#how very strange that freckle- and -wish have both been used only twice and both times it was for the name frecklewish

[pigeonclaw]

Frecklewish (the SkyClan one) and Fidgetflake!

[songofclarity]

Oooh, WRH/NMJ, either (1) the first moment WRH realized he had a Thing for NMJ or (2) arranged marriage AU with all the awkwardness that entails :)

Thank you for the prompt! Let's try the first moment Wen RuoHan realized he had a Thing for Nie MingJue~ I am weak for Wen RuoHan admiring Nie MingJue over something that never gets fully appreciated by anyone else, and having it happen during this occasion is just the cherry on top ❤

☀️

“It sounds like they’re preparing for war up ahead,” Wen Qing said. “Let’s turn back, Uncle.”

They walked the stone paths under the trees of the Unclean Realm with their fans fluttering in front of them. Although the day was sliding into evening, the searing heat had yet to follow suit. Yells and shouts and the ring of steel on steel grew louder as they moved along. They had passed plenty of closed doors and shut gates, nothing that would have prevented Wen RuoHan if he truly wanted to explore, but no one had stopped them strolling the open grounds which had led them to this place.

“Have you ever seen saber practice?” Wen RuoHan asked.

“Years ago when suddenly everyone had a saber for a week, but no one was shouting about it.”

“The Qinghe Nie are a fiercely prideful sect. This is how they welcome us to their discussion conferences.”

Wen Qing sighed. “Frighten us off, you mean?”

“Don't tell me some shouting has frightened you, A-Qing.”

There were few braver than she, however, and even the suggestion did not phase her. Only as they approached a stone arch and the sound of training grew louder did she show any sign of reluctance. “Where are we going?”

Wen RuoHan smiled. “We are taking a closer look.” There was very little reason to attend these conferences beyond seeing what the other sects were doing. Tradition ran deep, however, and methods rarely changed. He wasn’t expecting much, but it was Wen Qing’s first time in the Unclean Realm. A clever girl had grown up into a clever young woman, with fresh eyes that might notice what he himself did not.

Instead, she said, “Sect Leader Nie sent instructions we were to remain at our residence and the Sword Hall this week. It might be best not to push him at his first discussion conference.”

Upon taking the role of sect leader in the wake of his father's death, Nie MingJue had infamously avoided attending the discussion conferences held in Qishan, Lanling, Yunmeng, and Gusu. Only when hosting finally fell upon the Qinghe Nie in rotation did he finally relent to obligation.

Wen RuoHan couldn't blame him. Discussion conferences had become weary when Wen RuoHan had, over the years, lost interest in what his fellow leaders had to say. Their cultivation techniques crawled while all his life he had sought to run. Their management of the night hunts called for small, equal pieces for everyone to nibble upon, but it would be irresponsible of him to let his sect go hungry. And negligent of him to have traveled all this way and not stretch his legs.

“Some things never change,” Wen RuoHan said with some dry fondness as they came upon the training grounds. Dozens of young disciples in their dark, Qinghe Nie robes were paired off and in the midst of practice. Sunlight caught off the silver steel, adding flashes of light to an already aggressive display that looked, after several moments, like a dance.

The man overseeing the training stood taller than all the rest. With his robes hanging off the hips and tied at the waist, he struck a bold and handsome figure even with his eyes narrowed as the setting sun smiled on his face.

“I stand corrected,” Wen RuoHan said pleasantly, feeling the breeze off his fan more acutely. “The view has improved.”

Wen Qing frowned. For all her brilliance, weapons training for cultivation had rarely interested her as much as much as the wounds of the trainees. “The noise has not.”

Indeed, the man leading the lesson had a loud voice that would make meek disciples quiver. To Wen RuoHan’s agreement, the group at present were anything but meek as they all roared back wordlessly in affirmation to their trainer's command.

“Mind your balance!” the man shouted. “The next one who falls over will be standing on their hands and we’ll see if their feet can do better with a saber!”

“Now there is a cultivator who minds his training,” Wen RuoHan mused with a laugh. “We may have to borrow this one to ready our own for next year's conference.” Already decisions had been made to host events in Qishan along with the usual discussions. Horse racing, archery, and duels, plus poetry among others.

Wen Qing gave him a strange look. “That is Nie MingJue, Uncle. Sect Leader Nie.”

Wen RuoHan's smile froze, and then slowly fell. “Ah,” he said, shutting his fan with a soft clap, “he certainly looks nothing like his father.”

“And he's coming this way...”

“So he is. What shall we tell him?”

“...That we are going back to our rooms to have dinner. We look forward to the start of the conference in the morning.”

Wen RuoHan looked at her in surprise. “Are we now?”

“Yes.” And she had already turned away to leave.

“It would be rude of me to not greet our host now that he is here,” Wen RuoHan considered aloud as Nie MingJue walked straight through his fighting disciples to reach them on the most direct path.

Wen Qing hesitated.

“What is that expression, A-Qing?” He motioned her away with the closed fan. “If you do not want to speak with him, then go have the tea ready when I return.”

“...Yes, Uncle.”

She walked back down the path, scattering the shadows that had gathered there. He wasn't sure if she knew the way, but no doubt there would be plenty of volunteers to direct her, blessed as she was with her mother's beauty. Although, now that he thought about it, the Qinghe Nie were said to not be enchanted by beautiful things not made of steel.

“Sect Leader Wen.” Nie MingJue stood on the other side of the stone archway as if a barrier separated then. He glanced to where Wen Qing had gone before continuing, “What are you doing here alone?”

Nie MingJue certainly struck a fine figure up close with skin damp and golden from standing in the sun. Freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks and covered his ample shoulders. He still had his saber in hand, and while he had respectfully sheathed it in his approach, his grip was not relaxed. It was difficult to tell if it was heat radiating off of him or his anger.

Wen RuoHan smiled. “Alone? Do I not still have your Nie cultivators for company?” And he looked over to the small cluster of cultivators less than discreetly stalking him, keeping an eye on him from the shadows of the nearby trees and building from the first moment he had stepped foot in the Unclean Realm.

Nie MingJue was frowning when Wen RuoHan looked back to him. “Is there something you needed?”

Wen RuoHan opened his mouth, then closed it again. A tricky question. “To greet my host and wish him well.” Normally gifts were offered to new Sect Leaders, but Nie MingJue's rise was years ago. Wen RuoHan had not been informed of the past Sect Leader Nie's death until months later when the grieving period was through and the Qinghe Nie had resolutely shut their gates to outsiders for a time. Wen RuoHan looked to the fan in his hand and held it out to Nie MingJue. “These discussion conferences are deceptively long. Cool off and calm down, or you'll run yourself into the ground before the end.”

Nie MingJue's eyebrows pinched his brow--but he took the fan. Strong fingers curled over it, tighter and tighter until Wen RuoHan waited for it to get crushed beneath his fist.

Would a broken fan make up for a broken saber? The fan, however, meant little to him than some meager relief from the heat.

So he was surprised when Nie MingJue dropped his hand to his side with the fan still held tight. His expression was peculiar, as if he held a hundred words stuffed in his mouth and on his tongue. When he spoke his voice was taut with control.

“If you are unable to find your rooms, I can find someone to escort you.”

“Do you think I'm lost?”

“I gave instructions that everyone was to retire to their rooms when they arrived. Either you are lost or you are trespassing.”

Trespassing. Now there was an accusation Wen RuoHan had never heard of.

And yet an apology fluttered in and out of his thoughts, but it would be ingenuous at best. Wen Qing had warned him and he did not regret what he had seen or done. He was Sect Leader Wen, after all. He had been raised to apologize for nothing.

But he wasn’t out to make enemies. Discussion conferences lasted twice as long when everyone was trying to pick a fight. “A little bit of both,” he conceded lightly, although Nie MingJue looked none too pleased to hear it. “I will retire for the evening then. After seeing your management of the saber training, I am looking forward to your management of tomorrow’s discussion. Be sure not to lose your voice before then.”

[enternalempires]

In Your Dreams

This is a Lukanette soulmate fic. Lots of fluff, a lil confusion and a good portion of frustration. But it’s cute so whatever. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same.

The background was bleary but the scene was all the same; scattered leaves floating through the air and clumping to the ground in odd piles with mud puddles here and there, the air was chilly and stuck to his lungs in little pricks but it felt nice.

In Luka’s dreams— their dreams, he supposed— autumn was nothing short of a safe, warm feeling despite the fact that it could send his body shivering and teeth chattering. He’d be wearing gloves and his favorite jacket, jeans and thick boats but still get shudders going down his spine.

He always met her in his dreams, too, and this night was no different.

She wore a long, soft pink coat and black leggings, her midnight hair fluttered around her shoulders and under a black beanie with little dots on it and her eyes— god, her eyes were a brilliant blue that never failed to make him restless.

His body always got so high strung around her, aching to pull her close and never let go, burning up from the inside out and screaming at him to just find her, why don’t you find her already? We need her! We need her so bad that it hurts!

Luka wanted to; and he looked as well.

He’s been looking since he was a little eight year old hiding bruises and busted knuckles and teary eyes but had such a gentle girl visiting him after he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes.

He’s looked and looked and looked and looked.

She wasn’t in his classes, wasn’t in his school, didn’t hang out where he hung out and didn’t have any mutual friends.

He didn’t even know her name.

So what was he supposed to do?

They didn’t say much; in a dreamland like this, touch was so much more important but their short conversations told him enough.

Told him she lived in a bakery that her parents owed and that she loved them (and by god did he spend the next couple of weeks searching through every cafe or bakery or cake shop in Paris but never saw those blue eyes), that she wants to go into fashion, that she had bullies and insecurities but was the loveliest person he ever met and doesn’t even realize it.

And everything— everything— about her made him fall in love so deep that he could feel it in his bones.

These dreams, he knew, connected people to their soulmate.

So how did she get so lucky ending up with her?

The nameless, beautiful girl who haunted his dreams. The talented, brilliant girl whose laugh rolled over him like a wave of joy. The brave girl who held so much power in her hands and never dared abuse it. The girl he so desperately needed to know how to hold— how she would feel against his chest, in his arms. Not in their dreams, not when her warmth was shallow and her body melted against him almost like she was half-tangible and even less sure of herself.

They had a little place against the whirlwind of leaves that they always sat; a nice groove between two trees that always kept them dry and blocked the wind from biting at their cheeks.

Today he got their first, humming a melody into the nothingness around him and then there she was, washed in pink and black and with those freckles of hers, blue eyes watery as she sat down next to him and crawled into his lap without saying a word.

Luka held her— because even if he wanted to do so much more than just sit here in silence, this is what she needed— and continued to hum her song for the girl he fell in love with.

Some nights they do things that leave them waking up to a belly full of laughter and a smile so wide that their cheeks ache— other times, after bad days, he wipes the tears away from her face and wishes he could be there to do the same when she wakes up or she’ll hold him to her and hum his song right back.

This was one of the bad days and he wonders what it is this time.

A bully? A fight with a friend?

“Today was really hard,” She sniffles and he startled, not used to her talking much but ran his fingers through her hair in acknowledgement and comfort to her words. “My friends they… they all found their soulmates already so everyone was doing a paired up game thing but— but I was all alone and I missed you so much. This girl, she keeps lying and telling everyone I’m greedy for not being content with the people already in my lives. She’s making it seem like I don’t appreciate my friends and that I think I’m better than them but i don’t! I love my friends, I’m happy for them— I just want my soulmate, too. Is… Is it selfish to just want you with me already?”

“It’s not selfish at all, my melody,” Luka gently kissed her forehead, lips feeling like they’re brushing against nothing but solid air. “I want you already, too.”

She’s quiet for a moment before sitting up— consequently straddling his lap as well, her hands clutching onto his jacket and a frown coming onto her features as he brushes away the leftover tears staining her cheeks— and saying, “I want to know your name.”

“Are you sure?” Luka asks, not because he didn’t want to share it but because they… just never talked about this before.

Never said ‘I miss you’ or anything of the sort, though both knew that they were missed from just one look into their soulmate’s eyes. She never told him her name, so he did the same. She didn’t want to know at first and he didn’t ask why.

So this, the talking, the questions, the fact that they’re going to just be one step closer to finding each other, is a very unfamiliar feeling.

“I’m sure,” She looks him in the eyes and Luka practically melts. It should be illegal to be so beautiful, to look so cute even after she just got finished crying. “Do you, um, do you want to know mine?”

“Yes.” The answer is instant.

She smiles in reply and he grins back, bringing her hand up to kiss every knuckle before saying, “I’m Luka Couffaine.”

“Couffaine?” Her smile freezes, jaw going slack, and her eyes widen. “Wait, like, Juleka Couffaine?”

He blinks, “You know my sister?”

“Sister?” She shrieks, then laughs, her hands gently grabbing his face and planting a kiss onto his forehead. “I know who you are!”

“Wha—”

And then she disappears.

She’s awake and he’s stuck there and she knows his name but he doesn't know hers and he’s never been more frustrated in all his life before.

Luka wakes up and screams into his pillow, then a couple seconds later the partition separating his and Jules sides of the room is thrown open and his stupid sister is throwing a brush at him. 

“Shut up, idiot!” Juleka hisses, wobbling on her legs as she groggily stumbles back to her bed. “I was having a serious conversation with my baby flower.” Her ‘baby flower’ was Rose, her soulmate, and they’ve been annoyingly in love since they met in second grade.

His rolls over and crawls back under her covers, shoving his pillow over his head and swearing a couple times before falling silent. Luka glares at her before glaring up at the ceiling, the morning lift drifting in through the window and the familiar, comforting sound of the waves splashing against the Liberty is enough to remind him that the real peace is being with her.

Not here, not in this bed, not with his sister— but in her arms, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh.

Grunting slightly as he sits up and stands out of bed, Luka gets dressed and opens to hatch to get out of his room, his guitar on his back as he grouchily goes into their kitchen and makes himself breakfast.

Juleka and his mom notice his grumpiness and, like true Couffaine’s, decide to embrace the chaos and be grumpy right back.

Like always, Luka walks with his sister to school after meeting up with Rose in their regular route but this time he’s silent and staring at the ground with pure annoyance ripping through him like a burning coal.

Why couldn’t he just know her name?

Was that too much to ask?

“Hey,” Juleka nudges his quietly as the school comes into sight, kids scattered all around. It was her first year but Luka’s last year in Lycee and while he was familiar with the school, he still kept a map in his bag in case his sister got lost and needed help. “You okay, loser? You’re acting strange.”

“Last night my soulmate learned my name,” He grumbled out the words. “And, apparently, she knows me as your older brother so she knows you but I didn’t get her name.”

“Poor Lukey,” She chuckles, making Rose pout up at her for being mean. “But, like… if I know her, she probably goes to our school. You get that, right?”

Luka just looks at her blankly.

“What?”

“Our school, dumbass. She goes to our school. My only friends who know I have a brother go here.”

Luka blinks. Once, twice. Three times.

Then he’s snapping his head up to the students around him and looking around, trying to pinpoint anyone that even resembles his melody as Juleka laughs at how frantic he turned and Rose cooed at how adorable it is that he is so excited.

Excited?

Nervous?

Feeling like he’s gonna throw up?

Feeling his heart pound in his chest?

Check, check, check, and check.

Then— then he catches the sight of midnight hair in the corner of his eye and whips around fast enough that his neck kinda protests at his movement but he just doesn’t care.

Because it’s her.

She’s wearing a soft blue dress because unlike in their dream it’s a little warm out and she has a black sweater cardigan that goes down to her knees and looks so comfortable and she’s wearing matching flats and her hair is in two pigtails and her eyes are bright and happy and so blue and he’s going to drown.

And god, she looks prettier than he could’ve imagined.

Is his heart supposed to beat this fast?

She has the same happy smile and same giggle as she sees him looking and he’s too shell shocked to do anything but watch as his soulmate bounds up to him and holds out a box of macaroons the color of his jacket.

“Hi,” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shyly meets his eyes. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng and um, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before I woke up.”

“It’s really you,” Luka breathes out, hand raising to gently cup her cheek. Both of them give a low gasp at the wave of warmth and energy that washes over them as soon as their skin meets. Marinette leans into his touch with a soft smile and closes her eyes. “You’re really here.”

“Where else would I be?” She kisses the inside of his palm. “In your dreams?”

Luka laughs before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, the poor box of macaroons falling to the ground but he’s too happy at the moment to feel guilty.

“God,” He breathes in her scent— chocolate chip cookies and the faint smell of vanilla. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

She’s tangible; right here, right now, in his arms she’s tangible.

Her arms wrap around him, too, and he starts to cry because every nightmare she helped him escape, every problem, every thought wearing on him too heavy that she soothed with the sound of his laugh just melts.

Nothing can compare to this.

She’s real and she’s his and they fit together perfectly.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever let her go.

Soulmates.

That’s the term people use, right?

It suddenly doesn’t feel descriptive enough.

“Luka,” Marinette says, pulling back enough that when she looks him in the eyes she can be the one to wipe away his tears instead of the other way around. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” He pulls her closer, head falling to nuzzle into her neck. “I’m perfect.”

There were people scattered around them, kids from their school and friends and other couples but they didn’t care. They were together and there were no leaves or mud puddles or a groove between two trees, there was no wispy wind and half-tangible hugs and voices sometimes too soft to hear.

They were together, they didn’t have to miss each other or be alone.

And there wasn’t a single selfish thing about that.

[axther]

in the golden afternoon

tamaki x reader: in the golden afternoon

in which the reader falls into a place called Wonderland, and meets the knave of hearts who is far too soft spoken to be a knight. for @mortedeveles​ tw: mentions of beheading 

Wonderland was a strange place, YN realised.

Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure how she got there; she was on a walk when she tripped over a hole, and there she was, plummeting down and down and down through the most unusual rabbit tunnel. It was like a drug trip and made YN dizzier than she would’ve liked. But when she finally landed, she realised that this world was much stranger than her own. It was upside down and inside out, where nowhere was everywhere and everywhere was anywhere. Paths erased themselves and the sky was a strange shade of purple mixed with blue. Huge pine trees had pale pink roses on them, and the grass was maroon. Flowers spoke with sharp tones and lilting song, rocking-horse flies flitted around, and YN would shrink and grow at the world’s whims. There were no rules, and YN learned to obey. One of the non-rules was told to YN by a young man with purple hair and wide, toothy grin. He called himself the Cheshire Cat, as he reclined lazily along a tree branch and swung his tail around. All ways here, you see, are the King’s ways, he purred. Oh, but don’t worry. He’d be just mad about you. YN wasn’t sure what the Cat meant by that, but his lavender eyes narrowed, and she didn’t feel any comfort. He took it upon himself, strangely enough, to follow YN through her journey into Wonderland. He gave snippets of twisted wisdom and often got her into trouble, but she couldn’t find herself to become angry at him. He was a companion that she found herself grateful for in the long dark ways of Wonderland. She ended up wandering into the gardens of the Red King, seeing several young men furiously painting several white roses. The Cat floated around above her, watching the men work. “My, my, they are truly working themselves hard.” The Cat grinned, wrapping his tail around YN’s shoulders. “It’s almost like their lives depend on it~!” “Do you suppose that’s why?” YN tilted her head, looking at the Cat and then back to the men. “They’re very rushed.” YN bent down to pick up a stray paint can and brush, and prodded the brush around in the bucket. The red paint was more akin to blood, wet and dripping onto the grass. Strangely, the grass looked to once be green, if the spots unpainted meant anything, but the young men had been so sloppy with their job that it had gotten everywhere. The roses were very blatantly painted, hardly drying before they moved onto another flower. The leaves were dripping and the branches were stained, and YN slowly walked up to the three they were working on. “Hullo,” She moved around so she could see the three men, each of whom jumped before working twice as fast. One had bright green hair that flopped around his face, the paint smattering over his freckles and making him look like a Christmas decoration. The one next to him looked angry, almost stabbing the roses in his fury. The last looked, in a word, dumb, painting his fingers more than the roses and getting it all over his blonde hair. He had a strange mark that was like a lightning bolt across the side of his hair, and it seemed so out of place with the rest of him that YN cast him a strange look. “Huh?!” The second worker turned, and with a growl, swung his paintbrush at YN without hitting her, and went back to work. “Get outta here! Fuckin idiot!!” “What?” YN reeled back, pursing her lips with an angry stare. “How rude!” “You fuckin heard me!” The man barked, growling like a dog. “We’re busy!” “W-wait!” The green-haired one stopped the blonde in his tracks with a yelp. “Kaachan! Be nice! Maybe she can help us!” “Oh?” The Cheshire Cat grinned. “Being recruited, are we?” “Shush, you mangy thing.” YN huffed, tightening her hold on the paint can and addressing the three. “Why are you painting the roses red?” “Well, y-you see, the Red King wanted red roses.” The green-haired one stuttered, biting his lip and getting back to work. “And fucking Socket Licker planted white roses!” Kaachan hissed, finishing up the tree. The last blonde jumped, peering at YN and the others. “Huh? Is something up?” “Denki, not now.” “Oh. OK!” Denki started walking over to the tree that Kaachan was working on, working on a rose that was already painted. The green-haired man hung back, looking to YN. “Uh...I’m Midoriya, and that’s Bakugou and Denki. Would you be willing to help us? It would really be awesome!” “Very well, then.” YN furrowed her brow and walked up to the tree, painting gently so it actually looked convincingly like a red rose. Bakugou and Midoriya were both doing relatively good jobs, but Denki’s painting was sloppy enough that white portions were left open. YN tried to cover several of them up, but before she could get far, trumpets starting sounded from across the hedge maze. The three jumped, scampering around and trying to paint any roses they saw with a single swipe of red. It didn’t do much, but then the White Rabbit walked mutely in with a small frown and sighed, raising a piece of parchment and beginning to read from it. “His imperial highness, his grace, his excellency, her royal majesty, the King of Hearts, and the Knave of Hearts.” Midoriya, Bakugou, and Denki all got down onto their knees (though Bakugou seemed far more reluctant). YN glanced at them, and then got onto her knees as well and shoved her nose into the grass. The White Rabbit shuffled to the side and rolled his eyes (YN realised, peaking up, that they were two different colours) as another man stepped into view. He had a completely smug grin on his face and blonde hair that was flat and oddly natural. His blue eyes scanned over the flowers, before slowly sauntering over to the roses. Paint still dripped down from them, and YN paled at the thought of what the Red King was going to do. If these three were so freaked out, then what was his usual reaction? “Ah, yes...the red royal roses.” He whispered, caressing the roses gently in his hands. He brought it up to his nose, took a deep breath, and pulled away again. Abruptly, he ripped it off of the tree and threw it onto the ground, angrily stomping on it with his foot. “Then why the hell are they painted?!” He howled, turning to the trio. “Who the hell painted my roses red?!” “It was Deku!” Bakugou’s head snapped up, barking with a vigor. “It’s was all him!” “Midoriya, you say?” “N-no, Your Majesty! It w-was...Denki! Sorry, Denki.” “Huh?” Denki looked up, quirking his head. “But I thought it was Bakugou who said to paint them?” “Enough!” The Red King bit, stomping his foot again. “Off with their heads!” YN paled, looking up with wide eyes. Several knights stepped forward and started dragging the three off, with only Bakugou spitting and kicking the whole way down. YN was left alone in front of this menace, and she felt her blood cool. “And what’s this?” The Red King looked down at YN with a sneer before snapping his fingers. “Knave!” “Y-y-yes, King Monoma.” From behind several knights, a young man scampered out. Instantly, he felt different from the others; he was meek, holding himself close and almost shuffling out of sight. He skittered up to YN and knelt, gently tilting her chin up to look her in the eyes. His own were a stunning shade of indigo, dark and almost black. Tufts of similar hair poked out from under his helmet, framing his face and making him look...well, beautiful. He seemed to be glowing under the eternal afternoon sun, and he blinked softly. “Oh.” He murmured, eyes wide and pleading. “Y-you’re…” “Well?” The Red King huffed, crossing his arms. “Get on with it!” “Sh-she’s a girl, sir! Your Majesty, sir!” The Knave jumped up like he was burned, hands snapping to his side and looking terrified. “A human girl!” “Oh?” The Red King leaned down to YN, raising his eyebrow and smirking. “Well hello, there.” “Hello, uh...your majesty.” “She’s a quick learner!” He grinned, though it felt horribly malicious. “Get up, my dear.” YN got to her feet as quickly and gracefully as possible, making it her one goal to survive. The Cheshire Cat cackled in an echo, and YN felt tempted to spit some insult at him, but knew that it would only land her in trouble. “Follow me, my dear.” The Red King waved his sceptre lackadaisically, beginning to move through the gardens. YN started trotting after him, noting that he seemed like a complete control freak-and that even stepping ahead of him would be dangerous. The Knave caught up with both of them, glancing at YN out of the corner of his eye every couple of seconds. YN glanced back, trying to make sure that her head was on a swivel, before looking ahead when the Red King started talking about something mundane. Meanwhile, Tamaki was having a stroke. He hated his job. He hated being looked at. He hated being told what to do, hated that he was a glorified butler, hated that his best friends were scattered across Wonderland. But this was the first time in...too long that he’d seen another actual human being that wasn’t completely cruel. This young woman seemed sensible, though, and seemed to restrain herself from something stupid. She held herself with a certain grace that Tamaki hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “Knave!” Monoma barked, spinning around. “Stop zoning out, before you lose your head!” “S-s-sorry,” Tamaki whispered, bowing his head and fiddling with his fingers. Monoma lowered his eyes in disdain, but let it go in favour of pointing to the castle. “Give our sweet guest a room, Knave.” Monoma lowered his eyes, and Tamaki realised with a chill that Monoma had crueller intentions. No one was ever allowed into the guest rooms of the castle unless they were going to be executed, or worse-assassinated. Why Monoma wanted to kill this sweet, King-abiding young woman, Tamaki had no clue, but he shook and nodded his head sheepishly. “A-as you wish…” “As I wish…?” “Y-your majesty.” “Good dog,” Monoma smirked again, walking off as Tamaki bit the inside of his cheek. He hated this, hated the Red King, hated Wonderland. And this poor girl was going to be killed because, what, Monoma just didn’t like her? It was a cruel world that Tamaki lived in, and a crueller fate for the young woman. “You’re Tamaki.” Tamaki jumped out of his skin at the woman’s soft tone. Her tense demeanour had melted away, leaving her gently smiling at him. “How…?” “You look like someone I know.” She looked ahead, rocking her hands a bit. “And you remind me of him a lot. Actually, everyone here is very familiar. The Red King, the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat...you.” “R-really?” Tamaki felt his heartstrings being pulled almost dramatically, and a flush overtook his face. “Yeah!” The young woman chirped. “Oh...I suppose here, you don’t know my name. I’m YN.” “YN…” Tamaki tested it on his tongue, and he could almost feel it rolling around in his mouth and on his tongue like a delicate sweet. It made warmth surge through him, and something in his gut twitched. It made him feel warm, flooding through him like good memories. He stopped in his tracks, feeling like he was on fire before he gasped. “Huh?” YN stopped and turned around, tilting her head. “Are you okay?” “Y-you…” Every cell in Tamaki’s body screamed out for him not to hurt her. No, she was something far more than just a woman. She was someone that brought him comfort even then, in the Red King’s gardens, where the rest of Wonderland couldn’t even touch them. It was them against the world. “Wait.” Tamaki turned around, making sure that there were no new cards slinking around nearby. YN raised her eyebrow and gave him a curious look, tilting her head. “Is something wrong?” “Come with me.” Tamaki felt a strange surge of confidence through him, holding his hand for YN to take. “If you stay here, you’ll be k-killed.” “What?” YN’s eyes went wide, and she took his hand. He began to run through the maze, knowing every twist and turn like the back of his hand. The evergreen hedges folded into pale bushes, and then into red grass that he missed so dearly. In the distance, he heard Monoma yelling for him, but for once, he didn’t listen. He kept on running, booking it for the edge of the woods until the sky was consumed by trees and the mome raths scattered at the sound of their pounding feet. YN was panting behind him, doing her best to keep up, but he finally skittered to a halt before a great wall. It was the edge of Wonderland, at the very border of the Red King’s land. He turned to YN. “I can get you past here. From there, you can get home safely.” “What’s going on?” YN’s eyes were wide, confused and alert. “We all know you, YN.” Tamaki sighed, feeling an incredible sense of melancholy and nostalgia come over him. “I don’t know how...but we do. And you can’t stay here.” “I…” YN tensed, and Tamaki knew why. She had no reason to trust him. He was just a complete stranger that said he knew her, even though he technically didn’t. There was no reason that she should do anything with him, even if-YN smiled, and Tamaki froze. His heart roared in his ears, and the flush on his cheeks came back tenfold. The world was spinning around her like she was the sun, and Tamaki let out a nervous laugh. Nervous? What was more nervous than nervous? That’s what he was. He was stone in front of this goddess, and he could only shuffle his feet. “Y-you should go before Monoma realises that we’re...yanno…” “Right.” YN nodded, looking over the wall before walking over to it. She pressed her hand to it, and there was a breezy laugh over her shoulder. “Now, now, YN.” The Cheshire Cat started reclining on her shoulder, moving his hands to wrap around her shoulders. “Isn’t it lovely here? I’m sure that the Red King just wanted you to stay the night~” “Shut up, dumb cat.” YN bit, and pressed her hand into the wall. A door appeared out of nowhere, swinging open, and Tamaki sighed. YN turned back to him, giving him a shy smile. “Stay safe, ok?” “I-I will!” Tamaki jumped, his hands snapping to his side. YN lingered through the doorway, like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Tamaki glanced around, unsure what she was waiting for. “I...I don’t think I’d be able to tell you this in real life.” YN looked down, eyes flickering across the dirt. “But I like you. A lot.” Tamaki jumped. “Wh-what?!” “I guess, since this isn’t real…” YN paused. “Right?” “Oh.” Tamaki only felt confused and could barely make two words. “What?” “This is…oh, nevermind.” YN took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders as the Cheshire Cat slinked off. “Goodbye, Tamaki.” She walked through, and Tamaki saw a light. 

Tamaki woke up on his desk and had a heart attack. 

He jumped up, hoping he didn’t attract too much attention from the rest of his class. Oddly enough, though, only Mirio, Neijre, and YN were in the room. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, and Tamaki felt instant mortification. “There he is!” Mirio smiled brightly at him, waving. “Have a good nap?” “Y-you let me sleep!” Tamaki paled, feeling ready to drip out of his seat and onto the floor. YN turned and smiled softly. “You deserve it.” “Yeah! And it sounded like you were having a good dream!” Nejire giggled. “You were smiling and bright red!” “I-I was?! Oh, god!” Tamaki’s hands rushed to his face, slapping his cheeks in hopes of willing the flush down. He felt sick to his stomach; did he say anything in his sleep? Did YN know? Was it weird? “C’mon, Tama.” YN rose and placed a gentle hand on Tamaki’s back. “We should head to our dorms before it gets too late.” Tamaki’s head snapped up as Mirio and Neijre began walking out the door. YN waited next to him, soft eyes on him. He felt like the world was slowed to a stop. YN was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and the gentle way that she looked at him made his heart race. He loved her for the longest time, and no matter what, she always managed to make him into goo.

  He supposed his crush was like a rabbit hole, and he was still falling. 

[smuckersblr]

Clueless Part 1

Peter tapped his freshly manicured french nails on the marbled countertop. Italian music was softly playing on the stereo near the fridge, the TV in the living room across from where he stood was playing the muted news. Another attack in Manhattan taken care of by the red robot that everyone is calling IronMan.

Peter huffed and looked over the dieted food for his dad he had just packed for his lunch, and waited for the coffee to be done pouring. “Daddy! Hurry up you’re gonna be late for your meeting!” Peter’s dad, Tony Stark, was a world-renowned businessman/engineer.

And Peter was his ‘infamous child prodigy’, is what Dr.Strange, his dad’s close friend, likes to call him. Peter was the popular kid at school, the one who knew how to dress amazingly enough to be on the cover of ELLE with his famous everyday outfits, the kid that had all A’s and was on the honor roll each year and won many science conventions first place awards; and yet he was still known to be the most liked and admired at school.

Peter bit his glossed lips while examining his manicure, thinking about the dinner tonight that he had to go to with his dad, something about ‘linking up with old friends. Tony came into the room through the arch and was fixing his tie while looking at his watch.

“Pete don’t tell me you made that crap diet food for me today, I’m gonna have a long day of meetings and a burger already sounds amazing for lunch.” Peter scrunched up his freckled nose in distaste at the grease patty his father called heaven.

Peter poured his dad's coffee in a stainless steel coffee cup. “Daddy you know Dr. Strange said that it’s the best way to help if you want to live past fifty.” Tony rolled his eyes and took the packed food and coffee cup anyways. “So now you're going to listen to whatever that man tells you?” Peter pecked his dad’s cheek, rubbing away the gloss smudge with his thumb with a fond smile.

“I’m gonna listen to any man with a Bachelor's degree daddy.” His dad smiled fondly and hugged his son. “That’s my boy.” And before Tony left through the archway to the foyer he turned around and looked Peter up and down.

“You and the girls plan something for after school? Because you know we’re going out tonight kid.” Peter looked down over his clothes for the day. A Versace dual print button-up that reached down midthigh with white shorts. And a white Gucci belt to cinch his waist to show his figure and his white leather Prada pumps with his Speedy Bandouliere 25 to tie everything together.

“We’re matching today and it was Nat’s turn to pick the designer, and I know dad all you’ve been talking about is this dinner.” Tony hummed and sipped his coffee, rolling his eyes at his son’s attitude but, never-the-less hugged Peter and both walked out to the front of their round-about cobbled driveway and both went into their respectable vehicles.

----------

Once Peter rolled up to Natasha’s giant house with the same green patch of luscious grass and beautifully cut bushes around the property with giant gates at the entrance, Peter honked twice, and while waiting he checked himself out in his bedazzled hand mirror.

His curls for the day were in wet-styled auburn curls and his eyes were glossed with a wet shine and blush blended perfectly into his tan skin from his dad’s last business trip in Mexico. Peter smiled at the enchanting memory of mimosas being handed to him on the beach with the sound of waves crashing in the background and oiled pure white skin under the blazing sun and the sound of beautiful Latino music playing at the beach’s bar behind him.

Peter remembered the dream-like Hispanic men lounging around him in swimming shorts and glorious brown skin and bright white smiles. His dad finally enjoyed his time without work or stress at the bar, smiling and laughing with beautiful Latina women.

Peter snapped out of his loving memory when Natasha jumped in the front seat of his white topless jeep.

“Hey Pete, hurry so we can get to Shuri’s house, I don’t want to hear her complain about being late to class.” She rolled her eyes lovingly and looked at herself through the front seat mirror and pushed up her curls.

He snorted at Nat's teasing and pulled away from the curb. “You know that outfit will catch Steve’s eye right?” She looked me up and down with a devilish smirk on her red painted lips, Peter always did admire how she pulled off red so damn well.

Peter looked over at her once they hit a red light. “Every outfit I wear catches that man’s eye, Nat.” Then another burst of laughter came out from both of them.

Once Peter pulled up to Shuri’s house, he already knew she was gonna give them hell for the time.

Peter absentmindedly looked at the time on the jeep, only ten minutes ‘till the bell rings, they’ve got plenty of time. Shuri came in the car with a flourish of the door slamming shut and a huff that came from her lips. While Peter was pulling away from the curb he looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at Shuri.

“What’s got you in a fit S?” Shuri flung a strand of her box braid behind her shoulder in annoyance and sulked in the back with her Prada handbag clutched in her lap. “T’Challa was actin’ lame this mornin’, only because I asked him why he was acting out last night with his friends,” And once Shuri started talking about her brother, both Natasha and Peter tuned in, even when they arrived in the school’s parking lot, the deets on T was always juicy.

“Get this guys I overheard T talkin’ about you Pete and how he’s surprised your daddy hasn’t sent you to a catholic school already because he and his friends think you're easy, then somehow that turned into a convo on how he would totally--and I quote--"Tap that ass".” She said this conversationally while all three of them were walking towards the school with their heels clicking and bags in hand.

Peter gawked and Nat let out a snort. “Okay, but doesn’t he know that Pete is a total virgin?” Nat brought up while Peter was minutely speechless for the first time in forever and then he snapped back to life. “What a skeeze.'' Both girls nodded in resolution and then they split for class once they got into the school’s hallway.

———

At lunch Peter walked to his and the girls' table in the middle of the outside cafeteria with a lime popsicle in one dainty hand, sucking the tip of the icy treat while soaking in the glances he got from his peers. Peter sat with a flourish and waved at the girls in greeting.

“Pete whatcha doing tonight I wanna see if you could go shopping with us.” Wanda leaned forward with her chewing gum on one finger while she chewed on her apple slices.

Peter pouted, “Sorry Wand, I got this dinner thing with my dad and his friends tonight.” Wanda gave a humph and hunched her shoulders. “You know I find it weird how Pete’s dad is an actual DILF and his friends are just as fine.” Shuri brought up, which got the girls around the table nodding in agreement. Peter rolled his eyes and flipped Shuri off when she broke out laughing.

Lunch had just begun but usually, Steve would be right next to Peter with his macchiato in hand. “Looking for your boy toy?” Shuri swirled a baby carrot in the dollop of the ranch she only treated herself to once a month.

Peter grimaced and shook his head indifferently, sucking the treat back into his mouth with an eye roll from his friend's laughter. Peter knew that Steve had it for him and was at his beck and call even if he acted like he was just doing it to be nice.

Peter rarely felt guilty for using his crush to his advantage but he also explicitly told Steve that he wasn’t looking to date anyone. Besides his father would go ballistic on him, he distinctly told him he wasn’t allowed to date anyone, and I quote, ‘until you find a guy who has his own business that I can buy and make sure that I have control over him’.

Peter was drawn out of his thoughts when he realized there was a shadow cast over him. Peter turned and titled his head up, there standing was his saving grace in the hands of his best friend. “One almond milk macchiato with no foam and two shots of espresso for my very beautiful best friend, Peter Stark.”

Sam by Steve’s side made a face and looked at Steve hurt, “I thought I was your beautiful best friend.” Steve ignored him though and smiled beamingly at Peter’s plucked arched eyebrow. “You gonna give me it or are you also my handler.” Nat by his side snorted and shook her head. “Not until you look at my outfit Stark.” Peter rolled his eyes with an apathetic air to him.

Peter didn’t like playing Steve’s silly games, but he still wanted his coffee and he wanted it now. So he let his eyes roam up and down Steve’s body. A Classic Damier Pique polo and nice fitted dusty blue slacks. He wore a smirk on those lips every female seemed to love and his blonde hair was slicked back with a pair of black Gucci sunglasses on his head.

Peter furrowed his brows and glared at Natasha who was pointedly not catching his eyes. “Did Nat tell you we were matching with Louis today?”

“Just took a wild guess, cuz I know she knows what I like on you.” Peter rolled his eyes and feigned a vexed look. “You know I told you I can't have you flirting with me Stevie, I'm not allowed to date.” Steve shrugged his shoulders and handed over Peter’s drink.

“You know you can't keep me away from you, doll.” Sam scoffed next to him and shook his head, walking away from the situation and heading towards the benches where their friends stood.

“You better follow your only source of affection before he decides to not hold your hand anymore when your feelings get hurt.” Peter waved his hand in a dismissive way and turned back to the table.

Steve shook his head, even though Peter wasn’t paying any more attention to him. Sometimes Steve wishes he could just smack the sense into Peter that he would do anything to be with him. Maybe instead of a smack, it’d be a kiss.

----------

At Eleven Madison Park, Peter dined with his father, Rhodey, and Dr. Banner. The bright smiles and charisma felt like second nature to Peter, he was taught great mannerisms by his Nonna and Nonno when he used to stay at their condo in Malibu while his dad was out on business trips.

“Listen, all I'm saying Tony, is that Pete has the credentials to be a part of my branch.” Bruce held his hands up in surrender. Peter sipped the glass of champagne idly, pretending that he wasn’t the face of this conversation.

“Oh trust me, I know my genius son has the credentials to be a part of any big business. But I rather him not work for anyone,” Tony cut a piece of steak with vigor and popped it in his mouth.

“Besides he’s too much like me, he wouldn’t listen to you Bruce, he likes challenges.” Bruce laughed and shook his head, looking over at Peter with a smile.

“The kids gotta start somewhere Tones.” Rhodey pointed out with a raised brow, his eyes going over to Peter where he was cutting a sliver from his seasoned lamb. “Jeez, Rhodes you say it like my son can’t start out big.” Tony lifted his wine glass to his lips with a stubborn glint to his eyes, he always did get protective of his son.

“I never said that-” Rhodey was cut off by a phone's ringtone chiming. Tony grunted and pulled out his stark phone with an annoyed air to him. Rhodey looked over to Peter and gave a pleading look, “I never said that Pete.” Peter laughed under his breath and lifted his champagne flute towards Rhodey in a tribute to his faith in the man. “I know Rhodey.”

Rhodey smiled and saluted his glass back, sipping his white wine and looking over at Bruce trying to not grimace at his meal. “Whoever thought to themselves that, “oh yes lamb's tongue sounds like a great meal to serve” should be in prison.” that got Peter smiling wider and knocked the toe of his heel to Bruce’s shin lightly, playfully.

The rest of the dinner was spent with laughs and more teasing, but soon rolled into business talk like it usually trickled into with every event they go to. But before his dad started going on one of his rants on his current projects, Dr. Banner quickly set his wine glass down from lifting to his mouth and hurriedly said: “Maybe we shouldn’t get into details while Peter is still here?”. The words make Peter stop mid-bite and look up from his plate to see the shifty eyes of one Dr. Banner and Tony Stark. Rhodey seemed just as confused and paused in his own autopilot of taking a sip from his tumbler. But before Peter could try and butt in and demand a reason, the waiter came by and asked if they would like any dessert, to which Peter got distracted by his father shoving a menu of the small assortment of desserts the restaurant served. Tony knew his son had a thing for sweets and got lost in his own world easily once he focused on something else. One point to daddy Stark and zero to the poor spawn of the billionaire.

[devilmeows]

14 for the first prompt list and/or 15 for the second?

im a simple person, i see and/or, i disregard the or and i do Both

14. "But I love you!"

15. A and B reminisce about the first time they met.

again not beta read because it's midnight, my beta reader is Busy and my brain is Melting

14. "But I love you!"

Today was the day: Astrid was finally going to see Off the Hook live. Well, she’d see them through a screen, because train tickets to Inkopolis were expensive as hell. She was supposed to watch the concert with Viv, but unfortunately the inkling had caught a nasty cold and Finn had to practically tape them to their bed and bribe them with an astronomical amount of snacks to get them to stay home and rest. Oh well, at least they’d still be able to watch the concert. And there would probably be more concerts for them to attend together. One day.

There was still about half an hour to go before she would be sent the link to the website that would host the concert, but Astrid was already fully ready, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bottle of juice and a packet of instant noodles she’d prepare once she received that link. Because then she’d have exactly fifteen minutes to do so, and it was just enough for her to cook and immediately inhale her food. And then the concert would start. It would be so cool. Her tentacles, which were tied in a simple ponytail for once, couldn’t stop twitching with excitement.

“Astrid?”

The octoling took her eyes off her computer screen to look at her girlfriend. His head was poking out from behind the wall that separated the living room from the corridor that led to their room. He was smiling one of those smiles that preceded him asking for a favour, because he knew Astrid couldn’t resist it. And he was doing the thing where his freckles flashed just a little bit for even more cute points.

“Yes?”

“Your concert’s starting in half an hour, right?”

“Yeah, about half an hour. Why?”

He stepped into the living room as his smile widened, holding two consoles in his hands.

“Wanna play some Pokémon with me while you wait?”

Astrid blinked. She hadn’t played Pokémon in a while, but Robin had been playing a lot of it since she’d introduced him to it. She figured he would like it, and she was happy that she’d been right. Sometimes, the sounds of Pokémon battles were her background noise as she worked on something else. Whenever she looked up from her work, she’d see Robin looking either very focused or smiling at his 3DS, both of which made her feel warm inside.

“Sure, why not.”

Astrid patted the floor next to her as an invitation for him to sit down. The other octoling happily complied, plopping down beside her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He handed her her 3DS, the silver one. She checked the cartridge slot at the back, and saw that her copy of Pokémon X was already in it.

“I was thinking of doing battles,” Robin said as she turned on her console. “I have a bunch of Pokémon I need to evolve first, but there’s a few teams I built that I’d like to try out! And also I just want to kick your ass.”

Astrid scoffed. “I’d like to see you try, my dear. My Pokémon are unbeatable.”

Robin smirked and hummed noncommittally. Astrid squinted at him, but he only smirked wider. I’ve been playing this game for longer than he has, she thought, and my pokémon are strong as hell. There’s no way I’ll lose. She was certain she could wipe that grin off his face in less than five minutes. She’d kiss him to make up for utterly defeating him. And then she’d kiss him some more, because he deserved it.

After making an Onix, a Feebas, a Haunter and a Pumpkaboo evolve, as well as accidentally trading the same Pidgey twice, they finally started setting up their battle. A simple 4v4 so that it wouldn’t take too long, any Pokémon, no banned items- Astrid did think that last rule was a little strange, but she didn’t protest. None of her Pokémon held any items anyway. The screen of her 3DS faded to black as she accepted Robin’s battle invitation, and as the Pokémon selection menu and both their teams appeared, she frowned.

“Alomomola, Houndoom, Mienshao, Cinccino, Bronzong and Cryogonal?” She thought out loud. “That’s...a team.”

“That’s my team!” He replied with a smile. He was sitting in front of her now, so that they wouldn’t be able to see each other’s screens. “I like it very much. I named the Mienshao after you!”

“Because I punch people in the face with my long arms?”

“That, and because you’re really pretty.”

Astrid’s lesbian brain froze. “How dare you.”

“Love you!” Robin blew her a kiss.

Finally, the battle started. Astrid led with Blaziken, while Robin led with Alomomola. Hm, a Water-type. That’s not good. That’s fine, I’ll take the risk anyway. She used Slash to gauge how much damage her Pokémon could land, and to her surprise, the move only took a little of the pink fish’s HP. Said pink fish then used Wish. Huh. Well, I’ll try something more powerful then. Before her Blaziken could use Sky Uppercut, Robin switched his Alomomola out for his Mienshao. Astrid almost felt bad as her alter ego took a good amount of damage....only to be immediately healed by Wish. Hm. Well, that was fine. Nothing to worry about. It’d be dead by next round.

...Except it did not die. Strangely, it seemed to take less damage than it had taken the round before. Astrid the Mienshao proceeded to use Swords Dance. Astrid the Octoling smirked. I’ve got you now! One more Sky Uppercut, and the enemy was almost in the red. Could’ve used Flare Blitz and killed it in one go, but oh well.

“Goodbye, me!”

The Mienshao used Aerial Ace. Her Blaziken instantly fainted.

“Yeah,” Robin said with a smile, “goodbye you!”

“How-” she shook her head. “It’s fine, I still have enough Pokémon to whoop your ass.”

