#or I get handed paperwork as the employees just chatter on

[amidalas]

soooooooooooo fucking tired of working here where im just the forgettable front desk lady secretary who is the only one capable of taking accountability and responsibility

[writing-for-the-gays]

Mr.loverman (trans male! chubby! reader x Stardew valley bachelors)

cw, top surgery stitches tearing. 

been working on this for awhile, originally posted on the quote

The faint chatter of false kind voices talking politely to customers over phones echoed through the cubicles, making Y/n feel empty, his chest felt hollow. His eyes stared at his computer screen, data and random memos flooded his head.

This really wasn't how he expected his life to go, sitting in a soul-draining, dream-crushing, aspiration-ruining, cubical, run by an evil corporation that had by this point taken over the grocery industries and planning to basically take over the world. He felt miserable.

And he wasn't even given time off after top surgery. In fact, he was being forced to work, but by this point, he couldn't sue. JoJo was so rich, they worked hand in hand with the government.

His chest hurt, he had to get help to get his fucking employee shirt on, he couldn’t get paperwork because it was always on high shelves, and he was turned into a go-for because his productivity was so low.

Y/n rubbed his hands over his face, trying to ignore the pain that was thrumming through his chest, the fresh stitches hurt so bad, he couldn’t focus, he sighed and stood up. Too quickly it seemed.

Pain shot through his chest, it stung, he gasped, looking down at his chest, blood seeping out onto his dark blue shirt, leaving a stain that slowly started growing. His body screamed at him to sit back down.

He whimpered and cried softly, he needed to call someone, but they took away cell phones to keep up productivity, he shouted. “Please! I need help!” he shook softly as pain shot through him.

Thirty minutes passed of this, of constant begging for help, shouting, and yelling as his chest bled before his manager came to his cubicle, basically making small talk while y/n cried in pain.

That was fucking it, y/n could fucking deal with it, so, after three months of bed rest, he got on a bus and went to Stardew Valley, and to his grandfather's farm.

The bus passed under street lights as Y/n leaned his head against the window, staring longingly out the window and at the stars, music blaring through his headphones. His mind was racing and anxiety pooled in his stomach as he thought about the fact he was uprooting his life and moving 17 hours away to his grandfather's old farm.

It was too late to turn back now, the bus was driving and Y/n couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t turn and run like a scared animal. He couldn’t, his eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t cry right now, he did this for himself, he did this for his own mental health.

Y/n let out a sigh as he closed his eyes and leaned against the window, soon falling into a blissful slumber.

Y/n was awoken by the sudden jolt of the bus stopping, he realized this was his stop, Stardew valley. He picked up his bag and his small suitcase, dragging it sleepily off the bus, greeted by a young woman.

“Hello, you must be Y/n!” The woman said enthusiastically, a bright smile on her face “I’m robin the local carpenter, mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival, the farms right over there, if you’ll follow me.” Robin turned on her heel looking back quickly to make sure y/n was following.

Y/n seemed a bit frazzled, having just come from a 17-hour bus trip and then having info dumped upon him, he followed quickly after the woman as they followed a dirt road down to a decent-sized house “This is F/n (farm name) farm.” Robin gestured to the farm with her arm.

Weeds, rocks, trees, and branches scattered across the ground. It dawned on Y/n that he’d need to do more work than expected, and his sudden relaxation seemed to be present on his face as Robin asked “What’s the matter? Sure it's a bit overgrown but there's some good soil under that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time!”

Robin encouraged Y/n who turned to look at Robin, who once again turned on her heel to lead him up to the door. Once they got up to the steps Robin’s smile stretched a bit “...And here we are! Your new home!”  Y/n looked at the door and an older man walked out

“Ah the new farmer!” he said “I’m mayor Lewis, mayor of pelican town! You know everybody’s been asking about you!” Mayor Lewis said “It's not every day someone new moves in! It’s quite a big deal!” The mayor says, before turning to look at the rickety old cottage “So… you’re moving into your grandfather's old cottage? It’s a good house…. Very… rustic...”  He seemed to be trying to make Y/n feel more comfortable, which was failing.

“Rustic is one way to put it! Crusty might be a little more apt though!” Robin joked, and the mayor looked shocked “Rude!” he said quickly as robin laughed “Don’t listen to her Y/n she’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades.” Lewis said to y/n

Robin crossed her arms as she made a noise that seemed a bit upset as the mayor continued “Anyway… you must be tired from the long journey you should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town and introduce yourself, the townspeople would appreciate that!” Lewis said, a kind smile on his face, before he turned on his heel and began to leave before turning back around “Oh! And I almost forgot, if you have anything to sell just place it in this box here ill come during the night to collect it!” he paused for a moment “Well… good luck!” Before both he and Robin walked away.

Y/n let out a breath walking into his grandfather's old house as soon as he could and dropping his bags down on the ground, kicking off his old beat-up shoes, taking off his shirt leaving him in his underwear, he looked down at himself, his face twisting in displeasure as he studied his body.

Y/n was not a thin man by any means, in fact, he was a large man, something he got teased for constantly, his soft tummy,  large thighs, and round face haunted him like a persistent ghost. He let out a sigh “Don’t think about it.” he muttered to himself, gently tracing the scars that rest just below his chest, the few things that made him happy about his body, his top surgery scars, inverted T scars sat beautifully under his chest, a reminder he was strong.

He let out a gentle sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed head in his hands, his body gently shaking as he began to cry, did he really uproot his life for this? He wanted to love it, the few times he visited his grandfather's farm he remembered loving it.

Every time he would run around the fruit trees, climbing them to pick any ripe fruit he could, sometimes falling and scraping his knees on the tiny rocks beneath. Water the plants with his grandfather, play in the field with the cows even though his grandfather told him not to.

The memories float into his head leaving this moment more somber, his heart heavy with sadness.

Y/n let out a  shaky breath before breathing in deep and letting out a little laugh, was he really crying about it not being up to his expectations? How much more of a ‘stuck up city boy’ could he get?

He stared at the floor as he shook his head, no, he was gonna work hard on getting the farm to look nice, to be like his memories, to impress his grandfather, starting tomorrow he was gonna get this place tidied up.

Y/n laid in bed, pulling the warm duvet over him, causing him to soon fall asleep, and he dreamt.

He was in a field filled with F/c (favorite colored) flowers, that smelled familiar, he began to walk in a direction, the further out into the field he got he heard a group of male voices laughing and talking, he soon found the group.

They were in a cuddle pile, a man with short purple hair and a torn-up Joja hoodie held someone with short brown wavy brown hair with glasses.

leaning against the Joja hoodie guy’s shoulder was a man with long black hair that covered one of his eyes, and in his arms, a spikey blond-haired guy was curled up seeming to have fallen asleep.

On the other shoulder, a long-haired gentleman rested, seeming to be smiling as he read something, a short-haired man wearing a green sweater was reading over the long-haired gentleman's shoulder.  Y/n smiled and he realized he knew them, they felt like home.

He quickly joined the cuddle pile, all of them seeming excited to see him. He fell asleep on their laps, his hair gently being pat.

[thetoadghoul]

Volunteering: (Ohtani x Reader) <333 (Part - 2)

part 1!

plot: Wednesday’s game arrives which Ohtani invited you to, some bonding time before the first pitch <3 slowwwburn, long cause idk details are fun lol

Wednesday quickly arrived, made much faster by the crazy amount of work you were required to do for your ‘actual’ job. The last three days had been spent with you running around the LA area, as well as cyberspace, to serve your role as interpreter. It was hell, for more reasons than one. The biggest of all being that even though you were not in Japan at the moment, you were still required to wear a proper suit. That meant a tight navy skirt, stockings, and some blasted heels. Sexist men, long meetings, and endless paperwork aside, you enjoyed your job for the most part - but this aspect really wore on you. However, the pain in your feet wouldn't damper your excitement for tonight’s game. Today you were not actually volunteering at the Angels stadium.

The day before yesterday, when you were actually volunteering, a bashful Ohtani had tapped you on the back while you were picking up baseballs from the batting cages. When you turned around the giant man was holding out a lanyard with an attached document, marked ‘VIP Guest of Player’. It took all you had not to let your hands shake with nerves as you reached out and grabbed it gingerly.

“Uh, see you on Wednesday.” The man looked to the side awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

“...Yeah.” You responded with a small smile, feeling stupid, but it was all you could think of.

“Well, uh, I better go...” He motioned behind his back with a lazy thumb, staring to jog backward.

You nodded quickly, rushing to go back to picking up balls before you said something super lame, or weird.

It wasn’t till you were on the way home did you take a look at the back of the stadium pass. It read ‘Guest of Shohei Ohtani’. So he had put in the request for you, that was just like him, so kind. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t excited for tomorrow.

-----

Currently, your heart was still racing, but for another reason other than a certain super cute and insanely talented baseball player. It was because it was almost three-thirty in the afternoon and you were running around your company-provided apartment, trying to get ready as fast as you could. Ippei let you know you should get there around four-thirty, by then the team would have been done warming up and starting to enjoy a pregame meal while the away team got the field to themselves. From that point onwards, pretty much everyone was free to relax in the clubhouse till just before the first pitch.

With little time to consider, not even enough time to take a shower after having just got off work, you went with an oversized red T-shirt, baggy jeans, and some cool Jordan’s. This was your go-to, and it was comfortable. You don’t have many clothes anyway, living out of a suitcase.

Right as you were about to run out of the door you remembered to grab your standard Angels cap, it had been provided to you as part of your volunteer uniform a while back, slipping it on over your tight work bun. You would let your hair down later.

All right, everything was in order, Uber scheduled, lanyard secured.

It took about half an hour to arrive at the stadium, and once it came into view, you instructed the driver to let you out in front of the ballpark entrance. It had been a long time since you got to go through the gates as a member of the audience, it actually gave you a wave of nostalgia seeing everyone in their gear, so hyped up for the game, tailing gating outside for what was probably hours.

Once you were through, you started walking through the concession stands and various other stalls, dodging around the fans that were already inside watching the warm-ups, as well as hanging out drinking and eating. There were pictures of Ohtani everywhere, people taking turns snapping pictures of each other in front of the various cutouts of him. The air was buzzing with energy, and it seemed like all for that guy. Honestly, you had worked for a couple different teams over the years, but you had never seen hype like this. It was surreal, seeing a legend in the making.

You smiled, gripping the lanyard around your neck, making your way through the stadium. Shohei was super nice to do this for you, really, you should show him your support. Maybe a quick peek in the team store would do? Plus, you deserved to spend some money on yourself. After all, this was the first time you had really been ‘out’ in the almost three months you had been in California. Your free time was either working, volunteering, video games, or sleep.

You took a couple moments in the Angel's merch shop, quietly perusing the aisles, keeping an eye out for any Ohtani-themed items. Unfortunately, there weren’t really that many, probably sold out by the fans. What was there, was way too small for you.

“Y/n, you here to watch the game?” A young voice sounded.

When you turned to see who addressed you, a familiar girl was standing there grinning.

“Hey Jordan! I didn’t know you were working tonight.” You grinned back.

Jordan worked at the store as a stock manager, she was close in age to you so the two of you often hung out. You had invited her over a couple times, both bonding over your love for crappy reality TV, beer, and of course, baseball.

“Yeah it was last minute, a girl was feeling sick and there wasn’t anyone else cept’ me.” She sighed.

“Bummer, text me if you need help?” You offered, to which she waved you off.

“Nah, you enjoy being here and NOT working.” She chuckled, walking over to organize a messy shelf.

“So, you looking for something in particular?” The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“Uh yeah, you recommend any cool Ohtani stuff? Or is there any at all... seems wiped clean in here.” You said while looking around.

“Ohtani? You here to cheer him on too then. Wanna catch his eye.” She teased.

“Don’t say it like I’m just here for my like, prince charming.” You snapped back playfully, but, maybe a little too fast.

“Aren’t you?” She pressed with an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” You pouted, fake walking away.

“I’m just kidding, actually, stay here for a second I might have something you’ll like.” Jordan yelled as she jogged off to the back room behind the counters.

You did as you were told and when she came back there was a large white Angels jersey in her hands.

“Ta-da!” She grinned, twisting it around to show the player’s name on the back.

“Oh, it’s in Kanji? That’s cool, I didn’t know these existed?” You questioned, running your finger over the ‘tani’ character of Ohtani.

“It’s the last one on the floor, had to grab it off the mannequin. Hope it’s not too big? It’s XL?” She questioned, passing it to you to hold.

“Nah it’s perfect, can’t you tell.” You joked holding the jersey next to you, while you showed off your oversized clothes.

“Figured it'd be fine, wanna get rung up? I’ll give you that ‘good good’ employee discount. But, don’t tell anyone.” She smiled, heading to the register, to which you nodded and jogged after her.

After you finished your purchase and waved bye to Jordan, it was time to head to the clubhouse. It was around five, so you were later than you planned but Shohei usually practiced batting in the cages a little while longer while everyone headed in. Slipping the plastic shopping bag into your purse, and ripping the tags off your new jersey, you slipped it on over your T-shirt, smoothing out the material as best you could. It felt great to finally have some real merch from the team, and part of you sort of wondered what Ohtani would think when he saw you. Hopefully, it wasn’t too much to just show up in his gear after he pretty much randomly invited you, let alone in the stadium-specific one, as you just learned from your colleague.

After you got to an employee-only doorway, you pushed on it hoping it was actually open. Ippei had also let you know via text that it would be unlocked for you. Another kindness of Shohei, not just inviting you, but making sure you had access to all the catering and AC inside the resisted area of the building. You slipped in and locked the door behind you, not wanting to encourage some intoxicated fans to follow. The hallway was empty and cool as you started making your way to the clubhouse.

You were admittedly a bit nervous by the time you got to the doors, feeling a bit awkward about strutting in as anyone other than a volunteer for the first time. Carefully you pushed open the door, making sure not to hit anybody. The room was full of chatter, some players eating, some playing cards, others watching TV on the room's monitors. You looked around for Ohtani, but he wasn’t there yet apparently. No matter, you strolled in and went for the snack area. Truthfully you hadn’t eaten since that morning, and that was just a toasted bagel. Turning your back to the rest of the room, you began filling up your plate with cocktail shrimp and grapes.

“Nice jersey.” Ippei said, coming up next to you, grabbing small sandwiches for his plate.

“Is that sarcastic?” You questioned with a smile, finishing your plate.

“Nah, I’m sure he likes it.” Ippei jerked his head to the left.

He? You leaned back to see around the man, meeting Shohei’s surprised face almost immediately. Had he been standing there the whole time? He had obviously been staring at your back, at his name, bashfully looking up to your face when you moved, blinking a couple times to clear his eyes.

“I uh, got it ten minutes ago.” You grinned awkwardly, pointing your thumb proudly at the jersey, hoping he wouldn’t think you were a weirdo.

The large player didn’t say anything, blinking more slowly this time before opting to just nod gently, with a quick “thanks for your support”, hurriedly leaning forward to start filling his plate with all kinds of foods.

—-

Once everyone had their food the three of you found a place to sit while you ate, it was at the back of the room away from the noise, and where the two usually sat before a game anyways. A small conversation started while the three of you ate calmly.

“Why... do you only have grapes, and shrimp?” Ohtani questioned suddenly, looking at your plate baffled. You looked down at it as well, pausing for a moment trying to find out what was so weird about that.

“Uh, well, it’s because... these things are... super expensive in Tokyo. It’s like a rich person food to me.” You smiled, eating a couple shrimps happily.

“Wow. That’s so sad.” Ippei chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Shohei on the other hand burst out laughing at your response, making you laugh a bit too at your pitiful confession.

“Seriously, I feel like a mega-rich, and very posh, Ginza lady right now - eating nothing but shrimp and fruit. So fancy right? ” You exclaimed, popping a grape in your mouth.

The Japanese player laughed even harder, tears building up as he wiped his eyes.

“Those people wouldn’t touch that stuff with a three-meter stick.” Ippei stated, letting out a small laugh.

“Just let me have my moment.” You pouted through a smile, shoving more shrimp in your mouth.

The other man calmed down finally and was now sitting there smiling while he ate.

“So, fancy y/n, are you okay to sit in the dugout tonight. Not too unrefined for you?” Ippei questioned with a smirk.

“That’s, allowed?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, if you want to. Can’t stay there the whole time, but.” The man responded nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s the best place to hear, ‘the surprise’.” Shohei added, food in the process of being shoved in his mouth.

“Well, doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.” You smiled at the player, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“He’s batting first tonight, you won’t have to wait long.” Ippei spoke, starting on the next sandwich.

“Hope me being in there won’t be bad luck.” You joked.

“You believe in that?” Ippei smirked.

“My family ingrained it into me, wasn’t allowed to watch a single super bowl game in the living room till I literally moved out.” You frowned, stabbing a grape.

“Harsh.” The man smirked with a small laugh under his breath.

“You will be good luck, for sure.” Shohei leaned forward in a hunch to take another bite of food, smiling sincerely at you as he looked up from his food.

“Then, I will see to it that will become a very good omen. Please believe in me.” You responded in the highest form of keigo you knew, bowing rigidly from your seat for comedic effect. Since you never studied that level of grammar, it was really freaking bad, causing the two men to laugh again.

“You’re funny.” Ippei chuckled.

“Yeah, and your Japanese is so good though?” Shohei exclaimed, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

“Nah it’s pretty bad, I fell off the study wagon a long time ago.” You laughed awkwardly, waving a hand in front of your face.

“You’d be there forever if you stayed on.” Ippei chuckled again, while Shohei nodded in sullen agreement.

“Writing would be nice though, having to look up every other kanji at the doctor's office, or like city hall makes me literally sweat, like, a lot. Buckets. But when I look around, I'm the only one.” You giggled.

“You’re so honest.” Shohei chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin, still leaning forward in his chair, you grinned back at him. Your eyes locked for a while, you had never noticed, but his eyelashes were sort of long.

At that moment Ippei had to take a call, letting the two of you know he’d be back in a bit, walking off. The two of you looked away and finished eating in silence.

When you looked up from your empty plate, the large player was now staring at you with a soft expression. The warmth in his eyes made you blush, he didn’t even break his gaze once he was caught like he usually did. You responded back to him simply with a shy smile, before being the one to avert your own eyes to the floor again.

Thankfully at that moment, a group of Angels came over, slapping the Japanese man on the back, starting up a conversion. They were going over strategies for the game and overall just getting hyped up. You didn’t have much to input, so you just kind of sat there enjoying the excited chatter. Shohei smiled merrily the whole time, inserting little jokes, completely affected by their excitement. The way he carried himself really reminded you that the essence of baseball was really just about having fun with your teammates and giving it your all. He looked simply happy to be there, and it made you smile too, just watching him goof off. It was charming to see his duality of being a just big kid with endless laugher, versus the super-serious, and seasoned player he was on the mound.

You were really trying hard not to but, you were rapidly developing feelings for Shohei. The last three months of volunteering here, you of course thought he was really cute and kind, classic boyfriend material. A simple crush, like many of the girls working around him, surely had as well. However the possibility of you two actually dating had always been a foreign concept, one which stopped you from even considering it, at all, you just didn’t know if you even could. With you both traveling for work, how would there be time? Plus, what about the media? His family? Yours? All those things seemed unscalable walls, that is, until this moment, when you could feel his gentle eyes on you once again.

Maybe, there was something? Or maybe, he was just a super nice guy, and you were treated no different than anyone else.

When you snapped out of your thoughts, Shohei was starting to stand up, grabbing everyone’s empties plates. He reached his hand towards you, asking for the one in your hand with a tiny nod of his head, to which you thanked him, stood up, and handed it over.

Well.

Either way, you were so screwed.

-------

Hope you enjoyed! <3

[softboywriting]

Little Moments | Billy Russo

Summary: Tension in familiarity leads to confessions after a terrifying event. [Billy Russo x Reader] [Violence] [Blood] [Gunshots] [Assistant!Reader] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff] 

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is my first Billy Russo fic, we’ll see where this goes yeah?

Just over a year ago you took a position as an assistant with Anvil. The job wasn't too bad, basically you took care of paying the bills for the facility, keeping inventory of supplies and equipment, scheduling appointments and keeping track of who was deployed where and why while keeping tabs on them and their duties while on deployment from Anvil. You had done work like this before, managing in a grocery store in your early twenties. It wasn't all that different, just instead of managing products you managed people. No the job was not difficult but your boss. Well. He was something else. 

William "Billy" Russo was a force to be reckoned with. Intelligent, handsome, cunning. His smile could kill. His eyes...they were something all their own. To say Billy was attractive was an understatement. But attraction was only part of the problem. The other part is his sharp tongue, quick wit and dry sarcasm. A year of sharing an office with him had put you on edge. You never know what he would do next, what he would say next. Some days you wish you could fuck him right there in that expensive leather rolling chair behind his desk. Other's you want to rip his leg off and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. The two of you got close, going back and forth with playful banter almost daily. It's like you’re always on the edge of being something more, if one of you would just make the first move.

Things finally come to a head one day when you've got a particularly large workload on your plate and Billy has decided to go on one of his little rants about who knows what, you tune him out. He is always coming into the office and talking to himself. Maybe he is talking to you, but you rarely participate in the conversation. At first you thought he was on a call, using a headset or something, but no. He just talks, and he talks a lot.

"Can you shut up for five fucking minutes?" You snap, head pounding from eye strain. You've been at the computer for six hours now, and you're trying to transcribe a call from one of his units over in Turkey about a job. Billy's mindless chatter has gotten on your last nerve today. 

Billy stops, falling silent somewhere near his desk. The room becomes thick, heavy with tension as you both remain silent. You've never snapped at him, not seriously. You've told him to go fuck himself but in a playful way. This was too real. Too loaded. He's your boss. Fuck.

You're not one to apologize when you're not actually sorry though. You remain silent, knowing he expects you to say something. He wants you to take back your words but you won't. 

"How much work do you have left?" 

Your eyes flick from the screen to him. He looks flushed. Angry? No. His eyes hold no malice. He looks aroused. No way. A cold sweat runs down your back. He must be livid. "I'm transcribing a call right now then I have to make copies of some invoices, order new foam guards for the weight benches and-"

"Finish the call. Then go home."

"Yes, sir."

Billy pushes off his desk and exits the room, leaving the door open behind him. You know that he isn't happy with your little outburst. You just don't know why he won't say as much. He looks turned on if you didn't know better. Or do you? 

The rest of the call goes smoothly now you don't have to pause every few seconds to rewind and listen to it to make out exactly what the unit leader was saying over Billy's chatter. You wrap up and head out as you were told. On the way out you pass Billy with a few of his higher up employees.

"Good night, Mr. Russo." You say softly with a hand raised in a wave. You always call him by his last name around other people. It's not much of a gesture but you want to keep things calm and civil. He nods, face unreadable, and gives a little raise of his hand as well. More than you expected, and it puts you at ease that you might keep your job. 

_____________________

"I'll have my assistant arrange the payment from you after the contract is finalized." 

You stop by the door to the meeting room to listen in. The men in the room with Billy are potential clients, men who want private security for multiple locations. You had greeted them when they arrived and showed them to the meeting room. They rubbed you the wrong way. You met a lot of men and women in your year at Anvil, a lot of different people from different walks of life. None of them made you as uncomfortable as these men had. You step away from the door and go to the office. If Billy wants to get in bed with them then let him. That's not your call.

