#wait hold on heres a slightly more usable answer

[payasita]

I binged all your “Will Terribly” AU fics and I must know: how do you come up with your one shot ideas?! They’re hilarious and heartbreaking and so fun to read! I’m trying to practice my writing, and ‘Royal family shenanigans’ has got to be one of my favorite topics, so I want to come up with stories of my own, but it’s hard! To what being must I promise my firstborn child in exchange for creativity?!

hi wow yes thank you and i am sorry

i genuinely wish i could give a more constructive answer than "ADHD hyperfixation was pretty much not letting me think about anything else for an entire goddamn month" but that was literally it. that is not a joke

[hheavenlysinful]

come here kitten~

✘a.s x reader

request:

heyy! i really love your writing and i wanted to send in a request! i was thinking maybe a cute scenario where the reader’s quirk is shapeshifting. and one day while she’s in a cat form aizawa takes her home, just thinking she’s a regular cat. but after a while she has no choice but to turn back into a human! i thought that would be cute to write about. :) thank you!

wc: 1.5k

✘ slight angst, fluff, usage of “daddy”, slightly suggestive (no smut)

✘ an: OMG THIS WAS SO CUTE :((( LIKE :(((((( THANK YOU SM FOR THIS REQ IT WAS FUN TO WRITE! I HOPE YOU ENJOY :) asks are open ^-^

masterlist

YOUR mind was fuzzy, your lithe body trembling with extreme fatigue. it had been a long time since you held your quirk up this long. the last time had ended poorly, with you being bedridden for almost a week. you hoped this time would be different. but as you awkwardly rested on your paws, too tired to hold your head up, you knew that was a false hope. but you had to keep your quirk going if only to keep the tiny ounce of dignity you had left.

you diverted your gaze from the muscular man who leaned on the wall beside you, looking out into the mellow clouds that covered the sky. it had been raining for quite a while now, refusing to stop even for a second. your groan came out as a choked purr as you rolled around on the soft mattress. for a man who never slept, the bed was perfect and so soft. your gaze flitted to aizawa, draped in a loose t-shirt and even more loose sweatpants. you didn't know a cat could blush.

your quirk wasn't unique, or at least not mind-blowing compared to quirks like all rights or aizawa. it was a simple shape-shifting quirk that allowed you to morph into any living creature you had touched. it was great for snooping around unseen and undetected and was even usable in fights, but the consequence for overusing your quirk was just too severe for you to handle. the long, dreaded nights, filled with fevers and chills made you want to jump off a roof. but you loved your life and the people that came in it. especially a certain sleep-deprived teacher who didn't even spare you a glance.

you had known aizawa since you were in high school, had continued to be by his side far after those youthful days. and though aizawa had changed dramatically you still couldn't help but feel that magnetic pull that just kept you in. but it began to dull soon after. it was a curse, you thought, how even after the months of silence, one glance at him had you running right back. you felt hopeless, yearning for a person who you never have. but you were happy that he was starting to come back in your life, after the long bout of no communication.

it had been a random occurrence, the rare time that aizawa ever left the house. today had been crap, to say the least, papers missing, villains being for bold than before. today...today just wasn't your day and it took all your effort to not cry out in annoyance and frustration. but you had waited patiently, like the good hero you were, biting your lip as tears began to form on your waterline. maybe it was the sullen weather or the lack of warmth in your heart, but you headed to a place that often brought you comfort: the playground.

it was old and rusty, almost forgotten, but you still loved it. and although you were far too big to fit in the small little tunnels, you just couldn't help but feel nostalgic when you glanced at them. long-buried memories of you and aizawa flashed in your head, small raindrops starting to drop from the clouds. you paused. the gods it seemed had just granted you a chance to cry.

you focused all your energy in your head, willing yourself to perform one more task before you weep. and in a sudden flash, you were on the ground, looking up at the gigantic playground. your little paws trembled as you clawed your way up into a tunnel, instinctively curling into a ball.

being a cat was much easier than being a human, especially when the small pitter-patter of raindrops masked the quiet whines of sadness that came from your body. you stayed there for a while, letting of quiet mewls as you cursed the universe for its awful tricks. loving someone who would never love you is hard, especially when you can't let go because they were never yours to have. it was truly awful, something you wouldn't wish on your enemy.

small footsteps at you quiet, your body jolting up into a defensive stance, although you didn't know what a kitten-like you could do, other than run away. but when you peered out of the tunnel you swore at the sky once more. for the universe had once again pulled your leg.

you had spotted him first, the long, black hair and sleep-deprived eyes were too distinct. you bit the urge to sprint away, especially as you watched him look around, such sadness lingering in his eyes.

"hmm?"

you jolted at the slight sound, hissing as aizawa's looming shadow covering your entire body.

"what's this?"

his hair was pulled into a messy bun, something you had never seen him where. and holy hell he was fine.

it felt odd having such thoughts as a cat, but you couldn't help it. his mere presence was enough to make you melt.

you purred as you hesitantly walked to him, nudging his arm with your nose.

"you must be hungry," he thoughtfully said as he reached forward picking you up. you squirmed at the sudden change in height, clawing his scarf to stay still. he laughed silently at your squirming figure.

"you can stay with me for the night," he hummed, another sear of heat flowed through your body as you awkwardly sat in his cradled arms. but you purred, resting your chin on his bicep. surely this wasn't a bad thing.

"should i text her," your head snapped up, suddenly jerked back into present time. you purred in confusion. aizawa, to his credit, had involved you in one-sided conversations, often ones where you wanted to answer so bad.

"there's this woman..." he paused as a soft smile painted his lips, "she's amazing and kind, and beautiful."

a surge of jealousy shot through your veins, a hiss echoing into the room.

"but, i pushed her away," he laughed helplessly, running a hand through his hair, "pathetic right?"

"no, you're not pathetic, i understand," is what you wanted to say, but you settled for a small meow.

"y/n,"

you tensed as your name left his lips,

"i wonder how she is, i bet she's happy. she's always been a happy one."

"no, she's not happy, she misses you too. and she wants to be with you and hug you and everything. and she wants you to know she's stupid too, for pushing you away and not trying to talk to you. she...she loves you."

you hated that you were a cat. able to hear every word, but not say anything back.

you knew...you knew somewhere in your heart that there was only one choice. and only the universe would know if it was the right one.

you took a deep breath in, loosening your body and releasing the energy you had kept in from your transformation. it felt comforting, the feeling of human skin of human flesh.

"NO, Y/N ISN'T HAPPY. SHE MISSES YOU AND SHE WANTS TO BE WITH YOU AND SHE WANTS TO DO EVERYTHING WITH YOU. AND NO YOU'RE NOT PATHETIC, Y/N IS THE PATHETIC ONE. SHE LOVED YOU SOO MUCH BUT SHE DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO TALK TO YOU OR ANYTHING. Y/N, SHE..."

"...y/n?"

you watched aizawa's face morph from sadness, to shock, to worry, to surprise.

and if you weren't in his bed, wearing your form-fitting hero costume, you would have laughed your butt off.

"hi?" you waved, turning your body away from aizawa's sight. a blush bloomed on his cheeks, dulling away the previous signs of shock.

"..."

you would have walked to him, but fatigue was taking over your body. you could almost feel the fever that was about to consume your body.

"what are you...what are you doing here?" he motioned wildly at the bed and his room.

"...you brought me here," you snapped back half-heartedly.

"you were the cat." it was more of a statement than a question.

"you," he pointed to you, "were the cat who i talked to you about...you."

you nodded, unable to form coherent words.

"...did you mean what you said?" he quietly asked, walking towards you oh so slowly.

"which part?" you muttered, averting your gaze from intense eyes.

"do...do you..." he sighed, "do you love me?"

you nodded.

he leaned forward, as he did when he picked you up at the tunnel. he grabbed your shoulders, groaning in relief as he leaned his forehead on your shoulder. you stuttered as you gripped his shirt, heart beating erratically.

"a-aizawa?"

"shouta." his voice was grim as he spoke, "call me shouta."

"w-what?"

"call me shouta, or daddy, or whatever you're into," he muttered into the crook of your neck, the warm air made you shiver.

"s-shouta what," you asked incredulously, gripping his shoulders harder.

"oh god, y/n just stop," he groaned, "stop acting so innocent, kitten"

the sinister way he murmured the pet name was enough for you to understand the true meaning behind his words.

what had you gotten yourself into?

[nah-she-didnt]

Inheritance

Knitting may be a less physically painful hobby than sewing, Lily thought bitterly as she unraveled her work for the third time in an hour, but it was no less frustrating. True, her fingers bled less while knitting than they did during her needlepoint phase. She’d jabbed herself more times than she could count last time she tried to embroidered a sad-looking flower onto the corner of her least favorite pillowcase. No, knitting certainly yielded less bloodshed than sewing, but it didn’t come without a price.

“Ouch!” Lily cried as she poked her humungous stomach once again with the end of the long, metal knitting needle. She could never get used to her belly, which seemed to swell more and more every day. “Damn- stupid-” She growled with frustration, crumpled up the ruined baby jumper, and hurled the bundle of yarn and needles across the room.

Lily watched the bundle soar through the air as her chest heaved slightly from her outburst. She rubbed absentmindedly at the spot where she’d impaled herself on the needle. Couldn’t break the skin, she reminded herself, but she still bruised like a peach. Little purple bruises all over your stomach weren’t typically a comforting sight in the ninth month of pregnancy.

Eight months. She shuddered a bit at the thought. Eight months of being sick, of stretching and expanding, of reminding herself that she was not a selfish cow for bringing a child into the world in the middle of a war.

For bringing this child into the world.

She groaned as she leaned forward to brace herself to stand. With a huge effort, she was able to push to her feet and shuffle over to retrieve her knitting. Won’t be long now, she thought to herself as she settled back into her spot on the couch to finish her work, stop messing around and get this done before he gets here or you'll never finish.

He.

Her heart sunk at the thought. It had been difficult to hide her disappointment when she’d heard her baby was male. She remembered how James had smiled softly at the scan and squeezed her hand. “A boy,” he’d whispered to her, “a little boy.”

She’d smiled and squeezed his hand right back. A boy.

Lily remembered the moment perfectly, how she’d fallen deep into that all-consuming fog. It was official, at least part of the prophecy was true after all. A boy, born at the end of July...

Three days. That’s all she needed. Three days until the sticky summer days of August. She would distract herself with this horrid jumper for three whole days, and then the baby could come whenever he pleased.

“Having fun?”

Lily jumped in surprise, causing her once again to drop a stitch. “Git,” she grumbled as she squinted down at the yarn, trying desperately to recover her mistake, “can’t you make a noise once in a while? You’ll startle me into early labor.”

James grinned and hopped over the back of the couch, landing next to her with a soft thwump.

“Whatcha got there? Is it a…” he regarded her lumpy, misshapen jumper, “a bib?”

“Very funny,” she snapped, refusing to look at him as she knitted, then purled, then knitted again.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned, clearly trying not to laugh, “I know it’s a jumper. Why the mad rush to finish, anyway?”