Her girlfriend had the audacity to snort, so she sent out her Gengar. With one hit of Psychic, Astrid the Mienshao was gone.

“Aha! Take that.”

“Hm, okay, didn’t think you’d outspeed me, but okay!”

Robin sent out Houndoom. Astrid immediately retrieved her Ghost-type, letting Houndoom use Nasty Plot in the process. She squinted. Time for a quadruped fight I guess, she thought, sending out Luxray.

“What?”

“I am not sorry~” Robin sing-songed as his Houndoom took out her Luxray with a single Flamethrower.

She had no idea how that had just happened. The Dark-type even took some damage for some reason. “Okay, you know what?” Astrid sent out Gengar. “Fuck you!” She made it use Dazzling Gleam, which took half of the opposing Pokémon’s HP. But a second later, it was taken out by Dark Pulse. “How?”

Robin giggled, looking far too happy at Astrid’s distress. She was down to one Pokémon now, while the other octoling still had three. This wasn’t fair!

“It’s all up to you, big bird,” she muttered, sending out Honchkrow.

At the sight of the Flying-type, Robin gasped. He retrieved Houndoom, instead sending out...

“Oh and I was worried that I’d lose,” Astrid snorted as she watched a Cinccino appear on the field, “but you send a pile of fluff at me?”

Robin said nothing. His Normal-type’s HP dropped to the orange after Honchkrow’s Wing Attack, but that didn’t seem to alarm him. Instead, he just smirked as he tapped on the move his Pokémon was going to use. Astrid cracked her knuckles, ready to watch Night Slash obliterate the fluffy chinchilla- except said fluffy chinchilla somehow attacked first. It used Rock Blast. It was super effective, but it was fine, it hadn’t done a significant amount of damage. Maybe the deities of random would smile down on her and let the move only hit twice.

Except the deities of random had nothing to do with this. Rock Blast hit twice. Three times. Four times...

“What the fuck,” Astrid whispered, eyes widening as her pokémon’s HP started getting dangerously low, “What the FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK!”

Robin didn’t say anything, because he simply could not stop his laughter. He only laughed harder as his girlfriend threw him a shocked and outraged glare when her Honchkrow fainted after the fifth Rock Blast hit.

“HOW DID YOU DO THAT WITH A CINCCINO???”

The other octoling was now laughing so hard he was practically crying. Astrid’s tentacles twitched so much they were threatening to snap her scrunchie.

“Skill Link-” he took a deep breath, “Skill Link is a wonderful thing, my dear.”

“You- I- I- What-” Her stammering threw Robin into another laughing fit. Oh, her pride was wounded, injured, deceased on the floor. She must’ve looked hilariously crestfallen, because he laughed harder every time he looked at her. She threw her hands up in the air, then lightly pushed him. “How dare you do this to me! Go away!”

“But I love you!” He protested, wiping his tears dramatically and making his freckles flash at the word love.

“I don’t!” She joked, pointing towards the kitchen. “Go away!”

Robin was still chuckling as he stood up, blowing her one last kiss before he disappeared behind the kitchen wall. Astrid sat there, pouting, staring at her 3DS that still showed the Cinccino’s smug little bastard face. How dare. How dare he be better than her at Pokémon while he’d only started playing the games hardly a month ago. It was impressive though, how he’d managed to do it. The Pokémon he’d used weren’t the most popular and you didn’t usually see them in people’s top 10 favourites. Maybe there was a reason why he had picked those Pokémon in particular? She remembered how Houndoom had taken some damage with every move it had used, and something clicked in her brain. Wait, isn’t there a whole section of players who play strat? Is that what he did? She’d never bothered to go into that, simply because she had no patience for all the grinding it took to get a perfect Pokémon: she was good with spamming Flare Blitz until it knocked something out.

Her computer’s ding made her jump, and suddenly she remembered what she’d been waiting for and all the adrenaline rushed back into her body. There it was: the concert link! Her phone buzzed with a few texts, probably from an equally as excited Viv. Before she read those though, she needed to make her food. She clicked on the link and reached for her noodles as the page loaded...only to be met with thin air.

“Peace offering?” Robin had returned, smiling, with a steaming bowl of instant noodles in one hand and a can of soda and a pack of cookies in the other.

You’re too good to me. Astrid pretended to still be annoyed for a second before she made grabby hands at the food.

“Offering accepted!”

The purple octoling’s tentacles twitched happily, and he once again sat down by his girlfriend’s side, carefully setting down the bowl so that it wouldn’t spill. When he put down the soda and cookies, Astrid shuffled closer to him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the chopsticks lying on top of the cookies, “but you didn’t have to do this, I still have fifteen minutes before the concert.”

“But I wanted to do this for you,” Robin replied with a purr. “Also, sunshine, I love you, but you’re way too excited to be allowed in the kitchen. You’d burn everything down.”

She slurped her noodles very loudly. ...Can’t argue with that.

“Can you explain how you did that, like, after the concert?” Astrid asked, pointing at her 3DS.

Robin smiled, and his freckles glowed happily. “Of course I can.”

He leaned against his girlfriend’s shoulder. Both of them purred.

15. A and B reminisce about the first time they met

Reef's heels clicked against the hard floor as she furiously stomped towards her office. Several octolings hurriedly stepped out of her way as they saw her- as they fucking should. She was in no mood to deal with any of their bullshit today, and if anyone got too close she would not be held responsible for how her tentacles would react. They were already having an absurdly hard time not busting out of her kelp's grasp. When she finally reached her office, she kicked the door open and slammed it shut behind her, effectively making the walls around her tremble. She stood there for a moment, looking around for something to smash against the ground with her entire strength, anything she could tear apart to channel her rage, but there was nothing that could be spared in her office today.

Absolutely fucking peachy.

Instead, she settled for a frustrated roar and went to sit down on top of her desk. She brought her hands up to her hair, and her impatient tentacles almost slapped her arms as she untied the strings of kelp. Once that was done, she buried her face in her hands while her hair writhed wildly.

Reef had received a report on more deserters today. Four of them had died - good fucking riddance -, two of them had been captured - she'd pay them a visit later - and only one of them had made it to the surface alive.

And of course, that had to be fucking Oleander.

Out of all the octolings that had managed to make it out alive, it just had to be her, because the world hated Reef apparently. It had to be her ex, the woman who had had the nerve to break up with her simply because she thought that maybe the inklings weren’t that bad and life on the surface could be nice.

(And also because she didn’t like how Reef treated everyone around her, but Reef didn’t see what the problem with that was, so she’d dismissed that thought entirely.)

She wished she could’ve been there. She wished she could’ve been the one to catch these traitors in the act. She wouldn’t have killed them, no: death was much too kind a fate for the likes of them. There was another place, far deeper underground than the most distant domes, that was perfectly suited for traitorous octolings. A place where the sunlight they chased after would never reach them.

Had she been there, that was where Reef would’ve sent Oleander.

She tried to picture it: her claws gripping the scientist’s shirt, holding her at arm’s length above a gaping, dark hole as she tried to escape her grasp- but she flinched as she tried to have a look at her face.

Reef let out a low growl.

Reef had no friends. Reef didn’t need friends: she had been created for one purpose, and one purpose only, and she was going to make sure she’d be up for it. Friends would only slow her down. The mere concept of friends hardly existed in the domes, anyway: you either had siblings or sparring partners, and that was it. There was no time for friendship when you were fighting a war.

But for some reason, Reef wanted to be friends with that octoling.

Her hair was what first caught her eye: in the midst of all the vivid colours, her lavender really stood out. A pretty colour for a pretty octoling. Reef saw her once on her way to training, and then no sign of her for a solid month. But she sure was on her mind. Moderately tall, dark green eyes, a neutral, almost bored expression...Probably a scientist, judging from the long white coat she’d been wearing.

At first, Reef didn’t exactly like how much she thought about that octoling. It made her feel things. And she wasn’t a fan of feeling things.

She saw her again during training. Reef had just successfully beaten an elite soldier to a pulp, and she’d been so busy gloating about her victory to the other soldiers watching that she almost tripped over the pretty octoling she’d been thinking about nonstop for an entire month as she inspected the defeated soldier’s wounds. Dark green eyes met ice blue, and Reef smirked to hide her embarrassment. Always an excellent go-to reaction to have. Smile, your big fang freaks them out and makes you look scary. And for some reason, the scientist mirrored her smirk.

“Impressive,” she commented. “I am no expert on fighting, but even I can tell that you are quite skilled.”

Reef felt her hearts miss several beats. “Why, thank you,” she replied, having no idea how she managed to keep herself from stuttering. “But that was nothing. You should’ve seen the time I fought three whole soldiers on my own and won.”

She flexed her precious muscles in a way that she hoped looked cool and somewhat natural. And somehow, that worked: the scientist’s gaze flicked to her toned arms, and stayed there for a long moment. Reef felt like she might explode right under the octoling’s eyes as she then glanced at her exposed abs. Ah, yes, she was quite proud of those too.

Someone behind them shouted something that Reef didn’t quite catch. Immediately, she turned around, tentacles flaring and coiling like a snake about to strike as she aimed her octoshot at the crowd.

“What was that?”

Silence. The assembled octolings all looked away, looking either embarrassed or scared. Good.

“Thought so.”

She clipped her gun to her belt, then turned back to the scientist, who was now looking at her with a new, admirative shine in her dark green eyes. The two octolings smiled at each other.

“I’m Reef,” she said, holding one hand out while the other rested on her hip. “Reef Moltentide. DJ Octavio’s future second-in-command, as soon as he gets tired of his current one.”

“Oleander Rivea,” the lavender octoling replied, shaking Reef’s hand. Her skin was so much softer than her own calloused hands. “I am simply a scientist...for now.”

Ambitious. I like that. Her smirk only grew wider.

They saw each other regularly after that event. Sometimes, they simply waved at each other when they had no time to speak, and sometimes they talked and talked and talked, until Reef could practically hear her voice in the silence as well as recall every detail of Oleander’s face once they parted ways. Their feelings quickly evolved into something that went way past simple friendship, but as it turned out, Oleander liked to make it a little difficult for Reef. She could tell by the amused glint in her dark green eyes as she subtly flirted with her in front of Reef’s superior officers, and how she stared at her through lidded eyes just a moment too long as they tested their newest model of googles. Those were moments where it was impossible for the elite soldier to flirt back, or else she would lose her position, or worse. She loved it, though: it always left her wanting more. She wanted so badly to hold Oleander’s waist and pull her closer, so close that she would be able to see every single detail in her irises, so close that she would feel her heartbeats under her skin. Every time she thought about the pretty octoling, Reef realised how much she wanted to kiss Oleander.

And her wish was granted on the night that they were both promoted: Oleander as dome 1’s head scientist, and Reef as Octavio’s second-in-command. After the mandatory celebrations and hours of being congratulated by every meaningless octoling in existence, Oleander had pulled Reef away and into her room, and they’d hardly waited a moment after the door was closed before they kissed. It was just as intense and felt just as amazing as Reef thought it would be. She held her face between her hands, tilting her head whenever she wanted to deepen the kiss, while the lavender octoling slowly ran her hands through the elite’s black and red tentacles. Occasionally, she would pull at them to interrupt their kissing and simply see Reef’s playfully irritated frown. She was the only one who could poke fun at her without consequences, and she knew it.

They didn’t sleep much that night.

That memory was followed by cold, cold dark green eyes, staring at her for one last time before storming out the door. And as her anger and frustration rose once again, another nasty, nasty feeling wormed its way into the mix: sadness.

She still loved Oleander, and she fucking hated it.

“Fuck off!” Reef barked as someone knocked on her door. With Oleander gone, there was only one person who she couldn’t be rude to, and Octavio did not knock: he simply came in uninvited. Therefore, she was perfectly allowed to tell whoever was behind that door to fuck off. Besides, everyone knew that, if they valued their life, they stayed away from her when she told them to.

Apparently, this octopus didn’t particularly care about their life, since they let themself in anyway. Reef’s gaze snapped up to meet the other octoling’s eyes. Of fucking course it’s the Callisto sister. She didn’t know her name, but she didn’t need to know that to remember how much of a pain in the ass that octopus was. She had always defended her worthless sister before they escaped with Ida, and since then she’d been particularly keen on annoying the hell out of Reef whenever she could.

(She remembered with a pang of anger that her other sister had been Oleander’s student.)

“I said,” Reef enunciated in a dangerously low voice, “fuck off, Callisto.”

Callisto said nothing. She simply stared at Reef, her gaze even and pink and blue tentacles staying perfectly still as opposed to her superior’s, which were vibrating with fury. There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes or posture, and Reef hated that.

“I have orders from DJ Octavio himself,” she eventually said. “He wants to see you in his throne room.”

Just what I needed, the commander snarled to herself, clenching her fists. Out of all the people he could’ve chosen to deliver this damn message, he picked the one I want dead the most. Sometimes she wondered if Octavio was as smart as he pretended to be. She took a deep breath and stood up from her chair.

“You’ve done your job,” Reef growled, “now leave.”

“I have one more thing to do before I leave,” she pulled out a file from the bag that Reef only now noticed that she had. “Oleander Rivea’s personal journal. I thought you might want to...peruse it.”

The insolent octopus had the nerve to smirk.

Before Callisto had the time to react, Reef gripped her face with one hand, placing her sharp claws at the junction between her head and her neck. The octoling’s smug expression vanished instantly, and was finally replaced by fear. With some anger too, because this was Callisto, and she hated Reef as much as Reef hated her.

“You are on thin fucking ice, Callisto,” she hissed. Her writhing tentacles cast a shadow on the shorter octoling, and she pierced her skin as she tried to wriggle out of her grasp. Dark blue blood started trickling along her neck. Reef smiled.

She would’ve stayed and punished Callisto some more, but Octavio was waiting for her, and she wasn’t in the mood to put up with the King lecturing her, so instead she tossed the soldier to the ground like a rag doll. She immediately brought her hands up to her neck, hissing in pain.

“Now get out of my sight.”

[weirdochick56]

Dress- Dean Winchester One Shot

Jealous!Dean Winchester x Plus-Size!Reader

Warnings: Self-hatred,self-doubt talks badly about self, weight, etc. PLS PLS if you’re sensitive to this please don’t read!

Word Count:  5,155 words

Disclaimer: I don’t own any SPN characters/plots mentioned.

Summary: “I don’t want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off” (Loosely based on the song “Dress” by Taylor Swift.)

*

It shouldn’t hurt this much right?

To watch something that was never yours to begin with get taken away from you, that was.

It shouldn’t feel like someone was stabbing a dozen daggers into your chest all at once then twisting it around once it was well and sunk inside your skin. It shouldn’t.

You have to know by now; Dean Winchester would only ever belong to you in your dreams.

A man like him- tall, gorgeous, charming- would never go for someone like you.

If he hadn’t done so during the many years he’d known you why would he start now?

That slender, big-chested, perky blonde on the other hand- she was exactly the kind of woman he’d go for.

And the way he looked at her, gripped onto her protruding hips and gazed at her glossy lips- it was more than obvious how much he wanted to get her into his bed.

You had spent years wishing that was you. Wishing those rough hands would hold you like that, that those sparkling emerald eyes would ravage you hungrily.

Unfortunately, not only did Dean only see you as a little sister, but you were the farthest thing from his type.

With a sharp inhale, you force yourself to look away from the heinous scene unfolding before you, even when it took nearly all your strength to do so.

Because you couldn’t tear your eyes away from how easily her body curved in that skin tight red dress, the way her long legs seemed to go on for miles in those heels...and then comparing her utter perfection to your own body- only to come up short.

You were always too fat. Your curves were always too aggressive, too vuloptuous and out of control.

Not to mention, you could never pull off a dress like that. You knew this which is why you stuck to baggy jeans, and big t-shirts and flannels.

It was what you felt comfortable in, after all.

Never pretty- you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt pretty, but that was why comfort was what really mattered to you.

Without noticing it, your eyes fill to the brim with tears when you peek back at them and realized the way Dean’s hand fit so neatly in her tiny wasp-like waist, plump pink lips tilted upwards into a tiny smirk as he stares her down with hunger.

You never even stood a chance, did you?

When the sinking feeling settles in you at the thought, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of an ocean, you suddenly get off your stool, slamming a twenty on the bar.

“I’m leaving Sammy,” you inform your best friend, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

“Y/n-“ He opens his mouth to retort something to you but one look at your face and his mouth instantly snaps shut.

You probably looked like a kicked puppy.

He offers a sympathetic little frown, looking like he wants so badly to say something but instead only nods at you without further protest.

You sniffle, shoulders sagging with the weight of your heartbreak as you trudged your way back to the dank motel you’d gotten for the night.

After a long shower and changing into a baggy shirt and shorts, you tucked yourself into your bed and began watching some TV, trying your damn hardest not to burst into tears in case the brothers came back.

This was the way it would always be.

*

Another town, another night, another hunt.

“Friggin witches man,” Dean hisses with disdain, shaking his head. “I hate them.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. “I, for one, like witches.”

Both Sam and him stare at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“...dead,” you quip with a tiny smirk, pausing right outside the motel door.

Sam chuckles, pressing the key into the slot and pushing the door open for you. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“Second that, sweetheart,” Dean sighs out with a soft smile, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and made a beeline to the bathroom.

Your chest tightens at the tiny gesture as you pause by the door.

And once more it was made clear to you just who you were to Dean; a kid. A sister.

That’s all you’d ever be, you keep reminding your crushed hopes everytime they resurrected.

You wanted to stomp them out and keep them that way, but you just couldn’t help but let a tiny part of you hope for something more.

Despite how impossible it was for that to happen.

Sam presses a gentle kiss to your forehead when he gently pushes past you and sees your conflicted expression, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“We’re going out tonight- somewhere special to celebrate. You’re coming right?”

You shoot him a look as if to say ‘really?’.

Ever since the last time you’d seen Dean with that blonde woman, you refused to go with them to any more bars, opting to stay home in your pjs, eating ice cream and binging TV.

“No,” you instantly reject the offer.

Of course Sam knew exactly why you were refusing, but whenever Dean asked, you had to make up excuses so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

Most of the time you just acted like you were too sick or too tired from the hunt and although you could tell he was concerned for you, he fortunately never pushed for more than you were willing to give him.

“But why not?” He whines. “It’s gonna be fun I promise. Plus we get to dress up for once.”

You laugh. “You say it like I wanna dress up this whale body of mine.”

“Y/n,” he enunciates sternly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re gorgeous.”

You instantly scoff, rolling your eyes. “Okay.”

“He ain’t lying,” Deans gruff voice chides in.

A towel hangs low on his slim hips as he steps out fresh from the shower.

His tan skin glistening with fresh water, sparkling green eyes, damp dirty blond hair clinging to his forehead and that manly scent are all entirely too much for you.

“I never got why you feel the need to bring yourself down, sweetheart. You’re pretty.”

You have to force yourself to snap your gaze onto your duffel bag, aimlessly ruffling through your clothes to make yourself look busy.

“I-I’m too tired,” you manage to stammer out, trying to control your pounding heartbeat.

Dean clicks his tongue with slight irritation. “You always say that.”

“Well I am,” you insist. “Plus guys, it’s not like some fancy night club is really my scene anyways.”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, it isn’t ours either. But we deserve a night out, don’t you think?”

“You guys can go. I’ll just stay here and-“

Dean cuts you off. “And what, Y/n? Wallow in self-pity?”

“Dean,” Sam warns.

“No, Sam. I’m right and she’s knows it. Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands and acting on pure instinct, you obey.

His breathtaking gaze bores straight into you, unwavering. “You think I haven’t noticed how strange you’ve been acting lately? How you refuse to share so much as a beer with us? You’re sad and I’m worried about you,” he breathes softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your brain is still unable to form anymore words. You just stare at him, watery eyed, praying to whatever will listen that the truth doesn’t burst out of you.

That you don’t blurt something like “it’s because of you dummy. Because you break my heart everytime you leave with a new set of tits. Because you could never love me the way I love you.”

Sensing your discomfort, Sam tries to diffuse the situation. “You can stay if you want to, Y/n. We understand. Right, Dean?”

Even without even looking at him, you know Sam is giving Dean a death stare.

Dean looks at you then back up at Sam, sighing. “Fine. Yeah okay.” And walks towards the bathroom to get dressed.

You instantly relax once the weight of his gaze is off you, shoulders drooping.

“Y/n. C’mon, you need to unwind. At least think about it? Look if you change your mind I texte you the address. ”

You purse your lips, staring at his puppy dog eyes. “Okay,” You whisper softly.

A little while later, the boys are all dressed up and ready to go- meanwhile you’re still in your pjs.

Dean looks absolutely scrumptious and all you want to do is rip that button off right off those broad freckled shoulders and mess up that perfectly styled spiky blonde hair.

The green-eyed five course meal pauses before you, frowning. “Not saying you don’t look good in them, but maybe a change of clothes once in a while wouldn’t hurt, sweets.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, petting your head as he walks out.

*

You know he didn’t mean it like that with his remark.

Dean would never bring you down like that, but for some reason it still stung like a bitch.

To further confirm that you would never be the kind of woman he’d please endlessly or hell- even look twice at was something Dean probably hadn’t realized he’d done but that stuck with you for the rest of your uneventful night.

At the peak of your boredom, you start looking through old pictures of you and the brothers. The nostalgia that flooded through you at the memories nearly made you cry as you came to stop on a certain one- your favorite picture.

It was one with only you and Dean, leaning on the impala. He was staring down at you with a soft smile and made you laughed gleefully at some dumb shit he’d said.

Your chest clenches tightly at the look in his eyes. It almost looked...wistful. Like he was happy and sweet and tender but also...sad.

It was the same look you’d give him.

You gasp without noticing. What if-

No.

You stop yourself before letting your thoughts get much farther and shove the picture away.

Stop getting your hopes up Y/n.

Maybe Dean was right and it was time for a change.

Because if you were going to forget the Dean Winchester, you were gonna need a hell of a replacement and the only way to get that was to at least try to look good.

You started with your hair, curling it loosely so it fell softly over your shoulders. Then you shaved your legs and went about doing your make up.

You weren’t very good at make up, but you had watched a few you tube videos so you settled for a deep wine lipstick, a bit of a Smokey eye and some mascara. Good enough.

Next was your clothes. You didn’t have very many nice clothes, but at some point Sam had convinced you to buy a few dresses and heels along with your formal FBI suits in case you needed it in the future.

You never did which had made you extremely grateful because you didn’t feel comfortable in anything other than your baggy clothes.

“Today isn’t about comfort though,” you mutter to yourself with disdain, tugging uncomfortably on the tight black dress as it clings to your thick thighs.

You clasp on some heels, walking around a bit for practice. Your ankles bend and your knees wobble at first, but the longer you walk in them, the easier it gets.

When you feel comfortable enough, you head over to the mirror, staring at yourself.

Instantly, a wave of insecurity slams down on you. The dress left basically nothing to the imagination and you were less than pleased.

Your tummy was protruding and your thighs were basically glued together. Your stretch marks were in full view too.

Before you let the thoughts get to you too much, you stop staring at yourself and spin on your heel to walk away from it.

Not today Y/n. Not when you’re this desperate to stop caring for someone who would never care for you in the way you did.

You’re forgetting Dean remeber?

*

Needless to say, your resolve doesn’t last long once you step foot into the night club bar situation the brothers had opted for.

It immediately feels like everyone is looking at you as you nervously play with your fingers, writhing uncomfortably beneath the itchy fabric of the dress.

You already regret doing this.

It isn’t long before Sam spots you by the entrance of the semi-packed club and comes running over, eyes wide.

“Y/n,” he breathes, eyes trailing over you. “Oh.”