"Let me grab the paperwork from my assistant." You hear through the closed door and Billy steps in, closing it behind him. "Can you give me a new client contract?" 

"Sure." You pull open the file drawer on your right and thumb through the papers. "They must be very promising work."

Billy leans on the side of the desk, quirking an eyebrow up at you. "What's got you so mouthy lately?" 

You cut him a glare and he chuckles. 

"You don't like them?"

"I'm not fond." 

"Why?" 

"They feel wrong." You extract a thick booklet of paper and hand it to Billy. "But let's not pretend you care what I think, Mr. Russo."

Billy rolls his eyes at the formalities. "You know damn well I value your input just like I do from any other person who works for me. Talk to me."

You sit up and lean back in your chair, eyes on his, your heart pounding. He's looking at you so attentively it's hard to focus. Those eyes, so soft and warm staring back at you. Fuck. He could make you spill the truth about everything without trying. "They give me a bad feeling. The second I greeted them they just...felt bad? I can't explain it."

"We work with a lot of morally gray people in our line of business, sweetheart." Billy leans back, hands spreading out on the desk. His hands, fuck they're nice. "But I will never ignore a gut instinct."

"So you won't sign the contract with them?" 

"I'll do some more investigation before I do. Talk to a few friends in high places."

You nod and slide forward to sit at the computer, closer to him. What a mistake. You can smell his cologne, his heat is pouring into your knee beside his. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes forward on the computer. He reaches over and lays a hand on your shoulder, making your body flush with heat. Why did he have to touch you? 

"Yes?" You ask, sparing a quick glance up at him. Mistake. He's staring down at you with those beautiful obsidian eyes. God they're so big and he's such a-

"Thank you."

"For what?" 

"For telling me. You've never come to me like this before about a client. I like it."

"Oh. Well it's your business so-" 

Billy leans in close to your ear and you feel that cold sweat return from when you told him to shut up. This time it's not fear or panic, it's arousal? The closeness is getting to you, your head is swimming. "You're just as important to me as this company. Remember that." 

You nod.

"Couldn't hear you."

"Y-yeah. Yes. I will."

He pushes off the desk and slides the papers he had been leaning against closer to you before he picks up the contract and smacks it against his hand a few times. "Will you set up a meeting with the Rodgers Estate for later?"

You grab a pen and scribble it in your planner. "Got it Mr. Russo."

"One more thing." He says and you look up. His hand is on the door handle. "Have a drink and relax? You're a little wound up lately. And drop the Mr. Russo shit, call me Billy when we're alone. You know that." He smiles and gives you a wink before slipping out the door to meet the clients in the hall.  

A drink? You need a week off, a spa getaway and a new career. Billy Russo is driving you up a wall and he doesn't even see it. Or maybe he does. Shit. 

_____________

A week later. Just before eight in the morning you're settled into your desk, ready to start going through some new shipment invoices when you hear a commotion downstairs. It isn't unusual for the trainees to get out of hand from time to time, fights break out, things get heated. You dismiss it and go about your work. 

"Six new treadmills? What the hell are these people doing to them?" You sigh and type the invoice number for Sports Equipmentz LTD into your system. "Billy is gonna get an ear full for this one."

There is more comotion and you look at the closed door. Another fight? Billy doesn't stand for that kind of stuff on the training floor. He would have stopped it by now. Actually, no one should be in the facility except you and Billy this early. What the hell is that noise.

You push up from the desk and go to the window beside the door, peeking through the blinds. From what you can see nothing looks out of balance. Then you hear gunshots and your stomach churns, cold and sick. There is no live fire allowed in the facility. All firearm training is done off site. 

"Fuck." You flip the lock on the door and look around for something to barricade the floor to ceiling window beside the door. There is nothing you can move alone. You flip off the light and head to your desk, grab your phone and dial Billy's number. 

No answer. You sink down under the desk and pull the chair in close. Maybe if someone does get in they will think the office is empty and move on since the desk looks unused. You reach over and shut down the computer tower, then reach up and pull down all your paperwork to clear the desk. 

Thumping from the bathroom on the other side of the office makes your heart pound. Someone is on the upper floor with you. A gunshot. Tears well up in your eyes. Why didn't you let Billy get you a conceal and carry? Why didn't you do that gun training six months ago? Because you're afraid of guns and you couldn't trust yourself not to hurt someone on accident. Fuck. Fuck! 

The door handle jiggles. You cover your mouth and try dialing Billy again. The phone disconnects as soon as it rings once. Goes straight to a voicemail. You can't remember if he is with a client today. There are voices outside the door, then a gunshot so loud you know it's just on the other side. You close your eyes, press your face into your knees and try to imagine you are invisible. 

The door opens, not with a kick, but unlocked and you can't breathe. You can't move. They're moving around the room. Billy's desk first. Papers are rustled, then the footsteps grow closer. You shrink yourself smaller, arms in pain from holding your knees so tight. 

"If they took you, I swear to God I will-...there you are." 

You look up and Billy is knelt down, arm on the desk as he looks at you. He's a fucking mess of what you can only assume is blood and God knows what. "Billy, oh god for fucks sake." You cry and he shoves the chair away to pull you out onto his lap. 

Never have you clung to someone so hard in your entire life. You press your face into his neck, hand digging into his back harshly as you cry in relief. 

His hand slides up your back and cradles your ribs on the left. "Hey, hey." He murmurs softly and you stop crying so hard. " What did I promise you when I hired you?" 

"That I would be safe. That no matter what I would be safe and a-all I had to do was paperw-work." 

"That's right." Billy pulls you back gently, tugging your shirt to guide you. He looks horrible, but none of it seems to be from his own injuries. "Aw, fuck. You're a mess now." 

You look down at your shirt and it's got blood on it. "Oh god. Oh god wh-who..."

Billy shakes his head. "Don't think about it too much." He presses a kiss to your temple, hand on the back of your head. "Close your eyes, don't look at it."

"What happened?" 

"I'll tell you later."

"I didn't know what to do."

"Hey, no, no shh. You were a good girl. You stayed quiet, stayed down and locked the door." He rubs your back and pats your side. "We're going to get out of here and I'll handle the situation from the apartment."

You nod and peek your eyes open for a second. "It's bad out there isn't it?" 

"It's not pretty. I'll get you outside and we'll get out of here, don't worry." 

"Okay."

_____________________

You had never been to Billy's place. Never had a reason to go. It's more industrial than you expected, modern industrial chic. Posh. Very expensive obviously, but that was Billy. Well dressed, well spoken. He looked the part to play the part. 

He set you up in a large bathroom and gave you clothes, a shirt and a pair of pajama pants. They might fit alright, Billy is quite a bit slimmer than you are in the hips and thighs. 

You look in the mirror and clench your jaw. Your peachy colored blouse is ruined, your sweater is fucked. Your face. God your face has someone else's blood on it. Across your cheek and nose where you had pressed your face into Billy's neck. 

There is a pile of washcloths and you grab a few, soaking them and scrubbing at your skin. You pull your clothes off fervently, desperate to be clean of strange blood. The shower is large, open and ready to be used. So you do. You get in and turn the water on and sit on the floor, processing. It was all a blur. Everything happened so fast. Was it even real?

Some time passes and you see the door open. The water is getting lukewarm as it cascades over your skin. You don't even care if he sees you naked you're so out of your own head. 

"I'm going to head to Anvil. The police have arrived to investigate the break in."

"Okay." You croak, not looking away from the wall opposite you.

"You can stay." Billy walks into the room and leans over the shower to turn the water off. He squats down beside you and offers you a towel from the warmer by the toilet. "Mind getting out of there for me?"

"Billy, what happened?" You look over at him and he looks...normal. He's in a blue sweater, dark jeans, boots. It's the most casual you've ever seen him. He's always been a suit man to you. Here he looks like a guy you'd meet at a bar and share a few beers with. The guy you'd take home and laugh about jokes with from stupid comedian on TV. It's strange, but warming. 

He helps you up and wraps you in the fluffy gray towel. "Your feeling? About the clients I met with?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You were right." He slicks your hair back off of your face. "They got wind that I was looking further into why they wanted my employees. It was for a human trafficking operation. I don't do human trafficking, and I was going to decline the offer. Some snitch at the Rodgers Estate let it out that I was asking questions. I guess they thought they could clear their tracks by killing me."

"O-oh."

"Mmm. I didn't think they would do something in broad daylight but here we are. Amatures." Billy steps back and runs a hand over his hair. "I called the police, said that I got a notification that the building had been beached through an unauthorized entrance. It's not a lie. Technically they did. Thankfully I wasn't there."

You step out of the shower and grab the clothes he gave you from the counter. "But you were. You...you killed those men." 

"No, I incapacitated them." He crosses his arms and pulls his lower lip between his teeth. "It was me and you or them. We were the only ones in that facility. I wasn't going to let them hurt you."

"H-how do you explain that?" You sit on the toilet and Billy leans on the doorframe. "What if-" 

"That's my job sweetheart. You worry about yourself, here. I gotta go meet the cops." He pats the wood a few times and looks out into the hall. "Call me if you need anything. I promise I'll answer no matter what."

You nod. 

"I'll be back later."

____________________

Hours pass and you become familiar with the apartment. It's huge, the penthouse of a very expensive building downtown. It has two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen and dining area, a living room, a balcony that wraps around and has a fire pit and a small private pool. It's more luxury than you could ever afford. Not that Anvil doesn't pay well, because it does. This is just far more than you could ever make. 

In Billy's room there aren't any personal touches. It's clean, picture perfect even. Like at any moment someone could come and take photos to sell the place. There is a picture on his bedside table, the only thing that isn't straight from a design catalog. It's you and Billy with a few investors. Your first meeting he ever brought you to. How could you forget? He bought you the dress literally an hour before the meeting because yours ripped in the back. It was possibly the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in front of a boss. He didn't make you feel bad or anything, he simply asked your size, stopped at a shop on the way to the dinner and got you a dress. It was just that easy, that normal. 

You set the photo down and lay back. Your eyes close and you imagine what Billy is like outside of work. Of course you've gotten a taste of that, all the banter and shared stories. Nothing too deep but enough to keep conversation going. You probably shared more than him, way more. It was like when you started talking to someone you couldn't stop. You just, information overload the poor person. Usually people get spooked away, or they tell you that they don't care or don't need to know. Not Billy. He just listened, gaze fixed on you while you talked. Maybe that's why you like him so much. He listened. He cared. 

"Cozy?" 

You roll over and open your eyes to find Billy in the doorway to his room. "You're back. I didn't hear you come in?" 

"There is a bed in the other room y'know?" He chuckles as he goes to sit at the end of the bed and pull his boots off. "Or do you just like mine because it's bigger?" 

"Oh yeah, yours is much bigger. Comfier too." 

He hums. "Go through all my shit?" 

"You know it." 

"There's my girl." He looks back and he's smiling. "I was getting worried about you. You seemed pretty shaken up."

You sigh and shake your head. Of course Billy doesn't think about how you've never been in a dangerous situation short of falling from a tree when you were ten. To him gunfire and blood were in a day's work as an ex marine special operations. "I think I'd be more worried about you."

Billy turns and crawls up the bed, leaning with his head on his hand, elbow propping him up. "Why's that?" 

"Been a while since you saw live action hasn't it? You're not worried about PTSD?"

"I've seen plenty of action since I got out. I know the risk I take running the company I do. It hasn't happened before now but it was bound to eventually."

"Right, yeah."

"Do I scare you?" 

You shake your head. "No, not really. I know you've done things, seen things that I couldn't even imagine. It's part of who you are, who you were." 

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that. It was them or us. You know that right?" 

"Y-yeah. I know." You pick at the bedspread and he bumps his hand against your knee. 

"You alright? I tried to keep you...away from it. I know you aren't like everyone else."

"I'm not ex military you mean." You feel your chest tighten. "I'm a civilian. I can't defend myself." 

Billy sits up and lays a hand on your back. "Hey, hey."

"I shouldn't stay at Anvil. I should just go somewhere else. I can't do this, Billy, I'm scared what if this happened again?" Tears spill over and down your face. "I-I can't." 

"I will never let anything happen to you." He turns your face to look at him. He's warm, his lips plush, eyes on yours. "You can work from home if you want. I'll stop by and bother you and make you tell me to shut up." He smiles a little as your lips turn up at the telling him to shut up part. "You like that?"

"I don't know, but I think you do." 

Billy laughs softly, his smile wide. "Maybe I do. You noticed that?" 

"Maybe." You wipe your eyes and he brushes a stray tear away with his thumb. "Why do you care so much? I'm just your assistant." 

"Because I love you."

"W-what?" You hiccup as your breathing stops for a moment. 

"You're like family. I trust you with everything, I tell you everything, you're my girl." Billy runs a hand through your hair. "I can't lose you." 

"I don't-...I'm just-" 

His lips press against yours and your eyes fall closed. It's an innocent kiss, soft and loving. "If I read this wrong all this time, you gotta tell me." He murmurs, head pressed to yours. 

"No, you didn't. I just, you just caught me off guard." 

"Yeah?" He smiles, nose scrunching up against yours. He places his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up to kiss you again briefly. "You're sure it's okay?" 

You nod and he pulls back to kiss your temple, holding his nose to your hair and cradling the back of your head. 

"Get some rest, I've got some calls to make." He climbs off the bed and heads for the door. 

"Are you leaving?" 

"No." 

"Good." 

He walks back quickly and kisses your cheek. "I mean it. Get some rest."

"I would if you'd just go already."

"Oh. You think you can just get rid of me?" He crawls back on the bed and you fall back as he straddles your hips. "You think you can boss me around huh?" He starts tickling your sides and you squeal, thrashing under his surprisingly strong hold. 

"Stop! Stop! I yield!" 

Billy stops and bends over, bracketing your head with his arms. "I knew you'd be fun to torment outside of that stuffy office." 

"I hate tickling." 

"Oh that's very obvious. I've made a mental note, highlighted it in yellow and everything." He bumps his nose against yours. "I'm gonna find everything that makes you tick." 

You reach up and run a hand over his hair that's flopping forward from lack of product. "Expect to get as much as you give." 

"Oh I do." His lips ghost over yours as he speaks. "I look forward to it." 

You shove his head to the side and he flops over. "Don't you have calls to make?" 

"Maybe." 

"Go make your calls. I'm going to stink up your bed and rifle through your drawers more." 

"I expect no less." He says, getting up and going to the door once more. "Let me know if you find anything you like, yeah?" 

"Get out!" 

He just cackles and you close your eyes. This is really happening. Funny how the world works in mysterious ways. You never thought you'd be the one to snatch Billy Russo off the market but here you are, and you're pretty damn proud of it. 

The end 

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Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

[mindofasupernova]

The Inventor Part 3

Kaz Brekker x reader

Description: A killer is on the loose, eliminating Kaz's informants. In a desperate attempt, Kaz meets a certain inventor that has his mind racing, trying to figure out the complex puzzle she is.

When the news of a murder in Von Raske's autumn ball reached Kaz's ears, his breath froze, an icy hand tightening his grip on his heart. Lord Von Raske was a close acquaintance of the Grand Duke Y/LN, fear invaded his mind, a single statement playing on repeat like a broken melody: Y/N had been there.

Dirtyhands had immediately sent Inej to check up on Y/N while he tried to distract himself by finishing paperwork. Two weeks had passed since their secret rendezvous, two weeks since Y/N had given him the list of components that created the poison and in those two weeks, he hadn't contacted her.

The next morning, he and his crows had spent the whole day making inquiries about possible buyers and indentured Grisha acquiring an excessive amount of alloys. No luck. No one knew anything. The only thing he had gotten were another two corpses with the same symptoms.

He had refused to call Y/N despite the little voice in the back of his mind telling him to bring the brilliant inventor, who would surely enjoy an excuse to abandon her royal life for a few hours. Even when there were no new bodies, these whispers urged him to arrange another meeting so he could just hear her chatter about dissections methods as if she were talking about the weather. Kaz shook his head, tossed his treacherous thoughts into a vault in the back of his mind while scolding himself for wanting the company of someone he barely knew.

Kaz thoughts kept drifting back to the inventor, too worried for her safety that he failed to notice Inej's presence in his office until she quietly spoke.

"She's alright, Kaz, but she believes these murders aren't just an act of vengeance against the Dregs. She wants to meet again to share her theories." Kaz glanced up, evaluating Inej words.

If it weren't for the tragedy at the ball, he would have kept thinking some other gang wanted to initiate a war against the Dregs, but now he was sure this was deeper than a petty quarrel.

Kaz nodded, analyzing the spy's face. Eyes dropping down to Inej's hands, she wore what looked liked to be a set of thin brass knuckles, two rings adjusting at her pinkies and index fingers that joined a smooth metal band facing her palm. Before Kaz could open his mouth, Inej answered his unspoken question.

"Y/N made them for me. She told me she'd noticed my chipped nails and slightly blistered hands from climbing flat buildings. She fabricated these, they work as some type of magnet, using the force of momentum and creating friction on plain surfaces." Inej's gentle voice explained, an endearing look as she stared at her knuckles.

"She gave me some truffles to bring back to the club, she thought Nina might like them."

He hadn't failed to notice Inej's troubled expression when he had ordered her to go to the Y/LN Manor. Whether he wanted it or not, the brilliant royal was worming her way into his Crows' hearts.

Kaz hummed in response, "We are meeting tomorrow at 9 in the morning, I'll tell Jesper to deliver a note."

"I'll do it right now. I want to try these." Inej gestured at the brass knuckles and without a word slipped out the window.

____________

Y/N

"Need a ride, doll?" Mr. Fahey called out, opening the hansom's door, inviting Y/N to hop inside.

Yesterday, Inej had silently returned to her room, bearing Kaz's news about the meeting. Y/N's heart thrummed excitedly in her chest, the notion of seeing the Crows again lighted up her day.

Y/N had told Ms. Ghafa she'd investigated around her social circle and that they needed to pay a visit to Mercher Dupont's valet, Dupont's most trusted employee.

"Greetings and thank you, Mr. Fahey" Y/N said politely as she stepped inside, taking a seat next to the Wraith.

"Why are you so sure the valet will have the answers we are looking for? Is he related to those theories you wanted to speak of?" interrupted Kaz, always so straightforward.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Brekker. And they aren't just theories. You see, after the very unfortunate incident at the ball, I took it upon myself to investigate Mercher Dupont's whereabouts in the past two weeks."

"Whereabouts? What does that have to do with his murder?" the raven-haired boy pondered.

"Everything. Someone knew he'd be returning from his secret trip today and that he would go directly to the ball. It's quite obvious actually." Y/N said, watching the streets distractedly through the window as the carriage started moving.

"It's not obvious to me." voiced Jesper.

Y/N turned to look at her confused companions. Kaz frowned deepened when the girl turned to him, waiting for him to show he understood. When she was met with silence, the corners of her mouth tugged upwards, clearly proud she had noticed something the infamous criminal mastermind had not. Kaz didn't share her enthusiasm.

"When Mercher Dupont arrived at the ball he was jumpier than usual, eager to avoid conversation with anyone. It was clear he had traveled outside the country: his skin was tanned, constantly scratching and pulling at his sleeves covering what were likely mosquito bites. His shoe soles were stained with grass and an orange stain, probably jurda, laces had been recently cleaned but messily tied as if he had been in a rush to arrive on time. Jurda, mosquitos, and scorching sun at this time of year, we can only find those three in Novyi Zem." Y/N beamed, words tumbling out of her lips as if her life depended on them.

"Besides, my mother talked with his wife this morning. The poor woman said that weeks prior he'd raced into his hansom, disappearing for two whole weeks and when he had finally returned, he and his valet refused to tell her a thing." the inventor finished, just as the carriage stopped moving.

"Wait, I thought we were heading to Dupont's residence." Y/N interrupted, as the trio jumped down the carriage, a few blocks away from a jewelry shop.

"Tell me, Y/LN, would you like to see what we do for a living?" Kaz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I did not come here to witness a robbery. Much less to help with your wicked schemes." Y/N retorted, a defiant raise of her head, body betraying her when she stepped out of the carriage as well.

"I thought you'd enjoy participating in illegal affairs since you seem so eager to associate with a bunch of criminals. Where's your sense of adventure?" Kaz taunted with a smug look on his face.

"I left it on the carriage and would very much like to go back to get it." returned the girl, crossing her arms and straightening her posture. "If you believe my willingness to help you indicates I relish taking things from others then, you are awfully mistaken."

"How do you know you don't like it if you've never done it?" Jesper joined in.

"There's nothing like a heist early in the morning." the sharpshooter said, twirling his guns before hiding them in his coat.

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh but followed nonetheless. Kaz Brekker will be my downfall.

__________

Jesper took the driver's place, dismissing the coach, being their "escape driver" as Kaz had dubbed him.

Y/N entered the shop first, a veil covering her face, and pretended to be deeply interested in some ruby rings. She was only there to watch, Kaz had assured.

A few minutes later, Kaz walked in wearing a security guard uniform, where he had managed to obtain one, Y/N had no idea. He slowly prowled to the counter, adopting his role with such grace that it stunned Y/N. When he reached the vendor, he started conversing with him as if they had known each other for years.

Every step, every gesture, every word was calculated. In another life, Mr. Brekker would have made a fine actor. A very charming and talented actor. The thought crossed Y/N's mind before she could stop it. Kaz Brekker was a dangerous man, he'd heard the horrified whispers that preceded his name, a heartless monster that terrified the streets of Ketterdam.

But now that she knew him, Y/N wasn't sure if he was as despicable as the rumors stated. He could have taken her hostage when her identity was revealed, betrayed what she had been doing in Mr. Zhang's shop in hopes of earning money, but he didn't.

Most importantly he had never doubted her abilities when he discovered she was a woman, never belittled her as many high-class men had done. In fact, she could have sworn Kaz was pleasantly surprised when she'd earnestly started the autopsy. His lips barely tugging upwards, when she handed him the list.

Y/N had also noticed how he was always covered head to toe, not a sliver of skin showing apart from his head. She had perceived the way he always avoided touches, careful of not brushing against anyone, staying away from big crowds. It made Y/N wonder why skin contact repulsed him, she wanted to figure out his enigmatic persona and discover the reason for which his heart raced.

"Fire! Fire!" with a startled jump she came back to reality, eyes landing on the blazing curtains near a thin metal drawer that was slowly melting in revealing golden necklaces.

Y/N desperately hoped this wasn't Kaz's plan, by now everyone inside was aware of the fire, quickly pushing to get to the exit. Y/N squinted her eyes at the smoke, looking for Kaz, scared he had been injured during this little stunt. But before she could call out his name, she was being pushed outside.

Y/N hurried back to hansom where Jesper and Inej were already waiting, rapidly swirling around, she almost bumped into Kaz's chest.

"That's your idea of fun?" Y/N questioned, sending a murderous glare Kaz's way, a mask to hide her relief at finding him safe and unscathed.

"Says the person who finds joy in carving corpses open." Kaz retorted, his infamous smirk widening and stepping inside the hansom, closing the door after the two girls. "But it worked, didn't it?"

Y/N turned to look at him in confusion, Kaz's smirk widening when he pulled a pendant from his coat, but it wasn't any ordinary piece, it was THE Pink Star Necklace. This necklace was the source of the hottest gossip, created by a durast master as a gift for the upcoming arrival of a Shu dignitary's daughter.

"Incentive and distraction. I knew this necklace was kept in that shop, I just didn't know where." Kaz explained proudly "The obvious instinct was rescuing the most valuable piece inside."

