#like fuck my friend who picked up that program a few weeks ago is actively teaching me stuff

[rgbalphameter]

very cool! i especially loved the tech and holo stuff, maybe you could do more :3 like cmd text input page or something vaporwave. can't wait to see what else you make!

you. youre a genius.

ysee i DID start out at vaporwave years ago, like, in 2018, but then i dropped into the black neon mix of outrun stuff ridiculously fast, and, obviously, ive been staying here as you can see. but now that i can make patterns i think its about time i try to touch again the pastel mixes of that genre again- plus its trivial like. theres the rgba split node for example. if i split the channel and just nudge each aside then merge again i can have fake 3d rainbow effects, which was one thing i commonly used for my vaporwave art back when i was strictly drawing and didnt know sustance yet, and then i can nudge That with the hsl node if i want diff colours than a RGB glitch look and, say, drag it towards CMY instead which is more typical of the pastels of vaporwave. also imho the normal node generates a pretty vaporwavey colour scheme, and. as you know. i am not above misusing the fuck out of this program *glances at the poor, poor hald clut and 3d cube gbuffer nodes*. i think i also can use dir warps to simulate glitches, with greyscale stripes of random widths at the same angle as the dir warp. i also have yet to test the text node. so like. thanks ! im getting a fuckton of ideas per second so thisll be :eyes:, i wanna make palm trees stuff for example, overlapping w gradients. i also had attempts at circuit generators previously, i need to fix these and keep looking for solutions for these to. yknow. really look like circuits.

an idea for these is to stop trying to have em be going in multiple ways and instead pick One, like, for example, im thinking horizontal, so then i can use horizontal offset and shift around each row and Boom cool circuits and all. (im lowkey using this post as notes for myself dont worry if you have no idea what the fuck im talking about). i have many others really but. ngl im also partly basing this on this One texture i made in CSP that looked cool

it is *egregously inaccurate* when it comes to how circuits work, but... rule of cool ??? still. that said yeah in the Real one id like things to be a bit more realistic/believable to anyone who ever saw a real circuit.

ill try to do things this afternoon/tonight ! i have stuff for my queue up to thursday so expect the test runs to start showing up past that ! you can DM me off anon if you want me to show you wips in private and discuss more ideas, ngl i am super excited, thank you !!

[queenshelby]

DRAMA TEACHER – PART ONE

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut, Divorce, Broken Relationship, Mention of Abuse

Words: 3,567

***New to Dublin***

It has been several weeks since you moved from the UK to Dublin to start a new life with your son Lucas who recently turned 16.

You left an abusive relationship and finally filed for divorce. Nonetheless, Lucas blamed you for everything even for the fact that his father wasn’t allowed to see him until the court orders have been finalised due to his addictions and history of violence.

Lucas hated the fact that he was now attending a new school and, just after two days, he was getting himself into trouble for smoking weed on school premises.

Despite this, you enjoyed your new job as a drama teacher and had recently suggested to the director of the school that it would be fantastic for the children who enrolled into your extra curriculum arts program to participate in an actual play in front of their families and the teachers of the school.

‘What do you think about it Adam?’ you asked. Adam was the school principal and your friend since high school. He always had a crush on you, but never admitted it. It wasn’t until recently that he finally asked you for a date, an offer which you declined since you were working with him on a daily basis.

‘Sure, if you think the students are willing and able to put in this kind of effort, why not?’ Adam said, allowing you to take charge of the extra curriculum drama activities as you see fit. He was just glad to have you on board after the last drama and literature teacher employed by the school was a disaster.

‘I have about six students in two of my classes who seem to be very talented and I think it would be beneficial for them to build up the confidence they need if they want to pursue a career in acting’ you explained before giving Adam the names of the six students.

‘Perhaps you can suggest it to their parents?’ you then went on to say and Adam agreed.

Three weeks later, you got notice from Adam advising you that five out of the six students wish to participate in the program but, in order to be signed off by the board, you would need to find five more students and a volunteer parent to assist you with any work that is to be conducted outside school premises due to regulations imposed by the board.

‘You’ve got anyone in mind?’ you asked.

‘Actually, one of the parents has offered and I think he would be a good fit as he is a well-known actor and has had several stage performances himself’ Adam explained.

‘I assume you are talking about Hendrix and Charlie’s dad?’ you asked, remembering having met him a few times already at pick up on Wednesdays and every second Friday.

‘Yes, Cillian Murphy’ Adam said before continuing on ‘Cillian mentioned that he’s got no engagements for the next three months, so I suggest you talk to him’ Adam suggested.

‘Alright. So, do you know each other since you are on first name basis?’ you asked surprised.

‘Yes, for a matter of fact, I do. His brother is married to my sister. We occasionally have a few drinks. He is easy going. You will get along just fine’ Adam said.

‘Alright, I will talk to him then. Thanks Adam’ you said before quickly leaving Adam’s office.

Adam had recently made yet another attempt to ask for a date which you pushed back on, which meant that you tried to engage in as little small talk as possible.

***Interested in Someone Else***

The following Wednesday, when Cillian picked up his boys from school, you approached him. You felt somewhat uncomfortable about it, knowing that he was probably overqualified for this task. But, he had offered and there was no one else who you thought could do a better job with the students than someone like him, someone with experience.

‘Uhm, Mr Murphy, do you have a minute?’ you asked as he was trying to get his sons to pack up their bags while they were too busy fighting with each other once again. They both were very creative, but also very messy and constantly argued.

‘Oh no…what did they do?’ he chuckled as he pulled Hendrix’s bag apart looking for the rest of the mandarin peel which Charlie had stuffed in there just seconds ago to get under Hendrix’s skin.

‘Jesus Hendrix’ he huffed as he found three empty chocolate wrappers instead and put them into the bin.

‘Sorry Miss L/N, you have my attention now…you were saying?’ he chuckled

‘The boys are great, really well behaved’ you said as you noticed that Cillian looked at you with concern, thinking his sons were in trouble.

‘Really? I find that hard to believe’ he laughed before telling them off again for fighting with each other.

‘I have spoken to our principal, Mr Walsh, and he mentioned that you would be willing to get involved in the drama project as a volunteer. In order to get it approved by our board, I would need one parent to volunteer’ you explained shyly.

‘That’s right, so long as it is within the next three months. After that I will be in the US for a few months for work’ Cillian explained just before the boys interrupted him.

‘I assume that’s what the beard is for?’ you grinned, having noticed that it has slowly been growing longer and longer over the past few weeks.

‘Unfortunately’ he laughed, running one of his hands over his stubble just as Charlie came over and interrupted him.

‘Seriously Dad? Do you know how embarrassing this will be for us if you are working with Miss L/N?’ Charlie huffed.

‘Yes, Charlie wants to impress Nadine Seymour and you are really going to ruin it’ Hendrix teased, causing Charlie to nudge him

‘No fighting and no girlfriends! Understood?’ Cillian chuckled before inviting you for a coffee on Friday after school so that you can discuss the drama program.

You gladly accepted Cillian’s invitation, much to his sons’ disappointment.

‘Are you having a date with our teacher? That’s so disgusting’ you then heard Hendrix say as Cillian was walking off with them.

***Two Weeks Later***

Two weeks later, your drama project was in full swing and you had decided to allow the students to practise their play at a real theatre in Dublin once per week when Cillian was available.

You and Cillian got along well and his boys continuously teased him about hanging out with their teacher. But there was nothing awkward between you until, one day, you engaged into some deeper conversation while none of the children were around.

Cillian had found out about your son’s problems at school. His boys had told him about Lucas’s reputation and, over a few hours and a few beers following theatre practise, you opened up to him about your divorce and your relationship with Lucas’s father.

You didn’t know why you told him, but you enjoyed his company. He was a good listener and he was quite reserved and private which made you trust him.

But, over the following week, you started to enjoy his company a little too much. He certainly was an attractive man and, by what you could tell, a fantastic father. He seemed perfect and you knew you shouldn’t fantasise about him the way you did over that past week.

This was easier said than done. He had everything your ex lacked. He was patient, kind and empathetic. You enjoyed working with him and your son soon noticed, giving you a hard time about it soon enough.

To your surprise, after about three weeks of working together and following the last practise, Cillian took matters a little further than you had expected and, after all the kids had left and his boys had been picked up by their mother, Cillian asked you whether you wanted to have dinner with him some time.

You politely declined his offer, explaining to him that you weren’t ready to start dating and that sure felt like a date to you.

That same night, you regretted your decision after talking to your sister about it. You trusted your sister with everything and you encouraged you to give him a chance.

You were afraid to develop feeling, to let anyone to your life, but you were of the view that you must learn how to trust before you can love again.

‘Does your dinner offer still stand?’ you texted Cillian that night, hoping that he would reply quickly to your message.

‘It sure does’ Cillian texted back within seconds.

‘Pick me up at 6 o’clock tomorrow? Lucas is having a sleep over at a friend’s place’ you responded.

‘6 o’clock it is’ Cillian texted back.  

***Date Night***

The following evening, Cillian picked you up at 6 o’clock as promised and, after complimenting your outfit, which was a black buttoned dress, you both got into his car and drove into Dublin’s city centre.

‘So where are you taking me?’ you asked somewhat shyly and Cillian was quick to hand you a pamphlet.

‘A theatre?’ you asked surprised.

‘Sort of. It is a restaurant in the arts district where you can watch pop up shows during the drama festival. It’s contemporary, but you might spot some real good talent there’ Cillian explained and your excitement was growing.

His idea was very thoughtful and you appreciated the fact that this wasn’t going to be your average Italian restaurant date.

Over dinner you and Cillian talked a lot about your lives, your relationships and your children while watching the most interesting people perform the most interesting short plays. Some of them were real pieces of art and the performers put an immense effort into their performance and costumes.

After about two hours, Cillian offered to drive you home and you gladly accepted his offer.

‘Uhm would you like to come up for a drink?’ you asked as you arrived at your apartment building.

‘Sure, yes, why not’ Cillian said before turning off his car and following you to your apartment.

But the drink never eventuated and, as soon as you opened the door to your apartment, Cillian’s lips were on yours.

‘Fuck I am sorry Y/N’ Cillian said, pulling back quite quickly as he realised that things were probably moving too fast for you after what you had told him a few days ago.

‘No, don’t. I want this’ you reassured him, your voice quiet and your eyes fierce before pressing your lips back onto his.

‘For once, I want to feel like a real woman. I want to be desired... loved, I want to know what this feels like’ you said as you could see the fire in his eyes as you slowly dragged him into your bedroom.

He stepped forward then, tilting your chin up with his finger, brushing his lips over yours, and allowing his tongue to caress your lower lip. Your body shook softly as you melted into his embrace, your lips parting, granting access to Cillian's tongue, which immediately snaked into your mouth and embarked on a search for yours.

You sighed softly, draping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against Cillian's torso. The kiss was deep, passionate and almost immediately took your breath away. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, stoking the fire already burning deep within your body. When Cillian finally released you from his embrace you were left panting and wanting more.

‘You are beautiful, you know that?’ Cillian whispered as he started unbuttoning the black dress that draped so alluringly across your breasts and waist.

‘If you say so’ you giggled before looking straight into his eyes. You proceeded to shrug the dress from your shoulders, blushing as Cillian's eyes consumed you.

He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pressed his fully hard cock against you.

‘I want you, Cillian’ you gasped softly as you felt him rubbing against you.

He walked you slowly back to the bed, laying you down gently and stripping his clothes from his body. You looked up at him, biting your lip, as he first pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly shaped chest and torso. Your heart began to pound as he kicked off his shoes and undid his pants, dropping them to his ankles. In no time at all his cock was free and pointing proudly to the ceiling.

You stared at it from your place on the bed, mesmerized by the way it bobbed and weaved as he gazed lustily at your nearly naked body.

You gasped when Cillian got to his knees, spreading your legs and placing soft butterfly kisses on your thighs. You blushed, knowing what Cillian intended, an act that your ex-husband had never, in all your years of marriage, performed.

‘Cillian’ you said quietly, attempting to close your legs.

Cillian held them apart gently as he looked up at your quizzically.

‘I've never...I've never had anyone do that to me’ you said, refusing to meet his eyes.

‘Really?’ he asked surprised and you answered by shaking your head almost shyly.

‘Well, there is a first time for everything Y/N. Just relax. I will stop whenever you tell me to, alright?’ he said, attempting to soothe and calm you and you nodded, biting your lip in anticipation.

And with that he reached up and grasped the waist of your panties, tugging at them gently. You submitted, lifting your hips and closing your eyes as Cillian slid the panties down your thighs. You kept your legs clamped tightly together however as he dropped them to the floor.

Your ex husband had been the first and only men you’ve been with and you were beyond nervous.

‘Cillian’ you murmured as he pressed gently on the insides of your knees in a silent request.

Your legs parted in response and you blushed a deep red at the thought of your most intimate spot exposed to Cillian's gaze. Leaning forward, he kissed the inside of each of your thighs before, a moment later, his tongue was buried in your soft folds, tasting your sweetness. Your body bucked wildly as he drew his tongue through your sweet flesh, your hips rising from the bed from the jolts of pure pleasure that shot through your body when he discovered the little bud that was your clit.

‘Oh God, Cillian!’ you moaned, covering your eyes with the back of your hand.

He opened your legs a little more, twisting his head and running the tip of his tongue the full length of your glistening pussy, savoring the sweet taste of your juice. Reaching up, he found one of your stiff nipples and tugged at it softly as he continued exploring you with his mouth.

You moaned, squirming on the bed from the pleasure building within you as he relentlessly worked at your pussy.

‘Don't stop please, fuck’ you hissed, grasping at the sheet and closing your thighs around his head.

Cillian had no intention of stopping as his tongue lapped at you, his mouth moving in circles as he sought ways to enhance your pleasure. Your body arched upwards when his lips closed around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking at it gently with the very tip of his tongue. Your breathing was ragged, your moans increasing in volume as his mouth worked relentlessly at your sex. It took no more than a few minutes for your pleasure to build to an overwhelming level.

‘Oh my God! Cillian! Oh my God!’ you screamed as a searing orgasm claimed you.

Your entire body shuddered and shook as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you. Cillian simply gripped your thighs and continued to lick your clit as your body convulsed on the bed. The orgasm seemed to go on forever and it was at least a minute before your mind was once again in control, Finally, your eyes flickered open and you looked at Cillian shyly, his head still positioned between your thighs.

‘Cillian, that was...oh my God, it was amazing. I never imagined...’ you said exhausted.

Cillian raised his head, grinning.

‘There's a lot more to come, Y/N’ he replied, raising himself to your knees.

He could see the trepidation on your face as you eyed his hard, swollen cock which pointed eagerly towards the ceiling.

‘It's okay, I will go slowly’ he said softly, caressing your thigh with his fingers. ‘Do you have…?’ he then went on to ask and, before he could finish his sentence, you shook your head.

‘I’ve just had my implant replaced’ you assured him and this was all he needed to hear.

Reaching down and grasping his member he dragged his head through your folds, causing you to moan once again. The heat from his cock was palpable, the touch of it electric, as he moved it through your puffy lips.

‘Cillian, please... I need you’ you moaned.

‘Not yet, Y/N’ he teased, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slick slit, spreading your soft lips but refusing to penetrate your just yet.

‘God, Cillian... please’ you begged.

He relented then, groaning as he pushed the head of his cock into you, your tight walls gripping him as he pushed deeper, filling you.

‘Oh god yes’ you hissed, your eyes glued to his as he began stroking the full length of his cock into you.

He kissed you, taking your mouth with his as you moaned in pleasure. Drawing his hips back, Cillian's cock slid easily from your sex, eliciting a delicious whimper from your throat. Immediately he thrust back into you in one smooth movement and then repeated the action, giving you deep hard strokes as he built to a steady rhythm.

You moaned and squirmed beneath him; your body rising from the bed to meet each thrust of his almost perfect manhood.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you gasped as he worked himself in and out of you. Your body was on fire, every nerve alight as Cillian fucked you in a way you had never before experienced. Usually, your ex-husband would mount you and simply jackhammer into you for a couple of minutes before gasping in your ear as he came. Cillian, however, was intent on ensuring your pleasure, varying the pace and depth of his thrusts, gyrating his hips against yours, and changing the angle now and then to ensure that he ground against your clit.

Fuck, Y/N... you are so tight. It feels so good’ Cillian moaned.

Cillian, no...’ you whimpered as he pulled his cock from you.

‘Don’t worry, I am not finished with you yet. Turn over’ he chuckled.

You scrambled to your hands and knees quickly, the need to have Cillian's cock inside you driving your movements. Cillian, for his part, felt the same and he wasted no time in entering you again.

He thrust deep into you, driving the breath from your body as he pounded his cock into your sweet, tight pussy over and over. You were in heaven; Cillian was taking you in exactly the way you had imagined so many times over the past few weeks when you dreamt about him. His desire for you palpable in every thrust of his rock-hard member.

As Cillian continued to thrust into you, you buried your face in the pillow, moaning continuously as Cillian took you, the friction of his shaft against your tight walls sending waves of pleasure to the sensory centers of your brain. Instinctively, you pushed back against him, attempting to get every inch of him into you. You were rewarded with a long, guttural moan.

‘Y/N, I'm close’ he warned you.

‘Good, so am I’ you gasped in response. ‘Take me, Cillian’ you moaned.

He picked up the pace, his thrusting becoming almost desperate as he fought to make you finish before he did. He held you in place tightly, his solid shaft slamming into you again and again.

Suddenly you were there, crying out loudly as an intense, almost nuclear, burst of pleasure erupted from deep within and spread through your body.

‘Oh god yes, Cillian fuck’ you screamed, your pussy convulsing around Cillian's shaft.

The sight and sound of your orgasm was too much for Cillian and after just a few more thrusts, he too erupted, forcing spurts of warm cum into you. His eyes glazed and he lost all sense of time and place as he surrendered to the intense pleasure swamping his body.

‘Fuck, that's so good!’ he panted as the two of you, shuddering and shaking in unison, reveled in the fruits of your labor.

Finally, it was over. Gently, you uncoupled your panting bodies and, rolling onto his back, Cillian gasped again, eliciting a wide smile from you.

You snuggled against his warm chest, your thigh cast carelessly over his legs. You were content, basking in the warm glow of perfect sex.

But, your sense of lust and desire was soon to come to an end as you heard Lucas shouting.

‘Mum, are you home?’ he yelled out, causing both Cillian’s and your eyes to widen.

   Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03  @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @otterly-fey @janelongxox  @uchihacumdump @basiclassy  @being-worthy  @chaotic-bean-of-smolness  @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​  @vhscillian​  @ysmmsy​  

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@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby

[afictionalwhore]

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

[starrynite7114]

Two Weeks (Miguel Galindo)

A/N: Tomorrow is my final and I think I’ve reached the point of a mental breakdown that you’re just numb to it. But no matter, positive thoughts all around and hoping my brain isn’t so mean anymore. But due to this, I needed a much needed distraction and finished part one of my Miguel mini series. He may be a little OOC, but I hope you all enjoy this lovely work of mine.

Everything is you, Snapshots, Misconstrued, and two requests will be posted within the next two weeks. 

Also may be adding Rio to my lovely writing list, we’ll see. 

This is my brain on procrastination, please forgive me. 

Love you all and I hope you lovelies are having an amazing week thus far!