You scrunch you’re nose up. “It looks bad doesn’t it. I knew it did! I shouldn’t have-“

“What?!” Sam shook his head furiously. “What? No. Not at all Y/n. You just look different is all.”

You look down at yourself, pouting. “Is that bad or good?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, tugging you to his side. “Good. Definitely good.”

You’re skeptical of his words, but follow him anyway to the bar where Dean is currently at- flirting with a perky brunette.

Your heart instantly drops, but you hide it behind a polite smile as Sam taps his brother’s shoulder.

“Dean. Look who’s here!”

Dean, looking downright annoyed, turns around, clearly ready to tear Sam a new one for interrupting his current rendezvous.

“Sam what- sweetheart,” the nickname falls from his lips like a curse. Like a “fuck!” Or “holy shit!”, except it’s quiet, breathless.

His mouth snaps shut when those eyes land on you, timidly standing beside Sam.

His eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales sharply. And then his eyes are flying everywhere at once, taking in your full figure with a slack jaw.

You shyly smile. “Hey, D.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and you instantly grow insecure thinking maybe it’s because of how ugly you look.

Was he so shocked to see you being “brave” by showing off your huge body like that?

“...Dean?” You hesitate.

He finally snaps out of it, shaking his head. “Y/n.” He swallows thickly, smiling warily.

Geez. That bad?

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, desperate to leave their judging faces.

In your halphazard attempt to run away, you accidentally bump into someone, nearly knocking both of you on the floor. You topple to the side in your tall heels, letting out a tiny yelp. 

Without hesitation, two big hands watch you by your arms, steadying you. 

“Be careful there sweetness,” his southern accent is thick as sweet molasses and it instantly attracts your eyes to his dark brown ones. 

You flush with embarassment when you realize how cute he is. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He lets out a bemused chuckle. “It’s quite alright, hun.”

You smile up at him bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks.” 

And with that, you start to walk away from him. He stops you before you can get too far, gripping onto your forearm firmly. 

“Wait.” 

You look cautiously at where his hand was and he quickly takes it away, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I just- I hope I’m not being too forward. You’re beautiful.” 

You raise your brows in disbelief almost instinctively, blushing madly. “Me?” you blurt incredulously. 

He laughs fully this time. “Yeah. You. Come sit with me?”

You glance over your shoulder at where the brothers were, immersed in flirty conversations with pretty women and decide why the hell not. 

So you nod at him affirmitively with a tiny smile. “Sure.”

It wasn’t long before you were laughing full-heartedly at the man, James. He was genuinely funny and cute and for whatever reason, seemed taken by you. I mean, you couldn’t possibly fathom why. 

But the more time passed with the easy banter, the more you drank and the less you worried about well, anything. 

“You wouldn’t like me in real life. I’m not like this usually,” you confess, taking sip of your matini when he compliments you once again. 

He raises a brow. “Oh? I highly doubt that. But tell me, miss Y/n, what do you usually wear?”

You lean forward, smirking confidently. (Yeah the alcohol was getting to you.)

“Well for starters, the baggiest shirts. The biggest jeans. The oldest flannels,” you lean back, laughing loudly. 

“You still look gorgeous probably.” 

You can’t help but giggle at his remark, touching his arms for a second. “Oh, James!” 

Who even are you right now? Giggling...flirting..

You weren’t used to any of this. So when he places a gentle hand on your thigh you freeze, unable to react any other way because you’d never gotten this kind of attention. 

He smirks. “Wanna head back to my place? Keep the party goin’?” 

You open your mouth to answer but are cut off by another voice- gruff and angry. 

“I don’t think so, buddy,” the deep voice bites.  

Your head snaps up and you see Dean, flaring deep green eyes glaring holes into the hand which was still nestled neatly on your thigh. 

“Take your hand off her before I make sure you don’t have one at all,” he husks without even looking at either of you. 

James instantly retracts his hand, looking between you two with his brows furrowed. 

Dean doesn’t let either of you say anything before he’s yanking you off your chair by your arm. 

“We’re leaving,” he informs grumpily, leaving no room for protesting of any kind. 

Then he’s yanking you along behind him, rough fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm as he carelessly pushes people out of his way. 

“Dean-” you whine, struggling to keep up with his long and angry strides in your heels and intoxicated state. 

He doesn’t stop until you’re standing before baby and you physically have to rip your arm from his hold.

You’re absolutely fuming at this point.

Who the fuck did he think he was, pulling you out of there like that?

“What the hell, Dean?!?” You wrap your arms around yourself to protect your exposed skin from the cool night breeze. 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you, but his voice says it all when he speaks. “Get in the car, Y/n.”

He’s one-hundred percent serious. And done. So so serious and done, in fact, that his voice wavers with the weight of his stern. 

And if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately wanted answers or the fact that you were buzzed enough to be able to ignore his fury, you might’ve let it go. 

Unfortunately, neither was currently the case. 

“No. You had no right! James was-”

“Oh, James!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up sarcastically. “Is that his name!?”

You reeled back from his harsh tone, frowning. “What the fuck is wrong with you Dean? You’re acting completely irrational.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Y/n. Absolutely nothing,” he grits out with a wry smile. 

“I’m going back inside.” You shake your head at him. 

He laughs bitterly. “And I’m the one acting irrational! That- that ass just had his hand on your thigh and you just let him. Oh. And now you’re going back inside to do what? Continue letting him feel you up?”

“And what’s so fucking wrong with that?!” You yell back, frustrated by his hurtful words. 

What was he insinutating? That you were easy? And anyway, what did he care? 

He pauses for a split-second before answering in a venomous snap. “Everything! You’re...” he trails off abruptly. 

“I’m what, Dean?” you growl, stepping closer to him. 

You licks his lips, inhaling sharply. “You’re-” he falters, softening for only a split second. “Just get in the car, sweetheart” he demands once more this time more quietly, apple green eyes shimmering under the dim street lights. 

But you refuse to back down. “No. Tell me what the hell your problem is or I go back inside.”

He let’s out a yell, slamming a hand on the hood of the car and leaning his forehead against it. “Dammit!”

You jolt, startled. He stays there for a few more seconds, back heaving with his audibly labored breaths, 

You’re afraid to touch him right now, so you just speak in a soft comforting tone. “Dean. Just talk to me. Why are you acting like this?” 

He sighs, slowly turning around to face you. He looks pissed. 

“You really wanna know why I’m acting like this?” You go to say yes but before you can, he’s cutting you off. “It because of you,” he growls. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Y/n. W-with your fucking tight little dress and your heels.” He motions loosely to you, jaw clenched and tight fists by his side. “Flaunting that ass around like-like you wanted James and every damn douchebag in there to fucking come up to you!” He spits the name out like it’s vile in his mouth and you flinch at his accusatory, disgusted tone.

Why the hell was he blaming you for something like that? It made no sense.

You raise your brows, shocked and hurt. “Oh, so because for one night I’ve decided to do what you suggested and actually got some male attention you’re acting like a little bitch?! What the hell is so wrong with that, exactly, Dean? You do this shit all the time, and you don’t see me giving you shit about it!”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and muttering, “It’s different with me.”

You bark out a laugh. “Different how?”

His jaw flexes. “I’m not a kid, for starters!”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking at him like he was out of his damn mind. “I’m not a kid Dean! When are you going to get that? There’s no need to act like a protective ass. I can damn well take care of myself.”

“I’ll get it when you stop acting like some sleazy hooker,” he snaps, green eyes flaring a darker, sinister shade.

You instantly stop, freezing at his words. As if realizing what he’s just said, Dean’s face drops.

He tries to grip your shoulder. “Y/n-“ but you aggressively shove him off of you, holding back tears.

“You’re a dick, Dean.”

He frowns apologetically. “Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m going home Dean. Alone.”

And with that, you spin on your heel and start making your way back to the motel.

*

Five minutes don’t pass of you first getting inside the motel before you hear the sound of the impala’s engine pulling up.

And suddenly the door is being thrown open, startling even your bones.

Then, before you can even react, Dean is standing in the doorway, chest heaving.

“Dean-“

“It’s because I was jealous,” he blurts as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything as he runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him.

The tiny ‘click’ of the door closing is defeaning against the tense silence now settled in the four of five feet between you two.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s nervous, cautiously look up at you. “I was jealous of James,” he repeats, the confession quiet but more powerful than if he would’ve screamed it because the raw emotion and sincerity were in clear display.

You don’t know what to say for the first few seconds after he speaks and so many thoughts are spinning around in your head.

“Dean I know I’m like your little sister and you’re protective of me but I’m fully capable of-“

“I know you are,” he mumbles, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes- something new and unfamiliar. “That’s not...” he inhales deeply, searching around in his head for the right words. “I wasn’t jealous of you as a....sister.”

Still bewildered, you step a bit closer to him. “Dean, what are you trying to say?”

He groans, chuckling softly. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Silently, he strides up to you, closing the remaining distance between you two. His hands creep up, gripping your face between them like he’d done so many times before, except this time it felt...different.

The air around you cackled with an unspoken electrifying emotion, his fingers felt like pure fire against your skin and you did it understand what exactly was about to happen but it felt like Ike you were on the verge of something big.

You gaze up at him through your lashes, questioningly.

He smiles, swiping his thumb over your cheek. “You look absolutely beautiful tonight sweetheart. Did I tell you that?”

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but blush madly. “I-I thought you didn’t like it,” you stammer out the admission, scared of his reaction.

He chuckles and his warm breath warms your skin. “Of course I do. You’re stunning. I just don’t want...other guys to see it.” He winces at his confession.

You laugh- not because it’s funny but because you’re nervous and all you can do is laugh.

He turns serious. “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you, sweetheart. I just-“ he purses his lips, pausing. “I hated seeing his hands on you. I hated the fact that he made you laugh in that way the makes your head go back and your eyes glimmer. I hated his stupid accent and his dumb hair because I knew you’d find it adorable. And fuck, I hated that he could give you everything I never could or will be able to,” he lets out all in a few breaths.

You just stare up at him, tears building up in your eyes, starstruck.

“I hate you,” you mutter finally.

He frowns. “Wh-“

You pound on his chest harshly, sobbing. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! How could you!”

You try to get your hands on him ever after he’s easily grabbed your wrists, wriggling aggressively.

“Sweetheart! Calm down. What the hell are you on about?!”

You settle for a second, warm tears rolling down your face and easily answer him because he was being a complete and utter jackass right now.

“The fact that you’d lie to me because you pity me makes you a cruel, vile human being Dean Winchester.”

He instantly shakes his head at you, eyes sad. “I’m not saying it because I pity you, sweets. Why would you even think that?”

You laugh bitterly, pointing to yourself. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m fat!”

At your words, something clicks in him and he’s suddenly titling your head up to meet his perfect green eyes.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully right now okay? You are and will forever be the goddamn most beautiful thing that asshole God has put on this earth. If there is anything I have to thank him for it’s you. Don’t you understand?” He pleads quietly.

You don’t know how you manage to work around your erratically beating heart or the fact that Dean is so close and he smells so much like him, but through the huge lump in your throat you manage to stutter something along the lines of “understand what?”

“That I have to hold myself back from moving my lips from just a few inches away your cheek or your forehead to your lips and kissing the living hell out of you every damn time I touch you. That I love everything about you, even the bad things. Especially the bad things because really, they’re all good.” He laughs breathlessly. “That I wake up and go to sleep with that sweet smile on my mind. That I would do anything to keep it on that pretty face of yours. That I fuck anything with legs imagining that it’s you I’m sinking into. That all I want- no. All I need and fucking ache for every damn day I spend with and without you is the feel of your skin and the softness of your voice.” He swallows thickly, whispering. “That I am so hopelessly in love with someone I can never have.”

You close your mouth after a few long stretched out seconds of having it open. You don’t know what to say at first, still trying to process the emotion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes and the sudden jolt of electricity shocking your entire body to your very core.

All the same, Dean is looking at you with a terrified expression, holding his breath.

Then, you speak.

“You can have me.”

He looks relieved at first, but then he turn wistful, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear, lingering with his fingertips on your cheek for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t do that. You’re so young and we’ve been practically raised together. I couldn’t.”

“But you could!” You protest, chest clenching. “For as long as I can remember, Dean, you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You bite your lip, placing a tender hand over his chest. “You’re all I need,” you finish in a breathless whisper, leaning against his touch.

You hear him breathe in shakily before he abruptly takes his hand off you and answers in a quiet, regretful tone. “I can’t.”

His words are like another stab to your chest and before you know what you’re doing-

“Fine. But don’t try to stop me from finding someone who can.” 

You angrily walk towards the door, but before you can so much as lay a finger on the door knob, Dean’s own hand is shooting out, grabbing  your elboe tightly. And then he;s yanking you back. 

“The hell you are,” he growls, crushing his mouth onto yours roughly.

The kiss is enough to freeze you in your tracks and everything stops moving for a split second as you take in the feeling of his lips on yours, hard enough to bruise. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you suck in a sharp breath, melting in to his touch as his fingertips glide into your hair, tugging at it gently. You moan lightly into his mouth as it slants over yours, deepening the kiss. 

His tongue is warm and wet and silky and he tastes like liquor and apple pie and it leaves you breathless for a minute. You drown in his scent of leather and cologne, kissing back with just as much passion, holding onto his neck and shoulders in order to remain upright because your knees are about to give out beneath you. 

The kiss happens in a flurry of heat and passion and anger and ends with unimaginable sweetness. 

You peer up at him, chest heaving. 

“Dean?” your voice trembles. 

He smiles softly. “I love you and I’ll be damned if I let you go running to some other man.”

You laugh unbelievingly. “Really? Y-you love me?”

He nods instantly. “Of course.” Suddenly, he smirks. 

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad you wore that dress.”

***

[amlovelies]

a discovery

chapter 14 of Just Another Liability

pairing: mason/f!oc (Serena Willis)

warnings: some angst and cursing. mention of childhood neglect/abandonment issues

words: 3k (I know! this is the longest installment I’ve written by far) 

read on ao3

             I wasn’t given a choice in the matter. Agent Greene needed me to meet her at the Warehouse, and by the tone of her voice I knew better than to argue. I could refuse to go, but part of me is nervous. I can’t think what would be so important.

               The drive back to Wayhaven is stressful. It’s my first time returning, and I don’t know the roads very well. At least it gives me something to focus on. Something besides the gnawing worry about seeing Mason. It took me too long to decide what to wear and I’m sure Agent Greene will be pissed when I show up. I probably shouldn’t have taken the time to apply a little eyeliner and mascara, but I had to.

               I need some sort of armor.

               I waste even more time at the front door. Everything looks the same. It’s strange to think it’s been almost a month since I was here last.

               They’re probably all in the living room; I move through the labyrinthian hallway on autopilot trying to focus more on what could be so important to have me come out here rather than seeing Mason. I mean really, I need to get it together and get my priorities straight.

               Besides I should be used to people not loving me. My mom made it clear how much I ruined her life. My dad didn’t even care that I was born. On the scale of things, my fuck buddy not catching feels isn’t that big a deal.

               Except it feels like a huge fucking deal when I turn the corner and find him walking towards me.

               “Shit.” I feel my heart drop to my stomach. I think this is the first time we’ve been alone together since that night. I feel his eyes sweep over me and I’m glad I took the extra time to get ready.

               “Took you long enough, swe—” he stumbles over the word. We both know what he was going to say. “Everyone’s waiting on you.”

               “Yeah, well it’s not like I was given much of a heads up. Just a cryptic fucking call. I do have my own life you know.” That’s not exactly true. I worked a few days a week at an agency dispensary for supernaturals in the area, and while I was on friendly terms with the coworkers there, I didn’t have any social life to speak off. The most exciting thing on my calendar would be my bi-weekly visits to the facility to use their training room.

               He shrugs, “that’s the agency for you.”

               “Let’s just get this over with,” I won’t let myself meet his eyes as I move to walk past him.

               He falls into step alongside me. Once or twice our arms brush, and I my skin itches with the proximity. I don’t know if he’s trying to put me at ease, to show me that everything can be normal, but it’s having the opposite effect. Which he probably knows because of his stupid vampire super senses. With any luck he’ll think I’m just nervous about his meeting. Sure, let’s go with that.  

               I enter the room first, and walk towards what used to be my usual chair.

               “How nice of you to make sure Serena didn’t get lost in her old home,” Farah quips and I hear a low growl from Mason in response.

               Please don’t let her be like that through this whole meeting.

               Everyone is in their familiar places spread out across the room, but there’s a tension in the room I don’t recognize. It’s then that I notice the vaguely familiar looking man standing off to the side. He looks uncomfortable, always shifting his weight from side to side.

                “So, what’s so important that I needed to come down here,” I ask as I settle into the chair. Out of the corner of my eye I can see where Mason has perched himself against one of the side tables. I’m torn between my desire to ignore him, to put a brave face on it, and my need to drink in the sight of him. To memorize the placement of every freckle on his face for my lonely days back in the city, but I won’t do that because that would be pathetic.

               Dinah speaks first, “it’s my fault, Serena. I told Agent Greene we couldn’t continue without you here. This concerns you too.”

               “As you know we took samples and did extensive testing when you first arrived here,” Agent Greene interjects and I stiffen in anticipation for what will come next. Is there something wrong with me?

               “Well, that’s ominous. What do I have cancer or something?”

               “No, no I can assure you that you are in perfect health,” the man speaks up. “You may not remember me, but I assisted with some of the testing when you first arrived at the facility.

               “Dr. Franks also did extensive testing on me,” Dinah says from where she is seated next to Nate. She’s on the edge of her seat. Elbows resting on her knees and staring at me so intently I almost wonder if I have something on my face.

               “I thank you both for your cooperation,” the man says before turning to face me. “It’s specially exciting to get to meet the first arrival from a new portal.”

               A scoff from Dinah interrupts him and I see Agent Greene stiffen.

               “Okay so I’m not about to drop dead, good to know, but that still doesn’t explain what’s going on.”

               “Dr. Franks, noticed a pattern between yourself and Detective Greene.” I raise my eyebrow to hear her address her daughter so formally. “As of yet, no one outside of this room has been informed. We already know there are moles within the agency, and for her safety I would like to keep it that way.

               “Right, it’s my safety your worried about,” Agent Greene pretends not to hear the outburst from Dinah.

               “I was hesitant to include you, given your current status.”

               “But Dinah insisted.” I finish the thought.

               “Yes,” Agent Greene says as she clasps her hands in front of her and if I didn’t know any better, I would say they shaking. the look she gives me is not a kind one. I’ve never found myself comfortable with Agent Greene, but the effect is worse than usual today.

               “So, what do I have crazy super blood as well?”

               “No. Your blood doesn’t appear to have any amplifying effect.” Dr. Franks answers.

               “Then what the fuck is it?”

               “They think we’re related.” Dinah’s voice is soft and it takes me a second to process the words. “We are about a 25% match; it would be consistent with half siblings.”

               “Okay, sure, and I’m also long-lost royalty.” I say with a roll of my eyes, but no one laughs. If anything, the tension in the room amplifies. Half siblings. One parent in common. God knows it isn’t my bitch of a mother, Dinah has her own one of those.

               “This has to be some sort of mistake. I know who my father is. There’s no way. I’m not ever from this world.”

               “Apparently you weren’t the first to come through that portal,” Dinah says her voice like ice and her eyes never leaving Rebecca.

               Rebecca won’t meet her gaze. Dinah shakes her head and shakes off the reassuring hand Nate tries to place on her arm, “and I thought we were done with secrets.” She says with a bitter laugh.

               “So, what, your dad was actually from my world? But I thought the agency didn’t have any records of other portals?” I ask trying to get all the pieces to fit together in my head. It feels like too much.

               “Yes. You are the first person that the agency knows of,” Rebecca says her eyes sliding over to where Dr. Franks stands, “we are all shocked to learn about it. My late husband didn’t talk a lot about his past, and I respected his wish for privacy.”

               I don’t believe her for a second. She knew. She knew all this time that I wasn’t the first. I run my hands over my face and try to wrap my head around it all. It’s bad enough trying to consider the fact that there might be other trapped here like me. I don’t know if I can even begin to grabble with the dad stuff. It’s not much of a loss discovering my father is not actually my father. He decided he didn’t want a daughter anymore when I was about four and I hadn’t seen or heard from him.

               I remember seeing photos of Dinah’s dad in her office. He had an open face, always smiling holding her tight. Not just Dinah’s dad that could have been my dad.

               “I will need to do further testing, but I believe that Detective’s Greene’s mutation may be caused by her unique heritage. If that is the case, there is a good chance that any children you might have would exhibit that same mutation.”

               “Any what now?” I ask surprised.

               “I would have to do further testing, but there’s a good chance that this is the source of the mutation. We couldn’t understand it before because we believed that Detective Greene had human parentage, but now knowing it is more complicated opens up other avenues of possibilities.”

               He’s talking more to himself than us at this point and I tune it out. I run my hands over my face and try and keep above the swirling maelstrom that my thoughts have turned into. Knowing he wasn’t my father isn’t much of a loss. He stopped being a dad to me when I was four, but what did that leave me? Just the mistaken product of a one-night stand? I always knew I wasn’t planned, wasn’t wanted, the only reason for my mom’s first marriage. Was that why they got divorced, did he figure out he wasn’t my father? Maybe I really did ruin her life. It’s getting harder to breath and I think I might throw up.

               A banging sound brings me back to the present and I look up to see Mason half way between the side table and my chair. Our eyes meet for a moment and against all reason I feel a little calmer. I lose myself a little in his grey depths and my racing thoughts begin to settle. There will be time to deal with my feelings about this. I say deal as if I won’t just bury it down like I do with everything else. What matters right now is what this means for us now.

               “Okay, so say this is really true, what does it change?”  I ask looking around the room.

               Adam speaks up from the window, “I don’t think you should return to your apartment. I think for the time being you should return to the warehouse.”

               I tense up at the thought, “I don’t really think that’s necessary. It’s not like my blood is super powered.”

               “Perhaps not, but supernaturals have long lives. They may be willing to wait a generation to have access to the boost the mutation supplies.” Adam says with a grimace.

               “Fine.” I concede and the tension in the room eases up a bit. “I’ll need a change of clothes and my stuff though.”

               Adam nods, “make us a list and we will go grab them for you.”

               “I will accompany Dr. Franks back to the facility and see if there is anything else, we missed in the test.” Agent Greene says signaling the end of the meeting.

               Farah nearly knocks me over in her excitement to hug me. “You must be so excited! I told you Unit Bravo was a family, and now look it really is.”

               I try and match her excitement. I really do, but it’s not easy.

               Now that Agent Greene has left, Dinah is closer to her usual warm self. She hugs me for a long time, talking about how she always wanted a sister, that she had already thought of me as almost a sister.

               It’s overwhelming. I think I say the right things. I think I look like I’m fine.

               Dinah begins to tell me everything she can remember about her father, our father. How he was such a great dad, how much he cared, how much she misses him, how much she wished she had been able to know he better.

               I feel like I can’t breathe. How different would my life had been if he never fell through the portal? What I wouldn’t have given to have a father like him, to feel loved and cherished even all these years later. What I wouldn’t give to remember a parent with love rather than bitterness, to have just one person in my life who looked out for me. But I didn’t get that. He fell through a hole in the world and Dinah got that instead. I feel so bitter I think I might chock on it.

               I lie and say I need to go to the bathroom.

               I don’t have a plan besides getting away from all the attention. I let me feet guide me and end up at the training room. Hitting something matches my mood exactly.

               I fall into a rhythm. The sound of my fists hitting the dummy echoing in the empty space of the training room.

               How did I ever get by without this before? Maybe my life wouldn’t have been so messy if I’d just let myself hit things.

