#i seriously doubt jean has a clean record like not even because i think hes evil just because i think hes a cop

[mrtequilasunset]

I think people will use Harry's death count when comparing him to Jean as a way to like. Make him seem like a worse person than Jean? I guess? But they're forgetting that a kill count of three is considered super low for precinct 41 meaning it's unlikely that Jean's is any lower. So. Yknow?

[tojitiddies]

✰ [GHOST] BUSTING MAKES ME FEEL GOOD

pairing ⋆ connie springer x fem!reader

synopsis ⋆ you don’t know who’s crazier. your ghost hunting boyfriend or you for even dating him.

warnings ⋆ paranormal encounters, slight ghost coercion, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie

ꔵ there was no doubt about it, your boyfriend connie was an oddball. like tin hat wearing, crazy conspiracist, dark reddit forum odd. his friends often asked him how he’d bagged a chick like you in the first place and honestly you were curious too. you’d met him at a halloween party your best friend mikasa had thrown. one wild night and two awkward dates later you both became that sickeningly sweet couple that everyone hated to love.

at this point in your relationship you had grown used to connie’s random 3AM messages about some spooky forum he’d found or him sending random true crime articles he wanted you to read. he and his roomates jean and sasha all ran a somewhat popular youtube channel — they called themselves “the phantom philosophers” — where they covered different cryptid and ghost stories sent to them by viewers. they also went on numerous ghost hunts to try and speak or communicate with ghosts. you were always curious about your boyfriend’s odd way of life and even appeared on one of his streams once — his subscribers couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend. so, when connie asked you if you wanted to come along with him, jean, and sasha for a ghost hunt you jumped at the opportunity.

that’s exactly how you found yourself in front of an abandoned church while your boyfriend and his friends began setting up their equipment. tonight they were looking for the ghost of a pastor who secretly ran his own brothel beneath the church. one of the women had turned on him and murdered him while they were having sex. the story seemed completely made up, but connie assured you it was legit.

you watched as connie started setting up his body camera and clipping it to his jacket. “so...anything i can help with?” you asked, rocking back on the heels of your sneakers. connie looked up at you as if he’d forgotten you were there. “huh? oh, no babe you’re fine. just stand there looking pretty.” he replied sweetly. you forced a smile towards him, letting it falter when he went back to messing with his equipment. you had only agreed to this because you wanted to spend time with him, but this entire trip he’d been so distracted. you were so used to having his attention all the time, it was starting to take you out of the mood.

you decided to go find out what sasha was doing. she had a boyfriend too, niccolo. he was really nice and an amazing cook. earlier you’d asked her why he didn’t come with you all, to which she told you that niccolo was secretly a huge fraidy cat. when you approached her she was sitting in the trunk of jean’s pick up. she seemed to be really focused on...some sort of device? “what’s that?” you queried, sitting next to her. sasha beamed and shoved it into your lap. “this, my friend, is a modernized proton pack like the ghostbusters use! i’ve been engineering this baby for a couple months now and this is gonna be its first field run!” she squeals as she begins to point out all the functions and uses of the device. it looked sort of like a portable cd player.

while sasha babbled on about her “precious baby” jean and connie approached you both, equipment and cameras ready. “here you are ____.” jean presented you with a headlamp and a frequency tuner. “now first rule of ghost hunting, do not be on your own. you’re always gonna want a buddy. i’m assuming connie will fill that role?” he asked, looking between the two of you. you were still annoyed with him but you nodded anyway. you’d bring it up when the two of you were alone. “alright then. sasha you’re with me. and don’t even think about trying to spook me this time, i took self defense lessons and i’ll definitely clock you this time.” he scolded, to which sasha responded by rolling her eyes. “oh please, it was just a joke pony boy.” she taunted. jean shot her a glare. “keep it up.” he warned before turning back to you.

“second rule, do not under any circumstances curse a ghost. not only will that anger the ghost and make it mad at you, it will also get mad at everyone else and we don’t want any part of your beef. so keep it to yourself.” it was your turn to roll your eyes. “jean you don’t need to mansplain ghost hunting to me, i’m not stupid. plus i watch you guys’ channel all the time.” you say, sliding off the truck and situating the headlamp on. “i’m ready to get to some ghostbustin!” sasha hops up and high fives you. connie laughs and wraps his arm around your waist. “ah don’t worry jean, i’ll be with her the whole time.” jean stares blankly between the three of you before shaking his head.

“whatever. connie go ahead and start your body cam. it’s time to head in.” connie chuckles at jean’s annoyance and switches on the camera, a small red light peeps out to signal it’s recording. jean has one on as well, tapping his slightly to test it out. “alright gang, buckle up. i’m trying to meet a horny ghost.” he said with a grin, beginning his march into the church, the three of you following close behind.

ꔵ inside the church it was dusty and reeked of mildew. you pinched your nose as you and the others switched on your headlights. “jesus christ, it fucking stinks.” connie remarks. sasha elbows him in the rib. “dude we’re in a haunted church, you can’t take the lord’s name in vain.” she scolds him before crossing her shoulders in silent prayer. you giggle as connie rolls his eyes at sasha’s ridiculous antics. a strong gust of wind blows through the church, causing the front entrance to slam shut. you shriek, grabbing ahold of connie’s arm while sasha laughs at your frightened behavior. “don’t worry ____, ‘s just the wind.” connie reassures you, rubbing your shoulder.

“alright guys enough fucking around. it’s time to split up and cover more ground.” jean says, taking charge. “sasha, you and i are gonna explore the chapel and the pastor’s office. connie and ____, you both are going down to the abandoned brothel in the basement.” he instructs. connie groans and folds his arms. “seriously? that’s probably where his ghost is hiding.” connie complains. you tense up at that. it was only your first ghost hunt and they were sending you right into the fire. “that’s the point dumbass? sasha and i will be up here gathering frequencies and seeing if we can find any phantom residue. if you two can get in contact with the pastor, we can probably record his frequencies from up here to listen back later.” he explains.

sasha pulls some weird tool from her fanny pack, holding it up. “this is mission is perfect for using my tuning fork! i’ve been wanting to try this for ages.” she squeals, her voice echoing through the church. “damn sasha, lower your voice.” jean mutters, to which she responds with another giggle mumbling out a quiet “sorry”. jean looks back to the two of you. “well we have our assignments, lets get this show on the road my fellow philosophers.” jean salutes you both and opens the doors to the chapel, sasha waves and follows after him before shutting the door behind them. “jerk.” connie mutters under his breath. you squeeze his hand and smile up at him.

“c’mon connie, i wanna see my boyfriend bust some ghosts.” you say, hoping to cheer him up a little. connie nodded, barely acknowledging your attempt before starting to head off towards the doors leading to the basement. “alright babe, stick close. i have no idea what’s down here.” he instructed. you hummed in disinterest and began to follow him in his descent. amazing! astonishing even! you were practically throwing yourself at him, yet your boyfriend was still more interested in some stinky old pastor ghost. as you traveled deeper downstairs, the air around you began to get warmer like a stuffy room. by the time you’d gotten down to the basement there was a humid temperature surrounding you.

“is it to supposed to feel so warm down here?” you asked, taking connie’s hand to be as close as possible to him. connie whipped his head around the basement floor shining his headlamp on all the different doors. “you would think it’d be cold with all this concrete, it’s weird.” he finally answered, switching on his frequency tuner. you followed his movements and did the same. “good weird or bad weird?” you asked again, growing a bit concerned. connie shrugged before making his way towards one of the doors, his frequency tuner picking up. you glared at him, having had enough of his nonchalant attitude.

seduce him.

you blinked as the thought came from seemingly nowhere. you shook your head, deciding to ignore it. you watched connie peak into the room that was making his frequency tuner go off the wire, letting out a gasp. “____! you’ve gotta come see this!” he exclaims, grinning back at you before making his way inside. you follow after him, curious to see what surprised him so much that he actually acknowledged your existence. when you stepped inside you were surprised to find the room...spotless? there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. the decorative rugs and tapestries that hung on the walls created an erotic atmosphere. the large bed looked clean and comfortable as well, an oil lamp sitting on the bedside. “i thought this church was abandoned, who’s doing the upkeep?” you observed, still taken aback by the surprisingly clean and crisp room. connie pressed his hand down on the bed, feeling it out. “no idea. even the mattress and blankets feel fresh.” he marveled.

seduce him and gain his favors!

this time the thought echoed louder through your head, making you feel a bit lightheaded. your knees buckled causing you to drop down to the floor. connie whipped his head around in shock, instantly rushing to see if you were alright. “you okay baby?” he asked, concern lacing his words. you nodded and took his hand to help you stand back up. almost as instantly as you were back on your feet you felt the pressure in your head drop to your chest and then to your arousal. you let out a small whimper at the sudden wave of pleasure that came out of nowhere. connie pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, his touch felt like lightning.

“are you sure you’re okay? maybe we should — “ the door to the bedroom slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t really care. all you could think about was satisfying the sudden hunger that had come over you. connie jiggled the doorknob trying to get the door back open, curses spilling out of his lips. you sauntered up behind him, snaking your arms around his waist, swirling them up to lay your hands on his pecs. “wha — ____?” he turned his head to his shoulder, trying to get a view of you. you giggled and kissed his shoulder. “awh baby, we can stay in here and get comfy.” you whine, pressing yourself against him. connie tensed up in your embrace, caught off guard by your sudden switch in attitude. the oil lamp beside the bed flickered on, casting the room in a warm dim orange glow. connie grabbed your hands and snatched them off his chest. he spun around to face you, cupping your face in his hands.

“____, hey get ahold of yourself!” he tried snapping you out of it, his fingers popping between your eyes. you leaned up and kissed him under his chin. “i want you to get ahold of me.” you murmured, grabbing his wrists to place his hands on your waist. you batted your eyelashes at him with those puppy dog eyes you knew he couldn’t resist. connie gulped, his hand hands instinctively squeezing around your waist. “y-you’re not yourself, this isn’t right.” he muttered under his breath, more so talking to himself.

you snaked your arms up and around his shoulders walking back into the bed, flipping around to push him into the bed. “you made me very upset, ignoring me all night for your dumb ghost hunt.” you said, planting yourself in his lap, running your thumb along his lips. “how are you going to make it up to me?” connie frowns furrowing his brows. you don’t even wait for him to answer before letting your head fall to the side, kissing over the expanse of his neck.

connie shivered, falling prey to your advances. you snatched off both your headlamps in a playful demeanor while your other hand trailed down to the seat of his pants, letting your fingers splay out across his crotch. “____…w-wait a moment.” he breathed, letting out a slight moan when you squeezed your hand around his clothed length. you giggled softly, slithering from his thigh to between his legs. you nudged his crotch with your nose, looking back at up at him. his face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over with lust. that was all the indication you needed to begin to undoing his jeans.

your mind was clouded with thoughts of your boyfriend fucking your mouth and praising you with all the attention you’d yearned for. you pulled down his pants and boxers, licking your lips at his erect cock, leaking with precum. taking your thumb to his tip, you gently began to spread around the sticky substance. your tongue darted out to kitten lick the little mess you made, leaving connie hissing and squirming. “you’re such a tease.” he grunted. you grinned up at him knowingly before tilting your head to kiss along the length of his shaft.

connie desperately bucked his hips slightly as your kisses became wet and suctioning. done teasing him, you eagerly wrapped your lips around him sucking his tip before bobbing your head further. your tongue swirled around his shaft expertly, causing him to groan and buck his hips. you moan as his cock travels further down your throat, the vibrations of your voice stimulating him further.

“fuck baby…keep sucking me in just like that.” he huffs out, trying to keep his moans from pitching. his hands nestle in your hair, bringing your head down further. you relaxed your jaw as he continued to fuck your mouth, saliva collecting and dripping down your chin. connie bucked his hips into your mouth with fervor, you could tell he was close. “your throat feels so fucking good around me, keep swallowing me down just like that.” he praised, letting his head fall back against his shoulders.

he takes another deep thrust before you feel him spill his thick warm release down your throat. his cock twitches on your tongue as you slowly drag his length from your mouth. connie sits breathless on the bed, panting from the climax he’d just had, but you weren’t finished. you rose back up to your feet and stripped off your jeans and panties before crawling on top of him. with your hands slowly lifting your shirt over your head, you ground your wet cunt against the underside of his length.

connie stared up at you, his daze apparent on his face. “my turn.” you whisper, kissing the side of his mouth. you raised your hips slightly positioning his cock at your entrance before sinking down. you whimpered as you felt him filling you up all at once. connie took ahold of your hips, hissing as you clenched around him. “shit…your pussy loves sucking me in.” he groaned, bucking his hips again.

you whine, rocking your hips back against him. “it’s because i wanna feel you, right here.” you move your hand to your lower stomach, where you wanted to feel connie push against. connie smirked, lifting his knees up on and raising you up to hover over him slightly. “i can do that for you baby.” he growled into your ear before rapidly thrusting his cock into you. you grabbed ahold of his shoulders as he bucked into you, trying to keep your balance.

connie kept his word, fucking you balls deep with no mercy. you were so overwhelmed by pleasure you didn’t realize how loud you’d become. the oil lamp flickered as connie swiftly switched positions so you were on your back. he pushed your thighs back exposing your wet cunt that gaped for connie’s cock. he smirked and spit against you clit rising a whine from your throat. he chuckled cruelly before burying his cock back inside of you, his thrusts causing you to lurch up against the bed.

you clawed your hands over his his shoulder blades as he fucked you deep. “you feel so good, don’t stop!” you moan, arching you back as he hits your sweet spot. connie groaned from the way. you squeezed around him before leaning down to kiss you, his tongue swirling around yours. the sinful noises that came from between you both, echoing through the room. connie moved his lips across your jaw, praising you as he kissed and sucked your skin. you dazedly let your head fall to the side.

then you saw him.

a young man dressed in preachers robes, watching you both intently. you cried out clinging to connie — connie assumed it was a moan and continued to fuck into you. the preacher grinned at you and faded from your eyesight. just then connie let out a grunt. “shit baby, i’m gonna cum.” you were too dumbfounded to respond but it didn’t matter. connie had already grabbed your waist, pulling you down on his cock faster. the movement shocked you out of your mindstate, making you forget about the whole “pervy preacher ghost in the corner of the room” thing.

“fuck connie keep going!” you whine, your hand coming to grab your tits to keep them from bouncing out of your bra. connie fucked you like that until your legs became jelly and you creamed all over his cock. just as you were catching your breath connie came inside you, spilling his thick seed all over your walls. connie collapsed into your chest taking deep breaths.

“shit.” he breathed out, his hand squeezing your waist. “you okay baby?” he asked, tilting his head back to look at you. you smiled and nodded, massaging his short silvery hair. connie seemed to have a thought of realization and frowned. “i’m sorry ____. i should’ve done more to make you feel like i wanted you here. i must’ve looked like such an asshole. i was so focused on busting ghosts, i forgot the most important thing i wanted out of this was to introduce my girl to my uh…hobbies.” the sincerity in his eyes had you swooning. you cupped his cheek and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “you’re forgiven.”. you say, before sitting up.

not a good idea.

your head was spinning. you moaned and grabbed your head, massaging it. “____? baby, what’s wrong?” connie asked worriedly, sitting up as well. then just as quick as the dizziness came, it went. you blinked. “i have no idea. maybe you just fucked me too hard, hm?” you teased, poking his shoulder. connie pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. you couldn’t read his expression, tho it looked like a mix between a shock, confusion, and disappointment. in short, nothing good. “what?” you ask.

connie shook his head. “this is gonna sound crazy, but do you think you were possessed?” he blurted out. you bit your lip, remembering the preacher and the strange echoing voice in your head. “ah…maybe? but i wanted that, it was me no one was controlling me. it just felt more like someone was egging me on.” you explained. even coming from your own mouth it sounded delusional. “oh my god connie, did i get possessed?!” you squealed, snapping your legs shut.

connie laughed and leaned forward, pulling you into his embrace. “no it wasn’t possession baby. just a bit of paranormal influence, like in the poltergeist.” this did not reassure you whatsoever, but connie was already sliding off the bed. “c’mon let’s go back upstairs and see what jean and sasha found. don’t tell them what happened okay? jean’ll kill the shit out of me.” he chuckled, kissing the top of your forehead. you did once over of the room again to make sure there was no ghost priest hiding in here before starting to get dressed again.

ꔵ “finally you two are here! you’ve gotta come see this!” sasha exclaimed as she saw the both of you approaching. sasha and jean had hooked up some sort of computer and were huddled around it. “what is it you?” connie questioned, taking your hand and hurrying you towards them. you smiled, relieved that he had meant what he said and was starting to finally include you. “it seems like whatever you guys did down there worked! we recorded these weird frequencies and we think we might have caught the pastors attention.” jean said, clicking around the screen.

you and connie exchanged wide eyed glances. “uh…what did you hear?” you asked, instinctively squeezing connie’s hand. jean and sasha shrugged. “nothing, we couldn’t hear it until it finished recording.” jean grinned up at the two of you. “but you arrived at perfect timing, now we can play it back together.” jean pulled up the sound byte. “jean i don’t think — “ connie started to protest, but jean had already pressed the space bar.

the empty church echoed with the sounds of your lewd moans and connie’s sensual praises. the heat rushed into your cheeks as you looked down in shame. you didn’t wanna see anyone else’s facial expressions. after what seemed like forever sasha’s hand darted out to pause it. safe to assume you were never invited to go ghost hunting with you boyfriend and his friends again. however you and connie did some extensive research afterwards.

connie’s body cam had mysteriously became static when he walked into the bedroom, so there was no footage of the ghost — you were honestly just relieved the two of you didn’t film a sex tape. however, apparently the ghost of the priest wandered the church, waiting to lure couples into the brothel rooms so that he could gain pleasure from seeing his brothel still be put to use. seven other couples who had visited the church also reported a strange occurrence where they ended up having sex in the brothel as well. you wondered how jean had missed that key part of research about the ghost.

“we may not have busted that ghost, but he sure made us bust.” connie cackled, nudging you. you gave him a pointed look. “you make awful jokes.” you told him, nudging him back. though the experience was a bit of a mindfucker, it truly brought you and connie closer together.

author’s note: hello again! this took me a really long time to write and yet it still feels really rushed :( i tried to do what i could in the edits but this probably isn’t my favorite. i would appreciate feedback if anyone has any though and if you did actually like it, thank you! i promise i can do way better though lmao </3

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hiding

prompt: hidden

whumpee: shawn spencer

fandom: psych

hi! sorry for being absent for 2 days and then coming back with a fic that i think might suck? idk. i have been looking at it for too long i think... maybe you will like it? idk. i hope so tho :) 

Shawn has chased more than one old man down the streets of Santa Barbara. Today’s pursuit is no different to the others - or at least, it isn’t until he finally catches up with the old dude in question (who, just for the record, is the fastest seventy year old Shawn has ever encountered). 

They’re in an alley, and the other end is blocked off by several feet of chain link fence. This old guy may be speedy, but he’s evidently not much of a climber. Which is good. 

“Took you long enough to catch up with me,” he says, his creaky-sounding old-man voice taunting and a little demeaning. 

But his statement is fair. As is evidenced by the fact that Shawn is panting hard, bent slightly at the waist with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. 

“But I did catch you,” Shawn says after a second, straightening back up. “And now I’m going to have to call the police.”

“I don’t think so.”

Shawn is about to say something dazzlingly witty in response, but all of a sudden there’s a glint of silver and then…

Then he’s just been stabbed by someone who probably eats his dinner at 4:30. 

It takes him by such surprise that he doesn’t even make a noise.  

And then it hurts. Hot and blinding and sharp and intense pain radiates outward from his stomach and the knife is pulled out and it hurts even more and he feels his body collapse but doesn’t register hitting the ground. There are stars in his vision and everything is blurry and the world sounds like he’s underwater and it hurts and hurts and hurts and he looks upwards as the old man casually wipes Shawn’s blood from the knife with the sleeve of his dark jacket. He idly passes the knife from hand to hand and Shawn watches him and he really wants to just get up and punch him and he staggers to his feet amidst a haze of bright red pain and then there’s a familiar voice from behind him saying, “drop your weapon,” and Lassiter has found them, somehow. He’s never been more grateful to hear the man’s voice in his life. 

“How did you find me?” he asks, before he can stop himself. He knows what he should probably be saying is, hey, I just got stabbed and maybe we should be doing something about that, but then Lassie’s explaining how he’d tracked Shawn down and he’s asking what exactly Shawn had been thinking going after a suspect alone, and then Shawn just kind of…doesn’t bring it up. 

It’s not like he doesn’t try to. But Lassie is more interested in lecturing him about proper police procedure (which Shawn is familiar with - he simply chooses to disregard it). 

“Lassie, um, I -” I got stabbed and it hurts really bad and could we maybe go to the hospital, please?

“I don’t wanna hear it, Spencer.”

“But -”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I swear I’ll pull over and make you walk. That man had a knife, and you chased after him because, what? You couldn’t…”

Lassie keeps lecturing him about why this was such a stupid idea (which, Shawn admits, it was). Shawn sighs to himself as the lecture goes on and on, which is a bad move, because it jostles his stab wound, and it takes all of his willpower to not just scream at the flare of white hot pain. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe normally but everything hurts and the whole front of his shirt is wet and sticking to his skin and he wonders vaguely whether he’s bleeding on Lassie’s seat, and hopes fervently that he’s not, because Lassiter will never forgive him if he ruins his upholstery. 