Masterlist

Tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic​ : @ifoundmyhappythought​ : @carlaangel86​ : @marvelmaree​ : @woahitslucyylu​ : @encounterthepast​ : @enamoured-x​ : @whyisgmora​ : @briana-mishell24​ : @bribri-82​ : @briannab1234​ : @chibsytelford​ : @agirllovespasta​ : @twistnet​ : @everyhowlmarksthedead​ : @trulysuccubus​ : @jadert15​ : @sammskellington​ : @cind-in-real-life​ : @claytoncardenasbabymama​ : @sadeyesgf​ : @thickemadame​ : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass​ : @gemini0410​ : @elcococruz​ : @samcrobae​ : @sesamepancakes​ : @iambabyharry​ : @blackmissfrizzle​ : @soamayansfangirl​ : @1-800-imagines​ : @phoenixhalliwell​ : @lady-pswrld​ : @dazzledamazon​  : @getyourcrayoncas​ : @fvckthisbxtchup​ : @lukealvxz​ : @scuzmunkie​ : @nakusaych9​ : @danie1432​ : @cocotheclown​ : @soaronmywings​ : @my-rosegold-soul​ : @buttercup812​ : @itskiranbitch​ : @angelreyesgirl​ : @sheeshgivemeabreak​ : @vicmackeybullshxt​ : @strawberrywritings​ : @cherry-icetea​  : @losolvidad0s​ : @brownsugarcoffy​ : @courtrae89​​ : @blessedboo​​ : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind​​ : @fariesandwanderlust​​ : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ : @xserenax-13​ : @whatupitshuff​ : @aquamento​ : @justvnash​ : @maddie-georges​ : @itskiranbitch​

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CREDIT TO THE ORIGINAL GIF CREATOR!

You couldn’t do this, you were at wits end. You wanted nothing more than to throw your work phone away as it constantly rang, constantly interfered with your life, sanity, sleep, and did you already say sanity? Just in case, your sanity. 

“If I ignore it, it never happened.” You looked at the clock and it was three in the morning, you had to be up in three hours to get ready for work to see this despicable man once more. 

The ringing stopped, a sigh of relief overtaking your body. Your eyes closed and yet again, it fucking rang.

“FUCK YOU MIGUEL GALINDO.”

You took a deep breath, gathering what remained of your sanity.

“Hello Mr. Galindo, what can I do for you at three in the morning?”

His chuckle rang across the phone, aggravating you more. “Ooh, Mr. Galindo? I’m in trouble, rightfully so. I apologize for calling you so early in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a conundrum.”

“Miguel, I am not picking you up from Alejandra’s place.”

“I gave Nestor the night off.” He argued.

“I’m technically off too you asshole!” You were one of the few who didn’t fear Miguel. You knew of his capabilities, but you figured you were far too valuable.

“Yes, I am fully aware of that, your nights are sacred. But you know I rarely call you on nights.” He countered.

“Correct that statement.”

“Anymore.” He corrected himself. 

“Miguel, why do you continue to meet this girl if you’re not interested in her?” Ever since his divorce with Emily two years ago, Miguel has been single and kept it that way. Which in hindsight was for the best. With the cartel, real estate, which he still headed with Emily, and the rebels, he had plenty of things to occupy his time. But you knew why he liked the causality of his relationship with Alejandra. 

No strings attached.

No questions.

No commitments.

It fit his lifestyle.

“Because, I have needs and you know, she’s easy on the eyes.”

You begrudgingly got out of bed and made sure to sigh loudly. Miguel chuckled, and you just cussed his name in the three languages you knew. 

“Stop cussing me out in your head. Are you coming to get me?”

“I get the day off.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Better cuddle up then.”

“Fine, but we’re having breakfast then you can have your day off.”

“No work talk during breakfast or the ride home.”

Miguel groaned. “Deal.”

===========

You sat across from Miguel at this diner in San Diego, your usual spot whenever you picked him up from Alejandra’s. Miguel rarely indulged himself or let his real self out due to his obligations as a cartel head. He had a reputation to maintain, his playful and joking nature was hardly in display. But whenever he let himself be free, it was easy to see why Emily fell for him. 

You didn’t, but you could acknowledge why your asshole of a boss could be charming.

You dedicated ten years to Miguel. He taught you the ins and outs of business along with his illegal activities. If he was ever indicted, you knew you would be a target as well. Miguel always tried to keep you out of the cartel side of things, but that proved to be difficult. 

Straight out of college, twenty-two years young with your English major in hand, you applied for Miguel’s assistant position. What was supposed to be an in between job before doing a Master’s program turned into ten years of unfulfillment. You learned much from Miguel. He forced you to learn how to become a business woman, to think like him. You were the brain that wasn’t attached to him. 

But you had to walk away.

You were thirty-two years old, with nothing to your name. You wanted to be something. You couldn’t be his assistant forever. As much as he was a pain, you enjoyed working with Miguel, but you could still enjoy his friendship without working with him.

“Do you think I should involve myself in a relationship again? It doesn’t look good for my image if I remain unattached.” Miguel broke you out of your thoughts.

“True, but if you remain single, less people to worry about. Personal relationships in your line of work is hardly ideal.” This constitutes as business talk, but you’ll let it slide. 

“You’re right, and this is why you’re my right hand.” Miguel knew that technically belonged to Marcus or even Nestor, but he never made a decision without your input. He was just used to it. 

“I wanted to speak to you about something.”

“Go for it.” Miguel gave his full attention to her. “Are you finally going to confess your undying love for me?”

You know she liked playful Miguel, but when he was being this obnoxious, she liked hardened, cartel boss Miguel.

“Right, should I stab you now or later?” You rolled your eyes making Miguel laugh. “I’m going to look for a new secretary.”

“Sure, you need help?” Miguel hardly argued with you. He trusted your judgment after all.

“No, I’m resigning.”

===========

“She has to be in love with me.” Miguel paced back and forth in his office, a few hours after your breakfast.

Nestor watched his boss and closest friend, amused by his suggestion.

“Y/N?” It’s not that Nestor couldn’t see you falling for Miguel, but, that wasn’t it. “You’ve said it yourself that she’s far too bright to remain your assistant forever.”

“That was just insanity talk, of course I expect her to stay by my side.” Miguel stopped in front of Nestor. “She quit right after she picked me up from Alejandra’s. She hated picking me up from there and she never got along with Emily.”

“All circumstantial. You know she cherishes her sleep, most likely the reason she was annoyed. Second, Emily was always a bitch to her.” Emily never liked you since she thought you undermined her with Miguel, which was far from the truth. Nestor witnessed a majority of your fights and it was hardly pretty. “All circumstantial.”

“No, she’s jealous. I know it. No matter, I can get rid of Alejandra.”

Nestor shook his head. He knew this day would come, you spoke to him about it quite often recently. But he didn’t think it would be too soon. He also knew Miguel wouldn’t handle it well. It was hard for him to trust anyone and the fact the person he trusted most was going to leave? 

Miguel was at the first stage, denial. 

===========

You drove up the driveway of Miguel’s home the next morning, Nestor greeting you by your car.

“You had to drop that bombshell and take the day off?” Nestor shook his head. He loved Miguel, he did, but yesterday was full of theories and bullshit he didn’t want to partake in.

“Well if you’re didn’t take the night off then I could have told him later that morning.” You retorted, glaring at your friend.

“You’re punishing me for taking a personal day?”

“I’m not punishing you, I didn’t think he was going to go overboard with the theories.” Nestor texted you every fucking thing that Miguel had said. It went from you having a secret family, secret boyfriend to being in love with him, which was what he settled with.

“To be fair, I said it was all circumstantial.”

“And it is.” You handed your purse to Nestor. “I’m posting the job later and see if we get any candidates that are,”

You paused. “We’ll see if we can find people that are trustworthy.” It wasn’t about skills. It wasn’t about degrees. It was about being trustworthy.

“How can you even determine that?”

“I have good intuition.”

“Right, forgot, you're psychic.” He teased her. 

“Fuck you,” you playfully pushed him.

Nestor opened the door for you and you walked in finding Marcus and Miguel sitting around in the living room.

“There she is,” Miguel greeted you, giving you a hug and kissing your cheek. “How are you?”

“Good,” you gave him an odd look. “You ready, we have a packed day today.”

All three men were looking at you and you gave them a questioning look.

“Am I missing something?” 

“I got you something.” Miguel smiled, taking your hand in his. He led you through the house to the garage and before entering he requested for you to close your eyes. “If you got me a car, I swear to god.”

“Wait, why, did you not want a new car?” Miguel frowned. Materialistic items usually appeased women, it definitely kept Emily’s temper at bay when it was directed at him. But he should know how you were by now. Materialistic items rarely impressed you. He found it odd that the little things he did for you was what left the most impression. He got you a rose gold bracelet for your birthday and while you were thankful, he could tell it didn’t impress you much. He brought you lunch from your favorite restaurant, and it was like he gave you the world. 

Why the fuck did he get you a damn car? 

“I’m not Emily, Miguel, you can’t just wave a shiny thing in front of me and I’ll change my mind.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Did you get me a car?”

“No,” he closed the door. 

Nestor refrained from laughing while Marcus just chuckled.

“You already bought it, might as well let me see.” You nodded your head towards the door.

Miguel indulged you and opened the door. Your mouth dropped. “You got me a Range Rover?” It was your dream car, one that you were saving up for, and now you had it. But you weren’t staying. “As much as I want the car, it’s not going to work. I’ll be posting the job later on today.” You saw that Nestor closed the door as soon as you said that. 

“This is ridiculous, why do you want to quit? Am I not compensating you enough?” Miguel was frustrated. He didn’t want you to leave. How could you leave? He compensated you well. Always made sure you were well taken care of and to top it off, you were basically the closest confidant he had. He trusted you with his life, there was no way he could find anyone he trusted as much as you. 

“I told you, it’s for personal reasons.” You didn’t understand why you had to give him a reason. In any other job, personal reasons would suffice. 

But this was different.

You knew change was not something Miguel was a fan of, he was meticulous and hardly deviated from his normal. He had a schedule and strictly followed it. When the plans deviated, it greatly irritated him, but you always found a way to soften the blow so he wasn’t inconvenienced. 

“I think I warrant more than a generic answer.”

“Miguel, I’ve been your assistant for ten years now. It’s just time for me to move on professionally. I couldn’t possibly be your assistant forever.”

“Are you in love with me?”

He blurted it out so quickly that even he was surprised he did. Miguel hardly said anything without thinking of it, but you were an anomaly to him. He spoke before he thought of his words with you.

“No, absolutely not.” You laughed. “No offense, you’re a good looking guy, but I also know you, so no, I’m not interested.”

“Why not?” Miguel was slightly appalled by your rejection of the idea of being in love with him. Was he not worthy? He was a catch if he said so himself. 

“What? What do you mean why not? I’m not interested, simple as that.” You could tell your rejection affected Miguel. Not everyone fell to his feet, especially not you. “Look, now that we got that theory out of the way, want to try another? Why is it so hard to believe I just want a better career?”

“I can provide that for you.” 

“Miguel, what can I possibly do in your organization that would be a promotion? I swear to god, if you say executive assistant.”

“Come on querida, give me more credit than that.” Miguel chuckled. “You can handle the developmental projects around Santo Padre. You could be my development manager.”

“No, absolutely not, I would have to work with Emily. She already thinks we're sleeping together, the last thing I want to do is deal with Emily.” 

“Y/N, come on, I’m sure I can find something in my organization that can fulfill this desire you have.” Miguel was not comfortable with the thought of losing you. He wasn’t willing to accept it.

“Miguel, we have to move on some time, you’ll be fine. I will find the most eligible candidate for this job. I promise.” You gave him a hug. 

You needed to do this. You couldn’t stay in this job forever, you had to move on.

“Hand them over.”

“What?”

You stuck your hand out. “You got me the car, it would be rude to not take it.”

===========

“She’s in love with me, it's the only logical reason.” Miguel was sitting down on the couch by the pool, nursing the whiskey in his hand.

“Did she not say she wasn’t?” Nestor wasn’t sure why they were talking about this again when Miguel already spoke to you. 

“She’s hiding it.”

“Look, I’m going to ask this at the risk of being killed by you, but out of pure curiosity, are you hoping she’s in love with you so you can confess some deep secret you’ve kept from her?” 

“No, absolutely not, I’m not interested in her, but if it keeps her by my side, I can be with her.”

Nestor gave Miguel an incredulous look, chuckling at his friend’s terrible idea. Though, he couldn’t help, but play Devil’s Advocate.

“You know what, you should pursue her.”

“Now you see what I’m seeing. She wouldn’t be able to say no to me. I know her like the back of my palm.” 

Nestor had to refrain from chuckling. This was going to be a fun two weeks. 

[ds-sparrow-manufacturing-co]

ok so fun (read: not fun whatsoever) story time, in year 6 (age 10-11) my teacher, mrs roberts, was emotionally abusive and boy do i feel like ranting about this today so here’s some fun little anecdotes

for several years before i’d been bullied by this one kid, we’ll call him J. going into year 6 i got fed up with J’s bs and whenever he tried to pull anything i’d start calling him ‘Tracy’ until he left me alone. well J goes to mrs roberts and tells her about it and she sits us down and basically says ‘yeah stop doing that’ and gives no punishment for J constantly picking on me for 3 years straight

my school had this programme called ‘talkabout’ which was basically a part time special needs program for the kids that didn’t need to be in the actual special ed stream. the kids in it would be taken out of class one afternoon out of the week and sit in a different room and do activities about emotions and shit, it was basically a really bad attempt at group therapy. how do i know this? because mrs roberts put me in the talkabout program in year 6 and didn’t actually bother telling my parents that i was even in it, let alone why

i was an awkward kid, i had pretty bad social anxiety, a shaved head and a weird sense of humour, so i didn’t have many friends. in fact, i only really had two. most of the rest of my class hated me. you know what mrs roberts response to this was? she created ‘find a friend friday’, where you weren’t allowed to hang out with your normal friends. except, everyone did anyway, with no repercussions. except me, who would get yelled at the second i went within 3 feet of either of my two friends

when that didn’t work because i found a few people who didn’t hate me and were willing to hang out with me every arbitrary friday, mrs roberts flat out banned me from talking to my best friend. we weren’t allowed to work together in class, and she’d keep one of us behind for stupid reasons most break times so we couldn’t talk then.

once she yelled at me in front of my entire year for the terrible crime of... not clapping for the little kids christmas performance. i clapped.

whenever some little tiny task came up, she’d always pick me for it. mostly asking other teachers for laptops/gluesticks/books. fun fact: that’s fucking terrifying when you have anxiety. and she knew that. other times she’d pick me for things like decorating a pencil holder for her desk, something that everyone wanted to do and was then annoyed at me that i got chosen. didn’t exactly help with the friend situation.

towards the end of the year i finally managed to make some new friends, and i moved to sit with them in class. one morning me and my new best friend (who was also,, not great, but that’s a different story) had an argument over something stupid. after break, we had to pick groups for a science project. mrs roberts banned us from working in the same group. all my friends went in a group with them. mrs roberts forced me to pick between working with J and his friends or working with the popular kids who also hated me. i ended up having a panic attack, sitting at my desk curled up in a ball in my hoodie for a solid 15 minutes until mrs roberts comes over to talk to me and in the most fed up way possible asks why i’m upset. when i explain, she’s like ‘well you can just work with [best friend] then! how about that?’ as if she wasn’t the one telling me not 20 minutes ago i couldn’t work with them.

mrs roberts was also in charge of the ‘growing up’ unit, basically the puberty lesson but we also talked about mental health. she stood there and talked about how if anyone was struggling with anything they could talk to her, as if she hadn’t spent the last 8 months quite literally traumatising me

she still works for my primary school, and she has two kids. god i hope those kids are ok with her as a mum

[readerinsertfanfiction]

Dear Penpal,

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Character: Shigaraki Tomura / Tenko Shimura

Prompt: Childhood friends to enemies

A/N: Did I impulsively drown myself in series and works? Yes, yes I did. Did I take a proper break like suggested to me by several? I slept 7/8 hours one time this week? 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Somehow you felt like you were intruding, for some reason you thought you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to see.

Underneath the hood of T.S. you saw the face of a scarred man. Both physically as well as emotionally. The constant scratching of his skin, the agitation of his nails raking over the bruised parts due to nerves, the dry patches of skin that were healing badly. Everything was revealed at once, but what stood out the most were those glowing red eyes piercing you down. 

“Are you a fucking hero?” he hissed, his grip onto your wrist tightening, though he was careful not to let his ring finger down, the implications of it suddenly hitting you like a train as you tried hard not to show your fear. 

“I’m not,” you immediately squeaked, knowing that to be the only truth to save you at the moment. “I’m not, but I do work at U.A.”

This didn’t calm T.S. any more as he pulled you closer, his breath fanning over your as he glared at you. 

“[Name],” your name came out as an urgent whisper, a warning not to continue this game that you were playing any longer. When you didn’t say anything, he finally let you go with a push, his face once more disappearing into the shadows of his hood. 

“You are one of those no-good elite teachers they have there,” he finally concluded. “From the regular program.” The way T.S. said this, came to this deliberation, it almost felt as if you were being relieved from a target. 

To this you let go of another sigh, your head nodding slightly as to confirm the earlier assumption. Within your mind you were already writing your next letter to Tenko, your thoughts whirring in how you were going to reflect on today. 

“T.S. is a bit sensitive about heroes,” Kuro tried to reassure you, though there was very little that could comfort you in your shaken state, your hand rubbing over the spot that T.S. had gripped earlier, a slight burning sensation still remaining from his callous and broken skin. 

I wish I could say he was handsome, or gorgeous, or that it was the sight of nightmares, even. 

Tapping your pen against your temple you tried to look for the words to describe T.S. Your initial reaction seemed too harsh, a strange guilt welling up from within you each time you tried to describe them. On the other hand you felt that you couldn’t lie to Tenko, or yourself. The sight underneath his hood was one you could hardly forget, disturbing, terrifying, and yet you found yourself with a strange sensation of compassion and sympathy. 

I’m surprised to meet anyone that hates heroes as much as T.S. does. I have heard  of them, but never actually seen them. It makes me wonder what sort of world they grew up in. It saddens me to know that T.S. grew up thinking that he can’t trust heroes. If only he knew you, Tenko. I’m sure that if T.S. had a friend like you he would have loved heroes just as much as you did. 

A memory popped up. A few lines you remembered Tenko to have written you long ago when you were still actively exchanging your letters. Something about his father disapproving, something about his grandmother, you couldn’t quite recall and yet it was so clear in your memory now. Details you had so long since forgotten about until now. Leaning deeper over the letter your pen scratched over the paper, the words flowing out.

I wonder if I let T.S. read your letters, will he be convinced to believe the same as you did? Would you let him read your letters to me? 

The idea came to you suddenly, you did have the letters bundled in a box after all. All of them with the presents you had exchanged along with them. Once you even had a picture, after that you had sent one of yours, of course, but it was there and it was valuable to you. Maybe it could prove to be of any worth to T.S.?

Though, of course, there is the question how I feel about it. You have been my dearest thought and memory for so long. How do I feel about T.S. potentially reading over that?

You knew it was rather silly. You were kids back then, writing about inconsequential things, sharing your childhood dreams, being silly together over topics that you believed mattered. It wasn’t that you were planning for him to read your letters now. No, you were sure that even if you were to find Tenko today you wouldn’t let him read his own letters even. The meaning of writing and exchanging these letters had long since changed in their meaning, you knew that, yet you persisted in calling them letters, adding sentimental value in your childhood letters as well. 

Or I could pretend to be you and write to him? 

The idea was on paper before you realised it yourself, the pen striking quicker than your own realisation as you sat in stunned silence. That was an idea. An idea in which you could find no fault either. 

I could use your letters as inspiration, base myself off onto your dream and write to him. Oh, I could have them secretly delivered to the bar, for I do not know his address, I could watch his expression grow! Who doesn’t love to receive a letter? Maybe he will even write me --or you-- back! How exciting would that be?

If only you had a clue. 

“I’m surprised you come back after such treatment.”

Kuro was not one to dance around the topic, immediately setting out to point out the elephant in the room earning a flush from you. Scraping your throat you tried to shrug it off casually, your elbow plopping on the bar as you examined the bar. 

“T.S., not in?” you questioned, noting that the bar was unusually empty, or at least, emptier than usual. 

To this Kuro didn’t answer, probably holding himself to the bartender’s discretion, or something. However, that didn’t deter you to what you had set out to do. In fact, that actually encouraged you all the more as you quickly rose yourself up, leaning half over the bar to speak to the bartender in a conspiring manner. 