               I don’t notice him at first. Not until I stop to grab some water and I see him leaning against the door frame. If I wasn’t already winded from my excursions the intensity of his gaze would probably take my breath away.

               I let myself look at him really look at him. Is it possible that I forgot how beautiful he is? I thought I could recall him well, the way the light catches in his eyes, the delicate spray of freckles across his golden skin, but my memories pale in comparison to the reality.  

               “Mason,” I say with a nod raising the water bottle to my lips.

               He pushes off the wall and I watch his movements with rapt attention. He turns to face me in the center of the training mats before tying his hair back and sinking into a familiar position.

               It’s an invitation.

               Sparring with Mason isn’t a graceful dance. It is brutal, and it suits my mood just fine. Oh, sure he’s pulling his punches back, but even then, it still stings when he lands a hit. It still takes me a moment to recover when I land flat on my ass.

               I manage to land a few hits, and I don’t know if it’s a testament to my skill improving, or if he’s letting me, but I don’t care. It’s still satisfying. It’s still distracting. It’s still what I need.

               The next time he knocks me down I stay on the ground. I’m too tired to keep going, and the tangled knot of emotions in my chest feels less overwhelming.

               “Better?” Mason asks.

               “Yes, thank you.” I mean it. After all my stupidity, he should be the last person I want to be around, but I don’t know if I could stand being around anyone else right now. Between Farah and her excitement and questions, and Nate’s whole idolization of family ties, I’d felt like screaming.

               “Dinah seems happy.”

               “Yeah,” I say as I rise to a sitting position.

               “but you’re not.”

               I pull my legs in close and rest my head on my knees, “I’m too many things right now.”

               If this was a few months ago, this would be the part where he offers to distract me. This is where he would say something crass like he’d be happy to make me cum too many times. But he can’t say that now, so he just shifts his weight from side to side looking uncomfortable.

               “Thank you for the sparring, it helped, but you don’t need to do this.” I say with a sigh.

               “Do what?”

               “Stick around, check on me. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.” Except my voice cracks a little on that last syllable. Once I start crying it hits hard. I can’t even figure out what exactly I’m crying about, there’s just this needy little part of me that’s angry and sad and normally I can keep her under control, but today was too much. Today was too many memories and reminders.

               I don’t expect the tentative touch to my back, the weight of his hand, the quiet reassurance that he is there. I don’t know why he is here, or what it means, but right now I don’t care. I just want. I lean against him and let his arms wrap around me.

               We stay that way for several minutes, until my tears slow down, until I feel calmer. When he pulls away, he does so quickly. All too soon he is standing several feet away.

               “I’m sorry about that.”

               “Don’t be. Will you be okay?”

               “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” I say with a wave of my hand.

               His brow furrows before he answers, “I do though.”

               Oh, my traitorous heart thrills at that. How little does that fool need to threaten to come bursting out of my chest and follow him as he walks towards the door.

tag list for the au (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @lord-king-saint, @lilyoffandoms, @tracing-freckled-constellations, @vienocalledmebuddy, @freckles-spangledvampire, @utterlyinevitable, @whippedforethanfreakingramsey

[qatirna-can-read]

Tsagaan Sar - Q

Khadagan chopped feverishly at a head of garlic. A young Qatirna - still too small to look up and see the tears painting her mother’s cheeks - toddled up to the woman, gripping at the fabrics of her skirts for balance. 

“Mama! <What cooking?!>” the child shouted excitedly in a broken Eorzean Xaelic tongue. She nuzzled her face into the layered fabrics and giggled.

Khadagan set the knife down on the cutting board and used the back of her clawed hand to wipe away the tears from her eyes. She looked down at her daughter and smiled an earnest but sad smile. Before picking the affectionate child up and balancing her on her hip so she could use a free hand to stir a pot simmering on the stove.

She looked so much like her father. Little freckles dancing across her nose just the way Batu’s did. Her strange purple eyes that appeared to shine differently depending on her mood. Even the child’s tail, long and slender and tipped with spines, mirrored that of her late progenitor. 

Khadagan kissed her daughter’s nose, just below her scales, right on her warm purple freckles atop her soft hematite soil skin. “Mama is making feast of Tsagaan Sar.” She gave a gentle smile, “In Mama’s homeland this is very important time.” 

She placed the child back on the ground, “You want to help Mama?”

Qatirna looked up at her mother with a broad confused smile and nodded enthusiastically.

“<Will you help me mix this, please?>” Khadagan handed a small wooden bowl to a tiny outstretched clawed grasp. With the bowl in Qatirna’s hands, Khadagan picked her up once more to set her down at a table nearby. She handed over a small wooden spoon then began pouring dry ingredients into the bowl as the little girl mixed with delight.

“<Thank you, my sweet desert rose.>” Khadagan kissed the dark hair on her daughter’s head and beamed at the display in joy and amusement as the two prepared for the feast together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qatirna playfully kneaded the dumpling dough as her mother fussed over the fillings she had simmering in several pots over a single fire. She still required a stool to reach over the counter, and even standing a fulm higher from the ground, she still only came midway up her mother’s arm. 

“Mama, done!” she shouted proudly.

Khadagan looked at the little girl with a bemused smile, coming over to help her child. “<Let Mama show you.>”

Qatirna stared at her mother with a serious expression, nodding her head to indicate her readiness to learn. 

Her mother brought over a dull stone knife, placing it on the counter between them. She showed her daughter how to roll out the dough. "<Like this, Little Flame. Make it like a snake.>" 

Qatirna rolled the dough, more playing than working, but learning all the same. 

"<Please be cautious not to cook the dough.>" Her mother added. 

"<Okay Mama. I careful.>" Qatirna had recently come into her magic and still struggled to not catch her hands on fire when she got excited. “<Mama?>” she paused her rolling to ask, “<Is friends come to Tsagaan Sar?>”

"<I invited everyone we know from Little Ala Mhigo. Including Petra.>" she answered softy with a grin.

The child blushed, burying her embarrassed face melodramatically in her folded arms. Petra was Qatirna’s best friend. She was Qatirna’s first friend. Kind, funny, adventurous. Qatirna also thought she was really pretty, and her mother knew that and found it adorable. 

"<Mamaaa!>" she whined at her mother's teasing. 

Khadagan tousled the little girl's hair before moving to show her how to cut off the pieces of dough and pull them out flat. "<Like this, little one.>" and she cut off a piece of dough for her daughter to practice with as well. 

"<Like this, Mama?>" Qatirna pulled the dough flat, although the shape she made was somewhat laughable. 

Khadagan giggled at the child, "<You're getting it. Now let's practice folding. Watch carefully.>" she neatly took the edges of her own flattened dough and tucked them into the center, twirling the whole thing at the end to create a shape reminiscent of flower petals. 

Qatirna stared in awe before attempting to do as her mother did. She folded everything into the middle, creating an oddly shaped cone. "<What do you think?>" She scooped up the cone dough with both hands before holding it out to her mother for inspection. 

The older Xaela looked at her daughter's practice folds with great scrutiny, her brow furrowed in a serious expression. "<hmm… yes! This is perfect. You keep practicing and you will be Khatun of Tsagaan Sar!>" She beamed brightly at her daughter before booping her nose with a flour covered finger. They both stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two red Xaela women weaved expertly through the crowds of the farmer's market. Both dressed in colorful wrapped sarongs. The one in browns and reds looked only just of age. Young and pretty, long flowing onyx hair with red undertones matched her onyx scales sitting atop red clay skin. Her eyes burned bright with a unique violet hue and her full clover lips grinned at the older and taller Xaela adorned with gentle blues. "<I want to try some new herbs and vegetables this year. I have extra coin from my work with Clan Centurio.>"

The Xaela in blue, despite being twice the age of the Xaela in red, was still just as beautiful as her daughter. She wore her silver peppered black hair held back with a scarf. Her own onyx scales protected her deep red skin, even darker than the crimson of her daughter's. 

"<I have given you the list of things I need. Anything after that is entirely up to you, Little Flame.>" She smiled back, her canines notably sharper than Qatirna’s. 

Qatirna shrugged in amusement at her, moving to examine a nearby stand. “<I think we can use some Ala Mhigan spices in the barbecue pork for the buuz this year.> Petra has been showing me some of her family recipes lately.”

“<Hmm..>” Khadagan took her place by her daughter’s side, leaning down to sniff the orange bag of spice Qatirna had her eye on. “<I can see what you mean. This might add a nice flavor... Have you two been discussing marriage?>”

“<Mama! What? No!>”

“<By the time your father was your age he was already wed.>” she said matter-of-factly.

“<I think it is different when it is an arranged marriage to your horse, Mama.>” she responded in a restrained hiss. 

The man tending the stand stared blankly at the two women speaking in the unfamiliar language. “Did you ladies want to purchase any spices?” He asked, indifferent to their squabbles.

“Yes, please! I would like… a small container of that, and a medium container of that one.” Qatirna pointed to the orange powder, then a yellow powder, before she began digging through her satchel for the gil to pay. Her cheeks had turned a substantially darker red than usual.

"<Qatirna! You should show respect for your father's culture!>" Khadagan pestered, now standing behind her daughter, a good 5 or 6 ilms taller.

Qatirna winced at her public scolding. Despite the fact that no one in the market could understand the two, anyone could see the basic theme of their conversation. 

"<I do, Mama.>" Qatirna replied as she turned away from the stand, gently tucking the spices into a side pocket of her satchel. "<I mean. Yes, Mama. I just don't think my relationship with Petra is comparable to Father's relationship to Koko.>" she sighed. "<Does everyone know that I invite Kazagg Chah? He is very important mentor to me and I do not wish for discomfort between guests.>"

"<Yes, my desert rose. I've told the other guests. They know of your friendship with the beast tribes and no one should make a fuss.>" she placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "<We can speak more of Petra at another time.> Now where is pork farmer?"

Khadagan wandered off towards the meats section of the market with Qatirna following close behind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qatirna stirred awake from a restless sleep. Her body felt heavy, like weights had woven their way up and down her arms and legs in the night. With a great deal of effort, she pushed herself up and out of bed. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the empty silence in her home. She moved across her room and down the stairs of her loft, graceful yet absentminded. The only thing keeping her mind connected to this time and place was the feel of the cold hard ground beneath her feet. This morning seemed stiller than most, or perhaps the quiet hit harder today in particular. 

She placed the kettle on the burner, lighting the fire below with a flame conjured in her palm, same as she did most mornings. She closed her eyes, taking a deep strangled breath, before making her way to the ice box to pull out some pork she planned to marinate. She still hadn't decided if she wanted to use the traditional spices her mother taught her as a child or if she wanted to use the spice mixture she'd created with her late mother and ex fiancé. 

While she rummaged through her spice cabinet she began to hum. An old Auri lullaby, taught to her by her mother. Her father sang it to her during their brief time together before his death, or so she'd been told. Sometimes the tune brought her comfort, today it stung her with a sick longing. Despite this, she continued to sing. 

She busied herself, trying to keep her mind free, trying to keep any pesky thoughts of tragedy and loss at bay. The new recipe, she thought, to honor all those we lost.

Her mind was still until she began pouring the spices into a small mixing bowl. A memory trickled to the forefront of her thoughts: her mother asking her toddler self for 'help' mixing dry ingredients. A sad smile spread across her lips. She gripped the counter's edge, claws drumming the tabletop as she attempted to hold off any further thoughts of her past. 

The trickle of that memory pushed past her efforts to repair the dam of hindsight. It crumbled and burst. Memories flooded back as waves of grief crashed over her. Suddenly she was drowning within herself. 

A soft sob escaped her throat. She felt the familiar sting of tears welling in her eyes. Her head spun in a storm of everything that was, everything that could have been, everything she should have done. Teenage arguments with her mother, a first kiss, snacks lovingly prepared and placed near her while she studied, laughing at inside jokes, singing traditional songs in various languages, making a fire on cold nights, soup made for the sick. She crumpled. Falling to the floor like a warrior taking an arrow in the heart. A whimper on the floor of her kitchen became a sob became an agonizing wail. She clawed desperately at the floor, although her hands found no purchase. Even though she was hyperventilating she couldn’t fill her lungs with a full breath of air. 

She had no control here in the tempest. She held fiercely to her sorrow, the only feeling she could cling to for any measure of stability, as she slowly pulled herself tighter, smaller, into herself. 

The sharply whistling kettle cut through the screams of her weeping. She looked up through puffy eyes, glowing a vibrant indigo. She stopped her sobs, coughing at the thick film that coated her throat, before pulling herself back up to remove the kettle from the burner. She laughed at the kettle for pulling her out of hysteria, although the sound choked out as a half chuckle half sob. 

She shook her head, letting out a deep sigh, climbing up the counter to reach the tea on the top shelf. Her mother had been several ilms taller than her, and aside from lalafells, they were the two shortest people she’d ever known. She placed the tea on the counter gingerly before hopping back down. A clay mug sat on a cabinet nearby, she pulled that down as well. It looked like a tankard in her small hands. After pouring the water and leaves she held the steam up to her face, allowing it to soothe her skin, tender from crying.

This would have to be enough. She had no other options than for this to be enough. She breathed in a rough quivered breath before reaching just below where she’d grabbed her mug. Pulling a strong spiced spirit from the bottom shelf, she took a swig several gulps worth. She closed her eyes, allowing the burn to roll through her, numbing some of that pain in her chest.

She could go on. Once again she turned her attention back to the feast she prepared for one. Utterly alone. 

[damienthepious]

oh, well, this is unexpected. Not a tuesday offering because... well, it’s not about that. Casey, Sky, & Ria, y’all are. partially responsible for this one. i love you sorry for the angst.

Mirrors Keep Our Reflections

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: n/a

Characters:  Sir Damien, Sir Damien’s Father, Original Male Character

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, (as usual i do not know how to tag), Damien's family, (i am mildly unpacking damien's father), (also i have given the boy a sibling), (whom i love now), (and... whooops.... uh), Implied/Referenced Character Death, (at least twice over actually), Loss of Parent(s), Family Dynamics, Siblings, Grief/Mourning, Angst

Summary: If there had been a third child, he would have been named Ferdinand.

Notes: Whoops. Context: there's a patreon bonus guide to the second citadel thing that talks about names and naming in the 'verse, and apparently it is very common for children to pick a new name for themselves. Combine this with certain headcanons I have about Damien's family and you get.... a mess. Title from Domino by Squalloscope.

~

It is a cruel anniversary for all three of them. Aaron is unsure what their father thinks Damien will accomplish in his studies today, but neither of them argue when they are each assigned their tasks before their father locks himself away again with his holy texts.

Aaron is unsure as well, if their father is mourning, in this way, or if there is some other answer he seeks in the words of the Saints. It doesn't particularly matter, he decides, if it means that he and Damien will be left to mourn on their own, in peace.

When Damien's shoulders sag over his own reading, when he rubs at his eyes, Aaron steps up beside him, reaches forward, and closes his book.

"Aaron-"

"Come down by the pond with me."

"But father said-"

"A few minutes, Damien. Clear your head, give your poor scholarly eyes a rest, inhale some air that isn't half composed of dust."

His brother glances back down to the closed book again, guilty and reluctant, and then he scoots his stool back. "… Alright. Only for a little while."

The walk is short, and though the day is oppressively hot, the shade and the breeze are cool enough to guard them from the worst of it by the water's edge. Damien settles on the moss with a sigh, and he closes his eyes for a long moment as Aaron stares out over the glassy surface of the pond, watching the lines rippling out behind the family of geese on the far side.

"Do you… remember much about her?" Damien asks, after what seems like quite some time. His voice is very quiet, and when Aaron blinks and glances towards him, Damien still has his eyes closed, though his expression is tight and anxious.

After a long moment, Aaron sinks to sit beside his brother. "… less than I once did," he admits, and Damien opens his eyes so that he may watch Aaron's face instead. "Less than I wish I did. Memory is an unreliable creature. If you look away from it for too long, it will transform, or decay. I remember… I remember that she had clever eyes, a rare smile but easy humor… I do remember that she enjoyed mornings just the same as you, Damien."

Damien's smile is noticeably watery, but it is genuine. "Did she shove you from bed as I do?"

"When I needed a good shoving," Aaron grins, "yes."

"I wish-"

Damien's words come too fast. Too abrupt, and they cut off into the silence of the thrumming hot day just as quickly.

"I know," Aaron says, when the silence has drawn long. "I wish too. I miss her, and… and I miss the man that father was, when she was still here."

"Was he… was he-"

"He was still himself," Aaron says gently. "But- happier. Less unyielding."

"I think… I cannot help but think, how it could have been, if-" he inhales sharply, his brow furrowing. "The four of us, together. Or- the five, I expect."

"Five- ah." Aaron presses his lips together for a moment. "Right."

Aaron, and Damien, and-

Their parents would not have named them as they did, of course, if they were not anticipating a third with which to complete their reverent set.

"Another brother," Damien says, both sad and wondering. "We could have had another… another piece to our family. Some brave little boy we never had the chance to know-"

"You cannot know what another child would have been like, Damien. Simply because father would have named him Ferdinand does not mean anything about who he would have been. Or she, for that matter. A name such as that…"

"A name such as ours?" Damien asks, one eyebrow raised and his lips pursed into a pout.

Aaron eyes his brother in return, considering, and then he nods. "A name such as ours. The more I think on it, the more I know that it is a wretched thing to do. If we had another brother, if they named him as they clearly planned- likely he would toss the name on the next fire as soon as he was old enough to choose one for himself. Saints know how often I've been tempted to do the same."

"You- you have?" Damien asks, obviously incredulous, his eyes wide, and Aaron attempts to keep his expression only wry.

"It's only... it's quite a lot for any child to live up to," he says. "You understand that, don't you?"

"I... I suppose so... but- but you do live up to your namesake! You are steadfast, sturdy-"

"Damien-"

"Resolute! And if you can live up to your name, certainly if I work hard enough, study long enough-"

"You shouldn't have to, Damien. Neither should I. No child should. If we had another in our family, it would be kinder to leave them free of such a weight.

Damien frowns, a delicate web of incomprehension. "Are you... are you going to change yours, then?"

Aaron looks aside, sighs. "I haven't decided. It's... it is a heavy weight, but... it means so much to him."

And their father's good humor is the unsteady framework upon which their home is built.

"... what... what would you even change it to, if you did?"

"I could change it to Damien, simply to annoy you," Aaron says with his wide, easy grin.

"Aaron. I am being serious."

Aaron laughs. "I could simply change it to Ferdinand myself, and then you could take a turn as the elder brother."

Damien huffs. "That," he says stiffly, "is not how that works. And besides- if you were Ferdinand, that certainly would not solve your problem. Your very first point was that bravery would be an equally heavy burden."

"That is true," Aaron says with a sigh. "So. Not another Saint name, then."

"Obviously not," Damien agrees. "That would limit you quite severely." He pauses, his uncertainty so poorly concealed that Aaron can't help but smile again. "Did... clearly you have put some thought into this... did you have any potential names in mind? Any that were not in jest?"

"Any..." Aaron echoes. "I suppose that is just the issue," he says slowly. "If I were not Aaron, I could be anyone."

"But were there any anyones in particular," Damien insists. "Come now, I don't think you would have brought it up had you nothing already in mind!"

"Perhaps I had some trouble, summoning potential names to my own mind. Perhaps I was far more curious to hear your suggestions," he says, tilting his head with a grin. "You are much quicker with this sort of game than I, after all.

"Oh!" Damien clasps his hands together, grinning, and then he schools his expression, his brow furrowing as he considers this task for a long moment. "You could be... hm, perhaps Lucan? No- Rience! Or perhaps Owain, or Claudas, or Balan-"

"Evaine is rather elegant," Aaron murmurs, and his face is very still as he watches the equally still water.

Damien pauses. "Wh-what was that?"

Aaron says nothing for a long moment, and then he stands, his easy smile spread across his face again. "It's past time we returned you to your studies, I think."

"But-"

"I will thank you for indulging me, and beg your pardon for distracting you for quite so long," he says. "But we should... we should return to where we belong, Damien."

Damien stares up at him, still unsure for a strange, stretched-out moment, and then he reaches a hand out so Aaron may help pull him back to his feet.

They do not speak, on the walk back to their home. They do not speak of names ever again.

They do not see another cruel anniversary together.

If there had been a third child, he would have been named Ferdinand. Unlike his namesake, Damien who will be Pious has only one brother, and his name was only ever Aaron.

After Aaron dies, Damien's father mourns this newest cruelty by packing up what remains of their lives and taking young Damien to the realm where death looms the closest. He takes them to the Western Wastes, the woods of death themselves, and there Damien's father proselytizes. The names of the Saints on his tongue, surrounded by death and nonbelievers. Their names, again and again, and echoed in and echoing his family, in his son who never was, in his son who no longer is, in his son who is not enough.

When Damien is old enough to choose his own appellation, he thinks of Aaron.

He thought of Aaron in the water, as well. He thinks of Aaron often, though he is discovering to his sorrow that Aaron had been right, about memory, and transformation, and decay. He remembers that easy grin, still, and sturdy embrace, but he has forgotten the precise pattern of his freckles. He has forgotten the name that he whispered like a secret beside the water. He has forgotten moments small, and large, and they have left him so easily that he will not even recognize their lack.

Damien could choose another name, but once beneath the water his namesake reached within him, and helped him breathe.

Damien could choose another name, but once a boy named Aaron had a brother named Damien, and Damien does not wish to be anyone else.

[elsewhereuniversity]

There are three of them...

 An Illustration major, an Engineering major, and an Astronomy major. Siblings, they say. Always together like birds of a feather, like the Three Musketeers. Never alone.

 And if not…

The Illustration Major goes by Frost. You know her by the frost that forms on her clothing and by the strange, elaborate tattoos that she seems to have, but can never explain how or why she got them. You think she’s gone by something else before–she looks strikingly similar to the girl called Myth who got Taken twice and who once wore those same tattoos–but bring it up and she’ll just laugh or shrug. Or give you this I’m dead inside look that can only be gained from god knows what. If she is Myth, then Myth has changed. So, so very much. Her dog– at least you think its a dog, Captain, hasn’t changed with his fleece fur and love for sours, but Myth has.

Myth was naïve. Myth trusted too easily. Myth was timid and curious and wanted to see the good in everybody. Myth got herself into trouble because trouble was the only way she could help her friends and was loyal to a bloody fault. Frost isn’t like that. And if she is, then you wouldn’t know it. Myth didn’t have long hair, she didn’t have a spade tattoo under her eye and she certainly didn’t go by the name of the thing that she dreads. Because when Frost comes, then so does winter. And winter and her never got along.

Be around Frost for a moment and you’ll know, she isn’t as cold hearted as her callname implies; She’s chill for the most part, a jokester, maybe a mom-friend. Hates the cold secretly. A healer who specializes in potions and sigils. No, she will not give you one if you have a papercut. Go get a band-aid. Leave her stash of band-aids alone, those are for her friends that make bad decisions. And for herself when she gets injured for the umpteenth time. Because if trouble has taught her anything, it’s to have some self-preservation. To some degree. 

(She’s still a bit of a dumbass about it.)

She is about four feet and eleven inches of “What kind of fuckery is this?” mixed with the cool, measured responses of a person is too used to chaos to bother asking anymore. She is a sophomore by now, hoping to graduate or at least come home. A young sigil witch, with hair dyed lavender, thrown into two messy buns, dark blue eyes– contacts?– and scars on her hands from a fight. Some say she’s a trickster. Others say she acts withdrawn and harmless, just an anxious little disaster– but notice that she is gone on very rainy days and comes to class every other day or other week with bruises or bandages or sometimes looks like she’s having trouble walking. But she’ll just grumble and lie or say it isn’t your business to know. It really isn’t; She just has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and is naturally clumsy.