"That being the necklace, delivered into your waiting hands." Y/N laughed, an incredulous grin at Kaz's ingenuity.

The rumors were true, he indeed had a wonderful mind. The crime of the century without even lifting a finger. She couldn't help her smile, wondering what other tricks Kaz had under his sleeve.

"Very clever, Mr. Brekker. I'm impressed."

Kaz's smug look never faltered but his eyes softened "You've just seen the beginning."

_________

The valet had been lounging outside when they arrived at Dupont's residence. The three crows and the inventor approached, Kaz skipped straight to the point without waiting for pleasantries. After several unanswered questions and the valet affirming he couldn't tell where his master had disappeared to for the last couple of weeks, Kaz looked ready to bash his skull with his cane.

However, before his blood painted the white roses red and Y/N had a new body to examine, she quickly intervened.

"Does Mercher Openheilmer know of your affair with his sister?" and just like that, the valet was desperately sputtering the whole story of his life out.

Apparently, Mercher Dupont had woken him up in haste, ordered him to fetch the carriage, and to drive to Fourth Harbor as if the Devil himself chased after his soul. When they had gotten there, his master had hired a schooner and Captain Wagner's small crew to Novyi Zem apart from that, he knew nothing more.

In a quick bumpy ride, they arrived at Fourth Harbor looking for a certain Captain and his crew.

"Blackmail. Who would have thought Marchioness Y/N performed such ghastly deeds." Kaz mocked, while they walked to Wagner's petit schooner.

"Oh hush, you're just mad I didn't let you beat the valet up."

Kaz raised a hand, gesturing for all of them to be quiet. Heavy grunts and shattering glass could be heard from inside the ship. Inej drew her knives and Jesper pulled out his pistols, each one went their own way while Y/N trailed quietly behind Kaz as they entered the dark rickety schooner.

The captain's quarters were a mess, papers scattered and drawers open, someone was in a hurry. Y/N saw a shiny pistol laying on a coffee-stained desk, it was loaded, she hesitantly grasped it, adjusting her grip like he had seen Jesper do. She had never held a gun before, but any form of protection was welcome.

Swirling back around, Kaz was nowhere in sight, with uncertain steps she stepped into the adjoining room, shakily raising the gun. A burly blond-haired man, Captain Wagner, shoved clothes desperately into a suitcase, he froze and stared wide-eyed at Y/N. The man was sweating, pudgy hands shaking, ragged breaths escaping his mouth, he was terrified.

"I mean no harm, I simply wish to talk about one of your clients, Mercher Dupont." Y/N raised her hands in surrender, daintily placing the gun on the floor not wanting to scare the man further.

The captain nodded, taking a step forward, but before Y/N could utter a word, he lunged at her knife glinting in the moonlight. A surprised gasp left Y/N's lips when the man shoved her to the floor. Captain Wagner pinned her down, knife raised in a direct line to her throat. When his hand dived to meet its target, Y/N desperately raised her hands catching his grip, a poor attempt at preventing the sharp metal from sealing her fate. Wagner pushed harder, merely seconds before her blood decorated the cabin's walls, a crow's head sunk into the plane of her attacker's shoulder, eliciting a broken scream from the man, and with a swift kick to the ribs, Kaz yanked the man off of Y/N. Drawing quivering breaths, Y/N sat up and watched as Kaz pressed the hill of his boot into Wagner's injured shoulder.

"Why did you attack her and why in such a hurry? Why was Dupont so eager to leave for Novyi Zem?!" Kaz growled, rage blazing in his midnight eyes.

"P-Please, I got nothin' to do with Dupont's business," Wagner whined, a sharp cried pierced the air when Dirtyhands shattered his shoulder blade with a quick jab. Y/N tore her gaze away, when she turned to reprimand Kaz about his ways, the animalistic glare he sent her way snapped her mouth shut.

"He hired my crew to get him to Novyi Zem, paid good money if we never told anyone about his trip and the many oil barrels he'd insisted on carrying there." he whimpered, trying to free himself from Kaz's visceral grip.

"If I had known the four members of my crew would end up dead for his secrets, I would have never done it. He said his life depended on the secrecy and when I saw your little friend there I thought she was here to kill me just like Dupont. "

"What did he do with the oil barrels?"

"I don't know, Saints! He brought back a Zemeni man, though. P-P-Please, I have done nothin' wrong."

-----------

No one spoke during their walk back to the carriage, a thick silence hung in the air accompanied by the coopery scent wafting from Kaz's blood-splattered clothes.

Y/N was the first to break the silence, "Where are we headed to?"

"We are going to gather information and you are going back home." Kaz harshly replied, voice dripping anger.

"But-"

"No Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?! How more stupid can you be, lowering your guard down?!" Kaz snapped, black charcoal eyes burning a hole through her head.

"The man was trembling, I didn't want to scare him. I-"

"Kindness gets you killed! What was I thinking bringing down a pampered foolish rich girl who wants to play detective!"

"Kaz, there's no need t-" Jesper started.

"No, Jesper! She's a liability! We could have lost Wagner because she refused to use a damn gun!" Kaz snarled, chest heaving.

It would have hurt less if Kaz had slapped her, his words gnawed at Y/N's heartstrings. And yet, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the broken look on her face. Y/N schooled her features into that false look of indignance and serious arrogance she had practiced all her life.

"Very well, Mr. Brekker. It's getting late after all" she stated. Inej's comforting hand fell upon her shoulder, she smiled even when tears threatened to fall and glanced at the bleary world outside.

_____________

Fine, if Mr. Brekker isn't willing to speak anymore, I'll take matters into my own hands. Three days and no sign of Kaz. It's okay Y/N reassured herself, she could navigate the streets of the Barrel just fine.

After they had talked with Wagner and discovered Dupont's unseemly affairs that caused the death of four sailors who were also Kaz's informants, Y/N had traveled to The Exchange and after probing for answers (more like blackmailing dealers with Zia Francesca's never-ending gossip) she had gotten the address to a small house where most of the chemicals in the list had been delivered.

Pulling out a gun she had stolen from her father's collection, Y/N knocked on the door. She had failed to use a gun once and it had cost her honest companionship, she wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

The door swung wide open; a sickening smell floated in the air. A scent that made Y/N's eyes water, the scent of something rotten.

Taglist:

@getawayfrommewerewolf, @rika90, @princessleah129, @lady1505

[echo-three-one]

How ‘bout Jealous Soap x reader?

Hello Earthisdonut 🌍 🍩

I saw your ask while I was at work and I can't stop thinking about how the story goes... I had a lot of ideas but as I wrote, it kept on swinging on the other direction. Maybe it's my feelings being resonated into the words or an entire force telling me to go this way. Anyways here you go...

A jealous soap x reader fic.

Take me home

You take a deep breath and closed your eyes, clearing away the mixed sounds of random chatter, loud tv commentary and the all the yelling. 'Friday evening shifts are the worst' you thought to yourself as you make your way back to your station, wearing a smile on your face.

"Hey miss!" a customer whistled from the far end of the counter. You hastily walked to him and smiled. 

"What can I get you?" you asked with sincerity in your voice. You've worked long enough to master the art of faking a smile when in fact you are tired, but this job is all you have and the tips kept the bills afloat.

"Two beers and roasted nuts, please." He ordered, you were impressed at how kind he was, unlike the other new customers who reeked of rudeness and bad manners.

"Coming right up, Sir!" you winked as you tend to his order, mentally noting his tab for later. You hand him over the beer, placed on a circular chip that served as a coaster, followed by a heaping bowl of roasted nuts.

This kind of scene continued throughout the night, just with different kinds of people with different combinations of orders. You feel tired but you tend to forget it when you look at the tip jar, the thing that kept you moving forward. It's also the thing that's holding you back from life, you remembered when your best friend told you that you should unwind sometimes instead of rendering overtime during your day offs, to which you replied : "Soon enough", and that was well over a year ago.

As you wiped off the recently left spot by the counter, a well built man immediately took the spot and sat down, you tilted you head upward as the action surprised you. There he was, you couldn't miss his look, he stood out on the crowd because of his haircut, a perfectly cut mohawk and a scar on his left eye. He grinned at you, his blue eyes looked excited as soon as it met yours.

"John? I didn't know you'd be home!" You gasped as soon as you realized he's actually there, quickly putting a shot glass and pouring his favorite drink.

"Hey Y/N! I knew I'd find you here!" his hand gestured for a shake but he quickly dismissed it as soon as he realized he couldn't do it while you're at work.

"Yeah, working as always." you replied, trying to sound contented. He smiled at you as he raised his glass and downed the drink. You couldn't help but look at the way his Adam's apple moved as he consumed the drink.

His face turned into something incomprehensible as he let the taste of the strong alcohol set in, making you chuckle a little. His eyes turned to you as he heard you laugh.

"What's funny?" he asked. You simple shook you head and poured another pint on his shot glass. 

"I'll be back in a few. I have to serve drinks for these wild crowd." You informed him, but as soon as you were about to step out, you hear him stand up.

"What time will you be off?" He asked.

"Two more hours." You replied without looking back. You could feel your cheeks warm up and an uncontrollable smile plastered on your face. 

"Okay. I'll be here till then." he yelled as you entered the door to the employee's area. 

'Shit Shit shit shit.' you whispered to yourself as you regain composure. He felt way off. He didn't act like this toward you before. You could feel something odd between you two, and you're very distracted about it.

You made your way to your manager's office to request a five minute break. You knew he'd approve a breather from you because he was a accommodating to you since day one. You believed it's because you always give it your all in every shift.

You softly knock on his office door and pushed it slightly ajar, peeking your head through it as you saw him on his desk, doing some paperwork.

"Ah, Y/N. You need anything, love?" he greeted in his usual tone. His endearment didn't matter you as he calls every female "love".

"Can I take a five? Just needed to breathe." you huffed. He nodded in approval and stood up. 

"Let's puff it out, yeah?" he smiled as he offered a stick of cigarette.

The cold breeze of the Saturday evening wrapped around your work uniform. The noise from the bar was muffled but occasional screams would echo across the street. You exhaled a long stream of cigarette smoke through your mouth as the relaxing feel of nicotine coursed through your system. Smoking was your go-to activity whenever you feel extreme unexplained emotions, such as seeing John MacTavish after a long time.

"Tough crowd?" Your manager turned his head to you as you casually leaned on the cold metal railing.

"Not really. I just saw someone I least expected to see." You retorted, pressing your lips against the cigarette butt as you closed your eyes and inhaled the vice.

"Someone you hate?" He queried. 

"Not necessarily. But at one point of my life, maybe... It's just... it's complicated." You complained, sighing at the thought of him once again. You mentally fought against yourself whether to reminisce or not, reminding yourself that the reason you went out here was to clear your head, not to fill it with memories of summer 4 years ago.

You fixed your posture and flicked off the cigarette butt to the ashtray. Your boss followed, escorting you back to the office. 

"Thanks for the company. I needed it." You thanked him as you crossed the street. He hummed in acknowledgement as he opened the door for you. You couldn't help but scan the room quickly for a mohawk, but he wasn't around. Maybe he went to the bathroom, you thought to yourself as you get back to your station.

9:59 pm. Your eyes trailed to the huge digital clock by the door, rapidly moving across the crowd still no mohawk in sight. This actually made you sad, he wasn't the kind of guy who dissappoints, you always saw him as a man of his word. You did confirm that he already paid for his tab about an hour and a half ago, just after your short break.

Guess you're going home alone. So much for ' I'll be here till then' you mentally argued, frowning as you wiped off the last glass in the tray.

10:00 pm. You sighed and lazily grabbed your time card and let the huge metal clock record your departure. You felt your energy quickly deplete due to the dissappointment that is John MacTavish.

"See you on Monday!" you waved goodbye to your coworkers who seemed to notice your sudden loss of energy. You push the back door slowly and stepped outside. It was getting cold and you weren't prepared for it.

"Hey." A low scottish accent muttered just beside you, making you yelp in surprise.

"Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!" you angrily punched his strong arm, hurting yourself in the process.

"I'm sorry." he spoke lazily, almost tired or drunk. You couldn't exactly tell, but it was far from his tone earlier. 

"Pretty chilly, eh?" you asked him, imitating his accent. Something that you always considered a major turn on when it comes to him.

"A little bit. And your impression is way off, I don't say it like that." he retorted nonchalantly making you worry if something happened while he was waiting.

"You seem a little off, what's the problem?" you asked, playfully bumping him while you walked the empty streets on your way home.

"It's just... uh.. Nevermind." he trailed off, his secrecy was making you impatient and you stopped on your tracks. He continued walking, looking down at the ground until he noticed you're no longer beside him.

He turned back. "You forgot something?" 

"I don't get you." you raised your voice. He slowly walked back to you until he's just inches away from your face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just asked..."

"Asked what? You told me you'd stay here till my shift is over and then you're gone like that?" you complained, the tone of your voice was demanding and you could see him flinch when words hurt.

"I didn't want to raise suspicion." 

"Who would be suspicious of you?!"

"Shortly after you left, I took a smoke. But I didn't do it by the smoking area. I was way up here, enjoying the breeze." he said, turning to the smoking area which was very visible from up here. Was he sad because he saw you and your manager by the smoking area? What kind of eyes did he have? You didn't want to assume things so you started to supply him with questions to fill in the blanks.

"And? Was the area too sad for you to be all emo like that all of a sudden?" you complained, soing your best impression of an angry person, but you know deep inside that you couldn't get angry at this man.

"Yeah. You could say that." he chuckled. He couldn't even look at you anymore.

"Bullshit." you retorted. He slowly tilted his head and smiled as soon as your eyes met. The view was so gorgeous you almost felt like the world was in slow motion.

"You don't have to believe me if you want. Why are you walking with me home anyway. You could've said no. I bet he has some nice fancy car to drive you home." he blurted, fog started to huff out of his mouth as the snow started to fall from the sky.

"Where are you going with this, John?" you spat, letting the emotions get the best of you. If only he was clear enough then this wouldn't have happened.

"I saw the two of you smiling while talking, I thought to myself. Yeah, she's happy with that bloke huh, I wish I knew that before I invited her earlier." he breathed out. You almost felt guilty, but it wasn't your fault. He easily assumed things that weren't even true.

"What made you think we're together? Just because we're smoking together doesn't mean we're in a relationship. Is that what you thought?" you replied, fighting back helping him on his way to the truth.

He paused, it's as if his whole thought process was shattered when your words stung him. 

"I got jealous. To be fair, I was gone for 4 years... I always thought you already found someone else within that time." he frowned. It was not usual of him to feel this vulnerable.

"Look-" you tried to explain but you suddenly felt his warm embrace wrapped around you.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. The same words he said before leaving 4 years ago. The same words that hurt you back then and the same words that's going to hurt you at this moment. He was the one that got away, he was the one whom you shared your most magical moments with, but not the one who's going to be there until the end. He'll have to leave anytime soon, as his job requires him to save the world. You told him he could settle for less risky world saving endeavors but he insisted that this was his purpose. And you were not willing to let him choose again.

"You know... you're not supposed to feel jealousy." you consoled, rubbing his well sculpted back. 

"I know... I couldn't help it." he whispered. 

"Let's get you home, John." you whisper to him as he pulls away from you, his face pouted like a baby whose candy got stolen.

"Why are you here anyway?" you added.

"I'm getting reassigned to a new task force. I figured I could say goodbye to someone I hold dear." he smirked, he felt normal, but then again you couldn't help but feel that this would be the last time you'll be seeing him. You we're thinking he won't be able to travel freely back here anymore or worse, he'll be the hero the world wanted him to be.

[zhongliologist]

It’s Complicated | Keqing

Pairing: Keqing x Male!Reader

Genre: SFW, Romance

Words:728

A/N: Now, this is just something I’d like to try and I was wondering if y’all are even interested in something like this;;; if you like it and want more, just tell me so I can make this into a series!! Please tell me what you think ;;;;;

It was a lively morning in Liyue Harbor. 

Ships from all corners of Teyvat docked into the harbor as the benevolent sea rolled them peacefully towards the shore, guiding them into their day to day business. Workmen toiled under the stark sunlight, sweat dripping as they carried all sorts of exports—snake wine from Sumeru, machine parts from Snezhnaya—and checked dutifully by an employee from the Office of Civil Affairs. 

Inside the government offices weren’t any different. Stacks of paperwork became Liyue’s mountains, and the valleys forming between them were busy with officials going to and fro to sort out the hundreds of reports coming from all regions. 

Mouths chattered, paperwork rustled, as people bustled in their daily business. 

Yet in a moment of silence, one can astoundingly hear the loud and intimidating clatter of heels on the marbled floors of the Yuehai Pavilion. 

Everyone stopped and looked. Employees staggered to give way, sticking to the walls as if they wished it would simply suck them in as a flash of purple marched down the hall, unperturbed and unabashed. 

“It’s the Yuheng!” Someone whispered so loudly that anyone would doubt if they ever intended to whisper in the first place. 

In normal days, those kinds of things never really bothered the Yuheng, yet on this certain day—when the sun is shining so happily, when the Harbor is bustling with life—she felt like she wanted to choke something to sort her frustrations out. With one glare, the rest of the crowd turned quiet and she went marching on to her destination. 

As a large lacquered door stood before her, painted in bright red and vibrant jade, she couldn’t help but feel her blood boil begin to boil. On the other side of that door lies the reason for her frustrations, on the other side was a person she had loathed to see. Unable to withstand not taking action any longer, she kicked the door open with the grace of a wild Dragonspine boar. 

“You!” She exclaimed, her eyes crackling like thunder. “Why are you here?!”

The person turned around, a smirk on his lips as sharp as his eyes. “I’d expected a better homecoming, but I guess your presence is already a gift in and of itself.”

It’s you. It’s finally you. Keqing couldn’t even speak your name without gritting her teeth. 

“Enough with the flattery. Answer my question. You’re supposed to be in—”

“Snezhnaya?” you replied, smiling at the Yuheng as you walked towards her with a carefree gait. “That is indeed correct. Yet, I suppose you know that we have a major economic problem in our hands. Especially after Rex Lapis’ death and that massive attack.”

Keqing glowered at you, realizing that it was perhaps Ningguang who sent for him. And the Tianquang was indeed wise in having you return home. Liyue needs its Yaoguang after all. 

“As a member of Liyue’s Qixing, whatever threat falls upon the city is a direct reflection of my own incompetence as Yaoguang. I seemed to have overstayed my visit in Snezhnaya and left the city unattended,” you continued, hands clasped together. 

This is what she despises about you. Scoffing at your words, she crossed her arms over her chest and stood her ground. 

“I see you’re still full of yourself as ever before. Just so you know, we can defend Liyue and ensure its safety with or without you. The proof is already before you: Liyue is still standing.”

Raising your brows at her comment, you couldn’t help but grin. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to invalidate your efforts. You have done a good job, Keqing. More than anyone in this city, you deserve the biggest praise.” 

The Yuheng simply frowned, a dust of pink on her cheeks. “I don’t need your praise. Furthermore, we can manage the economic crisis all on our own. You may continue your service for Liyue back in Snezhnaya, where I don’t see you.”

Amused by her words, you then walked towards her, the sound of your clothes rustling as you patter her head. 

“Come on now,” you replied, grinning. “Don’t you suppose we have to get along?” 

Biting her inner cheek, Keqing harshly lifted your hand off her head and turned away. “Why so I have to?”

“I hope you didn’t forget we’re supposed to be betrothed.”

 It was a lively morning in Liyue Harbor. 

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

sorrry for being a pain! here’s some more eheh and thank you.

laugh quite a lot and i like to read, i’m quite bubbly but i don’t trust people very easily. relationship wise id like my independence and my love language is acts of service. altho i do quite like hugs and forehead kisses PDA-wise. i’d like to date someone who after a bad day we could both talk about it and like comfort each other but could also go a few days without seeing each other and conversation would still flow like nothing has happened. i have a large family so they need to be good with kiddos and dogs!



Don't worry about being a pain! I just needed a little more info, that's all haha

Also, I got really carried away with the drabble part... it's a little long whoops

Okay, anyway, hear me out, I match you with...

YELENA

-----

OKAY I'M SERIOUS HEAR ME OUT

At first impressions, things would probably be a bit rocky between you two

She found you frankly kind of annoying, and you found her too mysterious and stoic

BUT as time passed between the two of you, she found herself slowly enjoying your presence more and more

Because, although your cheerfulness and optimism seemed annoying to her at first, it ended up becoming a source of comfort for her

Whenever everything seemed to be going South, she'd always turn to you, and your unbothered smile

It lifted her up every time she saw it

But she wouldn't tell you this outright

She had a job to do, and a relationship would only interfere

So, surprisingly, it was you that had to confess to her

You weren't exactly sure what drew you to Yelena, but maybe it was the way her demeanor started to look less cold and apathetic, and more so confident and relaxed

So, with Onyankopon's reluctant help, you managed to get some alone time with her, and confessed your feelings to her over some warm tea and pastries you bought from a local bakery

She admitted, very casually, that the feelings were mutual

Somehow, throughout the whole thing, the most reaction you got out of her was a light pink tint on her cheeks

But, considering Yelena, that was a big step

Following the start of your relationship, your dynamic didn't change all that much at first

Things were kept mostly private while she eased into things a little bit

Not only did she have a steel reputation to maintain, but she had also never been in a relationship before. It was a new level of vulnerability for her

During this time, though, she'd worry about her abilities as your girlfriend

She wasn't exactly extremely affectionate, and scarcely had free time to spend with you

So you'd always reassure her, during your rare times alone, that you loved her, and she had nothing to worry about whenever she'd forego your time together in favor of working late hours into the night

And once her confidence in your relationship began to flourish, she was a lot more open about it to other people

It wasn't uncommon to see Yelena walking around holding your hand as she went to and from meetings, or to have her brush her hand soothingly across your thigh whenever said meetings got tense

She was still a bit more affectionate behind doors, but that was to be expected

She especially enjoyed the height difference between you two, bending down to wrap her arms around your waist and stand up straight, pulling you into a hug

And trust me, she'll melt if you wrap your legs around her and lean on her shoulder

It's one of those rare times you can see her blush

But, throughout your relationship, you notice just how quickly Yelena is at your hand and foot

Getting Yelena to do anything for others is a bit of a... challenge... but when it comes to you, she does it all without another word

She treats you like a queen, always preparing food/drinks when you need it, giving you massages when you feel tense, helping you with your paperwork to lift stress off of your shoulders, even when she has her own work to finish long after you've gone to sleep

She also gets very protective over you after a few months of dating. Honestly, sometimes, it borders on possessiveness

Her work is dangerous, and she hates to drag you into it, but it seems mostly unavoidable

So, she often tries to stick by you in tense situations, steering you away from danger

Whether that be encouraging you not to get involved with people she knows will backstab you, to physically getting in between you and harms way

She just needs to make sure that you stay safe, she wouldn't be able to live knowing she let something awful happen to you

She does respect your space, though, and leaves you to your devices often

And it makes her so proud to see just how amazing you are, both on the battlefield, and in meetings, pretty much anywhere

She admires how strong and capable you are in so many ways, she loves to see you flourish like that

Plus, I can totally see Yelena being a huge family person

Once the war ends, she'll start with something simple, like a dog

And so, you lead her to a dog shelter, expecting to walk out with a doberman or an English mastiff

Nope.