“I want it to be ready in time,” she said through teeth gritted in concentration, “he’s going to be here soon.”

“Right.”

Lily waited. She’d known James long enough to know when he was holding back. She turned her head slowly and fixed him with a glare. “What? Go on, spit it out.”

James had long grown used to Lily’s hormonal bitchiness. Nevertheless, he looked unsure of how to proceed without getting his head ripped off. “Well,” he sighed, eyeing the jumper hesitantly, “it’s just that, the jumper’s a bit small, don’t you think? I mean, won’t he be a bit big by the time it’s cold enough outside to wear?”

Lily felt the heat rise in her cheeks. This was absolutely the last thing she needed to hear right now. “I don’t think so. He’s a baby, how big can they be?”

“Well,” James said carefully, “let’s see. It’ll get chilly enough for jumpers by, I dunno, October? So he’ll be three months? He might have some meat on him by then if he’s anything like me when I was a baby.”

“No,” Lily shook her head and returned to her work. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Purl again. “He’d be two months. Two.”

James sighed. “Lil-”

“If he’s born in August he’ll be two months in October.”

“We have to be prepared for the wo-”

“No.” Lily said the word quietly, but with a danger she hadn’t realized she possessed.

James held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Ignore me. I didn’t mean-”

“He’ll be tiny,” Lily said into her hands. Knit. Purl. Dropped stitch. Damn. “Tiny enough to fit into this sweater. And he’ll be perfect. And safe and healthy and loved.” Another stitch dropped. It was getting hard to see her work through her tears.

“Lily,” James said softly as he reached for her hands. He brought the needles slowly down from her face and tucked his hand over hers in her lap. “Let’s take a break for a moment, alright?”

She nodded. She could have wrestled her hand from under his to wipe the tears from her cheek, but she let them fall freely. James wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled him into her chest.

They stayed that way for a while, Lily crying silently into James’ chest. After a while, she became aware of his own warm tears on her hair. She wondered dully if he was thinking what she was thinking. What have we done?

“Why the knitting?” James murmured as he ran a hand up and down her arm comfortingly, “why the rush?”

Lily sniffed. She hadn’t expected the question, and she suddenly found she didn’t have an answer. Knitting just seemed like a thing to do for your baby. “I just want him to have something of mine. Something to...remember me by.”

It was a mark of the bond between them that James did not protest at her words. He knew more than anyone how their stories could end. How little time they might have with their son.

“He’s going to love it. But you know,” James nudged her chin gently with his forefinger so that she looked up into his face. His cheeks were still blotchy from his tears, but a real smile shone on his lips. “You know he’s going to have your eyes. How could he not? That’s something he could never get from anyone else.”

Lily smiled too. She tried to picture her own green eyes looking back up at her from a bundle of blankets in her arms. Her eyes, maybe James’ hair. It was a lovely picture.

“Three days,” she leaned up and kissed James gently on the lips, “let’s get through the next three days. We’ll have plenty to worry about when he arrives and I won’t have time to finish this stupid jumper.”

James laughed. He stood from the couch, stretching his arms above his head as he went. “He’s going to love the sweater, Lil. Who knows, maybe he’ll give it to his own baby someday.”

“Oh, god,” Lily murmured as she resumed her work with a renewed intensity, “don’t say that. He’ll need something nicer than this for his own kids, this one’s shite.”

---

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me at the baby boxes first,” Ginny grumbled as she poured through a trunk of useless artifacts from her and her brothers’ infancies. A torn sweater here, a lone bootie there. A Babbity Rabbity book that was so worn from years of use that it tore at the binding. Ten years and seven children later, even the hardiest hand-me-downs could fall apart. “Bill got all the good stuff for Vic.”

“Well, dear,” her mother sighed as she levitated yet another trunk onto the kitchen table, “he was the first in the family to have children, after all.”

“It’s not like Fluer lets her kids wear any of our old jumpers,” Ginny muttered bitterly, “it isn’t from Paris, so of course it’s all rubbish.”

“What about this, Ginny?” Hermione called from her spot across the table. She’d spotted a dusty, but beautiful, mobile made up of stars and whirling planets folded up in the corner of a trunk. Small silver chimes hung from the top of the mobile which could almost certainly be charmed to play softly as the baby slept below. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”

Ginny, despite her determination to be a grumpy, hormone-filled nightmare today, eyed the mobile with interest. “It is nice.”

“Hmm,” her mother hummed as she dug through a bag of old baby socks, looking for a matching pair, “I suppose I didn’t let all the good stuff go to your brother after all, then?”

Ginny huffed as she accepted the mobile from Hermione and gingerly placed it into her bag. “Fine. Maybe not. But he’s still always been your favorite child.”

“What about me, then?” Ron called as he strode into the room, Harry at his side.

Ginny threw a faded plush snitch at his head, which he caught easily. “Not you, git. Bill.”

“Oh, true,” Ron shrugged as he leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. By the time they got married and had kids of their own, Ginny thought savagely, there would surely be nothing usable left in the trunks. This was her only consolation.

“Gin, it’s alright. We don’t need anything from here,” Harry said reasonably as he peered into the trunk with interest. “Of course, Molly, it’s all lovely. But we’re buying loads of stuff for the baby, he’ll be just fine.”

“But still!” Ginny protested as she dug further into the trunk, “I want the memories, you know? I want to pass something down to my kids. Something like...like this.”

At the very bottom of the trunk lay a tiny, perfectly folded Gryffindor jumper. No years of wear-and-tear, no moth holes or loose strings hanging from the sleeves. Her mother had even added a tiny lion to the front in perfect golden stitches against the crimson background. Ginny pulled the jumper gingerly from the trunk and ran the tips of her fingers along the ridiculously soft wool.

“Oh, Molly,” Hermione murmured in awe as she stared at the jumper in Ginny’s hands. “It’s beautiful.”

Her mother smiled softly. “I knit that jumper when I was pregnant with you, Ginny.” Her voice had grown hoarse, as if she was trying her best to keep the emotion at bay. “I wanted you to have something of your very own. You only wore it a few times before you got too big. It was silly, really, to spend so much time making something that you’d grow right out of, but I couldn’t help it.”

“No wonder we were all in Gryffindor,” Ron grinned, as he eyed the jumper, “you and dad have been priming us since birth.”

“Oh, hush,” her mother snapped at Ron, “you know we didn’t care, not really. After all, I was almost sure Percy would be in Ravenclaw when he first went to school, but then-”

“Harry?”

Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it stopped mum’s story at once.

Harry’s eyes were on the jumper in her hands, and they were wet. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the bundle of red and gold. He didn’t give any indication that he’d heard Hermione say his name.

Ginny felt her heart sink into her stomach. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Harry shook himself a bit as if coming out of a dream. He glanced around at all the eyes fixed on him. “Oh, sorry. I just thought- never mind. Being silly.” He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, his chest still heaving slightly. The legs of his chair scraped loudly across the kitchen floor as he stood suddenly.

“Got to get some fresh air, excuse me,” and Harry practically bolted through the kitchen and through the back door.

Her mother gazed sadly after him. “Oh dear, I should have thought before bringing all this out. I hope he’s not too upset.”

“It’s alright mum,” Ginny patted her mother’s arm gently, “he’ll be fine. I’ll go talk to him.”

Ginny crossed over to the back door and eased her way through it. How on earth had her mother, a woman who had been pregnant at least seven times, been able to live in a house with such tiny doorways? She waddled down the porch and into the back garden towards her husband’s form.

It was difficult to see him in the early evening light, but she did not like the look of the way his shoulders slumped forward where he stood.

“Hey,” she breathed as she reached Harry. She could tell he’d been crying by the way his breath caught in his throat with each inhale. The sound made her feel faintly sick. “What happened in there?”

Harry shook his head sharply. “Nothing. Being stupid, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid,” she took his hand in hers and gripped it tight. “Having a baby is scary. I get it. I don’t have any less faith in you for being scared.”

“It’s not that,” he whipped around to look at her, his eyes alight with adrenaline. “I’m not scared. I’m going to protect our baby with every breath I have left in me, I promise you that, Ginny.”

She smiled patted his hand gently. He had these moments every now and then, the wild sense of panic that always preceded a fight. She couldn’t blame him exactly, given everything he’d lost, but she was worried for him. “I know you will. I will, too.”

Harry nodded vigorously and turned back to the garden. She could feel his body relaxing slightly, could sense some of the panic recede from his muscles and release through his exhale.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Harry breathed as he brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, “it was that damned tiny jumper. It was unnaturally small. I don’t remember Teddy being that small, do you?”

Ginny laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The sun was really setting now, casting the entire yard in a soft orange glow. Somewhere in the distance, a family of gnomes grumbled to each other as they dug through her mother’s tomato patch. “He was never that small, though I suppose Teddy was a bit of a fat baby.”

Harry snorted. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Don’t!” Ginny swatted at him playfully, “don’t you dare!”

He just laughed again and pulled her close against his chest, the back of her head resting comfortably against him.

“It is nice, though,” he sighed, “the idea of passing something down to your kids. Giving them a little part of you. I wish I’d had more of my parents’ things.”

Ginny nodded slowly. She couldn’t imagine a childhood without hand-me-downs. A little bit of history in every toy, every piece of clothing. “Perhaps we can make up for it. Create some new traditions.”

“Yeah?” She could hear him grinning through the word. “How would we do that?”

Ginny sighed, a little horrified with herself at what she was about to say.

“Well, we could always ask my mother to give us knitting lessons.”

Really. Married, pregnant, and finally letting her mother teach her to knit after years of protestation. What had her life come to?

[justabstractthings]

Scrubs and Combat Boots Part II | Bakugo x F!Reader

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Female!Reader

Warnings: Non-stop swearing of said explosion boy. 

Part One

A/N: In honor of Nurses Week, I wrote part 2 to my Bakugo x Nurse fic. This piece holds a special place in my heart because I’m also a nurse. I’m dedicating this fic to health care workers dedicating their lives to serving their community, before and during this pandemic. I hope you all stay safe and enjoy this piece. Let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 2.8k

The second time you met Bakugo Katsuki you thought it was a total coincidence. 

You were a nurse working in the ER and you always noticed the same frequent flyers would come at least three or four times per month. They never left much of an impression on you. Well, except Bakugo Katsuki. The loud-mouthed hero always seemed to pop into your train of thought at least once during your shift. So, it had to be a coincidence when you saw him again two weeks later. 

That is until you found out he’s been harassing the other nurses and techs on the floor.

You had just finished transporting a highly critical patient to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). You’ve worked a total of eleven hours now and you were a measly hour away from being able to go home and sink into your very comfortable bed. Just the thought of the soft covers wrapped around your exhausted body had you melting on the spot. 

Unfortunately, all of that changed when you heard the familiar explosions and aggressive shouts coming from the ER. When one of the other nurses gave you a pleading look, you squared your shoulders and marched right into the noisy trauma room. 

To say that the room looked like a war zone was an understatement. 

Your clean and organized trauma room had gauze bandages haphazardly decorated all around the room as if they were Christmas lights. Expensive pieces of equipment were knocked over as if a tornado flew in for a nice holiday.  Doctors, nurses, techs, and security were running around and yelling like chickens with their heads chopped off. 