She’s trying her best with what she’s got.

  —

The Engineering major is Ven. Sometimes people call him Ventus, but only those who know him or think they do. To everyone else, he’s just Ven. Normal, quiet, Ven. A little odd for one of the Fair Folk to be an engineering major but honestly, he just chose this major after waking up on campus with little to no memory of how he got there and he’s just been rolling with it ever since. He doesn’t talk much. Typically in the back of the class, soft spoken. (Are you imagining it or can you hear the wind of a storm in his voice?) The type you can see daydreaming. Another kid with memory problems but this time, somewhat solved. He says he still doesn’t remember much but there is this guarded look to him. He doesn’t talk about what he remembers. Don’t expect him to.

He’s the guy with the inventor’s goggles around his neck and silver tattoos of windgusts and lightning starting from his collar bone to his right hand, the one with the messy, windswept hair and electric green eyes. the  the windswept blonde hair. The one that you can’t tell whether or not he’s here on certain days, because he’s that quiet in class. And..to which this never helps with that predicament, the one who can disappear into thin air. 

Sometimes you too wished you could yeet yourself out of social situations like that dude. People don’t necessarily talk to him. Not because he’s rude or anything, he’s just not very talkative. Unlike his sister. But he’s polite enough. A little stoic and forgetful, maybe a little methodical and calculated, but a nice guy. Just don’t try and ask him about any ties to Courts he has because he will turn from nice to cold and precise like an arrow of winters.

He and the Astronomy major detest them. -

The Astronomy major is Novus and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Novus was a ginger with a bunch of freckles and bronze tattoos instead of silver, you could’ve sworn he and Ven were twins. Seriously. You don’t know anybody else with wind in their voice aside from him and Ven. Maybe they’re family? It would explain why the hell they look so much alike. But it certainly wouldn’t explain why Ven sometimes walks into the astronomy class instead of Novus and vice versa, for Novus to walk into Engineering instead of Ven. They both share a lot of personality traits, yes, but if you had to describe Novus and Ven in the simplest terms, you would use a phrase that Frost had spoken.

“Jekyll” and “Hyde”. Jekyll, the good guy, the person who hides his true nature, is Ven. Hyde, the more devious of the two, the more cunning, is Novus. Yes, Novus is the quiet kid that sits in the back of the class. Yes, Novus is polite, albeit suspicious of anyone and everything. And yes, strangely, he too has trouble with his memory and refuses to speak on what he remembers. But Novus can be a trouble maker. A prankster. Methodical and mechanical in his manner of conducting things despite his demeanor. And despite the fact that he reminds you of a cat with how his black tipped ginger hair is always in a mess. Maybe he has a cat? But still… He sits next to you in English class and everytime he and Ven have a test on the same day, there is this look of internal dread on his face. Everytime after he takes the test, without fail, he passes out and needs his sister or his friend in the class to wake him up. Each time this happens, he and Ven always complain of a headache and vanish. Which wouldn’t be worrying if you hadn’t gotten somewhat close to him. You think you have, anyways. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s either a classic jokester, an anxious kid who panics over losing a book, or this dude with no personality. You’ve seen inklings of all three but you’ve mainly seen the jokester side. Maybe he’s hiding something. He’ll never tell you. The only things you really know about him is that he, Ven, and Frost hang out a lot, that he and Ven are strangely alike (“Maybe we’re the same person? Or once were?” He had joked about it on one occasion. But something about that didn’t seem like a joke.), they’re not in any Courts, and that they both…are scarily good at archery if you try and challenge them. 

–

There are three of them. Well, four if you count the dog. An Illustration major, an engineering major, and an astronomy major. A witch and a sylph that was split into two. Three fools with a story hidden deep within them. Two strangers turned three- turned from acquaintances with a Debt to friends, to siblings. Nothing can break their bond. Not True Names, not falsehoods. Nothing. One has already been told amongst the three anyways. And falsehoods could only get you so far with them. One can tell all of the falsehoods she desires!

These are three students that made their own little family, who just want to graduate. They are sophomores now, beginning their second year at Elsewhere. And when they graduate, then There Will Be Three. Three birds of a feather that will take flight to start anew.

x

[crystalsexarch]

Ultracrepidarian - E

"What do you know about repression?"

"Plenty."

-

Explicit. Ambiguous second-person WoL and G'raha Tia. Late at night, when one touches on certain topics, one feels compelled to start touching other things, too.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Night. The Find. The tent you share with G'raha Tia. You aren't sure why it's different, but it is. Blame the battle. Blame the boredom. Blame the built up tension he has been tiptoeing around since the first time you caught him staring at the back of your head. Now you're both staring at the gentle ripples in the roof and trying to name the sudden change in flavor, both pretending you have yet to taste it.

"Perhaps we should venture out," G'raha says. Like you, he's lying on his back with his hands clasped at his navel. Between his dinner and your arrival, he had time to trade his trousers for a dark pair of silky shorts. You've seen him sleep in them before. When he speaks, he cheats his head towards you. "Clearly we've yet to expend enough energy."

"I think not," you say. "The fact that I can carry a conversation belies my aching bones."

"Mm. Well I suppose I'll remain here as well, given that sparring is best done with a partner."

You roll onto your side and prop your head up. "Sparring? You?"

"What!"

"With your bow, I presume?"

He shifts his hands behind his head, laughing. Buying time. Unbeknownst to you, he’s daydreamed of taking you on many times, toying with steel and finding you hard in the bind, slipping under for a counterattack—a compelling argument for swordsmanship. The outcome of the skirmish doesn’t matter. It’s the intimacy that makes his head rush. "Make no mistake—I can be flexible."

You scoff in good humor. "Yes. A man of many talents."

"Many!"

"And going to bed on time is not one of them."

A calloused finger points. “This I will admit,” G'raha says, snapping up from his cot. “But I assure you I’m no stranger to combat.”

Your rise is slow and confident. No need to rush. You're the godsdamned Warrior of Light. “And I’m sure you have the scars to prove it?”

The finger curls back down in line with its neighbors. The corners of his lips curl up. “Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, Warrior, by the time you are ready to take blows that would scar you, you are practiced enough to weave away.” Driving home the point, he closes his eyes and points his chin to a high corner. “This is, of course, why all mercenaries and adventurers worth their salt have clear skin.”

You chuckle and lean back. “Like yours? You must be one of the finest.”

It’s a joke, but it still pulls his eyes, full of fondness, to the ground. G’raha knows he’s easy to read. Easy to please. Easy for you, which makes the strange night harder. When you speak by the campfire, the crackling wood harbors his secret purrs. Now, with camp quiet and no fire in sight, he works harder to mute it. Even as he tempers the swishing of his russet tail, he hopes you’ve accepted him as a friend at best, a fan at worst. Not a romantic admirer.

You aren’t sure what to think of him, but you don’t mind looking at his long eyelashes while his head is down. Time to take a chance. “Would you like to see mine?” you say.

Blinking, he lifts his gaze. “See your…?”

“My scar. The worst one.” You’re already itching at your collar.

Can you tell it’s driving him mad? Caught between two or ten answers, he stiffens like a man in a photograph. Tail reanimates first, body follows. “Beg pardon?”

“I’m happy to show you. There’s a story behind it, after all…”

He clears his throat. “If this is some manner of secret, there’s no need to spoil it on my behalf.”

“No secret. Just a story and a scar.” You stand and stretch long enough for him to chew on it. After a hearty sigh, you lock eyes again. “So what do you say?”

-

The scar is on your chest. G’raha gulps when he realizes you’re removing each layer that separates the jagged line from the elements. Once or twice he’s seen you bare, but not this close. Not this specifically.

He listens while you tell the story, but he looks just as carefully. Maybe, he hopes, you’ll recognize his expression as the same one he wears before Allagan relics. Not something hungrier. If you’re embarrassed to have him gawking at the history on your chest, your voice never falters. The night is warm enough that he’ll be forgiven for glowing. The dip in his gaze will be missed in the darkness. His open-mouthed attempts to taste you like a snake will be unfruitful, unnoticed.

He wishes he could touch you. He wishes it so badly that he cannot speak, not even when you’ve finished your story.

“That bad, huh?” Your leg bounces at a casual tempo. “Too much detail?”

“No,” he says, rocking back. “No. Forgive me, I...perhaps my jest was in poor taste.”

“Nah.” A lazy yawn. The day has taken its toll, finally. “You got any?”

His voice is soft and mossy. The heat must be pooling at the top of the tent. “I’m afraid my stories pale in comparison to yours.”

“And your scars?”

“Well…” He rubs his back. “Though its origin betrays my own humble, adventurous beginnings—”

“Show me.”

“...very well.” His smile can’t stand on its own legs. Rising, he turns his back to you and removes his shirt like it needs to stay sterile. You can’t see his face, and he’s thankful for that. He’s walking into an icy pool of water, testing it with his toes and holding his tail high. At least he can anchor himself in finding the scar. He fingers to the left of his spine before finding the ridges. “I fell out of a tree as a child.”

“I can’t see it.”

“Here.”

“Move your hand.”

He does, then startles when your finger replaces his own. The scar is about the length of your index finger, but it must’ve been deep. Stitch marks knitted the ghost of the wound together.

G’raha clears his throat. “It...may not have been as serious as I remember.”

“A scar’s a scar,” you say, taking one last look at the mark before turning your attention to his bare back. Freckles dot his shoulders. “Falling out of a tree isn’t half as embarrassing as the time I split my lip.” You lean back on your cot and smile at the muscled scholar before you. You wonder how he's put those muscles to use.

He turns over his shoulder at your withdrawal sits back down, bundling his shirt in his hands. “Have you come to terms with it?”

“Yes. I fell off a bed after a night of bad decisions.”

“Ah yes. The drink.”

“Nope. What comes after the drink and normally takes two.”

“Oh,” he says. Oh no, he thinks. Thankfully, you have busied yourself with blankets. It gives him enough time to wipe the dark curiosity from his face and recognize that perhaps he, too, should settle into bed. As he does, his imagination also settles— into a reality where he’s the bad decision that gets to press his lips to your scars, to kiss your collarbones and figure out how hard he has to pinch your nipples to make you gasp.

You don’t think twice about G’raha turning his back to you. He could be doing it for any reason.

You fill the air with a mighty yawn befitting the Warrior of Light. “In any case, that’s not the only reason I’ve tried to cut back on random nights of pleasure.”

Just a few fulms away, his voice is whisperous and hot. Delayed. A mysterious echo that filters from a forgotten cave. “I should hope that successful heroes not doom themselves to lives of repression.”

You laugh. "What do you know about repression?"

"Plenty." He’s tracing the outline of his cock, begging that by the time he raises his head, you have turned away. So much has leaked already. He’s embarrassed at how badly he wants to join the ranks of those privileged enough to say they’ve been inside of you.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No! No, no.” He twitches in his shorts, his fingers just beneath the band. “I had several...study partners at the Isle of Val.” None of them as bewitching as you. “One of my first went on to ‘study’ in Ul’dah. As it happens, the scholarly life was not for them.”

“Ah. Exploring a professional career in...studying?”

“Yes. Although personally I considered the experience a bit amateur.” Yes, he thinks. Focus on that instead of foolish fantasies. No point in imagining how tight your body would hold him, whether you would squeeze. Too bad you have already offered him fruit he cannot help but bite. “Your first time, then. Was it good?”

“It was fine. He was gentle.”

I could be gentle. “That's...good.”

“It wasn't good. It was fine.” The memory sparks no particular warmth or fondness. "Gentleness isn't necessarily what I look for anymore.”

“What is? Experience?”

“Trust. Trust that I can handle it. Trust that when I say I can't, I can't.”

He swallows. Thumb finds head, fingers find shaft. Tongue finds temptation. “That makes sense. So...you prefer something rougher?” Because I could be rough, too. He’s hardly moving his hand, but it feels so good he knows he’ll keep going even if you stand up and start watching.

“Depends on the partner. And you?”

He stops stroking, winces, holds himself tight. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think about it. "I've done a little bit of this, a little bit of that."

"And what would you be doing if you had your way?"

You.

Clenched teeth keep the truth from spilling from his thick lips. What keeps him from spilling, he isn’t sure. Your presence, your scent, your voice—tugging his hand in both directions. It was supposed to be a gentle touch. Now he’s concentrating on keeping his cot stable. Can you smell him? Can you hear him? Do you know he’s imagining the texture of your scar beneath his palm? What good leverage it could offer. He could hold you there and fill you—first with his cock, then with his seed—rock you instead of his bed—sink inside and sing.

“G’raha?”

“Ah.” He opens his eyes and stretches his legs. Maybe it will disguise any strange motion you’ve noticed. “I’m sorry, I must have started drifting off.”

"I see..." You eye him once more before turning on your side. "Perhaps it's for the best. My mind is catching up with my body, I think..."

"Goodnight, my friend."

"Goodnight G'raha Tia."

-

He waits. He waits and waits and waits but does not soften. He spends what feels like half a bell trying to keep himself from imagining a world where he can mount you, slick you freely. Spends half a bell failing and reaching again for his erection. By the time he's holding his breath for release, he's pumping himself so madly he doesn't care if passersby can hear him from outside. He isn't thinking of the sleeping body at his side, but the heaving chest in his visions, the ebbing weight around his cock, and finally—finally, when he stops spurting into his open palm, he remembers where he is and what he is supposed to be doing.

Not. This.

Surprised he let himself take things so far, he rushes up in a frenzy and stares at the cot. Empty, he is. His brain is empty. For an instant the pain in his eye is completely silent. It's the memory of you—the real you, snoring lightly at his back—that sets him back on the ground where he has more than a few problems to address before the morning.

[voidedfae]

↘[ inbar lavi, cisfemale, she/her, 189 ] Whenever I hear HOT GIRL BUMMER BY BLACKBEAR it always makes me think of SKYE NEWTON. They have been so CHARMING & OPTIMISTIC, but occasionally they have gotten a little bit MEDDLESOME & REACTIVE during their TWENTY YEARS on The Salvation. Back before everything went to shit, they were an DISPENSARY OWNER, a strangely fitting job for a FAIRY. A SWITCH, they never tried to hide that they were PANSEXUAL, and they have always been really into EDGING & CHOKING. GRACEFUL MOVEMENTS, ROSY CHEEKS, FLOWING SKIRTS AND VINTAGE SHIRTS & AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD are pretty much their calling card, and that fits perfectly with their role as a RESIDENT on the ship.

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. skye newton. AGE. one hundred and eighty-nine. SPECIES. fairy. GENDER. cis female. PRONOUNS. she/her. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. pansexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. panromantic. PLACE OF BIRTH. bristol, england. DATE OF BIRTH. november 20.

ZODIAC. scorpio. POSITIVE TRAITS. charming, optimistic, intelligent NEGATIVE TRAITS. meddlesome, reactive, standoffish. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, italian, swedish.

ABILITIES. shapeshifting (mostly from one human form to fairy form), telepathy, healing, superhuman strength and durability, photokinesis, chlorokinesis, mesmirisation.

WEAKNESSES. citrus fruits (namely lemons & limes which are poisonous), silver, iron, blood intoxication (if somebody (a vampire) drinks too much of her blood, she would be immensely weakened), exhaustion.

HEIGHT. 5′5 EYE COLOR. brown. HAIR COLOR. brunette. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board !

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES. her back is dusted with freckles, thin scars laid on top of each other along her back and shoulders, what could only be described as an acid burn across her stomach.

QUICK INFO.

triggers ; 

the stories of fairy pregnancies and births were almost true. occasionally, a human would be taken to aid in the birth, but they would fall under temptation to see what was happening in front of them and be blinded for their curiosity. in skye’s case, no human was involved in her birth, just her mother and father and a real midwife, though still a fairy. it was a weird way to grow up, as a fairy. from the moment she was able to control shifting to a human, her parents raised her in the human world, wanting her to have the best of both worlds. except, they seemed to forget about her being a fairy, most of the time. 

they had spent so long living as humans and walking among them, they had neglected to realise that skye would not grow as they had, surrounded by their own kind and being taught how to control themselves. skye was only six when they had to move from england. what humans would call the power of suggestion, fairy’s called mesmirisation. skye had never known what this was before she had caused the accident and in the days after, her parents had not scolded her, only apologised for not showing her what she was truly capable of. 

they relocated to los angeles, finding their home with a family of fairies there, pushing skye into learning about her capabilities. she would spend the next eight years learning how to handle herself and her emotions in the evening, spending the morning at school and learning about the human world. it was a rush of knowledge and emotions that skye had never once experienced before, but she knew it was for the best. at least, her parents had told her so. 

as she grew, she discovered how green her thumb truly was. plant life had always thrived in her company, but when she found that she could manipulate vegetation to grow, skye had been ecstatic. there was nothing better, in her mind, than watching the earth grow and flourish. this led fairly easily into her becoming a dispensary owner. even in the days where it was not truly something people did, skye had a healthy market for it. thinking back, it was likely not for the reasons she had truly started it out, but if people sought something out and skye could help them, why would she not?

she loved long and hard and it was no wonder she fell in love with a human. she had always been fascinated by them and when one truly caught her attention, she fell madly and deeply. in no time at all, they were married and living together. her parents did not approve, but how could they blame skye for falling in love with the very beings that they had raised her as? a brief stint in fairy life had not changed her love and adoration for the humans. there were no secrets between them. except, of course, for the biggest; that she was a fairy. she knew that not everybody was understanding and the idea of her partner hating the very thing that made her her was.. indescribable. she could not imagine looking into their eyes and finding only hatred where adoration had once been. 

when the awakening had started, skye had allowed herself to be consoled easily by her partner, being told there was nothing to worry about and that they would be okay. the thing was, skye truly wanted to believe that. so, when they had seen her shifting from fairy to human, skye had been at a loss. words had failed her and she was sure they would not have saved her for anything in that moment. the pure malice in their eyes was enough to tell skye she had been right to keep this from them during their time together. but skye was a hopeless romantic and she, even knowing that they hated her guts and wanted her dead, would never let them be hurt. perhaps some would say she had betrayed the supernatural, but this was the one person in her life who could be so easily hurt just because of their species. she could feel her power dwindling during the war and she knew, before long, it would be entirely depleted. the last of it was used to place a protection around her partner, her last good deed before the world was ruined and barren. 

when the salvation came to port in los angeles, skye did not think twice, climbing aboard. there was nothing waiting for her at home any longer. hell, she did not have a home. she had once believed that home was not four walls and a door, but it could be a person. and her person, her home, hated her beyond repair. so, being on the salvation was an easy choice and she made it well. now, she’s a resident and waiting for the day the world will be whole once more, wishing for her powers to return, even just for a moment. 

[edales-drabbles]

An Obedient Partner

Ghost was a legend. A 'Fixer', the guy people called to deal with problems and make them disappear. Elorshin heard stories and whispers about him in taverns along the coast. A mystery that people weren't entirely true was real.

A flicker in the light, something glinted in the firelight as the man appeared out of the gloom. Silent despite the rocks under his feet and the water dripping under down in the tunnel. He reached to wake his companions, but a sword was at his neck. The black blade pressed against his skin, not quite slicing but sharp enough that he knew the man could quickly dispatch him. He froze in place.

A finger waggled. Elorshin swallowed, just looking up at the myth. Black armour covered the man, elements of it distinctly insect hide which revealed his heritage faster than his colouring. Only one race made armour like that. The Ghost's face was half-covered by a black cloth, the upper half shadowed by a dark hood but Elorshin could see beyond it. Dusky skin, purple eyes, black hair, the Ghost was a Tenebrae Elf. Those eyes glittered as they met.  

A moment of uncertainly spaced behind them as the Ghost looked over each sleeping person around them before nodding. The sword left his neck and was stored away. Not that it meant much, Elorshin could see the dangers littering his hips, close enough that the Ghost could split his throat before he could know. Between the double blades and the daggers, Elorshin could see why his man was able to survive down here on his own.

Shifting, the ghost leaned down to pluck Elorshin's water-skin from his side. Elorshin flushed as the man took a deep drink before dropping it back on at the ground by his feet.

A hand tapped the cloth mask where his nose was before the man gone in the darkness again. Elorshin's heartbeat was practically shaking his entire body. He stood and looked around but found no traces. And that was that. When they were ready to move again, Elorshin's sight whispered to him. The threads of fate spiralled uncalled and yanked him from the present and to the past.

The sight of the Ghost slaughtering a set of monsters flashed through him. The sight of their campfire glittering far out of view. He swallowed again as one of his companions asked that the matter was. The Ghost had saved them?

It wasn't until they had found the miners and escaped back to the surface that he noticed his coin purse was gone. In its place was a stone coin with an insignia carved on it. Elorshin clutched it tightly before hiding it from view. The save had not been without a price. The Ghost collected favours, and he always called upon them later. What the Ghost thought someone like him could do was debatable. Then again, adventurers tended to end up in strange situations.

Luckily they were paid well for saving the missing miners, the new coins hidden around Elorshin's body this time. Their druid sealed the entrance to the cave to prevent anyone else going down out of curiosity. If someone wanted to mine, they would have to decide to do so.

The next time Elorshin saw the man, he was drunk. The dwarf had challenged him to a drinking contest to see how well his elven blood would stand up against stout folk. Reluctantly, he had joined. And lost, but one of the humans had been the first to fall. The world spinning and stumbling outside, Elorshin leant against the outside of the tavern and watched the night streets as the cold air hit his lungs.

"Beautiful night," a voice murmured next to him.

Elorshin flinched as a cold blade rested on his shoulder. He wasn't wearing his armour. It had been a few weeks since the last job. Over a month since he had gained the token. "Nice change of pace after the rain we've had recently," he said, words soft.

"Summer is coming," the blade moved, and a hand tugged at his elbow. Elorshin followed the hand, letting the Ghost pull him into an alleyway, not entirely sure a dagger wasn't about to gut him but knowing better than to fight. He could not see the future, but the past came willingly; flashes of what could have happened alongside side what did. Drinking always made it hard to tell what was real, but nothing was hurting, yet. "You have been drinking."

"The dwarf insisted on it," Elorshin shrugged. "The rest of them are always up for a drink."

"And you're not one for complaining," a smile unfolded on the Ghost's face. This time, there was no mask in place. His eyes were shadowed by the hood but his strong jawline was clear to see in the dim. It was an elegant thing, the distinct look of a noble elf. Elorshin flushed as the eyes did miss how he was looking at him. "Not at all," it hummed.

"I pick my battles," Elorshin sniffed, unable to stop himself averting his eyes. He could fight. He knew how to swing a punch as well as anyone who grew up in a city. Fighting against a dwarf wanting a drinking contest and an assassin pulling him into an alleyway would have about the same response. Humiliation and possibly death with a hefty side of pain, his dwarf enjoyed his ale far too much to let a 'poncy' elf spoil it.

A hand cupped his face and drew his face upwards. The look in the Ghost's eyes was interested. "You like being obedient," Ghost murmured, his other hand resting on Elorshin's chest. "You are going to answer my questions, aren't you?"

"Depends on the question?"

A blade appeared in the wood next to him. Elorshin sunk slightly but the Ghost pressed closer, forcing him to stay upright. A knowing look passed over the man's face. His fingers played with the fastening at the top of Elorshin's shirt idly. "You didn't tell your friends, did you? About our little encounter?"

"No," Elorshin nodded, wishing he hadn't drunk so much now as he tried to pay attention to the man. The man who had already robbed him once and put him in debt.