Instead, she ends up getting a tiny little chihuahua puppy, small enough to fit in her palm

The image almost makes you laugh, but the death glare she shoots you following her choice shuts you up right away

She'd name it Teacup or something

And god, she'd love that little dog to death

But even so, after years of living with you and the dog, she still felt a little lonely

So, she'd probably bring up the idea of adoption (since, of course, you're both women and can't just have a child)

Bonus points if Yelena has to dress up as a man to go to the adoption center because the employees were hesitant to let two women adopt

And that would lead you two to where you are now: a small little house in a big city, living within mere blocks of all your best friends, and your three adopted sons. And Teacup, of course

Yelena has no idea what she did in her life to deserve it all, but god, is she glad things worked out the way they did

-----

"Y/n?" A voice, unassuming to the unknowing ear, but easily recognizable to you, piped through the commotion. Soldiers and officers milled about left and right, chattering and laughing, filling the long hallway with loud echoes of banter.

You squeezed your way in between men in uniforms left and right, searching for the source of your voice. You didn't have to look far, though, since her impressive stature already stood her above almost everyone in sight.

Once you were in arms reach, Yelena reached out to intertwine your fingers in hers, filing through the crowd with much more ease than you had been granted, given her intimidating presence.

She pulled you down the hallway, further from where the soldiers had all gathered, and led you down to the hotel room you had shared for the time being. She whipped the keys out of her pocket, sliding them in and unlocking the door with a click.

You brought your hands to your head, rubbing small circles into your temple in an attempt to quell the dull ache already materializing.

"Geez, those guys are so noisy." You sighed, resigning to your headache as you collapsed on the sheets of the bed, tension leaving your body as the plush mattress engulfed you.

"It's unavoidable." She sighed, locking the door and stuffing her keys back into her front pocket.

A comfortable silence filled the space, Yelena shedding her suit jacket at the door and hanging it up on a nearby rack. You basked in the silence, the lack of chaos finally bringing you a moment of relief after nearly five days of non-stop obligations. A small smile formed on your lips as you felt your girlfriend gently drape a blanket over your still form, the warmth engulfing you immediately as she knelt down to remove your uncomfortably tight shoes from your feet.

The relaxed smile dissolved from your face almost immediately as a shrill ringing piped up in your ears, disturbing the silence. You were practically scowling by the time you opened your eyes, but they softened at the sight. It wasn't you, turns out, but a kettle of boiling water from the other side of the room. Yelena already had two cups laid out on the counter, and was digging through the cabinet containing all the teabags.

Your eyes fluttered shut once again, vision going black as you took in solely the sounds of the room. The piping quieted suddenly, replaced by the hollow sound of pouring water, then the clanging on the metal pot as Yelena sat it perhaps a little too carelessly back on the metal stove. If there had been any other noise, perhaps a thud of footsteps outside the door or a running air conditioner, you wouldn't have been able to pick up the quiet plop of Yelena dropping the teabags in, but it was surprisingly discernable through the quiet.

For the next few minutes, there wasn't much at all, save for the rhythmic taping of Yelena's foot, spurred by her rare moment of impatience. You could already feel sleep taking a hold of you, weeding the tenderness out of your muscles and numbing the pain in your head. Your breaths evened, preparing to drift into a short, sweet unconscious.

But, before sweet sweet sleep could engulf you, the old metal trashcan opened harshly, hitting the wall and startling you out of your tranquility. Yelena yawned, throwing out the teabags and bringing both steaming cups towards the bed.

She placed one on the nightstand, holding the other in her hand, steadying herself as to not spill the boiling water onto the sheets. Her large and slender hand found your back, rubbing up and down soothingly.

"How was the meeting?" She asked, taking a long sip from the cup.

"Tired..." You sigh into the sheets peeking your eyes open to gaze at your lover. She had her eyes transfixed on the steaming beverage in her hands.

"I figured it would be." She sighed, placing the cup onto the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. "They've been working you to the bone recently. I know you still have more work to do before the day is over, but I prepared you some chamomile tea with honey."

You resigned from your comfortable position on your stomach, sitting up the lean against the head of the bed as you took the cup to your side. You took a long sip, enjoying the taste of the tea, warm and soothing, and not too bitter due to the honey mixed in.

"I can't wait 'til tomorrow." You sigh. "It's my day off, for once. There was this new restaurant in town that I wanted to try. I heard it's good."

Yelena hummed in response, making a mental note to set up a reservation.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't need to take so many hours." She responded dully.

"But I want to." You sigh, setting the cup down to your side. It was still too hot. "Stuff needs to be done, someone has to do it."

Yelena frowned, bringing the cup back up to her lips to distract yourself. "You overwork yourself too much. Seriously."

"Maybe."

A silence filled the room once again. Not awkward, like you expect, just content. You knew you had very little time before there was more work to be done.

After an amount of minutes, maybe five, maybe twenty, a knock sounded on the door.

"L/n?" The voice traveled through the door. "Your meeting is in five minutes, are you ready."

You sighed, kicking the blankets off your legs. "Yeah, I'll be there." You pick up your suit jacket off the floor, pulling it over your shoulders. Just as you are about to leave, a hand grasps around your risk, tightening quickly and forbidding you from leaving.

You turn around and soften at Yelena as she sits at the edge of the bed. She tugs you closer, and you put your hands on her thighs to stabilize yourself as you lean in to plant a kiss to her lips.

"Good luck at your meeting." She says, running a thumb over your wrist. "I'll be right here waiting for you when it's over. I'll have something nice prepared for dinner." You smile and thank her, pulling away to kick your shoes back on.

You reach the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it.

"I love you..." She calls from behind you. Her voice is muffled slightly, and if you turned around now, you were sure that her back would be turned to you, probably already busying herself with paperwork.

"Love you too." You echo back, opening the door and slipping out, hurrying to the meeting room while you try to smoothen out your tussled hair and rub the tiredness from your eyes.

Yelena hears the door click, turning around to stare longingly at the cup of tea you left at your nightstand. She saunters over to pick it up, now cold, and bring it to the sink. You hadn't taken more than a few sips, it seems.

She sighs, placing the dish into the counter. "Seriously," She exhales, “what am I gonna do with you..."

-----

[questioningstressing]

Mr.Loverman part 1

Stardew valley bachlors x chubby! trans! male reader. 

First story posted on tumblr. 1,537 words!

The faint chatter of false kind voices talking politely to customers over phones echoed through the cubicles, making Y/n feel empty, his chest felt hollow. His eyes stared at his computer screen, data and random memos flooded his head. 

This really wasn't how he expected his life to go, sitting in a soul-draining, dream-crushing, aspiration-ruining, cubical, run by an evil corporation that had by this point taken over the grocery industries and planning to basically take over the world. He felt miserable.

And he wasn't even given time off after top surgery. In fact, he was being forced to work, but by this point, he couldn't sue. JoJo was so rich, they worked hand in hand with the government.

His chest hurt, he had to get help to get his fucking employee shirt on, he couldn’t get paperwork because it was always on high shelves, and he was turned into a go-for because his productivity was so low. 

Y/n rubbed his hands over his face, trying to ignore the pain that was thrumming through his chest, the fresh stitches hurt so bad, he couldn’t focus, he sighed and stood up. Too quickly it seemed. 

Pain shot through his chest, it stung, he gasped, looking down at his chest, blood seeping out onto his dark blue shirt, leaving a stain that slowly started growing. His body screamed at him to sit back down.

He whimpered and cried softly, he needed to call someone, but they took away cell phones to keep up productivity, he shouted. “Please! I need help!” he shook softly as pain shot through him.

Thirty minutes passed of this, of constant begging for help, shouting, and yelling as his chest bled before his manager came to his cubicle, basically making small talk while y/n cried in pain.

That was fucking it, y/n could fucking deal with it, so, after three months of bed rest, he got on a bus and went to Stardew Valley, and to his grandfather's farm.

The bus passed under street lights as Y/n leaned his head against the window, staring longingly out the window and at the stars, music blaring through his headphones. His mind was racing and anxiety pooled in his stomach as he thought about the fact he was uprooting his life and moving 17 hours away to his grandfather's old farm.

It was too late to turn back now, the bus was driving and Y/n couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t turn and run like a scared animal. He couldn’t, his eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t cry right now, he did this for himself, he did this for his own mental health. 

Y/n let out a sigh as he closed his eyes and leaned against the window, soon falling into a blissful slumber. 

Y/n was awoken by the sudden jolt of the bus stopping, he realized this was his stop, Stardew valley. He picked up his bag and his small suitcase, dragging it sleepily off the bus, greeted by a young woman.

“Hello, you must be Y/n!” The woman said enthusiastically, a bright smile on her face “I’m robin the local carpenter, mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival, the farms right over there, if you’ll follow me.” Robin turned on her heel looking back quickly to make sure y/n was following.

Y/n seemed a bit frazzled, having just come from a 17-hour bus trip and then having info dumped upon him, he followed quickly after the woman as they followed a dirt road down to a decent-sized house “This is F/n (farm name) farm.” Robin gestured to the farm with her arm.

Weeds, rocks, trees, and branches scattered across the ground. It dawned on Y/n that he’d need to do more work than expected, and his sudden relaxation seemed to be present on his face as Robin asked “What’s the matter? Sure it's a bit overgrown but there's some good soil under that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time!”

Robin encouraged Y/n who turned to look at Robin, who once again turned on her heel to lead him up to the door. Once they got up to the steps Robin’s smile stretched a bit “...And here we are! Your new home!”  Y/n looked at the door and an older man walked out 

“Ah the new farmer!” he said “I’m mayor Lewis, mayor of pelican town! You know everybody’s been asking about you!” Mayor Lewis said “It's not every day someone new moves in! It’s quite a big deal!” The mayor says, before turning to look at the rickety old cottage “So… you’re moving into your grandfather's old cottage? It’s a good house…. Very… rustic...”  He seemed to be trying to make Y/n feel more comfortable, which was failing.

 “Rustic is one way to put it! Crusty might be a little more apt though!” Robin joked, and the mayor looked shocked “Rude!” he said quickly as robin laughed “Don’t listen to her Y/n she’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades.” Lewis said to y/n 

Robin crossed her arms as she made a noise that seemed a bit upset as the mayor continued “Anyway… you must be tired from the long journey you should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town and introduce yourself, the townspeople would appreciate that!” Lewis said, a kind smile on his face, before he turned on his heel and began to leave before turning back around “Oh! And I almost forgot, if you have anything to sell just place it in this box here ill come during the night to collect it!” he paused for a moment “Well… good luck!” Before both he and Robin walked away. 

Y/n let out a breath walking into his grandfather's old house as soon as he could and dropping his bags down on the ground, kicking off his old beat-up shoes, taking off his shirt leaving him in his underwear, he looked down at himself, his face twisting in displeasure as he studied his body.

Y/n was not a thin man by any means, in fact, he was a large man, something he got teased for constantly, his soft tummy,  large thighs, and round face haunted him like a persistent ghost. He let out a sigh “Don’t think about it.” he muttered to himself, gently tracing the scars that rest just below his chest, the few things that made him happy about his body, his top surgery scars, inverted T scars sat beautifully under his chest, a reminder he was strong.

He let out a gentle sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed head in his hands, his body gently shaking as he began to cry, did he really uproot his life for this? He wanted to love it, the few times he visited his grandfather's farm he remembered loving it. 

Every time he would run around the fruit trees, climbing them to pick any ripe fruit he could, sometimes falling and scraping his knees on the tiny rocks beneath. Water the plants with his grandfather, play in the field with the cows even though his grandfather told him not to. 

The memories float into his head leaving this moment more somber, his heart heavy with sadness.

Y/n let out a  shaky breath before breathing in deep and letting out a little laugh, was he really crying about it not being up to his expectations? How much more of a ‘stuck up city boy’ could he get? 

He stared at the floor as he shook his head, no, he was gonna work hard on getting the farm to look nice, to be like his memories, to impress his grandfather, starting tomorrow he was gonna get this place tidied up.

Y/n laid in bed, pulling the warm duvet over him, causing him to soon fall asleep, and he dreamt.

He was in a field filled with F/c (favorite colored) flowers, that smelled familiar, he began to walk in a direction, the further out into the field he got he heard a group of male voices laughing and talking, he soon found the group. 

They were in a cuddle pile, a man with short purple hair and a torn-up Joja hoodie held someone with short brown wavy brown hair with glasses.

 leaning against the Joja hoodie guy’s shoulder was a man with long black hair that covered one of his eyes, and in his arms, a spikey blond-haired guy was curled up seeming to have fallen asleep.

 On the other shoulder, a long-haired gentleman rested, seeming to be smiling as he read something, a short-haired man wearing a green sweater was reading over the long-haired gentleman's shoulder.  Y/n smiled and he realized he knew them, they felt like home. 

He quickly joined the cuddle pile, all of them seeming excited to see him. He fell asleep on their laps, his hair gently being pat.

[kitkat1003]

Everything is Blue

Chapter 1:  His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him.  He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out!  I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au.  Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr!  It even has a sequel!  Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her.  A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it.  He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point?  She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories.  He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead.  Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing.  If anything, MK thought he’d be older.  He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them.  Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time.  DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young.  Powerful.  Weak.  Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin.  Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops.  His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face.  The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot.  It’s a miracle he’s even standing.  

What is this?  

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters.  The empty canisters.  There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?  

Is this?  Wher e it w  e n    t?  

Wha t   i  s  . .   .  ?

It’s hard to think.  His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel.  Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea.  He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze.  How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face.  He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here.  Then again, he doesn’t even  know how he got here.  He feels dizzy just trying to remember. 

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss.  Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time.  He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing.  There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little.  He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost.  He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before.  Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands.  He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy  

“Here, kid.  Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever.  Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown.  MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight.  MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying 

Leave. 

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air. 

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm.  Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again.  He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain.  The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.  

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque.  MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable.  He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little.  Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second. 

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud!  Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone.  Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him.  He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know?  Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool.  You uh...you bring anyone with you?” 

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No?  Unless-Oh no, is there someone here?  Is it a demon guy?”  What if he led a bad guy here?  What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved.  MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves.  Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh!  That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head.  “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt.  But!  If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker!  Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.  

“Sure, why not?  If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow. 

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin.  “Totally!  I’m, like, the best at meditation.  I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects.  MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits.  Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks.  A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move.  It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise.  “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out.  Nothing else matters but the energies around you.  Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,” 

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride.  “I’m a pretty powerful guy.  DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too.  Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath.  The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin.  Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King.  Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding.  He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already?  You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope!  Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?”  He shrugs, and then stands, looking around.  Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip.  “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong?  I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself.  “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud.  I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off.  MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei!  She’s...very green.  Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid.  Not surprising.  Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts.  “You’re freezing.  It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal.  Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe?  I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately.  Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again.  “You’re probably fine.  Just, take it easy the next few days, alright?  Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job.  When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely.  MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay.  Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.  

Monkey King deliberates.  Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what.  We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago.  Kay?” 

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home.  He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find.  He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold.  He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest.  For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat.  There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice.  He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training.  It’s good to see them again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore.  MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work.  Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries.  It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day.  He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy.  Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so. 

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam.  Luckily the customer hadn’t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing.  He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake.  Cruel, to yell at one so young.  Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump.  Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down.  He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

 That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it?  When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

 It’s probably nothing.  After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments.  When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings.  When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating.  When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up.  When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days.  When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you.  They want you gone.  They’re plotting against you.  They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that.  He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying.  He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues.  He knows that he’s not a good enough successor.  And that just makes him want to do better.  

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense.  He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know?  He’s the Monkey King’s successor.  He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager.  If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part.  Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be.  He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter.  He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough.  He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often.  If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week.  He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier.  Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades.  He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.  

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet.  He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right?  That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right?  He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough.  They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room.  He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore.  He’s losing feeling in his fingers.  He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him.  And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out.  If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him.  He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?  

Listen to me. 

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it.  The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice.  He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them.  They try to kill him, but it’s never personal.  He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him.  He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder.  They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him.  And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close.  And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age.  And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son.  It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen.  Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in.  Not yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon.  They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat.  After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task.  So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm.  You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around.  He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad.  Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number.  Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text.  He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before. 

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape.  They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt.  MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK.  You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it.  He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth.  He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them.  That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently.  He sips the tea.  It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says.  “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt.  If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea.  A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away.  Apparently MK is too cold for its liking.  He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning.  Mistakes are bound to happen.  Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever!  You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders.  And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is.  “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool.  Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with.  MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright.  Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced.  Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang.  I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.  What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories.  I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back.  He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble.  Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it.  It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay.  The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by.  Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled.  Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly.  MK tilts his head to the side.  “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh.  So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits.  Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK?  You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah!  What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled.  They thought he had killed an innocent girl!  He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him.  The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit.  She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather.  Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up.  Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently.  “More than once.  Not that it matters.” 

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends.  “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better.  But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side.  “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.  

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right.  Eugh, gross.  Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down.  “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter.  MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind.  He stumbles a bit while walking.  He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time.  He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing.  She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating.  Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt.  His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue.  He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours.  Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her.  He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon.  There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet.  He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.  

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there.  This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face.  Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud?  You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it.  MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful.  And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward.  The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.  

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second.  “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something.  There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward.  Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house.  When did they get there?  Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid.  Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch.  Warm.  Safe.  

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked.  Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks.  “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK.  MK blinks in confusion.  He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear.  It’s nice, sometimes.  Mean other times.  MK wonders if that’s his fault.  Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him?  How can he be better?  He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on.  MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away.  Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote.  Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off.  It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream.  He stands on ice.  Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles.  He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer.  The closer he gets, the more he can make them out.  “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls.  His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants.  He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow.  Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face.  It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself.  He misses the contact.  He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him.  It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else.  Her face is ice cold, yet inviting.  He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay?  Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly.  Of course that’s what he wants.  More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration.  He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity.  She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it.  The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm.  It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired.  He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero.  He is warm.  He is ready.  

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before.  Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.  

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps.  The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin.  MK has never felt better.  He knows what to do now.  He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will.  He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while.  He forgot he had to.  He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching.  He remembers, now, how to look at auras.  He remembers a lot of things now.  It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first?  He needs to get all of them, keep them secure.  It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first.  We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense.  MK grins to himself.  It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing.  He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance.  He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory.  Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash.  They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough.  They’re demons.  Dangerous.  He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.  

He heads to their home, not in a hurry.  There’s no rush to the inevitable.  Is this what self confidence is?  The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you?  It feels very gratifying.  He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.  

His phone buzzes.  A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is.  He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff.  Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps.  That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh.  “Step two, take the staff from him.” 

As if they could.  MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door.  Polite.  He still has manners, after all.

“Huh?  Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice.  MK pats the statue with a fond look.  He’ll chip away the extra pieces later.  This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise.  He can get better at it with practice.  Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other.  Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes.  He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders.  Where is he going to put them?  There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed.  What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave?  The old villain hideout?  

That’s perfect!  After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right?  Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan.  Gosh, he’s so smart.  Because this is him, all him.  He finally is smart enough to know what to do.  He has to clear out the cave, first.  It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers.  There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses.  He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right?  He can fix anything, given enough time.  That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK’s release.  He nods to himself, and heads off.  He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon.  That stops him short.  He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now?  He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away.  The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time.  The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter.  “On it!” 

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart.  Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times.  “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion.  A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders.  He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind.  Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven.  The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work.  The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going.  He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree.  Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live.  MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim.  The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be.  Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel.  The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up.  Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet.  Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.  

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white.  He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool.  He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn.  He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up.  Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually.  The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers.  They seem new?  Why hasn’t he used them before?  How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he?  MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy.  It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right.  MK nods to himself.  Now, time to get Yin and Jin!  Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them.  He has to consider DBK’s size.  Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady?  He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut.  Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes.  But first, rest.

Right.  He needs to head back to his house.  Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon.  He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one.  MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays.  The spider demon isn’t easy to find.  He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will.  He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him.  Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing.  MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished.  It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch.  It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers.  He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes.  Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction.  The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver.  “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine.  Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes.  “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern.  He tilts his head to a side in confusion.  “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all.  He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway.  “I’m trying out some contacts.  Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits.  “But those look cool!”  

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade.  Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind.  Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory.  Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away.  He’s too cold for them.  

He needs contact.  

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade.  Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising.  Someone hurt his friend.  A demon?  A scan of the area reveals no such thing.  Just a mean person.  He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up.  He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town.  Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight.  When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough!  Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable.  He heads to his room and paces.  How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks.  Now, there’s an idea.  But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever.  Just until they know how to behave.  Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment.  Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it.  Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that.  Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out.  However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends.  This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair.  Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her.  He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember?  Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.  

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway.  Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to.  The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence.  He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right?  MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her.  She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back.  “Ooo, we’re rough, now?  Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all.  Huh.  His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot.  “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.” 

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle.  The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her.  MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down.  Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder.  MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard.  The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up.  “What’s the occasion?  Is there something new you wanted to teach me?  Is there a demon we have to fight?”  We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself.  Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun!  He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond.  Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week.  “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know?  And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him.  But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue.  “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left!  Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re?  Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch.  Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out.  It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all.  He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns.  He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine.  You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days.  Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.  

“Anyway, get some rest, bud.  You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off.  The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all.  But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans.  Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all.  He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city.  How it will look, when he’s done.  He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this.  So he sketches.  Pins the piece to the wall.  

Squints.  He doesn’t like it.  

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied.  But there is no time to waste.  So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture.  He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part.  Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder.  It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place.  He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects.  But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly.  He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure.  After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything.  There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure.  There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos.  MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums.  He wonders if they have statues, a shrine?  He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow.  MK listens in with interest.  What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him.  He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply.  “He barely knows you, and he’s young.  He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them.  The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders.  MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily.  “But, anyway, could you hold still?  This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually.  DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness.  “We are in your debt for helping save my husband.  However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues  “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire.  Volcanoes.  She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry.  But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles.  The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder.  Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there.  He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges. 

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground.  MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy!  What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son!  I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor.  Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him.  “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore.  You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks.  He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that.  He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts.  “But, I get it.  You don’t understand.  You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming.  For a moment, something rises within him.  

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.  

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency.  MK blinks, tries to remember where he is.  Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan.  He got them!  Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.  

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm.  It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him.  He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right.  Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously.  “What…happened to you?  You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts.  “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK.  What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.  “I stopped all the bad guys!  See?” he gestures to them.  “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice.  Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion.  “Kid, how are you doing this?  Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand.  “And the-my head voice gave me the idea.  Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar.  “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains.  “It-it told me how to do it.  And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here?  He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in. 

“You shouldn’t have any deviations.  Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash.  “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.  

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever.  “I’m just fixing things, okay?  I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror.  “He’ll be fine!  It doesn’t hurt.  I’ve been freezing for ages!  It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal.  His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach.  His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it.  “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now.  Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point.  “It’s mine.”  Right?  Because Monkey King gave it to him.  Gifts can’t be taken back, right?  MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it.  ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud.  C’mon.” 

Another step forward.  MK grips the staff tighter.  

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!  

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong.  His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun.  It’s too soft to be true.  “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble.  MK’s eyes are wild.  

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it!  I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.  

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts.  Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder.  Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go!  Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected.  Why is everyone so terrified?  This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot.  MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart.  And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused.  He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard.  The ice is up to his chest.  “Get out of here.  Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over.  “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets.  Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets.  The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends.  They have to understand.  This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other.  The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.  