Chaos. Total chaos.

Your eyes zeroed in on the culprit as he kept on swatting and growling at your coworkers. You let out a big sigh as you wiped some sanitizer on your hands and grabbed a pair of gloves from the wall. 

Just one more hour. That’s it. One hour.

“Touch me one more time and I’ll fucking blow your hands off!” 

Yep, that’s it.

Everyone kept their distance as they looked worriedly at the injured hero. They knew the kind of strength the young hero possessed. The wild look swimming in his carmine eyes promised danger.  They were hesitant to approach him any further. But you weren’t. You pushed your way to the front of the crowd until you stood face to face in front of the growling hero. 

“Ground Zero, I’ll be your nurse this evening. What seems to be the problem here?” 

As a medical professional, you were trained to assess your patients during the first sixty seconds of interaction. You noticed Bakugo’s breath hitch with every inhale, the strain of his muscles as they trembled with each explosion, and the visible blood pooling by his left hip. Bakugo didn’t seem dazed, which was a good sign to rule out any emergent head trauma. But you needed a more thorough examination to help your patient.

“I told them to back the fuck off,” Bakugo growled. “I don’t need any help from these shitty extras.”

You sighed as a pounding headache reverberated through your head. It was either due to your lack of sleep or the explosions that kept going off. Either way, one of them needed to stop. 

“I really don’t have time for this. Can you guys give us some space?” Your co-workers looked at you in disbelief and hesitantly left the room. One of the security officers stayed behind outside of the room. You scoffed. As if you couldn’t take care of yourself. “Now, are you going to let me help you or not?”

Bakugo glared down at you but said nothing. He watched as you smiled at him and gestured towards the hospital bed. The memory of you pinning him against the wall left a bitter taste in his mouth. Bakugo compliantly climbed onto the bed. He does not need another repeat of that incident. 

“I’m gonna need you to take off your shirt so that I can take a look at your injuries, Ground Zero.” You grabbed Bakugo’s chart from the counter as you looked over the notes from the other nurses. Just as you had expected. It seemed that the hero was sent to the ER after another nasty fight with a villain, but why come to this hospital when the villain attack was broadcasted from the other side of the city? You shrugged and left that thought for a later time. You had other pressing matters.

“Ground Zero, why don’t we-.” Your breath hitched as if an invisible hand constricted your throat that prevented the rest of your words from spilling out of your gaping mouth. In a snap, your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t process the image right in front of your face. You forced yourself to blink and look away, but it was impossible. 

You’ve seen hundreds of people without a shirt on before. It never bothered you because you were a nurse, for crying out loud! You’ve seen everything. You’ve probably seen more naked people than a prostitute. The human body was nothing new to you. 

But he can’t possibly be human.

Jagged scars and discolored bruises visibly littered his golden-toned skin, evidence of his grueling work as a pro-hero. The largest scar traveled across his chest, from his right shoulder to the bottom of his left rib cage. His toned abs rippled with each breath, taunting you for even having the audacity to look at them. When Bakugo leaned back on his hands, you swore his biceps noticeably grew in size with each flex and movement of his upper body. You tried to overlook the scars and burns that traveled up his muscular arms, but it was as if you were in a trance. 

Definitely not human.

The room felt noticeably warmer even though it was just you and your patient occupying the space. You clenched the clipboard in your hands as you tried to keep your palms from sweating under the blue gloves. The hammering against your chest made it impossibly harder for you to focus as your eyes traveled up and his scared body. 

Everything came to a halt when you noticed the teasingly satisfied smirk on Bakugo’s sharp jaw. “Something wrong?”

If it wasn’t the cherry red blush across your face, it was definitely how quickly you turned your back to him that made your thoughts plainly obvious. You cleared your throat and said, “Nothing. Just reading your chart.” 

The slight stutter in your voice didn’t escape Bakugo’s trained ears. He frowned when your attention wasn’t solely focused on him. When did he start caring about one nurse’s attention? He forced the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. 

Bakugo watched as you continued to clean the room, inspecting each supply and deeming if it was usable or not. His eyes trained to your figure that fluidly traveled all across the room, caught in your simple trance. You held yourself in such a confident manner that the usually callous and vulgar hero was awestruck into silence. Similar to your first encounter, Bakugo found that he could not look away from your scrub clad figure. 

“Sorry about earlier.” Bakugo scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “They shouldn’t have cornered you like that.” 

“Damn right they shouldn’t have,” Bakugo barked. “I would have blown their faces off.”

You hummed as you gathered the supplies needed to treat Bakugo’s injuries. “I’m sure you would have, Ground Zero,” you said teasingly. The annoyed glare focused on your back only made your smile widen.

When you were finished, you faced the eternally glaring hero. “Alright, Ground Zero. I’m going to take a look at you and then afterward, the doctors will come in and see you, okay?” You took his silence as an understanding. “Now, take deep breaths for me.”

When you placed the stethoscope on his chest, you could not focus on the sounds of his breathing. Your senses were completely overwhelmed by the sight of the rise and fall of his toned chest. You also made the mistake of taking a deep breath as you inhaled the intoxicatingly sweet scent of caramel.

As you continued your examination, you noticed more of his features than the last time you saw him. A quick flash of light showed a light halo of gold around his pupils that would normally be overwhelmed by his distinctive vermillion irises. His nose was slightly crooked, most likely from being broken too many times and improperly healed. There was also a small scar at the bottom of his right stubbled jaw. 

You prayed the pro-hero could not hear the distinctive thumping on your chest. This was a bad idea. He was your patient. You should not be enjoying his presence as much as you were. Any other patient would not affect you as much as Bakugo did. The exhaustion of working for nearly thirteen hours must have weakened your resolve. You did read that exhaustion can play tricks on the mind. That must be it. You were tired and that’s it. It definitely wasn’t Bakugo.

After concluding your assessment, you wrote down your findings on Bakugo’s chart. “Good. I’ll call in the doctors and they’ll take care of you for the rest of your stay.”

“You’re not staying?” Bakugo pursed his lips as soon as those words left his mouth.

“As much as I would love to hear you swear at my colleagues, I have a nice warm bed waiting for me at home. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure they take good care of you.” Before you stepped out of the room, you gave Bakugo one last smile, “Do you need anything else from me?”

Bakugo could think of a million questions he wanted answered but he shook his head and said nothing as he watched your retreating figure. A quick feeling of sadness enveloped him as you disappeared from his sight. 

The explosive hero growled as he was left more puzzled than the last time he was at this hospital. How can one woman have such control over him in the short amount of time you interacted. Was it your quirk? It had to be. You must have had a powerful quirk to affect him this much. More than ever, Bakugo was determined to see you again. 

And destroy whatever power you had on him. 

~

The next day, Bakugo trudged into his hero agency. He ignored the high pitched greetings the secretaries practically screeched at him. Bakugo welcomed the soft hum of the elevator as it carried him to the top of the building. After a dissatisfying visit to the ER, all he wanted to do was get some mindless paperwork done, maybe punch a villain or two. 

Or he could also find Kirishima and use him as an indestructible punching bag.

Speaking of Kirishima, when Bakugo entered his office, he found him lounging on one of the couches with his usual shark-toothed grin.

“Bakubro!” Kirishima leaped off the couch and went to greet his life-long friend. “Where were you last night? After the fight, you just disappeared.”

“None of your damn business, shitty hair,” Bakugo growled as he slammed his bag onto the desk. “The fuck do you want?”

“Damn, a little grouchy this morning.” Kirishima skipped towards his friend’s threatening figure. “Did Princess Bakugo not get enough sleep last night?”

Years of being best friends with said explosion hero taught Kirishima one crucial thing. It’s that if he was outright teasing the man, he better activate his quirk before Bakugo blew his face off. But that never stopped Kirishima from constantly pushing Bakugo’s explosive buttons.

Kirishima merely grinned as he noticed Bakugo seemed to relax a little bit better after letting off one explosion. The hardening hero plopped himself in front of Bakugo’s desk as he watched his friend furiously typing on his laptop. “Answer my fucking question, shitty hair.”

“Only if you answer mine first, blasty. Where were you last night?” Kirishima raised a brow, wondering why Bakugo has been a bit absentminded these last few weeks. Never has Kirishima seen Bakugo so preoccupied especially when it comes to hero work. When Bakugo answered him with silence, Kirishima sighed and decided on a different approach.

For better or for worse, Kirishima knew there was one thing that would help his best bro.

Kirishima grinned and stretched out his neck and back. “You leave me no choice.” Before Bakugo could even glance at Kirishima, the red-haired hero smashed his right fist into Bakugo’s cheek. Bakugo snapped his head towards Kirishima and glared daggers at him, a clear communication that death would be approaching said best friend. 

The explosive hero jumped out of his seat, not caring that his leather chair toppled against the hardwood floor. “Die!” Bakugo aimed a large explosion directly at Kirishima’s face. It caused the large windows to shatter and crumble against the sheer force of his explosion.

Thankfully, Kirishima anticipated Bakugo’s attack and hardened his skin to protect against the explosive impact. Before Bakugo could counter with another attack, Kirishima aimed his hardened punches for Bakugo’s face and torso. His grin widened as his anger-management-needing friend was backed into the corner of his office. 

Bakugo was quick to dodge but he found that Kirishima had become increasingly quicker by the number of knicks and cuts on Bakugo’s skin. He could not be on the defense for any longer. His pride refused to back down. Bakugo aimed a quick explosion right in front of Kirishima’s face to block his line of sight. In succession, Bakugo dropped down to the ground and swiped his legs from under him. With a victorious grin, Bakugo pressed his knee against Kirishima’s chest and grabbed Kirishima’s shirt. 

“You feel better?” Kirishima wheezed as Bakugo pressed his knee further against the red head’s lungs. 

The explosive hero glared down at his friend and released his shirt with a huff. “Fuck off, shitty hair.” Bakugo plopped himself on the one couch that wasn’t destroyed and stretched his legs out. The ash-blonde watched his friend practically skip towards him and sat on the table in front of the couch. He looked like a puppy waiting for his promised treat.

Bakugo groaned and wondered how the hell was he still friends with the spiky-haired idiot. “I was in the ER.”

“Like, out of your own free will?”

“Do you want me to fucking tell you or not?” Kirishima zipped his lip. “I was investigating a nurse that I think uses her quirk on unsuspecting patients.”

“For good or for evil?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Bakugo groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. He hated admitting any weaknesses he had, especially when he couldn’t figure out what was going on. “All I fucking know is that the ER nurse used her damn quirk on me twice-”

“Wait, wait, wait. YOU, Bakugo Katuski, Ground Zero, Lord Explosion Murder, went to the ER TWICE.” 

Bakugo let off threatening explosions from his hands and growled at the redhead, “Can you fucking shut up for once in your damn life, shitty hair? Do you want me to tell you or not?” Kirishima raised his hands in surrender and motioned for Bakugo to continue. “Yes, I fucking went to the ER twice.”

“Well, then what happened?”