“You seem to know T.S. rather well,” you started, eyes narrowing at the purple cloud. You wondered if there was a human underneath it all, or if it was all just a thick fog. Though, knowing that this wasn’t your goal you quickly let that thought go, your arms crossing as you rolled your feet, trying to find a strategic way to start the conversation. 

“I was wondering, since he reacted so violently on the topic of heroes, if you knew what he has against them?” you decided to go straight for the question.

Freezing for a moment Kuro turned his face to you, yellow eyes boring you down before he slowly set his glass down. 

“[Name].” 

The fact that he said your name was what startled you the most. It was usually Kuro who was so careful in using nicknames with everyone, respecting the privacy and the hidden identities that entered and left his bar, not that there were many. 

“Don’t mention heroes of any kind in front of T.S. if you value your life,” came his stern warning. Kuro’s voice had been so low, almost a whisper, as if afraid that the walls had ears before he resumed the eternal polishing of his glasses. 

“T.S. seems…” pausing for a bit the mist checked the glass against the light, making you wonder how he could hold anything if he wasn’t solid somewhere. Lowering the glass the bartender seemed satisfied with his job well-done as he picked up another glass, “T.S. seems fond of you, I don’t want to see you gone too soon,” the bartender surprised you. 

You hadn’t really noticed any fondness from the man, only hostility, and you were about to point out such as well before realising that Kuro might have been right after all. You were still here, still allowed at the bar, and the bartender seemed to know the man better than you did. 

“Does he?” you dumbly responded instead, a scoff escaping you as you rolled your eyes at yourself. “He shows it strangely,” you decided instead before finally picking up the drink that Kuro had poured you.

“I’m sure of it,” the man spoke instead before topping your glass once more. 

Squinting your eyes at the man you allowed him to fill up your glass. “You are one hell of a bartender,” you quip at him with a smile. 

The last glass might have been too much for you. By the time you pushed yourself away from the bar you were swaying dangerously on your legs, your sense of balance just a little tilted off. 

“Need help?” Kuro questioned you, but you waved him off, your arm awkwardly soaring through the arm as you made your way to the exit. You didn’t live far away, luckily, so you didn’t see a problem in getting home despite your slightly inebriated state.

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[ellaenchanting]

Request Fic for @ragezdasta

Prompt:” Normal hypnotherapy uncovers a person's dark hypnokinky past that was previously erased via intense memory play. “

Warning: This is not how any of this actually  works. 

Mistress owns my body. Mistress owns my soul. I am broken for mistress. Mistress owns my body. Mistress owns my soul. I am broken for mistress.

The voice droned on and on.

Clara was beginning to panic. She looked over at her couch and her frenzied client. Marianne's eyes were open, staring vacantly at nothing. Her voice was pitched high and frantic, like she was pleading with someone or engaging in some ecstatic ritual. Her breathing was high and fast. Her body was frozen as though in terror- except for one hand that slowly and absently rubbed at her cunt.  

Clara pulled her limp hand away.

It lingered in the air for a moment before resuming its’ teasing.

It was though she couldn't even feel it, Clara thought.

For the first time in her hypnotherapy career, Clara had no idea what to do.

After last week's disastrous meeting, she wasn't surprised when Marianne had called to schedule an emergency session a few days later. During her first few sessions, Marianne and Clara had decided to try a memory regression to help discover the cause of Marianne's sexual reluctance with her fiance.  But last week, when the regression had actually happened and Clara began to question her, Marianne had stiffened like a frightened animal. A look of shock had come over her face and she began reciting the same statements about being owned and broken, over and over. Her voice was both detached sounding and determined. It reminded Clara of watching possession movies.

Clara had tried to question Marianne further. She had even taken great pains to reassure her that she was safe and that it was OK to remember. But, despite everything, Marianne would only stare, recite, and touch. All Clara could do was talk her through an old trauma amnesia procedure- showing her how to box up this side of herself for the time being. She had been incredibly relieved when Marianne had come back to her regular self by the end of their session. At least, Clara thought,  that would give her another week to think about what to do next.

Clara didn't get her week. Marianne might not have remembered what happened during her regression- Clara had been careful to help her repress THAT information- but apparently Marianne had been suffering from ill effects anyway. She had told Clara that she hadn't been able to work, she hadn't been able to spend time with her fiance, she hadn't even been able to THINK properly since their last session. She found herself awaking from stupors only to realize with dread that hours had passed. Sometimes Marianne "woke up" wearing different clothes or in places that she didn't recognize. The only thing that Marianne could blame was her hypnotherapy appointment. She called and demanded that Clara see and fix her immediately- and threatened to sue her for malpractice if she didn't.

Clara desperately contacted all of her mentors before the session began to get help brainstorming how to help with Marianne's memory block. No one had seen anything like it before. Clara had taken notes on their ideas and tried all of their suggestions anyway . She even tried the "boxing up" trick that had helped last week.

No luck.

Clara looked at the masturbating woman across the room. If anything, Marianne had seemed to retreat deeper and deeper into herself over time, becoming more and more lost.

She began to have a sinking suspicion.

The mantras Marianne recited sang out to Clara. They were familiar, like the lyrics to a forgotten childhood song.  A few times, she even had a vivid flash of herself, lying in a similar position and brokenly reciting the same words of devotion. It was worrying- like feeling a new ache in a tooth that had long since gone dead.

It wasn't Clara who had broken Marianne. But she recognized the work of the one who had.

She decided to call Desiree. Her first mentor.

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

Fortunately, Desiree picked up on the first ring.

"Clara, dear, how are you? How's your practice? I've been sending you referrals, you know!"

Desiree's voice was cheery and kind. Clara reluctantly noted that it still pulled on her attention, giving her little sparks of happiness that felt particularly unwelcome in her current circumstances. She respected Desiree's skill immensely but she knew she could never trust her. Not after what had happened between them.

She wasn't going to get pulled into Desiree's chit chat. "Do you know a Marianne Thomas?" Clara replied, accusingly. 

Desiree seemed puzzled. "I don't recall that name. Did she mention knowing me? Clara, dear, you sound so strange! What's wrong?"

Clara sighed. Took a picture of her masturbating patient. Hit send. Waited.

There was a long pause from the other side of the line. "Oh," Desiree finally replied, hesitantly. "I forgot that she was Marianne now."

Clara let the silence play out. She was too pissed off to speak.

When Desiree continued, her voice was regretful. "Laura- or I guess Marianne now- was my first. Twenty years ago. She was like you were when you were younger- she came to me saying that she had no limits and wanted to be completely broken. Completely brainwashed. There were...I didn't know exactly what I was doing at the time. There was no one to ask, no idea that that could be done safely. We didn't WANT it to be done safely. And we were both consenting adults.”

“I was curious about what I could do to her- what the limits were. I read up on cults, on psychological torture. I had all sorts of plans. I would keep her up all night, feed her very little, make her listen to my voice in her sleep. I knew she was becoming REALLY mine when she would only focus on her brainwashing. She started to punish herself for disobedience without prompting- and she'd reward herself the more mindless and obedient she became. That was really hot. I didn't want it to stop. Even when I felt like I was losing control of it, it was hot. I didn't...I didn't quite believe it was real back then. I thought we were mostly roleplaying, engaging in a collective fantasy. I was only doing what she wanted.”

“But, over time, Laura began to fade and disappear. She quit her job. I was fine with that- I made enough to support her and I liked having a brainwashed housekeeper in the home. She stopped seeing her friends. She even stopped responding to her name. It was like her personality just drained out. Towards the end, when she wasn't actively obeying me, she would just sit there in a stupor. Like she wasn't even a person.”

“At one point I even tried to get Laura back. I would tell her that she WAS Laura right now, that she could act like Laura. And she would..for a few minutes. But she couldn't sustain it. Laura wasn't there anymore-not really. She was only my slave.”

“And- well...that wasn't what I wanted.”

“I felt responsible for her, of course. I stayed....another 6 months after I knew it had to end. But- I couldn't condemn myself to be stuck as her caretaker forever. Not over a genuine mistake.”

“I did my research- even tracked down and  paid a good amount of money for some black market MKULTRA info. I figured out how they built a new personality in their sleeper agents, one that could function in day to day life. One that would feel real and whole to my slave in a way that Laura didn't anymore. One that didn't have to remember what Laura had been through.”

“And so...that's when I made Marianne."

Desiree's usually-confident voice had become more and more shakey as her story went on. She sighed.

Clara felt no sympathy. "So why is your Marianne stuck reciting mantras on my couch?" asked Clara, shortly. "And how do I fix her?"

"I'm guessing you tried a regression?" asked Desiree.

"Yes," said Clara, her voice cold. "She was having sexual compatibility problems. With her fiance."

"Fuck," said Desiree. "Of course she was. I never thought she'd manage to HAVE a fiance. OK, so you must have gotten her under deeply enough that she remembered her old self. It's like her old slave programming is coming through and she's trying to erase Marianne in the same way that she erased Laura."

"We've been here for 3 hours," said Clara impatiently, gripping her phone. "Her fiance will be looking for her soon. This is your responsibility. You need to come here. Fix her."

"That's a bad idea," frowned Desiree. "I think my going there would just...encourage the process. She needs more help than you'll be able to give right now. Let me think. Can I put you on hold for a minute?"

"What?! No you can't-"  Clara exclaimed, just as the phone went mute. 

She paced her office, frustrated and angry.

After some time, Desiree's voice came back on the other line. She sounded calmer now. More in control. Clara felt something inside her shift.

"OK, Clara- listen carefully. This is what we're going to do. You're going to call and arrange for an involuntary commitment for Marianne at the Cedar Crest psych hospital. Tell them that she's hearing voices that are telling her to harm herself. You may even want to suggest to her that she HEARS voices before you go- she's way more open to suggestion right now that she appears. You'll drive her to their admissions department. Dr Marshall will meet you there- he's a close friend and I've told him enough that he can handle the situation. A commitment will give him a few days to do so more thoroughly. Dr. Marshall can contact Marianne's fiance- you needn't bother. You'll return to your office and call me back. Understand?"

Clara wanted to object. This was completely unethical. She shouldn't let Desiree talk her into participating in this.

"I understand, ma'am", she heard her voice saying, as if from a great distance.

Desiree sounded relieved. "Good girl. Now go make your calls."

Clara hung up the phone, feeling clear and steady. She knew what she needed to do next.

[spaceskam]

a change in the rhythm

day 7 of @alterarnm : future setting! small warning for non-graphic violence

ao3

Michael liked movies.

Truly, that was the only time he got to see people that looked like him. They all had hair and skin and talked with their mouths‒wasn’t that so cool? He’d never seen another real person in his whole life. Sometimes he had dreams of what it might be like to be in one of his movies. To have strong soldiers sweep him off his feet or have a pretty ladies to kiss in the rain or a group of friends to help him through the trials and tribulations of life. Or maybe just one friend. It’d be a lie to say he hadn’t wondered what a hug felt like.

But that wasn’t really an option. Mother was strict. The outside space was unsafe, uninhabitable. He couldn’t even think of a reason to argue with her though because why else would he be there in the first place? He had to have been put there by another person like him before, even if he was a baby when it happened. This was where it was safe. In all the time that he’d been in here, before and after he was in his pod, no one had come. That was at least 18 years proof that it wasn’t safe.

“Have you finished your meal?” Mother asked, her system rolling into the kitchen area. He remembered when he was young, he’d gotten very upset when he saw the way houses looked in movies. He wanted a kitchen too. So they made one.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good. Time for school.”

His mornings went like this: he woke up early, had his first meal while watching a movie, and then did school for four hours. He’d picked up things quickly with not much else to do and, for the last little while, he’d been working on studying mechanical engineering. That, for the most part, was easy. He already worked on most of the stuff on his home, even helping Mother tinker with any accidentally rusty parts.

After school, he had his second meal and then it was time for self-defense. He never really knew why he needed to know how to fight, but he never questioned it. He was good at it and he liked the way it made him feel. 

Later, he would wind down with more movies. Technically, they had a limited supply and it was whatever the real people who put him here had given him. There were fifty different ones, all black and white, and Michael had memorized them all. Sometimes he wanted more. A few years prior, he’d wanted to make his own so they did. So, technically, he had fifty-one.

Then he’d have his last meal, a shower, and then he’d go to sleep. That was it, day in and day out. Every once in a while, Mother would let him do something different, but not often. She said the routine was good for him and, well, she knew better than he did.

Sometimes, though, after she’d shut down for the night, Michael would sneak out of his bunk and go see his pod. He had to be careful not to set off any of the signals that she had around his bunk‒he’d learned that the hard way. Over the years, though, he’d gotten quite good at it.

Because pods, on top of being safe spaces, also gave their owner amplified telepathy. In theory, if someone was near, he could let them know where he was. Mother kept it away from him so he would never get his hopes up, but it was hard. He wanted someone else, someone who was like him, someone who wasn’t made of metal. Just one more person. Just one.

His pod was hidden in a room that was on a completely different level of his home, hidden behind a door that required him to know how to dismantle the computer that locked it. He did that easily this night, slipping into the room and going towards the glow of the pod. He rested his hands on it and closed his eyes, doing his best to reach out to anyone who might hear. He knew that no one would, but, deep down, he begged. He reached for them.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy with Mother or ungrateful for all that she’d done. It was simply that he was lonely. She couldn’t be mad at him for being lonely.

Like every other time, though, Michael didn’t feel anyone else and it further confirmed that he was the only one left.

He went to sleep trying not to let that fact hurt as much as it did.

-

Michael woke up to the sound of alarms ringing.

He didn’t know how to react, fear seeping into his bloodstream as he looked around. He didn’t see Mother and he didn’t hear her and that was even more scary. She was always right there when something happened. Always.

Nonetheless, he did as he was taught. He jumped out of his bunk and quickly ran down the hall to find his closet, slipping inside and hiding behind his clothes. In a small box behind them were his dagger which he retrieved and held tight. Perhaps this was a test, Mother was making sure he could protect himself in case something bad happened. Hopefully, this was a test.

Michael waited for what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t nearly that long, listening to the alarm and waiting to hear Mother coming for him. He was prepared to protect himself and then to accept the praise that came with it.

Only, he didn’t hear that. He heard footsteps. Mother didn’t have those.

“The pod is empty but active, so we have the right place,” a man’s voice said, “The Last Antarian has to be around here somewhere.”

“And Manes is handling the AI?”

“Manes? I’m Manes.”

“...the only Manes that can dismantle an AI, our captain, your brother?”

“Just call him the Bloody Baby so I know who the hell you’re talking about.”

“You know he answers to that less than he’ll answer to Captain.”

“He should’ve thought about that before he slaughtered half of the Pax Intelligence at 16 and then got promoted.”

“Just find the Antarian, Manes.”

Michael felt his blood run cold, bracing himself for what was going to happen as he heard things being slammed as they searched. Searched for him. For a moment, he wondered if this was why Mother kept the pod away from him. She was scared he would alert the wrong people.

And here the wrong people were.

He held his breath as they got closer, preparing himself to fight back until he couldn’t. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this. 

All too quickly, the closet door swung open and they moved the clothes away.

"Prince Michael, we're here to rescu-"

Michael lunged. He used his daggers recklessly, swinging and hitting anything he could. There were four men, all bigger than him, so he had to do his best. He got at least one solid slash on three of them before they grabbed him by each limb, bitching as he squirmed in an attempt to be let free.

He wanted someone. This wasn’t what he meant.

“Let go of me!” Michael spat, wriggling as best he could. 

“He speaks English?” one of them said in bewilderment.

“Does it fucking matter? He stabbed me!” another one said. 

“If you stop fighting, we will let go of you!” the one who wasn’t hurt said. Michael didn’t stop.

“We have to sedate him!” the oldest announced.

Before Michael could register much, he was being stabbed in the chest with a long needle and almost immediately passed out.

-

“Get out.”

“You can’t just lock us out of the miss‒”

“I can and I already have. You seem to be forgetting that I’m your captain. Get out, Flint. When he wakes up, the last thing he needs to see is your ugly ass.”

A door closed, officially reminding Michael what had happened. He startled awake, immediately jumping to defend himself only to see he was on a large bed with his ankle chained to it. A whole new kind of dread filled him as he looked around to see who else was there. It was just one other person: a baby faced man with long, dark braided hair, skin too tan to be from someone who was inside all the time, and warm eyes. His hands were at his side calmly, showing that he had no weapon. His outfit… Well, it was all black, but the garments themselves made no sense to Michael. It covered him well enough on the bottom, but a good portion of his arms and chest could easily be seen. He was beautiful. 

“Forgive me for having you chained, but you did stab three of my men and I figured you would wake up just as feisty,” he said, giving a smile that matched some of the movies he’d seen. Like it was meant to be kind. It made Michael feel exposed. “You can call me Alex. Hopefully we can be friends.”

“Where is Mother?” Michael demanded. Alex, Captain, the Bloody Baby, looked confused as he walked closer. The closer he got, the more Michael felt scared. He was in control of bad guys, so he had to be a bad guy. Why couldn’t Michael meet someone that looked like him who wasn’t a bad guy? 

“Mother?” he repeated, “The old AI, you mean? It’s programmed to be maternal? Well, that would explain why it put up a fight.” 

“Mother,” Michael reinforced, “Where is she?”

“That’s what you want to know? Of all the things, you want to know about the robot that held you captive for your entire life?” Alex asked. Michael glared the best he could and Alex held up his hands in submission. “She’s dismantled, but, if you really care, I can work on her later so she can help you acclimate.”

“Acclimate?” Michael repeated.

Alex came closer, sitting on the bed as well. Micheal moved as far away from him as he could. He didn’t come any closer.

“I don’t know how much you know, so I’ll just fill you in on the crucial details. Hundreds of years ago, a civil war was wiping out the Antarian people. That’s what you are. There was a legend that the infant Antarian prince was put on a ship for his safety and launched into the depths of space, but there were no facts. This was simply legend, you see, passed down from the few Antarian refugees who survived. This prince was said to be the most powerful being in the galaxy, but no one was sure he was real. Until two weeks ago, when I saw your little telepathic ping on my radar.

“I kept it to myself, I thought it was a fluke or maybe a different species, but then last week that little ping showed up again and I knew it wasn’t a mistake. So I alerted my home planet that I’d found something. Regardless of who you were, it was a rescue mission. No living being is meant to be alone like that, but I wanted to keep it to my crew until I knew for sure who you were. And, after the blood test, I know for sure,” Alex filled in, giving him that same warm smile, “Welcome to civilization, Prince Michael.”

Michael couldn’t make sense of what he was being told. That didn’t sound right. That sounded like a lie. He wasn’t powerful, he wasn’t a prince, he wasn’t special. 

“That’s not me,” Michael insisted, “I’m just Michael. I don’t have any powers. I want Mother.”

Alex nodded. “And I’ll get her for you soon, I just have to fix her up a bit, alright? And you do have powers, you just don’t know it yet. We found strong traces of Sulfaparinmycin in your system. It seems Mother has been suppressing your powers since you left your pod.”

That didn’t make sense either. Why would she do that and still teach him to fight? If he had powers, wouldn’t she want him to be able to protect himself to the best of his ability?

“Hey, listen, I know you’re scared, but I’m here to answer any question you have, alright?” Alex promised, “We’re friends here.” 

“That man who grabbed me first, he said you were called the Bloody Baby. You’re a bad man,” Michael told him. Alex flinched just a little, removing himself from the bed.

“Right,” he sighed, “That’s true, somewhat. I was a bad man. I was told from a young age that people who were even slightly a threat needed to be killed and I got good at that, but I learned that that isn’t the way to live. I stopped as soon as I heard someone call me that name, even though it led to me getting my status as Captain. But, I promise, I’m not that way, you’re safe.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“That’s alright, I haven’t given you a reason to,” Alex agreed. Still, Michael eyed him. “But I plan to earn that trust. I spoke to my home planet and alerted your retrieval, but I’m not sending you there. Instead, you’ll stay here where I can bring Mother back to help you, and I’m having an Antarian descendant come to help you learn to work your powers. Once you adjust, you can decide what you want to do. This isn’t forever.” 