"Good boy," he grinned, gloved fingers traces a circle on his chest. Elorshin's throat was dry. He wasn't quite sure when the fastening had popped open. He could feel the heat of the man against him as close as they were. The Ghost pressed closer, a knee between Elorshin's thighs and barely an inch between their faces. "I do wish you hadn't been drinking so much," he murmured. "Tonight could have been far more interesting."

Elorshin was sure his cheeks were burning now. Elorshin, for all appearances, was an ordinary elf. Fair skinned with freckles over his cheeks which would not hide his embarrassment or possibly excitement at all. "Possibly," he breathed, wishing he look away from the entrancing purple irises.

The grin grew. "You and I both know better than that," the Ghost teased and a burst of magic pinged through him. Elorshin blinked twice, not so drunk as to not know what the Ghost had done. He had dispelled the magic on Elorshin. "As lovely as this surprise it, I'm glad my suspicions about this was correct," he noted, a thumb rubbing under Elorshin's eyes. "You're no common elf; you're an Ariolo."

"Not a good one," Elorshin admitted, glad he was barely able to keep his voice louder than a whisper. Ariolo elves were diviners, rare and highly sought after. His true heritage wasn't a secret per-say, but people expected things from him when they knew.  Ariolo were supposed to see into the future. Elorshin couldn't. So, he used magic to keep his eyes brown like a typical elf instead of the orange-yellow of an Ariolo. He dyed the tips of his hair blond but left the main body his natural green to make people think it was a fashion statement rather than something hidden. Simple things but they worked, usually.

The man tilted his head, humming softly. There was a very pleased look on his face that Elorshin hadn't tried to lie about his bloodline. Still, there were only a few ways that someone could be bad at their heritage. "Which way do you see?" The hand on his chest moved downward, opening his shirt and the knee between his legs started shifting. It was getting harder for Elorshin to focus on anything but the fire around him. 

"Backwards," Why lie? It wasn't life or death stuff. It was just what he could do, the limits of his inner eye.  

"Perfect," the Ghost beamed, teeth showing. Elven teeth weren't usually sharp. He had fangs. Elves didn't normally have fangs; someone must have sharpened them for him. Yet, it only made Elorshin heat up more. An image of them biting into his lip flashed through him. A whisper of an action not taken. Elorshin closed his eyes embarrassed as the Ghost laughed amused. He knew a few ways to teach people like him. That was unusual. Forwards was so much easier to wield against its seer. "How far back can you see?"

"If I focus? About a day, sometimes two if its in a quiet area,"

Lips pressed against his. Elorshin melted despite the chasteness of the kiss. It was a sweet thing compared to the other images flashing through Elorshin. Both untread pasts and his imagination happily providing ideas for how this man could enjoy him. Elorshin pressed up, intending to deepen it but the kiss left him cold.

"I'll find you in a few days. I have a job that requires someone of your skills. Try not to let your friends bully you into drinking too much."

And he was gone. Leaving Elorshin wanting and half undressed despite the lack of action between them. He straightened his shirt up, heading to his room. The dwarf was singing with some of the local farmers and stilled ready to go on until dawn. The human druid was asleep on her bed, still dressed. Elorshin wished dearly he had got his own room. She hadn't wanted to share with the others. It would feel wrong to deal with his itch with her sleeping just there. Exhaling, he curled on his head and let himself sleep.

Seeing backwards was not useless, but he had such a short time frame he could use. Most like him sought out in bigger cities as detectives and for the guard. He had tried that life. It hadn't worked out well for him with such a limited period. If the Ghost had a job for his skills, that meant it was a recurring thing. They would be waiting for a new occurrence.

In the morning, he'd worry about what the job was. In the morning, he'd be extremely embarrassed by the memories of the words in his ear. 'You like being obedient.' Worse yet, if the man had said it, Elorshin would have happily been obedient for him. Yet he had held back out of some sense of morals. Right now, Elorshin wished he hadn’t. In the morning, he’d be so very happy he had. But now, the itch was burning and the whispers of teeth on his skin and hands fondling sensitive areas.

Elorshin needed to get laid. If he was becoming too easy for a pretty face to get him on his knees, it had been too long.

[ninaahelvar]

The Stakeout (3/5)

Summary: In order to get all the information they can, the detective duo, Bakugou and Uraraka, must go on a stakeout. But close proximity may force some underlying feelings to come to the surface. Also known as “Bakugou had a really bad date and it gives him perspective”

AO3

A/N: Hi. Hello. So....@doesitsaysassonmyuniform wrote A FUCKTONNE of this chapter. so like....i feel weird taking credit for it. But i /did/ write it. Enjoy this cause omg we sure as hell did. and not to put this lightly...chapter 4 is gonna have you guys pissing in laughter. have fun with the wait time on that.

also, play the guessing game who writes which section: me or doesitsaysassonmyuniform

xx

The stakeout had been difficult - infiltrating the gang like that, learning when their attack was meant to happen. By the end, they were easy to understand, fill them up with booze and they’d be ready to give you any information they had stored up. You just had to know which drink was the right one in order to get the info you needed.

Unfortunately, they also went shot for shot. Uraraka took the fall every time; she could hang with the best - not a lightweight at all, but she’d usually be hammered by the end of the night. It wasn’t her fault, they needed the information, and well...she was happy to get piss drunk for work. She was getting paid for it, so why the fuck not?

By the time the fucking back up arrived, info in hand and arrests made, Bakugou was left to walk the drunken toddler home. She was bouncing around the streets, going to street lamps to sing songs and dance by herself. She was a mess most of the time, and now? It was chaotic. It would have been funny to watch if he wasn’t the one taking her the fuck home.

“Round face, get here or I’ll blow you into the fucking sky,” he grunted, trying to catch up as she skipped. It irritated him, the pressure behind his eyes building to a point where he felt like a steel rod was being pushed through his temples. Uraraka stopped and turned on her heels, almost stumbling at the quick movement of her body.

“I can do that, watch!” she giggled, her hands just missing each other, before trying to align one more.

“Fucking stop, ya goddamn idiot,” he snapped, grabbing hold of her wrist and guiding her loosely up the street. This was going to be a long fucking night if he didn’t hurry the fuck up.

By his side, the night air could knock Uraraka over at any second, as though she were a piece of paper, adrift until guided elsewhere by outside forces. It was weird seeing her like this - a tension in her shoulders gone and the brightness in her cheeks far pinker than they were in daylight.

Uraraka grinned, face flushed and breath heavy as she leaned into him, the alcohol rushing to her head. Her weight pushed into his side, too hot through their clothes and when she swayed it made him stumble. He reached to stabilize her on instinct, her hands landing on his chest as she looked up at him. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, filled with something he couldn’t bring himself to understand, catching him off guard…

Her hands felt like fire, searing into his skin, even through the layers of clothes. His gaze dropped to her body, watching as it lightly swayed, rocking as her cheeks bunched and a smile of alcohol and joy mixed together. She looked….peaceful, like she was free of a burden on her shoulders. And in a moment, stopped in time and frozen in place, she stunned him in a way that couldn’t be explained.

If he looked closer, he’d be able to see the tiny freckles on her nose, and the way her eyelashes cast shadows against her cheeks. Bakugou swallowed, pushing her back upright, hands lingering around her arms before he forced himself to let go.  

Uraraka sighed, the air puffing out between them like she was disappointed, and he fought the strange urge to lean back in.

“You caught me,” she rasped, voice humming with the tune of tequila on her breath, and it sent shivers down his spine. He wasn’t used to this. The only time he’d heard her voice go this weird was when she had the flu, and it had never made his palms sweat, or his mouth go dry.

“Can’t have you face-planting in the middle of the street - not unless I have a fucking camera.” Uraraka stared up at him before giggling, breaking into a wild laugh that ended in snorting.

The smile that crept onto his face may have been unwelcome at any other moment, but for once, he didn’t push it back.

*

Bakugou was screwed man. A very screwed man. Fucking screwed. How the fuck did this even happen? One second, she was in his partner, and now this woman was making him feel like he was a goddamn teenager. Even when he was a fucking teenager he never felt like this? Was he reverting back to his younger self to live a horny teenage life? Was this what that Benjamin Button movie was all about? What in the world was fucking happening to him?

It had been two weeks since the stakeout, and in those two weeks he had walked into wall twice, spilled coffee on work documents at least eight time, and had several stunted conversations. Hell, he’d fucking stuttered when she asked if he wanted a donut - Stuttered! He’d never stuttered in his entire fucking life, that was that idiot Deku’s forte, and he hadn’t planned on starting.

It didn’t help that every time she walked past him, he could smell her shitty perfume, or that she had tackled him a few times during training sessions. She was something attractive now and it made him all weird and nervous, like a switch had been flipped and now he couldn’t ignore it. It didn’t help that he knew for a fact that everyone saw right through him. He didn’t act like an idiot unless there was good reason.

Walking into work, he pushed his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor by his chair. He instinctively sat down until he felt awkward sitting alone - as though he were waiting for Uraraka to arrive to be a complete fucking idiot. Bakugou realised he needed to get a new routine, to fix this old broken one in order to move on. That’s what he needed to do. He couldn’t have her, so he would push the feelings aside.

In the kitchen, he started the coffee machine up, watching as the strong coffee poured into the cup. Bakugou hit the button on the fancy machine again, watching as the hit that would be given would most likely send Uraraka into a caffeine frenzy. No. Not her. Kirishima. When it was finished, he was about to sip at it when someone came charging into his back, spilling his coffee all over his shirt.

“Hey Blasty!” Her voice chimed, too bright this early in the morning. God, why the fuck was she so happy?! She hated mornings!

“Fuck!” Bakugou swore, airing out his black shirt. He was lucky it wouldn’t fucking show, but the burning hot caffeine that ran down him sure hurt. Regardless of his quirk, heat could still be a bitch.

Uraraka stood in front of him, fixing up her leather jacket as she grimaced at him. She looked hotter than normal - which was saying something in his opinion. She was wearing a teal tank top and some jeans, which wasn’t exactly high fashion by any means, but her clothes clung to her in a way that made him get a dry mouth. It also didn’t help that the necklace she wore was now dangling over her shirt and pulling it down across her cleavage. He wasn’t going to stare. But that male part of his brain was finally sparking to life cause that was all he wanted to stare at. “Sorry, but did you hear? There’s a new case we’re getting today!”

“What kind of case?” he asked, shaking off his shirt before leaning on the kitchen counter.

“Stakeout,” she said, and Bakugou stiffened. Fuck this couldn’t be - “Joking!” Bakugou rolled his eyes.  “It’s just some dude being an asshole, Aizawa is waiting for us,” she said, gesturing towards the main office. Bakugou nodded, following her as she walked.

Bakugou tried to think of anything else; watching her was making him an idiot. It was an odd thing to concentrate on something that wasn’t following someone. He knew the route - he could do this and ignore her. Coffee. The coffee cup in his hand was somewhat heavy. He wondered if it was what the cup was made of or the combination of both his coffee and the cup.

Bakugou fucking tripped, foot catching on a bag and spilling coffee down himself for the second time that day. He was a goddamn fucking idiot.

“Fuck,” he cursed, trying to untangle his foot from the bag that only seemed to snare him tighter as the struggled continued. “Shit, can you idiots not leave your shit on the floor,” he spat, kicking at the bag, then Uraraka giggled and he froze, looking back up at her.

“That’s your bag, Bakugou,” Uraraka said, and as Bakugou looked down, he wanted to fucking explode the precinct. Why...did bad things happen to semi-good people? He finally was able to get the bag loose and get to the office without another delay. He kinda wished a meteor came down from the sky and killed the entire office - that’s how he wanted to go, no heroics, just death.

Entering Aizawa’s office, they were met with a face of disdain - which wasn’t anything new, but in Bakugou’s state of mind, he felt seen. Swallowing hard, Bakugou took a seat opposite his commanding officer and next to Uraraka.

“Good to see you two,” he greeted with the same drawl he said most things with, “here’s the case file we have from PD.” Aizawa handed over a large case file to Uraraka, Bakugou leaned over her shoulder slightly to check on some of the stats. He grimaced when he saw the quirk. This would be a hard case. Fun, but hard. “He’s Nakamura Genzo, quirk: electro bomb. As far as we know, he can draw power from electricity around him and use it to his advantage, manipulating the electric impulses in the human body for example. He’s committed a spate of robberies, and killed a few different people. If we don’t catch him quickly, we suspect he’ll commit mass murder any day,” Aizawa explained and Uraraka perked. Bakugou shut his eyes - he knew this would be a hard case….but not like this.

“So, we’re going to have to analyse a lot of data and go on a raid in the next few days,” she confirmed, and Aizawa gave a nod.

“Exactly, I’m expecting long days and nights, you two. Just get this done quickly. I don’t need another trigger stakeout,” he commented, and Bakugou stood, giving a vague nod of agreement to Aizawa.

“You and me both,” Bakugou muttered underneath his breath. The two left the office, heading towards their desks and started to work. It had felt like a long time since Bakugou felt himself, a case was needed in order to feel centred once again. At their desks, Bakugou and Uraraka immediately started to comb through his file, picking up on his MO and understanding that it was crime of opportunity, not planning. He didn’t need to plan in order to execute what he wanted.

Over the course of a week, Uraraka and Bakugou had late nights hovering over maps and analysing the perps MO. He struck in relatively low populated areas, which meant little police or quirk agencies. The way he would attack at night, and make sure power didn’t return for another hour afterwards.

“Wouldn’t it make sense that he’s still around the area, at least,” Uraraka suggested. Bakugou looked at her, the lowlight of a desk lamp on her desk the only thing in the office brightening up the space. Bakugou took the reports from her hand as she went to the maps, looking over the radius of each area. Bakugou’s brow furrowed.

“We always thought that he left it dark an hour after to give himself time, but how far can his quirk reach? It wouldn’t make much fucking sense if he could wipe out a specific space just cause he fucking could,” Bakugou said and Uraraka nodded, tucking the long strands behind her ear as she hovered over more papers on her desk.

“What if the area he wipes power from is his furthest reach,” she said, finger circling one of the spots, “here,” she said, then showing the distance wasn’t much different in each area.

“He doesn’t run off to give himself time…”

“He stays and watches to make sure the victims die,” Uraraka finished.

“Sadistic fuck,” Bakugou spat. Looking over the areas he hit, Bakugou remembered one from his childhood, somewhat close to the areas the guy had already attacked. Finger firmly pressing into the map. “And look, he’s got a perfect spot here. Given how often he attacks, he’d attack tomorrow if we’re lucky.”

“We’ll start a mission tomorrow,” Uraraka beamed and Bakugou relaxed into his chair, rubbing at his eyes.

“God, I’m fucking tired,” he groaned. The night had run its course, the case stalled due to the late hour, which left the two of them sitting there like exhausted idiots.

“So,” Uraraka said with a slight yawn, “are you going to tell me what’s going on with you, or am I going to have to guess?” Bakugou looked at her out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed as he wasn’t quite catching up.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been acting weird! You don’t act weird. I know how you act when you’re excited or mad, or even the difference between when you’re upset and raging. These past few weeks have shown you being...clumsy,” she said, and it was as though Bakugou was suddenly reminded of how he was feeling. He shook it off, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What if I bumped my fucking head, got a concussion or something?” he asked with a shrug. It wasn’t until after the excuse was made did he feel like an idiot.

“Unlikely,” Uraraka laughed, leaning forward on her knees, elbows pressed down and chin cupped in her hands. “Did your mom get you new shoes to wear to work?”

“That was one fucking time, and I’m telling you now, never mention it again or I’ll kill you,” he warned, eyeing her down.

Uraraka began to think, deeply wondering what her next guess would be. “What about…”

“Stop guessing!”

“Do you like someone in the precinct? You see them and get all weird?” she said, and Bakugou’s jaw went tight. “Am I right for once! You actually like someone!” God why did she have to be fucking looking at him?

“I don’t like anyone, round face! Or did my date send you the wrong fucking idea?” he snarled, and Uraraka hissed.

“Jeez, sorry,” Uraraka laughed before bending to the side of her desk and picking up her bag. “I’m going to head home. See you tomorrow,” she yawned again, standing up and patting Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” he muttered as he gave a wager wave over his shoulder.

There was part of him that wanted to apologise, wanted to say sorry for handling her roughly - but that wasn’t him. He didn’t say sorry, he wasn’t affectionate, Bakugou wouldn’t know how to be any of those things even if he tried. He took a rough hold on her - he always did that. He yelled. He always did that.

But somehow, it felt mean to say it to her. That he shouldn’t be treating her that way. But he had already been doing that - acting like a fucking fool because acting himself seemed so fucking foreign to him. It was Uraraka! Why did it have to be Uraraka?

Leaning back in his chair, the backrest allowing him to recline, and his hands ran over his face. He sighed, and tried to remember himself. He was Katsuki fucking Bakugou, he didn’t need to be anyone else. But...didn’t she deserve someone else? Someone like Deku, that treated her like she was a girl? Bakugou couldn’t do that - wouldn’t do that. She was Uraraka, a fucking great agent that could take down an army if she thought she had to. Treating her as anything but a badass that could put up with his shit was difficult for him.

She wasn’t like everyone else, his date had proven that...

*

“Hey, Bakugou right?” The chick with glasses asked, standing up from the small, intimate table to greet him.

“Yeah.” he said, grabbing onto her extended hand to shake it. She’d had her arm outstretched weirdly - as though she was going for a hug - and she made a face when he redirected it. The fuck was her problem? “You’re Takahashi yeah?  Sorry I’m late - Kirishima talked my fucking ears off before I left.”

She smiled - damn her mouth was big, weird - and laughed slightly, moving to take her seat once more. Her glass of water was almost empty already, how long had she fucking been there for? “Kirishima is quite the talker. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Bakugou snorted, collapsing into the free chair, it scraping loudly against the floor. “Only the good shit I hope - I’ll kill him if he’s been bad mouthing me to the whole agency. You work in Accounting right?”

Her smile fell for a moment. “Archives actually.”

Oh. He knew it started with an A. He leaned forward to grab his water glass. “Oh yeah. Archives. Must be boring down there - all those fucking files.” The water slurped as he drank, and he saw her flinch slightly. Jesus. What kind of uptight bitch had Kirishima set him up with.

“Actually, I quite enjoy it.” She pushed up her glasses - huh, she didn’t have bad eyes though. They were a nice green. “ It may not be as glamorous as being an agent, but it’s just as important to keep track of the agency’s files and make sure everything runs smoothly.” Bakugou nodded. “ No I hear ya - our paperwork has to go somewhere, and someone has to keep track of everything. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be able to connect all the cold cases we do. Not to mention making sure all the departments are able to coordinate. “

Takahashi blinked in surprise, as though she hadn’t expected him to see the reason why that shit was important.

“Yes. You’re exactly right.” She said, leaning forward ever so slightly, her elbow resting on the table.

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill myself out of boredom - I don’t know how you do it, Glasses.” Bakugou crossed his arms, pushing up to lean on the table like she was.

“Glasses?”

“You’re wearing ‘em aren’t ya?”

“Yes but -”

“I could call you something else if you’d prefer.”

“My name would be nice.”

“Nah. I like glasses better. Easier to remember” He reached for the menu. “What were you thinking of getting? I’ve been to this place a few times before, it’s good.”

The night continued with stunted conversations, awkward silences and a fuck ton of Bakugou shoving his face with food for a lack of anything better to do. If someone had told him that the shitty beginning had been the highlight, he could have cut and bolted sooner. Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened. So far he’d learnt three things about this woman. One - she wore glasses. Two - She worked in Archives. Three - she wasn’t too bad to look at.

Wait. He needed to add a fourth.

Four - she wasn’t enjoying this date at all.

They had one thing in common then.

“Did you want to fuck or?” Bakugou asked.

Glasses paused in whatever diatribe she’d been on - he really hadn’t been paying attention at this point, which probably wasn’t good. She dropped her chopsticks in surprise, “Excuse me?”

Shit, that probably didn’t come out the way he wanted.

“I mean this isn’t going how we both wanted. So. What do ya want?” He wiped his face with a napkin, before smirking. “You looking for a hot night or what?”

Her jaw dropped, her glasses slightly slipping on her nose. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that! Kirishima told me you were crass but this is unbelievable!”

“If he told you I was crass, than he’s more honest than I expected. But he obviously didn’t tell you that I hate wasting time,” he started, reclining back into the chair. “All I can tell you is that I’m not looking for anything long term right now, and I don’t think we’re compatible for that either way - but you’re not unattractive and I like you well enough. So I’m gonna ask again - you wanna fuck?”

Rice wine hit his face, the bottle that they had been sharing hitting the table cloth in a dull thump. The patrons around them turned, sensing drama like fucking vultures, and he took a deep breath. His hands twitched, sweat automatically pooling in his palms and he had to force himself not to detonate them even slightly. He shook his head, the wine dripping onto his nice shirt, and down his arms. “You could have just said no.”

“I thought you said you like action Bakugou,” she challenged, anger in her voice which must have been a first for her.  

“I do - I don’t appreciate you throwing a fucking tantrum like a child,” he said, spitting away the wine that dripped into his mouth.  

“I can’t belie - Do you even know how to talk to women?”

“I do it everyday, so I’d say so.”

“You’re such an asshole. I don’t know why I let Kirishima talk me into this!”

He shoved himself away from the table. “I don’t know why he even thought this would work - he knows I don’t like frigid bitches like you!”

The crowd gasped, and he could see the nearby waitstaff looking nervous.

To Glasses credit, she barely reacted beyond the initial shock of the statement. Instead, she calmly grabbed her nearby mug, and in a surprisingly fluid motion, threw it at his face. “Asshole!”

Only years of training his reflexes had Bakugou ducking in time, and the cup flew over his head and smashed into the wall. A snarl tore at his lips and his hands popped against his control, sparks flying up his now flammable shirt sleeves. “You bitch! Are you trying to hurt someone?”

Her eyes widened and she took a step back as several patrons started to scream. Heat rushed up his arms, and when he looked down it was to flames creeping up his arms. “Fuck!” He patted the shirt frantically, trying to put them out. Glasses ran over, water glass in hand and as the cool liquid hit him, he couldn’t help but think it was the third time that night she’d thrown something at him.

“I’m calling the police,” a waiter shouted, and Bakugou  whipped around to face him, scorch marks and wine stains covering his shirt, a crazed look in his eyes. “ Don’t fucking bother - I’ll do it myself.” He turned back to Glasses, who was now quietly gathering her things.  “Thanks for the date Frigid. I’ll pay, but if you tell anyone what happened here I’ll set your office on fire.”

She nodded, and a moment later she was out the door.

He threw down a wad of cash onto the table, glared at the waiter and walked to the corner of the restaurant. He pulled out his phone, and clicked the contact he still hated having, even after the almost fifteen years he’d had it.  

The patrons stared and whispered, and Bakugou did his best not to hunch over, he refused to look ashamed. Even if he… maybe was.

The call connected.

“Kacchan? What’s wr-”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, holding his fist tight. “I need you to come fucking pick me up okay - and come deal with a few assholes at this restaurant.”

“I’m off duty - did you call it into the station and file a public disturbance report?”

“I’m the public disturbance, and you’re the only shitty officer I know. So come to this goddamn restaurant.”

There was a sigh over the phone, and he could hear muffled whispers, like Deku was talking to whoever the fuck he was with. Fucking Nerd.

“What’s the address?”

This was gonna suck balls.

~

When Deku arrived, his police lights flashing in the dark and casting its colours across the restaurant, it was empty. Only Bakugou remained along with the staff, as everyone else had quickly left after all the drama, all promised a free meal at another time.

Bakugou had gotten a ban. They hadn’t even let him leave to stand out the front, afraid he’d walk off and not deal with the police. He’d tried showing them his badge, but they remained unimpressed. Fucking assholes. He could have left, but he really didn’t want this getting out.