Ground Zero lifted himself off the couch and paced around the destroyed office. “I don’t fucking know! Every time I see her I get this damned tingling feeling and my shitty heart starts racing. One second, I’m fucking yelling at all these damn extras, and the next, I’m not. Like all the rage and anger just fucking disappears and I don’t know what the fuck she did. I don’t know if her quirk is tactile, olfactic, or if it works like Aizawa-sensei’s quirk. So I need to fucking figure out what her damn quirk is and how powerful it is.”

As Bakugo kept working himself up, Kirishima merely observed his friend as a sly grin slowly grew on his face. 

Kirishima has been friends with Bakugo Katsuki for years. When something is wrong, Bakugo knows how to fix it, albeit mostly through violent means. He is quick to use his brain and his brawns to come out victorious in a battle. However, Kirishima watched his explosive friend yell and rant about a nurse. Unfortunately for Bakugo, this was unfamiliar territory. Fortunately for Kirishima, his friend was as dense as their fellow icy-hot hero. The outcomes were unknown, but Kirishima would be damned if he didn’t get to aid his friend’s “investigation”. 

“The next time she fucking uses her quirk on me, I’m gonna kill her!”

The redhead stepped in front of Bakugo and placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the explosive glare directed at him. “Whoa, dude. Calm down. Look, why don’t we talk about this more over lunch? I have the day off, so we can go to that curry place you like. What do you say?” The hardening hero flashed a shark tooth grin.

With a grunt and a roll of his eyes, Bakugo shrugged Kirishima’s hand off and stomped out the door. 

This was going to be interesting. 

[orangeseoks]

Trouble Maker // j.jk

part one - part two here

[ disclaimer! ]

this is of pure fiction and is NOT to be taken seriously!

genre ;; fluff, smut, angst | hybrid au

pairing ;; jungkook x reader, hybrid!jk x reader, (kinda) namjoon x reader.

notes ;; jungkook is a horny mf, reader is a virgin *cOuGh*, mentions of abuse, a few fights happen here and there, namjoon is a complete dork, (y/n) and namjoon are besties uwu, eventual smut, jk randomly finds porn, masterbation, (y/n) fights with her family + daddy issues, highschool is hard, jk has a virgin kink, surprise heats, jk has wet dreams (ovo; ).

warning ;; there may be quite a bit of fob in here, idk

[ unedited ]

[ all rights reserved @orangeseoks​ ]

"Wake up will you," a voice blares from beside me. I quickly jolt awake and look around me, "y-yes?" Rubbing the sleepiness from my eyes I stretch in my spot and sigh, glancing at the workbook I'd dumped so carelessly onto the floor. "You're such an idiot, why do I even bother with you?" Namjoon answers with a laugh.

"Namjoon, seriously? I'd only passed out, geez." Rubbing my temple, I stand up, a slight giggle passing my lips as I start collecting the few items I'd scattered around me. I'm normally at home around this time, not often do I sleep during studies at Namjoon's. 

I gently pack my things into my bag and make my way to the front door, slipping my shoes on. "Do you want a ride home?" He asks, tucking his car keys into the pocket of his pants.

Shaking my head I give Namjoon a soft smile, "I'll walk, it's okay."

"You sure? It's almost half past eleven," I merely nod and open the door. "If anything I'll take the bus home, see you!" Waving the older male goodbye, I run outside of his small house and down the street.

Namjoon, he's a lot older than me, like a lot. He's an adult and I'm still a student, many would think he's my tutor or something - but he's just a long time friend. Weird?

Humming to myself, I kick a stone on the pavement before I turn down an alleyway between two houses. This was my usual route home from Namjoon's place, it was a neat shortcut. It was always the best way to avoid a long walk, sometimes even people, I guess it’s just a fast escape. When I see the road come into view my smile widens, just across the street was a small corner store and I was dying to eat something.

Crossing the silent street, I make my way towards the store, accidentally inhaling the cigarette smoke from the group of males outside the laundromat. Coughing, I enter and begin to roam the few isles they had, grabbing a few snacks here and there. The smell of cigarette smoke still lingered in the air but it wasn't as strong as it was outside.

"Is this all?" The cashier asks me, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Yep," is all I respond with, taking out my wallet to pay for everything. "Which school do you go to?" The woman suddenly asks me whilst she packs everything into a re-usable bag, "oh um.. that school just down the street, I forgot the name." I let out a faint chuckle, my cheeks growing a faint pink.

"Ah, my daughter goes there too." With a warm smile the woman hands me everything, "be careful walking home it's cold out."

"Thank you," bowing slightly I exit the store, that disgusting smell hitting me like a truck. Scoffing, I cover my nose and cross the street in a hurry.  

A little before I got home, I'd decided to stop at the bus stop just a house away from mine. And now here I am, sitting there as I eat the sandwich I'd purchased. Watching the few cars that pass by me, "are you jumping busses too?" Flinching, I turn around to face the voice - swallowing my mouthful in a hurry. "N-No, I'm just sitting here to eat." Smiling shyly I fold the parchment paper that once was wrapped around my sandwich, lowering my gaze to the concrete below my feet.

"At midnight? That's new," the voice adds. Nodding I shift awkwardly in my spot, "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm only waiting for the bus."

"S-Sorry, I'm not used to this sort of thing."

"Me, social interaction or bus jumping?" The voice asks playfully, a small laugh passing through their words. "All of them I guess," embarrassed with myself I mentally facepalm - slouching in my spot. "Don't be, I'm only dressed differently." Confused as to why they've pointed that out, I glance up at them, noticing how they really are dressed differently. They're wearing a hat, baggy clothes and a .. collar? Or maybe it's a choker?

I clear my throat and nod, "not really. I mean, other people dress like that."

"Yeah well I'm not like other people," the voice answers, headlights hitting the both of us. My eyes widen when I see a glimpse of the persons face, they're beautiful. "Here's my bus," they finish - standing and entering the large vehicle. Leaving me and my lonesome once more, shaking my head I stand also, grabbing both my bags and walking the remainder of my way home.

Sighing, I look up at my steep driveway, never getting over how tiring it is to walk up it. "I'm home," I mutter sarcastically. A fake smile painting my features as I walk up it. When I reach the top of my driveway, I begin shaking open my gate, not failing to notice the obvious movement in the bushes behind my fishpond.

Furrowing my eyebrows together, I walk toward the bushes closing the front gate behind me and then pushing open an entrance for me, so I’m able to pass through the crowded greenery. "..Hello?" I ask the darkness of night, sighing at my actions I look around the area and see nothing. That is until I spot two perky ears twitching. "Oh-" Kneeling down, I move the rock the animal is hiding behind, spotting the small thing and frowning at its appearance.

"Poor thing, let's get you inside." I gently pick up the bunny and cradle it in my arms despite the constant thrashing it makes. I hum at this, rubbing gently behind its ears whilst I take out my keys, I unlock the unit house I'm living in and switch on the lights, placing the animal onto my kitchen table to examine it.

The poor bunny was coated in thick mud, a deep slash in one of their back legs, along with a few other cuts on them. “Lets clean you up, yeah?” With a gentle smile, I pick the bunny up and walk over to the kitchen - filling the sink with warm water.

“You’re safe now little bunny,” I affirm, turning the tap off and placing the tiny animal into the shallow pool of water. A small chuckle leaves my lips, watching as it squirms slightly when coming in contact with the warm liquid. Smiling, I get myself a cup and collect a bit of water to pour over the top of the bunny. Combing my fingers through its slightly over grown locks, I untangle a few of the knots in its fur before beginning to scrub the mud away.

I let out a faint laugh when the little bunny presses itself into the palm of my hand, “do you like me washing your fur?” As if it understands me, their ear twitches and they hop into my free palm. Smiling, I wet its ears, softly massaging the fur with my fingers, being sure not to apply too much pressure knowing how sensitive rabbit ears can be.

“I’m almost finished little bunny,” giggling, I wash away any extra muck before transferring the small animal to a clean tea towel, wrapping it neatly around the bunny’s small frame and returning to the kitchen table to dry it. Humming, I eventually finish drying the bunny and run my hands along its damp fur, “sit tight I’ll be right back.”

And I was, I’d left and come back in the span of only three minutes. A first aid kit in hand, sitting in front of the bunny I notice how it awakes from what I’m assuming was their sleep. “I’m going to treat your leg alright, it may hurt so I’m sorry in advanced.” With a concentrated sigh, I look at the injured leg, feeling somewhat relieved to see it looking better now that its been cleaned of whatever gunk was in it.

I apply a bit of an ointment onto the little bunny’s leg before wrapping it in a bandage, “jang! All done!” Clapping my hands together, I let a grin fall onto my lips whilst I pick the bunny up, pulling it into my chest for hug. “You’re such a good little bunny! I’m so proud of you!”

With a giggle I glance at the clock next to the tv, instantly frowning when I notice how late it is. I should be sleeping, but instead I’m cuddling with a stray rabbit. Sighing, I comb my bangs back and make my way to my bedroom, turning the lounge light off behind me.

“You can sleep with me tonight hun,” crawling into bed I place the small bunny into the arms of one of my teddy bears, smiling when it curls into the plush toy. Yawning I bid the bunny goodnight and fall asleep myself.

As sunlight passed through the bedroom curtains, I feel myself begin to stir in my sleep, groaning I turn towards my wall. A giggle leaving my lips as a tiny tongue flicks along my neck, licking at my skin, with a shaky laugh I open my eyes - a familiar little bunny coming into view. Smiling, I pick the rabbit up, rolling onto my back and holding it in the air.

“I think I might keep you, call you mine.”

Chuckling, I sit up and place the bunny into my lap, petting the small creature. “I’m (Y/n), and you’re..” Pausing for a moment I look around my room for a name idea, then it hits me. “You’re Jungkook!”

I watch as Jungkook jumps up, pawing at my shirt, “someones excited!” I exclaim happily, picking Jungkook up and checking the bunny for a split second. “You’re a boy Jungkook!” I yell, clearly as excited as him.

ding!

Cutting myself and Jungkook from our moment, I listen to my phone go off beside me, sighing I unlock it and read my messages with a frown. A deep groan falls from my lips, tossing my phone onto the floor carelessly - as if it’ll relieve my irritation.

“Namjoon’s coming over, Jungkook, he’s a friend of mine. He’s going to help me finish my leftover work,” smiling I cradle the tiny male bunny in my arms. Running my hand gently along his back, watching his small tail twitch. Giggling I grab his tail between two fingers and massage the area around it.

“Come on, I need to change, help me pick out my outfit.”

Jumping out of bed, I make it quickly, rearranging my soft toys and such. I then take out a few things from the set of drawers I have sitting in the corner of the room. 

“Which one? Twitch either your left or right ear to tell me,” I utter holding up both the chosen pieces of clothes.

The bunny’s head only tilts to the side, his right ear twitching, grinning I nod and make a hurry to take off the shirt I was sleeping in, pulling on the large sweater and shorts.

“Ta-da!” I do a little twirl, laughing when Jungkook jumps in his spot, his large doe eyes glistening in the natural light. Scoffing, I shake my head, a wide smile still plastered on my face when I open my curtains and windows.