She groans, her bike suit torn.  He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt.  Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is.  Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places.  Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.  Are you alright?  Where does it hurt?  I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps.  He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.  

Gosh, humans.  They’re so annoying!  If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting.  MK nods.  

Right.  A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash.  It crawls over and into everything.  Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes.  He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice. 

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet.  With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops.  Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.  

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud.  “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading.  He just wants to do right.  Why don’t they understand?  Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy.  Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.  

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream.  At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises.  It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain.  Something warm and different and yet familiar stings.  Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!  If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.  

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else.  He doesn’t know who he is.  What’s right?  What’s wrong?  How can he tell?  

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.  

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat.  No, this isn’t right.  You froze good people.  Innocent people!  You froze Tang and Sandy!  You made Pigsy cry!  You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet.  Monkey King is notoriously stubborn.  He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet.  All you have to do is wait for them to come back.  And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.  

The voice sounds so self assured.  The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.  

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin.  He chokes on his own breath.  It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  

Everyone’s gone.  

He’s alone.  

This can’t be right.

It is.  You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands.  The need to do more, be more.  It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet.  He feels a hand brush his hair back.  He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.  

MK stands.  The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then!  Let’s get to work!”  

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages.  He doesn’t think he can.  He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue.  He has to fix that, it’s unsightly!  Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head.  It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel.  We’re going to do great things together.

[janekfan]

Click.

Jon,

I trust you’ll have the statement I left for you this afternoon recorded by end of work day tomorrow.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

If you are to be useful in your position as Archivist, speak to your employees about what it means to research properly. I expect to see marked improvement following your discussion.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

You must have forgotten to record the statement from last week. I understand. It takes time to settle into a new position. Still, you have new responsibility and you know I hold you in high esteem. Tomorrow will have to do.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

Apologies for the late notice. Record the statement Rosie provided you prior to your leaving today. It is imperative.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

Please refrain from spending the night in the Archives. It is a liability. I’m sure you understand.

Regards,

EB

Jon cradled his head in his hands, massaging the tension taking up residence in his temples and rubbing his itchy, aching eyes. These were only the latest in a very long list of emails he could never seem to keep up with. As soon as he made his way through them, reordered his plans for the day, accepted a new assignment from Elias, always given at the very last minute, Jon’s morning was already eaten up. He’d taken to arriving an hour or two early just to give himself more time to organize his plan of attack.

Like clockwork, Martin arrived with a mug of tea prepared exactly the way he preferred it.

“Thank you, Martin.” Gratefully, he cradled the hot ceramic in his palms, waiting until the heat seeping through the walls became nearly unbearable before taking a sip and closing his eyes in the briefest ecstasy. As a researcher Jon doubted he’d get much out of him, at least not for a while. It seemed as though they had something in common--he was as inept at his job as Jon was at his.

“Pardon me for saying, but, Jon, you look terrible.” He felt terrible. Sore and tired and overwhelmed. This new job felt like drowning and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Elias chose him over Sasha. She had so much experience, was so much more capable.

“I will not. Now, thank you again for the tea. Please return to your desk and continue with the statement I gave you three days ago.” Properly chastised and flushing bright red, Martin stumbled over his farewells as poorly as he stumbled out the door. Jon took a breath that achieved nothing, then took another, trying to clear his head enough to read through a statement. With how far behind he’d fallen he really should read through two but the ones he ended up documenting on those old tape recorders made him feel strange, dazed and drained, like he’d spent the time sprinting instead of speaking. The phone rang, harsh electronic chattering jolting him awake and he glanced frantically at his watch; only a few minutes.

Hell, Jon.

At least pretend you know what you’re doing.

Isn’t that what Georgie always said? Fake it till you make it?

Gingerly, he lifted the phone from its cradle.

“Sims, Archivist.”

“Jon.” Of course. He’d already known. “I trust you’ve had a productive morning.” It was as though he was watching his every move and Jon surreptitiously skimmed over the room, searching for cameras while knowing even if they did exist, he would never find them.

“Y’yes. Yes, of course.” An oily sensation trickled down the seam of his spine and he had a sneaking suspicion that Elias could tell he was lying. “I’ll have that recording up to you straight away.”

“Glad to hear it.” There was amusement there, cold and calculating. Jon didn’t like being played with and Elias reminded him too much of a cat with a mouse. “I’ll be waiting. Jon.” The delicate severing of the line failed to make the watching any less. All the same he plucked the statement off the top of his pile knowing already not to bother with his laptop and sank into the smog and the smoke, gasping as the written words closed over his face and buried him in obscurity.

“Statement ends.” He heaved a breath, shuffled through the notes he did have to allow himself time to get his trembling fingers under control. “Supplemental. Victim does not appear to have any connections to, uh, well, anyone. It appears as though they cut themselves off to family and friends long before their voyage. They have never been found.” Lord, he hoped that would be sufficient for Elias. But he didn’t have any additional information and so it would have to do. Groaning between teeth clenched near hard enough to crack his jaw, Jon pillowed his heavy head on folded arms until the room stopped its spinning. A notification rang out, echoing painfully in the space between his ears.

A new email.

And rather than reading it, Jon took up the tape, packaging it neatly in an envelope on the way out of his office and toward Elias.

Jon,

You recall, of course, your promise the other day. I wish to inquire about the whereabouts of the paperwork I was expecting this morning.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

Do try to arrive to work on time.

Regards,

EB

Click.

Jon,

Did you forget about our lunch meeting? We shall reschedule.

Regards,

EB

Jon thumbed through the calendar on his phone, disappointing himself with the distinct lack of invites to this mysterious lunch meeting. He went as far as to search his inbox. He’d never delete an email, preferring a papertrail himself, and could not find a thing. But Elias sounded so sure that Jon began to doubt his own memory. He’d been tired, working several late nights in a row. It was possible he forgot. He did that when he failed to write things down. He buried both hands in his curls and pulled. Damn it, all. Jon. Get a hold of yourself. Do your job.

Doggedly and with manic determination, Jon chewed through the stacks of files arranged in order of importance, lessening their number by a considerable amount and he was exhausted. Elias had kept calling with inane and frankly useless information at all the wrong moments, spiking his already rabbiting heart rate because no, he hadn’t yet had a moment to go over the first statement sent along today let alone the following three. Slowing the rise and fall of his chest deliberately, Jon pressed a palm over his upset and sore stomach.

Work was piling up at such a rate that Jon had the brilliant idea of taking home a messenger bag chock-a-block full each night. He’d been told off thrice about falling asleep in the archives and at least when he passed out in his own flat he was caught by couch cushions instead of the solid pine of his cheap desk. Alright, finally. Large, uninterrupted swathes of time in the evenings and on weekends and he was finally, finally catching up with all of his back log. The tight fist of anxiety clutched mercilessly around his lungs and stealing away any chance of a full breath began to loosen. He could do this. He was passable at this job.

He arrived Monday, bright and early, unloading his completed work and filing it all carefully and neatly away. A thing of beauty he took a moment to be proud of.

Until he sat down to check his emails.

Jon,

Statements are the property of the Magnus Institute and should not be removed from the premises. I trust you understand and this oversight will not happen again.

Regards,

EB

Projecting an air of confidence he most certainly did not possess, Jon approached Tim and Sasha with a short stack of files he hoped to divide between them. Understandably, they were cross with him for taking the position even though he really had very little say in the matter. He was hopeful their chilly attitude towards him would thaw over time because he missed them and they were his friends even if they were taking time away from him at the moment. Honestly, he’d like to take time away from himself and his mistakes and the crushing one tonne weight of his inability.

“What can we do you for, boss?” Tim’s new nickname for him didn’t altogether sound like a positive thing but Jon decided there was no use bringing it up. Especially when he’d come to beg favors. His voice got stuck in his throat and he cleared it, apprehensive and wishing he’d never had this idea.

“Hullo.” He nodded to each of them. Why was this so awkward? Because they hate you, you prat. “I’m, I wouldn’t normally ask, I know you’re working hard on the tasks I’ve already assigned you. But. I’m a touch overwhelmed?” He chuffed a laugh, it was either that or sob. “And, if you’re not too busy I. I’m sorry, I just.” As covertly as possible, he blinked away tears. “I need some help.” He held his breath. Swallowed nervously. Worried his bottom lip.

“Sorry boss.” And Tim looked so contrite the crashing guilt broke over Jon like a wave. “I’m still in the middle of the other things you asked me to do.” Sasha was next, tilting her head in sympathy, a small, sad smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“We’re all busy, Jon.” Gently, she spoke, probably trying to spare his feelings. “You should know, being the one passing out the work and all.” Oh. He’d thought. His desk was still piled impossibly high and Sasha and Tim had a few each but. No. Stop it, you know they're better suited to this than you. You know it. Don't blame your friends for your own ineptitude. They’d all been working so hard, he distinctly remembered recording and filing their work and Martin’s.

“Of course, it’s. I’m sorry. I’ll do better in the future.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Wonderful. Now he was trying to offload his own problems by putting undue pressure on his assistants and with as much as he was under he’d have thought he knew better than to burden them like that. It certainly didn’t make his job any easier. But. But he had thought they might be finished on some of the follow through, it had been some time. Okay. Alright. No harm done, not really, he murmured to himself, tucking the files under his arm and retreating to the safety of his office. He could brush off his researching skills and help out, it hadn’t been that long. If he planned better he could alleviate some of their stress.

Jon,

Going forward, I would appreciate if you would check over the work of your assistants to make certain all is well before being recorded and filed.

Regards,

EB

It was a Tuesday.

He knew that because on Tuesdays Martin arrived an hour later. Something to do with taking care of his mum. Without knowing that, Jon wasn’t sure he’d know at all.

His stomach hurt.

There hadn’t been much time for sleeping, not with coming in over the weekend to sort through and double check perfectly adequate research. Why did Elias allow him to choose assistants in the first place then? What was the point if one didn’t trust their expertise? Tim and Sasha didn’t need him double checking their work. Even Martin wasn’t in need of it beyond a few grammar corrections. Regardless, he’d done it and he’d made quick progress. Perhaps he should have been spending his weekends at the Institute this whole time. He shivered, incredibly cold despite extra socks and an additional jumper. Cor, but he was dizzy, barely able to hold his head up on a weak and wobbly neck. Pretty sure he’d forgotten to eat yesterday. Hasn’t yet today and with the pain in his stomach he didn’t plan to. What did he have Sunday? Jon gave up wracking his clouded brain in favor of laying his hot cheek against the cool wood of the desk. Stacks of files and envelopes and notes so high he couldn’t see over them formed thick, impenetrable walls between him and the outside world. Was nice. Focusing his eyes on a brilliant pink tag, Jon let it take up his vision until it swam out of focus and tears slipped over the bridge of his nose, running down his cheek to the scarred surface. It was too easy to cry. He was being overdramatic, whinging because he was incompetant at his job and frightened he would lose it despite doing fuck all to earn it in the first place.

“Jon?” Angrily, he scrubbed the tears away before sitting up. “Oh! There you are. Wow, that’s. Well, that’s a lot of work.”

“I’ve noticed.” Irritated at being caught doing nothing, Jon scowled.

“I. Is there something I can do? To help?” Any closer and he’d surely notice that he’d been crying like a child over their schoolwork. Snapping, Jon let a defensive growl add a sharp, snapping edge to his words they didn’t need.

“Maybe if you spent more time researching and less on making tea.”

“Oh. Y’yes. I--of course.” The man stuttered around his apologies, leaving the tea behind on the corner of his desk before fleeing the room. Well, no surprise there. Jon Sims. Resident arsehole. He let his cheekbone smack into the wood, accepting his worsening migraine as a matter of course, deserving it. Through the valley between two mountainous heaps he could see just the handle of the mug. His favorite mug, if he was prone to those sorts of things.

Jon drank his tea as an apology and let the emails pile up in his inbox and the phone go to voicemail.

“Jon.” With no small measure of difficulty, Jon levered himself upright with brittle stick and string arms. He hurt all over. Sore and stiff and cold. It took conscious effort to pull air into his laboring lungs.

“Elias.” Voice like gravel, he clutched at his painful throat, wincing when tears stung his eyes after a short but intense fit of coughing.

“You look terrible, Jon.” It didn’t sound sincere or worried, more irritated. “Is this why I’ve had to come see you in person? Why you've ignored my correspondence?”

“Uh, y’yes?” Under the close scrutiny of his superior, Jon thought he might pass out, struggling to focus through the sweeping waves of delirious heat rushing through him from top to toes. “I, I’ve been under the, the w’weather?”

“Jon.” Sighing in frustration, he pinched the space between his eyes. “If I cannot trust you to care for yourself, how can I trust you to run my archives?”

“Apologies. It. I won’t let it get this bad again.”

“See that you don’t.” He turned, disappointment clear in the stiff line of his shoulders and the callous tone of his voice. “Take the rest of the day. Another if you require it. You’re useless to everyone as you are.” If Jon had been capable of it at the moment, he would have been shocked. As it was, he was filled to bursting with humiliation, shivering in his chair and trying to think of the steps it took to get home from here. His assistants crowded within the frame of the door, expressions displeased with him and he wanted for one moment not to feel watched. Not when he was so, so, so useless. Already his face was hot with embarrassment and shame, tears pooling in his eyes and god forbid he let them fall. He stood, hip knocking into the wooden edge hard enough to bruise and Jon had to catch himself on a filing cabinet when the room tilted abruptly on its axis, nearly taking him with it. A cacophony of noises and sounds and echoing commotion blocked up his ears. He ignored their faux concern, their questions, pushing them out before they had a chance to come in and locking the door behind them.

“Jon--” Tim. The rattling knob.

“Leave.” Staggering to his chair, he collapsed, curling tight around the blazing ache at the core of him.

“Jon, you’re, you’re not well.” He knew. And was useless because of it. He didn’t need to be reminded.

“Pease leave.” So, so sick, about to be sick, can’t move, can’t breathe, everything numb, numb, numb. Let him be alone so he can gather his things, deal with the ever present chanting in his mind.

Failure, failure, failure.

“Damn it, Tim. We, we took this too far.” Faint sounds of muffled arguing faded further and further into the distance until he was left with only Martin’s fidgeting silhouette in the frosted glass of the window. He couldn’t stay upright, nauseated and unsteady and when he fell forward, vision blacked, body heavy, an avalanche of paperwork flowed over the precipice with the rest of him.

“Hey, Jon, Jon.” Unfamiliar hands roamed where they oughtn't, tilted him this way and that and he moaned because that was a sure fire way to upset the tentative agreement he had made with his stomach. “Jon!” Insistent, persistent, incessant.

“Go…” thick, nigh incomprehensible.

“There you are, now.” Martin, his palm blessedly cool and sweeping back clinging, irritating curls from where they’d stuck to his clammy skin. “You’re burning up, Jon.” Pity. He didn’t want pity. He just wanted to be left alone and tried to say it, ended up coughing instead, hugging himself desperately to stop the fire poker stabbing into his gut. “Hush, let’s get you sorted. Get you home so you can rest proper.” Drifting, he sensed more than saw Martin step out, closing the door behind him.

“How is he?”

“Not well.”

“What does that mean, Martin?”

“Means I need to get him home and into bed.”

“How can we help?”

“You didn’t want to help him before.”

“That--you know--!”

Out of earshot, out of body, out of mind, out of, out of…

Touch, soft and careful, lifted that thin veil of sleep, pulled him up by protesting shoulders, and he couldn’t stop the cry forced between his teeth at being unfolded.

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin tugged him until he was leaned against his side and held a glass to his lips, tipping water by mouthfuls, chastising Jon not unkindly when he chased it. “Slow, slow now. Or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“S’...um. I.” Thoughts fluttered like moths, all too quick for him to catch, in and out of the dark, seemingly out of nowhere, disappearing into nowhere.

“It’s alright. Take these, good man.” But he wasn't. He was bad. At his job. At people. At, at everything. Pills, bitter and chalky on his tongue, washed down with more water. “Jacket, good, good, I know.” Every action’s difficulty had increased one hundred fold and Jon latched onto Martin’s voice like it was a lifeline. “Okay, I’ve called a cab.”

“Can’...you can’t…”

“You can buy me a coffee, Jon. Pay me back if you have to but the train isn’t the place for you right now.” So lightheaded, so very lightheaded, if Martin hadn’t been there he’d be making acquaintance with the tile, he was sure. “I should take you to A&E. I really don’t like how you look.”

“No, no. Jus’...sleep.” A noncommittal hum filled him with worry. He wanted to go home.

“Alright, Jon. Alright.” Though his surroundings were a blur, Jon thought he saw Tim and Sasha when Martin whisked him to the lift but he couldn’t be sure. It hurt to walk, to move and he buried his face in Martin’s broad shoulder for the duration of the ride, breathing shallow and slow to stave off the carsickness.

Something cold and wet settled over his forehead and he struggled to open his eyes, staring up at a familiar ceiling, still dressed in his work clothes, sans wingtips.

“Welcome back.”

“Wh’where’d I go?” Martin’s hands were moving sections of his hair, plaiting it he realized after a long moment.

“So it stays out of your face, you don’t seem to like it.”

“Mm…” He didn’t, and the effort it took to put it up hadn’t been worth it lately.

“Should I stop?”

“No. Nice.” He was feeling marginally better now that he was laying down and out of the archives and away from the overwhelming pressure and stress. The shame was there, its blinding brightness dulled by distance and time and the fingers combing out the tangles calmed his thoughts.

“Sorry, sorry, love, I know you were having a nice sleep.” More medicine, diluted tea with sugar. Jon fumbled with his belt, uncomfortable, couldn’t get his fingers to do what he wanted, and didn’t remember taking off his slacks or his jumper or layers of socks or his button down leaving him in his loose undershirt. His heavy quilt was pulled up, he was tucked in, warm, comfortable.

“Okay, just breathe.” Jolted awake and bent double over his throbbing stomach, Jon’s back heaved with the force of a barking fit. “Here, another dose.”

“Mah…”

“You’re alright. Let the medicine work.” The damp flannel was back, sweeping over his flushed skin, ridding it of its disagreeable stickiness. Down his throat, over shuddering collarbones, cheeks, brow, repeat, slow, even, methodical.

Over and over and over…

“Jon!” Dark, smothering dark, hands, striking like snakes in, out, everywhere, trying to hold him down, trying to keep him still, from getting up. “Jon, hey, hey, shh.” Panting, can’t. Coughing, not enough, choking. What, what... who… he. Work. He had work to finish? Have, so. Elias was, was angry, disappointed? Pinned, arms close, soft, warm, behind. Up and down. And. Sick...he was. “Shh, it’s alright, s’alright.”

“Mah…’in. W’why, ah.” How was he supposed to finish...he had to finish but there’s so much how. How. When he was...

“Hush, Jon. Hush. Don’t worry about any of that archiving nonsense right now. When you're well, when we go back I’ll help you sort through that mess.”

“Don’, don’need h’help.”

“It’s fine if you do.” Martin’s kind, soft tone was enough to make the sorrow spill over and lightly calloused fingers brushed them away. “It is, Jon. I, I know I’m not the best yet, but I want to help.”

“T’Tim and Sasha...even, it’s. Too much on you all.”

“It’s too much for you.” For one frantic, delusional moment Jon believed Elias had sent Martin here to dismiss him. That he wasn’t even worth letting go in person and he panicked, distraught.

“No! No! I can, I can do this! I ca--” Fire erupted, coursed through flayed open veins when he coughed, gasped, tasted iron against his teeth. Sobbed. Then Martin hugged him and it should have been awful because Jon didn’t do hugs but he returned it anyway. “I was asking too much.” Hoarse and choked and sad. No one should feel like he did, at the end of a rope knotted too much like a noose, and he’d gone ahead and done it to Tim and Sasha and overloaded them with more and more and more work and then he tried to add even more because he couldn’t handle his own damn job and, and--!

“Jon! You weren’t asking enough.”

“They, you, were so busy, I, I couldn’t--”

“Jon, love, I need you to listen to me.” When he made to interrupt, Martin settled him back into the pillows and took his hand in a loose hold Jon was free to escape. He didn’t understand. “Tim and Sasha. They were having a go at you.” That didn’t sound right. They were. They were friends. “Pretending to be slow, putting the pressure on their new boss.” The sharp shock of electric grief cracked through his breastbone as though it were a lightning rod and he wasn’t grounded.

“Y’you’re lying.” He had to be. And Jon wasn’t the best at interpreting these sorts of things on a good day but he had to be. He had to be because they, they were friends. They wanted to help, they said.

“They were upset with you, I suppose.” His fingers tightened around Martin’s hand and he returned it. “I don’t think they meant it to go this far. I don’t think they really understood what Elias was asking of you.”

“Why?” Broken, shaking so violently he nearly bit his tongue. “Why would they? What did, I didn’t mean to be chosen. I didn’t mean it Martin, I didn’t, I never. I.”

“I know.”

“Elias, he. He didn’t--” Pathetic. He barely knew Martin and the man was in his flat, in his room, consoling him because his coworkers couldn’t stand their new boss.

“I don’t want you to think about it right now.” Helpless, hopeless, Jon looked up at him. “I want you to sleep.” Martin cupped his jaw and brushed the tears away with two balanced sweeps of his thumbs and Jon clung to his wrists. “Try to sleep, things will be better in the morning. I promise, Jon. I promise.” It didn’t feel like it could ever be better. But sleep sounded good. Sleep and he could forget about it for a little while. Martin tucked stray curls back away from his face, into the messy plait, talked about nothing, poetry, the dog he’d let run into the archives forever ago. Jon let him, trying not to think about anything else. Following the currents of his voice down, down, down, where the weight of tide dragged him under.

“Your fever is still higher than I’d like.” Jon frowned. He wanted to be miserable alone but in the end he slept when he could, when his worsening stomach ache let up, and watched Martin tidy his cluttered flat through half lidded eyes. He snapped awake when the door closed thinking he’d finally had enough of his sour mood and left. But no. He’d gone to the Tesco down the street to purchase him some essentials and was coming back. Jon missed him leaving. He was irritated with Martin for taking his phone even though it was probably for the best. The emails kept coming, enough to bury him, and his vision was swimming so badly he could barely read them anyway.

Still, he couldn't help but think about the archives and the new statements that no-doubt waited for his return. They’d be further behind now, out one terrible archivist and one archivist’s assistant all because he couldn’t take care of himself properly.

“Are you sure you feel well enough?” Martin was helping him take slow, unsteady steps to the kitchen table where his laptop resided. “You’re so pale.”

”Can’afford to waste more time.” He could glance through some emails. He was well enough for that. Probably.

“That didn’t answer the question.” It ended up being a waste anyway. He was too dizzy to sit up let alone read and Martin did him the kindness of not saying “I told you so.” Currently, Jon was leaning his temple on the chilly glass of the dirty window and Martin was fixing some tea for him. He didn’t want it, worried that if he moved or even thought about food or drink he’d lose his tenuous battle with the nausea. He jumped when Martin touched his shoulder, closing his eyes when it just hurt. “You’re shaking.”

“Mm. C’cold.”

“Back to bed.” Jon shook his head. He couldn’t. “You need to rest.”

“Can’t…” He folded thin arms over his middle. He was being lifted to his feet, the room blinked in and out and his mouth flooded with salt.