After what feels like an eternity of driving, they arrive back at the police station. Shawn feels tired, and lightheaded, and he knows that’s bad. And they’re here now, so Lassie can’t force him to get out of the car and walk, so he decides to try and bring it up again. 

“I think I’ve -” I think I’ve been stabbed, well, I know I’ve been stabbed, and I don’t wanna die but I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a lot of blood and it might be nice to do something about that. 

But Lassie is already out of the car, opening the backseat and leading their cuffed suspect inside the building. Halfway up the steps, he turns around. Shawn is still in the car, and Lassie makes a gesture for him to hurry it up and follow them. 

Shawn steels himself for the pain, then extricates himself from the passenger seat. It’s a painful ordeal, but thankfully, no one is there to hear his very pathetic whimpers. Once he’s out of the car, Shawn briefly turns around to check on his seat. Fortunately, it’s free of blood. He looks down at himself and sees that his clothes have not fared quite as well. 

His black shirt looks wet, but the blood isn’t visible, thanks to the shirt’s dark color. The blood does reach down to his jeans, though, turning the tops of the legs rusty red. The inside of his jacket is damp, but the blood hasn’t soaked through the material, so the exterior looks clean. Shawn tugs his shirt and jacket down to hide the bloodstains on his jeans, then begins his trek inside. 

The walk into the station is one of the most painful things Shawn has ever experienced in his life. The stairs are absolute hell on his wound, and he can feel more and more blood soaking through his shirt with every step he takes. He’s slowly but surely getting dizzy, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus, and he really needs to tell someone about this but he kind of doesn’t want to, now, for reasons he can’t quite fathom, and mostly he just wants to sleep. It hurts. 

Finally, he makes it inside the station. There’s an empty chair pulled up next to Lassiter’s currently-empty desk, and Shawn makes a very slow beeline for it. 

Sitting down is painful, but once he’s sitting, it’s infinitely more comfortable than standing or walking, and the pain lessens, just a bit. Shawn takes another look down at himself and sees, much to his alarm, drops of blood on the floor below him. The sight makes him feel even dizzier, and for a second he thinks he might pass out, and then he recalls what you’re supposed to do if you get stabbed (other than, you know, call an ambulance). 

Pressure. He is supposed to apply pressure to the wound. It’s going to hurt, surely, but what’s a little more pain? 

Again, Shawn has to fight to keep himself from screaming. Despite the intense pain, he keeps pressing his hands into his stomach, feeling the warm and wet and sticky fabric of his shirt. It’s the most unpleasant sensation in the world. His own blood soaking through his clothes and into his hands. He feels sick. Dizzy. Lightheaded. Confused. Afraid. 

He needs to tell somebody about this before he actually passes out. 

“Spencer? What’s wrong with you?” 

Shawn startles at Lassiter’s voice. He sounds…oddly concerned. Hesitantly, Shawn turns his head in Lassie’s direction. Tell him, his brain suggests. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted (again). 

“Are you…crying?”

Is he? Shawn raises a hand to his face and scrubs it under his eyes. 

“Is that blood?” Lassiter is all seriousness now, and Shawn looks down at his fingers and remembers what they’d been doing before he’d used them to wipe his face. They’re bright red and now that he sees the blood, he can feel it on his face, drying beneath his eyes. 

“What happened?”

“I got stabbed,” Shawn admits, finally. It’s such a relief to finally say the words, and he feels some of the tension leave his body. 

Oh. Maybe too much tension. He’s falling. 

Shawn’s body makes impact with the floor, and he can’t stop himself from crying out this time. For a second, everything is engulfed by a wave of pain that very nearly causes him to black out. 

When the pain clears up somewhat, Shawn’s vision returns, and Lassie is above him, shouting something at someone and Shawn can’t focus hard enough to determine what he’s saying or who he’s saying it to. His voice is loud and commanding but there’s a look of something akin to fear on his face and Shawn wonders if he is going to die. 

“Am I…” he starts, but halfway through the sentence he forgets what he’s going to say. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Lassiter says, and his voice sounds certain but that look is still on his face and it scares Shawn and he doesn’t want to die, not now, not like this…

Lassie must sense him spiraling, because suddenly he’s talking again. Shawn focuses on him as best as he can, catching bits and pieces of the things he’s saying. “I can’t believe you got stabbed and didn’t say a word about it…running after a known suspect…going to punish him to the full extent of the law…”

Lassie’s talking eventually fades away, and darkness starts creeping into the edges of his vision, and somewhere in the back of his mind Shawn thinks, that’s not good, and then the darkness sweeps over him and the pain goes away and he finally falls asleep. 

--

He wakes up and people are moving all around him, and he’s moving too, and he feels weird and he’s not exactly hurting but there’s some sort of strange sensation blanketing him and making it very hard to focus. He tries asking one of the people a question but his voice sounds muffled and he doesn’t know what he’s saying and then everything goes away again. 

--

The next time he wakes up, he is much more aware. He’s in a hospital, and there’s a teenage girl in the bed to his right and a middle-aged man in the bed to his left. There are various machines around him that he doesn’t care to inspect, and there are four chairs positioned around the bed. All of them are empty. 

He wonders where his visitors have gone. He wants to see Gus. And Jules. Maybe even his dad. He’d like to see Lassie, because he’s pretty sure the head detective had saved his life, but he doubts he’ll be here. He probably has much more important things to attend to. 

So it’s a surprise when, a few long minutes later, Lassie steps into the room. He’s distracted, phone to his ear, steaming cup in his hand, and there’s a spot of blood on his jacket and a few more on his shirt and Shawn realizes it’s his blood - who else’s can it be - and if that’s true then either he’s recovered from surgery remarkably quickly, or Lassie has been here for several hours and hasn’t left. Both seem improbable, and yet…

When he’s made it halfway across the room, Lassie finishes his call and tucks his phone back into his pocket. He looks up at Shawn for the first time, and the dark expression on his face clears away when Shawn looks right back at him. 

“Hey, Lassie,” Shawn greets tiredly, waving carefully with the arm that doesn’t have an IV needle sticking into it. “How’s it going?”

Lassie looks briefly like he wants to strangle Shawn for asking such a stupid question, but then he sighs and sinks down into one of the chairs, apparently resigning himself to answer the question. 

“It’s going fine,” he says. “I’m not the one who got stabbed and then failed to tell anyone about it.”

“I tried,” Shawn admits. “You interrupted me. And then you weren’t there and I just…didn’t want to tell anyone.”

A look of guilt crosses Lassiter’s face. “I should have listened to you,” he says, which is an admission Shawn never thought he’d hear. He’d love to focus on it a little more, maybe tease Lassie for caring or possibly even keep the conversation serious, but he’s tired. He feels his eyes start to drift closed and he yawns.

He’s about to ask Lassie if they can continue this conversation in a few hours when Lassie sighs and says, “just rest, Shawn. We can talk later, whenever you’re feeling up to it. I’ll be here.”

It’s the nicest thing Lassie has ever said to him. Shawn would like nothing more than to say something gently teasing about Lassie really caring about him after all, but he simply falls asleep instead.

thanks for reading this! sorry for any mistakes i am super tired lol. hope you enjoyed, love u <3

[chimswae]

BTS Caretake CH6

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,070

- Author Note: I forgot again to update last week, so i am giving the update today instead! 

Previous | Next

Chapter 6

“Wait where are you guys going?” Yoongi’s gruffy voice stopped everyone on their track. Jin who seemed engross preparing the last plate of toast for the youngest one in the group diverted his attention to the grumpy guy. For some reason Yoongi looked extremely pissy today in his usual comfy clothes, black hoodies and his favourite ripped jeans.

Jungkook approached the seat beside Jimin, looking squeaky clean with his dam hair “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?” his signature bunny smile spread across his face. Upon feeling Jungkook’s presence beside him, Jimin turned to face the younger boy to greet him a good morning but only to be welcomed by his wet bangs sticking on his forehead.

An unpleasant frown could be seen on Jimin’s face as he reached out to touch Jungkook’s damp hair “Can you dry your hair properly? You might catch a cold kkuk” the latter sighs softly. Being an obedient younger brother, Jungkook only nodded in response as he let Jimin stood behind him, drying his hair manually using towel that hang loosely around his neck.

Watching the two youngest guys pampering each other with affection so early in the morning, Jin shook his head while munching down his own food. “We have practice in a bit Yoongi, weren’t you informed by Hoseok yesterday?” his nose scrunched up, pushing his round glasses back at the bridge of his nose.

“Right. But isn’t it too early? Shouldn’t we wait for the caretaker Ahjumma to show up?” Yoongi retorted in hope others would agree with his odd ideas.

“Mmm hyung? I thought we aren’t allowed to be here when the ahjumma perform her job?” Jimin voice croaked cutely as his hands were busy stroking Jungkook’s soft hair making sure it was dried properly. “Jungkook stay still ishh” said Jimin, puckering his lower lips in between.

Jungkook tilted his head following Jimin’s movement whilst finishing his breakfast without complain. To him, whatever food prepared by Jin, was the best food that he ever tasted ever. He’s used to his cooking to the extent when they were too busy with their promotions, he craved for Jin’s food all week long.

Yoongi snapped “I know, but aren’t you curious to see who she is?” he tapped fingers on the kitchen counter anxiously.

“Whoa, chill man. Why are you so worked up today?” Hoseok inquired with his innocent round eyes. Apart from Jin, Yoongi talked to no one about the incident yesterday. Oh well, he was taking Jin’s word into consideration that he did not want to worry their manager over this petty thing. If it was a petty thing per mentioned by Kim Seokjin, he would not be as restless. He was sexually harassed by someone, eventually and he could not let this thing slide. God knows, what else the girl could do to them if she decided to return.

If the girl from yesterday was not a legit daughter of the caretaker ahjumma, shouldn’t  they be worried? What if something happened to their caretaker? That would be so mess up.

Jin eyed Min Suga in the eyes with a smug “Guess, he seems interested with the caretaker romantically. He claims the caretaker is a lady around our age” all eyes in the room were on him. Some were mentally judging Yoongi’s ridiculous ideas and some were reconsidering the things that he mentioned earlier.

“Is that even possible?” the leader finally said something showing his interest.

“I know what I saw. I met her yesterday and trust me she is not that ahjumma”

Everyone choked on their food and drinks as they gave Yoongi a wary look, perhaps disbelieving every word that he said. Before anyone could interrupt, Yoongi held one of his hand signalling he was not finish talking and continued “She claimed to be the caretaker’s ahjumma daughter saying that she worked in her place temporarily due to her health condition. However, I was not convinced by her so called “I am Mrs Hwang’s daughter” story. Plus, if she is really ill, the company would notify us. Don’t you think it is odd?” he exhaled softly, feeling satisfied with his explanation. Again, he left the unexpected kiss part because he did not want to answer more questions from the floor.

“Holy… Are you serious right now?” Jungkook’s brow flinch in confusion followed by Jimin exaggerated reaction, as he sank beside Jungkook.

Taehyung muttered “But hyung, are you sure what you saw? Before we left yesterday, you ate your medicine, right? Don’t you think it is the after effect from the drugs that you consumed?” Yoongi snorted in annoyance.

“It is just pills not a fucking drug that could get me high, Kim Taehyung! I know what I saw, the girl invaded our dorm. Should not you be worried? She could be a sasaeng!” he exclaimed with a displeased face. Jin on the other side was dissatisfied with the choice of word made by Yoongi. No cursing word is allowed with his presence in the room.

Namjoon lips was pressed into thin line, indicating he’s working on something discreetly inside his mind “That is weird. Did you manage to get something from her like her identification card or something?”

“Uhm, about that. She did show me her mother ids, proving that he is one of Bighit’s staff but not hers. Something came up that it really took me off guard. I lost her in the blink of an eyes” he grunted.

Hoseok chuckled teasingly “And what is that something?”

“Oh my god could it be!” Jimin lips formed into a cute ‘o’ shape as he exchanged glance with Hoseok and Jungkook. Whatever these guys had in their mind, it was not an innocent thing for sure.

“Yah yah, it is not what you think. Don’t you dare!” Yoongi warned sternly silencing the small giggles from the three idiots in front of him. He could not believe this, that none of them would trust his words. When will they ever grow wisely and consider everything he said was the truth.

“Alright, prove it to us” Namjoon suggested, crossing his arm defensively.

Yoongi’s eyes glimmered in sheer happiness, finally someone took him seriously. If the leader said so, everyone would eventually listen to the leader’s words. “So how long we should wait?” Taehyung asked out curiosity. Frankly speaking, everyone was dying to meet the caretaker ahjumma.

“She should be here in few minutes since we were supposed to leave around 7 today, she usually come on time right after we leave” Yoongi glanced at the clock on the wall. Would Seul show up today to end this doubt between them? He had to prove to everyone that what he’s saying was the truth.

Jin agreed with the idea and smiled “Okay we will wait for 30 minutes, if she did not show up then you are so done Min Suga” the latter rolled eyes in his seat. Jin’s threat was empty and like he would get scared over that tiny warn.

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

Tossing her body on bed, she grew frustrated over the memories that she had with Yoongi yesterday. What was on her mind? Why would she be this dumb? To kiss one of Bangtan members just to save her ass. This was so fucked up to be honest. How could she turn up for the job knowing Min Yoongi would be there waiting for her at the doorstep? After all, she did sexually harass him. Stealing a kiss without permission is considered crime.  

Seul stayed up all night searching for Bangtan Sonyeondan profile just because she was dead curious of the guy that she accidentally kissed yesterday. Then, she found out he was Yoongi the rapper and oh it came to her realization Yoongi was Agust D, her favorite Tony Montana song was rapped by him. How could it be possible?

The kiss was incidental, yet it taunted her even in her deep slumber.

The door to her room was clicked open, and her mother’s head popped out behind it with a bewildered look “Why are you still here? Should not you be at the dorm already?” she sighed.

“Mom, I don’t think I can do it” she sat up, crossed leg on her queen size bed.

“What is wrong? Did something happen?” her weight sank in front of her as she looked at her daughter worriedly. Not that she wanted to force her to fill in the job, yet the two stubborn kids insisted her to rest and get a proper treatment until they found her a donor.

Now, it was worrying her. She assumed things were doing just fine, since Seul had not shown any disagreement or complains these past few weeks.

“Someone caught me in red handed yesterday. I was cleaning the dorm because according to the schedule no one should be home until night. But mom, someone was there. The guy with gruffy voice and small eyes, he caught me red handed!” she facepalmed feeling remorseful.

“Min Yoongi caught you?” Mrs Hwang gasped upon hearing the news.

“Yes, whatever his name. He was there at the dorm, but no one informed you about it! For a record, he saw me. We talked, and I told him about replacing you. That was the only thing came out from my mouth! I screwed this up”

Mrs Hwang rubbed her temple accompanied with a soft sigh “That is bad, the boys have no idea how I look, and they may think you are lying. Did you show my id?” Seul was quick to nod in response to her mother question.

“And?”

“MIN YOONGI ACCUSED ME FOR BEING A SASAENG! SASAENG MY FOOT! I know nothing about them except few of their songs! He is rude I can say” she flinched in disgust.

Mrs Hwang squished Seul’s hand with a motherly smile, it was an assurance that she would solve this thing with the company soon and made sure things would not get out of hand. It was enough for the boys to know Seul’s existence but not the management.

“I will manage that, don’t worry. Take a break for a while, I will find way, so it won’t be messed up. Now, go wash up. You still have your bubble tea job to attend” Seul paused briefly feeling a little calm after the conversation that she had with her mother.

With hope, she did not need to show up to that dorm ever again.

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

“It is 7.30 and there is no sign of the young caretaker” Namjoon frowned purposely highlighting the young part just to annoy the older guy.

“I SWEAR SHE WAS HERE YESTERDAY? CANT WE WAIT FOR ANOTHER 30 minutes!” Yoongi rubbed his hair in frustration. This called for trouble, why the girl did not show up after the stunt that she pulled yesterday.  

Namjoon eyebrow quirked up automatically, exasperating a deep sigh “I believe that is not possible. We have something important going on at the company today. I suppose you have a meeting with Pdogg hyung to attend, are you forgetting that already?”

“Hyung, I think you have seen it wrong. It maybe the ahjumma but she is not that young. It is possible if she takes a good care of her skin though. Some may look like in their 20s” Hoseok chortled positively.

I know what I saw, I know what I feel. That soft lips of hers, how could I forget it. The kiss was real. Suga mentally facepalmed disliking how the situation turned unfavourable for him. No one is going to believe him anymore.

“Come on Yoongi hyung we have lots of thing to do today, don’t waste your time. We will meet the caretaker ahjumma soon” giving Yoongi the last pat on his back, Namjoon went to get his stuff inside his room joining others to get ready for their practice.

Staring blankly at the cold and empty entrance, Yoongi clutched his fist, steadying his rapid breathing. Out of all days, why would Seul chose not to show up? Was she scared after the yesterday encounter? Was Yoongi’s warning affect her that much?

He wished to see her one more time to clear things between them.

They still had to talk about the kiss though. He couldn’t pretend as if nothing ever happened between them. Heck no, he was not an easy man.

This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

[v-thinks-on]

Generations - Part 2

First | Next

Kirk followed Commander Riker into a spacious conference room. The whole far wall was nothing but windows looking out on open space. Captain Picard was already seated at the table in front of them, deep in conversation with a woman on the viewscreen who must have been Admiral Brackett. He waved Kirk over to the chair next to him, Riker sat on the other side of the table, across from Picard, and Data, La Forge, and Worf filled in around the table.

“Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi are busy with their patients. They said they’ll be here as soon as they can,” Riker reported, with a look that suggested he didn’t expect them to show at all.

 “Understood,” Picard said.

When that was taken care of, the admiral turned to Kirk with a smile. “Captain Kirk, on behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said.

"We look forward to your arrival on Earth." Finally, she got around to the point - "Frankly, you've returned at just the right time. A lot of our fleet was recently destroyed by a new threat, the Borg. We've lost a lot of our best officers and could use a man with your experience at the helm. You would have your choice of ship-"

Kirk raised a hand for silence. "I'm honored, but I retired eighty years ago."

"Captain," she insisted, "Please reconsider. Think of the difference you could make.”

Kirk shot a glare at Picard - those were Kirk’s own words she was using against him; that was how Picard had convinced him to give up the illusion in the Nexus and return to fight Soran.

“Is there anything we could do to convince you?” the admiral pressed.

Kirk had no intention of coming out of retirement, as much as the idea of commanding another starship appealed to him, but he saw his opening and took it. “Can you arrange for Ambassador Spock to meet me on Earth?”

Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “Ambassador Spock?”

“He was my First Officer.”

“The situation with the ambassador is a little more complicated-” she attempted.

“Please, just let him know that I’m back - he’ll find a way.”

“With all due respect, it’s been a long time.” She hesitated. “He’s quite dedicated to his current mission.”

Kirk could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but still he insisted, “I don’t have to see him, just let him know I’m alive.”

“Admiral,” Data spoke up, “Captain Kirk may be able to convince Ambassador Spock to return to Earth. According to their records, they are married.”

The admiral turned to Kirk for confirmation and he nodded with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the admiral said at last, “Ambassador Spock has been out of contact for three years now.”

“Can I at least know what’s going on?” Kirk demanded.

The admiral nodded.

Picard volunteered - “I can fill him in.”

Kirk barely heard the rest of the meeting. Instead, he stared out the windows that made up the far wall, letting his mind wander through the stars as the others discussed the logistics of transferring an entire crew from one starship to another - it seemed an Enterprise-E was already under construction. He tried not to think about what could have happened to Spock.

Finally, the others filtered out of the conference room, leaving Kirk and Picard alone.

“Jim” - Picard hesitated - “Ambassador Spock is on Romulus.”

Kirk tore his eyes away from the windows and glanced at Picard. “I take it they haven’t become our allies in the past eighty years?”

“No, if anything our relations with the Romulans have gotten worse. They feel threatened by our alliance with the Klingons and have been doing everything in their power to put an end to it.”

Kirk braced himself for the worst and demanded, a little more sharply than necessary, “What happened to Spock?”

Picard sighed. “He’s been on Romulus for the past three years, attempting to educate the Romulan people in Vulcan ways and promote the reunification of Vulcan and Romulus. The assumption is that no news is good news - he’s well known as a Federation ambassador, and we assume the Romulans would make some noise if they had him, but the truth is we don’t know.”

Kirk just shook his head. Reunifying Vulcan and Romulus sounded like a crazy idea, even for Spock who had been in favor of peace with the Klingons before anyone else. But then again, there was a certain logic to it, not just trying to bring peace between Romulus and the Federation, but also trying to force the Vulcans to open up in the process. Either way, Kirk knew what he had to do.

“He’s not supposed to be there?” Kirk confirmed.

“No, in fact, at first we thought he might have defected to the Romulans” - Picard saw Kirk’s expression and clarified, “Not that we really believed he would defect, but he vanished one day, and was spotted on Romulus the next. Mr. Data and I were sent to sort it out and retrieve him.”

Kirk’s face lit up. “You met him?”

Picard smiled a little. “As a matter of fact, I did. He was remarkably stubborn.”

Kirk grinned and nodded in agreement. More seriously, he asked, “How was he?” He could only hope Spock wasn’t suffering from a broken bond.