Turning to Jungkook, I watch as he jumps down from my bed, landing on his side with a small squeak. I let out a snicker watching in awe at the clumsy bunny. His little legs working hard as he runs over to me, snuggling himself into my ankle. “Come on bub,” I murmur picking Jungkook up and walking into the kitchen to boil the jug as-well-as place a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

“What should you have for breakfast?” Looking down at Jungkook, I smile, shuffling over to the fridge - tearing a leaf of lettuce away from its body and grabbing an apple to go with the green he’s going to eat, “sorry if you don’t like it. I’ll try and buy you bunny food on Thursday, hm?” Chuckling, I jump a little with every step I take; rocking Jungkook like an infant in my arms.

“I’ll cut your lettuce and apple so its easier for you to eat,” pressing a chast kiss to Jungkook’s fur, I place him on the bench beside me whilst I cut the lettuce into strips. The faint sound of rain hitting the roof filling my ears, I sigh at this and place the shredded lettuce onto a small plate. Moving onto his apple, I begin to cut that too, eventually finishing that and placing the tiny chunks onto the plate also - moving onto my breakfast once I’ve placed his food onto the table.

Placing a couple slices of bread into the toaster, I take out the butter along with the jam as I wait for my toast to pop up. 

I jump when my toast is ready, laughing at myself for being oblivious to it. Humming a song to myself, I butter my toast - blah blah. And then walk over to the table, giggling when I see Jungkook face first in his food; his cheeks stuffed with his breakfast. 

“Cute,” I mutter, taking a bite of my toast and listening to the pelting rain hit the roof of my home. “I hope Namjoon doesn’t catch a cold, he’s probably drenched.”

Speaking of the devil.

My eyebrows raise as my front door slides open, Namjoon rushing inside and tossing his keys onto the shoe shelf beside him, he sighs and removes his wet coat - draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Unlock your door next time,” he complains, sitting down and combing back his dripping bangs.

“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t expect you over so early. Its only ten,” Namjoon nods in response. His eyes shifting from me to Jungkook - too immersed in his feasting to notice the male in the room. “You bought a rabbit..?” He asks, examining the animal with his eyes, “no.” Is all I respond with, finishing off the last of my toast.

“I found his last night, his leg was injured so I took him in.”

Namjoon sighs, “what is it has some type of disease and you catch it?”

“I won’t, he’s healthy, a little beaten is all.” I smile sadly, moving my hand to pet Jungkook as he eats. “Do you plan on telling your dad?” He asks, plucking an untouched chunk of apple from Jungkook’s plate and tossing into his mouth.

I scoff, “no. Like he’s going to find out, he’ll only make me pay for everything myself, not to mention my sisters.” I find myself shivering at my own words, “if my sisters find out I have a rabbit in my house, they’ll smother the poor thing.”

Laughing, Namjoon nods, “I get it.”

I don’t say a word, only hum and allow Jungkook to hop into my open hand, “how much of the work did I need to finish?”

“Right!” Namjoon starts, placing the small bag he has with his atop of the table, “if I remember correctly you only have to finish your slide for history.” I instantly grin, history is one of my favourite subjects. I so adore history, I’ve always been a fan of the dark and interesting histories and wonders of the world.

According to my friends and mutuals at school I’m a, quote on quote; history whore. 

“Salem Witch Trials, right?” Namjoon asks, cutting me from my thoughts, “yeah, that’s it.” He nods, taking out his notebook as well as a few sheets of paper littered with words and images. “I’ve got some articles printed for you to use as reference.”

Thanking him, I run off to grab my laptop, returning moments later and sitting in my original spot. “I think you only have two slides left to make,” he murmurs, writing a few things into his notebook. I hum, opening my slides and quickly looking through my current work.

One slide left, I think to myself, glancing at the papers given to me. This is going to be interesting.

Groaning, I flop lifelessly onto my sofa, ignoring the grumbling coming from Namjoon. “(Y/n)-”

“Don’t you dare make me work any further, I’ve finished everything.” I retort, not letting Namjoon finish his sentence, he knows how stubborn I can be and decides to leave things at that. “Movie?” He asks, switching the tv on, “no - game.” 

Chuckling, Namjoon stands to grab the two controllers sitting in a drawer before handing me one and starting up a multiplayer game so the two of us can play. “Are you ready to lose?” I chime cockily, knowing how he sucks at this specific video game. “Ha ha, very funny,” he retorts.

I smile at his sarcasm, focusing my attention on the game about to take place, “loser.” I say, mashing furiously at my controller, knocking down Namjoon’s character with a simple punch. The male beside me huffs, puffing his cheeks out, “I’m no loser.”

And he wasn’t lying when he said that, I’d only blinked and my character had been knocked down with a booming k.o! I was shocked; he’d literally just beaten me, me! 

“Kim Namjoon!” I whine, throwing the small device in my hands onto the armchair across from the two of us, instantly jumping onto the broad male - tackling him into the cushioning.

He lets out a low squeak, squirming beneath me with a roaring laugh. He knows how competitive I can get, so why would he make me lose?

“(Y/n)!” He laughs, his hands unconsciously finding my waist as I resume tickling him. “St-Stop!” Furrowing my eyebrows, I pinch his waist before stopping and glaring at him, “thank you.” He pants, rolling over slightly and glancing at a certain spot on the floor.

“Oh hey little guy,” Namjoon spurs, smiling fondly at Jungkook. I notice this and turn my head to face my curious bunny, “come on!” I cheer, kneeling beside the couch and watching as he scrambles over to me. Burying his face into my hands the second he comes up to me.

I can’t help but grin at how cute he is, bringing the small animal towards my chest and cradling him. “He’s so cute Namjoon.”

“Are you going to keep him?” He asks, sitting up after tidying his tussled hair. “Mhm, I decided to keep him once I woke up. There’s no way he’s going back out there, poor thing must’ve been beaten before running off.”

“There’s actually been cases popping up recently of animal abusers, the authorities are trying to find out who exactly is doing this and whether its a group or just individuals, they’re also speculating that its breeder or maybe a owner of sorts.”

He pauses, wetting his lips before continuing;

“Oh- there’s also cases of people seeing .. well other people, but with animal ears and tails. No one has been able to prove if these sightings are true or not, but I guess that’s off topic.”

Shrugging, I continue to gaze at the now sleeping bunny in my arms, a wide smile gracing my lips. “Should we go shopping?” I ask the bunny snuggled into me, knowing it obviously won’t answer me. “Now?” Namjoon questions, walking around me and into my room.

“Yeah,” is all I say as I climb to my feet and place Jungkook onto the couch to retrieve my shoes from my room - a coat hitting me directly in the face upon my entering. “Put that on, it’ll be cold outside.”

“I know,” I say. “I know.”

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 6, 3943 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Back to Vex, on her path to hunt a fiend...

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

“It’s fine, thank you anyway.”

Vex slams the red button on her phone, as if clicking on it harder will make her frustration known to the world. She wishes she had an older phone so she could slam down the handset onto the base. It would be like slamming a door at the end of an argument; a physical show of her feelings.

She’s been on the phone all morning, trying desperately to get some answers on what she’s supposed to do with the fiend now that it has killed at least one person. Not anyone, at that, someone trained to take things down and keep parks protected. If Regae was anything like her, he had put up a fight before dying. But the creature had prevailed.

The one thing she was told about was the Grey Hunt. Not only did the Pale Guard officer tell her about it on the crime scene, but pretty much everyone she’s tried calling told her to ask them. Except they don’t exist anymore. They haven’t in years.

There are no records of previous members either. Vex wants to scream in frustration. For the first time since she’s arrived, she realizes how alone she is. She wasn’t so alone before. In Shademurk, she could ask Saundor and if he was in a good mood and if she played her cards right, he would use his amazing influence to help her. Here she has no one. She almost misses him.

What? No. She doesn’t miss him. She can’t miss him, she won’t. The fact that he was supposed to love her and that she had to bargain with him, the very sovereign of Shademurk Bog, to get him to do anything for her, from dishes to actually working with her to make Shademurk better.

She doesn’t miss him. At all. Her new home is completely clear of him, empty of memories of him. She’s not going to choke on his presence every time she looks somewhere. It’s better here. She’s better now than she ever was before.

If Saundor was here, he would take credit for her strength, for her work. He would say he made her, shaped her into the ranger he is today. He always used to say that. She used to believe him.

Vex stands from her chair and paces a little into the cabin. No Grey Hunt. No Pale Guard. As far as she knows, Pike Trickfoot and Grog Strongjaw are still willing to go hunt a fiend with her. That’s all she has. Her own limited abilities, a cleric and a goliath. And no Vax.

She told him to stay in Westrunn a little. She was hoping to have the fiend problem sorted before he arrived, to be honest, so she wouldn’t have to ask for his help. He’s helped her way too much already.

Besides, she’d rather know he’s with Gilmore, enjoying himself and his boyfriend. They don’t see each other enough. She can manage without him. She should be able to. She’s a strong, capable person.

In the bathroom, she splashes cold water onto her face, forcefully clearing her thoughts. When she looks up from the sink to look into the mirror, she swallows, hard. She looks tired. There are dark circles in the brown skin below her eyes. Her lips are cracked, from the cold. She’s forgotten to put on lip balm. Her hair is dirty, greasy.

It’s been three days. Three days since she’s received that call on the forgotten radio. Three days and she’s already forgotten to take care of herself. She’s really holding on by a thread, isn’t she?

Her nails dig painfully into her palm and only then does she stop staring at her own tired face.

She walks away and slams the door behind herself. The force makes the wall shudder and it feels right. Vex smiles a little. That was the first hint of satisfaction she’s felt since her arrow shot through Donovan Clarence’s hand.

The cub at her feet whines a little, turning over from where he’d been napping.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly and crouches to pet the dark brown fur. “Slamming the door woke you up, huh?” She asks softly.

The cub leans into her hand like he’s starving for touch. He’s always going to forgive her for these things, isn’t he? Her smile widens slightly, growing more relaxed and genuine.

Her phone buzzes and she reaches for it, before sitting on the floor next to the cub. It’s a text from Vax, with an image attached. She opens the image first.

It’s a photo of the inside of a shop, large and filled with glass-covered shelves. She can see the shine of gold and silver and precious gems behind the glass. Her eyebrow raises. The fact they’re still behind glass and not in Vax’s sneaky hand is surprising. She looks over at the caption of the image.

Exercise in restraint: Gilmore’s shop. Many trinkets, none for me.

About five different dirty remarks come to Vex’s mind but she pushes them back. Vax is a bit uncomfortable with discussions of his sex life, joking unfactual remarks or not. She’s not going to make him uncomfortable now.

She takes a picture of the cub snuggled in the space between her crossed legs.

I saw this one and couldn’t help myself… Trinket addiction running in the family?

She sends the picture but looks down at the cub with a thought. Trinket is a good name. She likes it. Loves it, actually.

“May I call you Trinket, darling?” She asks. Giving him a name means keeping him, but she’s far past that point now. She’s known it, deep down for a while.