“Jon?” There was fear in Martin’s voice but he couldn’t alleviate it, not when he was trying to keep still, keep from collapsing then and there. “Jon? Ambulance is on the way. It’s alright, it’ll be alright, hang on.” He didn’t mean to be sick but his lips wouldn’t form the shapes of his apologies.

Red.

Bright red

A gout of it coating his tongue in copper.

“Jon!”

“S’sor…” His legs gave way with another gush, there was pain but he couldn’t pinpoint it, falling, slow, drifting like leaves cradled in autumn wind. Clothes soaked and tacky with carmine buds blossoming, blooming, growing, fields of poppies spreading from him to Martin and pressure, pressure, pressure on his hands.

Frozen.

Wet warmth traced the contour of his jaw and the uneven pounding, pounding, pounding of his heart drowned out all else as it tried to escape the cage of his ribs.

Flashes of light, sound, lifted, his connection with Martin severed and he choked on rubies instead of his name.

Speaking. Wouldn’t answer, couldn't the cloying smell of iron lay thick all over this place. Didn’t want to be here.

A sticky toffee grip. Squeeze can’t feel it.

Jon Jon Jon the chirp of birds calling shouting screaming warning him of what comes next cold in his skin in his veins the dark takes all and gives nothing back.

Bright white blazing phosphorescent fire burning burning no one is coming to save him from the shadows hemming him in trapping him under swaying shifting indifferent lights that blind his eyes and pull cherry sweet claret from his insides with a fishhook.

Lashes lined with lead fought against the weight of muffled murmuring, the piping trill of electric monitors, but there’s only soft dusk dim and exquisite detachment. Nowhere, nothing hurts and his sum total is velvet wool and fleece and he sleeps.

The distinction between dream and wakefulness was little more than a gauzy veil but Jon thought he recognized Martin and Tim and Sasha and when he could he forced his clumsy apologies, inadequate though they may be, through jumbled words, slurred and stuttered and slow and he was sorry he’d gone and made such a mess of things and he’d fix it if he could, it they told him how, he’d do anything, just please don’t hate him.

Soft sounds, familiar sounds, kind sounds. A thick blanket of cloud and cool fog and…

Jon woke with a mouth full of cotton and a dull pain somewhere in the vicinity of his middle. When he lifted his arm the tug of an itchy catheter in the back of his hand drew his attention to the leads and the lines leading to bags of fluids refracting prisms built by bright beams streaming into the room between gaps in the shades.

“Hey.” The relief Jon felt in hearing Martin’s voice was too complicated to think about so he didn’t. Instead trying to dredge up a smile from somewhere as he sat next to him. “You’ve been awake a few times. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember.” He blinked.

“I--ah.” Wincing, Jon put a hand to his throat when speaking was akin to gargling glass, and he accepted the water Martin offered gratefully, as well as the help of his steady hand. “I, I don’t.”

“The fever has just started to go down. Lowest it’s been today I think.”

“You’ve…”

“After work. Just to check in. ‘Bout a week now.” The surprise must have shown on his face because Martin knit his brow. “It was touch and go there for, for a little while. But, you’re on the mend.”

“I d’didn’t...what did, what?”

“Well. Jon. An ulcer, first of all. From stress--exceedingly rare mind you. Which worsened when you began getting ill.” That, that made sense. “And, uh. I don’t know if you remember the day it happened.”

“Not really, no.” Snapshots of time sure, but nothing concrete and when Martin explained he’d lost what he thought was a litre of blood on his kitchen floor and another all over himself Jon had no rebuttal. “Was. I thought I saw?”

“Tim and Sash? Yeah. They visited a few times.” There was more there, just unspoken, and Jon didn’t push him for anything else.

Jon was trembling with fatigue after the doctor did their poking and prodding and sent him on a painful jaunt down the hall with Martin and his IV stand as his chaperones, leaning more and more of his weight on his arm. Another day saw him discharged and home for the weekend with Martin to fuss and fret and force him to follow instructions to the letter.

“Boss.” Tim’s chair nearly tipped over with how fast he was on his feet. “You, are you sure you should be?” Weakly he gestured to the office, concern evident in his haggard face. Sasha composed herself with a bit more decorum, actions careful and precise.

“Jon, maybe you should take more time away.” When she stepped toward him, he stepped back. He was capable of doing his job; please let him do it. “We understand if you--”

“I’ve recovered well enough. Thank you both. For y’your concern.” Ducking his head he retreated into his office, not sure what to expect from the state of it and surprised when he was faced with only statements to record organized by length and supplemental research. The heaps of papers he’d accumulated over his short tenure were all but gone and while it ameliorated the panic he’d lied about to Martin, it also proved the man was right.

Tim and Sasha.

Best not to dwell.

There was work to be done.

“Let me get that for you.” Sasha reached past Jon before he could even extend his arms toward the box. “Martin told us not to let you lift anything.” Traitor. Speaking of, a fresh cup of tea rested beside a new translation. Passable. After the tea, he had the strength to log into his email for the first time.

Jon,

I trust you are ready to begin recording statements. Please do so at once. Your assistants have proved themselves capable enough in your absence to not require such close supervision.

Do well on your promise. Do not let this happen again.

Regards,

EB

Jon exhaled, the tension seeping out of his body replaced by profound weariness. When he blinked awake, covered in the throw from the break room, Martin magically appeared with another cuppa.

“Nice nap?” He suppressed a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as Martin suppressed a smile. “Pain?”

“Not bad.”

“So, not good?”

“I’m fine, Martin.”

“Glad to hear it!” Tim’s bright tone and appearance were surprising but more surprising was the container of soup in his hands. “Followed Martin’s instructions, boss. Lemme know what you think.” Jon wasn’t even sure what expression he threw towards the man holding out the fresh tea but he was certain there was very real fear there and by the time he’d recovered Martin patted his hand and left him to lunch.

To be fair, Tim was a good cook.

Jon took a deep breath and cleared his throat to gain the attention of all three of his assistants.

“As we are all. Aware. I was ill recent--”

“You nearly died!”

“Nothing of the sort.” He waved a hand dismissively.

“That’s not what your doctor said!”

“My doctor shouldn’t have divulged anything.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m alright, now. I’m fine.” He looked at each of them individually. “This was a, a perfect storm, nothing more.” Jon understood that they were upset and didn't want to be around him. They didn't have to, to like him. “We should have spoken before, I should have. I know you’re angry with me.” This time he held up a stern hand to halt them. “And I may have no right to ask, but I need help if I’m to have a chance at doing this job. I. I chose you because.” Nerve lost, he glanced at his wingtip shoes, counted the worn scuff marks. Be a boss, Jonathan. “We worked well together. Before. And. I wanted to apologize.” Deep breath, a decisive nod. “I hope we can develop a positive working relationship moving forward.”

“Jon, Jon, no. Don’t apologize. This. This is our fault. I was upset and Tim and I we, we didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“You couldn’t have known Elias was. Burying me.”

“We would have if we’d asked after you. If we’d given you the time of day. When the Big Boss came down to personally boot you out of the office you. You looked like hell. And then Martin said--” he had the sense to look sheepish when Jon glared at him.

“Is there no hope of keeping anyone’s confidence?”

“No, probably not. We were so worried.” Tim provided.

“And when we visited. All we did, Jon, you were so upset.” Everpresent, the shame colored his face.

“I. I don’t remember much.”

“Let us help.” Gingerly, Sasha touched his shoulder. “Properly this time.”

“A team!” Tim slung his arm over his other shoulder and gestured with a wide hand. Both of them were taking such pains to be careful with him and Jon wondered how much Martin had told them. “Like the old days, plus Marto here. Resident boss saver and tea maker.”

“Tim.” The ache in his chest lifted, lightened for the first time since he’d been handed this department.

“Come on, boss. Let us pamper you.”

“I will not!”

“It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice.” And Tim and Sasha embarrassed him further with a gentle hug.

“Martin’s right, Jon. You really don’t.”

[sugamoonv]

I’ll Still Stay

Hello! Can I please request a Poly!Mate Hybrid!BTS OT7 x Mate human!female reader imagine where she goes to the shelter, planning on adopting one hybrid, but then when she sees how badly  the poor hybrids are treating, she ends up bringing home 7 hybrids (BTS). BTS are all each other’s mate and see that she’s there mate too. She takes care of them and they take care of her, lots of love to go around! All 8 fall in love! They are all very protective of her + hugs + kisses + cuddles and love.💜🤟  

Pairings: Hybrid!BTS x Reader/ OT7 x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Preface: Wolf Hybrid!Namjoon / Rottweiler Hybrid!Jimin / Siamese Hybrid!Yoongi / Golden Retriever Hybrid!Taehyung / Bear Hybrid!Jin / Bunny Hybrid!Jungkook / Red Fox Hybrid!Hoseok

A.N: I know this took a while, so I hope it’s good. I may have turned this request into a gateway for a series/multipart because I love poly hybrid fics. So yeah- here’s the first installment.

Masterlist > Next

“I’m going to adopt a hybrid.”

Your friend's eyes widen and they scramble as they get out of their chair to follow you.

“Wait, what? Now?!”

“Yeah. Why Not?” you look at Hoshi with innocent eyes as you grab your jacket from the hanger rack in the entrance of the office you work in. Small conversations and the clicking of keyboards play over yours’ and Hoshi’s conversation.

“Because we’re still at work? And you literally just decided you wanted a hybrid. Are you even ready for one?”

The company you worked for paid its employees well, especially those that specialized in specific sectors. You and Hoshi worked in public relations and as younger employees, you were in charge of helping create ads that appealed to your age group. It was a difficult company to get hired into and was still competitive while working, but was one of the most lucrative jobs available where you lived, and because of this, that meant that most of the people here had lots of disposable money. A majority of them eventually decided their extra money would be best going to getting a hybrid and now you were joining the ranks.

“Chill. I haven’t used any sick days in months, so I doubt they’re really going to get mad if I leave early today,” you negate as you shrug on your jacket. “Vernon told me about this really nice adoption center he got Dino at and he said that lately, they’ve been getting a lot of hybrids. So I figured I might as well go now.”

Hoshi sucks in air between his teeth. “Fine, but if you get in trouble with Mark, that’s on you-”

“Obviously.”

Hoshi’s eyebrows straighten as he tilts his head and gives you a deadpan look. “IF you really are serious about this, there’s a couple of non-profit shelters that you can go to too. And I’ve been hearing that a lot of people are putting their hybrids up for adoption to get new ones. Go to one of the shelters and save money by adopting a hybrid. It’s going to be better considering you’ve never had a hybrid before and the hybrids at the shelters won’t need as much adjusting to having an owner.”

It was true. The adoption centers that typically ran for profit offered hybrids that were fresh out of training school and had never had an owner before. There were even a few places that had hybrids under 18 for adoption for those that weren’t able to conceive and wanted to raise a child.

You nod, “Gotcha,’”.

You beam at Hoshi, “Next time you see me, I’m going to be a hybrid owner.”

“I’m already praying for the hybrid.”

You slightly glance at the GPS mounted to the dashboard of your car as it gives you the next direction. You still had put in the address from the place Vernon recommended but as you pulled up to the red light, Hoshi’s advice mulled about in your head. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel before curling them around the wheel and squeezing. You stared at the GPS screen, gnawing on your bottom lip.

You jump as the person behind you lays on their horn, tearing you away from your inner thoughts. The light has turned green and the lane beside you has already cleared so you press on the gas. There’s a small gas station that you pull into. You ignore your GPS repeatedly telling you to make a U-turn as you search for the nearest adoption center and upon finding one, you input the new address into the GPS and begin driving again.

From first glance you can tell this place doesn’t have much funding. The parking lot is all gravel and the grass away from the actual building is overgrown and has been left to its own devices. In the lot, the large adoption building stands alone with its dull paint, broken concrete sidewalk, and faded wooden pillars, making it look lonely. There are only a few other cars parked alongside you, most likely the employees.

The receptionist looks as though this is the last place when you walk into the building. There’s a man in a stained, muscle shirt waiting in the seated area. His stomach slightly pouches and the skin visible shows the sun and age has not been favorable to him.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist has noticed your presence and addresses you.

You give a polite smile and step up to the desk. “Hi. I’m looking to adopt.”

The receptionist clicks on their computer, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Oh! Uh- No, I don’t.” You try to sound positive though you’re sure the dismay sneaks into your voice.

“Okay, that’s fine. Go have a seat and someone will be out shortly,” they say all without taking their eyes off of the computer screen.

You twist your upper body to look at the seats where the man is. The building itself is huge, but most of the space must be dedicated to housing the hybrids because there are only at most ten chairs bunched together.

The sound from your heels on the linoleum floor draws the man’s attention to you and you ignore the way his eyes scan over you. You nearly bolt out of the door to go to upscale hybrid adoption center like you originally planned, but the corkboard on the wall with pictures of hybrids smiling with their owners as they’re freshly adopted catches your eye and you hesitantly sit.

The man sighs and shifts in his seat. “How much longer are they going to be?” he loudly calls out to the receptionist.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Bastards took my damn hybrid and I’m trying to get him back.”

You peek up from your phone to see that the man is talking to you. Your cheeks blush and you shuffle back in the chair and cross your right leg over the left. “I’m sorry.”

He rubs his hand over his face, “Yeah, been waiting for a little over an hour and they still have yet to bring him out.”

It’s twenty minutes before anyone comes into the waiting room. At the door opening, both you and the man looked over to see two guards escorting a hybrid out. The man stands and speedily walks over to them. The hybrid flinches in the guards' hold but says nothing as the man throws his arms over his shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

You’re too distracted to see the woman standing by your chair at first. When you finally so take notice of her, she gives you a kind smile and holds out a hand for you to shake.

“Hello. You’re here to adopt?”

You nod.

“Fantastic! If you just follow me to the back, I’m going to ask you a few questions and have you fill out some paperwork and then I can show you some hybrids.”

You gather your jacket and bag from the chair next to the one you were sitting in and follow behind her.

Nervous energy bubbles in your chest as you hear the chatter from the hybrids growing louder as the woman leads you into the housing section of the center. The rooms are set up in rows, similar to a prison where you can look into the rooms through the glass windows in the door. As you glance in the rooms, you mainly see the hybrids laying in their bed, finding ways to busy themselves. You stop when you reach a portion that opens up to accommodate lunchroom style tables and two food serving stations and sit at one of the tables, the metal cool beneath your legs.

“So, most of the hybrids we have here are older but we do have a few in your age range.” The woman shuffles through a pile of paper shes brought with her. “Is gender something important to you?”

“Um, no.”

“Oh that's good!” the woman seems relieved. “I will go get the first hybrid for you.”

You watch her walk off, left alone at the table with the papers. Part of you is curious to see what is written on them but you know it’s not your place to creep. Instead, you get up from the bench and walk to one side of the room to glance into the bunks. There are a few that are empty and as you walk down the line, the hybrids in the room, at most, glance at you passively before returning to their book or falling back asleep. All but one.

His hair is pitch black and it weren’t for his tail, you would be questioning if he was even a hybrid because his ears blend in with the rest of his hair. You can tell his hair is knotted and the plain clothes on him are baggy and loose. As you look in, he turns in his bed from having his knees to hugged into his chest to having one hanging off and the other tucked under him. The breath is knocked from you when you see how beautiful he is; a button nose paired with plush lips, round cheeks, and almond eyes.

His head tilts as he observes you back and he carefully steps from the bed and walks to the window. Your heart starts racing when his face comes directly in front of the window so the only thing separating you is the smudged glass. His eyes widen and he brings a hand up to the window, pressing his palm into it and you see his ears perk up.

“Y/N?”

You’re head snaps in the direction from which you’re called and you lower your hand. The woman’s returned and standing next to her is a hybrid. The hybrid’s hair is as dark as the hybrid’s you were just looking at, though this one’s ears stand straight from his head and have a slight point rather than drooping flat. You can also see the hybrid’s long tail behind him as he keeps his head down. You look back when there’s a whimper from the hybrid in the room you’re walking away from and when you look back at the hybrid being presented to you, he’s looking directly at you.

“This is Min Yoongi. He is a Siamese, twenty-six, and he’s had three previous owners. He IS older than you but I believe he should be a good fit for your particular lifestyle.”

You watched Yoongi the entire time the woman was speaking and couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw clenched at the mention of his previous owners. His tail was also rapidly swishing back and forth, slow enough for you to catch a glimpse of a bald patch on the underside.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you politely smile at Yoongi. His eyes are transfixed on yours and despite his wide pupils showing his excitement, he keeps a scowl on his face.

“His name is Jimin.” Yoongi carefully watches as your brows furrow in confusion. “The hybrid you were talking to, his name is Park Jimin.”

“Min Yoongi, that’s enough,” the woman interjects through gritted teeth.

“If you’re going to adopt a hybrid, adopt him, or Jungkook or Taehyung. Not me,” Yoongi says with complete conviction and at the mention of Jimin, you look over your shoulder at the door to said hybrid’s bunk. Now that you listen closely, you can hear a quiet whimpering coming from his direction.

“Min Yoongi!” The woman explosively reaches out and yanks on Yoongi’s ear. He loudly yelps and scurries on the bench away from her and the whimpering from the door becomes louder as Jimin begins kicking the door.

“Hey!” You’re half standing in the bench now, leaning your body over the table as you try to put your arm in front of Yoongi as protection.

Footsteps indicate that a few guards are approaching and one has taken to banging on Jimin’s door with a baton as a warning. Yoongi’s eyes are focused behind you on Jimin’s door but as two guards grow closer to you, his lips pull up in a snarl, ears completely flat against his head and the hair on his tail standing straight up.

“Stay away from them,” Yoongi hisses.

And they do. The guards instead walk around the table and roughly grab each of Yoongi’s arms and hoist him up before beginning to drag him off. You lock eyes with Yoongi as he looks back at you, getting further away but you’re too in shock to interject and a few moments after he’s gone from sight, you hear the slamming of a door.

The woman clears her throat, “I apologize for him. I thought he had learned that he should never try to sway potential owners but it seems I was wrong. He’s usually not aggressive and we will make sure he never behaves in that manner again.”

You just now look at her.

She smooths her clothes as though she was the one dragged off. “Now, I have another hybrid I can show you and I can assure you that he will be far more pleasant-”

“I want to see Jungkook and Taehyung,” you cut her off with a steely gaze.

Her lips thin and her nostrils flare. “Jungkook and Taehyung are both unavailable due to some misconduct, but we do have some other lovely hybrids. If you are interested in adopting in pairs, I can show you our predator hybrids, Seokjin, and Namjoon who are both mature and would also be a good fit for your home.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you contemplate your next move. Yoongi seemed so concerned about the two hybrids but the woman is most likely not going to give in and allow you to see them, and she’s the only one here that can ensure you don’t walk out of here alone. One last glance at Jimin’s door to see him shyly looking through the window quells any doubts you have that make you want to leave. If you were able to help one hybrid leave this place, then you felt that was worth it, and so you nod.

There are far more guards in the section that the predator hybrids are housed in. There are also bars on the windows of their doors and instead of the conversations you overheard in the last place, it’s deadly silent.

The woman gestures to the guards standing by the door and the one by the handle pounds on the door twice with his fist before opening it. One hybrid is sitting at a small desk with a book in his hands and the other is standing behind him and turns from the window looking outside to you as you walk in. Both of the hybrids ears perk up as their eyes scan over you.

As soon as you fully step into the room, there’s a series of clicks and grunts coming from the older looking hybrid with the round ears and stubbed tail. He lowers his head and steps away from you before completely lowering himself to the ground. Your eyes are on him so you don’t see the other hybrid until he bumps his body into yours, sending you stumbling and he follows to nuzzle his nose into your neck. A bright red colors your cheeks and your heart leaps into your throat.

“It seems they’ve both taken a liking to you.” The woman’s tone somehow sounds sarcastic. “The wolf hybrid is Namjoon,” she flicks her hand at the hybrid now whining into your neck, “and the bear is Seokjin.”

Namjoon becomes lost in his own ministrations and grabs your waist to pull you closer causing you to gasp in shock and the for the guards to come into the room. At the sight of them, Jin begins huffing and stands, puffing out his chest to seem bigger.

“Why don’t we go look at some other hybrids?”

Jin makes a deep noise in the back of his throat that sounds similar to a growl when the guards step forward and pry Namjoon from you. Namjoon bares his teeth at them and his ears lower back but he remains compliant. Both of their eyes are pleading as you follow the woman back out of the room and you find yourself feeling guilty for walking away from another hybrid.

The next room is right next door to Namjoon’s and Jin’s, though there’s only one person occupying the space.

The orange haired hybrid doesn’t look up when you enter the room, focusing on folding the white clothes perfectly. His room is the cleanest you’ve seen so far, both of the beds are made and the sheets are straightened so there are no wrinkles and the pillows are fluffed, his tennis sneakers are tucked neatly next to his desk which has a neat stack of papers on top, pencils lying to the side.

“This is our red fox hybrid, Hoseok. He would normally have a roommate, but we had to let the other hybrid go, unfortunately.”

Hoseok lifts his head at the woman talking and his whole body stiffens. His hands pause folding mid-air as he assesses the situation with a cautious demeanor. He’s intimidating, even when his face breaks out into a grin and he bounces over to you.

His large hands cup yours and bring them up between your bodies. “Are you here to adopt?!” Hoseok’s eyes light up as he excitedly asks you the question. His personality is infectious so you find that despite the way your heart pounds in your chest, you’re smiling along with him.

“I am.”

If it’s even possible, Hoseok’s smile grows larger. The glow of his skin and the whiteness of his teeth are almost blinding.

Hoseok brings your hand up to his face and leaves a few gentle nips on the inside of your wrist. “You’ve already met Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon.” You feel his lips curl upwards on the delicate skin of your wrist. “If you don’t adopt me, I hope you adopt one of them,” he stares into your eyes with a soft intensity.

You swallow heavily and you pray that he doesn’t feel your hands becoming clammy. You faintly hear the woman call out Hoseok’s name in warning but both of you ignore her as you keep your eyes locked. And at long last, you exhale a shaky breath and gently remove your wrist from Hoseok’s hand and look away. Your cheeks feel warm so you’re sure he can tell the effect he has on you.

“Hoseok has had three previous owners. The last was actually an instructor at a well-known dance academy, so he is technically trained if you’re looking for a hybrid that’s able to provide entertainment for yourself or any guests you may have.”

The woman gives you the rundown of Hoseok’s past like she’s done with every hybrid you’ve seen. Namjoon and Jin have both only had one owner and were put up for adoption because they were getting too old. You’ve spent nearly four hours listening to her speak about different hybrids and following her from room to room, and though your heart goes to all of the hybrids you’ve seen, only Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook stay on your mind, even though you haven’t met the former two.

You stare at the single adoption form in front of you pinned to the clipboard in your lap, pen in your hand. The main lobby is empty and there’s a different receptionist than the one from when you arrived. The setting sun casts the chairs in a golden hue. Most of the form is filled out though your pen hovers above the line asking for the name of the hybrid.

You rest the pen in your fingers and look up from the paper, eyebrows upturned and you continuously glance over at the receptionist working before you make your decision and walk over to them.

“Hi! All set?” the receptionist pleasantly asks.

“Uh-” you place your elbow onto the tall desk and gingerly scratch the bridge of your nose, “No actually. Is there a way I can get six more adoption forms?”

A single person is legally allowed to own up to twelve hybrids at a time.