“He seemed fine when I was there,” Picard answered, unsurprisingly oblivious to the real weight behind Kirk’s question, “But he hadn’t been on Romulus for very long. He was living underground, in a network of caves under a town, but I don’t think he stayed put. I doubt it’s gotten any easier since we left. He went when he did because he was invited by a friend of his, who he met at the Khitomer Conference, but it was a trap. We escaped - mostly thanks to Ambassador Spock.”

Kirk nodded. “He’s very efficient.”

“It’s easy to forget he was once a Starfleet captain, but he plainly hasn’t.”

“He was like that as a first officer too - the best one in the fleet.” Kirk couldn’t help but smile.

“His reputation as an ambassador is the same, and despite the troubles we encountered, he had amassed quite a following already. His students were quite devoted to him.”

“He has that effect on people.”

Picard looked unconvinced, but acknowledged, “He’s dedicated to his cause, I can give him that. I tried to convince him to return to the Federation, maybe I didn’t try hard enough, but he wouldn’t budge, even after being caught by the Romulan Security Forces.”

“He wouldn’t. I doubt I could convince him to leave...” Kirk trailed off.

After a moment’s pause, Picard carefully remarked, “When I saw him, he mentioned that he still feels responsible for the time you spent on Rura Penthe. He said he went to Romulus alone because he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life.” He gave Kirk a pointed look, as though he could see through Kirk’s nascent plans.

Kirk shook his head. Of course Spock still felt guilty for it after all these years. “I’m to blame for worse.”

Picard hesitated. “Sometimes it feels like we give up too much in the name of duty.”

Kirk leaned back with a sigh. “I don’t know.” He still wanted so badly to be back in that chair, even for all it had cost him.

After a long silence, Picard spoke up, “Jim, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if you and the ambassador are married, you should know; Sarek died not long after Ambassador Spock left for Romulus.”

“Does Spock know?”

“Yes, I had a chance to tell him while I was on Romulus.”

Kirk nodded. “I’m sure his death is a great loss to the Federation.”

Delicately, Picard attempted, “I know he and Ambassador Spock had a difficult relationship.”

“To say the least,” Kirk couldn’t help but add.

Picard hesitated. “I shared a small bond with Sarek. He cared for Spock, in his way.”

Kirk frowned. “Maybe, but that doesn’t make him a good father.”

“The last thing he said to me before I left - before he died - was that he wanted me to tell Spock that he loved him. I know they argued, but perhaps that was merely how they communicated.”

Kirk glanced away to look out on the stars. Finally, he returned his gaze to Picard, his mind made up. “Sarek married a human woman and then punished their son for being too emotional - too human. It took Spock’s death for Sarek to finally accept him.” Despite Kirk’s efforts to keep his voice even, it shook a little with emotion.

“He saw his son die,” Picard protested. “It almost destroyed him.”

Kirk’s eyes widened as he realized what Picard had seen. He cut off Picard with a shake of his head. “Sarek wasn’t there.”

“But I saw-”

Kirk shook his head again. “I melded with Sarek and showed him what happened.”

“That was…” Picard trailed off in realization. “Jim, I’m sorry.”

Kirk waved it off with a weak attempt at a smile. “It was a long time ago. Spock is fine now.”

“You wouldn’t know that he’s over a hundred by looking at him.”

Kirk’s smile grew a little stronger, though some dampness lingered under his eyes. “Thank you, Captain.” He forced himself to his feet.

Picard followed suit. “You can call me Jean-Luc.”

“Thank you, Jean-Luc,” Kirk corrected himself. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Picard hesitated. “If you want to talk, you’re more than welcome.”

Kirk nodded in understanding. “I have a lot of questions about the Enterprise-D, but we should save something to talk about for next time.”

“I can show you to your quarters,” Picard offered and led the way out of the conference room.

Kirk tossed and turned in a bed that was much too soft for a cot on a starship. He didn’t really want to get comfortable, there was too much on his mind, too much weighing on him. Finally, he threw off the sheets, changed into a clean uniform, and strode out into the hall. It was quieter now, though he still passed a few officers hurrying to and fro. Some attempted to greet him, but he waved them off. The computer terminal, that ran along the walls in a black band, guided him up to the observation deck at the top of the saucer.

The observation deck was thankfully empty - there were a lot more places on the ship where people could go to savor the experience of being in outer space. A whole wall and part of the ceiling were paned with transparent aluminum, through which he could see the stars shifting around him as they passed at warp.

He had glanced at a star chart, they weren’t too far from Romulan space. If he peered in the right direction, he may have even been able to see some of the stars in the Neutral Zone. All he needed was a ship to take him there, and the admiral had been all too willing to give him one. But he couldn’t risk a crew on a personal mission.

Maybe she would be willing to strike a deal; he would come out of retirement, but first he needed a small ship to take him to Romulus. He didn’t actually expect to return, they were both too stubborn - Spock wouldn’t leave and Kirk refused to leave him there alone. It wasn’t the cleanest way to get what he wanted, but he only had so many options.

“The famous Captain Kirk,” a woman declared from behind him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “You look like a man who has a lot on his mind. Want to talk about it?”

Kirk turned to face her - it was the woman from the bar in the brightly colored dress, with those piercing eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said with a smile.

“I’m Guinan,” she said, very matter-of-fact, almost like the Klingon. “The Enterprise-B rescued me from the Nexus when you fell in. I never got a chance to thank you for saving us - not that any of us were very grateful at the time.”

As much as she looked it, she couldn’t have been human if she’d really lived that long, but Kirk supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. “I just did what I could,” he deflected.

Guinan nodded sagely. “The Nexus is a dangerous place - I would know. But keeping it all cooped up inside you just makes it worse.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I wasn’t there for very long - at least it didn’t feel like it. It didn’t leave much of an impression,” he said with a shrug.

“Really? Then there must be something else that has you staring out into space in the middle of the night,” she challenged, clearly skeptical.

He glanced back out at the stars. “Just thinking about an old friend.”

She stepped over to him, so they could look out the window side by side. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

Kirk smiled a little at that. He didn’t even know where to begin. At last, he said, “He’s stubborn and throws himself into danger without a thought for his own safety, but he would never let anyone else get hurt in his place.”

“It sounds like he gives his friends a lot to worry about.”

Kirk nodded.

“But you don’t seem like a man who would just sit around and worry. What’s the plan?” Guinan asked, almost conspiratorially.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Kirk evaded the question with a smile.

“You can’t just leave him in danger, can you?”

Kirk sighed. “I don’t know if he is in any immediate danger,” he admitted.

“And if he was, you’d be able to get him out of it all on your own,” Guinan said sarcastically.

“I’d figure something out,” Kirk insisted.

“And then what? You’d lock him away to protect him from everything else in the galaxy?”

Kirk glared at her. “At least I’d be there.”

Guinan answered with a look of disbelief, “You’ll just follow him around?”

“Why not? That’s what he did for me for ten years, maybe it’s my turn.” With that, Kirk turned back toward the window.

Guinan clearly wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue any further. Instead, she let Kirk ruminate in silence for a little while, though he didn’t get far, still tense from their debate and ready for a fight.

Finally, Guinan spoke up once more - to Kirk’s surprise, the prodding tone was gone, replaced by something more reflective - “You know, sometimes I get feelings about things, how they’re supposed to be, like if there’s been some change in the timeline. I get a feeling like that about you; I don’t think we were ever supposed to meet. You were supposed to die on that planet and that was to be the end of it. But I think this way is better. I don’t think much else has changed and I’m glad I got to meet you, Captain.”

Kirk wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he answered with a wry smile all the same, “I’m glad I got to meet you too.”

They shook hands and Guinan left him alone in the observation deck at last.

A chime sounded at the door to Kirk’s quarters. It slid open on his command to reveal Counselor Troi.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Sure,” Kirk welcomed her with a wave.

He was already seated at the desk and she brought over a chair to join him.

Once Troi was situated, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

He gave her a skeptical look and answered with a shrug - she could sense some purposeful evasion. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to see how you’re doing.” Carefully, Troi said, “I am aware that Ambassador Spock is on Romulus.”

All that elicited was a sharp nod.

She tried again, “I can sense that you are feeling determined. Is there something you intend to do?”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m always looking for an alternative solution.”

“Have you found one?”

“Aside from going to Romulus?”

It seemed she needed to take a more direct route. “I understand that you are in a very difficult situation, but avoiding your feelings is not the solution.”

Kirk reflected some of her irritation, though a bit of a smile remained to lighten the tone. “What do you want me to say? Of course I’m worried about him.” Before she could ask a follow-up question, he changed the topic entirely - “How precise are your empathic abilities?”

“I can tell you’re still trying to evade my questions.”

“It’s a useful ability, not just for counseling,” he pressed. “Can you sense the feelings of someone on another ship or on the surface of a planet?”

“Yes, it has come in handy in some diplomatic situations, but I am primarily a counselor.”

“I see that.”

She stopped herself short of sighing in exasperation. “I understand that you don’t want to talk about Ambassador Spock. What about your experience in the Nexus?”

“Fine, what do you want to know?” Kirk asked dismissively, but she could sense that his defenses had dropped a little.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s very distant, almost like a dream.” He paused for a moment to search his memory. “The first thing I remember was standing outside a cabin chopping wood. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, though I don’t know why I was doing it - I knew Spock wasn’t there. I don’t know how long I was at it.”

“What influence would your husband’s presence have had on the situation?” she asked for clarification.

Kirk gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. “It was too warm out for me to want a fire for myself, but he likes the dry heat - it makes it feel more like Vulcan.”

“I see,” she said with a smile of her own. “And you said you were in front of a cabin - was it familiar to you?”

He nodded. “It was my uncle’s. I ended up with it after he died, but I wasn’t on Earth enough to use it, so I sold it years ago.”

“So, then what happened in the Nexus?”

“I was still chopping wood when your Captain Picard walked up. And then, I think I smelled something burning and remembered I had left some eggs on the stove, which I was making for a woman who was sleeping upstairs - I think her name was Antonia.”

“Is she someone you know?”

“I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “The strange thing is, while I was there, I was convinced that I almost married her nine years ago, but that instead I left to go back to Starfleet.”

“Did something similar happen nine years ago?”

Kirk shook his head.

“Were you with anyone at the time?”

“Spock and I were already married and I don’t think there was anyone else. It was before our last mission…” He froze.

Very delicately, Troi asked, “What is it?”

“Nine years ago, that was right before Khan - before Spock died. I was still on Earth at the time, if I had stayed and hadn’t gone on that training mission, Khan would have had no reason to go after Spock...” He had almost forgotten anyone else was there.

Troi could feel Kirk’s anguish, it was real even though the ambassador was alive as far as anyone knew. “What happened?” she prompted quietly, as not to intrude on his thoughts.

“Khan wanted revenge,” Kirk answered automatically, lost in memories. “He almost destroyed us, but at the last minute, Spock sacrificed himself to save the ship. I was able to bring him back, but it took a while before he was himself again.”

“I’m sorry.” Troi gently rested a hand on his arm.

Kirk seemed to jolt back to the present. His eyes suddenly fixed on Troi, as they hadn’t through his explanation, as though searching her face for a reaction or some indication of how much he had revealed.

“I sense that you still feel a lot of guilt for what happened,” Troi attempted, but she could tell that his defenses had already returned.

“A captain is responsible for the lives of his crew,” he answered, though his voice was still rough.

“Sometimes even the best captain can’t avert a tragedy.”

He shook his head. “It’s still his responsibility. You’re a doctor, don’t you feel responsible for your patients?”

She held firm - “It is important for a doctor to understand that sometimes there are things outside their control.”

“You sound like a Vulcan,” he accused, but he was almost smiling.

“Their philosophy has its merits.”

He nodded in agreement. “What does Betazoid philosophy have to say on the matter?” he asked - his evasive banter had returned.

“Most Betazoids prefer to embrace their emotions, which is very freeing, but can have negative effects on others. Any philosophy can be harmful if it is taken to extremes.”

Kirk gave her a knowing smile. “You said you’re half-Betazoid?”

“Yes, my mother is a Betazoid, and my father was human.” Troi felt a wave of sympathy in response. She clarified, “I had the opportunity to experience the best of both worlds. What’s your background?” she turned the question back on him.

“All human. I was born in Iowa, but my father was in Starfleet, so I spent a lot of time in the colonies.” A trace of a bad memory seemed to flit through his mind, but it quickly dissipated.

“Tell me about your time in the colonies,” Troi suggested.

Kirk waved it off. “There isn’t much to tell.” His tone was light, but she could sense that his defensiveness had returned.

It didn’t seem immediate enough to pursue, so she returned to her original question, “I don’t think you finished telling me about what happened in the Nexus. You were chopping wood, then Captain Picard arrived, and you realized the eggs you were making for Antonia were burning…” She motioned for him to continue.

He nodded. It took him a moment to regain his train of thought. “It really was like a dream. I think I was standing in the kitchen of my uncle’s cabin with your captain when my old dog, Butler, came in through the front door - I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. And I think there was that clock that I gave to Bones years ago on the wall, and I had the reading glasses that he gave me” - Troi felt a flash of Kirk’s regret and grief over Spock’s death, and then it was gone.

“Jean-Luc was trying to explain what was going on,” Kirk continued as though nothing had happened, “But I wasn’t listening - I was too busy preparing breakfast for Antonia. I think I even heard her voice, but when I stepped into the bedroom, I suddenly found myself in my uncle’s barn. I took out one of the horses, I think I was going to meet Antonia, but I’m not sure. I rode down the trail that I usually take, jumped over the ravine, and I think that’s when I realized it wasn’t real - I wasn’t afraid of the jump. That’s where Jean-Luc caught up to me and finally convinced me to go with him and stop Soran.”

“Why do you think the Nexus showed you that in particular?”

He shrugged. "It's the perfect retirement," he said, but she could tell he didn't really believe it.

"Perfect for you?"

"Maybe there's no such thing.”

"Why did you retire?"

"It was time," he said, but there was a  lot of reluctance to it.

"You know, you're no older than Captain Picard.”

"Give or take eighty years,” he retorted.

“You don’t look over sixty to me.”

“You flatter me, doctor,” he said with a wry smile.

She gave him a look. More seriously, she said, “I think we made a lot of progress. Is it alright if I drop by again tomorrow?”

“Fine,” he said with a wave.

Kirk showed Counselor Troi to the door. It slid shut behind her and he was left alone in his quarters once more. He let out a sigh in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from the interview. The room suddenly seemed much too big for one man - it was bigger than his quarters had been on any of the ships he had commanded.

He glanced back at his desk - he could resume going over his plans for going to Romulus, but there was only so much that could be prepared in advance. Instead, he decided to follow the counselor’s example, and stepped out into the corridor himself. He ambled almost aimlessly, tracing his way through another unfamiliar starship - he had to remind himself that this one was not his.

He meandered down to the engines, passing officers and civilians alike, but no one that he recognized. Finally, he arrived in engineering and spotted Data standing at one of the terminals. Kirk strolled over to the android and peered at the screen over his shoulder, though he made sure to leave a comfortable distance between them.

Data turned to face him. “Is there something you require, Jim?”

Kirk smiled. “What are you working on there?”

“Monitoring the warp engine relay,” Data answered promptly.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Kirk asked. He attempted to decipher the schematic on the screen, but it made about as much sense as what Data had said.

“No, it is functioning within normal parameters. I am merely performing a routine check.”

“I don’t mean to distract you.”

“Very well,” Data said and returned to his work without a second glance.

Kirk grinned at the response. He waited for Data to notice he was still there.

“Captain Kirk!” La Forge exclaimed from the other end of the room, near the warp core. He strode over to join them.

“How are the engines?” Kirk asked.

“They ought to be at maximum efficiency with all the extra hands looking after them.”

“The engines’ efficiency is not correlated with the number of officers maintaining them,” Data corrected him.

“That’s the problem,” La Forge said. He turned to Kirk - “Is there anything we can help you with?”

Kirk shook his head. “Just distracting Mr. Data, here.”

“You said your intention was not to distract me,” Data protested, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“It’s a figure of speech, Data,” La Forge tried to explain. “People say it to be polite.”

“I see…” Data said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “However, Jim, if your intention is to distract me, I do have a question I have been meaning to ask you.”

“Ask away,” Kirk said with a wave.

“How can a human such as yourself engage in a romantic relationship with a Vulcan who rejects human emotion?”

La Forge made to protest, but Kirk held up a hand to stop him. A lot of people had asked him that question over the years, but rarely with such sincere curiosity.

However, before Kirk could answer, a young ensign interrupted, “Excuse me, sir.” She gestured at the terminal they were all crowded around.

“Come on,” La Forge said, “I know somewhere a little less crowded - you haven’t gotten a proper tour of the warp core yet.”

La Forge led the way to the tall glowing column at the end of the room that gave the ship the power to traverse the galaxy in days instead of years. From right next to it, if Kirk craned his neck, he could see a network of narrow walkways that wound around the warp core all the way to the top. La Forge led Kirk and Data up two metal staircases, bathed in the core’s blue glow.

“We should be out of the way up here,” La Forge said.

Kirk let his eyes fall shut so he could just listen to the whirring of the engines - it almost sounded like he was back on his own ship. Finally, he forced himself back to the present. “She’s lovely.”

La Forge grinned. “You should have seen the Enterprise.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Kirk said. Then, at last, he turned to Data’s question. “Spock doesn’t really reject emotion, he just tempers it with logic. Do you have your sights set on a particular Vulcan?”

“No,” Data replied, “I am not romantically interested in a Vulcan, if I interpret your question correctly. I ask because my previous attempt at engaging in a romantic relationship with a human did not go well because of my inability to experience human emotions. However, based on the duration of your marriage with Ambassador Spock, I assume your relationship was successful despite his choice to lead a Vulcan life.”

“You had some emotions,” La Forge insisted, “Even before you put in the emotion chip.”

“I could not experience happiness, sadness, or even anger. Therefore, I was unqualified to be in a human relationship,” Data explained as though it was perfectly logical.

Kirk sighed. “Why does it have to be human? Did you love her?”

“I was not capable of experiencing love,” Data replied.

“Then why enter into a relationship in the first place?” Kirk pressed.

“She expressed her interest in me and after consulting with several of my crewmates, I determined that it would be an informative experience. However I proved to be unequal to the task.” Data’s disappointment was clear.

“Did you care for her?”

“She was my friend. I appreciated her abilities and the time that I spent with her.”

Kirk nodded. “That sounds like something to me, maybe not love, but you clearly felt something for her. And the desire for love is very human - not that we’re the only ones.”

“Even if I felt some emotion for her, it was clearly not enough,” Data insisted.

Kirk hesitated. “I fell in love with an android once. She seemed very human on the surface, but she didn’t have her own goals or ideals - it was her creator that wanted her to be more human. And, like you, she was new to emotion. Her creator tried to teach her through experience, but the conflicting feelings were too much for her.”

“I do not understand what you are attempting to demonstrate.”

“I don’t think I can really answer your question,” Kirk admitted. “Being in a relationship with a Vulcan or an android may be more complicated, but all relationships are complicated.” He put a reassuring hand on Data’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll make it work.”

[soopranatural]

Who I was looking for -End

Summary: Even after you started wearing cuffs, the words are engraved in your mind as well as your wrist. You know you're not destined for love as soon as you learn how to read. How could you? When the words "Sorry, you're not who I was looking for" are written in black ink on your skin.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: injuries, fluff mostly, Tony is awful to himself as always, etc

Words: 5804 (Jeez)

A/N: Well, this is it. I cannot actually beLIEVE I've made it this far (considering my previous record was writing seven chapters and then leaving the fic forever :/) you guys have kept me motivated throughout this whole process and I'm SO grateful for all the feedback you have no idea. I freakin love this series so much but I'm so glad it's over lol. Anyway, hope you like the ending. 🖤🖤🖤

Marsterlist

Mobile Masterlist

Part 25  Series Masterlist

Bucky doesn't enjoy meetings, especially not at ass-crack o'clock in the morning.

Despite this fact, Bucky finds himself smiling (a rare occurrence, even when it's not ass-crack o'clock) he's been texting you all weekend, mostly random things that were too trivial to talk to the team about.

He was pleasantly surprised when he discovered you two had the same chemistry when texting that you did talking out loud. He got this tight, fluttery happiness every time his phone pinged. And he blanks and completely loses his train of thought at least twice a day when he remembers he has a soulmate. And it's you.

The memory of your kiss is still fresh in his mind, he can't quite believe it. Your lips had left a seared print upon his memory, like a brand. And sometimes he'll press his fingertips to his mouth, just to remember the sweet pressure.

It's embarrassing.

Steve keeps elbowing him and Natasha grins like the grinch every time Bucky looks at his phone. Sam wants to meet you, complaining that by now he's the only one that hasn't met 'his beau'. Bucky will never admit it -they'd never let him hear the end of it- but he's glad they approve of you. The team seems glad that he gets to have a soulmate, and everyone that has met you has loved you. It's sad, maybe. But when he looks at his friends -his family, really- he can see how tired and broken and weary they are. Clint doesn't have a soul mark. Steve met his too many years ago. Natasha... doesn't talk about her soulmate at all. They're all glad he gets to have this, and he's glad he gets to have them.

Anyway.

The meeting.

Bucky scoffs, catching himself yet again with his fingertips pressed to his lips.

Steve's voice is strong, dripping with authority, even as he raises his hand to ask a question, like a dork. "Shouldn't we be warning the people at the tower? I mean, if there is a threat I don't think we should be hiding it from them."