The cub doesn’t seem to mind it. Vex presses a kiss to the furry head with a smile, the biggest in a long time.

They say rangers often find companions. Vex has just found hers.

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

They meet at the mouth of the trail, the way they’d originally planned. It’s a few days later than expected, yes, but Vex has been busy desperately trying to get some sort of official help. She was hoping not to have to ask Pike and Grog.

She sees the goliath before the gnome, the giant axe hanging heavy over the man’s shoulder. By his side, the cleric looks way less aggressive. Vex doesn’t know which one will be more useful. Divine healing or brute force. Either way, she’s incredibly glad to have someone by her side right now.

“So,” she smiles nervously. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for pushing back the date of meeting. I was hoping to get some sort of professional help, but it seems like Whitestone doesn’t have the infrastructure.”

The cleric, Pike, nods. “The city has seen a lot of things.”

Vex doesn’t know what that means, really. She doesn’t ask. Not right now. She’ll ask later, once they have a dead fiend and a victory under their belt. People were much more likely to spill secrets if adrenaline and serotonin were flowing through their veins.

Sometimes, she’s almost ashamed of the many tricks she’s learned throughout the years. And then she remembers it was people like the Syngornian Elves and Saundor who made her learn these things,and she stops feeling like she should have somehow stayed innocent through all the shit they put her through.

They start on their way, not to where she initially sensed the fiend, but to where the body was found. It’s more likely that they’ll find usable traces there.

The winter cold bites at her cheeks, but the goliath is shirtless. She raises an eyebrow, both respectful and thinking him mad to be out there like this. They start climbing up the trail in relative silence, with the crunching of their boots and the jingling of the cleric’s chainmail.

Vex doesn’t know what kind of small talk to do now. This is not a light-hearted situation, and she just wants the creature out of her woods.

“Have you killed fiends before?” The goliath asks after a moment.

Vex looks over at him over her shoulder. “Not a fiend, no. I’ve killed other things. Fey, mostly.”

Pike raises an eyebrow. “Fey? Were you around the doors to the Feywild before you came to the Alabaster Sierras?”

Vex hesitates for a moment. It’s a lot of information to give to complete strangers. She shrugged the paranoia off however. “I was. I was tasked with keeping an eye on a part of the Verdant Expanse, that, just like Syngorn, can switch between the Feywild and our plane. I lived in the Feywild for a part of my time there.”

“That’s so cool!” Pike grins and Vex can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

It is pretty cool.

The Feywild is somewhere most people have barely heard of, let alone visited. And Vex, though in pretty horrible circumstances, has been able to call it home for a moment of her life. On the way up the trail, her two companions manage to coax her into recounting the Feywild.

She tells them of the permanent dusk, of the sun that’s always at its most beautiful, its most reddening and purpling state duskward of Shademurk. She tells them of the dark of the night on the other side, of looking at the sky and never knowing exactly the time. She tells them of age-old trees that hold secrets they only tell the worthy.

She tells them of dryads and naiads and the howling of lycans. She doesn’t tell them of Saundor but she tells them of Fenthras.

One day, she’ll reach under her bed, take it out and shoot. It’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, the wood alive and the power tangible. She still dreams of wielding it, as she runs free through ever shifting woods, laughter on her lips.

When they make it to the campsite where the body was found, she feels lighter than she has in a long time. Both the cleric and the goliath are smiling lightly. They exchange a look, and then get to work.

Vex sits on a stone and starts expanding her consciousness as Pike runs identifying and tracking spells on whatever magic trace they can find. It’s hard to tune out her kind babbling or Grog’s regular deep-toned comments, but Vex finally manages and exhales.

With her breath goes her mind and soon she finds herself floating, drifting, one with the wind and with nature. She barely has to wait to find the fiendish presence. It pings on her mental radar loud and clear and close.

Way too close. They’re close to its lair.

Vex’s eyes open wide and she comes back crashing into herself. She barely gives herself time to come back into her body before she shoots to her feet and shares her findings. Grog takes his giant axe out. Pike unclasps a mace the size of her body from Grog’s back.

Vex takes her bow in hand and notches an arrow, ready to draw and shoot. They start walking in the direction where she can still feel the echoing presence of the creature. It rests heavy on her back of her neck, a pressure she can’t shake.

They walk into higher grass off of beaten paths. Vex slips into the underbrush with ease, but it’s far from the case for the two accompanying her. Pike in particular makes great noise and gets caught in almost every weed she can possibly get caught on. Vex huffs. Here goes the effect of surprise.

They find the lair empty, and her heart tightens in her chest. Fuck. It knows they are there.

A shape moves from the shadows overhead and Vex immediately reacts. Her body moves without her thinking anything through. Her arrow shoots through the air and hits right in the middle of the creature’s chest. It screams in pain. Vex smirks. She’s good at this.

The creature has stopped long enough for all of them to see what it is. It’s tall, Vex’s size. Its skin is spiky, barbed, horns sprouting from its skull. Its scream makes the air around it shiver with heat.

The scream is immediately answered by one from Grog. The goliath steps forward with bloodshot eyes and angry determination. He swings his axe forward and pounces on the creature. Maybe his rage has distracted him, because his axe swings wide, the creature too fast to be hit by the massive weapon.

The cleric immediately jumps into action, hands shining with divine light as she reaches up with her holy symbol. Vex can see the wings of Sarenrae carved onto the metal before they disappear behind the burning white light. It shoots out of the symbol and hits the creature.

It screams again as the radiant light engulfs it, lighting it up and burning it with divine power. If they were in darkness, it would be obvious to all of them now. There’s no way any of them are going to miss their next hit against it.

Grog has gotten too close to the creature however, and though it’s still burning with light, it takes no time to attack the giant target the goliath makes. It swipes at the grey-skinned man, one hand missing before the second catches the goliath in the chest, dragging into the skin. Vex winces, but the goliath seems more okay than expected.

The creature tries to hit him with his tail but Grog dodges it with a shiver-inducing grin. “Come on, devil devil!” He taunts. “Is that all you can do?”

Vex’s eyes cross with the creature’s and she takes the opportunity to Hunter’s Mark it. She reaches for another arrow, but her fingers rip against her quiver, shaking lightly now that she’s realized what they were facing. She curses. Pike sends her a slightly worried look.

Grog retaliates against the clawing he’s just received. The axe cleaves a giant gash into the shoulder of the fiend. The goliath immediately reiterates, hacking at the shoulder. The arm of the fiend is now hanging by tendons. It seems to be in incredible pain.

Reaching up with its good arm, the creature screams, warmth radiating from it. Flames erupt from the hand of the creature. Both tries miss the massive target of Grog. The creature seems confused. That’s what pain like the one being inflicted to it does.

Vex notches in another arrow. It grazes the creature but is deflected by its spikes. She groans in annoyance. None of this is working. Why is she so useless right now?

Grog’s axe finally cuts off the creature’s arm, but it doesn’t seem to slow it down that much. Another ray of blinding light hits the devil, however. Pike is breathing hard, but her spells are finding purchase and Vex is incredibly thankful for that, even if they do not do a lot of damage.

The goliath keeps taking a great amount of injury from the furious and in pain devil. Fire burns onto the grey skin, scorching it and a sickening smell permeates the air around them. Vex wants this to end, but she knows it won’t be that easy.

Vex’s next arrow finds purchase right as the great axe slashes through the devil’s chest. A handaxe flies by Vex and hits it square in the thigh. The wounded creature turns around, tail whipping at Grog, before pouncing in with one undamaged arm, missing the goliath entirely with the last two.

They keep hammering at the creature, arrows and great axe wounds and additional mace wounds from a determined Pike hacking at its defenses and crushing its bones. Vex is sweating, she’s a little unfocused, and the screams of the goliath’s rage resounds in her head.

When it finally falls down, it’s one of Vex’s arrows that lodges itself in its eyeball, deeply. It gurgles as it falls, twitching for a few seconds until it stops moving entirely. Vex exhales. She feels like the combat has lasted hours when it’s probably only been minutes.

Pike rushes to her friend and heals him immediately, the burn and other wounds healing and disappearing from the grey flesh as Vex watches. A little unsteady, she finds somewhere to sit and to search.

She waits for a while, searches for something she could have missed, but all fiendish presence is gone from the perimeter of her searching abilities. Relief floods through her system and she finally smiles. It was hard, but they did it. They killed the fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are safer now than they were before.

Vex’s entire body unravels suddenly, her shoulder slumping. They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re all alive and safe and the fiend is gone and she didn’t die killing it. She looks at Pike and Grog. They both look messy and fight-tousled. Vex imagines she looks like that too.

“Thank you,” she says. She means it.

Grog smiles at her, a warm smile. He’s nice. Big and scary, but nice. “It was really fun.” He probably means it too.

Pike nods. “It was!”

Vex is a little more surprised at that, but she can’t help the grin that stretches over her mouth. They start walking again. Vex invites them for tea or coffee. They both ask for alcohol and she chuckles.

They settle around Vex’s table. The cabin feels a little cramped with the two of them. Vex manages to find three containers for the strong old whiskey that Regae left behind. They cheer and drink.

“I’m from Westrunn. The Everlight brought me here,” Pike says when Vex asks if she’s from Whitestone.

“I’m from Westrunn too,” Grog smiles. “And I follow her.” There is unbridled affection in the way he looks over at Pike.

“My brother’s currently in Westrunn,” she points out. “Spending some time with his boyfriend.”

Pike nods. “That’s sweet! I hope he enjoys the city. It’s a little quiet, but it’s a nice place.”

Vex doesn’t say that she doesn’t expect Vax to do a lot of sight-seeing while with Gilmore. The three of them share some food, the rations they’d taken for a possible camping in the mountains, had the fiend evaded them for much longer.

The camaraderie wraps around her like a warm blanket and she finds herself laughing more than she has in years. When she herself starts to feel a light buzz from the alcohol she’s been very careful not to drink too much of, she shifts and prepares herself to start asking questions.

“Have you spent a lot of time here in Whitestone?” She asks after a moment.

“It’s our first time here, actually,” Pike smiles. “We usually stay in Westrunn, or travel south, not north. There is not much for us here.”

Vex raises an eyebrow. “What changed?”

Pike shrugs. “As I said, the Everlight. I’m a cleric, and when my deity calls, I always answer.”

Vex tries to figure out if that’s true, if Pike always answers to Sarenrae but the gnome is hard to read, her blue eyes staring right back into Vex’s as she speaks. There is a steadiness about her though. Something Vex usually senses in the druids and clerics and acolytes of this world, and also in some arcanists, who have faith in their studies the way others have faith in their gods.

Vex wonders how she feels to people. Is she steady with faith? Or is she chaotic and unstable? She wishes, in this moment, that she could see herself through someone else’s eyes. She wants to know what she is to others, so badly.

“What did the Everlight tell you to do here?” She continues.

Pike’s eyes grow a little sharper for a moment, before she smiles again. “There is something for me to heal here. A soul yearning desperately for redemption. My goddess is the patron of healing and redemption, of second chances. This is what I am here for.”

Vex swallows. “Would that be related to the De Rolo Massacre?”