The receptionist's eyes widen. “Umm, I’m...not...sure,” they answer uncertain, “Let me go talk to my boss and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“There’s no need to do that,” you muster up a smile to seem convincing, “We already talked about it and said it would be alright.”

The receptionist hesitantly sits back down, looking warily at you and for a second, you think that they’re able to see through your bluff but luck is on your side because they spin to the filing cabinet and pull out extra adoption papers to your request. You quietly thank them and rush back to your chair to fill them out.

The sun had completely set by the time the receptionist puts all of the paperwork you filled out through the system and now you wait impatiently for your hybrids to be escorted to you. Your leg bounces nervously and your eyes never once leave the door. You hold your breath when the door clicks as it’s opened.

Jimin is the first to walk through the door, his tail wagging fast behind him and he slips from the guards escorting him and jogs over to you. His cheeks swell with the smile he has on his face. He hugs your entire arm to his chest and rests his cheek on your shoulder.

The others were in single file behind him, starting with Yoongi and then a hybrid with pure blonde hair, Jin, Namjoon, Hoseok, and finally a bunny hybrid with large ears and hazelnut brown hair. What baffles you is the handcuffs around the wrists of the bunny hybrid. You curiously watch as one of the guards removes the cuffs and the hybrid rubs his wrist and rolls them to crack them. There’s a faint brush of pink upon his cheekbones and his ears twitch when he looks at you and he shuffles so he’s half hiding behind Hoseok.

Yoongi’s looking at you in shock and you find him completely adorable with the way his eyes are big and vulnerable and how his lips form a pout. Namjoon’s tail is wagging behind him yet his face is neutral and Jin steps beside him, lips pressed together to contain his smile. The blonde hybrid that you’re not sure is Taehyung or Jungkook, has a scowl on his face but one ear is raised in interest.

“Ready to go to your new home?” You try to not let your nerves seep through your voice. Jimin’s tail thumps on the back of your leg.

“Did you really adopt all of us?” Yoongi is scared and hopeful all at once. You’re standing in front of him, one of his loves latched to your side and your sweet scent faintly mixes with Jimin’s and Namjoon’s before meeting his nose. He can tell the others are just as affected as him because he’s only ever seen them react the same when they met each other upon first arriving in the shelter.

“If that’s alright with you?”

You’re terrified. You have no idea if they will get along; if they even know each other. As your heart starts racing and your throat closes up, Taehyung bounds over to you at Jimin whining, a similar noise being vocalized.

Taehyung has his ears lowered and tail tucked in submission in front of you, peeking up at you with big eyes. You want to feel the locks on his head despite the tangles and flecks of dirt, the wavier hair that covers his ears. You’re not given a choice because Taehyung nudges his head into your stomach and your hand reflexively comes up to Taehyung’s head as one foot goes back to catch you.

“Please take me home.”

Tags: @detectivebourbon @omgsuperstarg

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Impromptu Office Meeting

Summary: You and Arthur work for the same company. On the side, you two maintain a relationship that remains a secret around your other coworkers. You find Arthur’s been stressed and coax him into taking a relaxing lunch break.

Warnings: Oral sex, light swearing

12 pm, lunchtime.

As soon as the clock recorded your punch out for lunch, you stood up from your office chair and stretched out, letting out a soft groan. After four hours of answering phones and scheduling appointments, you definitely needed a quick walk to wake yourself up.

“Enjoy your lunch, Y/N!” Your coworker, Tilly, called over the the other end of the desk.

You shot a smile at her. “Wish I was going home instead.” You joked, walking from the receptionist desk and toward the doorway that led deeper into the building. Hell, you were only half joking. Being a receptionist wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but it paid the bills decently enough.

It also helped that your coworkers were bearable. More than bearable; they were much like a second family to you from the way they treated you, the bosses always making sure you didn’t stay too late or had help on days when it seemed busier than most.

From what you understood, most of the employees knew one another before the company started, and had been working for them for years. You were a newer hire, settling yourself for reception after being let go from your previous position. Having to take angry calls and answer dumb questions for even dumber people was enough to make your head spin, however you forged through each day with a forced smile on your face.

You had to wonder why Tilly remained so chipper despite having to deal with this on a daily basis. You asked her one day, and she had a simple answer: it was only temporary. And she was right, it was. Still, you could only wish to have the amount of happiness she did to not hang up halfway through a phone call.

On your way toward the break room, some chatter piqued your interest. Familiar voices conversing and laughing with one another. Upon coming to the partially closed door, you were able to pick out each distinctive voice, one in particular that made your heart leap.

Pushing the door open to reveal the small break room, you set your eyes on its inhabitants. Karen, a lazy office assistant who spent more time gossiping than working, but she had a great sense of humor and showed progress when pushed. Charles, a usually quiet but hardworking man who oversaw warehouse inventory. And last but not least, Arthur, one of the higher ups that were often favored by the bosses for all the right reasons. Always performing his hardest and never demeaning those that would be considered beneath his position, even stepping in to help if others became overwhelmed.

It was one of the reasons why you fell in love with him.

He and Charles leaned against the tiny kitchen counter, smiles on their faces as Karen shared the tail end of a joke that you seemed to have missed. When you stepped in completely, all eyes turned to you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Charles greeted. “How’s your day going?”

“Pretty good, Charles. Thanks for asking.” You said politely, offering him a smile as you walked toward the fridge.

“Y/N!” Karen gleefully exclaimed. “I just heard this joke, it’s pretty funny!”

Arthur gave you a smile, a small one that reflected something more in his eyes. You shot him a quick smile back before digging into the fridge for your lunch, having only paid partial attention to Karen repeating her joke. The coffee maker was on, evident that the two men were probably waiting for it to roast before returning to their respective spots.

By the time you sat down, Charles and Arthur had left. You and Karen spoke for a few minutes while you munched on your lunch, yet eventually you found yourself alone. The quiet that surrounded you was nice, your head finally stopped buzzing from the incessant phone rings. There was however 45 minutes left for your break, and normally you would be reading a book or passing the time by playing a game on your phone.

Your mind was drifting around Arthur. You were in a relationship with him, a secret one at that. You two started to date a few months after you were hired, and opted to keep it in hushed tones in concern of judgement and unprofessionalism. You also knew some of the office ladies had crushes on him, the way they giggled and fawned over him while he wasn’t looking. It were as if you were in high school again.

It still sometimes shocked you to think out of everyone else, he picked you. A simple receptionist with no other attributes other than your ability to multitask. But he looked at you as if you were a Goddess, and treated you as such when away from prying eyes.

And so you wondered what he was up to at this moment.

You got up from the table, leaving the break room and made your way toward his office. You were careful to keep watch, making sure no one could see what you were up to. Luckily no one else was wandering the halls, and you soon found yourself standing in front of a closed door with his name in large print.

You knocked, and once you heard him speak, you opened the door.

His office wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either. He had a decent sized desk that faced the entrance with a large computer monitor tilted to the side. He kept his workspace neat; a few framed pictures here and there. There was minimal décor elsewhere, a plant sitting in the windowsill, a few professional photos on the walls of places out West, where he was from.

He looked up at you in faint surprise, quickly melting into a smile. “Hey, Y/N. Need somethin’?”

You closed the door behind you, shaking your head. “Nah, just wanted to see what you were doing.”

The smile faded from his face, his eyes shifting toward the computer screen. “Eh…too much,” he sighed. “Lots o’ paperwork to review. Think I’m gonna end up workin’ through my lunch if I wanna get outta here on time. Past few nights I���ve been leavin’ late, and Dutch won’t have that.”

Your frown matched his, and you walked forward, rounding the desk and placing your hands on his broad shoulders. His muscles were hard underneath, and you began to massage him. “Ooh, my poor baby. You’re so tense.” You cooed.

Arthur let out a groan, relaxing immediately from your touch. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smiled down at him, leaning to plant a light kiss on his lips. “Wish I could help you if I could. How about dinner tonight?”

“If I get out in time,” he sighed. “Don’t cook tonight, wouldn’t be fair if I showed up dead on my feet.”

Your fingers hit a knot, further confirming its presence when he flinched. You rubbed your thumb over it, easing the tension out with precision. “Sounds like you need a break.” You mused.

“Ah, can’t take one. Been behind on this stuff for the past two days. Gotta get it done ‘fore Dutch jumps on my throat again.”

You managed to work the knot out, smiling to yourself in satisfaction before moving to the next. You then scoffed at his response. “You’re less productive if you don’t have a break, Arthur. Overworking yourself will ruin your mind and body. It’s not healthy.”

“Didn’t know you were a doctor too.” He mumbled dryly.

“I’m serious,” you countered, placing a hand on his chin to meet his gaze. “And legally, you have to.”

Arthur stared at you for a long moment, and you waited to see if he’d protest again. Instead he sighed and sat up straight, pulling up the program on his computer to clock on for lunch. “Alright, but I don’t wanna hear it when I come late and pass out tonight.”

You rolled your eyes and lightly smacked his arm, and went back to massaging him. He leaned right into your touch, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. As you worked the kinks from his muscles, you couldn’t help but to marvel the sight in front of you.

His outfit was always simple; a button up shirt and a pair of slacks. Today he decided to wear all black, the sleek fabric of his shirt shining faintly underneath the fluorescent tiles above. It accented the curves of his arms, shoulders and chest in every way. The top few buttons were open, showing just a slight amount of his chest. He was sexy, even if he didn’t think so himself. You had to remind him on a daily basis early on in your relationship. You couldn’t help but to secretly drool over him at work every day, but the first time you saw him naked nearly gave you heart palpations.

“You’re too good to me, ya know?” Arthur sighed, bringing you out of your thoughts. His hand reached up to drape over yours, squeezing it slightly.

You smiled at him again. “Just trying time take care of you, since you can’t seem to do it yourself.” You giggled.

He let out a small chuckle. “Appreciate it, darlin’,” the amusement in his face fell, his other hand rubbing his forehead. “Been too much these past few days…”

You smoothed his hair sympathetically, and he leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. Your fingers ran through his fair, scratching your nails lightly along his scalp.

“Been so stressed…” he murmured. “Feels like I can’t relax at all.”

“Hey, it’s only temporary.” You said to him, using Tilly’s words. He hummed in response, saying nothing else. You wished you could help him more, but you’ve only seen a fraction of the type of work he does, and you had to commend him for having to stick through with it. It wasn’t something you’d be able to do without getting confused in the details of it all.

Your mind began to wander, thinking of ways to help him relax for the short hour break. You’d worked out the knots of his shoulders. It would have to be discreet, hoping to not capture the attention of your coworkers.

And then a dirty thought crossed your mind, enough for heat to flare in your face. It shouldn’t even have a second consideration given that you were at work, but you knew how much he enjoyed it. You glanced at his pants, biting your lip and moving from behind him to face him. His eyes opened, a look of curiosity plain on his face. You then knelt down between his legs, and his eyebrows raised.

“Y/N, what’re you doin’?” he asked warily.

You gave him a smile, reaching to place your hand lightly against his crotch. “Helping you relax.”

His breath hitched slightly, tensing around you. “Y/N. We’re at work. This ain’t a good-”

You shushed him gently, sliding your hand to rub a soothing circle on his chest. “Just gonna use my mouth.”

“What if someone walks in?” he asked, worry etched in his eyes.

“More people are out than in at the moment,” you reminded him. But just in case, you scooted backward, resting partially underneath his desk. “Not like anyone’s gonna come in and interrupt.”

“’Cept you.” He murmured, giving you a pointed look.

Your only answer was to smirk at him, quickly shooting a wink while your hand returned to its prize. You pulled the zipper down, reaching in to fish out his semi-hardened cock. Wrapping your hand around his thick girth, you pumped him slowly a few times, watching his head tilt back against the chair. He let out a sigh as his body visibly released the tension in your grip.

It only took half a moment before he was at full mast, you brought your mouth to the tip, sliding your tongue across the slit and underneath, toying with the sensitive pinch of skin. He let out a soft groan, his chest heaving in a deep breath. You traced a path up and down his length, enjoying the heated skin against your tongue. You soon engulfed the tip, sucking him sensually and slowly. He groaned again, slightly louder, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair.

“Sweetheart…” he sighed. “That feels so good…”

His words prompted you to sink down on him, his girth filling your mouth to almost the back of your throat. You began to bob your head, taking him further in your mouth with each pass. He whispered your name, placing his hand on the back of your head, knotting his fingers in your hair. Added pressure was welcoming, inviting you to completely deep throat him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his hips trembling beneath you. “You…you’re gonna make it hard to keep quiet.” He managed to whisper in one breath.

An innocent hum was your response, locking eyes with him as you did it once again. He sucked in air between his teeth, his other hand resting on the opposite side of your head. “Darlin’-” he gasped. “Please-!”

You pulled your mouth almost completely off him, giggling lightly as you returned to his normal pace. You knew with teasing like that was something you’d never been able to get away with, without some sort of revenge from him. You’ll be hearing about it later…or, feeling it.

He gave another sigh as he loosened his grip. “Did ya want me to fuck your face?” He exasperated, trying hard to keep his tone even.

You didn’t answer then, reaching up to cup and massage his balls through the fabric of his slacks. An action which caused him to melt once again. His breath shuddered, his fingers massaging your head. He groaned deeply, the vibration traveling through him.

You kept yourself at an easy speed, occasionally pausing to tease the head before swallowing him again. His entire body was limp like a dummy, only moving to stroke your head or face. His eyes occasionally locked on to yours, half-lidded and glazed with pure lust. He wanted to take you then and there, you could tell.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum soon.” He sighed after a few moments. His hand gripped your hair harder, pressing your head down a little further.

You reached your hand up to this thigh, rubbing it in understanding. He moved his free hand to take yours, squeezing it gently and enjoying the moment of sweet intimacy regardless of the circumstance. Faster and faster you went, attempting to coax him closer to his climax.

A knock on the door caught your attention. Simultaneously, you froze and Arthur sat up straight.

“Arthur? May I come in?” A voice from the other side sounded. You recognized it as Hosea, one of the company owners and one of yours-and Arthur’s-bosses.

“Uh-” Arthur tried to answer, trying to hide the nervousness that plagued his voice. The door however opened, and your stomach lurched.

You still had him in your mouth, still very rock hard and throbbing slightly against your tongue. You dared not to move in case the slightest of sounds would make your presence known, and prayed Arthur wouldn’t make any sudden movements of his own that would have you gagging. You were so thankful Arthur’s desk had a wall between you and the door.

"How are you today, my dear boy?" Hosea asked with a cheerful and caring tone.

“Good. Just, uh, got on my lunch break.” Arthur answered awkwardly. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his free hand move, most likely to gesture toward his computer.

“Excellent. I just needed to ask, have you seen Y/N?”

Your eyes widened. Did Hosea somehow know about your relationship with Arthur? Did he know you were right there?

“No,” Arthur answered immediately. “Why would I know?”

“I was told she’s on lunch, and Karen said to ask you and Charles. Charles only saw her in the break room,” Hosea answered. “I must speak with her about a phone call with one of our clients.”

The thought of Hosea somehow finding about your secret dwindled slightly, and you were able to relax a touch. Your tongue pressed up against the underside of Arthur’s length, a move which caused his hips to twitch just a fraction.

“I-If I see her,” Arthur began, fighting to hide the stammer in his voice. His hand tightened around yours. “I’ll send ‘er your way.”

“Thanks, Arthur.” Hosea spoke before you heard the movement of feet and the door closing.

Blood roared in your ears, neither of you speaking for a moment as you listened to the fading echo of footsteps. Your heart was still hammering against your rib cage.

“Shit…” Arthur murmured, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “That was too close.”

You looked up at him, sliding your mouth off him. “Way too close,” you agree, glancing behind you. “Glad you have a desk like this.”

Arthur chuckled softly, smoothing his rough hand across your cheek before gripping himself, tugging at the open zipper in attempt to tuck back in. “First n’ last time we-”

You cut him off when your hand curled around his. You smirked up at him, carefully prying his fingers from himself. “Didn’t say I was finished, though.”

He looked at you in surprise. “Y/N, we nearly-”

“But we didn’t,” you added bluntly. “Besides, you were close. I’d hate to edge you and give you blue balls for the rest of the day.”

Arthur appeared as if he wanted to argue, but your mouth taking its place on his length erased the mere thought from his head. His breath shuddered and his head lolled back, uncaring about the previous encounter.

It didn’t take much longer for him to finish. A few short moments of your deep throating had him nearly fucking your face. His entire body vibrated with his groans that were almost wolf-like. His voice breathless, he murmured his pleasure to you, his hands gripping your head as he shoved your mouth down completely. His hips locked, shooting his hot spend down your throat. He hissed out a swear as quietly as possible, pumping his hips shallowly to milk himself dry. Once he released your head, you slowly removed your mouth.  Swallowing the last of his seed, you reached over to tuck him neatly back into his pants. He looked as if he ran a marathon, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath.

His eyes locked with yours, and a dopey smile crossed his face. He beckoned you closer, and you stood up to join your lips to his, eliciting a tender kiss. His hands cupped your face while you ran your fingers through his soft hair. After a long moment, he gently pulled back.

“How do you feel now?” you asked quietly, smiling at him.

“Ten times better,” he rumbled with a small laugh. “Guess I did need that.”

“See? Told you it would help,” You cheekily responded. “Even if we did almost get caught by one of the bosses.”

“Speakin’ o’ which, you should go n’ see what he needed ya for. How much longer you got for your break?”

You glanced at the computer screen, realizing with a jolt that more time passed than you realized. “Fifteen minutes,” you sighed. “Guess I should go before I’m thrown back into the fray.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, although the smile on his face remained. “Go on then, I’ll see ya tonight.”

“You got it, Mr. Morgan.” You said, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead before heading towards the door. As you reached for the handle, he spoke again.

“By the way, I’m eatin’ you for lunch next time.”

You froze in surprise, wondering if you just heard that correctly. You peered over your shoulder at him. “What happened to first and last time?”

His head tilted down, holding your gaze with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Just gotta lock the door next time.”

Your eyebrows raised, still in shock by the 180 shift in attitude towards this impromptu meeting. You hadn’t planned to make this a reoccurring event, however the thought of it bloomed deep in your stomach, stirring up a newfound excitement. “Alright,” you said with a sultry tone. “I look forward to it.”

[killjoy-loveit]

Something You’re Not

A/N: Welcome to Spring Season Stories! This is the 18th of the daily stories in April, so be on the lookout for more! If you’re wondering what the posting schedule is, then search ‘Spring season Stories’ on my blog and the calendar should pop up. I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. As always, the links for my masterlists will be in the notes, though I have come to find (after months of doing this lmao) that on mobile you have to click my reblog of the post to actually get the links- same applies to desktop. I am just going to add that I am planning on a part 2 of this, just so y’all don’t think I’m 110% out to crush your hearts.

Summary: Not everything is what it seems.

Word Count: 2,832

Genre: Spy AU, Angst, a bit of fluff in the middle

     Light spilled in from the window behind you, easily illuminating the papers sitting out on your desk. Despite being easy to read, you wanted to slam your head against the desk in frustration. How is it okay to send so much paperwork, to analyze and go over, a mere hour from the meeting? Your boss must be out of his mind to think you’d be able to fully comprehend over a hundred pages filled with legal jargon in that short of a time frame. A scream of annoyance built up in your throat as thoughts plagued you to just toss the documents and finally quit. It sucked to be taken advantage of like this, over and over again.

     All because your boss, Mr. Dunne, the eccentric government official he was, knew that you weren’t very good at saying no to more work. This was because you were desperate to prove your value as an employee for your government so that you might be promoted. There was no way in hell you were going to let your political science degree, acquired from one of the most prestigious universities in the nation, go to waste. Putting up with such harsh extremes was your duty as you, unluckily, were hired to assist him with his work, rather than his kinder associate Ms. York. 

     She was the one you were hoping to work for in all honesty. Ms. York was known for her high morals and consideration of the people, not to mention she was one of the youngest government officials in office and a woman at that. There were times you ran into her in the hallways and she always made sure to greet you politely, asking how you were doing, before moving on her way. Everyone spoke highly of her, even the terrible Mr. Dunne, whose approval was difficult to gain. 

     “Enough of dwelling on how Mr. Dunne sucks, these papers aren’t going to analyze themselves,” you muttered quietly.

     Just like that, your mind focused on the task at hand, letting go of the heavy frustration and annoyance weighing on your mind. Words seemed to bleed together as your eyes flew over each page, taking brief seconds to highlight important parts. Little notes were written in the margins if a section didn’t quite make sense, while small stars indicated something that was written well. By the end of the hour, you had managed to go over approximately ninety percent of the papers placed on your desk. Which was an excellent job, if you must say so yourself. 

     At that moment a knock sounded on your office door before opening to reveal Mr. Dunne himself. He stepped in with an air of authority that would make anyone else afraid to question him. His demeanor was always something you had admired, despite his terrible personality, he always carried himself well and demanded respect wherever he went. 

     “Do you have the papers ready?”

     A tight smile graced your lips. “I have almost finished all of them. If I could be admitted into the meeting later I can finish the rest and bring them to you then.”

     “You couldn’t finish such a small task?” His tone dripped with disapproval.

     “Sir, I sincerely apologize. I have only ten more pages left to go over. I can give you what I’ve finished and bring the rest into the meeting later if you allow me to.”

     “Fine. Give me the ones that are finished.”

     The smile you held firmly on your face was starting to feel painful. “Yes sir, of course. Here they are.” You stated politely, lifting the stack of papers and handing them to him.

     Mr. Dunne let out an annoyed huff before turning and excusing himself from your office. Once you were sure he was gone, you dragged your hands down your face in frustration. Letting out a sigh you turned your attention to the remaining ten pages, refocusing in on the work. 

     Each place you went in the store was crowded with those who were doing their grocery shopping after getting off work. Normally you were aware of this rush and you tended to avoid it by shopping early on the weekends, but you hadn’t been able to make it this past weekend. Now you were stuck having to go during the store’s busiest hours, having to squeeze through the throngs of people just to get a few items. There were only a few things left for you to collect before being able to rush home: milk, bread, and cheese. Getting the last two items was no big deal, but as you made your way to the refrigerated section containing milk, it was clear that you might not leave the store with the half-gallon you’d wanted.

     You were about to turn around, giving up on the milk entirely when you saw one left, sitting at the very back of the section. Quickly, you made your way to it, hand outstretched and ready to grasp the handle. But someone beat you to it. With a spin of your heels, you turned to face the person who had taken the half-gallon you were going for. The guy in question seemed to be oblivious that you had even been there, let alone reaching for the same thing as him. A small sound of frustration escaped you at the loss. It appeared you wouldn’t be having coffee this week, not unless you woke up earlier to stop by a cafe on your way to work.

     “Are you okay?” A voice broke through your thoughts of having to endure Mr. Dunne without being properly caffeinated.

     Your eyes locked onto the guy who had just barely managed to swipe the milk from you, all without realizing he’d done so. “Yeah… Yeah, it’s just that was the last of the milk and I need milk for my coffee. I’m now going to have to handle my boss without coffee. Let me just tell you, I have never known someone more frustrating than him!” You complain, hands waving in the air when talking about Mr. Dunne. A second later, after seeing the guy’s bewildered face, embarrassment crept up on you. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need all of that information. Umm, I’ll be on my way now.”

     You had maybe made it a couple of feet before you felt something being placed into your basket. Tilting your head, you spotted the same guy you’d just been conversing with. The milk settled in your basket.