"This isn't the purpose of this meeting captain." Director Fury looks at Steve with the force of a two-eyed glare, and Bucky is glad he doesn't actually have two eyes to glare at him with "Agent Hill has it under control, and I would prefer not to cause unnecessary panic. We're talking about kids spray painting on walls because they think they're funny, not because they're Hydra."

"But I heard you talking to Hill the other day" there's that glare again, Steve ignores it "and you said it was bigger than you thought."

"That's what she said" Sam whispers in Bucky's ear. Clint hears him and snort-laughs.

"That may be so, Captain Rogers. But still, this is below your-"

"Wh- Below-" Steve stutters, appalled "No offense sir, but if protecting the people that live and work with us is below the Avengers, then what kind of-"

"Alright" Natasha cuts in, "this is ridiculous. Sir, I'm with Steve on this." She doesn't even wilt at the look he gives her, Bucky's impressed "I don't doubt that Maria can do her job right, but I think we should at least be taking the threat seriously enough to warn the people that work at the tower."

"Fine" Fury concedes at last, running a hand over his head in exasperation "but can we please talk about Bolivia now? I need a team of four ready to leave in a week."

-

It's a good day, in Bucky's opinion. He's not needed on the Bolivia mission, so he doesn't have to go through the grueling prep process. The whole vandal thing is mostly solved, everyone is going home early already, so they'll just have to make a formal announcement tomorrow. Well, the tower will make an announcement, the Avengers aren't really getting involved.

So, he spends half an hour in the gym, takes a nice long shower -he uses the fancy shampoo and everything- and then dresses in his comfiest henley and jeans. He's just putting on a movie when a knock sounds on his door.

He combs a hand through his hair, yawns, and leisurely strolls to answer.

"Hey man" he greets casually when he sees Clint standing on his doorway. "What's going o-"

He cuts himself off when he sees the look on his friend's face. Because he's been on missions with him before, and Bucky knows the kind of shit they've seen, but he's never seen Clint look this scared. There's a horrified expression stuck on his face, and he's so pale he looks like he's wearing a mask.

"I don't know how they did it" he pants. And Bucky doesn't know what his friend is talking about, but he hurries to put on some shoes anyway. "They-" Clint is half inside his room already "they just started shooting, they just stepped into the second floor and started shooting."

And Bucky doesn't think he's ever moved so fast. He doesn't ask what the hell is going on because he knows, and a heavy stone of dread sinks into his stomach. A blink and he's got Clint by the arm, another and they're running through the hallway towards the elevator. Bucky doesn't even close the door behind him.

Cold panic sinks it's claws into his chest, but he still forces himself to wait for the elevator to arrive instead of launching himself down the stairs like he wants to.

The second floor, you're on the second floor and this is just like that night when they killed the couple on the street and for one terrible moment he'd thought you were dead.

Would he even know? Does this connection he has with you end with the cosmic ink that was used to write his terrible words on your skin? Or would he know, would the universe tell him you were hurt. He hopes it would, and the thought that it may not makes him lurch with anxiety.

He just got you, and he can't afford to lose you. He looks down at his own arm, and the greeting written on it now sounds in his head with your voice.

Clint graciously pretends not to hear the shaking breath he lets out.

Each second stretches out impossibly long, and the numbers counting down on the side of the elevator mock him.

20

12

8

4

And then he remembers, because he takes half a step before his brain steps on the breaks. You work on the fourth floor.

You've been working on the fourth floor for a while now, not the second. He sags with relief and tells himself again, just to calm his hammering heartbeat. Not the second.

He doesn't know why he thought you were on the second floor, he knew you used to work there, but he'd met you after that. He'd been so sure you were in danger before, but it was probably a brain glitch. People are still being shot though, and he feels guilty about feeling relieved after realizing you were safe.

He knew you were technically in danger, the whole tower was. But now that your life wasn't being threatened directly he felt better.

His blood still feels heavy with anticipation, he knows there will be a fight. The metal of his arms shifts and clicks right before the elevator doors open, and they're greeted with chaos.

The whirr and whine of assembling metal draws his attention first, and he turns just in time to watch Tony's face disappear behind red and gold.

"Get them out of here!" The mask does nothing to filter the panic from his voice.

Bucky gets to work instantly, pulling Clint along.

A man in a balaclava is laughing while he fires shots at a terrified man, lying on the ground and trembling in his three piece suit. He makes sure to never hit his target, the bullets hitting the floor around the man with a bang and a crack.

Bucky isn't that cruel, his fist finds his target fast and true, and only the crunch of bone can be heard before Balaclava falls limply to the ground. Clint doesn't even hesitate before stealing the unconscious man's gun and leading the guy in the three-piece to the nearest hallway, where a group of workers are huddled around the corner. They yelp anxiously when Clint comes into view, and then whisper nervously at their coworker, who still looks a little green from fright.

Bucky spots a door a few feet away, and he jiggles the handle before he realizes it's locked, he's sure it's the one that leads to the stairs. It opens with a keycard and Bucky asks the group if they have one.

"They disabled them when they came in" the woman who speaks doesn't look scared, but rather angry. Her dark cheeks are wet from tears, and her grip on one of her coworker's jacket is too tight to look casual, but her brown eyes burn with fire. Bucky immediately decides that he likes her.

Clint gives him a look, and Bucky knows what he's thinking, the tower is protected with Stark technology. And if these people got in so easily that means that either they have a genius on their side or there's a spy in the tower.

There's no time to answer that question at the moment though. He uses his metal hand to break the electronic lock clean off, and the woman from earlier leads her coworkers through the door before going through herself. Steve has just arrived to the fight, and when Bucky turns he sees Natasha take down a man almost twice her size.

People keep coming in from every direction, friends and enemies alike. Bucky knows they have to block the entrances, stop anyone else from coming in before they're outnumbered. Clint hadn't brought his bow and arrow to the fight, but he doesn't miss a single shot while using the gun.

"Go" he says firmly, firing a shot that hits a man on the arm and makes him drop the gun he was about to fire. "You gotta cut them off" Clint can clearly handle himself, so Bucky listens and runs towards the stream of armed men.

This is clearly more about causing panic than a strategic attack, so Bucky knows his goal is to take down as many men as possible. Unless this is a distraction. It isn't very likely, but he hopes the team wasn't stupid enough to come down all at once and leave the labs unattended.

He also hopes Banner was smart enough to get the hell out of here before the situation got any worse.

He rushes to the entrance hallway, dodging people as they run for cover and fighting any bad guys looking for an opening. Suddenly, a group of men armed to the teeth turn the corner, and while he's trying to stop the sudden onslaught of bullets with his metal arm a blond man grins, pulls the safety off a grenade with his teeth, and throws it as far as he can.

Bucky yells, but it does nothing to stop it's trajectory. The grenade flies over his shoulder and hits a wall. A second passes, and everything stills. Then the grenade explodes.

Debris goes flying everywhere, and a piece of drywall flies by his face and nicks him on the cheek. His ears are ringing and Bucky shakes his head harshly to get rid of the sound.

He wishes he had his comms so he could check on the rest of the team, but he doesn't. So he settles for trying to rub the dust from his eyes and stopping these people from getting any further.

He can't stop everyone, and some of the men run past him. He still manages to knock out a good amount though, and he takes special care of breaking grenade-guy's cheekbone. His harsh breathing forces dust into his lungs, and he coughs as he runs to a window. He can see police cars outside, and they're escorting the tower's employees to safety and securing the entrances so no one can get in. He catches sight of the group he and Clint had helped before, and he lets out a small breath before going back in. He can still hear shouting and guns, but now he knows this won't take long.

The bad guys' advantage is gone, and the surprise factor won't help them in what's to come next. They're locked in with The Avengers after attacking their home and their people, and no one is coming to help them.

-

Bucky is angry, but the Soldier, ever present in the back of his mind, is restless with glee as he fights his way back into the main office. His clothes are covered in grime and blood by the time he gets there, panting and wide eyed, to where the rest of his team awaits.

The room stands still in the silent aftermath of chaos. The air is thick with the dust and smoke that still floats around, the acrid smell of gunpowder makes his nose itch. The quiet, terrified sobbing and fluttering of paper are like white noise that echoes in the once bright and busy room.

Bucky passes the charred remains of a desk, with what looks like candy wrappers littered around it. It sinks into his mind that these were civilians, their civilians, this was never meant to be a war zone.

Something crunches beneath his foot, and Bucky lifts a dirt-smudged sneaker to reveal the now crushed glasses. He winces.

He's about to pick them up when what can only be described as a wail cuts through the somber silence like a whip.

"HELP!" The woman's voice cracks with fear and Bucky sprints in the general direction of the call. He thinks maybe someone may be trapped below some fallen heavy object, but the truth is much worse.

Steve is standing before a door when he gets there, surrounded by a group of curious onlookers. "Get me medical!" He calls out over his shoulder, and Natasha runs from the room. She's limping, but she still weaves quickly and expertly through the crowd.

A second later he steps aside for the medical team, they're carrying along a stretcher, and their hands have smudges of dirt on them.

He continues to stand aside, not wanting to get in anyone's way. But then Clint, scratched and beaten bloody, gets closer to the scene. He looks at the body on the stretcher and his eyes glance up immediately to find Bucky. He looks away quickly, but Bucky notices anyway. He sprints to catch up to Steve and the now moving stretcher.

His body reacts before his mind, and he's doubling over with a breathless gasp before he truly registers who it is that's lying there. He feels like screaming, but he can't get enough breath into his lungs to do so. What happened? You were safe. You were safe.

His voice tears from his throat without permission. And a heavy hand lands on his shoulder with the intention of grounding him. He's shaking, and Steve looks at him intently, confused as to why he's suddenly breaking apart at the seams. He places his other hand on Bucky's chest, trying to keep all the pieces from coming apart. Steve's hand is scorching hot against his chest, and it feels like it burns him all the way to his lungs. He can't breathe, and he's cold.

And suddenly, with a horrible sinking certainty, Bucky knows exactly what's happening. He doesn't know how they did it, doesn't know why HYDRA would want to do this.

He can't freeze again. They can't do this to him again. His body hurts, and he's trying to call out to Steve even as he stumbles away from his burning hands.

He has to get to you before it happens, before his joints freeze oven and stop him from moving again. Already he feels stiff and numb as he stumbles over to you.

Your face is pale and there is so much blood on your clothes he doesn't know where the wounds are. He doesn't want to see you like this, doesn't want the last image he has of you until who knows how long to be you bleeding out on a stretcher, surrounded by dust and smoke.

But Bucky can't leave you alone, and he will push through panic and pain and frost to get to your side. Your hand in his is limp and frail. "Oh fuck Y/N, please, I'm so sorry." He can only beg as they carry you away. He doesn't want to go back under, he doesn't want to watch you leave him, he doesn't want you to be hurt. Please.

No one listens.

-

Steve manages to pull him away from the scene, shaking and crying and trying to get to you even on unstable legs.

He manages to convince him that he's not going back into cyro again, and that the cold he feels in his bones is just a natural response to panic.

The feeling doesn't fade. Not when the last time he saw you you were barely grasping at the fragile thread of consciousness.

Bucky rubs a hand over his face, and he catches Steve make an aborted motion to stop him. But it's too late. The copper-rust scent of blood explodes so suddenly against his senses that Bucky lurches, gagging.

That's your blood. His hand is covered in it and his face is covered in it too and he had felt your hands were sticky and oh god it's your blood.

"Hey" Steve says, grasping him firmly once more as he starts to shake apart again.

"Okay. Okay buddy, okay" Steve's guiding him to the elevator gently, even though he has no clue what's going on. "We'll get you somewhere quiet alright?"

Bless him, he looks terrified as well. The attack has left him feeling tired and guilty and angry, and yet his hand is gentle and reassuring on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky leans his head on his friend's arm, both in thanks and for support.

"Please" he slurs "I havta- I have to get to her" Bucky swallows and his mouth tastes like bile "I just got my soulmate Stevie, please. I have to get to her I can't..." I can't lose her, he means to say. But the words stick to his throat.

Steve pauses, eyes widening as he registers what his friend just said. Bucky distantly remembers that Steve hasn't met you before, and laments the fact that it had to be like this. "She's your..." Steve whispers, his tone heavy with understanding. Bucky can tell he's shocked, but he recovers quickly.

"She'll be alright Buck, okay? But you gotta let the med team do their job, you're more help to her right now just waiting it out than..." he windmills his free hand while he finds the words "barging in through the doors like a madman."

Bucky feels like a madman though. Wild and fragile and scared at the same time, he feels right on the edge of something, and he doesn't want  to know what that is.

"I'll get you a change of clothes while you're in the shower, 'k? We can go see how she's doin' after that." Steve pushes him gently in the direction of the bathroom and doesn't close the door all the way when he's inside. Bucky knows Steve wants to be able to know if he falls, or if he breaks down, he also knows the last thing Bucky wants right now is to feel trapped. He appreciates the gesture, but it still makes him feel like a child.

The water looks more like mud as it runs along his body, the many small cuts he acquired during the fight are stinging, but he barely notices. He doesn't feel clean, and he's already scrubbed and scrubbed for nearly ten minutes. He's panting, on the verge of crying when the blood won't rub off his skin.

It's your blood, and no matter how hard he scrubs it won't come off. His skin is red and raw already, but his mind won't let him stop.

"I'm getting you some sweatpants, and maybe I should pack a change of clothes, huh? For the hospital?" Steve breaks the silence, speaking louder than necessary in hopes he can drown out Bucky's mind. No doubt he can hear his heaving breath. "I'll pack the gray ones, and the blue t-shirt, the one with the stripes. Maybe we can convince Nat to let us borrow one of her blankets." He's talking aimlessly, narrating everything he's doing to keep Bucky distracted.

It works. Bucky gulps, takes a few deep breaths, and gets out of the shower. Pointedly not looking at his hands or at his reflection in the mirror.

"Hey bud" Steve says when he sees Bucky come out of the shower, his eyes are soft as they skim over his red skin, but he doesn't say anything about it "Let's go see her, alright?"

-

A terrible weight is sitting on your chest, and you fight your own body on the way up from the depth of the darkness that engulfs you. It feels like waking up, but worse.

There's light hurting your eyes, and you're not sure if you're laying down or if you're somehow hanging from the ceiling. This is not your apartment- the light is not this bright there- and it feels like the scent of smoke is clinging to you like a memory.

"W'ram I?" Your voice won't work, your head hurts, your heart is starting to pound with anxiety.

"You're in a hospital" the voice is calm, matter-of-fact.

"Oh no" you mumble. And then pass out again.

-

The second time you wake up it's to the sound of crying.

Rapid, sobbing breath interrupts frantic speech. It all sounds like gibberish to you, but it's evident the crying girl is talking to someone, since she's occasionally interrupted by the soothing rumble of a male voice.

It takes you a great effort to open your eyes, which felt like they'd been taped shut. But finally light and color burst into your eyesight, blurry but still harsh. You grunt at the stinging in your eyes and the voices stop.

"I think we should take this outside dear, let sleeping beauty wake up properly." Tony Stark gives you a small, tight lipped smile as he ushers a short, chubby girl out the door. She's still crying.

"I swear I put it in my bag this morning, I just don't know when they could've-" she's gesturing wildly, ignoring Tony's attempts at pushing her out.

"It's alright, they were just waiting for the right moment" the door clicking shut cuts them off, but you can still hear them murmuring on the other side of the door.

With a start you realize that you know that girl. She's the intern that had arrived in a flurry of papers and coffee and platinum blonde hair. She'd said something about forgetting her key card just before...

Just before...

You're afraid to look under the sheet of what you now realize is a hospital bed. But you know what you'll find if you do. Because you remember the pain, and the blood, and the fear.

The heart-rate monitor's rhythmic beeping becomes quicker as your heart rate skyrockets. Is everyone alright? How long have you been here? Where's Marina?

Where's Bucky?

He was the last face you'd seen before losing consciousness, and the pain you remembered in his eyes worried you, you didn't even know if he was alright.

You look around the room, as if hoping that somehow he'd been there the whole time and you just hadn't noticed him. But he wasn't there.

Suddenly, as if your thoughts had summoned him, the door clicks back open and a mess of dark brown locks peeks through. Followed closely by a pair of eyes bruised by lack of sleep, a scruffy beard, and the rest of Bucky's person.

It takes him a moment to realize you're awake. He blinks tiredly at your bedridden form, scans your face, and then realizes your eyes are open. He blinks once again- this time in surprise- before practically teleporting to your side.

"Oh, thank god" his arms are fluttering rapidly all over your frame, not really touching you but obviously wanting to "thank fucking god, Jesus Christ."

His right hand finally lands on your arm, then drags down the length of it until he's holding your hand. His grip is tight, but not painfully so. His other hand hovers next to your cheek for a moment, unsure, until you lean your head so that your face rests in the cup of his metal hand. His breath whooshes out of him in a stuttered exhale.

"You were covered in blood"

"I know."

"They wouldn't say anything to me and I got so worried."

"I'm okay Bucky, I'm okay now" you don't know if the woozy feeling that overcomes you is from the pain meds or the constant motion of his thumb rubbing gently back and forth over your cheekbone. The metal whirrs and clicks, but the motion doesn't seem deliberate.

"You were so pale. I-I thought you wouldn't wake-" the door opens suddenly, but Bucky's reaction is instant. His hands leave your body immediately and he turns away from you and the door, a curtain of hair shielding his face. He clears his throat once, twice, and then sits back down on the chair next to the bed like nothing had happened.

He's close again, but this time he doesn't reach out to touch you.

Tony pauses in the middle of his sigh, looking back and forth between you and Bucky like he can read the tension in the room.

"Well then" he starts, in a tone like he's just finished settling a discussion, even if he's just come in "I think you and I need to have a little chat, Y/N."

"Are you firing me?" You say, like an impulsive dumbass. It might be the drugs.

"No" he blinks "but I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to quit."

"Oh" You say. Bucky's perfectly silent beside you, looking like he hasn't heard a single word of the conversation "um, I-I don't think I will. I mean, this isn't really the job I want forever, but..."

"If you want to leave there'll be no hard feelings. In fact, I could help you kickstart whatever it is you want to do."

"Oh no, Mr. Stark-"

"I wanted to apologize for the..." he waves his hand at your bandaged figure "and really a loan is the least I can do."

"But-" wait what? He wanted you to quit your job? And what was that about a loan? Was he doing this with every single victim of the attack? This was too fast, way too fast. And you were currently on too many drugs to deal with it. "I won't be able to pay you back" you state lamely, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Stark, can you at least wait until she's standing up before you start trying to make her take life-changing financial decisions?" Bucky finally decides to speak. He looks a little annoyed, but also somewhat amused.

Tony straightens his suit jacket, a little embarrassed. "Right" he clears his throat. "That settles it then."

"...settles what?" But you're too slow, Tony Stark has already left the room.

Bucky breathes out a chuckle. "There's probably gonna be a ton of money in your bank account in about twenty minutes."

"Wh-!" You choke "No! I really can't pay him back. And, knowing me, I'll probably end up ruining the whole thing and I'll be broke in like... two months! I-I'd rather earn the money, I think." You're waiting for Bucky to interrupt, but he just looks at you softly, his hand is back on your arm. "Wh- quit staring at me like that! I'm having a crisis here."

And then he laughs.

That gives you pause. You realize that you've never seen him do that. In your short time of knowing him, Bucky Barnes has never laughed in your presence, not like this. There's the small, private smile that you adore so much. And the short, sarcastic huff of breath, and the deep, rumbling chuckle he makes when he's amused at your expense.

But he's never laughed like this, eyes alight with relief and head thrown back in a shameless display of happiness.

"Darling" he starts, laughter dripping from his voice like honey "I don't think Stark expects you to pay him back. If it really makes you uncomfortable I can talk to him, but it'll probably make him feel better if you just take the money."

Your brain is still recovering from the way he just called you darling, and it takes you a moment to gather yourself back into a human person and not a gooey puddle.

"Uh" you say coherently.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. Little shit.

"You don't have to decide today. You're still in the hospital." At the reminder of your state his expression hardens. "Does it hurt?"

You shift in bed to test your condition and immediately grimace. "Yeah, but only when I breathe." You try to joke, but your grin drops when Bucky's face turns downright murderous. "What day is it?" You try to shift the conversation away from your hurting body. You'd been dreading the answer, but you probably haven't been out for more than a few hours.

His mouth twists to the side "it's Wednesday" he leans back on the chair, blowing out a huff of air "the doctors said you were lucky. Nothing major, though you're probably going to have to take it easy for a few months."

"Oh" you say, that meant you were out for a whole day and a half, and probably a good chunk of today too. That wasn't so bad, although you regret losing Monday. You have a feeling like you're forgetting something, although you can't pinpoint what.

"Shit!" You exclaim suddenly, trying to sit up. Oh no, Monday.

"Wh-HEY!! What the hell?! I literally just told you to take it easy, are you insane?!" Bucky jumps from his chair, angrily trying to get you to lie back down while you whine about the pain that flares all over your body "yeah, ow. What the hell was that about?"

"I missed our date" you whine.

Bucky stares at you in silence until you feel dumb. Mouth parted and eyes squinted in disbelief.

"Okay, first of all, I told you it wasn't a date" you grin up at him and he turns away, but you can see him breaking "Jesus, that was stupid" he's fighting a smile, you can tell.

Finally, he huffs, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your forehead. "I'll get us pretzels later, little dare-devil. But only if you promise never to get shot again."