Alex pulled a key from his clothing, making sure he saw it before he came closer to unlock the cuff around his ankle. The warm hand on his leg sent chills up his spine. When he’d fought those men, it hadn’t given him a moment to really think about the fact that it was another person, but now he could. He was warm.

Michael realized that, while this wasn’t ideal, if Alex was telling the truth, then he might get what he wanted. Companionship. Kisses. A hug. He could meet someone and understand what it was like to be with someone. Just like in the movies, he just had to be nice to him.

“You’re warm,” he said out loud after Alex freed him.

“I’m sorry?” Alex asked, laughing softly. Michael folded his legs beneath himself and tried to relax as best he could as he reached towards Alex with both hands. He looked confused but stepped a bit closer. “I don’t know what you’re asking for, Prince Michael.”

Michael leaned forward and grabbed his arm, pulling it into his space. He was scarred all over, but he was real. He was real. Michael let out a helpless little laugh, extending his fingers and touching each one. Then he did like what he saw in the movies, putting his hand up Alex’s so they were flat against each other and it became so clear that he was similar.

“Wow,” Michael breathed.

“You got over your fear quickly,” Alex noted. Michael shook his head.

“The movies say you have to be nice,” he explained. He realized he wasn’t very nice when he stabbed those men, but they weren’t very nice by coming in unannounced. It felt a bit even now.

“Movies, huh?” Alex asked, “You had movies?”

“That’s all I had,” Michael explained.

“I see,” Alex said, shifting his hand just a little to lace his fingers with his. Michael’s eyes widened involuntarily and he gasped, marveling at how they fit together. Alex laughed. That was even more beautiful. Perhaps he was closer to the men he'd seen in his dreams, the strong soldiers who rescued him. Maybe this was a rescue after all.

"This is beautiful," Michael told him, making sure he really understood how amazing it was that their hands fit like that. Alex kept smiling, warm and fond.

"I think I'm going to really enjoy having you around if you see everything that way," Alex said. Michael nodded. He couldn't deny it, he probably would. This amazing thing was so easy, he couldn't even imagine all the bigger amazing things that could happen.

"I think you will."

“How about we go see what kind of movies we have? Maybe I have something you haven’t seen, a little bit newer, to help you get caught up to the rest of the galaxy.” 

“Really?” Michael asked, feeling more than a little eager to see something new. Alex nodded and tugged on his hand a bit, gesturing for him to get off the bed. When he did, he noticed that one of the legs Alex was standing on was metal. "You're metal like Mother?"

"No," Alex said with a soft laugh, "This comes off. It's to help me walk."

"Can I see it come off? I like things made of metal."

"Not right now," Alex told him, "Maybe later."

Michael complied, more sure now than ever that Alex truly was that soldier in his dreams.

“Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

Alex kept a hold of his hand as he led him out of the room, showing him around the ship. Everything was so much different, so new, so foreign. He was mesmerized. And, sure enough, Alex did answer any question he had. It was so strange, but he couldn’t even hide his excitement. 

Even when the went back to the room after he was tired from all the new stuff, they put on a new movie. It was all so… good.

Maybe he really would be okay.

[purplesurveys]

1085

survey by -egocentricity-

On Myspace, what was in the last bulletin you posted? I haven’t been on Myspace for well over a decade; and even when I was there I didn’t have any friends added nor did I remember ever posting anything. Friendster and Multiply were a lot more popular.

When and where was the last time you took a picture of yourself? I took a selfie last Saturday in the dining room. It’s of me holding up the vape pen that Andi lent me for the meantime to show Angela, since she wanted to see what it looked like.

Have you ever been scolded by a mall cop? I remember being lightly chided once when I was like, 7 – I was leaning on a glass wall of a store in the mall, so the guard from that store nicely told me to get back up to be safe. Overall, I don’t think I’ve ever exhibited behavior in public that should’ve gotten me into trouble.

How often do you catch yourself daydreaming? Definitely not so much these days. I need to keep being preoccupied with work or other things to do/accomplish since my daydreaming always seems to end with thinking of scenarios that now upset me, like, idk, happier times with my ex. I’m tired of letting that happen and always being upset in the end, so I try to avoid getting lost in my thoughts anymore.

What's your favorite thing to think about as you're falling asleep? Idk about you but thinking in general keeps my mind up and racing lol, so when I’m trying to sleep I do my best to black out my mind so that I can doze off.

Is there anything that you want to do, but won't because you're too afraid? So I went to college with this girl - I believe she’s several batches older - who, as soon as she graduated, set out on a hitchhiking journey across the world. She’s been doing it for four years, and I believe she has finally made it to Europe after being stuck in Kazakhstan for a year due to Covid. She’s amazing and her spirit is so fucking beautiful. She has a Facebook page that I actively follow detailing her experiences; but as great as her journey has been, I don’t know and I highly doubt that I can set out for such a demanding, commitment-heavy challenge myself.

Who was the last person to yell at you? My mom is the only person who does that, but she hasn’t done so in a while.

Who gets up the earliest in your household? The latest? My dad, since his work starts the earliest. I will sometimes hear the car engine purring by 5:45 AM. The latest would be my sister, since she stays up the latest as well. I think she’s up by 8 AM, but she doesn’t show up outside of her bedroom until 10 or 11.

Have you ever had a pet walk across your keyboard while you were typing? No, and I am glad that’s the case because both of my dogs are too big and I fear that they could actually snap my laptop in half.

What political issues do you think deserve less attention/worry? No political issue deserves any less attention than others. Political issues always mean that someone is on the losing end and I don’t think it’s fair to compare and decide which ones can be put on the backseat. 

Anyway, I do believe it’s not so much the issues that should be compared, but the people in politics who are given the spotlight. Here in the Philippines especially, a lot of celebrities want to have their own political careers (and usually win a seat) despite their zero experience and the media gobbles that shit up all the time, which is disgusting. Related to this, I hope the media makes a consicous effort to wipe Trump out of the headlines once he’s out of office.

Which political issues are you most passionate about? I dunno if I can measure that since I’m pretty vocal about a lot of things. What I can tell you is that in the political issues I have a say in, I always side with the marginalized and the oppressed. IPs, POC, LGBTQ+, immigrants, factory workers, jeepney drivers, contractualized employees, activists, student-activists...my heart has always been with them and their cause.

You're going to your favorite foreign country; what landmarks do you go see? I’m not sure if I have a favorite country, but I’m very picky about landmarks in general anyway. I’d rather experience the local life and eat at smaller local places and go to lesser-known beaches and stuff.

What is the longest amount of time that you have spent away from your home? A little longer than a week, and this was usually when I traveled abroad.

Did the last movie you watched have any emotional effect on you? Yeah, so much so that I was unable to finish it and I had to show up at dinner while still fresh from crying.

What motivates you to go to school? Not applicable to me anymore, but I suppose this can be easily rephrased to mean work. Honestly, my main motivation is the desire to have a perfect record at work lol. I’m super neurotic about this and I hate the idea of being absent or late. Money comes second; I rarely buy stuff for myself so I mostly don’t even realize the money coming in to my account every two weeks. Then third is the desire to be good at my job because I do want to get promoted and rack up more positions as I go along.

How much caffeine have you consumed in one day? The most cups of coffee I’ve had in one day is 3, and that was not an enjoyable experience ha. Right now, I’m on my first cup of coffee.

Are you more hyper and up-tight, or laid back and relaxed? I guess it depends on the situation. I can definitely exhibit either, but my behavior will vary based on the people I’m with and/or how comfortable I am in a certain situation.

When was the last time you heard someone talking about you? Around a week ago. My parents were having dinner separately and I heard my name being mentioned in a few sentences.

How did you pick out your last outfit? I wanted an outfit that was chill and easy to carry around, but would still make me look like I put some effort into picking it out.

When buying shoes, what do you look for in the product? I admittedly like brand names, so that’s the first thing I look at. I also like to keep up with what’s trending, so I look at items in a brand’s catalog that I see more and more people wearing. If it matches with my own personal style, then I keep an eye on it/purchase it altogether.

What happened to cause the last mess you made? The last and current mess I have on me is my work desk, which I’ve since abandoned in favor of my bed + portable desk as my new workspace. Idk, over the Christmas break I just ended up stacking up so much shit on the desk until it became a little too cluttered. I’ve cleaned it up here and there to make the space look neater, but there’s still a lot of stuff.

Are you embarrassed to bring people into your bedroom? Not embarrassed; I just find it unnecessary. My bedroom is too small to host guests and the only times I’ve let someone in there is when I had a significant other. I prefer people to stay in the living room.

When was the last children's birthday party you attended? It was my third cousin Isabella’s 7th birthday party at a Jollibee. Her family has been living in Australia for a while, but I guess they wanted to host a party with their Filipino family so they flew back here to stay for a few days. Because she is my third cousin and because she’s been living in Australia all her life, I don’t actually have any sort of relationship with her lmao but I still made an effort to greet her and stuff.

Are you good at reading other people's body language? Yes, to the point that it contributes to my overall anxiety.

If you're sick, do you go to school or do you stay home [usually]? I rarely get a fever so when I do it feels like actual death. For that reason, I usually have to skip the day and focus on feeling better.

Does chicken noodle soup really make you feel any better? I never had it whenever I’ve felt like crap in the past. I don’t really like soup though, so on a personal level I doubt it would have any effect on me.

What is one meal that you like to eat whilst sick? I don’t have a go-to meal because again, I rarely get sick.

Think of the last survey you filled out; did you enjoy it? Sure, it was easy to digest and it’s the kind that you can take over and over again.

Have you ever fed bread to ducks or geese? I’ve fed bread, but to fish in the sea; not ducks or geese since idk if we have either here other than in zoos. In our trip to Mactan in 2010, I remember how we were allowed to pay a certain small amount to get bread from the resort and proceed to feed the fish swimming around in the beach.

Is it hard to imagine you were ever as small as a 1-2 year old? Yeah, I definitely feel that way sometimes.

What set the tone for your mood today? Eh, I wouldn’t say I had an overall mood today, honestly. It was a normal day at work, maybe a little more uneventful than other days; and I was on top of my tasks so there wasn’t anything to dread or worry about. I was just concentrated on getting the day over with and wasn’t strongly attached to any emotion.

Have you ever set out to ruin someone else's day? I don’t think so.

Have you ever felt like the whole world was against you? It happens sometimes.

The name of the last video game you played? Mario Kart 8 probably? It’s been a while but it’s all I play if I do play a video game, so it’s a safe guess.

The name of the last board game that you played? We whipped out my old box of Trivial Pursuit last November when we didn’t have electricity and internet because of the typhoon.

What was the last thing that you told yourself? I don’t remember the last time I talked to myself, but like two minutes ago I was starting to feel sad so I silently reminded myself to think of positive things.

How many times a day do you wash your face? At least once, in the morning before I start work. I’ve learned that cleaning myself up, even if it’s just splashing water on my face, super helps if I want to start working in a good mood.

Do you remember your D.A.R.E. officer's name? I didn’t have one of those, anddd I’m sure we didn’t have that program here.

Someone throws hot coffee on you; how do you react? It’s taken me a whole goddamn week to finish this survey, lels. Anywho... I think out of instinct I would scream out in extreme agony first? And I’d probably spend the first immediate seconds to try and process what just happened. I don’t know if I would fight back because I’m pretty sure the burns would be hurting too badly for me to focus on revenge.

Is there a high school or college that you would rather be attending? I attended one school from kindergarten to college, and I can’t imagine having attended anywhere else. I had one dream university and I ended up attending it.

Have you ever lived in an apartment or duplex home? Yes, both. My parents lived in an apartment for a few months when I was a newborn. From ages 2-10 I lived in my childhood home, which is actually a duplex. The other house belongs to my grandpa’s late sister and her family.

Has anyone ever commented on your weight? Sure, but I care so little about my weight that they don’t really have an effect on me. The most common one I get is to “eat more.”

Where do you stand when it comes to sexual intercourse? Erm not really lmao. Just do it?? Idk. And just make sure consent is mutual and that you aren’t doing it out of pressure.

Name a show from the 90's that you miss? I guess ‘miss’ is the wrong word since I never watched it while it was ongoing, but I do love Friends. I’m excited to see what they have planned for the reunion episode.

Who provokes your sarcastic side the most? Bad co-workers, but luckily I haven’t had to pull that side of me in a while.

Have you ever thought about joining the military? Never.

When you were little, did you ever stare at disabled or "different" people? Being a kid, I probably did but never thought anything of it during those times. My mom certainly would’ve whooped my ass if I tried to comment anything mean or be a smartass.

Could the contents of your bedroom get you in any trouble? The one thing that would piss my mom off are my vape pens. I still have Gab-related stuff in my room that I’m too lazy to throw out, but I doubt I will get into trouble from those anymore because there has been no relationship to speak of in the last four months.

Do weather patterns sometimes have an effect on your health? Not on my health, but on my mood.

If it snows a lot where you live, do you experience cabin fever? It doesn’t, so idk what this would feel like.

When was the last time someone disapproved of something you were doing? Not entirely sure; this hasn’t happened in a while. Admittedly, as a people pleaser, I thrive on doing what people would want me to do lol.

How good are you at getting along with other people? On a scale of 1 to 10, probably a 9? I’m super nice to everyone and in the end it only really boils down to whether I have chemistry with them or not. If I fail to feel comfortable around someone I’m more likely to stay formal, but I do try to be lively and crack jokes with everyone as much as I can.

Do you consider yourself to be approachable? I want to be and I always try to come off as such, but my resting bitchface hurts that chance sometimes haha.

Do you know anyone that's a little emotionally unstable? Uhm, no one comes to mind.

Have you ever felt like you were going out of your mind? Yes.

Has anyone ever suggested that you might need "help"? I don’t recall being told this by anyone before. But with the way I broadcast my anxiety and sadness from time to time, I’m sure people have thought of it.

Do you take offense to things easily? Yeah you can say that. I’ve always been more sensitive than most.

How do you respond to cheesy pick-up lines? As with any pick-up line, I inwardly roll my eyes and move on.

Do you like to give people a taste of their own medicine? It’s such a waste of time and energy for the most part, so no. But if I feel petty, I have no problem doing it.

How was the service at the last restaurant you visited? It was...fine. Nothing to write home about. It was unlimited Korean barbecue and they actually had a system in place where they gave us a link to some internal website they kept, and we could simply order from there to minimize contact with the servers. I will say that I never got the kimchi jjigae I had ordered, but it was fine because I was full by then lmao.

Are you ever jealous of happy couples? No. I mean, I guess I’m reminded of my loneliness when I see couples in public, but I don’t get jealous or angry. I just shake it off and try to focus on myself.

Describe a thought that is sticking with you today? That I can’t wait for Friday.

Lately, who has spent the most time on your mind? I’ve been thinking more of my anxieties than certain people, tbh.

In a car: air conditioning, or roll the windows down? Air conditioning. Though sometimes it’s nice to have the windows down, especially when I’m driving within my village or up a mountain.

When was the last time you did anything to your playlist? I made an angst-themed playlist over the weekend.

Is there a new song or band you've discovered? Massive Attack. Hayley Williams did a super great cover of their song Teardrop, so I checked out the original version which I also ended up enjoying. Olivia Rodrigo too, who I found out is part Filipino yay!

Which teacher gives you the most homework? My Journalism Ethics professor will probably rank the highest on this list.

What type of personality do you find most annoying? Idk, condescending ones maybe? There are a million kinds of personalities lol, but yeah I hate those who make you feel dumb, and feel good about doing so.

How did you hear about Bzoink? If my memory serves me correctly, my 10 year old self just wanted empty about me surveys to answer. Bzoink was always one of the first websites to come out if I searched for surveys on Google.

How long did it take you to sign up for an account - if you have one? I don’t think I ever made an account on there since I was too shy to share my answers.

Are you punctual? Yes, very.

Have you ever howled at the full moon? No.

Have you ever seen yourself on camera? Like if I’ve seen photos of myself??? I would be very surprised if anyone can say they haven’t.

Do you give any consideration to what's said in your horoscope? No.

When was the last time you felt like you were being followed? This has never happened before, thankfully.

[spicykoreantatertots]

roadtrip - part one

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: angst, fluff, and eventually smut; high school au, friends to lovers au

warnings: mention of drugs, car accident, hospital

word count: 3k

part one - part two

A knock on the practice room door steals your attention from the sheet music in front of you. Who could it be at this hour? You think to yourself, checking the clock. It reads 8:45pm. You open the door to see the custodian.

“Oh, hi Bea. What’s up?” You were used to seeing Bea around during the evenings when you stayed in the band hall to practice. Working on various etudes and solos had consumed your evenings since you got into the French Horn studio at the Manhattan School of Music, one of the most prestigious music programs in New York. 

“Is this your phone?” She hands your phone to you. “I found it on a table. It’s been ringing for the past few minutes.” 

“Oh thank you.” You close the door and return to the chair in the practice room to scroll through your notifications. Oh it’s the group chat. Haven’t heard from those guys in a while. The smile that quickly spreads across your face disappears just as fast.

>>bangtan squad<< 37 unread messages

Jimin: yes i can pick u up tae. 20 mins

Tae: Can someone give me a ride????

Tae: Oh shit.

Mina: Does anyone know anything yet?? Jin??

Hoseok: on my way from tennis practice!

Jimin: i can be there in like half an hour

Ami: I'll be there as soon as possible.

Tae: what the fuck.

Okay what is going on? Why do these messages have to show up in backwards order? You finally unlock your phone and scroll back to the first message. First one in a few weeks, actually.

Jin: Yoongi was in a car crash. He's in surgery now. Meet at St. Mary's ER waiting room asap.

You don't even bother to read the rest of the messages before shoving your phone in your pocket, packing your things, and rushing out of the band hall. You feel the sting of tears in your eyes as you reach your car. You take a deep breath and wipe your eyes before speeding out of the dimly lit parking lot.

~~~~~~~

As you run into the waiting room you wipe a few more tears from your cheeks. You immediately survey the room to find your friends. You quickly spot Jin, sitting alone. His legs bouncing up and down. The worry is written across his face. You rush over to him.

"Jin, have you heard anything?" He stands to embrace you, holding on just a little bit tighter than usual.

"No, I haven't. They won't tell me anything because I'm not family. Isn't that fucking ridiculous?" Jin sits back down. You join him, settling in for what you know will be a long night.

"Where are the Mins?" You look around the waiting room, not seeing any other familiar faces.

"They had to book a private jet back from Chicago, I'm assuming they'll be here as soon as they can. They had to call me because they were out of town for some album release party." Jin has a frustrated look on his face, you reach over and place your hand on top of his.

You have known Jin since the two of you were children. Your parents were part of the same country club. That's actually how you met Namjoon, Mina, and Yoongi too. The original five members of the Bangtan Squad. Those carefree days seem so long ago now.

Jin's phone rings and brings you back to reality.

"Hello. No they won't tell me anything. Okay, see you later." Jin put his phone back in his pocket. "That was Namjoon. He just got the messages. He can't find someone to cover his shift, so he's staying at work until 11:00."

"As if his shift at the library is so important." You can't help but roll your eyes.

"Oh... he's not at the library anymore. He found a better paying job at a cafe. Apparently he's the only barista available right now." Jin tried to stifle his laughter.

"Namjoon? Working food service? I never thought I would see the day." You smile to yourself. He never seemed the type that would get a job in the service industry.

"Well it pays a lot more than the library and since his parents cut him off -"

"His parents cut him off?!" Your jaw almost hits the floor. Namjoon's parents are commercial real estate agents and they are very well off. You can't believe they would actually do that. Namjoon and you are so close. Why didn't he tell me? "What the fuck did he do?"

"Apparently the maid found his stash and well you know how the Kims are about drugs. I'm surprised they didn't disown him completely."

"But I thought Hoseok was keeping his stash for him?" You questioned.

"Well he's been busy with Tennis so they stopped doing that about three weeks ago. God, where have you been?" Jin joked, but the truth was that you have missed out on a lot of things lately. Concert band kept you busy during the spring. Performances, competitions, and not to mention the audition for music school. You had worked tirelessly on your solo and it paid off.

"I guess I've missed a lot." The regret was evident on your face. "I miss spending time with you guys. We need to bring back Thursday night hangouts." Jin nods in agreement.

"As soon as theater rehearsals are over. Tae, Jimin, and me are booked through the end of the month." Suddenly you remember why the hang outs were cancelled. Everyone is so busy with their own activities. You try not to let the thought bring you down further.

"Remember that time when we all met at the bowling alley and Taehyung paid the guy to let him bowl while wearing his Jordans and then -" Jin says, seeing the regret flash across your face.

"And then Yoongi accidentally dropped his bowling ball on Tae's foot." You start laughing at the memory. Before long, you and Jin had gone through dozens of funny moments shared between you and the Bangtan Squad.

"What could you two possibly be laughing about?" You look up to see a very upset Mina. She looks like she had been crying on her way over here too.

"We were just... reminiscing." The smiles fade as Mina sits across from you and Jin. Without any new updates, the three of you sit making small talk as the rest of your friends start showing up.