     He gave you a small smile. “I figure you need this more than me, I don’t need it to put up with my boss.”

     “I-Uh… Thank you. No, really, thank you so much!”

     His eyes shone with a gentleness, this paired with the way he nodded at you before turning around had you calling out for him to wait.

     “Yes?”

     “Umm, well… Could I maybe treat you to coffee sometime to thank you?” You asked softly.

     “I’d like that.”

     It wasn’t until a week later that you were both able to meet up for coffee. Chan, you’d learned his name when exchanging contact information, was kept almost as perpetually busy as you were. Everything had started smoothly, a light chatter being upheld as you ordered your drinks and paid. But that chatter has long since faded and you felt awkwardness creeping up on the two of you. You, for one, were staring down at the table, every so often your gaze flickered over to Chan sitting opposite you. Wracking your brain for anything to start up the conversation anew was slightly frustrating. Any way you typically knew how to create a conversation had fled your mind, leaving you alone with frantic thoughts along the lines of ‘how do you converse with someone?’. 

     Finally, the silence was broken by Chan himself. “So, what do you do for work? I remember you mentioning that your boss is pretty difficult.”

     The tension in your body eased off as you were freed from thinking about how to start a conversation. “Yes! He really is hard to put up with. My job is kind of odd, I work for the government but not in one specific area. The man who works over me, my boss, has duties in multiple departments and since I’m his assistant, I also technically work in multiple areas as well.”

     “I’ve never met anyone who works for the government before. What’s it like?” He asks, tilting his head.

     “Well, it’s not easy, that’s for sure. Right now I don’t exactly have high clearance so I deal with all the paperwork and subsequent tasks for my boss. Basically I do the grunt work, make reports and file things to make his job easier.”

     Over the next year, the two of you grow closer. Near constant texting turns into spending practically every spare moment together. You’ve come to find you simply enjoy Chan’s presence, the stress, and tension held in your shoulders because of work lessening when he’s around. It wasn’t uncommon to spy the two of you together at a cafe in the early morning hours, or grabbing takeout before heading to your apartment to watch movies. During this time you learned more about each other than you think you’ve ever learned of someone in only a year.

     If someone asked, you could tell them his favorite elementary school teacher, the way he likes his coffee, his favorite water brand, that he’s a sensitive soul, when he lost his first baby tooth, or how he broke his arm in high school; Not to mention so much more. The same could be said for him, even some of the more embarrassing moments of your life that you had spilled while drunk. Granted you weren’t alone in your ability to embarrass yourself while drunk, you had more than enough ammunition to tease him on the regular. However, you found yourself wishing for more, just a little bit. Your heart swelled at the mere thought of him, and the way your other friends teased you about him always managed to make you blush furiously. 

     It was hard to tell if he felt the same way, even though the few times your other friends had spent with the two of you had convinced them he was most certainly interested in you as well. They managed to hype you up to this point: inviting him over for dinner and telling him how you felt. Just the thought of having to say those words ‘I don’t want to be just friends’, made your heart hammer in your chest. Speaking of, Chan’s due to arrive any time now, meaning it’s time to double-check everything. Chicken bolognese was doled out perfectly on two plates, finished just a few minutes ago, joined by a sweet wine settled in the decanter your sister gifted you over the holidays. 

     Digging your teeth into your lower lip, you wondered if this was too much, or too serious. After all, neither of you had ever had a dinner like this together before. Thankfully a knock at the door put an abrupt dent in your harried mind. 

     “Is this too serious?” You ask after showing him to the small dining area. “It is, how about we just go eat in the living room?”

     Chan laughs quietly. “Whatever would put you at ease.”

     “Living room it is then.”

     Moving the food was no difficult task, and soon enough you were settled on the couch, feet tucked underneath you. With the television on in the background, conversation flowed as per usual. Quick rundowns of your days before moving on to different topics, most of which were based on different articles one of you had read. Just as you finished dinner and were preparing to tell him, you received a text from Mr. Dunne - who was no longer your boss, since you’d gotten promoted a few months prior, but you still worked with him on important proposals - informing you of an emergency related to the new draft you were working on. Apparently an official from the country you were trying to work out an agreement with had sent in new demands.

     After apologizing profusely and being waved off by Chan, who understood the importance of your work, you grabbed your laptop and proceeded to work in the living room. Despite having to work through quite a few new emails relating to the issue, the conversation continued in a relaxed manner. Until all the wine hit your bladder, and you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, setting the laptop on the coffee table and rushing off. You took a bit longer than usual, checking on your appearance, making sure not a hair was out of place. Maybe your cheeks were a tad pink, but it was hard to tell if it was due to the alcohol in your system or if you were preemptively embarrassed.

     Neither option truly mattered it’s not like slightly pink cheeks suddenly made you unattractive. Taking a deep breath, you exited the bathroom, an anxious smile tugging at your lips. Normally Chan could always tell when you were coming back and he would call out to you before you even made it to wherever he was. This time he didn’t. This time, he was leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen of your laptop, fingers tapping away at the keys. A chill went down your spine. What is he doing? Did he need to look something up? Why didn’t he say something if he needed to use your laptop?

     Creeping closer as silently as possible, you peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. At that moment you had the urge to throw up. Your stomach gurgled as the food you’d just consumed felt like it was souring in place. Why would he do this? Was he using me this entire time? To get information? How long has he been doing this? Your eyes stung with unshed tears, your lungs felt like they were on fire. You stumbled back, unable to stand behind him any longer, a choked breath alerting him of your presence.

     Chan’s head whipped around, eyes going wide at the sight of you. “I didn’t hear you get back.”

     “What were you doing?” Your voice came out shaky and you could feel your hands trembling at your sides.

     He smiled nervously, his hand going to the back of his neck. “Nothing, I was just looking at the forecast for the week.”

     You head spun. He lied to you. You caught him, he had to know that you saw, and he blatantly lied to you. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. Why were you looking at my work files? You know those are confidential.”

     He tried to play it off by looking embarrassed by his actions. “I’m sorry, I got curious. You’re always talking about it but you can never get into specifics.”

     “Stop! Stop treating this as if it isn’t a big deal! I invited you over to tell you I’m interested in being more than friends, and you- you… You’re lying to me.” You back away from him, shaking your head, a stray tear sliding down your cheek. 

     “You want to date me?” He asked standing up, lips parted in surprise.

     “Don’t change the topic,” you say harshly. “Tell me what you were doing. Is this the first time you’ve gone onto my laptop and accessed confidential files?”

     It took a minute for him to answer, a minute that felt like an eternity. “It’s not the first time.” Your sob echoed in the room, causing him to move towards you with a distressed look on his face. “Wait, please, you don’t understand —”

     “What is there to understand? You used me! I could get fired because of you!”

     “Please,” Chan begged, stepping forward to grasp your hands in his.

     You ripped your hands from him. “Was anything out of your mouth the truth or was everything a lie? Did you ever consider what would happen to me if it’s discovered I was the one you took information from? You know what, I don’t want your excuses, those are left to real friends. And that’s something you’re not.”

     “Please, just let me explain.” 

     Shaking your head, you point towards the entrance to your apartment. “Get out.”

     “Please,” he breathed, eyes watery as he stared at you. You felt your heart shatter.

     “Leave. Get out. Now.” You set your jaw, looking away from him as more tears slid down your cheeks. “Don’t make me say it again.”

     His footsteps sounded on the wooden floors as he walked away, getting softer with each step he took. Once the sound of the door being opened and shut echoed in the apartment, you felt your legs give out. You didn’t have the strength to get up, remaining on the floor as you felt the world crumble around you. A mess of emotions warred within you: disbelief, rage, betrayal, sadness. What are you meant to do now?

[thebuckybrigade]

AB Positive

It’s good PR Tony—do it for the company.

Tony stands outside the massive conference room that’s been turned into a temporary blood donation center, stomach churning.

Why don’t you do it Pep? You’re the CEO!

People inside are talking and laughing, eating snacks and having what appears to be a good time, but he can’t shake the urge to walk away and hide himself in his office.

You’re the face of the company Tony, you need to do this!

And he gets it, he really does—a few photos of him donating blood will help tremendously in the ever continual effort to make him seem less the cold hearted billionaire and more the approachable winsome Avenger good guy.

Less of a fuck up.

More...human.

The thing is…

He rubs a hand over his face and draws in a shaky breath.

The thing is, he’s scared.

He doesn’t like seeing blood—namely his own—and after having his chest cracked open in a dank cave in Afghanistan and losing more blood than he’d like in his forays as an Avenger, he’s not exactly eager to go out there and spill more.

Even if it is for a good cause.

There’s a bright laugh from inside the room and he looks in again, attention catching on a handsome man smiling at one of his employees, and Tony’s heart stutters in his chest.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, narrow waist, gorgeous smile…

Okay, so, maybe he can do this.

Sliding his rose tinted glasses on his face, he plasters on a smile and pushes the door open, smiling and waving at his employees and the blood drive staff.

He fills out the requisite paperwork, gets his blood pressure taken(110/70 take that Pepper!) and is sent off to the nearest open table—the one staffed by the hottest man Tony’s ever had the privilege of seeing with his own two eyes.

“Hi Mr. Stark, I’m Bucky and I’ll be your blood draw tech,” the man greets, offering a hand for Tony to shake.

He has a moment of hesitation and then smiles back, more genuinely than when he stepped into the room, and takes the offered hand. It’s warm and dry, calloused but still somehow soft—a contradiction that appears to be very much in step with its owner.

“Heya Bucky, nice to meet you,” he replies, aware he’s got eyes on him—the sound of more than a few shutters clicking reaching his ears.

Bucky’s smile makes soft lines appear around his eyes and mouth and Tony has to choke back a whine—why is he so pretty??? he thinks desperately, it’s not fair!

“Your paperwork says you’ve never donated before, that true?”

Tony nods and smiles uncomfortably, “It’s uh, not that I don’t think it’s important, it’s just, I don’t like…”

Bucky looks up from where he’s writing down something on a stack of paperwork and smiles knowingly, “Don’t like needles?” he guesses.

Tony could lie. He could. But something possesses him and he shakes his head, lowering his voice to respond. “No, I’ve just seen too much of my own blood coming out of my body to really enjoy the idea of donating.”

Well shit he wasn’t supposed to say that.

Bucky stares at him for a moment and then scoots closer on his stool, eyes grayish blue like a thunderstorm sky, studying him.

“You don’t have to donate if you’re not comfortable,” he tells Tony softly, “There’s no shame in that.”

Tony smiles wryly, a little sadly, “You’ve clearly never read anything the papers have to say about me.”

Bucky smirks faintly, “Nope,” he agrees succinctly, the p popping on his pretty pink lips that Tony’s definitely not staring at now.

“We can say you’ve got a fever,” he offers and something flashes through Tony, gratitude and an overwhelming sense of relief that someone gets it—but he shakes his head softly and smiles weakly at Bucky.

“No can do Buckaroo, gotta make sure the people know that Avengers can bleed too!”

There’s a look in Bucky’s eyes, not pity exactly, more sorrow than anything and Tony looks away, shy suddenly.

Why does he always do this?

Five minutes with a pretty face and he’s spilling his guts.

“Okay Mr. Stark, well then, let’s get started.”

Bucky proceeds to explain each step of the process as he goes, and Tony watches him with unabashed interest, studying the way the little pieces of hair that have fallen out of his half man bun have strayed into his face.

He looks away when the needle goes in, stomach lurching at the sensation, swallowing hard for a few moments while he squeezes the little foam duck he’s been given.

His knuckles go white with each squeeze and he closes his eyes, focusing on not throwing up as he listens to the white noise of chatter in the room. A hand brushes against his wrist, closing around it gently, thumb swiping over the heel of his hand softly and he fights a shudder.

“You’re doing great Mr. Stark, keep squeezing every three to five seconds and let me know if you think you’re gonna be sick.”

He nods minutely and lets the warmth of the hand on his wrist ground him.

“It’s Tony,” he whispers, licking his lips before opening his eyes to find Bucky staring at him. “Just Tony is fine,” he explains with a weak, hopeful smile.

Bucky smiles back, wide and easy and Tony’s traitorous heart lurches in his chest.

“Sure thing Tony.”

The thing is…

Tony is feeling...odd.

It’s a little like being drunk; he’s a slightly dizzy, a little goofy, and talking way too much.

“I mean what products do you use because your hair is seriously beautiful! It’s so shiny! And soft looking!”

Bucky smiles faintly, shaking his head at Tony, “Just regular shampoo I guess?” he replies, sounding bemused by the conversation.

Tony lifts a hand as though to touch it and Bucky leans back with a confused look, avoiding the touch.

“Regular shampoo?” Tony gasps, affronted. “But, but, it’s so pretty!” He pouts at Bucky, trying to lean forward to get his hand on it, harrumphing when Bucky pushes him back with an admonishment to sit still Tony.

“You’re like a Disney Princess!” he exclaims, giggling a little.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, “Yea, okay hon, whatever you say.”

Hon...Tony likes that.

Tony whines a little and ok, so maybe he’s acting childish, but Bucky’s just so pretty, how is he supposed to behave?

“Serioulsly, no wait, serio- serioulsly, no, seriously! Ha that’s it!” he stutters, pointing a declarative finger at Bucky.

Bucky lifts a brow and smirks, “You feelin ok there Tony?” he asks, the restrained laughter in his voice very apparent.

Tony pokes his arm and— “Wow your muscles are big, like, how do you even get muscles like that? Are you related to Thor? Cuz that’s just, that’s unreal is what it is.”

Bucky blushes and shakes his head, “Just a few more minutes,” he says instead of answering Tony, standing from his stool to putter around, mostly turned away from Tony now.

Which

Unfair

Tony wants to see his pretty eyes.

And mouth

And hair

And muscles

God he’s pretty

“Thank you Tony, you’re very pretty too.”

Oh shit he said that out loud.

When he looks up Bucky is smirking, eyes twinkling as he works to remove the needle from Tony’s arm and he barely notices the slide of it out of his vein.

Bucky puts a wad of cotton on the spot and guides Tony’s other hand to press down on it, “Okay, hold that there,” he instructs before turning away from Tony again.

Tony does as he’s told and holds it till Bucky replaces it and then wraps some kind of stretchy bandage thing around his arm, nodding as Bucky tells him no heavy lifting, eat a whole meal and hydrate, and expect to be a little more tired than usual. Take the bandage off after four hours and you’re good to go.

Tony nods and scooches to the edge of the cot he’s been laying on, head light as a helium balloon and then—

Promptly collapses, right into Bucky’s arms.

He grins crazily, clinging to broad muscular shoulders, “Ha, well what do you know, I’m really falling for you,” he jokes as Bucky blushes and hauls him upright.

A strong—oh god he’s so strong—arm winds around his waist, guiding him over to the chairs and snacks. He collapses gratefully into the chair and smiles dizzily as Bucky brings him an orange juice and a Nutty Buddy.

“Nutty Buddy! Oh man I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid!”

Bucky grins, “So like a week ago?” he teases, cracking open the orange juice for Tony when he struggles with it.

“Oh, oh I like you,” Tony snickers, “you come here often?”

Bucky shakes his head and smirks, “Your jokes suck sweetheart.”

Sweetheart

Tony’s brain flatlines for a minute as he imagines Bucky whispering that in his ear while he’s buried so deep in Tony that he can feel him in his chest and hnnngggg….

His body doesn’t have enough blood to respond properly to that thought, but his cock makes a valiant effort anyways.

“You suck,” he retorts, “you’re a sucky...you’re a vampire!” he exclaims, pointing a finger at Bucky as the other man laughs and shakes his head. “You are! You suck blood! I bet you’re good at sucking—”

Bucky flushes and reaches out to shove a bite of Nutty Buddy into Tony’s mouth, shaking his head as he does. “And you’re a menace sweetheart,” he murmurs softly, “now eat and drink and be quiet.”

Tony thrills a little at the softly spoken order and nods, eating his snack and drinking his juice till they’re both gone. When he stands again, he sways, but stays upright.

Bucky frowns and steadies him with a hand on his elbow and glances over his shoulder, catching the eye of a petite woman with blonde hair. “Hey Kay, I’m gonna help Mr. Stark upstairs, I’ll be back.”

With her OK, Bucky guides Tony to the elevators and then upstairs to his office, his big warm hand never leaving Tony’s arm. Tony leans into him a little, enjoying the way the other man doesn’t even hesitate to take more of his weight, just slings his arm around Tony’s waist and guides him onto the couch.

Tony slumps back and watches as Bucky rifles through the mini fridge for a bottle of water and a sandwich before he comes back and sits down, staying there till Tony’s eaten every bite.

He doesn’t seem to mind Tony’s inane rambling about why he doesn’t like to see blood—dad smacked me around as a kid, open heart surgery in a cave, Avengers shit—in fact, Bucky frowns and murmurs something about wanting to punch the bastard and Tony feels a thrill of delight at the idea of Bucky’s right hook connecting with Howard’s face.

He’s sleepy by the time he finishes eating and he must look it because Bucky urges him to lie down and produces a blanket from somewhere that he uses to cover Tony, hands gentle as they brush Tony’s hair back from his brow.

“Rest sweetheart, you’ll feel better after a nap.”

Tony nods and makes a soft, muzzy noise of contentment, eyelids growing heavier as he smiles at Bucky.

“Yer so preeetttyyy,” he sighs, hand flopping as he reaches out and finally, finally touches that glorious hair.

Bucky grins softly and captures Tony’s hand, brushes a kiss over the knuckles and laughs softly, “Alright sleeping beauty, time for a nap.”

Tony wants to make a joke about Bucky being the Disney Princess and not him, but the last of his two brain cells have wandered off and his eyes slide shut as his breathing evens out.

He doesn’t hear Bucky leave.

He wakes two hours later, clearer headed and deeply embarrassed by his behavior. He whines softly and buries his face into the throw pillow he’d been drooling into before sighing heavily and rolling upright.

That’s when he spots the note on the coffee table.

It’s from Bucky.

Tony,

I hope you don’t need a kiss like Sleeping Beauty to wake up, but if you’re interested in having dinner sometime, call me.

Bucky Barnes

——————

We had a blood drive at work yesterday and I donated and wound up bouncing this idea around with @riotfalling until I just couldn’t let it go lol so here you go! Hope you enjoy!

@purekate88

@t-h-e-myster-y

@Rinkashitikateku

@desitonystark

@marvagon

@sebastian-i-stan

@astralpcrker

@thirstinart

@starknakedsluts

@slutsforstarks

(As always if you want to be tagged or don’t want to be tagged, please let me know!)

[cross-poison]

A Glitch in the Programming (Human!Ultron x Reader) Part 1

Words: 985 || Warnings: None

A/N : Welcome to potentially the worst mistake I’ve made in my life. Ultron has been a favorite of mine for years now, and I always felt like the MCU wasted his potential by killing him off in AOU. So here’s my AU in which you give this tin man a heart.

Each morning followed one after the other with hardly a change. Every day, you’d pull yourself out of bed, run a brush through your hair, and dress yourself in whatever decent clothes you were able to find quickly in your closet that morning, and then you’d make your way to the kitchen.

The streets were always packed at that time of day, with hundreds of cars milling to and from various places of work. You hated the traffic, but ever since your career moved from the middle of New York City to a bit further upstate, you found your drive to work had become rather taxing… at least before your company had moved, you could at least walk to work.

You’d moved, of course--a two hour drive was hardly worth the amount of money you were making, but morning rush hour is a universal language. 

You grabbed a bagel and cup of coffee on the way out of your still relatively unboxed apartment and headed to your car. 

The drive was as unpleasant as always, but before long you had arrived at your place of work--and fifteen minutes early. Your eyes darted across the facade of the building, taking in the familiar yet still awe-inspiring look of it. The large dark-colored “A” printed against the main entryway stood out against the otherwise white structure and a small smile crept across your face. 

Even to this day, you felt a surge of pride that you’d managed to land a job at the Avengers’ facility of all places. Sure, it was a secretary job, but who else in your friend group could brag that they saw Thor walk past their desk every morning?

You pulled up to the security kiosk and showed the guard your badge. After taking a quick look over it, he nodded and raised the gate. You guided your car through the gate and into the nearby employee parking garage. You chose a spot as close to the elevator as possible and hopped out of the car, taking your bagel and coffee with you.

You pressed the button signalling “2” on the elevator and waited as the doors shut and the lift took you upward. Before long, it came to a halt and opened back up, allowing you into the central hub of the facility. Contrary to what the media said, the upstate compound wasn’t Avengers-exclusive. There were plenty of other employees brought on to help with more mundane tasks such as janitorial positions and groundskeepers. 

You made your way to the large circular bar in the middle of the room and joined a few of your fellow secretaries behind it. Joanne and Lee were both filing through separate piles of paperwork, chattering to each other before you’d joined them. Immediately after hearing the faint squeak of your chair as you took a seat, Lee turned to look at you. 

“Morning, (y/n),” he said cheerfully, leaning against the table, “How was the drive this morning?”

“Shitty as always,” you commented, but flashed him a smile nonetheless, “But I’ve gotten used to it. Anything new?” 

Lee followed your gaze to the stack of paperwork on his desk and he offered a halfhearted shrug. “Not really. The Widow busted a trafficking circle late last night, so now I’ve just got to fill out each arrestee’s paperwork and send it over.”

Joanne peeked around the portion of wall obscuring her from view, “You get to fill out Black Widow’s report? Lucky.”

“What are you working on, Jo?” you inquired.

“I get to play cleanup crew this morning. Jolly Green Giant decimated an office building during last week’s bomb threat in Baltimore.”

“Baltimore?” said Lee, “Bomb threats? That’s a bit of a nontraditional Avengers-related issue.”

“Right place, right time, I guess.”

“Right.”

“Clear the way!” shouted a voice toward the front of the building, catching you and your coworkers’ attention immediately. As you watched, a half-dozen or so security men filled in through the main entry, all surrounding one man and a large metal box carried by a handful of other officers. 

Across the hub, activity stopped as people stared wide-eyed and exchanged nervous glances. The head security officer stopped in front of your desk and narrowed his attention on you. Over his shoulder, the other officers came to a halt, and between them you could just faintly make out the face of the man they were trying so hard to conceal. 

The man looked exhausted, and perhaps a bit malnourished. He was tall, with handsome features and prominent cheekbones, a jawline that could cut steel, and windswept dark hair--his forehead was covered in sweat, causing the small strands that lay against his forehead to curl. His eyes, however, are what caught your attention. They were a deep brown and burned with an intensity unlike anything you’d ever seen before. You made eye contact for a split second, and immediately you had to focus your attention elsewhere, sure that if you maintained eye contact for even a moment longer, you’d burn up.

“Did you hear me?” the officer said, immediately snapping you from your thoughts.

“Um.. no sir, I’m sorry. What can I--”

“I need the key for surveillance room five.”

“Right away, sir,” you reached into a nearby drawer and fished around until you found the proper keycard. You passed it to the man and he took it without a word. He gestured to the rest of security to follow him, and the group headed down the hallway to your left. You watched them go, overtaken with curiosity… your eyes followed the top of the strange man’s head until he was no longer visible.

Beside you, Lee let out an incredibly slow breath. “No way…”

“So they finally caught him,” Joanne said, equally as awestruck.

“Who? Who was that?” you found yourself asking, glancing between the two of them curiously.

“That?” Lee started, “That was Ultron.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you like what you see so far, please like and reblog!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577853/chapters/56568739