"Fine. It wasn't any fun anyway."

He snorts "the team's waiting outside, by the way. They all came to visit you while you were out, but they want to meet you officially."

You're surprised "Why?"

"'Cause you're my soulmate. But mostly because they're all nosy bastards." His smile is fond as he says it "they'll come in when you're ready."

You don't think you'll ever be ready to meet the Avengers, but it's easy to just think of them as Bucky's family, especially when he's smiling like that. All soft and mildly embarrassed.

"Oh, um, sure" you look down at yourself. Crap, you're probably a mess. You look around the room, searching for a mirror or any reflective surface. Surprisingly, your phone is sitting next to you on the stand, someone had even  been kind enough to plug it in. "Can you pass me my phone?"

Bucky turns, stretching back to unplug it and then handing it to you.

As soon as you go to unlock it you notice you have like a gazillion texts, and almost as many missed calls. Some are from your family, some from Michael, and Marina, most are from Anna. All of them asking you how you were doing and what was going on in increasing levels of worry.

You grimace, knowing you're going to have to answer them sooner or later.

You shoot a quick text to Anna, telling you that you're fine and that you'll fill her in later, knowing she'll tell Michael.

You text Marina as well, and tell her to stop apologizing. The texts start back up immediately, but you ignore them in favor of opening your phone camera.

You don't look as bad as you expected, although your hair looks like a rat's nest and there are deep bruises under your eyes. Someone has removed your makeup while you were unconscious, but you don't look any worse than you feel. Which, okay, isn't saying much. But you've just been shot, so they'll just have to deal. You try to pat your hair down as best you can and then turn to Bucky, lopsided smile on you face.

He huffs an amused breath "Can I kiss you?"

The question catches you off guard "Why?" You blurt. Goddamnit! Stupid! Stupid!

"Because you're adorable." He says it patiently "and because I was worried, and because I just realized that I can and I really, really want to."

Be still, my beating heart.

"Sure." You squeak. You're about to pass out again, you're sure of it.

His mouth quirks up again, half smirk and half loving smile. And then his left hand lands on your right cheek, cold metal against warm skin. And his lips touch yours.

You're glad you're laying down already. Because the soft, long drag of his lips against yours makes you want to swoon like a 19th century woman. He moves like he wants to tug his right hand from yours, but you just hold him tighter. Warm laughter huffs against your lips. He just tugs a little harder and moves his hand to rest on your other cheek. You hum, it feels like there's light blossoming in your chest. Bucky nibbles on your bottom lip before pulling away and it feels like he's taking your soul with him when he does.

"Oh boy" you say, dazed. You can't quite manage to pull yourself back together "the moment's almost perfect."

"Almost?" He sounds mildly insulted "what's missing?"

"Hmm" you hum, fighting the giddy smile that threatens to bubble up from your chest "pretzels."

Bucky laughs that perfect laugh once more.

IT’S OFFICIALLY OVER OMGG!!!

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[poore-choice-of-words]

Nightingale & Peregrine Chapter 6

Whoo! It’s been awhile. But hopefully chapter seven wil come sooner than this one. Enjoy!

First, Last

...

He was late. Luckily, most people didn’t go to ice cream at one in the afternoon. Scratch that. A lot of people went to ice cream in the afternoon, unluckily. That was why there weren’t any parking spaces. He was sure his running speed to get there was better than his record in highschool, not that it was much of a record, but still.

This was the second time in as many days he’d literally bumped into Mandie.

“Hi.” he heaved a breath. “Fancy seeing.” Heave. “You here.” Heave. “Sorry I bumped in.” Heave. “To you.”

Helena was glaring at him, and was that laughter Mandie was suppressing?

“Hi.” She said, from behind a hand.

Definitely suppressing laughter.

“Hi,” He replied.

“You already said that.”

“Did I?”

Helena nodded. Moses decided to lift himself up so he was face to face with Mandie instead.

“Nonetheless, I insist upon buying both of you your Ice Cream as pardon for my transgression.” He bowed so that once again he was at eye-level with Helena.

“I accept your offer.” Mandie offered him a hand to get back up with, which he gladly took.

Helena looked skeptical.

“Think she suspects anything?” He whispered.

“Only what you just confirmed.” Mandie said.

Helena was squinting at him.

He bent down to be at eye-level her. These squats were going to help him work off that ice cream.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. I asked for you two to come here. I’m paying for your ice cream whether you like it or not. Then you can kick me out of the store.” He put his hand out for a shake.

Helena shook it, then pointed at her eyes and back at him.

“Gotcha.” He nodded for a bit before standing up. “Is this line ever going to move?”

“Lend me your arm?” Mandie asked. There was mischief in the tone that Moses ignored.

“Here you go.” He offered an elbow.

Mandie grabbed his wrist and leaned back, taking his arm, and nearly taking him, with her. He caught on quickly enough to hold his ground, otherwise he would’ve fallen on Mandie, and Helena might’ve kicked him out before they even got in the store.

They held themselves like that for a few moments, until she lifted herself up, making him stumble back. Then he noticed they were now holding hands. She was wearing gloves again, white silk, or some imitation. It was quite soft against his skin, and the gloves didn’t cover past her wrist, which he had been grasping onto while she’d been hanging.

He quickly released, realizing he’d had skin contact with her for more than a second and didn’t learn every one of her thoughts in his head for any amount of that time.

“How?” he looked at his hand. From the corner of his eye, Mandie seemed betrayed? Was that the word?

“There seems to be a couple, or a pair of siblings gumming up the line.”

“Do you always do that lean back thing?” He turned to Helena, “Does she always do that leanback thing?”

Helena shrugged.

“It’s not uncommon,” Mandie answered.

“Can you give a heads-up next time?”

“What makes you so sure we’re ever going to end up in a line together again?”

“Maybe it’s just a hope.”

Mandie half-smiled, then went into a straight face. Did she suddenly dislike him? Why had she come then? Was free ice-cream that irresistible an offer? Of course it was, it was ice cream.

“I’m getting the sense you don’t want to end up in a line together anytime soon. Would that be a warranted assumption?”

Mandie pulled her ponytail in front of her and began stroking it.

“What are you doing here, in town?”

He should have thought of an excuse before now. He was frozen for long enough that no matter what he said, she wouldn’t believe. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

“I’m working for a secret organization to capture Nightingale, and I’m using you in an attempt to learn her secret identity.”

Mandie looked hurt, and scared, betrayed, that was the word.

“I swear that was a joke! I’m sorry. Has that actually happened before?”

“You wouldn’t be the first operative to fail at seducing Amanda Piec,” Spectrum commented in his head. He hoped it was just a memory and not the real Spectrum.

Back in the real world, the real Mandie looked at him with pity, and possibly laughter. Had he been played?

“I’ve actually been doing temp work for... a lot of places.” He was great at making excuses.

Mandie finally outright smiled. She bought it, or she didn’t care.

“Maybe I should call your company sometime. I could use some help.”

“With what?”

“I’ve always got packages that need delivering. I actually had to make a stop to send a package before we got here.”

Helena made a thumbs-down motion and a pouty face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she doesn’t like waiting in the car.” Mandie turned her head. “Oh look, the line’s moved.”

She grabbed Helena’s hand and moved forward. The line kept steadily moving forward since apparently everyone had now figured out exactly what they were going to have. Moses should’ve thought about it. He was sure he didn’t want chocolate because chocolate was the worst ice cream flavor, except for maybe grape, but that wasn’t an ice cream flavor, yet.

“Why didn’t you want to hold my hand?” Mandie asked.

“What?”

“This isn’t middle school, and I thought you…”

She was right. This wasn’t middle school. If this were middle school, he’d be rushing into stuttered apologies. Instead, he waited a moment before stuttered apologies.

“It’s, uhh.”

Helena smacked his leg. He looked down at her, and she pointed at the counter, where the guy at the counter looked weary.

“Oh, sorry!”

…

They managed to get their ice cream, Helena hadn’t told Moses to scram, and Mandie asked to sit outside.

Overall things were looking okay.

“So you design for Nightingale?” He couldn’t think of a better question to start the ball rolling.

Mandie had an expression that said she was tired of that question, but ready to oblige an answer.

“I design for the entire Heroes’ Guild, but since we live in the same city, yes, Nightingale is my most common in-person customer.”

There were so many questions Moses could ask about Nightingale, but that was just the thing. He was talking to Mandie right now, not Nightingale. He needed to ask a question more about Mandie.

“Why white?”

That was still a Nightingale question, but it was also a Mandie question.

“It’s what she wore that first night.”

“First night?”

“Nightingale was Nightingale before I made the costume, and the first night she saved was in a white tank-top and a pair of jeans.”

“Seriously?”

“Still amazing, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt it. You don’t wear white all the time without skill.”

Jeans? what made her switch to a skirt?

“Yeah, she has skill. She’s… perfect.”

Nightingale wasn’t the best conversation subject. She seemed to leave Mandie with longing. Moses stored the skirt question for later.

“Not that I doubt your skills, but why you?”

“What?”

Was she offended? Moses was screwed.

“Why of all the people in the world did Nightingale ask you to make the costume, or did you volunteer.”

“Well, most people who know me know I make my own clothes.”

Moses took a moment to look at Mandie’s outfit, a light pink dress with blue and purple flowers that looked embroidered onto the skirt.

“You made that?”

She nodded.

“Wow.”

“I make clothes for superheroes, and the dress get’s a wow.” Mandie was sarcastic, but she was also smiling.

“Yes! Most people don’t fully process big stuff, but this dress is right in front of me, and it’s beautiful by the way.”

“You don’t need to exaggerate for me.”

“I’m not, did you hand embroider the skirt or…?”

“I use a special machine, but I did design it.”

“See? I need to ask you for style tips.”

“I think you clean up well enough.”

Moses didn’t have a response. Mandie had cornered him in compliment combat.

“Thanks.”

He could feel himself blush. Maybe he wouldn’t seduce Mandie, but if he kept this up, she’d manage it on him.

…

Maybe Moses should have asked if Nightingale had any tips for superheroes just starting out. The closest he’d seen Nightingale to being tied up like this was when he was pointing a cane at her neck.

The worst part wasn’t that the chains were definitely power suppressant, which meant these thugs had a bigger budget than he initially thought. The worst part was that he probably wasn’t going to get Nightingale’s trust to help her if he couldn’t even help himself.

“Looks like someone fancies himself a superhero,” said thug number one, in what sounded like a very fake british accent.

“Looks like someone fancies himself a Beatle,” Moses retorted, getting a punch from the nearest thug for the comment.

“Maybe he just fancies one hero in particular.” They all had that probably fake accent, he knew because they all laughed in the accent too.

“You got me, I wanted to see Black Dragon, but I think I got the wrong town. Do you have a local hero associated with a particular neutral color?”

Thug number one was about to hit him again, when a familiar sultry voice interrupted.

“Now, Anders, that’ll make it much harder to get out on good behavior this time.”

Moses squinted in an attempt to find her in the rafters. Either she was behind him, or the suppressant was messing with his ability to see her.

“Who said I'm going to jail again, Katie?”

Katie? How did this minor crook know Nightingale's name.

“Nobody, because they don't have to.”

So maybe she hadn't been flirting with him as Ace of Spades, not that he thought she had. She just seemed to have a way of talking to her enemies, a way that could be interpreted a flirtatious.

“Is it my turn to comment?” Moses asked, “cause it sounded like you just got owned.”

No response, even a single laugh.

“Start struggling if you can fight.” He heard in the back of his head. The voice sounded like Mandie plus the voice in the back of his head that he never listened to. He was going to listen to it this time. 

His struggling looked more like trying to spin in mid-air than proper struggling, but hopefully the point got across to Nightingale, if she was the one he'd heard.

After a few excruciating seconds while Anders kept talking, he felt something hit his hand. He grabbed it, and felt the ridges of a key’s teeth. He felt for the lock with both his hands as Nightingale came down to the ground.

She took off the skirt to reveal an equally white pair of pants. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. The deployed skirt, which now looked more like a blanket, took two of the thugs out, pinning them to a wall.

He managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. He had to struggle a bit more to get out, but when he did, he punched the nearest thug, who glared at him.

Maybe that wasn't the best method. The next time he punched, he pushed at the thugs mind to knock him out.

“Don't use that on Anders, I need him awake.”

“Why?”

“Focus.”

She sounded irritable.

The next thug came running at Moses. He turned out of the way and pushed them to the wall. They looked back at him afterwards and attacked. He felt a pressure that the thug definitely felt more of since it pushed them into the wall again, this time knocking them out.

“Show off.” He said, aloud.

Nightingale glared, although the masked covered her eyes in dark lenses, which meant he couldn’t actually tell if she was glaring, but there was a feeling.

“Did I accidentally interfere in a lovers quarrel?” Anders asked.

“We’re not lovers,” Nightingale said.

“And who said we were quarreling?”

They both took a step towards Anders. Nightingale was closer, but Moses opted against closing the gap between her and himself.

“What do you want to know?” Anders grumbled, without the accent this time.

“I need some information on Ace of Spades.”

So Anders was a snitch, probably a good one, if snitches could be good.

“Word is the guy used to run with the suits.”

“As in the four suits?”

So Nightingale knew who they were. Moses was almost flattered. He wasn’t sure if he felt more or less flattered that she seemed to flinch when Anders responded.

“Yeah, then the guy disappears for half-a-year and comes back with the suit and cane.”

He was gone for six months? It hadn’t felt that long, it felt longer.

“And that’s all you got?” Nightingale asked, bringing Moses back to reality.

Anders shrugged. “The guy’s new--wait, some people are saying he’s a reincarnate of Inferno.”

“Dante Gionelli?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“The guy with a house full of booby traps?” Moses asked.

“Do I need to repeat myself to you?”

Moses turned to Nightingale. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“Go figure.” She turned to Anders. “Nothing else?”

“Come back when he’s been around for more than a month and maybe I’ll have something. This guy is different.”

Nightingale seemed to stew for a moment.

“Fine.”

…

Moses had followed Nightingale to the roof. Since she hadn’t stopped him, he assumed she didn’t want him gone. At least not yet.

“I don’t really plan on leaving so--”

“What’s your code name?” She asked.

“My what?”

“Call sign, title, superhero name. What is it?”

Before thinking about it, Moses admitted, “I never thought about it until this moment.”

“Take your time.”

He didn’t take much. Truly he’d been thinking about this for awhile, and one corny name remained.

“Do you mind if I spin off of you a little, I mean, I’m starting in your town, but I don’t wanna encr--”

“Go right ahead.”

“Alright, since you’re a Nightingale, heard but rarely seen, then I’ll be a Peregrine, fast and fearsome.”

Nightingale laughed.

“I’m sorry, it was just, so dramatic.”

Peregrine couldn’t help but smile at managing to make her laugh.

“If you’re going to stick around you’ll need a costume.” She switched to business.

Moses looked at his current outfit.

“A good costume.”

“Now that’s just mean.”

Nightingale smirked.

“Give me your measurements next time we talk.”

“When will that be?”

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

“I can be.”

“Good.”

She walked away, about to jump onto the next roof.

“Where are we going to meet?” Moses asked just before she leapt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

...

Tag List:  @lynn-iswriting, @kaylewiswrites, @taz-writes, @theshadowsofthenight, @merigreenleaf, @lady-redshield-writes, @concealeddarkness13, @authorisada, @cadewrites, @elizabethwillow, @writing-in-mermish, @royalbounties

[lil-papaya-tifosi]

A/N:  Hey guys! So we decided to post this in honor of Hobi's birthday. I had this idea a while ago so we worked it out and felt like this is the right moment to post. We really hope y'all love it as much as we do. Also we're working on more stuff so stay tuned for that.~Sunnie

Wazzup y’all. Just like Sunnie said, this is an oldie we made months ago and we’re finally posting it! Hope you enjoy and stay tuned for everything we have coming soon!

Word count: 2,757

Summary: Felling something missing in the song he was working on, Hoseok decided you might be able to help him.