~~~~~~~

Jimin and Taehyung arrives shortly after Mina. They were arguing about Jimin's driving.

"Well next time you can get an Uber!" People around the waiting room were glaring at Jimin who was being very loud.

"Shut up and sit down." Jin was not having any of Jimin's whining tonight. "And your driving really is terrible." Jimin frowns and sits down next to Mina. Taehyung takes the seat next to you.

You lean your head onto Taehyung's shoulder and he gently pats your head. You and Taehyung are the most affectionate in the group. Although you could often be seen holding hands or sitting in each other's laps, your friendship never turned into anything more. He never admitted it out loud, but you're pretty sure Taehyung has a crush on either Mina or Jungkook, it’s hard to tell which. And of course you've always had a thing for Yoongi...

Hoseok arrives, his signature smile missing from his face. Thankfully he took the time to shower after his tennis practice. The next to join the group is Jungkook. He sits on the ground and pulls a deck of cards out of his backpack. "Anyone want to play a round of Go Fish?"

After an awkward pause, Hoseok finally gives Jungkook a big smile. "I'll play."

"Me too." You chime in with an eye roll and take a seat on the floor next to Jungkook. Jimin takes a seat on the floor too and the game of Go Fish quickly turns into a few rounds of poker. The somber mood of the group shifts to something a little more bearable.

"Hey where is Ami? I thought she would be here by now." Mina sends a text, probably to find out where Ami is. "She's the last one. Well besides Namjoon." You look at your phone. No notifications, but the time read 10:30pm.

"She probably found a really interesting science book and she couldn't put it down." Jimin smirked.

"No pizza for you Park Jimin." Ami laughed behind the three large pizza boxes she was carrying in. Ami... she always thinks of everything. "Why don't you grab some sodas." She motions for Jimin to go to the vending machine in the corner.

You and your friends sit huddled around Jin's phone watching old vines and eating pizza. For a moment, it's just a Thursday night hangout. Tonight it's bittersweet, but you really missed this feeling of being surrounded by your friends.

~~~~~~~

"Did you save me any pizza? I'm starving." Namjoon walks in still wearing the green shirt and khaki pants that you assume are his new work uniform. When you see your best friend, you stand to hug him.

The smell of coffee beans is strong. He wraps his arms around you, has it really been so long since you've seen Namjoon? Has it really been that long since you talked to the person you considered to be your best friend?

"Can we talk?" Namjoon's face falls a bit when he sees the look on yours. He grabs a slice of pizza and the two of you step outside the ER waiting room so you can get some fresh air.

You breathe in the smell of incoming rain clouds before breaking the silence. "So you're a barista now?" You look over at Namjoon, who is already finishing off the pizza.

"Yeah I guess... Did Jin... Did he tell you the whole story?" You nod in response to his question.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your brows furrow. "I could have -"

"You could have what? As soon as my parents saw that bag of weed it was over for me." He interrupted you, but he was right. You wouldn't have been able to help him. "But you're right. I should have told you, I'm sorry."

After another beat of silence you ask the question that's been on your mind all night. "How did this happen, Joonie?" Suddenly you feel your eyes filling with tears again, but not for Yoongi this time. At least not only for Yoongi. "Are we growing apart?"

You feel Namjoon's arms wrap around you again. You hide by burying your face in his mocha scented shirt.

"This is what happens. We're all busy with different things and soon we'll be going to college and I mean... this is what happens when you grow up." These words sting coming from your friend. You struggle to find your breath, feeling an anxiety attack coming on.

"So we grow up. Grow apart. Then maybe see each other once a year until we take turns speaking each other's funerals?" Your voice catches on the last word.

"Don't say that!" Namjoon responds harshly. In your gut, you both know Yoongi will be okay, but the uncertainty still hung in the air. You feel Namjoon's hands quickly grab yours and place them on top of your head. "Just breathe for a second. In and out." Namjoon slows his breathing so you can follow suit. He has always been good at helping you get through anxiety attacks. After a few moments your breathing returns to normal and you dry your tears. Your red eyes meet Namjoon's and he pulls you in for another hug.

"Y/N," He slowly pulls away from the hug. "You've been really distant lately. I know you've been working on music and stuff, but I thought it was your way of accepting that things were changing. I mean we're all heading in different directions in the fall, but that doesn't mean things will have to change that much, right? Not if we don't want them to." The hopefulness in his voice makes you feel a little better.

"I guess I was trying not to think about it too much." Things will be different when we graduate. You think quietly to yourself for a moment. Things are already different. You look through large windows into the waiting room and see your friends sitting together.

"Hey. Let's try to enjoy it while we can and we can cross the bridges as they come." You look back at your friend, smiling down at you, dimples showing. You nod in response and the two of you return to the waiting room and join the rest of your friends.

~~~~~~~

Eventually the nine of you begin to fall asleep in the waiting room. The Mins had still not arrived so there was no news about Yoongi. Jimin snores quietly while leaning on Mina's shoulder. Mina's head is tilted back against the wall, her mouth hanging open. Ami's head rests against her hand. Taehyung is laid out on the floor, Jungkook and Hoseok using him as a pillow. Jin rests his head on Namjoon's shoulder. You sit in front of Namjoon on the floor, resting your head in his lap. The nine of you tangled up together unable to stay awake any longer.

This is how the Mins found you all, sleeping in the waiting room. Around 3:00am, they finally made it in. Mr. Min pauses when he sees the group of his son's friends. He hasn't seen you all together like this in months. He quickly snaps a picture before coming to wake you.

"Hey, guys." You jolt awake when you hear the familiar voice of Mr. Min. "Yoongi is gonna be okay. He's in a recovery room, if you'd like to move in there. He probably won't be awake for several hours, but I know he'd love to see you when he wakes up."

The nine of you cram into an elevator with the Mins. Pizza breath and body odor fill the enclosed space. You all try to quietly follow the Mins down the silent hallway to the hospital room. You take a deep breath before you enter the room that the Mins stop at. When you see him, your heart drops.

Yoongi laid in the hospital bed. His already thin frame looks so weak. His pale complexion was spotted with cuts and bruises. A couple of bags were hanging, attached to the IV in his arm. You feel a wave of sadness as tears rise up again, until you hear the heart monitor. The proof that his heart is beating gives you the ability to swallow back the tears.

