I have in mind so far, I'm sure I left out a lot, I'll add them later when I remember them! And hopefully I'll draw a ref of my other OC, Mandy, the 4th Spiritual Monkey soon as well!

Art by @mexcraziness-art

Liang Xingti and 4+1 Monkeys AU belongs to @mexcraziness-art

Monkie Kid belongs to Lego