Warnings: Studio sex, unprotected sex, kinda soft

“Holy crap, why do we keep hosting here?” You groan, kicking a pile of blankets while pouting. Last night was movie night, where all of your boyfriend’s friends came over and messed up your organized movie shelf, unfolded all of your blankets, and raided your kitchen. You were so tired last night you decided to just leave all the mess to clean today, and now you regretted it. You sigh as you fold all of the blankets, putting them in the closet for next time. Your phone rings, and you put the last blanket up, reaching for your phone. "Hello?" You answer. "Hey, baby." Hoseok sighs. "Hey, are you okay? You sound kinda stressed out." You ask, worried. "Um, actually, I think I could use your help a little bit. Would you mind coming by the studio?" He asks. "Of course. I'll be over there in about 20 minutes." You nod. "Perfect. Thank you. I love you." He sighs in relief. "No problem. I'll see you soon. I love you too." You smile, hanging up. You wonder what he could need your help with in the studio, but he seemed stressed, so maybe he just wanted to see you. He always tells you that your presence calms him, so maybe that's it. You decide to cheer him up a bit and bring him some food too, so on your way to the studio you stop at his favorite take out spot and grab something. When you get to the studio, you realize that all the rooms are strangely quiet. Normally someone was recording in a studio or someone playing music and practicing in the dance studio, but no one was there. You frown in confusion as you make your way to Hoseok's personal studio. You knock on the door. "Come in!" The familiar voice shouts through the thick door. You push the door open, smiling at your boyfriend who was hunched over the desk. "Hey babe." He groans into his folded arms. "Hey, what's wrong?" You ask, rubbing his back gently. "Wait." He says, sitting up quickly. "Do I smell- oh yes!" He smiles, looking at the bag you're holding. "You seemed stressed over the phone so I figured I'd bring you a little something." You giggle as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you down onto his lap. "You're seriously incredible, Y/N." He smiles, pulling you back towards him to place a kiss on your cheek. You place the food on the desk, opening the bag and pulling out the boxes as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. "This one is yours, and this one is mine." You say, opening the boxes. You hand him his box and he accepts it along with the chopsticks sat on top of it. You stand up and walk over to the couch, him behind you as you both relax against the cushions. You dig into your food happily, finishing before speaking again. "So, what's wrong?" You ask, sitting cross-legged. "Well, I don't know. With this new song, it just feels like there's something missing." He sighs. "Can I listen to it?" He nods, getting up and leading you to the desk. He starts up the song and you bob your head to the beat. It finishes and you hum in response. "It-" "Wait." He cuts you off. "Do that again." "Do what?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. "That sound. That little hum or moan or whatever it was. Do it again." He says. You do it again, and he smirks. "Baby, how would you like to record some audio for the song?" He says, his tone deeper now. "Me? But why me? What could I do to help the song?" You stutter, completely confused. He stands up, closing you in between him and the desk. "I think your beautiful moans would be perfect in the background. What do you say, baby? You wanna help me out?" His hands resting on your hips, his body pressing closer to you as you lean against the desk. "H-Hoseok I don't think that-" "Shhh, baby, just help me, please?" He begs, taking your hand and leading it down his body. He leads your hand to his pants, cupping the bulge that had formed in his jeans. You squeeze lightly, and he moans softly. You lick your lips, rubbing his clothed member as his eyes close, lost in the small amount of pleasure. As much as he loves it, he pulls your hand away, reaching behind you before bending down slightly to grip the back of your legs. You hop up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he carries you over to the couch. He lays you down before going over to his mic, placing it next to you. After pressing the record button he crawls back on top of you, nuzzling his hips between your legs. "Now baby, right now is all about you, okay?" He says, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "I want you to be nice and loud for me. I know for a fact you can do that." He smirks, before adjusting the mic a last time. You nod, and he leans down, closing the gap between you and connecting your lips. He grinds against your core, kissing you deeply as his hands roam across your body. You moan as his hand slides up your shirt, cupping your breast through your bra. You close your eyes, relaxing as he takes control of your body, causing the small moans and whimpers that are music to his ears. "Baby, sit up a little for me." He whispers. You do as he says, and he lifts your shirt up over your head, tossing it on the floor. His nose rubs against yours before his lips press against yours. You're surprised, he's taking things very slow. It's not normally like him to do that. His hand slides around your back, unclipping your bra as his lips move against yours. Your discarded bra joins your shirt and you sigh into the kiss as his warm hand meets your bare breast, instantly toying with your perky nipple. His lips travel down to your neck, and you gasp as his teeth nip at your skin. "That's it, baby." He whispers, licking over the bruised area. Your hips buck, and he grinds against you, adding another sensation to get you hot. Your fingers start to run through his hair, but he sits up, grabbing your wrists in one hand as he pins them above your head. As he peppers your neck with kisses, traveling down to your raised chest, a thought pops into your head. "Wait, I have a question." You whimper, and he looks up at you expectantly. "You only need a few moans, right? Why are you doing all of this? I could just fake a few into a mic and you have your background." You say, his smirk causing you to raise an eyebrow. "Now, you really think your moans would sound as good if they were fake? You know me, I strive for the best quality. I'm gonna get those moans out of you, and I'm gonna get a lot of different sounds and Yoongi and Namjoon can pick the best ones to put in the song." He smiles, his thumb running over the supple skin of your breast. "Wait, you're actually gonna play this for them?" You cry out, not even thinking of that. "Well of course. I need a second and third opinion on what should go in the final product." He smirks. "So, they're gonna, um, hear everything we do?" You murmur. Your cheeks heat up at the thought of the three of them, sitting in a room together, listening to all the sounds Hoseok pries out of you. "Do you mind?" He asks, already knowing the answer from how your rosy cheeks radiate heat and your back arches, pushing your chest closer to his face. "No, I don't." You mumble, embarrassed at how aroused you are now that you know someone is gonna listen to it. "Perfect. Now, who treats you right?" He asks, placing small kisses on the valley between your breasts. "Y-You, sir." You stutter, figuring he'd want to hear the usual nickname. He hums against your chest, causing your breath to hitch. "And who gets to touch you and kiss you like this?" He his hand cups your breast as his tongue flicks over your pert nipple. "You, sir." You breathe, not being able to stand all the teasing. His kisses trail lower, and he unbuttons your jeans before pulling them off, climbing back over you and resting his forehead against yours as his finger traces over your clothed slit. "And, who owns the pretty, drenched, tight pussy?" He asks, his voice soft yet intimidating. "You, sir." You gulp. "Damn right." He smirks before crashing his lips onto yours as he presses onto your clit, the shock of the pleasure making you moan into his mouth. He pulls his mouth away from yours, putting his lips to your neck instead as he slides your panties to the side, a finger dipping past your folds to bury deep inside of you, curling perfectly in the way he's learned. He knows everything about your body, and you have no doubt he's gonna do anything he can to get what he wants from you. Soft moans from your lips encourage him to keep curling, finding that sweet spot as his teeth grazes over your nipple. Your head tilts back as his fingertip presses against your spot, and he adds a second finger to the mix, curling and stretching you out, yet you wish he was using something else. "So wet for me baby. Is it just because of me? Or is it because you know people are gonna hear what a dirty slut you are for me?" He whispers deeply. Your walls clench around his fingers involuntarily, and he smirks, shaking his head. Without warning, he starts pumping his fingers faster, adding a third finger that has you practically screaming. The force of his pumps has he palm hitting your needy, neglected clit, your body shaking as you near the edge. "Hngh, Hoseok, fuck!" You cry out, back arching as a cocky grin spreads across his face. "That's it, baby. Only I can make you cum this hard with just my fingers." His words send you over, your hand gripping his bicep tightly as he rubs you clit through your high. He keeps going and you whine, your now oversensitive bud getting too much attention. You try to push his hand away, but he tsks at you, not even slowing down his fingers. "Come on. Give me another. I know you can do it. You wanna be a good girl, right?" He cooes. You squirm under him, wanting to answer, but the words are taken over by whines, pants, and moans, so you just nod. You know it won't take long, and he knows that too. You're shaking uncontrollably, the wet sound of his fingers gliding in and out of your drenched hole echoing through the studio. A tear rolls down your cheek as you unravel again, his pace finally slowing down as you clench around his fingers once again. "Good girl. You're good. Such a good girl for me." He whispers, placing soft kisses on your exposed chest. You giggle breathlessly, reaching up to wipe the tear from your cheek. That always happened when you came hard, and you were so embarrassed by it, but he loves it, pecking your cheeks with his lips soothingly. "You're so cute, baby." He smiles, chuckling deeply. "Shut up!" You giggle, hitting his arm while sniffling. "Now, why don't we get some more of those moans?" He groans, grinding his clothed erection against your soaking wet, bare core. The way his jeans rub against you has you moaning again, and you can't believe how horny you still are. He reaches to take his shirt off, but you stop him, shaking your head. "Don't take it off. I don't care if you're not naked, I need you so bad. Please, Hobi." You beg, biting your lip while bucking your hips against him, a soft grunt escaping from his lips. "So eager. Don't worry, baby. You know I always give you what you need." He grins, reaching down to unzip his pants. He pulls his member out, and you wish you could suck it. However, that thought is immediately pushed away as he pushes into you. You gasp as he bottoms out, his head resting in the crook of your neck. "Fuck, I've been thinking about this all day." He groans, his fingers gripping at your thigh. Your heel rests against the curve of his ass as he pulls back, slamming back into you roughly. "Fuck." He grunts quietly. He leans down, muffling his moans in your neck, making sure your sounds are the only ones recorded. His teeth dig into your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around him, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt while your other hand goes up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his dark, thick locks. The force of his thrusts has you practically bouncing, your whole body rocking to his rhythm as your tits bounce against him. The way he fills you up, his weight on top of you, his jeans grazing against your bare skin, you felt dizzy almost from the overwhelming feelings. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good." He groans, unable to keep quiet anymore. All you can do is moan in response. The mic picks up every single one of your lustful noises, and you have no doubt the boys will have a handful of content to go through. Your hand slips under the hem of his shirt, your nails raking against his back. The action snaps something inside of him, a growl emanating from his throat as he sits up, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head and he pounds ruthlessly into you, making you cry out his name. His new position has his cock reaching deeper inside of you, and you know you aren't going to last much longer. He knows exactly how to send you over the edge, and your walls constricting around him show he's doing just that. Your fingers writhe, trying to grasp at anything as your back arches, legs trembling while a fire takes over you, washing any sense out of your body. "That's-ah-fuck!" Hoseok groans, his knuckles turning white as he grips your wrist, snapping his hips once more before filling you up with warmth. He lets go of your wrists, instead gripping onto the arm of the couch to hold himself up. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, a small whimper leaving you as he pulls out of you, the loss of stretch and the cum dripping out of you sending a chill down your spine. "Shit, uh, tissues." He gasps, running over to stop the recording and to grab the tissue box from his desk, cleaning you up. "There. All better." He smiles before throwing the tissues away. You sit up, stretching as you sigh, still a bit light-headed. You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders, and you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You good?" He asks, resting his head on top of yours. "Yeah, I'm good." You smile, putting your hand on his thigh. He kisses your head before leaning back, relaxing as you get up and get dressed. You plop back down onto the couch, curling up next to him with your legs over his, your head on his shoulder as he rubs your arm softly. "You think there's gonna be enough recording to go through?" You ask, worried if what you gave was good enough. "Oh definitely. It was perfect, baby. Thank you." He says, shaking you gently. "Good. And, it's not gonna be weird to you that your friends are gonna listen to us having sex?" You ask nervously. "Nah, not really. At least they'll know that I'm the one that can get those sounds from you." A cocky smirk forms on his lips. You playfully hit his chest and he chuckles deeply. "Hey, thank you, for coming here." He says, and you smile up at him. "I'll always be here to help." You giggle, stretching up to peck his cheek.

[victorusolano]

FYD Series

by Victor Ubanos Solano

Inspired by Under The Banyan Tree of R.K. Narayan’s short fiction A Career

Once I was a cook in a Chinese restaurant in Sta. Cruz Manila, until the end of the red regime in 1986. My everyday life was immersed in my deep relationship with vegetables, meat of all sorts, fish, and spices. I have dedicated my time cooking savory dishes that would make our customers satisfied. This ordinary routine came to an end when the news about political chaos was announced over radios and tv, triggering a civil conflict and turning the moments of the day into a vacuum of silence. I admit I have no interest in political matters, but my way of gathering information is peculiar and I think it's canny. I would like to believe that hearsay is of a different value. I would tell this seriously with the other chefs in the kitchen then leave them pondering with a grin.

A week passed, when I came home from work, I told my wife about my resignation and my decision to venture to another source of living. My wife did not express any refute to my decision nor she pressed any responses of the effect of that in the family. “Life will go on, I have saved a little money for us to survive,” I said firmly. 

A year after my imminent early retirement, and on a favorable fortune, I was able to establish a humble car repair shop along with the boulevard extension in Pasay, hung up on a large board with the inscription The One Stop Repair Shop. - The roadside became a parking lot for my clientele. As the days passed and work kept me busy, the jeepney drivers became my friends, and my suppliers of equipment welcomed me warmly. This business friendship eventually made my machine tools get plenty of different sorts as repair issues came in variety from simple tire repairs, welding loose shocks, and suspension, and building sidecars for motorcycles converted into a trike. 

One day a young fellow presented himself at my shop. He looked about twenty, fair and bright. He wore faded blue jeans, a white shirt, and a green scarf on his neck. “What can I do for you?” I asked, taking him as a young customer that might ask for a service repair. If I am not much into details I wouldn’t notice the purple prayer beads when he brought his palm together as if in prayer and said, “Please help me, sir. I will do any work you may give me for any kindness you may render in return.” There is something of a magnet in his persona that made me quickly decide. I thought anyway that it is opportune to hire an assistant in the shop. “I am a law-abiding citizen, sir, and susceptible to moral influences,” I spoke to him for about an hour. He said that he belonged to a family of wealthy landowners in Sorsogon, his mother died of multiple organ failure because of diabetes, his father took a mistress and he was ill-treated by his relatives and consequently ran away from home. A poignant story indeed, initially I felt. I directed him to my house which was only two blocks away from the main road and gave him a note of instruction for my wife to be handed, and when I went home in the evening I found that he had already made himself a great favorite there. His life story has deeply moved my wife and the children. “So young!” She whispered to me, “Without a father or a mother, it will be so difficult to deal with life this early!” She sighed. He had made himself lovable already. 

The other skill of Emil was his brilliance in history and literature. It was never a fail to him to remember all, he would tell stories to my children at night of epic heroes of mythology to urban legends of aswang, tikbalang, tiyanak, and folk tales of other regions; Amazingly, if someone would ask 'where these stories he learned from' he would answer, “I have read a wide array of books from public libraries, I have some books collected but unfortunately destroyed by a typhoon that devastated the provinces of the south.” The children had already developed a male-nanny relationship at an instant, “Let Emil stay in our house, he is great, he can attend to children, and tell them more stories and help them do their school works.” My wife looked at me with a smile of approval. 

Emil offered himself to help in the kitchen and it was a random attempt. “Why won't you allow me to help in the kitchen? Is it because you think I can't cook? Give me a chance and see.” He said with audacity. I protested at first as I doubted his capability for the task. He dashed into the kitchen and prepared delicious food for us. We were all very pleased. After that I allowed him to freely work on the stove, and as well it did not require much time to train him on the simple chores in the shop. In a matter of a week, he already learned how to dismount truck tires, and the iron treatment of the rubber interior was superbly clean and customer service was at par to gain my client's trust. After a month my confidence had turned, no doubt entrusting the management of every service request. He had many attractive ways about him, our clients liked to talk to him, he helped everyone to the best of his capacity.

The result of Emil's presence in the shop was a real convenience, and the sales increased nearly tenfold. I had plenty of rest now. “Beautiful!” I told myself. I left the shop entirely in his care, there are many instances where my wife and I talked about giving him deserved compensation for the undoubted effort, we felt we ought not to exploit his kindness but when the subject was pressed his eyes turned glassy and said, “If you don't want me to stay anymore just tell me straight and I'll leave.”

Five years and a half passed. He lived with us through all our joys and sorrows, the business had prospered enormously. We were living in a bigger house in the same place. I had immense work orders from clients of all sorts of machines and automobile repairs. This business gave me large profits. It kept me running to look for other suppliers who would be able to provide large quantities of auto parts and other metal supplies. The shop was entirely in Emil’s hand. - At a near-distant district in Manila, I used to stop in a shop supplies store in Recto, bidding a price canvass for the next month supplies of the shop in which have kept me busy the whole day till the late afternoon. When I went home at eight o’clock, Emil was at the doorstep of the house all prepped with a bulging knapsack on his shoulders red-eyed and sobbing, Emil said, “My father, father, stroke. Never thought he would get it!” I consoled him. I had never seen him so broken, “He will survive, don’t worry,” I said shakily. And maybe because of the surprising news, I had hardly to ask about the shop – “I have handed the keys and the cash payments to Mother.” – “All right, all right,” I will look at all that, “don’t worry anymore,” I said. Immediately, I arranged a means of transport for him and instructed the taxi driver to take him safely to Pantranco bus station. The car jolted forward and he put his head out of the window and said, “I will be back in two weeks if my father gets well, whatever happens, I won’t be away for more than fifteen days. “Topeng has asked me to bring him,” – His voice receded while getting far from where I stood praying in my mind for him a farewell – “A wooden toy car, please tell him that I will surely bring it, my regards to mother,” tears welled up and rolled down his cheeks. He put out his arm and waved goodbye to indicate “I will surely be back soon!” 

Having some unfinished Recto business on hand, I could hardly go near the shop for a week. When I reopened, the first thing I noticed was some of the new machine tools I bought for quite a price were missing. I read the account books and examined them. The entries made were all in a mess. I put them away. Having my regular clients informed that the shop has reopened is more imperative. I went out to see the signage and turned on the lights.

The usurer Digoy lived a few blocks from the shop. Called me up that afternoon and said that he needed to reassess something on my account of borrowed money. I am so much sure of the balance that I left unpaid and today is not yet due to make a payment. “I’ll be there, yes I will,” I put back the phone on the hook. The conversation made me think – not so sure but it made me confident to see him. I owed an enormous debt of gratitude to this person for the unlimited credit he allowed me at the start of the life of my business. - After some introductory and inconsequential talk, I put before him the matter of his call. He gave me a grin, He said “What on earth are you being forgetful my friend?” He opened a book that is in disordered pages of a ledger and showed me the line of the outstanding balance that is under my name. The figures showed: Sixty-three thousand nine hundred fifty-three and zero cents. I stooped forward and read it with my lips and frowned “What?” I almost fell out of poise when I tried to resume my posture. “I only owed you the total balance of twenty-three thousand, and made a payment sixteen thousand before its due last week which made my belief of seven thousand as the total balance up to date,” I explained. “Don’t get me wrong my friend, you are a businessman and so am I.” He recited this with full authority, “No use talking indirectly and vaguely, I will tell you what the matter is, your account stands as the figures shown in the record, and if you have paid at least the sum of the amount you mentioned, I should have considered your last statement of seven thousand,” this is the first time in my life I heard him talk to me like that. “But, last week I sent the sum of sixteen thousand to partially pay off the debt – There must be a balance of,” he took his ledger again and showed me no payment was made and there were additional cash loans that added up and made the sum of the outstanding balance to be claimed. “The young fellow said that business was brisk and you would clear the account at once the date that was promised which was supposed to be yesterday – And as I didn't hear any word from you I called up.” I felt my head was shot. “I will see you again,” and went back to my shop. I examined the books once again. The pages showed some collectible amounts from customers I supplied metal and auto parts. The next day I went to collect the payments. Mr. Fajardo looked surprised. “There must be a mistake. We paid the bills completely the other day. Otherwise, Emil would not leave us in peace.” - My wife said, “he was coming early at two in the afternoon, he used to tell me that you were meeting your old comrades and you sent him home early.” And ask him, “how’s the shop?” He replied, ‘The shop is good, good, there is a little slack but good, don’t worry, leave it all to me I will manage.’

Manong Isidro, a peddler of soy milk who used to spend the afternoon in my shop, to help and be paid an extra half-day wage asked me, “Where is the young apprentice you had?” - I told him. “Look here,” the old man said. “Keep this to yourself. You remember they lived next door to us, those people from Ermita?” He made sure that there was no other eavesdropping before he continued, “Your boy was socializing with them a little too much. You know there was a tall, pretty girl with them. Your fellow was taking her out every afternoon in a taxi, those people went back to Ermita a few days ago.” This information led me to inquire more about Emil. I learned that there were a couple of loans of branded shirts, jeans, perfumes, and wristwatches, a pair of jackets that were left unpaid in his name, and left a promissory note under my guarantee. I learned his father is all well and has never been ill. This information came from his near relative who was once employed by one of my suppliers of motorcycle brakes. In tallying these accounts of information, Emil was never known to have visited Sorsogon.

I sold my shop and all things I have achieved through my hard-earned money and effort, paid off all my credits, and left Pasay. I was bankrupt, with a wife and three children to keep up with, living on the charity of friends, relatives, and unknown people. Sometimes nobody would feed us and we threw ourselves at night time in Luneta Park. I know I don’t need to exhaust you of my account of struggles. I must tell you about Emil. I have to add only this coming from my own and not from any hearsay. 

Four years later I came across a welding shop owner in Quezon City where they manufacture scrap metal thin plates and made them into an art deco for home wall ornamentation. I looked at the displays which looked like a harem of peafowls all around the shop. But there’s one hanging alone on the wall that caught my curiosity, an iridescent blue, white, purple, and green peacock with its train all spread out. “Beautiful isn't it?” Said the man wearing a red beret “Yes, it is!” - Our conversation started from there and he trusted me swiftly and gave me a fresh start, and I must say thanks to him, and my experience and knowledge in the metal business joined together. All I can say is the event has fallen into unexpected synchronicity.  

Now about Emil, A year ago I was walking along Baclaran while enjoying my survey of bargain clothes and toys for children: I had passed a few steps of the sidewalk along with the sampaguita vendors. When a familiar voice echoed resoundingly to my ears from among the group of vagrants lined along the way. I stopped. And there he was, I could hardly recognize him now. I had seen him off ten years before. 

Quickly it came to flash the last I could remember his face, waving goodbye and never coming back. His face was now dark, scarred, and dented. His eyes were fixed in gaze. I could not have noticed him if he hadn’t called out for alms. His voice never changed. I stopped and said, “Look here.” He sensed my presence but did not recognize, “I can’t see, I am blind” He said in a raspy voice “Who are you? Where do you come from?” I asked in a voice that I tried to disguise. “Go! go your way. Why do you want to know all that?” He said. I told myself in the name of my family that if I see him again I would tear his flesh and break his bones, but this was not at all I had hoped to meet him again. I felt confused and unhappy. I dropped a coin on his raised palm and passed on. But after moving a few steps I stopped and beckoned another beggar sitting by his side. He came up. I held up another coin before him and said. “You may have this if you tell me something about the blind man” - “I know him,” said this beggar, who had no arms. “We keep together. He has arms but no eyes; I have eyes but no arms and so we find each other helpful. We moved about together. He came here about two years ago; He once had a lot of money in Ermita, Pampanga, or somewhere. Glaucoma took away his sight. His wife, a bad sort, deserted him... But surely you would not tell him I have spoken all this? He becomes wild if those days are mentioned.” 

I went back to Emil, stood there before him, and watched him for a moment. I felt like shouting, ‘Emil, what a misfortune you have suffered enough. Now come with me. Where is your sweetheart? Where is my money?’ But I checked on myself that the greatest kindness I could do for him now is to leave him alone. I silently took out a fifty pesos paper bill and placed it on his hands - immediately he kept the money inside a grubby sling bag, he brought his palm together as if in prayer and said gratefully “Salamat po!” I had already moved a few steps when I heard him say, “Patawad po” as his way of asking for mercy and alms. I stopped. I did not turn my head to have another look at him. I smiled and went ahead because there is no other way now but to move forward.

END

Note to the reader: this short story is one of the author’s early attempts in writing a plot construction, design, form, elements, and application of literary devices.. 

GLOSSARY

*salamat - a word of expression for being grateful.

*patawad - an expression asking forgiveness.

*po - an indication of respect when speaking to elders or someone who is in authority.

*aswang - is a shapeshifting monster usually possessing a combination of the traits of either a vampire, a ghoul, a warlock/witch, or different species of werebeast in Filipino folklore or even all of them together.

*tikbalang - is a creature of Philippines folklore said to lurk in the mountains. It is a tall, bony humanoid creature with the head and hooves of a horse and disproportionately long limbs.

*tiyanak - is a vampiric creature in Philippines mythology that takes on the form of a toddler or baby. 

*manong -  manang (feminine) a hierarchical marker, it is used to refer to any male/female who is older than the speaker within his or her family but it could also be used for men outside the family to convey respect.

*sampaguita - National flower of Philippines 

[adotblog]

Brave Part 17

Part 17? WTAF.

Pairing: LMM x Reader

Warnings: Smutty smut smut. 18+, wrap before you tap dudes. Swearing.

Words: 1600ish

Notes: this is the penultimate Brave, I think. I will release the Christmas chapter before Xmas eve. If I can’t wrangle all the plot into one chapter, I’ll do an extra for new year.

“Friendsmas is on for the 22nd.”, you announce as you enter the bedroom. Lin is reading in bed, wearing an old Heights tshirt. He puts his book on his bedside table as he asks “Who’s in?”. You start undressing as you tell him “Jas and Anthony, Jon for certain; maybes from Chris and Diggs”. “Cool, so what do you have planned?”, he asks as he motions for a cuddle. You snuggle in close as you outline menus, movies and secret Santa. He smiles throughout, occasionally kissing the top of your head.

“Did I mention that I love Christmas?”, you joke. Lin chuckles and reaches to turn out the light.

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Jas has scored a booth and ordered you a Diet Coke by the time you get to your usual place. She greets you with a warm hug even though she only saw you yesterday at work. Burgers ordered, the chatter turns to Christmas. “Jas what are you buying Anthony? I am SO stuck with what to buy Lin!”, you whine. “We’re kinda just buying stuff together for the both of us-new couch, this awesome record player”, she replies. “That’s no help is it?”, she laughs. “NOPE”, you say jokingly. “What do you buy the dude who can buy anything he wants, and doesn’t want an awful lot?”, you groan and lay your head on the table. “Y/N don’t be so dramatic, you’ll think of something.”, she says.

“So I take it things are still good with Lin then?”, she says cautiously. “Jazzy, yes.”, you say, half-scolding. She hasn’t forgotten about that kiss and gave Lin the “Hurt my friend and I’ll kill you” speech the day after the now-infamous WhatsApp incident. “Just checking”, she says and then smiles. “You’re happy, I’m happy”. You give her a playful poke. “I’m happy. Practically ecstatic. Now stop.”.