Deku shut the building door behind him, and raised an eyebrow at the sight before him.

“Not a fucking word,” Bakugou warned.

Deku simply smiled, smug cunt, and brought out his little notebook, pen at the ready. When Bakugou looked closer, he could tell the dick didn’t even have the pen clicked into position Deku turned to the waiters that had held Bakugou hostage. “I heard there was a disturbance Sirs?”

Asshole number one nodded. “Yeah. This guy caused a huge scene, set the place on fire and everything.”

Bakugou snorted. “Do you see anything else that’s burnt dumbass?” He gestured towards his scorched self, crossing his arms.  

Deku sighed. “So you got into a fight Bakugou? With who?”

Bakugou opened his mouth, but the waiter cut him off. “His date.”

Deku blinked rapidly, barely maintaining a calm composure. “Your date? You were here on a date?”

Trying to play it cool, Bakugou shrugged. “Wasn’t a very good one.”

“I can see that,” the Detective replied.  Bakugou could see the amusement in his eyes, the fucking asshole.  Deku focused back on the waiter, “So a basic public disturbance report? Nothing was damaged?”

The waiter nodded. “I wouldn’t have bothered but the manager has a strict policy now. Plus they did break several glasses, and cost us a restaurant full of customers.”

A frown crossed Deku’s face, and he shot Bakugou a judging glance. Bakugou sneered back. He knew it was bad, and if Aizawa ever found out the man would tear him a new asshole, but it wasn’t that bad. Deku had seen him much worse than this.

“To be fair, she broke all the glasses.” Bakugou chimed in. “If anything, I’m the victim here.”

Deku rolled his eyes. “All right, that should be enough for the report. I can get more details from this one on my way to the station.” He gave the waiter a smile, “He’ll be properly dealt with, I assure you.”  He was never going back to the station, but they didn’t have to know that.

“Good.” The waiter replied, before he ushered them out of the restaurant. “If I ever see you here again Sir, I’ll be forced to call security.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bakugou grumbled, already walking to the car. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and forget this night happened.

“Kacchan, I have to tell you -”

“I said not a fucking word Deku. Don’t start.”

“But you-”

“No.”

He grabbed the door handle, and flopped into the back seat, slamming the door behind him.

Finally. Some peace and quiet.

“Hey Blasty.”

Bakugou jumped, a strangled sound escaping his throat and he stared.

And stared.

And fucking Uraraka stared back, shit eating grin on her face.

He opened the door and slammed it behind him, grabbing onto Deku who was about to walk around. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

Deku sighed. “I tried to tell you, you told me to shut up.”

Bakugou swore, his grip on Deku’s arm tightening. The nerd didn’t even flinch. “I mean why the fuck is she here?”

Shrugging out of his hold Deku stepped back. “I was off duty - which if you’d listened to me when you called you would have remembered, and we were getting coffee. She wanted to tag along.”

Bakugou groaned, his suffering just wasn’t fucking ending. “Deku, I swear to god if you weren’t my ride out of here I’d fucking murder you right now.”

“How was I supposed to know you had a bad date? Besides, she’s your partner, you know she’d find out eventually.” He replied calmly. How the fuck he always remained so calm now, Bakugou would never know.

“Yeah. Eventually. Preferably never!”

A cheery voice chimed in. “I can hear you guys you know. You’re not exactly quiet.”

Fuck.

*

When Bakugou headed into work, still groggy from the late night investigation, he knew he needed to do something about this fucking mess. Bakugou felt like he was ready to get the whole thing over with. That morning had been one of the first times where Bakugou didn’t want to go to work. He knew they had a lead, he knew they were going on an active mission...but he just wanted to do the most pathetic thing and hide. He never wanted to hide, but she was beginning to see him, and he didn’t like being seen. She was too close, and he needed distance.

When Kirishima walked into the office before Uraraka, Bakugou almost cheered.

“Shitty hair! Come here,” Bakugou shouted, and Kirishima turned, smiling as he skipped over.

“What’s up dude?” he asked, punching at Bakugou’s shoulder.

“I need you to switch with me on the mission today,” he said, hoping the idiot wouldn’t ask. But he did. The crease in his brow told Bakugou enough.

“What? Why? It’s definitely going to be a firefight, you sure you wanna -”

“Yes! I’m sure,” Bakugou snapped. Why did Kirishima have to be Bakugou’s best friend? Although Uraraka was close, Kirishima knew Bakugou just as well.

Kirishima stared at Bakugou, as though cogs were working in his mind, finally fitting pieces together. “Dude...what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t…” Bakugou stopped himself, licking at his lips and combing his fingers through his hair. “I can’t go on a mission with her,” he said with a quieter voice. Shame. He felt ashamed to ask.

“With Uraraka?” he asked, and as Bakugou gave one firm nod, Kirishima gave Bakugou space - a foot back was all he needed. “What happened?”

Bakugou looked down at his feet before he looked back at Kirishima. “...you know what happened,” Bakugou’s jaw set tight as it became harder to swallow.

“You..” Kirishima started, hand hesitating to land on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Are you saying you just realised you like her?”

Seen.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he snapped, hands bound like a vice at either side of him, “but yes,” he cleared his throat, letting Kirishima’s hand fall from his shoulder

“Well why are you -”

“I can’t be around her right now, okay! And like you said, this is gonna be a firefight and I can’t afford to make a mistake.” Bakugou finally broke, his voice cracking as he shouted. Kirishima didn’t flinch like Bakugou thought he would. He sighed simply and smiled.

“Okay,” and Bakugou felt himself let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “I’ll talk it over with Aizawa. Just...try and relax dude,” he said, voice warm with comfort. Bakugou knew Kirishima could calm him down, but this was different. Comfort. Stop freaking out, I got you.

“I’m trying,” Bakugou said, carding his fingers through

When Kirishima came out of Aizawa’s office, an eager nod on his shoulders, Bakugou went to the filing office. Unfortunately, Bakugou was trading a mission for a large amount of paperwork. Kirishima and Kaminari were the worst in the precinct with paperwork - always late, always a mess, and oftentimes...ruining their cases. If it meant these idiots closed a few cases, Bakugou was willing to get on with this - he couldn’t be in a precinct with a bunch of rejects. It also meant that when he was sitting with Kaminari - the moron that never shut up - he was away from Uraraka when she got there.

The entire day of Bakugou was hearing Electric Pikachu blasting on about another shitty thing going on in his personal life and whatever else. Bakugou snapped the idiot back to attention when he got too friendly and made sure he got back on track. It didn’t take much - just a strategic stare when pikachu was getting too off topic. In all, Bakugou was able to get a majority of shitty hair’s paperwork done over the day. It wasn’t hard - Kirishima always started them, but never had the attention span to expand where he needed.

When Bakugou’s shift was ending close to 11pm, the doors to the elevator dinged and out came a raging Uraraka. She and Kirishima looked beat - physically and emotionally. Uraraka spotted him and pointed directly at him, eyes burning like the pits of hell. She was angry beyond word could say.

“You swapped with Kirishima? What the fuck, Bakugou?” she yelled.

Bakugou slammed down the paperwork on Kirishima’s desk and the red haired idiot went to look over it. “It’s not a big deal I just didn’t want to deal with it-”

“- You didn’t fucking tell me, you cunt!” she snapped and the room went still. Not many people were around, but the word alone stunned the entire precinct.

“....” he paused before he could reply. “Wow okay.” He’d never heard her swear like that before. It was...attractive. No! Stop it!

“It’s fine if you wanna pull out ‘cause of whatever bullshit you’re on this week - you’ve been acting weird over the last month but give me some warning next time. I’d already planned a take down with you in mind, and Kirishima’s great but it’s not the same.”

Kirishima coughed in the corner.

Right. She only cared because it fucked with her plans. Not that he should be surprised, she’d made a habit of slaving over those things. He prefered to wing it. “Sorry I didn’t give you my two weeks notice boss, I’ll do better next time, Fucking christ.”

Uraraka seemed hurt - as though not telling her was a painful act. Bakugou didn’t understand - he was the one in the emotional turmoil, not her! She was the best fighter beside Bakugou, she could handle any criminal without him. Whatever bullshit she was spouting was some weird insecurity that he didn’t have time to unpack.

The two stared each other down, and as Uraraka broke, she turned on her heel only to halt herself. She couldn’t put pressure on her foot and Bakugou caught the wince that escaped her lips. She bound her hands tight and didn’t budge, as though she was waiting for Bakugou to turn away, but he wasn’t going to.

“Wait, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, standing and getting her to face him.

“Nothing, I just miscalculated a landing is all,” she spat, trying to get back to the  elevator with that stupid limp she was trying to walk with.

“You’ve been injured this whole time and you decided to fucking scream at me instead? You crazy fucking banshee.” Bakugou swore under his breath as he moved towards her, taking her up by the waist to get the pressure off her foot.

“Hey - I’m still pissed!” she cursed as him, though there wasn’t much she could do except float away - but regardless, he would be guiding her to the lounge - they kept a first aid kit there. She tried to fight against him, but as his hand tightened on her waist, she stiffened.

“Don’t care, stop struggling dipshit,” he said, pulling a majority of her weight on his hip as he moved to the next room. He put her down on the couch, dragging the coffee table over for her foot as he tried to find the first aid kit.

“You act like you don’t care, now you’re my fucking mother,” Uraraka snarled, and Bakugou looked over his shoulder. She rested back into the cushions as she started to take off her shoe.

“You’re hurt, you fucking moron, of course I care,” he said over his shoulder, getting back to the first aid kit. He couldn’t do much, but he could give basic first aid.

There was silence among them once more - and under most circumstances it would have been fine, but they were both angry, which led to yelling in the long run. Yet, Uraraka was stewing with rage. Her rage was like an inferno, billowing out like an out of control forest fire. Now...she let herself sit in it, not quite erupting, but ready to scorch him when she felt it was necessary.

“Did you at least catch the guy?” he asked, sitting down on the coffee table, hoisting her foot onto his lap and inspecting it. He twisted it slightly, from right to left, back and forth, over and over to find where it was the worst.

“Yeah,” Uraraka said just before she winced. Bakugou lightened his grip on her ankle, letting his finger gingerly touch at her foot.

“Well, why are you whining?” Bakugou shot her a look, finding her not as angry, but worried, as though she were to blame for something. Bakugou’s look softened, watching as she chewed on her lip.

“Why did you swap with Kirishima?” she asked, voice soft and barely present. Bakugou swallowed, focusing back on her foot and wrapping it up with the bandages from the first aid kit.

“I just did. What’s wrong with switching things up?”

“You usually tell me first, what’s with the silent treatment?”

Bakugou slid his hand further up her calf, a small form of pleasure - touching her bare skin to whatever extent he wanted. He wasn’t used to touching her so softly, and somewhat enjoying the fact that she was so tender under his hand. When he finally tucked the bandage up and made sure it was secure. “I didn’t think I needed to. Now I realise you keep me around to stop you from fucking up on missions,” he challenged.

“Hey, that’s not true,” she replied forcefully, and he scoffed.

“I was kidding around,” Bakugou cracked a smirk, looking back at her to find her still as worried as before.

“Why did you switch?” she asked again.

Bakugou’s jaw went tight, his mouth dry and hands feeling unsteady. “I’m switching for the next few weeks,” he said, putting her foot on the table and leaving to go towards the door.

“What? What are you saying, you don’t wanna be partners anymore?” Bakugou stopped, turning back quickly.

“No! I just…” he had to stop himself, for all the truth he shared with her - he couldn’t let this slip. “I’m not just working with you, Round Face. Don’t get so fucking worked up over it,” he shook his head, watching as Uraraka struggled to understand.

“You can’t just leave like that! You have to tell me for once what -” she said, starting to stand, only to fall victim to the pain in her ankle. “Ah!” Uraraka fell back against the couch.

“Stay still, idiot,” he warned her. “Kirishima is just as good. Not me, but, he can measure up.” Clearing his throat, he tucked his hands into his pockets and left.

“Asshole!” He heard Uraraka yelled.

He wasn’t going to argue with that.

What happened next none of them expected. When transporting Nakamura Genzo, the electric based prick sapped all the electricity from surrounding buildings and cars and set off an explosion within the truck. He killed four federal agents and injured two others. Kirishima and Uraraka were not needed for the transport, but now, it meant their case was still on going. Which also meant, even if Bakugou wanted to go back and be partners with Uraraka, he needed to wait until she closed her case with Kirishima.

The next two months of hateful looks, wandering glances and utter agony, Bakugou had finally had enough of the loneliness. Uraraka made it hard, the spiteful way she looked at him, and making sure he felt bad every single time he came close to her. He never felt bad for anything, especially not her. But now….she made it hard. She just kept making it hard.

Bakugou hadn’t ever really experienced attraction like this - sure, he’d fucked a few people, been able to move on in no time. But this was different. It wasn’t a one night stand, it was a person that he had to work with - it was fucking Uraraka. She wasn’t someone that he could fuck around with to get over the feelings that were brewing inside - she’d see her every day, have to be close to her, touch her. And through it all, he didn’t want to hurt her.

He said to himself that he wanted to push the feelings aside, that he needed to get into a new routine in order to move on from whatever he was doing with himself. But he realised...it was already hidden, just below the surface, simmering until just the right amount of heat was added to have him boiling over. There was no way to cool down until the heat was gone for good.

The heat was Uraraka. And he couldn’t get rid of her.

He never wanted to. In the past, Aizawa had asked if Bakugou wanted a different partner, because he and Uraraka argued all the time. But...he couldn’t say yes. He wanted her more than he wanted anyone else. He couldn’t explain it at the time; a combination of attraction and admiration. Bakugou just didn’t understand what attraction truly meant for him. What it would conjure deep down. He wanted Uraraka to stay by his side through missions, through days and nights, to have her like no one else had.

And he didn’t know how to handle that.

So...he had to run. He had to run from it all or risk everything. Push her aside so they’d never be where they were once. Bakugou had to give her up, in order to be better.

Bakugou hated everything that was happening, understanding why he was feeling the way he was. He hated it all. He hated that he felt at all!

When his shift ended, the shitty colleagues trying to get a goodbye out of him - Bakugou just pushed them all aside. He needed to get out of the office, needed to be anywhere else. And with all these feelings that he had never experienced and had a terrible time of keeping control of, he needed to drown them out. Quite literally.

He found the closest club to his apartment, sat at the bar, and ordered a drink. He felt like an idiot, letting himself buy into thoughts that he was feeling something. All the signs were there. He didn’t need to control how he spoke to Uraraka - years of being around each other, she knew him better than anyone. Kirishima was an exception, but he still wanted Bakugou to relax - which he never understood. Bakugou could rage and rant to Uraraka during late night investigations, but she never tried to get him to rephrase anything. Bakugou had limited connections, especially people he called friends, but Uraraka was something different - a partner, but more.

He was an idiot that didn’t know what attraction meant until now. And now its caught a fixation and he can’t fucking shake it. Why couldn’t he shake it? It wasn’t as if he liked Uraraka in a romantic way. He thought she was attractive sure, and she was unlike any other woman he’d met. She never let him get away with anything, and made him a better person. He felt like a better person around her, and the past two months had been agony, even though it had been self inflicted. But it didn’t mean…

Wait...did it?

Fuck.

Bakugou downed his drink, the burn against his throat so much easier to acknowledge than the one in his chest, and he ordered another.

He couldn’t remember much after that. It started with one more drink. Then it lead to four others. Soon it became shot for shot with whoever was willing to give him the time of day. By the time his phone was in his hand, a smile that was mostly the alcohol, he didn’t remember much. He just remembered seeing Uraraka’s name, the stupid - yet adorable - picture of her puffed up cheeks in his hand as she stared him down. She looked grumpy, but it fit Uraraka to a tee. And then he was home. Blissful and unaware of what had actually transpired that night.

*~*~*

Uraraka was about to go to sleep, nearly 2am and her body was exhausted, when her phone received a text.

[volumes2lo-gan]

Logicality high school au where Logan has to tutor patton who pretends not to understand the lessons so he can spend time with Logan. Poor Logan has no clue patton has this huge crush on him so imagine his surprise when Patton is giving him math, and science pick up lines and if that wasn't strange he finds out that patton actually know these lessons so he goes to confront patton

Do the Math

Fandom: Sanders SidesPairing: LogicalityWarnings: None

Logan wasn’t sure how he’d gotten stuck tutoring Patton, but one thing was certain: his patience as an educator was definitely better than he’d thought.  He’d been tutoring him after school on Wednesdays for a couple weeks now, and with each lesson, Logan found himself repeating things over and over again because of Patton’s short attention span.  He didn’t know why the other student would constantly zone out while he was staring at the board, but Logan had had to snap him out of it twice during this session alone.  

Patton was currently sitting on a desk, facing a relatively exasperated Logan and a hectic whiteboard.  “So… you’re saying that if the person is five feet tall…” he started, swinging his feet.  

“Yes, go on…” Logan urged, hoping this lesson was finally sinking in.

“So they’re five feet tall… and look to the tippy top of a tree in front of them….”

“Yes?”  The student tutor leaned forward in his chair expectantly.

“Then… the hypotenuse is 80!”  Patton beamed and Logan suppressed a groan.

“N-no, not quite.  Not at all, actually.  Patton, can you tell me the units in which you were giving your solution?” he prompted, already knowing the answer he’d receive.

“80… d… degrees?”  Patton said sheepishly, slowing his kicking as he gave Logan his patented doe eyes.  Honestly, he’d think he’d know by now that that look did not make all of his answers correct.  In fact, that look statistically never increased his odds of being correct.  He was always wrong regardless of whether or not he gave Logan those eyes, so why did he keep trying?  Logan shook his head to clear his thoughts before steepling his hands and directing their point at the other student.

“Feet, Patton.  You were solving for the distance between the person and the tree in feet.  The individual is five feet tall, the tree is twelve feet tall, and I gave you the angle of 70 degrees from eye-level to the top of the tree– which is a fact that you seemed to have forgotten.  This is all sufficient enough data to solve for the distance from the tree.  So if you were to plug in all of these data points,” he turned to the whiteboard and started drawing a very simplistic image of a stick figure near a pine tree, “then you’d be able to find that by looking up to the top of the tree at a 70 degree angle, the individual is roughly two and a half feet away from the tree.”  When Logan turned around from the board, capping his pen, he was met with Patton’s glazed-over expression for what felt like the dozenth time this session.  “Patton, are you even listening?”  Patton sat there happily swaying his feet back and forth for a little while longer before realizing that Logan had stopped talking.

“Oh!  Sorry, Logan,” he said, a deep blush burning across his cheeks and hiding his freckles, “I must’ve fazed out again a little.”  Logan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“That’s alright, Patton, it’s been a long session, let’s call it a wrap and try again some more tomorrow.”  Logan started packing up his bag and Patton hopped off the desk and gathered up his things as well.

“Sorry about that problem, I guess that angle and I were both pretty obtuse,” Patton chuckled as he stuffed his folders away.  “Wish I could’ve seen that other one twice though.  Then I’d have had 20/20 vision to find the answer!”  He slung his bag over his shoulder as Logan shook his head.

“I’ll never understand how you come up with those so fast,” he said, honestly impressed by the use of wordplay.  Patton beamed.

“I’m good at what I like!  I’ll see you tomorrow, Logan.”  He waved before heading out the door and down the hall.  Logan stood in the room for a little while longer, organizing his bag as he went over his last encounter again.

Obtuse… clever use of double meaning… the other angle, 20, twice… 20/20 vision, Logan chuckled to himself and then froze.  Wait.  He turned to the board and looked over the sketch he’d drawn.  5-foot person, 12-foot tree, 70 degree angle, and 2.55-foot distance.  He hadn’t marked the other angle and he wouldn’t have been so suspicious had Patton not insisted he use a calculator two days ago to calculate 12 plus 8 when he noticed he didn’t have enough fingers.  He turned back from the board and saw a piece of scrap paper on the floor near where Patton had been sitting.  Curious.

Logan walked over and picked it up.  Patton’s name was scrawled across the top along with a bunch of tiny hearts and heart-eyed smiley faces and animals.  Logan laughed a little at the doodles, but the small laugh died down as his eyes scanned down the rest of the page.  There were small graphs, all labeled with the curly script from the top of the page, sketching out lessons Logan had mentioned in passing at the start of the session.  Patton had apparently not only taken note of all of his hypothetical equations, he’d actually solved them, seemingly before they moved on to the main problems no less.  There was no reason, Logan thought, for Patton to be in these tutoring sessions.  In fact, he could probably apply to be a tutor himself if this paper was adequate proof of his abilities.

He stuffed the paper in his backpack and leaned out into the hallway, hoping to find Patton still by the lockers, but the few students waiting for the late bus were heading out and Patton was nowhere in sight.  Well, he’d have to confront him tomorrow, he supposed.  Logan hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders and exited the room, turning out the lights behind him.

The next day, Logan stood at his locker for ten minutes before finally spotting Patton through the waves of students.  He waited for Patton to get to his own locker before making his way across the hall.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan greeted, startling the other student.

“Oh!  Logan, hi!  I– sorry, I didn’t see you there.”  He smiled, but was seemingly having a hard time catching his breath.  Logan made a mental note to announce himself a bit more subtly in the future.

“That’s quite alright, I just wanted to talk to you about something I found slightly peculiar,” he held up the paper he’d found the day prior.  “I believe this is yours?”

Patton squinted at the paper before giving a small nod.  “Y-yeah, that’s my note sheet.”

“Okay, so now that we’ve cleared that up, maybe you’d be able to clear up why someone as smart as you is requiring tutoring sessions?”  Logan asked matter-of-factly, handing Patton back his sheet of paper.  Patton’s blush deepened and he turned back to close his locker.

“I- uh, well…” he stammered.  “I guess I just… wanted to hang out with you?”  Logan quirked an eyebrow and Patton nervously continued.  “I, um, oh wow I didn’t think I’d be doing this this morning, but, uh… I… I really like you?  Like, like like you, you know?  I didn’t know how to tell you, so I just figured ‘hey, Logan does tutoring, maybe I could hang out with him there!’ which, now that I say it, it sounds kinda weird, but I didn’t know how else to go about it and I–” Patton’s words had started to tumble out in a single train of thought, but he manage to stop himself before he completely derailed.  He looked at Logan and saw that he was still trying to process everything.  “Basically, I really like you, Logan.”  He summarized with a sheepish smile.

Now it was Logan’s turn to blush.  Patton’s words sank in and suddenly everything made sense: Patton requesting tutoring out of the blue, him always giving those big doe eyes and getting that glossed look whenever Logan started explaining things.  Patton was utterly infatuated with him.  And Logan couldn’t deny that there were definitely some kind of feelings in return.  

“I– um,” Logan paused, weighing his words, “I think that I feel something for you as well.”  Patton beamed and Logan felt a warmth spread in his chest.  “I’m not… entirely sure of what the feeling is, but I think… I think I’d like to find out.  With you, of course.”

“Aww, Logan!”  Patton pulled him into a big hug and Logan felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment.  “That’d be perfect!  How about a movie or something next weekend?”  Logan thought for a moment.

“I would like that… as long as you stop pretending to be bad at math.”  

Patton chuckled.  “Yeah, that wasn’t really the best plan, I’ll admit, but you get so excited about math!”  Logan crossed his arms with a smile.  “Okay okay, but next week, movies.  It’s a date!”  Patton beamed as the first warning bell rang.  “I’ll see you after school, let’s meet in the library this time!”  He darted down the hall with a wave and Logan started walking to first period.  

He smiled to himself.  It’s a date.

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