The Mins take the seats next to Yoongi. You wanted desperately to grab his hand and wait for the smile to return to his face. But you take a spot on the small couch in the back of the room. Sitting next to Taehyung, you watch as your friends settle back in for part two of this impromptu slumber party.

~~~~~~~

You wake up to the sound of the Mins arguing in the hallway. Mr. Min decided he needed to go to his office, but Mrs. Min wanted to go home to shower, but she insisted one of them stay with Yoongi. You took this as your chance to sit next to him. You pull the chair so close to the bed that your knees are touching it. You grab Yoongi's hand with both of yours and lean in to get a closer look at him.

His cheeks seemed sunken in and there was a deep cut on his left cheek that would surely turn into a permanent scar. The soft features you had once been so familiar with seemed foreign. It had been over a month since you even talked to Yoongi. The guilt was rising in your throat and a few tears escape down your cheeks.

"I won't let us grow apart anymore, Yoongi. I promise." You notice the clock reads 5:00am before you lay your head on the thin mattress and fall back asleep.

Only a few hours later, the sun begins to pour into the hospital room. You open your eyes and see most of your friends are still sound asleep. Jungkook was leaning against the door frame eating a protein bar. He smiles over at you when he sees you lift your head.

"Do you want one?" Jungkook whispers to you, moving closer to Yoongi's hospital bed. You shake your head in response.

"Uhm, did the Mins leave?" You ask, looking around the room once more. Jungkook shrugs, still trying to be quiet. You give him a small nod before turning your attention back to Yoongi. He hadn't changed in the few hours you slept.

"Good morning, I'm here to check on Mr. Min's vitals." The nurse walks in with a clipboard. She goes to the side of and looks at the bag connected to the IV. Taking some notes, she walks over to the side of the bed that you're on. You realize you're in her way and unlink your fingers from Yoongi's.

You take this opportunity to stretch your legs. You pace around the room while the nurse finishes taking her notes.

"When will he be waking up?" You question her as she moves to leave the room.

"Could be any minute now. His vitals look good."

You make your way back over to the side of the bed. You lace your fingers back in with Yoongi's. The noise from the nurse and movement of your hand must have woken him, because a few moments later you feel his hand tighten around yours. You quickly look up to his face just in time to see him try to open his eyes.

"Yoongi. Hey." You couldn't help the smile that spreads across your face. He blinks a few times and looks over at you. He seems confused. He looks around the room and closes his eyes again. He swallows hard.

"Y/N? What's going on?" His raspy voice is soft.

"Kook call the nurse." You look over at Jungkook. He quickly leaves. "Yoongi, uhm, how do you feel?"

He opened his eyes again, surveying the room before his eyes landed back on you. He tries to give you a weak smile before closing his eyes again. "I'm in a lot of pain, but... I'm alive." He squeezes your hand, bringing another smile to your face. "What is everyone doing here? And uhm, do my parents know I'm here?"

"Your parents stepped out to shower and change clothes. They were here all night." That's mostly the truth. You think to yourself. "Yoongi, as soon as we heard about the accident we all came rushing here. We love you." You give his hand a little squeeze back.

The nurse came back in and explained a few things to Yoongi. You had to let go of him again so she could run a few more tests. The tests cause everyone to wake up. They are happy to see Yoongi awake. The hospital room was quickly filling with the happy chatter and smiling faces your friends.

Friends that you weren't willing to give up just yet.

Author's Note: Hey thanks for reading! This is my very first fan fic, so I hope you enjoy reading it. I would really appreciate any feed back you have for me. I've written two other parts and I've got the general plot planned out. I'm hoping to do weekly updates!

I’m new to the community here, so let’s be friends! I’m an avid bts fan fic reader and I would love to see what you’re working on too!

[dbhtychou]

You and Me at the End of the World

Connor x Reader

Sequel to Friends With Benefits

Summary: Inspired by the polar vortex that happened last winter. I have a friend who lives in Chicago while that happened and was telling me all about it. Connor and reader are stuck indoors while it's far too cold to go outside, even for an android. (I started writing this in the winter and then forgot about it.)

Hank didn't know how Connor called him. He knew the android didn't have a phone, or a phone number for that matter. But still, his phone buzzed and when the screen showed no number, he knew it was Connor.

“No, do not try to come back home, I mean it,” Hank said to Connor on the phone. “It's supposed to get to fifty below by tomorrow morning. No one should be outside. They're going to set the fucking train tracks on fire for God's sake. Not even you are going to survive that cold. If she's letting you say, then stay until this shitty weather is done. You hear me?”

“I understand, Hank. Take care of yourself and Sumo.”

“Okay, good luck.”

***************

“Hank wishes us luck,” Connor reported as he cut the connection. He did not add the inferring tone Hank had in his voice when he said it.

“We're going to need it,” (Name) said. “It's anyone's guess when the water pipes will be fixed. I don't even know if they can be fixed before the polar vortex lifts. Thank you so much for picking up a few gallons of water from the store.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

He smiled at the contact. That cute, crooked, boyish smile that he had. “My pleasure. I am happy to assist you in anything you need.”

“Can you assist in fixing those water pipes?” she teased.

“That, I'm afraid, is out of my realm of expertise.”

“Still amazing anyway,” she praised with a wink and turned her attention back to the food cooking on the stove.

Connor sat himself politely at the table as he watched her cook. He wished, not for the first time, that eating was an activity in which androids could participate. Many human social practices revolved around meals. The dating aspect was no different with common traditions of taking a romantic interest to dinner or out for a drink. Connor could offer these options, but could not participate. As such, it could be awkward to both parties. Sometimes it was even awkward with Hank. The few times his partner would actually prepare himself a real meal, he would complain of Connor watching him while he ate. But Connor was not sure of what else to do with himself.

The same was here as well. He watched (Name) at the stove with trepidation. The weather had him trapped at her apartment, he couldn't just leave. And he truly didn't want to. He had been pursuing her company since that fall rainy day when he left her speechless at the bus stop. Maybe even before then.

She had rejected his very blunt 'friends with benefits' plan. She wasn't that kind of girl, she said. She would only be intimate with someone she loved.  Later, she did return with a compromise: if Connor wished to learn more about the physical aspects of getting to know a person, she was willing to do the small things. They had held hands. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder a few times when they watched movies. Since the fall, there had been very little else.

Connor hadn't minded. His goals had changed. He was no longer as interested in learning the intricacies of physical human intimacy. Yet. The former deviant hunter in him wanted the more difficult prize. He wanted her love; he wanted to her fall for him. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to achieve this. Talking to Hank wasn't any help either.

“Look, Connor, it either happens when it happens or it doesn't. That's just the way it is,” was the best explanation Hank could offer.

Connor found this reply unsatisfactory and was determined to learn the full equation of human romance himself. So far, he was very much lacking in data. They had spent time together these past few months. (Name) was always happy to see him, to spend time with him.  They enjoyed each other's company, they became closer friends. But there was little else. The spark of this human emotion of love seemed elusive still and Connor did not know how to gain it.

So he continued to see her, to study her. And to frown at her back slightly while he watched her stand at the stove, preparing himself for a meal made awkward since he could could only watch her eat. Something humans were not comfortable with.

(Name) finished cooking and fixed her plate. Then she turned and motioned her head toward the living area. “Thanks for waiting. We can go now.”

Go? Connor followed her and she plopped herself on the couch, folding her legs under her with the plate propped up on her thighs.

“So, what's up with that RK900 model?” (Name) suddenly asked him while she ate. “Why would Cyberlife even think of releasing that after all that's happened?”

Connor raised a brow at her, surprised at the sudden topic. The RK900, practically dropped on the DPD's doorstep with little explanation, was the subject of plenty of office gossip. To the other humans. No one talked about it around him. No one had asked him other than Hank's initial “What the fuck is that?” when he first saw the new android.

“I'm a prototype,” Connor responded in his 'just the facts ma'am' voice she sometimes accused him of. “The RK900 was supposed to be the resulting model developed for commercial release. Or, I suppose, military release would be more accurate.”

“And yet there seems to be only one of him, and he's at the precinct,” she responded.

“I cannot say why the RK900 was released. I have long since left Cyberlife. I do not affiliate with them anymore.”

“Good, you shouldn't. You're much better off here where people care about you.” Connor smiled a little to himself at her admission of caring. She didn't notice as she chewed thoughtfully. “Have you ever like... talked to him?”

Connor blinked at her. “No,” he realized.

“Why? Is it because he looks like you? Is that weird? It would be weird to me.”

He thought about it. Practically every android in the city, save maybe Markus, had at least a handful of other androids that looked to be their carbon copies. It didn't seem to bother them. This one sudden RK unit that appeared a few weeks ago was the first android Connor had ever met that looked exactly like him. But looks were all they had in common. Their inner build was different. Not even their basic programming was the same. Connor wasn't sure if same-model androids felt any kinship to each other, but Connor certainly felt none of that toward the RK900. It was a stranger to him. An Other with his face. And Connor suddenly realized that not only had he never conversed with the RK900, he had never wanted to.

“You okay?” (Name) then asked. “You look a little concerned. Your LED is yellow.”

Connor blinked, trying to put his thoughts and feelings in order. “I honestly don't know how I feel about the RK900. I... I think I have been actively avoiding the subject and him on purpose.”

“It's okay if he makes you uncomfortable, Connor. You're allowed to feel that way. Though there may be some point where you will have to converse with him at work.”

“You're right. I'm going to think on this.”

“Do you mind if... I talked to him?”

Connor's LED roiled back to yellow. His brows went down and (Name) knew her answer before he said anything.

“Don't worry, I promise I will always like you better,” she assured with affection.

Connor wasn't sure why, but that statement soothed whatever emotional turmoil plagued him.

“Be right back.” (Name) stood from the couch and took the empty plate with her. Connor had completely forgotten she was even eating in front of him. It had been as comfortable as ever. He was always comfortable around her, he realized. Even the first time he met her. Their personalities just fit, like two pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to lock together.

His gaze followed her as she walked back into the kitchen. Then, the lights suddenly went out and they were dropped into pitch blackness. A power outage, Connor thought calmly. He wasn't surprised with the weather outside. It was bound to happen.

“Connor?”

He stood, called by not just his name, but the anxious tone in her voice. He had never heard her sound so lost and vulnerable before. It awakened a protective streak in him and he strode with purpose to the kitchen.

“I'm here.” His night vision made it easy to see her reaching out blindly in the darkness. He took her outstretched hand and felt certain satisfaction when she immediately came into his space.

“There you are. I can see your LED.” With her free hand, she touched the blue circle at his temple and swirled her finger around it. She didn't touch his face often. Connor found himself bending down closer, wishing she would touch him more.

“Too bad you're not wearing your jacket,” she added. “It would make you easier to find. I've always liked how it glowed.”

“I'll wear it for you in the dark another time,” came the cheeky response.

She laughed. “I'm really glad you're here. I think I would have freaked out if I was alone when this happened.”

“Don't worry, I'll always keep you safe.” His low tone sent a tingle up her spine and she fought to shake it off.

“I can't see a thing. Do you think you could find my phone for me?”

In the pitch, she felt Connor's fingers ghost down her arm before he said, “Stay there. I'll be right back.”

In the dark, she already wanted him back when his presence left her. It was almost annoying. She had been on her own so long, why was she suddenly allowing herself to turn into this scared little girl around him when she knew she could have handled this on her own? But what she said was true. She was glad he was there. It wasn't just a simple power outage. She was in the pitch, trapped by a chill beyond the walls that could kill a person. There was something eerie about that.

“I found it,” Connor said as his footfalls entered the kitchen.

She saw the floating LED before his hand found hers and he placed the device against her palm. “Perfect! Thanks!” With her usual gusto now returned, she used her phone screen as a flashlight to clean up from dinner, but then remembered that the apartment's water pipes were still busted. “I guess that will have to do for now.” She frowned at the dishes in the sink. She hated leaving dishes undone.  Tapping her fingers on the counter top, she looked to Connor. “No water. No power to watch movies. I don't even own a single board game. I guess tonight's a bust.”

“I'm sure we can figure out something,” Connor said with amusement. “Neither of us are going anywhere.”

“True,” she agreed as she walked past him and Connor was happy she didn't seem disappointed he was stuck in the apartment with her. “I think I have some candles and a flashlight somewhere.”

When (Name) stepped into the living area, she noticed a strip of what seemed like light streaming in from her nearly closed curtains. She walked to the sliding glass door of her fifth floor balcony and pushed open the drapes. There were no lights on outside, but the city was still bright. The moon was out, reflecting off the white snow that covered everything.

“Look at that,” (Name) breathed as Connor joined her at the window. “Not a soul out there, all the buildings completely dark. Absolutely deadly outside. It looks like the end of the world.”

“Eerie and somehow beautiful at the same time,” Connor said.

(Name) sat herself right there on the floor, eyes glued to the scene outside. “It really makes me feel grateful I have some place that's warm and safe.” She looked to Connor. “And a good friend who's here with me.”

Connor's frown in response was puzzling to her.

“What?” she asked with slight amusement. “You always make that frowny face when you're confused.”

He turned from her, his LED rolling from blue to yellow and back again. “When you said I'm your friend, I felt... disappointment. I don't know why. I like being your friend.”

“But...?” she pressed.

He did that thing where his brows went up and down while he thought. It always made her want to laugh when he did that. But she was trying to stay quiet while he processed. Certain aspects of Connor's deviancy required some time to parse out and (Name) let him have the time he needed.

“I... I really want more than your friendship. I've said this before. But I also... don't want to not have your friendship. I don't know if both can exist at the same time. I am not very good at the nuances of human relationships.”

(Name) took a moment to think on this, taking her gaze from him back to the dead, frozen city before them. “Relationships can be complicated and confusing, even to us. And there are many, many types of relationships with millions of variances for each person. It really depends on what that person wants and if the other person in the relationship can offer that or not, and visa versa.”

“What do you want in a relationship, (Name)?”

She shyly kept her gaze from him. “I've always wanted someone who was my friend as well as the person I loved. I don't just want to love them, I want to like them, too. I want to enjoy just being in their company whether it's out doing things together or just sitting at home. I want a best friend, a partner, not just a lover.”

Connor furrowed his brows again. “But having a significant other who is a best friend and also a lover is not friends with benefits?”

“No, it's not. The benefits part is using each other for physical gratification. There is no romantic love between you. No emotional closeness, no fidelity. Sometimes, you're not even really friends. It's just empty... fucking.”

Connor took some time to process that.

“What do you want in a relationship, Connor?” (Name) asked. In a slightly quieter voice she added, “What exactly do you want from this relationship?”

“It is still the same as before,” Connor replied with simple pragmatism. “I want you to fall in love with me.”

Now, it was (Name) who looked confused and a little hesitant. It had been several months and Connor's answer had never wavered. He had been upfront with her about his intentions from the start. Why did it confuse her now?

When he asked her about it, she gave a sad half-smile. “We've spent all this time together. I feel like we've grown closer, but nothing's changed. You haven't changed.”

“Of course not. My goals concerning you are still the same.”

Her expression looked almost hurt, thought she strangely still smiled. “Connor, you say you want me to love you but... you're not in love with me.”

Connor pulled back, sitting up straight and blinking rapidly at the unexpected accusation. His mouth moved to protest, trying to find the words. “But... I really like you.”

“I really like you, too, Connor. But it's not the same as being in love.”

Connor couldn't help but look distressed. He felt like he was falling into a deep hole with no purchase. How did everything crumble so fast? “Are you saying you'll never fall in love with me?”

“I was very open to it. I was beginning to. I thought we could fall in love together. But... I haven't really felt like that was what was happening. I know you've been wanting me to love you, and I've wanted to love you, but I don't feel anything back. I just feel you wanting, I don't feel you giving anything.”

Connor's LED went to yellow in his confusion.

“I'm sorry, I know I'm not explaining myself well. I'm honestly not that great at love myself.” She shivered and stood. “It's getting cold. I'm gonna grab a blanket.” She stood and padded toward the couch to grab a comforter while Connor quietly ruminated, keeping his back to her. She paused to look at his silhouette, feeling bad. She didn't want to have this conversation, but it had been sitting in the back of her mind for a while.

She knew something was missing between them, but she didn't know how to put it into words. The last thing she wanted to do was put the blame on Connor, but maybe it was possible he didn't have the capacity to love her like she was looking for. Maybe they were only compatible as friends and nothing more.

With the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, dragging on the ground, she walked back toward the balcony door. Nearly there, she stepped on the dragging blanket and tripped forward. Limbs tangled in the blanket, she saw the horror that was coming. Oh, God! She was going to smash through the glass door face first.

Then, Connor was there. His body was in her way, back pressed against the glass as he caught her. Her fall was nothing more than a dull thud as her body was cushioned by his. (Name) froze against him, wide-eyed and hardly believing she was still whole.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked.

“Y-yeah,” she breathed out, her heart still racing. She huffed out a relieved laugh. “Nice catch.”

“As I said, I'll always keep you safe.”

(Name) closed her eyes, not moving from his embrace. In her heart she wanted this, wanted to rest against him with his arms around her. Being with him all these months had only increased that want. But her fear was that his embrace would be empty, robotic. That it would be as comforting as being hugged by a chunk of plastic. Maybe her fear had gotten in the way, too. Maybe she was the one not letting it happen because this embrace did not feel empty. She felt it deep down in a place no other man had ever touched.

“I know... I'm an android,” Connor said. He didn't release her and she felt the rumble of his voice reverberate in his chest. “Maybe I'm not able to love like a human can. But I care about you. I always want you to be safe and happy. I want to be the one who makes you happy, and the one who keeps you safe. It's that the start of love?

“Maybe I'm not so good at it now, but I'll learn. I'll get better at it for you. I--”

Her mouth pressed to his before either really knew what was happening. It was little more than lips against lips, unmoving until she pulled away. They looked at each other, still hanging in the limbo of trying to gauge their own emotional reactions. Maybe she shouldn't have done that. She wanted to but Connor hadn't reacted at all. Maybe he didn't like it.

“I'm sorry, Connor, I shouldn't have--”

He cupped her face, sweeping her up to kiss her hungrily. Until that moment, she didn't know androids could feel hunger. She felt his as he kissed her deeply, again and again. Like he couldn't get enough. His body rose up and she clung to him; firm and strong, but not just a machine. The life and the passion in him was real as he settled both of them to the floor, Connor on top, his mouth still taking charge of her very breath. Her world was spinning, her head light like a cloud, delirious, warm, relieved.

When she was fighting his mouth for breath, he pulled away to let her get some air and hovered above her on his elbows.

“Connor,” she breathed.

He hummed back in reply, a bit drunk from the euphoria himself. “I like how you said my name just then.”

She pulled him down, brushing their noses together. “I like saying your name,” she whispered.

He kissed her again and she readily kissed him back, pulling him closer. Connor settled more weight on top of her. Now it wasn't just their lips learning each other, their bodies shifted in the want for closeness and friction.

(Name) moved against him a certain way and then made a surprised noise against his mouth, causing Connor to pause.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked when she tensed. “Did I hurt you?” He would have moved away, but her arms were still around him, if somewhat looser than before.

“Oh, no! You didn't hurt me at all!” she insisted. “I was just surprised. I didn't realize... I'm sorry, this is weird, but I'm just going to say it. I didn't know you were a model that was anatomically correct.”

Connor's brows raised up curiously. “You did not think I was equipped with male genitalia? But you considered being with me anyway?”

She shrugged weakly beneath him. “I like you as you are. If you and I got to that point, I figured we'd make it work somehow.”

“Sexual satisfaction is important to humans,” he said bluntly.

She smiled. “You're important to me.”

Connor felt it, a thud in his chest that stirred him. Was this what falling in love was? Was this what he had been missing before?”

“Do you want to see it?”

Startled, her jaw dropped and she let out an offended noise. “Connor!”

“I didn't mean in a crude or sexual manner. This is an honest offer. You are always so interested in anything involving androids. I thought it might be something you were curious about.”

Despite the chill, (Name's) face was red hot. He wasn't wrong. Though she would never be caught dead in a place like the Eden Club, she had always been curious about the aspects of having an android lover. Very curious, if she was fully honest with herself.

“That's... okay,” she said, trying to not look as embarrassed as she felt. God, she wanted to avoid his gaze but he still lay on top of her, staring right at her. She had to admit she liked having him on top of her. “Some things people are allowed to keep private.”

“I honestly don't mind. The offer is always open.”

She barked out a laugh, her face still flushed and she was glad for the darkness to help hide it. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Silence grew between them, neither of them moving. Him and her laying together in the dark, the world looking like it was ending right outside. Connor did not try to kiss her again, but he had settled into running the bridge of his nose along her jaw. This evolved into the two of them nuzzling each others faces like a pair of cats.  The skin-on-skin contact felt good, intimate. (Name) liked his touch, feeling his skin against hers. It wasn't what she thought it would be. It felt natural, soothing and comfortable.

He opened his eyes when she brushed some stray strands from his forehead. “It's getting colder. With the power out, I'm going to have to dig out every blanket I have before going to bed.”

Connor gave her a cute smile, his temple illuminated by the contented azure of his LED. “May I offer my services for tonight? I can generate a comfortable amount of body heat if you would like to put me under all those blankets with yourself.”

She grinned and kissed his nose. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

[magsgoestocollege]

Plans for 2020-2021 School Year

Long post ahead (something to help me process and decide my future)

If you’re new to this blog, hi, I’m Mags and I’m supposed to be a sophomore in college this year. Except my college experience got corona’d, obviously, so now we’re here.

A couple days ago, my school announced that first years and sophomores would be allowed back in the fall, and juniors and seniors would be allowed back in the spring if all goes well. The problem is I have no fucking clue what I want to do. I go to a small liberal arts college where the experience is heavily rooted in the people there. Our classes and houses are small, and we value the community above most things. With only half the campus back, and with the first years who have never been here before and us the sophomores who only got like 2/3s of a year on campus. We have no clue what we’re doing.

My class can’t be responsible for educating and helping an entire batch of new kids adjust to college life when we aren’t fully adjusted ourselves. Campus and house and club traditions are so important to our cschool culture and my class has no clue how to do them. That being said I am always Mom Friend(TM) and will absolutely take any and all first years under my wing if I go back to campus because I was super lonely last year and I don’t want anyone to feel that way again. (Check out #the dark side of college tag if you wan’t to read about that.) But the thing is... I don’t know if I want to go back to school this year.

Do I really want to go spend a year and thousands of dollars on a college experience I don’t really want? Do I want to be in a place that’s now structured like a prison for three-ish months only to be send home at the end to keep doing online classes? Do I want to be at a school where I cant see my friends? Do I want to be at a school without my upperclassmen friends who I care about and were so influential to my experience?

With only first-years on campus (and some sophomore friends), I’d end up essentially having to start my social life from scratch again. I don’t know if I can handle that. Even if COVID is a major bonding item for the whole campus. It comes down to would I rather take time off and hope things get better and we get a vaccine, or do I want to go and be on campus for a few months and be part of a historical event that metaphorically unites the school while literally dividing us.

Here are my options:

1) Go to school in the fall, be online for a month after Thanksgiving, and do my whole spring semester online (or maybe possibly in person if things get much better.)

2) Go to school in the fall semester and take the spring semester off.

3) Study remotely but not from home.

4) Take a full year off and come back 2021-2022 with hopefully a vaccine and a more normal college experience with the things I love.

4a) Take a year off and still live at home with my parents.

4b) Take a year off and move in with friends somewhere else.

Let’s break these down, shall we? (God I don’t want to.)

Option 1. Go to school in the fall. This means: reregistering for all my classes, being assigned to a new room in possibly a new house (latter is unlikely), and having part in-person part remote classes. Profs have the choice of being partially in person or fully online. It is suspected that most profs will go fully online because it’s easier to teach to the students who are still remote (mostly juniors and seniors). So living on-campus would basically be just that: living. I’d most likely end up taking online classes from my dorm room.