——————————————————

So far you’ve interrogated Lin’s mother, sister, Chris and Jon about what to get Lin for Christmas. They’ve come up with nothing. Nothing. It’s a week until you exchange gifts. Panic Mode enabled.

There’s so much going on that when Lin is away for 3 nights on Secret Disney Business, you barely notice. You’ve hardly seen one another outside of work, days off taken up with Christmas preparations and seeing folk before they take off for the holidays.

He gets back at 1am on the 20th. You have had to stay late at work and text him to say you’ll stay at his place rather than trek the subway back at this hour. You’d only been back long enough to sink one cup of tea before he was home.

He was dishevelled. Hair messy in its bun, clothes rumpled, eye bags bigger than his luggage. He still grins at the sight of you crossing the room, though. “Mi cariña.”, he says, voice tainted by exhaustion. You kiss him like he’s been gone a month. He sinks into your arms. “I missed you”, he mumbles into your neck. “I missed you too, welcome home”, you answer. He murmurs with contentment. He pulls back and kisses your forehead. “I’d love nothing more than to take you to bed for a couple of hours but I’m afraid I’m practically asleep right now”, he says apologetically.

You reach behind him and lock the door, then take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. “Suitcase can wait til the morning.”, you tell him “and so can I”. He gives a tiny, sweet laugh at that and plonks down on the side of the bed.

You pull off his shoes and then pull him to his feet so he can take off his jeans. You leave him removing his hoodie and going to clean his teeth as you fetch him a glass of water. You change into pyjamas as he takes a drink, then slip under the covers and gather him to your chest. You stroke his hair and murmur that you love him. Within minutes he is fast asleep. As you bask in the feeling of having him back in your arms, you smile and relax into the mattress, soon following him into slumber.

——————————————————

It’s after 11 when he pokes his head around the living room door to find you. You’re in your PJs still, watching Scrooged for the millionth time. “Good morning”, he croaks with the most charming of smiles. You smile back, taking in his ridiculous bed hair. “Good morning! Coffee is fresh”, you point to the counter.

He plods over to get a mug and when he comes back to you he perches next to you on the couch to sip his drink. You turn to him and say “Merry Fake Christmas Eve!”, with a laugh at the end. “Oh yeah!”, he chuckles. “What do you want to do this chilly Christmas Eve?” He asks. “You?”, you say cheekily.

Lin nearly spits his coffee, and sets it down to laugh. “You’re officially the cheesiest.”, he mocks. You shrug with a grin “You asked what I wanted, I answered!”, you reply. “Young lady, I am gonna wipe that grin off your face…”, he threatens. “That’s fighting talk, Miranda…”, you turn to face him, holding up your fists in a fight stance. Lin raises his eyebrows at you sceptically. “Yeah alright, as if I’m gonna even consider resisting you”, you admit, dropping your arms. Lin’s posture becomes cocky. “As if you could!”, he says, grin on his face this time. “Honey..”, you warn.

He’s over you in a second, your back flat against the couch cushions and you squealing as he pins your arms over your head. “Dare you to try and resist me.”, he says, an amused smile on his face. “Challenge accepted!”, you say-though despite your extreme stubborn streak, you doubt you’ll last a minute. He pulls off your pyjamas and looks down on your naked form.

Lin starts with a flutter-light kiss to your lips, then your cheekbone, your neck. He stops at your neck, a trail of kisses laid at your collarbone. Then he runs his tongue from there, right up to your earlobe, light enough to leave a shiver. He smirks as he sees the goosebumps on your arms, then trails his thumb too lightly over your nipple. He groans a little as he feels it’s hard, and because he hears your breath hitch at his touch. He moves to look you in the eye as he challenges “I bet you can’t stay quiet, and keep your hands off me for the next two minutes”. You seriously doubt that yourself but you steady your voice to say “Try me.”. “Oh, I will”, he teases.

And so (though no one is actually watching the clock) he proceeds to tease you over and over, willing you to break. He rakes a finger down your side, because he knows so well where to touch you so that it’s halfway to ecstasy, halfway to ticklish. When he gently palms your breast, when he rounds his hand to cup its swell, when he flicks his thumb over your nipple…you bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut. You can’t help but arch your back when his lips meet your sternum and then his mouth is on your breast and it takes all you have not to breathe out his name.

Suddenly he’s gone, cool air against your skin instead. You open your eyes in shock and find him standing, hand reached out to you. “Time’s up.”, he says seriously. “No more games.”. You take his hand and he yanks you to standing. He immediately has you pressed up against him, one hand splayed across your shoulder blades, one on your ass, pinning your groin to his, where you feel his arousal.

He kisses you, and you open your mouth for his tongue, pretty desperate for him by this point. Breathless, he stops and says “Who the fuck did I think I was kidding? Bedroom. Now.”. You only make it to the hallway before he is pushing you up against the wall and you’re sighing into his mouth. His hands at your waist try to lift you slightly and your giggle breaks the kiss. “Lin, just…the bed!”, you laugh. He groans in frustration as you lead him away.

You pull him through the doorway so that his body smashes into yours and you immediately reach for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers play against the smooth skin underneath, teasing him as he had teased you. You reach up to kiss him but gently bite his bottom lip instead. You pull back to lift his shirt over his head and toss it to the side of the room. He dips his head to kiss you again as you run your fingertips up and down his back. You hear a little moan as you stroke your hands all across his chest and slowly, too slowly down towards the waistband of his pyjama pants. You flatten your palm and slide it down the front, smiling against Lin’s lips as you feel that he has no underwear on.

Lin pushes his hips up to meet your hand but you cruelly withdraw it and he practically growls in frustration. “Shhhh” you say as you pull his pants down. “Patience, baby…”, you whisper as you sink to your knees. He steps out of the pants and you discard those too. He’s looking down at you, dark eyes practically begging you to touch him. Never breaking eye contact, you take his hard length in your hand and very gently stroke him up and down a couple of times.

Lin bites his lip hard, “Mmph” just escaping his mouth. You raise up on your knees to just the right height and slowly run your tongue from the bottom of his shaft to to the head, ending with a swirl of your tongue that makes him gasp. He throws his head back as you take him in your mouth and when you flatten your tongue against him he instinctively grabs the back of your head, fingers entwining in your hair as you begin to bob back and forth. Your hand pumps in time with your head movements and in a couple of minutes he’s a moaning mess before you. “Y/N…” he says tensely, cupping your face and urging you to stop.

He kneels too, mouth on yours again, kisses fervent and hard. He pulls you towards him, to straddle his lap, lips never leaving yours. With a quick adjustment and a lift of your leg, he is inside you. Lin groans as your bodies meet and he begins to slowly rock up into you. You meet his thrust, both of you experimenting until you find a rhythm. It’s a rhythm that is brushing just the right place inside of you, leaving you gasping, and you have to wrap your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. Still, the little bursts of pleasure created by each thrust weaken you enough that you falter.

Lin responds by holding you closer, one arm supporting your back, hand against the back of your head. The other is firmly on your ass, guiding you to grind against him. Fire starts to burn in your belly and you cry out as the initial stirrings of an orgasm appear. Lin’s lips are against your ear and he coaxes you “Come on, love”, and whispers kisses against your skin. The hand on your ass squeezes, almost too hard, as he slams home the last few thrusts that he knows will have you seeing stars.

When it hits you are squealing, shuddering, quaking against him. At the last of it, your back is arched so far that your chest rises to his face and his lips find a new home at your breast while you wail. It’s almost, just almost, too much and when the last wave ends you collapse against his shoulder, breathless and jerking. He murmurs in your ear as you try to pull yourself together. You straighten a little, manoeuvring to kiss him.

Lin stills both your bodies, he cradles the back of your head as he dips you backwards, laying you down on the soft wool of the rug. He’s still inside you since all he had to do was lean forward, and now he places his hands either side of your arms to support his weight. You’re barely composed as it is and when his thrusting becomes pounding you can practically feel yourself unraveling.

He is moaning into your neck, one hand covering your breast. You cry out his name because you feel yourself tightening again, feel that tingle. He kisses you before he lays his forehead against yours as you both curse at the same time. You push your hips into his as hard as you can, so close now. He whimpers your name as he starts to lose control and his movements become frantic, wild. You fist his hair as another climax takes you and you feel him twitch inside you even as you clench around him.

Lin falls on top of you, panting, shaking a little. Panting too, you stroke his hair and try to breathe normally. After a minute he raises up a little to withdraw and then lays beside you, pulling you in for a kiss. “Lin”, you breathe “That was…I don’t even know. God, I can’t…”. Lin grins at you “Uh huh”, he agrees as he softly shakes his head. “Damn.”.

——————————————————

[bibliosexxual]

(s)he

This is that fic I was talking about the other day, the one I wasn’t sure I wanted to post. I ended up writing TWO similar but distinct fics (different POV, different ending) based on the premise of this fic because I just kept tinkering with it, so this is the second version. The first one... idk, maybe I’ll toss it or maybe I’ll post it later for the curious among you.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sterek high school AU, G, 1.7k words

Stiles thinks Scott is joking at first, mostly because he’s laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. "There's a guy backstage asking for you by name. He's got flowers."

Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to wiping the lipstick off his mouth. After four performances, he can get in and out of the dress and the wig in no time flat. He can even walk in heels without too much wobbling. But the lipstick? Bane of his existence. It still takes him a good five minutes of careful wiping and rubbing with petroleum jelly, and even then his mouth always has this odd orangish-coral tinge by the time he goes home for the night. By that point he’s usually too frustrated by the whole thing to even begin to bother with cleaning off the mascara.

Thank god this is closing night, and in a minute they can all go out for tacos and Stiles can set to work forgetting about lipstick for the rest of forever.

Scott’s still hovering at the door, anticipatory. "I think he likes you. Like, like-likes."

"Ha ha," Stiles says flatly. He tilts his head to the left and then to the right in front of the mirror, angling his face up into the lights. "Do you think I got it all?"

Scott gives him a careless glance. "Yeah, sure. Looks fine. But no, seriously, the girl who sells the tickets told me he's shown up to every single performance."

Scott isn't joking. He’s laughing at Stiles (and okay, if their positions were reversed, Stiles would totally be laughing at Scott, too), but he isn't joking. Fuck. Not even Stiles' dad has come to every performance. 

And why would he? After you've seen one, you've seen them all. It's not like they change the script between shows.

"Well, who is he?" Stiles doesn't know any guys who would want to give him flowers. All the guys in his social circle are either straight or definitely 100% not into Stiles' weird dorkiness, and anyway, none of them would think the way to Stiles' heart (or his pants) was through a fucking Valentine's Day cliche.

"I don't know! If I knew, don't you think I would have led with that? He's just some guy lurking around asking where you are."

"Well, what does he look like?"

Scott shrugs unhelpfully. "He has black hair, I think? I don't remember what color his eyes are. And… oh! He's wearing a dark grey shirt."

Stiles mimes beating his head against the dressing room wall. "Oh, yeah, that totally narrows it down. Now I know exactly who you're talking about."

“Hey, I never claimed to be Sherlock Holmes, dude. That’s more your thing.”

Which, true.

Scott's smile fades into something more serious. "Listen, if you don't want to talk to him, I'll go tell him you left already. I'll stand guard until I'm sure he's gone."

And okay, Stiles isn't especially keen to go talk to a random stranger, not after a full day of school and the play and the fucking lipstick, and not when it’s going to delay taco night, but... he’s going to do it anyway, duh. He's never been able to walk away from a good mystery.

*

There’s a guy sitting right where Scott said he'd be, on the paisley couch near the back door that always smells weirdly like old-lady perfume. Whoever he is, he has his head down, fiddling with the flowers, which are pink roses. He looks pretty normal. Athletic, kind of tan, probably about Stiles' age. Grey shirt, like Scott said. Black jeans. Black sneakers.

Stiles clears his throat, and the guy looks up. Stiles still doesn't recognize him, but damn. How did Scott manage not to mention the eyebrows? They’re seriously impressive.

"Uh, I'm looking for—" the guy starts to say. Then he pauses, seeming to really look at Stiles for the first time. "—Stiles?"

"Yes?" Stiles says.

Maybe this guy isn't very smart, because he just stares at Stiles for an uncomfortably long time with his mouth slightly open. Stiles' mind starts drifting to the tacos in his near future, and he forcibly corrals it back.

The guy stands up and takes a hesitant step forward. "You're Stiles Stilinski."

"I know?”

“You play Amara in the play.”

Stiles snorts. “Again, man… I know.”

Apparently that’s enough talking for now, because the guy doesn't say anything else, like, oh, who he is or what he wants. He looks... well, kind of embarrassed, really, as his eyes slowly fall from Stiles' face to his Iron Man t-shirt and plaid hoodie and all the way down to his worn red Vans and then back up again to his face. It’s not really an “I’m checking you out” kind of meandering, more like… verifying something. It’s weird.

“What’s your name?” Stiles says. Seems like a good place to start.

“Derek,” the guy says absently. And nothing else.

Stiles decides to get this show on the road, because tacos. "Okay. Word is you were looking for me. What’s up?"

“I was going to—” Derek cuts himself off, tapping the flowers in a nervous beat against his thigh, not meeting Stiles’ eye. A few bruised petals fall to the floor at his feet. “I thought— Never mind. It was stupid.”

Stiles grabs his arm before he can walk off. “Wait, wait. Are the flowers for me?”

“Well… Yes, but— I thought you were a girl,” Derek says in a rush, then cringes.

Stiles isn’t proud to admit it, but it takes a good ten seconds of them awkwardly staring at each other before it clicks. Stiles’ character in the play is a girl. Derek thought Stiles, the actor, was a girl. Derek was bringing flowers for a girl.

Except, when he’s out of his costume, Stiles is very obviously not a girl.

That’s probably a deal-breaker.

Derek adds, almost more to himself, “At least now I know why my sisters were laughing at me when I told them about you.”

Stiles goes and sits on the couch, elbows on his knees, and after a moment of obvious hesitation, Derek sits down beside him.

“That’s a new one,” Stiles says. “I’m guessing there’s an implied ‘I was going to give you flowers before I knew you were a boy’ to that story?”

Derek shakes his head, though, and holds out the flowers until Stiles takes them, gingerly. Inexplicably, he can feel himself starting to blush. He’s never thought of himself as the kind of guy who liked flowers, but here, now… he kind of does like it.

“You know,” Derek says, “when I saw your name in the playbill, I thought ‘Stiles’ was an odd name for a girl, but…”

“It’s an odd name for anybody, yeah.”

“I thought it sounded quirky and artistic.”

“Ah.”

“Look.” Derek shifts his weight a little, looking intently, seriously, at Stiles. “I got the flowers for you. I thought your acting was great. And—so it turns out you’re a guy, so what. You’re still that person, you’re still Stiles, and I still think you did an incredible job. The flowers are still for you. And—” He takes a deep breath. “—I’m not straight. I like guys, too. Just for the record.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Is that your roundabout way of saying you thought I was hot as a girl and now you still think I’m hot as a guy? I have to warn you, I don’t normally go around in eyeliner.”

Derek’s serious face cracks a little. “That’s okay.”

It hits him then: Derek is still here. Still looking at him like… like that. Like Stiles is interesting. And… he’s kind of waiting for Stiles to give him an answer.

“Okay, well.” Stiles thinks. “I think you're attractive.” Might as well admit it, given the circumstances. Because yeah, Derek is attractive. Unfairly so. So much so that, if Stiles didn’t trust Scott with his life, he might’ve assumed this was some kind of prank, that no one that good-looking could actually be into him. “But I have this bad track record of getting huge, ill-advised crushes on hot people that never pan out. It’s just a lot of pining and it’s not pretty. And I’m probably going to do that to you if we keep hanging out, unless you’re some kind of huge asshole. Although even that might not be that much of a turn-off, to be honest.”

“I definitely like you,” Derek says, all earnestness. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Stiles laughs a little. “Okay, but. I just mean, you’re hot but I really don't know anything about you, and you don't know anything about me. I don’t get how you can be sure. Like, you don’t know this yet, but I’m kind of weird and clingy, and I can be super annoying. Also, I’ve never dated anyone before, so there’s definitely got to be some kind of learning curve there. For all you know, I could kiss so badly it traumatizes you for life."

“I doubt it,” Derek says, eyes dropping to Stiles’ mouth. He doesn’t look troubled at all.

Stiles clears his throat. Fuck, it’s hot in here, and Derek is staring at him like that, and this is really happening. Okay. “And,” he goes on, as Derek continues to watch him, “what about you? What if I start to like you, only to find out that you, oh, I dunno.” He casts about for something really horrifying. “That you think the Mets suck or something.”

“I don’t think the Mets suck.”

“That’s a start.”

“Well,” Derek smirks, “they kind of suck, but they’re not the worst.”

“Okay, we’re entering dangerous waters here, just FYI.”

Derek snorts. “Okay, new subject. Will you go out with me?”

Stiles’ phone buzzes—of all moments, while Derek is staring at him, all nervous and expectant—and like a reflex Stiles’ eyes dart down to it.

Scott: whats going on? are you still coming to taco night???

Stiles looks back up at Derek. “Do you like tacos?”

“No,” Derek says, straight-faced. For a moment Stiles is stunned into silence, but then Derek laughs. “Kidding! Your face, wow,” and Stiles whacks him in the shoulder with the flowers. “Yeah, I like tacos. Who doesn’t?”

Stiles smiles.

*

EDIT: I’ve now posted the alternate version here.

[miss28ff]

SHRINE

(AU) (MUSIC/ROMANCE/DRAMA) (Yatori) (Kazubisha) (Daifuku) (18+ due to language, mature subjects and a little smut)

Summary: With her earphones on and melodies filling her ears, the girl looked at the ceiling, thinking. She, Iki Hiyori, a regular schoolgirl, had jumped at the street to save the life of a promising rock star.

TRACK 9.

Piano Man – Billy Joel.

It wasn’t until she wore again her recently returned scarf that she noticed one of Yato’s most unnerving traits: his perfume.

She couldn’t quite place her finger over what it was, because it didn’t seem like something store-bought. And it simply seemed to impregnate in everything he could lay his hands on, even faintly, but consistent nevertheless. During all that night, Hiyori was practically burying her nose on the pink fabric. Something in it was intriguing, intoxicating, even dangerous, and yet it was just a simple mixture of completely common smells, once she could sort of figure it out without feeling completely dumb or with that tickling sensation of rocks in her stomach. She could smell a bit of the cigarette’s tobacco plus one or two different kinds of candy and junk food, along with some sort of body soap, shampoo, and – surprisingly, fabric softener; and with all that, a little something that simply could be associated with him. An unmistakable note that had the power of standing all her hairs. When she realized what a simple smell was doing to her, she decided to go to sleep with a huff, trying to forget how hard it had been to shake Yato off herself to avoid him taking her right to her doorstep in that flashy car.

Along the day things weren’t much easier. Her mother and practically all the teachers had been constantly asking if she was running a fever. Of course, her completely reddened cheeks had absolutely nothing to do with being sick. She was wearing her scarf around her neck, covering her mouth and nose.

A very light snowfall made her breath to escape in the form of white clouds through the fabric, an Hiyori happily noticed that the smell seemed to reactivate with her breath’s humidity. She guarded below one of the eaves of the stores by the station’s door, waiting. Looking at the crowd, she suddenly felt paralyzed when she catched a glimpse of the blue-eyed smile of Yato in the distance, walking slowly, enjoying one of the last puffs of smoke of his cigarette. Today he looked quite different. He was wearing a long coat over a pair of jeans and a different sweatshirt, with a scarf around his neck, all in dark colors.

“Did you dressed all by yourself?” she let out. For an instant, he didn’t knew how to react.

“I shoulda’ left you go to Kofuku’s house on your own.”

Remembering Yukine’s little scene, her face went pale.

“No, I’m sorry! Actually you… you look fine”

“Flirting with me is really low, Hiyori, I thought you were better than this” said Yato smiling slyly, doing an awful job at hiding the slight red tint his cheeks had taken.

“Can we go?” she sighed, in the midst between annoyed and completely confused about how she felt at that moment with the sole fact of seeing him in an outfit that could be considered at least something presentable and the involuntary reaction of her face -blushing too. Yato looked at her, somewhat lost.

“Let’s go, but, are you feeling OK?” he said with a worried tone “looks like you’re running a fever”

Hiyori began walking hurriedly, and Yato was walking with her within short time. The cold made them walk faster without talking, and soon - “too soon”, thought Hiyori, before scolding herself internally and discarding the thought as quickly as she got it, they made it to Kofuku’s house.

It was in that point that the girl realized this hadn’t been a great idea, probably, according to what Yukine had said about not everyone being agree with involving her. Around the kotatsu were three faces watching her with different expressions. Yukine’s one was total annoyance. Kofuku showed a conciliating smile and Daikoku was avoiding looking at her at all. Hearing Yato was taking air to begin talking, Hiyori took a step forward and made a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry!”

The three people at the table answered with a surprised interjection.

“What are you talking about, Hiyorin?” asked Kofuku, getting on her feet.

“I’m so sorry to have lied to you guys… I’m actually…” the other girl took her from the arm and softly led her to sit at the Kotatsu. Her kindness filled her with courage. It was about time to clean up some of her lies.

Not very long after, finishing to tell her story on detail in front of a cup of tea, Hiyori took a deep breath. Daikoku raised his fist, effusive.