“Maybe,” the gnome shrugs. “Or maybe not. If we had all the details of what exactly our deities want us to do, all these divine quests wouldn’t be quite the challenges they are supposed to be.”

That’s true, she guesses. Vex is definitely not faithful enough for this. She smiles anyway, leaning back against her chair.

The gnome keeps talking. “Maybe the fiend we killed was that soul. Maybe someone we’ve crossed paths with in the street. Maybe it’s you.”

Vex freezes.

“Many people would ask questions about someone like you deciding to live alone this way, in a cabin in the forest,” Pike shrugs. “It’s none of my business, of course. And I will never fault anyone for unconventional life choices.” She hums. “But you ask many questions.”

Kind, warm, but very perceptive. Vex holds up her hands. “You got me,” she huffs. “Just trying to get answers about what’s going on in this city. No one will answer my questions.” She’s tired of it now. So fucking tired. “It was incredibly difficult to find people to help me with this fiend business because no one will talk to me about anything.”

Pike reaches for her hand. “You are a stranger to these people, Vex’ahlia. Give them time to get to know you. For all they know, you have bad intentions. I come with the symbol of my goddess, and that opens some doors to me, and to Grog.” The goliath nods at the mention of his name. “You don’t have that. Unless you’re some deity’s chosen or champion… But you don’t seem like it.”

Vex almost gets offended by that. But the gnome is right. Vex came into town with suspicious eyes. That’s not something people can trust.

“I’m sorry,” Vex sighs. “For the questions I’ve asked. You didn’t have to answer them.”

Pike shrugs. “I didn’t really mind. I’m here because I need to be. And Grog’s with me because he always is, and always will be.” She smiles at that. “You’re here for a reason too.”

Vex huffs. “Right,” she shakes her head. “Did Sarenrae tell you that?” She asks sarcastically.

“You’re not a believer,” Pike chuckles. “It kinda comes off of you like waves. That you don’t believe in anything.”

Vex lost her reason to believe when a dragon burnt her home village to the ground, taking her mother with it. Every snide remark from Syngornian elves, every time she had to fight for Saundor to do anything for her, those were all nails in the coffin of her faith, in gods or in people.

“I think… I think you should start the way back to Whitestone. The road is long, and I don’t want you to get caught by the night. There are creatures.”

Grog huffs. “We can take them on. You fought by our side, you have seen our power.”

Vex doesn’t reply. Pike gets the memo. She gently pushes Grog into getting up. Vex walks them to the door and to the trail and bids them goodbye.

She sits back down at the table. The cabin is small but it feels huge now that she’s alone. Sounds seem to reverberate now that it’s only her breathing, only her body. She wants to run off and tells those two kind people to come back, to stay, to not leave her alone like this. She doesn’t though. She exhales and she starts preparing for more work, and for a good night of sleep.

Did she get any answer? No she didn’t. But at least she’s killed a fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are a bit safer than they were when she arrived.

[rosy-cheekx]

Make A Wish

Book passage:  Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

Me? Posting an unprompted fic? 2021 is starting off wild!

AO3 Link here

Summary: Martin knows just how to celebrate Jon’s 35th birthday. It’s soft and beautiful and speaks of a bright future. 

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really want trinkets or the little gifts Martin would think to buy for a significant other. (If he does want them, at least, he doesn’t say it.) Things he needs, like clothes, he buys himself, doesn’t wait for an occasion. Overall, Martin would not describe Jon as materialistic.

Books are the exception. Books are always the exception for Jon. While Jon is not materialistic, he is usually sentimental. He keeps things for as long as he can, letting them wear and wear til they’re no longer usable, like his shoes. Especially pictures. Jon never throws away pictures. (Martin knows why and snaps as many Polaroids as he can of his partner, himself, their friends, even their cat, hanging them around the house in tiny frames as reminders.) But his books are in and out of the shelves like they run a bookshop of their own. Martin has heard the stories of his partner’s reading habits as a youth, knows that Jon’s reading habits are challenging, to say the least. Before they’d moved in together, though, he hadn’t realized that every time he was at Jon’s the bookshelves were almost entirely unique to the last visit. New titles, rarely the same authors, with no seeming organization to the assemblance. Martin knows this now, knows that once a fortnight Jon packs up all the books he’s read and takes them to their local charity shop. It’s his little ritual, and the bug-eyed look of confusion Martin had received when he had asked him about it the first time was priceless.

“I just--don’t need them anymore?” He says, like it’s a question. “I’m not going to read them again.”

“Really?” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I took you to be a bit of a hoarder when it comes to books, if the statements in your office were any indication. And it’s our flat, so they’re our books. What if I want to read them?”

“Please.” Jon scoffs. “That’s entirely different. I don’t enjoy­- well. They’re work, these are not.”

Still, after this, Jon includes Martin in his ritual, giving him synopses from books he thinks Martin might enjoy and adding the Blackwood-Approved books to the other bookshelf. Martin is quite proud of his bookshelf, identical in structure to Jon’s but entirely more organized: books ordered by genre, then by author, with figurines, photos, and plants acting as weights and decor. Jon’s deviates between sparse and overflowing, books stacked however they will fit, with no rhyme or reason to their order.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon, but he’s learned quickly that Jon isn’t a Things person. Jon is an Experiences person. The moments he treasures are the ones where he and Martin are happy to be in each other’s presence and experiencing new things together. Ice skating, picnics, hiking, cinemas, all the quintessential cheesy dates, the ones he would’ve guessed, way back when, before he knew the real Jon, this Jon, he would have snubbed his nose at.

Jon’s birthday is coming up. He’s turning 35 and is all too self-conscious about the fact. Martin ribs him a little; he’s older by seven months, after all, “you’re making me feel old, Jon!” Their ritual has become to call off work and spend a day together on Jon’s birthday. No gifts, no fanfare, just a day doing an activity Martin has planned. It’s perfect usually, Jon’s delighted smile and bright eyes when he thanks Martin with a kiss is all the satisfaction he needs. But this is 35, it needs to be special. It needs to be perfect.

---

Martin blinks awake to the steady, calming drum of rain on their bedroom window. He pats out blindly for his glasses, haphazardly set on his bedside table, and pushes them on his face, before rolling back onto his side and tucking an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs, carding his other hand through Jon’s tangled curls. He smiles softly as he watches his partner; Jon always grumbles that he looks so much older than he is, but when he’s sleeping, Martin swears he looks timeless, a specimen of perfect beauty against the crisp black sheets. Jon shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and squints blearily at Martin. Jon, for all his sleepless nights back at the archives, is not a morning person.

“Hm-mar’in?” he mumbles, irises stained forever green. He clears his throat and scrubs at his eyes. God, he looks just like a cat. “G’mornin’,” he says, a little more comprehensible, voice rough-hewn from sleep.

“Morning, love.” Martin kisses his forehead, between his eyebrows. “Happy birthday,” His nose, cold from a chilly autumn night. “Ready for a good day?” His lips now, soft and warm. Jon sighs underneath him, presses himself into the kiss, slots himself into the Jon-shaped space in Martin’s arms.

When Martin shifts away to sit up, Jon audibly whines, grabbing at Martin’s hand to pull him back. “You’re so warm, don’t go,” he pleads. Martin chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“It’s half nine. You want breakfast, don’t you? We have an agenda to follow, don’t forget.” But Jon shakes his head and tugs again.

“Birthday Ruling,” he cites solemnly, stretching as he says it. (Again, like a cat, the way he arches his back. Is that on purpose? Martin is pretty sure he’s seen Reggie—Her Regency—do the exact same thing.) “By royal decree, you have to stay here until I’m awake enough to help you with breakfast.”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, shaking his head to himself and tucking himself around Jon’s thin form. “I can’t refuse a royal decree, now, can I?”

Breakfast becomes brunch, and once the pair are awake tea, cut fruit, and omelets are prepared and eaten on the couch. Jon being left-handed and Martin right, they sit on their perspective sides so they can hold hands and not inhibit the other from eating.

“So,” Jon prompts, eyeing Martin from his peripheral as he watches him wash dishes. “What are your secret plans? Am I allowed to know yet?”

“Hmm.” Martin considers his question, running a plate through his hands as he dried it, solemn contemplation on his face. “No.”

“Mar-tiiin,” Martin is almost worn down by that plea, a sound he doesn’t think anyone else who has ever met Jonathan Sims could fathom coming from him. A bloom of warmth in his chest; a reminder he will never feel lonely again.

“But I think you’ll figure it out,” he compromises, grinning to himself. His plan had come to him in a sudden realization at work and Martin did think it was some of his best work yet. “Here’s your hint: you may want to bring a canvas.”

Jon’s face is a measured calm. “We’re going shopping?” Martin just shrugs, winking.

-

They take a cab and the rain pounds down on the roof, the repetitive noise a balm against the cold and wet.  Martin really got lucky today; the sound of rain is one of Jon’s favorites. He sighs inwardly as Jon rests his curls, slightly damp from their wait for the cab, on his shoulder and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of his boyfriend and the pleasant drumming.

Jon’s eyes opened when he felt the cab pull to a stop, and he took their surroundings in with the quick analytical eye of an ex-Archivist. Martin felt his cheeks growing warm with excitement as they stepped out of the cab and paid. The building before them, like most Scottish buildings, was made of uneven stone. There was a little garden, mostly rocks with some shrubbery dotted between, and the pathway, also stone, though a flatter smoother variety, led to the door, which read The Watermill in blue and white lettering. “Martin?” Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s, eyes wide.

“It’s a bookshop, Jon. It’s got reading nooks, and a café, and I swear I’ll buy you any books you want. We can stay as long as we like. We can read as much as we want.”

Three short squeezes to Martin’s hand. Oh. He was starting to ramble. He returns the answering four. “Martin, love, it sounds perfect. But it’s raining.” Right. A drop of rain rolls down Martin’s nose, and he shivers.  “Let’s get inside.”

Martin is glad he brought a tote, a canvas bag with the name of Jon’s university emblazoned on the sides. He follows Jon through every aisle as Jon analyzes every book like their dogs in show. He scans the titles, covers and authors with precision, sometimes returning them with delicate hands, sometimes reading descriptions or thumbing through the pages, before deciding their worth and either reshelving it or handing it to Martin. Martin is distinctly reminded of being an Archival Assistant, helping Jon prioritize case files, except the expression on Jon’s face isn’t furrowed and grim, it’s near-rapturous awe as he selects and examines the books. There is no evident consistency to the books Jon picks, ranging from YA fiction to historical documentation to travel books of places he knew they’d probably never visit, though he always takes Martin’s suggested reads, nodding dutifully and running his hand down the spine before placing it in the ever-weighing bag on Martin’s arm.

They spend nearly an hour and a half roaming shelves before Jon is satisfied with this first load. Martin is grateful. His shoulder is starting to hurt from the nearly full canvas he’s hoisted on his shoulder. Martin leads his partner to a small corner, something that can only be described as a nook. There’s a small, well-worn sofa, a table with coasters, and a coffee table in front of the sofa. The whole space is cast in warm orange-yellow light, courtesy of the standing lamps, and Martin can imagine this is a great place to curl up and fall asleep.