Everyone has a single so no need to worry about roommates, and they’re limiting the number of people on a floor to limit the number of people sharing a bathroom. All communal areas will be sanitized twice a day in the house, and as often as possible everywhere else. Masks and social distancing at all times, no more than two people in a dorm room at once, and COVID testing for everyone as often as twice a week. for meals, you pre-order on an app and pick up a grab n go container at a scheduled time to go eat it elsewhere. We don’t find out what classes will even be offered until after we commit.

I think I’ll be randomly assigned to a room, so that doesn’t really matter and I should stay in my house. Just first-years and sophomores means few house traditions. However, it gives me a chance to feel needed and goddamn if that’s not an addictive feeling. I’m excellent at planning social activities and fostering community. I think I could really help the first years adjust and help everyone adapt to the situation. I like the idea of this being a very uniting experience, living through history doesn’t happen every day. My dad agrees with this and thinks I should go basically just to say that I did. I agree.

But I don’t want to do something just because someone thinks I should. I need to make this choice because it’s what I want. I’m really struggling to separate doing what I want to because I want to and doing it because I think it’s what society wants me to do.

I’d get to see some of my friends, but not all of them. Plus, if people take time off I won’t see them and then when they get back I’l have to leave them. On the flip side, if people take time off and I do too, I’ll see them when we get back like no time passed. (Not really but like you get it.)

If I go, I won’t get to do theatre which is the thing I live for at school. I’d still get to do work with the theatre department, and arguably I’d be able to do a lot more work because the upperclassmen won’t be there so I’ll get to do more hands-on work. But my musical theatre org, the reason I’m still at my school, where all of my closest friends are won’t really exist. We can do cabaret or something but we can’t do a full show. I can’t direct anymore. I haven’t even had time to grieve the loss of my show. Do I take a gap year just to have the chance to do more shows? Logically speaking, the longer I wait to enter the theatre industry the more time it has to recover and the more jobs will be open.

A lot of juniors and seniors are planning on renting somewhere near campus so they might be able to slip into in person classes, but that kinda defeats the purpose because they’re not social distancing. However, this means some of my friends will be nearby during the fall. And one of my junior friends will be on campus in the fall for work. In the spring, the sophomores and first-years will take over leases in the spring.

Option 2. Not a great option. I’d have to be a J-term grad which is fine, but I’d miss out on all the spring traditions and I don’t really like that idea. I wouldn’t have to do online classes though. This is what a lot of people are doing. Some juniors and seniors are taking fall off and going in the spring.

Option 3. If I’m going to have to do online classes part of me wants to do it with other students somewhere I can enjoy myself. Maybe I’ll go live in the woods and do Zoom classes from my cottage. I don’t know. Or I could go live off campus so I can still feel like I’m near my friends but not take classes. Kind of like a bonus year but without the online courses. But this would mean having to learn how to live on my own with only a bare safety net, but I wouldn’t be alone.

Option 4. The only other option I’m very seriously considering. Taking a full gap year. I really don’t want to, but unless I want to be a mid-year grad or have to take at least some online classes, this is the best option. I’ve talked to some friends about maybe renting somewhere either near campus or elsewhere but I don’t know how I’d work out the logistics. I’ve never lived on my own before, and I’m not a great cook but I could learn. We’re only semi-seriously considering fucking off into the middle of nowhere and living my cottagecore dreams with some friends. 

This would mean I would become class of 2024 instead of 2023, but I would get the chance to at least try and have a “normal” college experience on campus. The problem is, I don’t know if things will be better in a year, or two years, or five. So will I just “waste” - for lack of a better term - a year hoping we’ll have a vaccine? 

I don’t know what I’ll do for a year. I can’t really work, I can’t really get an internship, I can’t travel. Do I stay at home? Do I get an apartment off-campus? Somewhere else? 

At the same time, I don’t know if I want to be on a campus without my friends and the clubs and experience that I’ve loved. The other part of me wants to be part of history and worries that we just won’t get better for years and I’ll just be stuck stagnant. Another part of me still wants to be unique and a little selfish and take the gap year so I don’t have to be the guinea pig for this weird online hybrid program. 

My mom always said she wished she took a gap year before starting college. Maybe I should take this chance. But I’d miss the few friends that I get to see unless I was living with them. Even if I still do online classes, I don’t want to take them from home, which my parents probably won’t like. I know they’ll support me, but it would still be cheaper to live with them and I don’t know if that’s something I want.

I just don’t know.

[saundraswriting]

Need Some TLC Chapter 2: Fire

SUMMARY: When a bone tired reader decides to get medicinal help to sleep and misses the fire alarm, she can be grateful to have two super-soldiers next door.

WARNINGS: Medicinal aides to help sleep 

MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS // NEXT

Bucky smiled to himself as he closed your door. No matter when or where, you cheered him up. Made him want to learn about this brave new world he found himself in. You were the one to show him how to use Netflix to watch documentaries or use YouTube to find how-to videos. You showed him that not all was lost, you treated him like a human person and not a ticking time bomb.

He walked down to his door and entered to the sound and smell of bacon cooking.

“Hey, punk. Y/N is home. She looks like she hasn’t been home in a week. FRIDAY said her floor was short but to be this short? That can’t be safe for her or her patients. So, I thought we could make her some lunch, inviter her over for Blue Planet or something? She wasn’t hungry for breakfast. She can’t skip too many meals-she’s losing weight as is.” Bucky shed his shoes at the door.

“Of course, I worry about her too. Come on, breakfast is ready, and we can watch some TV or something.” Steve said handing over a plate full of food.

Bucky accepted with a thanks but couldn’t help but focus on the wall shared between your and his apartment. He could hear you muttering under your breath as you went around and cleaned up a little. You were dead on your feet and still you were active. He heard you start your shower and stopped listening.

“Buck, for the love of all that is holy, please please please please talk to Y/N. All your pining is driving me crazy. Ask her out on a real date. Kiss her spontaneously. Do something. Do anything.” Steve said frustration evident.

“Steve! I can’t do that. Y/N is a nurse. She is full of compassion and warmth and goodness. I am dark and cold and jaded. I live in this apartment to help re-acclimate myself to the world and myself after Shuri fixed my brain. I can’t do anything, yet. I need to be better.” Bucky said.

“Bucky, there is no milestone that says you are healthy. You work at it every day; it isn’t something that just is or isn’t. mental health is a constant fight, but as long as you are here? You are winning. You are healthy.” Steve said. He had put his plate down, in a show of seriousness.

“Okay, punk, no need to get all righteous. I have a therapist for that.” Bucky swatted at his best friend.

“Yeah? So do I. it is my job as your friend and as Captain America to shove my righteousness into everyone’s face, isn’t?” Steve picked up is plate once more. Bucky laughed and turned his attention to the television. It was showing some sort of museum show.

There was a moment of quiet as one program ended, and another began. In that moment, your shower had turned off, catching Bucky’s attention once more. You stepped safely out of the shower and he could hear you search through your medicine cabinet.

“Two melatonin and 2 ibuprofen-pm. That should be enough to take the edge off and get me to sleep. Here’s hoping they don’t call me in tonight.” You voice was accompanied by the sink running.

“Steve, did you hear her?” Bucky asked.

“She must still be wound up. Give her like 6 hours or so, and we will go knock. Do a late lunch/early supper. She will be fine. She needs her sleep. Medicated or not.” Steve rationed.

“Door’s locked and so are the windows. Laundry is running so is the dishwasher. I am clean. I am dressed. Everything is off. I am going to bed.” You pulled your curtains. Bucky listened to you settle into bed before your breaths evened out.

“Good night, Y/N, sleep tight.” Bucky said to the wall. Steve just rolled his eyes. Hard.

Bucky and Steve had watched some TV and did a small work out in their gym Tony Stark had installed for them. Steve had also done some paperwork that wasn’t due for another week at least. And you had been asleep for three hours. Bucky and Steve were getting ready to start another movie when a loud blaring noise cut through the apartment.

“ER. ER. ER. ER. ER.”

Bucky and Steve jumped and covered their ears, the noise harsher for them. The raced out of the door knowing that FRIDAY’s security system would prevent any fire damage. They paused at your door, waiting for you to come out. Then you didn’t. Bucky and Steve waited another minute and you stilled didn’t come out. The super-soldiers looked at each other then your door and back at each other.

“Do it. I can afford a new one. We need to get her out. It may be a real fire.” Steve agreed with Bucky silent thought. Bucky didn’t even wait before taking one step back and slamming his heel into your door near the doorknob. Your now useless door crashed open, Bucky rushed in heading straight for the closed door down the short hallway. He threw it open and hesitated for a half second to take in the image of you in your bed.

Your chest rose and fell evenly. Your H/C was laying on the pillow and your covers were pulled up to you chin, tucked in around your legs. Bucky blinked and remembered why he was even looking at you.

“Y/N! Come on, get up! The fire alarm is going off.” Bucky shook you a few times, but you didn’t even twitch. “Fuck it.” Bucky gathered you securely in all your blankets and hurried out of the apartment.

Steve was at the stairwell holding the door open as Bucky came through. They sprinted down the stairs and a few minutes later reached ground level.  The duo looked around at the other tenants and emergencies crews waiting for the all clear. Bucky stood holding you tightly a little way from the others.  A paramedic from the hospital you worked at scurried over with their medical bag in hand.

‘Sargent Barnes. Captain Rogers. Are you alright? You need anything? Is Y/N okay?” The paramedic seemed unbothered by everything going on.

“No, Ma’am. We are all just fine. We had to get out floor mate out of her room. She is a floor nurse at the nearby hospital. She was sleeping and didn’t hear the alarm ringing.” Steve explained.

The paramedic nodded and glanced at you wrapped in blankets, in the Winter Soldier’s arms. “Y/N. I see her occasionally at the hospital. Glad she has two super-soldiers to look out for her. She needs some affection.” The paramedic waved as they continued to check over the tenants.

After about an hour, the fire marshal came out of the building.

“Everyone is safe to return inside. The was a small kitchen fire on the first floor. There is no structural damage and only slight cosmetic damage to be repaired. I am confident there will be no rekindling considering this was a small grease fire. Thank you for your cooperation. Have a safe day.” The Emergencies Services left the premise, and everyone returned to their residence.

Bucky carried you up the stairs they had hurried down little over an hour ago. He had held you the entire hour they waited for permission to return, not even slightly uncomfortable. He gently placed you on the couch with a blanket and pillow.

“Steve, I think it would be best to do dinner in here. We can feed her and keep an eye on her and she won’t be alone with no door. I am going to get the stuff to make dinner and then be back. Once I get back you can go get a door. Make it a nice one and get an extra key or two.” Bucky said.

He looked up from tucking you in and saw the disapproving look on Steve’s face. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck guilty.

“I know it is a major breach in privacy. I know. But I can’t go through that again. I was really scared. And besides, we need to give her a key to our place and hide a spare as well. So, make two of ours as well. I have a plan.” Bucky said.

“Fine. If you have a plan, then I guess it is okay. I will clean up the door. Go raid our pantry to feed your girl.” Steve smiled at his best friend. Bucky scoffed in exasperation but left to get the stuff needed while Steve cleaned up the door.

‘What would have happened if he wasn’t home? What if the fire had started in your apartment?’ Bucky shook those thoughts away. You were safe and that is all that mattered. He began focusing on what to make for dinner not wanting to harp on the what-if’s.

He quickly gathered everything up and got back to your apartment where Steve was finishing measuring the door frame. “Bucky, everything is fine. Stop worrying. If you want, I can talk to Tony about outfitting her place with FRIDAY or something.”

Bucky looked towards his best friend, his closest friend. He was leaning against the counter as sure and strong as ever. “Buck, nothing happened. You did good today. Don’t go overthinking. I love her because you love her. She is family since she leaves us cookies on your bad days. She makes you happy Buck, I’d do anything for her.” Steve was steady from his eyes to his toes, certain in his declaration. Bucky trusted his words but trusted his body language even more (Captain America had loud tells, who knew?). The heart he was able to taste since the fire alarm went off began to settle and his shoulders lost their tension.

“Do anything for who, Captain Rogers? Are you cooking in my apartment, Sargent Barnes? Wait. This is my apartment, right?” You rose to a sitting position, blinking in disbelief at the scene in front of you.

Masterlist // Previous // Next

*******************************************************************************************

Hey! What do you think? I am doing some reformatting and editing. Does it look okay? I have no idea what I am doing. Any tip, tricks?

[queenssunshine]

Making a Living off of Death (1/4)

I literally cannot believe I’ve posted my first fic to AO3! This is my first fic in almost seven years, so I’m really excited to become a contributing member of fandom again. 

Anyway, here’s my first Spider-boy fic, and in the spirit of Whumptober, it is of course whump.

Read On AO3 Here

When people ask him what he does, he generally tells them he’s a freelancer. On occasion they will enquire further, “A freelance what?”, to which he will respond, “Whatever I can.” That’s basically true—while he deals mostly in assassinations, he also does assaults and robberies on occasion. Sometimes he needs to put the fear of God into people. Sometimes he just needs to play God.

The hit on Tony Stark comes to him in a heavily encrypted email that takes his computer two days to work through. Sometimes clients are paranoid like that, making the orders so difficult to access that most people in the business walk away before they even know what they’re for. He supposes this isn’t a bad idea. Plausible deniability and all that. But it’s annoying for him to have to wait around for his program to work out the endless lines of tangled code. This also probably means payment will come in a similar form, which is even more annoying.

Anyway, the hit on Tony Stark gets sent to him and three other colleagues and he’s the first one to decode it (and probably the only one to try) so first come, first kill. The built-in kill code activates and his instructions unwrite themselves from the screen, his laptop defaulting to his desktop photo of the silhouette of a dog on a sunset. Alright, time to strategize.

First, he has to get to New York. Then he has to figure out how to get Stark’s schedule. Then he has to get close to him. Then he has to kill him.

Hacking into Stark’s security team is above his skill set but gaining access to his employee files ends up being pretty easy. Cross-check some names, Google some addresses, hack a local AT&T store, and boom, he has access to the personal phones of who he has decided is two key players in his plan: the head of security and an intern.

He decides these two are key because he sees them too much. Photos from expos, parties, conferences, press events—the two are a constant presence at the side of Tony Stark. The security head quite frankly looks like an oaf, and the intern doesn’t appear to be older than college age, so he decides that they can’t do too much thwarting to his plan. The more he gets to know them through the screen, the more he feels that way.

The emails that the two have sent back and forth are heavily encrypted, and there are heaps of text messages that are as well. He can’t believe it, but his main source of information is coming from the animojis that the two send each other on occasion. The intern favors the alien. The security head favors the brown bear. (The intern also thinks the security head should use the poop one more, but that’s beside the point.)

Through the animojis, GPS tracking, and some old-fashioned stalking-- er, in-person reconnaissance, he discovers that the intern is a student at a magnet school in Forest Hills and that the security head is, for whatever reason, his personal after-school driver. The relationship between the two of them seems pretty relaxed. They clearly have a long history of uneventful school pick-ups, because he just sits in the visitor parking lot and stares at them without detection as the security head pulls up in the black Audi, the intern hops in, and they wait in the long queue to get off the campus. He trails the car, but the location of drop-off changes on the daily—sometimes a restaurant, sometimes a bodega, twice it was just an alleyway. Once they went to Stark Tower, or at least he assumes that’s where they were heading, but by the time they were two blocks away he decided to drop off to avoid getting clocked on any of Stark’s cameras. Even though Stark probably had access to every CCTV in town. Sometimes you just have to play it safe.

After about two weeks of monitoring, he gets his golden ticket. His phone pings a few times in a row, and he opens it to witness an exchange between Alien and Brown Bear:

[Alien] Are we still on for after school? [Brown Bear] Yeah, he had to move some stuff around so we might be late, but we’ll still be there. [Alien] Cool! It’s probably better, I don’t want—[the alien hesitates, rotates his head, lowers voice] Mr. Stark to have to deal with people freaking out about him being here. [Brown Bear] Don’t worry about it, kid. [Brown Bear] I think he’s kind of excited to see your school and your friends. [Alien] Okay, well I’ll see you guys later then. [Alien] OH! Can we please go to Julio’s again? Please? I’m craving breadsticks. [Brown Bear] Boss says okay.

So the decision had to be made: to carry out the assassination on a high school campus, or at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. He sighs as he Googles “Midtown academic calendar forest hills,” and sighs again when he discovers that tonight is the Annual Science Fair. What will Tony Stark do in the presence of one thousand geeks and their parents: double down on security or keep it modest? He rapidly Googles some more, trying to find instances of Tony Stark, billionaire and savior of the universe, attending a high school science fair. Bingo. Seven years ago he had attended the science fair of the Bronx High School of Science, and according to r/TonyStark and r/IronMan, he had only had Brown Bear and his gauntlets at his disposal. No supplementary guards? Not wise, Stark. Still, one instance was not enough to base his operation on.

Further inquiries reveal that Stark, in his years since becoming the savior of the universe, has only grown laxer. His prosthetic arm doubles as a housing unit for the Iron Man suit, sure, but it seems to be de-weaponized most of the time. He’s spotted without security regularly—outings with clients, with the Avengers team, with the kid, all solo. Rarely a body guard appears, but it’s only when he’s with his daughter or wife. Maybe it’s because Stark thinks he’s too big to fuck with. Maybe Stark is, and maybe this is a big mess in the making. Oh well. He decides the assassination is going to go down at the school, but he needs one more thing to make it go off well. So he calls a colleague, has them transfer the encrypted message, decodes it again (but faster, thank you machine learning), backward engineers it, and makes a phone call. And a request.

Two hours later, a cloaking suit arrives at a P.O. box, to which he has the key.

Sometimes his clients gift him cool things to execute a mission, but a cloaking suit is hands-down the coolest thing he’s gotten. He didn’t know what he expected when he takes it out of the courier box, but it looks almost civilian—a thick grey windbreaker with lines of reflective material running down the sleeves, and a pair of pants to match. It’s basically a tracksuit. He’s relieved. New Yorkers have likely seen weirder things than a man dressed in full tactical attire on the subway, but it’s still nice to have a low profile.

He messes around with the settings and soon enough he’s standing before the hotel bathroom mirror almost completely invisible, only a slight warp betraying where he is. Nothing anyone would see unless they were looking for it. Without the hood on, he looks like Harry Potter on his first Christmas at Hogwarts. He is—he dare say—giddy.

He deactivates the cloaking, grabs his guitar case (read: sniper rifle) and wallet and leaves the hotel.

Before getting to the school, he has a slice of pizza, a coke, and a bag of gummy bears. This is not good fuel for the potential get-away sprint, but he can’t help himself. He’s so happy, he can just feel the brewing of a good mission on its way.

He arrives at the school after classes have let out and before the end of the science fair, meaning that the parking lot is a ghost town. His cloaking suit already activated, he climbs up on his predetermined hiding spot (a portable building next to the bus parking lot which would allow him ample cover and a quick escape were things to get hairy), sets up his Barrett M82 (already sheathed in its matching grey cloaking suit), and hunkers down. He lets his mind wander as half an hour passes, thoughts looping around his ex-wife (that bitch), his breakfast tomorrow (maybe that 2.8-star diner down the street), and his dog (who was currently boarding at a doggy daycare next to his house in Kentucky and got a time-out today). Finally, families start spilling out of the front doors of the school, and from his view atop the portable, he can clearly see the faces of all exiting.

Fifteen minutes pass of parental pride and filial embarrassment before Stark, the security head, and the intern come walking out. By the time they exit, most of the fair has cleared out and only a few cars remain in the lot—probably teachers and staff. The intern is clutching a blue ribbon and a small trophy while the security head struggles to maintain hold of some kind of robotic device. Stark has his hands jammed in his pockets, strolling casually, lips quirked in a contented smile as the intern rambles about something. He can barely hear it—something about how the intern knew his project was good but didn’t think it would win an award or anything. For a moment, he pauses, feeling a little remorse. He had always wanted kids. The intern seemed pretty endearing. Oh well. Moment over.

He lines up the sight on Stark. It’s a clean shot, a beautiful shot, a stars-have-aligned-and-I’m-about-to-get-away-with-this shot, and he feels the rush of a perfectly executed assassination flow through his veins. This moment is why he mainly deals in assassinations. This high of having so much power yet not even being seen, it hits different. He drops the safety and just as his finger twitches back to the trigger the most bizarre thing happens.

The intern looks at him.

Of course, the kid can’t look at him, he has the cloaking suit on, but the kid’s suspicious eyes pass over the top of the portable and he feels violated.

Also, he squeezes the trigger thrice.

And then a more bizarre thing happens: the kid drops.

Well, shit.

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 11)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes

Rating: Mature

A/N: Have I ever told you guys how awesome I think you are? Because I really do think that!

We’ve got some more fluff and some conversations and a baseball game. And in the next chapter, we meet the friends...dun dun dun :D

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans, swiveling in her desk chair and burying her face in her hands, hoping that if she doesn’t move away from the desk that maybe Ruby will get up and walk away. When she doesn’t hear any movement, she peeks up, opening an eye to see Ruby still sitting in the chair in the corner with an absolute smirk on her face. “Are you five years old?”

“No, but I just saw your boyfriend slobber all over you in your office like you two are horny teenagers, so I really think I’m the mature one in this situation.”

“First of all,” she begins, sitting back in her chair and tugging at the loose strands falling out of her bun, “it was not slobber. He is not a dog. That would be disgusting. Secondly, why the hell were you in my office? I feel like you’re never down in the therapy center.”

Ruby shrugs before she blows on her nails, the picture of nonchalance as always. “I don’t have a session for thirty minutes, and I wanted to see your sex glow.”

“You get creepier by the minute. Mary Margaret is obviously the better best friend.”

“Hey, rude,” Ruby scoffs, throwing the pillow she’s holding over at her only for Emma to catch it. “We are both equally good best friends. I am the fun one who convinces us to do things like skydiving or barhopping, Mary Margaret is the mom friend who doesn’t let us go home with creepy guys, and you, my little Swan, are our brutally honest companion who, despite your sometimes prickly exterior, is a wonderful mix of both me and Marg. And come on, how can you get better than being like me?”

“How did you manage to turn that from a quasi compliment about me and Marg to it being about you?”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She turns to her computer, logging into her account and waiting for everything to boot up so she can answer the emails that she’s sure have come in since last night. “Why the hell do I have emails from people past midnight? Who is working at midnight and thinks, ‘huh, I want to come visit a children’s center?’”

“People who don’t sleep,” Ruby answers, getting up from the chair and perching herself on the side of her desk, the hem of her dress falling over her knees. “Speaking of that, I want to talk about how you didn’t sleep last night and still have this whole glow about you. You look refreshed, except for this whole hair situation thing you’ve got going on.”

“It dried all on its own and when I brushed it out this morning, it was like a frizzy bush. So the messy bun it is.”

“It looks like sex hair.”

“It is sex hair.”

“Ha,” Ruby laughs, slapping Emma’s shoulder, “I knew it.”

“Well, obviously, Rubes. My boyfriend just came into town after me not seeing him in weeks. What were we going to do? Have him sleep out on the couch after a quaint dinner full of small talk? Maybe a little handholding?”

“I bet you did all of that too.” She rolls her eyes, trying to keep her lips in a straight line. “Maybe.” “You know, I only ask because I’m the entire reason that you’re getting some. The world should thank me.”

“How the hell is that?”

“You met him because of me.”

“I got drunk and lost a stupid bet. You just happened to be…less drunk than me.”

“And then I picked your suitor for the night, who is now your suitor for…awhile? I’m not sure if we’re talking, like, the Nolans type of relationship or the Bachelor type of relationship.”

Her face immediately heats and she squirms in her chair, adjusting herself and suddenly finding a junk email about a sale on cars the most interesting thing in the world. She does not want to answer Ruby’s question, or statement really. She knows her answer, but saying it out loud seems like it’s too much too soon. She feels…a lot for Killian, her feelings teetering so close to love that she could easily be knocked over and fall head first in if she’s given the right push, but she doesn’t want to admit it too soon. She’s not sure where Killian is in that whole regard, but it’s not something she’s actively thinking about. They’re working how they are, and there’s no need for her to think otherwise.

It’s like what Killian told her this morning, just before Ruby apparently saw him “slobbering” on her, he makes her happy. It was cheesy and made her cringe a bit, but then she saw the emotion in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and she realized how sweet it was, how sweet he is. Killian’s had some screwed up things happen to him in the past, things that make her blood curdle that anyone could try to take advantage of a man who’d do anything for anyone, and he still has the ability to be that kind, if not a bit self-loathing when he doesn’t need to be.

Not that she has any right to call someone out for being self-loathing.

She pretty much has that one in the bag.

“So what’s lover boy doing while you’re working?” Ruby asks, obviously sensing that Emma did not want to talk about how long she thinks her relationship is going to last.