“You finding us was destiny!”

“I’m so sorry to have doubted you, Hiyorin!” cried Kofuku, pouncing over her, pulling Hiyori into a hug.

Yato and Yukine’s gazes crossed during a split second, before the teenager turned his face away, raising his nose. “It’s now your turn ignoring me, Yukine?” thought Yato, and smiled to himself.

“Okay, that’s enough already!” he said, standing up, “are we gonna begin or what?” Daikoku stood up too, and they left the room. Kofuku fluttered after them, and Hiyori waited a bit to let Yukine pass. The kid slid himself in front of her and stared at her with a piercing gaze that froze her right at the door. Yukine spoke with all the poison he could gather at that instant.

“I’m watching you” he said, simply, and followed the others. Hiyori felt her gut on the ground and a cold shiver ran through her back, until she heard Kofuku calling.

“Of course this house has a basement”, Hiyori thought, ironically, as soon as they opened that place’s door, revealing a room adequated entirely to achieve an ideal sound quality. Every wall was covered with carpet material, there were several speakers of different sizes located strategically around the place, a lot of microphones, the drum set, and all the instrument in their stands. Everything shone in chrome and silver and Hiyori searched for a spot to sit and admire the place in awe.

Yato, on the other hand, felt his body as light as a cloud and immediately began untangling the nest of cables on the floor before connecting everything in its place. If he could ignore the sudden sweat breakdown of his hands, he could feel the trace of an old emotion bubbling inside him. He identified that feeling at the moment he took his guitar in his hands and got the strap above his head. They were surrounded by an expectant silence.

Hiyori was just there, in front of them, she could feel the tension in the air when the three guys locked a stare.

Yato closed his eyes.

Black.

No noise. No strange thoughts eating his brain alive. No obsessions. He opened his eyes and glared swiftly to the brown haired girl sitting by the door before looking at Daikoku and Yukine. The first chord resounded not just all around, but also inside her brain, inside her stomach. She closed her eyes too, momentarily, and let herself sink in the melody. It was captivating, electrifying, even whithout the deep rich voice of Viina. When she opened her eyes again, she felt the little jump her heart did to the rhythm of music. Just in front of her, without any need of bending her gaze a bit, was Yato. His focused expression in the deepest part of the song gave him a seriousness she had never before seen in him; not even in the CD’s photos. The solo was approaching -Hiyori knew the songs really well, and the guy closed his eyes shut, letting his fingers caress the guitar, shifting his expression again, this time giving the impression of deep meditation, as a wandering monk in the climax of his prayer, and Hiyori felt a pinch in her heart again. Ending the solo, Yato let his eyes brush over her, and that momentary contact was enough to lit her face in red. “Why does he looks so good?”, she asked herself, mortified, trying to look somewhere else, without actually wanting. Kofuku watched her leaned in one of the biggest speakers, with her chin on her hand and an obnoxious smile glistening on her lips, with the stare of those who already know it all. Hiyori looked at her, confused, trying to discover what was so funny.

 “That was amazing!” claimed Hiyori, getting close to them when they stopped to take a break. “You guys sound a lot better than the record!”

“That’s the idea!” informed Yato, giving a big gulp to his beer can.

“It would actually sound a lot better if we had a singer!” huffed Daikoku, staring at Yato, who opted to walk around rising the beer can on the air, “I think it is time for us to begin thinking about making auditions, you animal!”

“Why don’t you ask Kofuku-san? I mean, she’s always here with you and she knows the songs…”

The laughter of the girl interrupted Hiyori, “You’re too funy, Hiyorin!”, she said. At the same time, Daikoku sighed, smiling, and denying silently with his head. Yukine scoffed, sitting a little far from everyone, sitting atop of an amp.

“Kofuku is good with people”, Daikoku explained, “but she has absolutely no musical talent whatsoever.”

“I rather see how handsome Kokki looks playing the drums!” said Kofuku, merrily.

“I actually think it’s better like this, if we let her sing she’d surely break a speaker or something”, said Yato, placing his guitar on the stand.

“Oh, c’mon, Yatty… that only happened once!”

“And you were sober… I don’t even wanna think what would’ve happened if you had been drunk”, said Yato again, leaning against the wall.

“Then… what about Yukine-kun or Daikoku-san?” suggested Hiyori again.

“Singing? No way!” let out Yukine, blushing.

“The rhythm section is actually very important, Hiyori. It gives everything a base; it’s our job not to be distracted and if we can just do our thing, that’s better”, pointed Daikoku, explaining patiently.

“And what about Yato?”

All of a sudden everyone kept silent. Yato straightened up.

“Ha-ha! Yes, I wonder”, he answered vaguely, trying to avoid the subject.

“Actually, Hiyorin”, explained Kofuku, “Yatty-chan sings pretty good.”

“He’s a freakin’ useless bum in everything else”, said Daikoku, crossing his arms, “but respecting music, it’s difficult to find someone who matches him.”

“I would like to hear that one day”, said Hiyori, giving Yato a sweet smile that made him blush up to his ears. He faked a sudden cough attack and climbed the stairs up, getting the cigarette box out from his pocket, leaving everyone in the room surprised.

  He took a drag of his cigarette, slowly, tasting the acid flavor of the smoke and the nicotine on his lips when passing his tongue over them, cursing silently about forgetting his coat inside. For some reason, Hiyori’s smile had been enough to give him a bolt of unbearable energy, and he had been about to leave running.

He was trying to figure what was making him behave like that, when his coat fell over his head.

“They say idiots don’t catch colds, but put this on anyway”, said Hiyori, with a hint of a laughter, shifting her coat herself. She admired Yato discreetly when he put the cigarette between his lips to be able to get the arms on the coat sleeves. She was still feeling the adrenaline rush of seeing them live, up close. “Yato”, she called, softly. He just looked at her, “thank you for inviting me over.”

“It’s not a big deal”, Yato raised a hand and scratched the nape of his neck, “thank you… for coming over.”

“You really have not considered to be the singer?”

The guy let an honest laugh out, and stared at the night in front of him. After another drag to his cigarette, he answered slowly, thinking each word.

“I’ve always thought that even when you’re able to do lotsa things at the same time, if you really want to be good at something, you have to really put your heart in it,” he looked at her again. He continued explaining when he noticed her furrowed brows, thinking, “yes, I’m good at guitar and I can sing. But I think about it this way: the best band needs the best guitarist, and I can’t be the best guitar player and the best singer at the same time. It’s either one or the other.”

Hiyori was so impressed about this way of thinking that weeks after she was still pondering his words. At that time, it meant breaking with absolutely everything she thought she knew and believed.

“I think” she muttered, “I’m beginning to understand what you said about my lessons.”

Seeing her mood go gloomy, Yato began to blab.

“We- but- not everything is bad! I mean, from the large selection of lessons you have, there has to be something good, I mean, you have to like one even a bit! And that’s okay! I’m just saying, the only one who should decide what to do with her time is yourself. What lesson you kept?”

“I still have to cancel my music lessons, but to be honest I would rather any other thing before seeing my teacher making his ‘I told you’ face…”

“Just hold on right there!” Yato cut her off, “You… d’you play?”

Hiyori giggled a bit.

“It’s nothing, actually. A long time ago I discovered I have absolutely no talent to anything artsy.”

“…But you play.” The surprised look on Yato’s face weirded her out a lot. He had even turned his body and seemed to be about to shake her from her shoulders at any minute.

“Y… yeah, you could say so.”

“What instrument?”

“I… piano – Yato, wh…?” she couldn’t ask him what was going through his head at the time, because he was already dragging her inside, back to the rehearsal basement. Yato took off his coat, throwing it carelessly and opening a little door in one of the room’s ends, almost disappearing through it. After several loud clanks, deaf thumps of something heavy being dragged and several rolls of cable being thrown away randomly out of that little storage, Yato came out again, carrying a black long case and a solid metal structure that formed an X once unfolded. The guy placed the case in the floor carefully, and Hiyori came near him slowly, as if watching a wizard about to perform a magic trick on the stage. The locks were removed, revealing a shiny electric keyboard, that Yato placed carefully on top of the base, and then walked a few times around it, muttering.

“How was this…? How…? Oh!”

He finally found the plug he was looking, and walked again several times back and forth between the keyboard and the audio console, searching for the ideal sound. When he finished, when the keys were pulsed, it let out a similar sound to that of a lone piano right at the center of a huge hall. Yato dragged close one of the mics that they used to practice second voices during the rehearsal, and placed it in front of the chair, which he put at one side of the keyboard. He then stole the little bench of the drumset and sitted behind the key instrument, placing his hands over it, skillfully.

“I actually remember very little about this”, he smiled, as an apology. After a few chord practices, he indicated Hiyori to sit on the chair with a stare. She straightened her skirt, fearful. He kept speaking while exercising his fingers over the keys, playing scales on repeat. “Say, Hiyori”, she stared at him, “what’s your mother’s favorite song?”

The question took her unprepared. She raised her hand to her chin, thoughtful. She answered after a minute.

“No frontiers.”

Yato stopped playing, and looked at her with agape mouth, totally surprised.

“Mary Black’s No frontiers? – Well, that IS a surprise, are we really talking about the same person that pushes her philosophy about being an upper class lady and all that garbage down your throat?”

“…Mary Black?” said Hiyori, a little ashamed, “no, The Corrs.”

Yato let out a big laughter. He was laughing a lot lately, he thought.

“Well, it’s kinda the same thing, The Corrs only gave the song’s popularity a boost”, saying this, he tried different key combinations, muttering to himself, “A? No, D?... maybe B… no, C? There you are!”

The melody flowed from his fingers like water. It was unbelievable, Hiyori was completely overthrown with this guy’s talent. How had she met him, again? His blue eyes were fixed on her.

“You surely know the lyrics… If life is a river…” Yato pointed to the mic with a stare, and Hiyori paralyzed. Was he singing? “c’mon! And your life is a boat…”

The girl approached the microphone with utter shyness, “and just like a water baby baby born to float…” Yato smiled, and urged her to continue, “And if life is a wild wind that blows way on high… And your heart is Amelia dying to fly… Heaven knows no frontiers…” Hiyori smiled singing the last phrase, “And I’ve seen heaven in your eyes…”

Yato retook the following verse. The atmosphere changed. Never, in all her life, Hiyori had been capable of thinking she would be able to understand so much with someone just by looking at them. Somehow, she knew what to do, when he was going to change and what did she had to do, and it didn’t had nothing to do with the fact her mother had sang sung that tune to herself every time she was happy.

“Heaven knows no frontiers, and I’ve seen heaven in your eyes…”

She had let her mind escape, and all of a sudden the song had ended, leaving them both with a gust of frozen air between the short half a meter between them. Hiyori’s face turned red, but Yato filled his chest, proud, with a huge smile. He was about to say something, when they heard movement on the stairs. Kofuku, Daikoku and Yukine had been there listening. Realizing it, Hiyori felt herself shrinking to floor level, to immediately after feel as walking between the clouds after what Yato said.

“Whaddayathink?”

“I think we are just going to need one audition”, stated Daikoku.

Yukine was still showing an attitude as bad as always, but his eyes showed absolute surprise, while Kofuku gave little jumps and clapped.

“What you say, Hiyori?” Asked Yato, “D’ya know the songs?”

After a brief silence, she answered, smiling confidently: “Every word.”

 But it was actually quite different, once being in the midst of the dynamics she had seen from the outside. During the brief half minute of the intro of one of the most popular SHRINE’s, Hiyori started to think she was actually trying to occupy Viina’s spot; the one with the exceptional vocal range, the one who could threat of killing you and you would still ask for more; the voice that had been the main treat of the band during all those years. Suddenly she was feeling like a Chihuahua in a San Bernardo event meeting. The first words came out unsure, misplaced and week. Between the harmony created for all three instruments supporting her, she could hear Yato’s yell, “Feel it!” The pressure was almost unbearable, and Hiyori closed her eyes, trying to place her voice in some point within the melody. It was way too easy for Yato to say, she thought, because he already had years of experience and knew what was up with all of that.

But suddenly, everything became so simple. The lyrics were about feeling desperate for a love that after trying hard, it never goes back. Hiyori had no idea of how that actually felt, but trying to fill Viina’s place was stressful enough to identify the tone the lyrics should have. Yato again made use of a brief silence within the song to yell “Let it flow!” Every piece fell together into place. Again, the song ended too early for her, and that cold rush of air surrounded her again. Daikoku ended making his drums growl chaotically and laughing loudly, with joy, and Yato had again that look, as if he was in front of the biggest diamond in the world.

This time, he wasn’t looking at a score.

He was looking at her.

[solaciummeae]

I’d Ask If You Feel the Same | Part 2

MOOD MUSIC

Emma could sleep through just about anything once she was out. So it was no surprise that she didn’t wake up at any point in the night and realize she needed to go home. Likewise she didn’t wake when he did and shifted ever so slightly around her. 

Jude is completely content with this part of her as he looks up to see light blocked by the blinds in his bedroom. He grimaces as a yawn takes over and he readjusts his vision to the woman in front of him. He’s fairly certain that this is the calmest he’s ever seen her and it resonates a deep peace within him. He’s also certain that as soon as she realizes she didn’t go home last night she’s likely to blow a fuse.

But for now, with only silence between them, he’s comfortable to lie here until she wakes up herself. His muscles let him know that a good stretch is in order and so carefully he removes his arm from her and carefully tenses his muscles beside her and relaxes them again. All seems well until her face crumples in her sleep. ‘No no no–’ He thinks desperately to himself. The brunette senses that she’s not alone while she sleeps and internally panics as she slowly rouses. Emma was a violent sleeper and didn’t share beds well with others. She liked sleeping alone because the act made her feel so vulnerable. She never knew what state she’d wake up in. As she feels movement her eyes shoot open, only to squint at the culprit. Her eyes widen a little bit but the fatigue is still to great for it to last. 

“Wha–” She frowns at him sleepily as he smiles at her. “I’m going home.” She grumbles, attempting to turn over and get out of her side of the bed. His arm which had been lightly draped over her waist suddenly tightens, pulling her back to him. Leave it to her to fight the progression of their relationship. “Hey–” He calls out to her softly. He risks the kicking and screaming to pull her firmly to himself. He rests his chin over her shoulder, inhaling the still potent smell of her hair. He’s determined to not let her win the fight this time.

“Jude– I will hurt you– let me go.” She tells him stiffly, her body just a rigid. Again, she feels self-conscious; as though it’s strange for them to behave this way. She just wants some distance to convince herself again that this is a bad idea.

“No– you won’t.” He says simply. “Now would you please just relax?” He laughs, tightening his arms around her as if to brace against retaliation.

Emma lies there all but pouting and refusing to get comfortable. How could she in the jean shorts she wore? She’d fallen asleep in street clothes. Still, these aren’t the real reasons she won’t settle and she knows that. After she’d helped him clean up the apartment and he’d in turn done the same for himself, they’d fallen asleep. 

There hadn’t been much more discussion about what was happening between them. They were in no way official and she still had Matt to worry about it. Her mind quickly begins formulating a plan before he can sway her. She’s going on a men-free diet. “No.” She finally growls. What she lacks in experience with working relationships, he more than makes up for. He easily maneuvers around her keeping her in place as he moves over her. She looks just as disgusted by the idea of being underneath him and he’d imagined she would be. “You are holding me against my will.” She tells him angrily, crossing her arms over her chest from where she lies on her back. “This is wrong.” She adds defiantly.

He ignores her protesting as if she’s actually telling him how in love with him she is. His hands find a firm grip around her wrists and he pulls her arms aside, leaning down to fearlessly press a kiss to her lips. She’s still frowning as he retracts only to drop another on her cheek, and likewise at the bottom of her jawline. The flinch it elicits from her is more of a shiver and he places his lips on her skin one more time in the crook of her neck. She has half a mind to shove him, if she only she could. She waits for him to recoil enough to see the look in her eyes before she speaks again. “That is not allowed– stop it, right now–” The frustration in her voice is silenced as he is so bold as to again kiss her firmly on the lips. She gives an indignant whine and glares at him as he rises above her again. “I mean it.” She barks.

“Yeah– you seem to be genuinely against this.” The blonde scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “Don’t look so proud of yourself– this is considered sexual harassment.” She fires back. He makes a face something between disbelief and judgment. “Yeah– I really get that. You’re not essentially my girlfriend.” He snorts, his eyes rolling in front of her.

Normally, such a claim would cause her to freeze in her tracks. However, Emma is so far down the road of denial that she can’t possibly take him seriously. Immediately, she argues back. “I am essentially nothing of the sort. I think I’d know if we were in a relationship. Besides– I don’t ever remember even being asked on a date.” He’s just so tired of this game they’re playing. She fights him, he refuses to give in. Mostly, he’s just done with the arguing. He’s so sure of himself, he wears a grin as he leans down to catch her lips again. This time, he doesn’t move away when their lips part. His forehead presses to hers, his nose brushing against her own. “I will take you out right now– regardless of whether or not you say yes.” “I’m glad you’re making all of my decisions for me now, really satisfies the feminist in me.” She shoots back, though this time her voice is softer. She finds her movements mimicking his instead of fighting them. “That’s my job as your boyfriend,” He tells her, repeating the use of labels he knows she despises. “You’re not my boyfriend.” She argues weakly. “Fine–” He pulls back to look her in the eyes so that there is no escaping or making excuses. “Emma Harper– will you please be my girlfriend? Since we are clearly still in the seventh grade.” His confidence is visible, as if he already knows the answer that’s coming even if he secretly has doubts. He gives her an expectant look as he watches her process the proposal. She eyes him suspiciously as he puts her on the spot. The past thirteen or so hours have made it incredibly difficult to stick the plan of being alone. Even when she’d gone out with Matt– she’d expected nothing from it. This time, its Jude– someone she can’t ignore or deny her own feelings for. She wants to keep fighting him as is her every instinct. In her head, the only correct answer is rejection but still the battle in her rages on. She swallows as she finally finds the words. “And if I say yes? Then what?”

“Then– we end up happy, like it’s meant to be.” He replies easily without a second thought. She looks skeptical but his answer came so naturally, as if he really believes it. So much so, that she begins to believe it herself. She tries to avert her eyes and keep from smiling at him, but he’s quick to turn her back to face him. “Well?” He questions, refusing to give up until he gets a solid answer– the one he wants.

“Fine.” She says shortly, finally breaking down. He slumps, still sitting on his legs above her. “Wow. Thanks Em– you’re really filling me with a lot of confidence here. If you wanted to say no you could have–” “Yes! Okay? Yes, I’ve been into you for forever– is that what you want to hear? Yes Judah– I am just as in love with you as you claim to be with me.” She finally blurts out with a scowl as her own confessions. This was so ridiculous, being forced to share how she really feels. Completely and utterly ridiculous, not to mention childish. She huffs a breath of air, frankly done with the entire situation.

He listens to her short outburst, his eyebrows jumping as he takes in her words. He knows that saying it is hard for her and that she’s not happy with him for pushing her. At the same time, its exactly what he needs to hear to abandon any and all questioning in his mind. 

When he kisses her again its almost as a reward for the progress they’ve made. This time he lingers, his mouth moving slowly with hers as she finally gives in and responds the way he wants her to. His hands find the sides of her face, determined to keep her there with him if it kills him.

She reminds herself that this isn’t a bad retaliation to her admissions to him. That, and that this is going to happen a lot more often in the days to come; so she’d better get used to it. Easier said that done with the mild heart attack occurring in her chest. Her arms find their way around him, her hands gripping lightly at his shoulder blades. 

She wills herself against any thought as her lips move in slow motion with his right until he finally releases her. She’s sure he senses the electricity pulsing through her as their eyes connect again and she has to remember to breathe. “And for the record– I’m not claiming anything– its the truth. I am in love with you. Again– whether you like it or not.” He finally corrects her previous statements.

“Just stop already, okay? Are you trying to kill me?” She complains. “We get it– you’ve been unintentionally brainwashed.”

Jude laughs, making a face as he shakes his head at her. “Yeah okay– get up– I’m taking you to lunch.” “I would– if you’d ever stop pinning me here, you’re not as lightweight as you think Kidd.” She quips defiantly. Almost immediately, he moves to stand from the bed and gives a real stretch. Another expectant look in her direction brings another glare in his. He simply laughs and starts searching for a pair of flipflops. Nothing could possibly ruin this moment; he wouldn’t let it. He’s determined to take her on a nice– long overdue– date. She just watches him for any signs that what has transpired between them is a mistake. She only finds the results of her observation to be the opposite of what she’d expect. He seems so happy, not to mention perfectly at ease with all of this. When he starts humming, her eyes slip shut involuntarily. There’s no sound she appreciates more than the sound of his voice, singing or not. 

Seconds later, she finally sits up and looks down at her wrinkled clothes. “You really expect me to go out looking like this?” She asks, her tone dripping with distaste. He’d been focused on figuring out where to take her and how to leave a lasting impression when she finally speaks up again. He glances over at her looking almost as confused as he sounds. “Why not? You look beautiful.” His eyes linger long enough to catch her mouth fall open in obvious shock. He huffs a laugh and with another shake of his head he leaves the room to find his keys.

She just sits there unable to even remain upset anymore. He’d just said it– as if it were nothing more than common knowledge. She sighs. 'Just stay calm. You can do this. Don’t mess it up,’ Her mind rattles off several reminders as she tries to get used to this change in their relationship. She swallows, praying to God that this time– it lasts.