It’s forev…nope. She’s not going to even think it. That’d be crazy.

“I’m not sure. I gave him some suggestions on places to go, so he might go explore the city a bit on his own. But honestly with how tired he was, I’m thinking he’s going to go back to my place and crash before doing a bit of work.”

“Sounds like a hell of a vacation.” “I have Netflix and food. What more could he ask for?”

Ruby eventually has to go do actual work, as does Emma, her day passing by at a snail’s pace with little more to do than twiddling her thumbs and cleaning out her desk drawers. Some days are like this, slow and steady, something to do coming in every few hours, while others are nonstop, making her feel like she can never get a moment to breathe. If it were a perfect world, those days would blend together to make a day where she’s never overwhelmed or underwhelmed. To quote Gabrielle Union in 10 Things I Hate About You, she would just be whelmed.

(That movie came on twice in a row the other night, and she was too lazy to get up and find the remote to change the channel.)

But the world isn’t perfect so the rest of day goes by achingly slow with nothing to do, and like it’s some kind of karmic payback for her complaining about her day on Tuesday, Wednesday is a nonstop day that has her so frazzled she forgets to eat lunch and doesn’t realize it’s far past six thirty in the evening, nearly an hour and a half after she should have gone home, until there’s a knock at her office door and Killian’s standing there in a suit with two cups of coffee in his hands.

Oh shit. They were supposed to go out tonight. That’s what they’d decided on when she got home from work yesterday. He’d spent the day catching up on emails and reviewing new scripts even though he apparently promised himself he wouldn’t look at anything new for at least a month. So since he didn’t explore Boston last night, especially with the way they stayed in bed continuing to make up for lost time, they were supposed to tonight.

But she screwed it up.

She groans, throwing her head down against the desk and hiding her face in her arms, hoping that she can somehow go back in time and meet Killian back at her apartment when she was supposed to.

“I am so, so, so, soooo unbelievably sorry. Ah, fuck, I’m really late, aren’t I?”

“Well, you were supposed to be home two hours ago, so yeah, I’d say the fact that you’re still in your office means you’re pretty late.”

He doesn’t look angry or disappointed, the smallest of smiles gracing his face, and she wonders how the man who is on time for literally everything could somehow not be irritated with her.

She’s irritated with herself.

“How pissed are you at me?”

He hums, taking a step away from the door and making his way over to sit on the edge of her desk, his thighs spreading out and gray pants tightening with the movement. That’s not distracting at all. Nope. She doesn’t find the muscles in his thighs in any way attractive. She’s also a liar. “Well, I wouldn’t say pissed is the right word. I’d say more concerned.” “Why?”  

He hands her the coffee then, and she notices the cups are from Iron Bank. He must have gone back there instead of going to Starbucks or something. “Because it’s seven, Swan. And I know you like your job, but I don’t think you like it enough to stay here because you want to. Not when you have a devilishly handsome date waiting for you, especially when he got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Killian’s waggling his eyebrows and smiling down at her, his hair coiffed up in a way that makes her know he put some effort into it, which only makes her feel worse. Obviously Killian doesn’t take as long as she does to get ready for a date, but still. He was at her apartment getting ready and waiting for her all while she was trying to understand why her Excel programming decided to glitch and malfunction and make none of the numbers align.

She feels like an awful human being.

“I’m sorry,” she whines again, saving the program and exiting out, figuring that she’ll fix it in the morning. She’s got to fix this now. “What time is our reservation?”

“At eight.”

“Okay,” she sighs, getting up from her seat and straightening out her pants, “if we break, like, every traffic law or maybe just make a run for it, we can get me home to change and then get there in time. Of course, if we just went to, like, one of my usual places we wouldn’t even need a reservation. So maybe if we don’t make it to Sorellina’s then we can do that. Or we can go and be late and hope they don’t give up our table, or I’ll just wear what I have on. This is fine, right?”

Killian chuckles, not even moving from his perch on her desk while she’s gathering up all her belongings, running through the scenarios again. Before she gets the chance to walk out the door, Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her closer so that she stands in between his splayed knees. Before she can even say anything, he’s pulling her wrist up to his lips and kissing right under her palm. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch, the contrast of the softness of his lips and harshness of his whiskers causing her skin to tingle the slightest bit. She didn’t realize how quickly her heart was beating, how heated her face was, but she can feel it all now as she cools off.

“Swan, calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

“Love, do not apologize again.”

“I’m – never mind.”

He smiles, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. “You lost track of time at work, something you do all of the time. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a dinner reservation. I don’t care if we miss it. But luckily for you, I called and traded it out with someone else for a nine o’clock one.”

“You could have told me that before I felt like the worst person in the world, KJ.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen you sweat.”

“You’re not a kind man.”

“Never claimed to be.”

Traffic takes forever, the roads on the way back to her apartment seemingly staying at a standstill for over forty five minutes, but they do eventually get back to her apartment. Luckily, she washed her hair this morning, even curled it a bit, so all she really has to do is slip out of her blouse and pants and slip into a black dress she’s had for years. It’s a little tight, looks more like something she’d wear out to a bar, so she throws on her red leather jacket and favorite ankle boots to look a bit nicer. She knows that she has time to redo her hair and makeup, but all she does is flick on another line of eyeliner and reapply her lipstick before heading back out into the living room where Killian is typing away on his phone.

“Okay, I’m ready to go, though I think we might actually be early now.”

He looks up at her then, his phone dropped into his lap while his lips part and his eyes trace up and down her body. A shiver runs down her spine, something that happens a lot when he’s around, and she reminds herself that they absolutely have to go out tonight. She’s not messing this dinner up again.

“You look – ”

“I know.”

“And you say I’m cocky, love,” Killian laughs, looking back down at his phone and typing a few things in. “I’ve got an Uber coming to pick us up in five minutes.”

“I can drive.” “Aye, I know, but this way we don’t have to worry about parking or if we have anything to drink.”

“I like the way you think.”

It’s a relatively cool night as they wait outside for their Uber, so she’s glad that she grabbed her jacket, but they’re not outside long before loading up into Devin’s car as he takes them across town to Sorellina’s. She’s been in more Ubers than she should for someone who likes to drive herself places, but Devin is definitely the quietest driver she’s ever had. He doesn’t say much, just asking how their evening is going while they chat in the back, but she does notice him continuously looking back at them through his review mirror.

She has no idea why until they’re pulling up outside of the restaurant, and he asks, “Hey, are you?”

“Yeah,” Killian answers, quickly sliding out of the backseat and holding his hand out for her so that she can easily get out of the car. Maybe he is the gentleman he claims to be. Okay, so he definitely is. “Have a good night, mate.”

Before they go inside, she grabs onto his jacket sleeve, tugging at him to look at her. “Hey, is it okay that we’re out? I didn’t think about people recognizing you.”

“It’s fine, love.” He leans down and kisses her, making her forget her worries for the moment. “As long as you’re okay with the possibility of people seeing us together, I’m fine with it.”

“I’m fine with it too.”

“Good.”

Despite being fine with it, she does notice how Killian’s reservation is for a booth in the back, the lighting not as nice as it is everywhere else in the restaurant. But whatever works for him works for her, and she really doesn’t have any complaints about tonight. It might be a nicer place than she usually frequents, but that’s not going to keep her from having a nice time.

She gets a lasagna, though it’s definitely got a fancier name than that on the menu, while Killian gets gnocchi, which she definitely would have pronounced wrong if she had ordered it. Maybe she needs to expand her palate a little bit. But it’s fine for tonight. The food is good, the wine great, and even though she’s never been one for fancy restaurants, she finds it doesn’t matter when you actually like the person who’s sitting across from you.

Maybe that’s been the problem.

Or maybe the prices.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

“ – no, no, I’m serious. I won the spelling bee when I was in primary school. I was quite the little academic. Top five in my class, too.”

Killian’s been telling her all about his academic prowess and all of the clubs he was in when he was younger. He played a green bean in a play about how eating your vegetables is important, and she thinks that’s where he got his penchant for healthy eating. And maybe why he’s such a good actor.

“Who knew you were such a little genius, KJ?”

“I did. My entire life.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. “So why’d you never go to college…or university? That’s what you call it, right? I know you moved here when you were eighteen to get away from…everything, but I bet you could have gotten a scholarship. That’s what I did. And a hell of a lot of student loans.”

Killian takes a sip of his rum before reaching up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on the right while his eyes squint. “Eh, it was the money, the fact that I didn’t know what to do. Liam had busted his arse to pay for me to live after he managed to get me into his custody, and I didn’t want to burden us anymore. I was good at manual labor, so if I hadn’t found the set building job, I think we would have both worked in construction. I like being able to work with my hands.”

Oh. She didn’t think of that. She should have. She went through doing it all on her own, worrying about finances and how to live, and she should have known that Killian did that too. She knows enough about his childhood to know how rough he and Liam had it for a few years. But sometimes the words just slip without her thinking.

“I’m sorry that I asked, if that brought up bad memories of something you didn’t get to do.”

“Hey,” Killian soothes, reaching across the table and twining their fingers together, his palm warm in hers, “it’s fine, love. It’s not a sad story or something I’m ashamed of. It’s my past, and I kind of like my job situation now. I don’t think I would have gotten it if I’d studied somewhere.”

“What…what do you think you would have studied? Hypothetically speaking.” “Then? English. Would have been dirt poor for my entire life, but I would have liked to have been a teacher. Now? Definitely acting. I’m pretty self taught, but the academic in me likes to always know more, to be learning.” He squeezes her hand before releasing it and moving it back to his side of the table. Sometimes she sees little flickers of darkness behind the brightness of his eyes, but he either hides it well or truly doesn’t let his past affect him too much. “But I don’t regret anything, Swan. I spent too long being bitter, and I’m not going to complain about how Liam and I made it here. Though, I would take having my mum back.”

“She’d be proud of you.”

“I’d like to hope so.” He smiles softly, almost sadly, and it breaks her heart like it does every time she thinks of Killian losing his mom, someone he very obviously loved with his entire being. “She’d love you. You remind me of her, actually, and not in some kind of weird, psychologists would study it, way.” “Well that’s good to know,” she laughs, messing with the leftover food on her plate so that she has time to process all of this. She kind of wishes she could have met his mom, too. Mostly she wishes that she was here for Killian. And Liam.

She may have never known her parents, may not know anything about them, but Killian knew his mom. He grew up with her and had to watch her die when he was ten. She can’t…she can’t imagine. But at the end of the day, she and Killian have both been left, abandoned by people who were supposed to love them and be there for them, so they understand each other. And she’s known that from the night they met when he shared with her that he’d been in foster care for awhile, something people don’t know.

He trusted her from the beginning, and that’s not an honor she takes lightly.

Oh God, she’s kind of thinking like him now.

“I just mean that you two are both bloody brilliant with huge hearts and a quick wit. And, you know, the ability to knock me back down to earth when my head gets a little too big.”

“So all of the time?”

“Aye, so all of the time.”

“All of the time, KJ.”

After they get the bill, she and Killian walk outside and wait for their Uber, not really wanting to walk around the area. She can feel the wine buzzing through her the slightest bit, not anywhere near enough to be drunk, but definitely enough to be a little wine happy. Killian wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her a little bit closer so that she can rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“You know, darling, I don’t think I tell you this enough, but I think you are phenomenal.”

“Hmm, I feel like you should just tell me that every day. You may not need to have an inflated ego, but I certainly can.”

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re a badass. The life you’ve made for yourself, all by yourself, it takes a strong woman to do that, and you deserve all of the credit in the world. And in case no one has ever told you, I’m proud of you.”

Oh shit.

She wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. Not in the slightest. And she’s not going to cry. This was supposed to be dinner, a night out that’s fun, not something that’s going to make her cry. But she doesn’t think anyone has ever told her that. Maybe Mary Margaret and David, but she’s not sure right now.

She’s barely able to even tell herself that sometimes, even if she is damn proud of herself.

And then another thought comes to her, the very one that was teetering on the tip of her tongue that she was trying to push down, and it nearly takes her breath away. She thinks she loves him. No, she does love him. She…expected it in a way, but really, in no way could she have ever expected this, expected him.

In no way could she have ever expected herself to even want to love again, not after everything, but she’s here and weirdly, she’s not scared of it.

Okay, so maybe she’s a little terrified, but the voice that’s telling her to run away is oddly quiet. Maybe it’s replaced by the sound of Killian telling her he’s proud of her.

She turns in Killian’s embrace and wraps her arms around his neck before capturing his bottom lip with her mouth, feeling the softness and warmth that always accompanies him. He gasps a little when her lips move, almost like he wasn’t expecting it, and she smiles into the kiss, not able to help herself from her teeth clanking against his before she moves back in with fervor, trying to let him know how she feels even if she can’t say the words yet, if she wants to hoard them and keep them to herself for now.

For tonight at least.

“Hey, are you, um, Liam Jones, who ordered the tan Toyota Camry with Madeline driving?”

She pulls back a bit when a girl yells at them from the restaurant’s driveway, her face red enough that Emma knows she’s been watching them for awhile. Oops.

She’s not at all sorry.

“That’s us,” Killian laughs, quickly kissing her once more before pulling back from her.

“Liam Jones? That’s definitely not your name.”

“Aye, I know, but this way if I ever get a bad review, it’s under Liam’s name.”

“But it’ll still be under your account. I don’t think that’s – ”

He dips his head and kisses her again, making her almost lose her balance on the sidewalk. “Aye, I know that’s not how it works, Swan. Let’s just get in the car and hope Liam doesn’t get a bad review from me not being able to resist you until we get back to the apartment.”

“I think the bad review might be worth it.”

-/-

“So who are we playing tonight?”

“The Orioles. If you’d come, like, a week and a half later we could have watched the Astros, but nooo, apparently you have schedules and things like that.”

“I mean,” Killian begins, wrapping his arm around her shoulder while they walk down Van Ness, the sidewalk crowded with people heading toward Fenway, even if tonight isn’t a big game, “I do occasionally have to work. Meetings and such. And family obligations.”

“Excuses, excuses.” She reaches over to pat his back, rubbing up and down in circles. “Have you ever been to a baseball game?”

“Aye, I’ve been to several Dodgers’ games.”

“Okay, better question. Have you ever been to a baseball game and not sat, like, behind home plate?”

“Are you asking if I’ve ever sat up in the cheap seats?”

“Yep.”

“Well, believe it or not, I was once a poor young lad.”

“From a poor family.”

“I don’t think Bohemian Rhapsody is really the song to quote here.”

“Okay, go on, go on.”

“So Liam and I, when we first moved to California, would go and buy the nosebleeds for the Dodgers, and go a couple times a summer. Yeah, we could have just watched on TV, but there’s only so much time you can sit in a small apartment with your older brother who was very hot and heavy with his girlfriend.”

“Elsa?”

“Oh no, this was long before Elsa. Liam was quite the ladies’ man when we first moved here.”

“Really now?”

“Oh yes, think about it. A British transplant fresh out of the Navy with those stunning Jones looks.”

“You’re either conceited or confident. I can’t decide.”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

They get to their gate, Emma pulling up the tickets on her phone and scanning them before going through. She thinks Killian gets a few weird looks, but he’s got on his aviators and a hat, which is obviously not a complex disguise or anything, but he says that it works, which is a really weird thing for her to think about. She sometimes (all of the time) forgets what he does for a living, or really, the consequences of what he does, even if that is how they met. But then they’ll be out and he’ll tug his hat down on his forehead or, like the other night, make sure their table is in the back corner of the restaurant.

After going through security, they wander around in the concrete halls, passing by all of the food and souvenir stands until they find the staircase to lead them to their seats. Only a few people are in their area, the stadium mostly empty, but she didn’t really expect anything else. She’s been to enough of these games to know that some games just are pretty empty. But it is Friday night, so as the first few innings go by, the score staying steady at one run a piece, people begin to filter in, the red seats slowly being filled with people as the sun sets over the stadium, coating the Boston skyline with pink clouds and a red sky that would almost look creepy if not for the way that there’s still light blue mixed into sky.

She looks to her left where Killian is holding up his phone, very obviously taking pictures of the sunset over the stadium.

“You are so basic, KJ.”

“Basic and getting a picture of this sunset.” He turns to her, holding the phone right in front of her face in what she knows is an unflattering angle. “Smile, love.”

“No,” she groans, covering her face and letting her hair fall in front of her eyes. She should have never taken her sunglasses off. “That’s going to look gross.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian laughs, pulling back and flipping through the photos where she pretty much looks like the girl from The Ring with a double chin and only one eye that opens, “I think these look pretty good.”

“Delete those.” “Oh no, I’m keeping them forever. Might even post them online.” “That is a threat that I do not like, and I will unfollow you. That’s one less like on your artsy pictures of your food.” “Oi,” he reaches over and pinches the skin on her inner thigh, “that was one time, and you won’t let it go.”

“You stood up over the table and turned your flashlight on to get good lighting.” “It was a good breakfast.”

“Sure, babe,” she laughs, placing her hand over his on her thigh. “I know you’re just a basic girl on Instagram.”

“Well, in that case,” he yawns, dramatically stretching his arm over her shoulder and yanking her closer, “let’s take a selfie.”

“Oh my God, you are so not smooth.” She can’t stop laughing, is sure that her face is heating from the constant movement, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning her cheek into his and smiling while he holds the phone up and takes several pictures. “But I like your basic girl tendencies.”

“Good, and now I have photos so I can scrapbook my big trip to Boston.”

“Stop,” she groans, burying her head in his shoulder while his entire body shakes in laughter underneath her. He is not going to make a scrapbook. That would just be…ridiculous.

“Never. You want something to eat?”

“Obviously, yes. I thought about just waiting until afterwards so I didn’t spend the money on the overpriced cheeseburger, but I want the damn overpriced cheeseburger.” She gets up from her chair, pulling her shorts up and making sure her sweater is still tucked in. “What do you want?”

“I was going to go get it, Swan.”

“Nah, my treat, KJ. You can stay here and watch this riveting game. There’s so much happening.”

“You say that and something will definitely happen while you’re gone. And I’ll just eat whatever you’re having, but with a water.”

“How do you know I wasn’t going to get a water?”

He taps his forehead, smiling up at her so that his eyes crinkle. “I just know.”

She rolls her eyes before grabbing her purse and maneuvering her way out of their row of seats, apologizing to everyone as she steps over them and blocks their view. There’s a concession stand just outside of their gate, so she quickly slides into line, pulling out her phone and scrolling through Instagram. Maybe she’s a basic girl of Instagram too.

There’s a picture of Leo at the top of her timeline. He’s holding a sign saying he’s going to be a big brother. She likes it, laughing under her breath. Maybe they’ve all fallen into the trap of being basic. It’s whatever. She likes the cute pictures. As she continues to scroll, she sees a hell of a lot of pictures of her old classmates from college standing in front of colorful murals, cheesy captions with them all, as well as one from Victor where he’s posted all of the used coffee cups in his office. Kind of gross but whatever. He works weird shifts.

And then suddenly there’s a picture of her. Well, kind of her. Or at least her hair. Her face is buried in Killian’s shoulder while he smiles at the camera. It must have been when he was taking the pictures and she couldn’t stop laughing. When she slides to the right, there’s a picture of the stadium with the sun setting over it. It really is a good picture.

KillianJonesOfficial: She knocks my (red) sox off.

Her cheeks immediately blush while she likes it, knowing better than to click on the comments. They talked about how things with them would likely go public the more they go out, and she said she was fine with it. She doesn’t necessarily like it, especially if there’s going to be the occasional person following her around, but she also doesn’t want to have to hide away in her apartment when they can go out and do things like this.

Though, Killian probably shouldn’t have posted this while they’re at the game. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.

She eventually gets to the front of the line, ordering their meals and waiting for them to be made until she’s got all of the junk food she needs (she’s definitely going to have to go for a run in the morning) and is making her way back up the stairs, hoping that she doesn’t drop everything while navigating the small aisles.

“Thanks,” Killian says as she hands him his tray and his water, holding down her seat so she doesn’t do something klutzy like fall on her ass.

“Mhm,” she hums, popping a fry in her mouth. As good of a time as she had at dinner the other night, this is her kind of date. “So, um, I see that you’re stealing my jokes for your captions.”

“You are not the only one to ever say that joke.”

“It was still my joke.” She eats another fry as Martinez hits a homerun, something finally happening in the game. Everyone around them cheers, a few wolf whistles thrown around, while music plays over the speakers and the hit is replayed on the jumbotrons. “But I’m glad I make you write cheesy captions. Aren’t you worried about people coming to find you, though? Isn’t that a thing?”

“Aye, but those girls down in front of us have been sneaking pictures of me all night. I figured it was just a matter of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. I’m having a bloody good time even if this is the most boring game I’ve ever been to. I was expecting more from the team who beat my Dodgers for the World Series.”

“Ah, I get it now. You’re just salty that you lost.”

“Damn straight. I was at the game.”

“And things just make all the more sense.”

The game finishes a little before nine, most everyone having cleared out already, so as a breeze washes over the night, they make their way back to the parking garage she parked in a few blocks over. Most people are beginning to settle into bars and pubs, a Friday night just beginning for most, and when she suggests that they go to a pub, Killian almost falls out on the sidewalk talking about how his ass hurts from sitting in tiny plastic seats for three hours and how he absolutely cannot sit on anything that’s not a soft cushion. When she teases him about thirty-three hitting him early, he doesn’t say anything, stretching his legs out only for his knees to pop…and then to pop again when he settles down into the passenger seat of her car.

She doesn’t say anything then, just silently reaches over and pats his thigh while they wait in traffic to get out of the garage. He grabs her hand only to put it down and reach over to take her left wrist in his hand, quickly kissing the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s noticed it over the past week. It happens about as often as he reaches up and scratches behind is ear, and it makes something inside of her flutter. She’s not sure if anything in her body is supposed to flutter, but something does.

Maybe one day she’ll ask him why he does the wrist thing.

Maybe one day she’ll tell him she loves him too.

Once they get away from Fenway, the traffic thins out and it’s a quick drive home, Emma easily pulling into her parking space in front of her apartment and grabbing her bag of work clothes out of her backseat before unlocking the front door of the building and taking the stairs up to her apartment with Killian behind her.

“I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

Killian nods as he settles himself down on the couch, and she quickly makes her way into the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat while she strips away her clothes and tosses them into her hamper. It’s been a long week, and as much as she loves having Killian here, she hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she usually does. She really likes her sleep.

It’s probably the fastest shower of her life, just a quick rinse off of the sweat and grime collected at the game, before she’s hopping out and wrapping a towel around her chest and in her hair so she can wash her face. She usually does a face mask once a week, and she’s definitely neglected that this week and can already feel herself breaking out. So she slathers on the cream, covering herself in the green mask before sliding on pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.

When she walks back into the living room, she plops down next to Killian, who is watching Live PD for some reason. Kind of weird but it’s whatever. One of her favorite things about him being here are discovering his weird tendencies that she doesn’t get to see when they’re apart.

“How was your shower, Jim Carrey?”

She turns to look at him, and he’s smirking at her, his lips ticking up to the right while his eyes slant. “What now?”

“Jim Carrey,” he repeats, waving his hand in her face, “you know, like the Mask?”

“Oh my God,” she groans, having to restrain herself from hiding her face in her hands so she doesn’t mess her mask up while it dries, “I knew I should have stayed in the bathroom until I wiped it off.”

“Yeah, that was a horrible mistake on your part, love.”

She chuckles, leaning down into the cushions and watching someone get pulled over for driving without a license or a license plate, which is definitely not a smart move. She lets out a large breath, her stomach extending with the movement. Another thing about Killian being here is that she’s eating a hell of a lot more and going to the gym less.

And sex only counts a little. She’s not going to be one of those weird people who says their gym is the bedroom. Like, why are there people who not only think that but who feel the need to share it with others?

“Do you want to get up and go running in the morning?

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you still going to be wearing that mask? Because I’m just not sure I can be seen with you looking like that.”