Curl up they do, Martin sitting with a few books of his own beside him and Jon leaning against Jon’s side, sprawling over the majority of the couch. Martin tucks an arm over Jon’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of the space where collarbone meets rib, and they read. They read in silence for most of the morning, Jon flipping through his books at a truly astounding pace (Jon thinks its left over from his Archival Spooky Powers, Martin thinks he’s just a nerd), pausing occasionally to read Martin a line he finds interesting. It’s a yellow paperback now, something about psychopathy, and he begins to read out an interview the author had with a man who claims he should not have been diagnosed as a psychopath.

“D’you think Jonah was a psychopath?” Jon asks, brow furrowed as he reads the qualifying characteristics. “He had the ‘grandiose sense of self-worth’ and ‘cunning/manipulation’ down pat.”

Martin hums, glancing over Jon’s shoulder to read the rest of the Psychopath Test. “Lack of remorse,” he points. “Lack of empathy for sure. Someone with empathy doesn’t implant visions of their dead father into the head of their employee. Speaking of, we should have Melanie and Georgie over soon.” Jon nods against his chest. “I’d call him charming, too, actually,” nudging Jon gently. “Especially with new employees. Remember how he—”

“Called me into his office nonstop and ‘checked in?’ Yeah, I remember.” Jon sighed and smoothed the page down. “Can you call it ‘a parasitic lifestyle’ when your employees are bound under your servitude for eternity or until they die?” Jon scoffs. “I don’t think the DSM is ready for Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the sixth edition will be.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and turns back to his own book.

-

“Hungry?” Martin asks, nudging Jon as his stomach gurgles for the third time in as many minutes. Jon jumps a little, likely having forgotten Martin was there.

“Erm-I mean, a little.” Even after being together for so long, Jon still hesitates to let Martin buy him food. (“Martin, I have money. You don’t- you don’t have to-” but whatever offending muffin or cone of chips would be pressed into his hand and he would thank Martin, sheepish, and take a bite.)

“Chai latte? Something sweet?” Martin asks, nudging Jon out of his side and feeling the cold spot left in his wake. “Its your birthday, come on.” Jon sighs and relents, and Martin swear he can hear him roll his eyes as he walks away.

Martin orders two chais and a few cupcakes (chocolate for Jon, carrot cake for him) from the café in the front of the bookshop and joins an ever-growing queue of patrons waiting to get their own warm treats. The rain must have driven people in in droves. Never mind it, though, their corner feels empty enough. He thinks he sees a spider on the back of a woman’s shirt in front of him, and flinches before realizing, oh, it’s just a bit of string. He takes a slight step back anyways. He didn’t used to do that.

“Order for Martin?” An American voice, uni student probably. He thanks her and makes a point to drop a few quid in the tip jar, seeing it frustratingly empty for such a busy café.  

Martin takes a small porcelain plate in each hand, a mug and pastry balanced on each, and makes his way carefully back to the sofa where he had left Jon. Only, he couldn’t see his curly hair, tied up in his half-bun, over the back of the sofa. Did he go to the loo?

It’s when Martin steps over to the side of the couch to set the plates down that he bursts into laughter. Jon is sprawled in a way that seems completely unconducive to reading: his knees are hooked over the sofa, so his socked feet (shoes neatly deposited next to his hips) are on the cushion itself. His torso is stretched on the warm, well-swept wood floor and his head (and his book) are tucked under the coffee table; arms locked over his head so he can read on his back. It looks ridiculous, he cannot fathom what possessed Jon to sit like this and not on his back on the couch.

Jon hears his laughter and arcs his neck, trying to see Martin’s face. “It was…comfortable?” he tries helplessly, giggling awkwardly. “Oh, piss off,” he sighed, inelegantly worming his way out from under the seat.

“Come on, old man.” Martin grins, handing him the cupcake he’d bought for him, with a single purple candle pressed into it. “Make a wish!”

“It’s not even lit,” Jon protested, cheeks flushing.

“Want me to sing instead? I can.” Martin took a deep breath. “Happy Bir-”

“N-no! Martin, no!” Jon pressed a hand over his mouth, though he was giggling madly at Martin’s wild expression. “I’ll blow it out. Just hush.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a breath in a sigh. His eyes were soft, smile to match. “I…I don’t have anything to wish for.”

Martin’s turn to blush. “Just-just shut up and eat your cake,” he mumbled, hiding his smile in a sip of his tea.

-

Maybe its how at-peace he feels, maybe it’s his ADHD (its definitely the ADHD), but Martin has no idea how long he’s been reading. He’s brought out of his reverie, his copy of In Cold Blood almost finished (he’s read it before, but god he loves this book so much), by a low noise he can’t pick out at first. It’s quiet, soothing, its right next to him.

Oh. Oh. It’s Jon. This one, a real compulsion left over from his time as an Archivist, Jon is reading aloud to himself, his voice the sonorous, resonant tone of a man performing for himself. Martin puts his book down carefully, trying not to alert Jon to his awareness, and listens, letting the words wash over him. Jon’s voice has always been able to capture Martin’s attention, even before the Eldritch Spooky Magic that eventually attached itself to it.

“Klemmer stands there, gazing at her.   “Erika doesn’t want a silence to develop, so she utters a platitude. Art is platitudinous for Erika because she lives off art. How much easier it is for the artist, says the woman, to hurl feelings or passions out of himself. When an artist resorts to dramatic devices, which you so greatly esteem, Klemmer, he is simply utilizing bogus methods while neglecting authentic ones. She talks to prevent the eruption of silence. I, as a teacher, favor undramatic art – Schumann, for instance. Drama is always easier! Feelings and passions are always merely a substitute, a surrogate for spirituality. The teacher yearns for an earthquake, for a roaring, raging tempest to pounce upon her. That wild Klemmer is so angry that he almost drills his head into the wall. The clarinet class next door, which he, the owner of a second instrument, has been frequenting twice a week, would certainly be astonished if Klemmer’s angry head suddenly emerged from the wall, next to Beethoven’s death mask. Oh, that Erika, that Erika. She doesn’t sense that he is actually talking about her, and naturally about himself as well! He is connecting Erika and himself in a sensual context, ejecting the spirit, that enemy of the senses, that primal foe of the flesh. She thinks he is referring to Schubert, but he really means himself, just as he always means himself whenever he speaks.   “He suddenly ventures to adopt a familiar tone with Erika; using a formal tone, she advises him to remain objective! Her mouth puckers, willy-nilly, into a wrinkly rosette; she cannot control it. She controls what the mouth says, but she cannot control the way it presents itself to the outside world. She gets goosebumps all over.”

Martin closes his eyes against the words, a shiver running down his spine, starting at the top of his skull. It’s a feeling he gets so rarely now, the feeling of being so absolutely content in the presence of another person that any fog he may have is physically expunged from him. Not that there is any, but it’s a safeguard; a reminder to himself that he is not Lonely anymore and will never be lonely again. It can’t get him, not here, not with Jon sprawled, almost in his lap, reading and sipping tea and letting the only thing they worry about be whether they fed the cat this morning (Jon did, of course, Reggie is not one to let them forget her morning meal).

“Martin?” Jon’s voice cuts through his quiet contemplation. “You alright?” He’s tilting his head back, almost upside down to look at Martin’s face. “I felt you shudder.” Of course, even deep in his trance of this story he had felt Martin shift.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he smiles reassuringly, carding the hair off Jon’s forehead. “I’m not feeling lonely, not even a little bit.” He used to do it a lot in the safehouse, and fog would roll off him in droves. Jon would hold him through it all. “I think it just happens now like part of an immune system, just checking in when I’m feeling emotional.”

“Emotional?” Jon looks a little relieved, but not entirely. He sits up, glancing down at his page number (Martin could never figure out how Jon did that, remembered his page number instead of using a bookmark) and cups Martin’s face gently, searching it. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jon, I promise. That was why I was emotional,” he admits, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s just good to feel happy. It feels good to be with you, to be at peace, to not worry about what is going to happen tomorrow and whether we’re going to die.”

Martin blushes, feeling heat spread through his face. It feels good to say it out loud. “Happy birthday, Jon. I love you.”

-

They leave with bags full of books, smiles on their faces and the moon casting a faint light on their backs. Martin falls asleep in the cab on the way home, his head lilting onto Jon’s shoulder. When Jon wakes him up, leading his sleepy partner up the stairs, 

Jon thinks 35 maybe won’t be so bad, after all.

[one-boring-person]

i...was way too scared to ask you this for a while n you do NOT have to answer this whatsoever, but could you please do a part 3 to the Stand By Me/Lost Boys crossover?? its been living in my head rent-free <33

Aw, please don't be scared to ask me anything! I loved writing those last pieces, and this one was just as fun to do! Thank you for requesting it, I hope you like it!😊💛

I Think We Found A Body (Part Three)

The Lost Boys x Stand By Me

Warnings: blood, swearing

Masterlist

"Where the hell are we?" Teddy is quick to ask as soon as he is awake, the boy struggling to manoeuvre himself into an upright position, panic flooding him as he realises his hands and legs have been tied by a touch piece of rope.

"Some cave. Those men took us here last night, I guess." Chris informs him from his spot across the room, watching as his friend wriggles around on the floor, glad to finally have someone to talk to after spending what feels like an age staring at their sleeping bodies. He had woken up some time ago, unsure of what happened. All he knows is that it had been daylight outside this weird cave, but it had slowly faded into dusk, the interior becoming darker and darker by the minute. He'd tried to wake the others, but with no usable hands that had been very difficult, especially as he hadn't wanted to draw attention to them. 

"Huh? Why didn't they just kill us?" Teddy's brow is furrowed as he manages to get himself leaning up against the old fountain behind him.

Chris shrugs, unsure himself why the killers hadn't just slaughtered them all in the dunes.

The two sit in silence for a moment, seemingly considering their options, watching over their unconscious friends idly. Occasionally, Vern twitches in his sleep, his muscles spasming a few times, though Gordie stays still, his narrow body lying limply at the foot of an old sofa. All of them were tied up, and their muscles were starting to protest against this, aches and cramps having settled in a long while ago.

"Jeez, what do we do? We can't stay here, they'll kill us!" Teddy suddenly blurts out, resting his head back against the dented stone behind him, eyes trained on the ceiling, "And I've lost my glasses!"

"Aw, yeah, I totally forgot about that. Can you see anything?" Chris responds, frowning as Teddy gives him a pointed look.

"I'm not blind, I can still see. It's just a bit fuzzy, that's all." 

"Right."

"Should we wake the others? We should try and get out before those fuckers come back." 

"I'm not sure. I tried to wake you guys earlier, but I couldn't move so it didn't really work." Chris adjusts his position slightly, hands going numb in their position behind his back, "But we could try again. If I come over there, we could try and untie each other."

"Sure." Teddy nods in agreement, sitting more upright as his friend starts to push himself onto his knees.

Awkwardly, the boy shuffles across the small expanse, ignoring the slight burn from the friction on his knees, his movements hindered by the rope around his ankles. Teddy shifts to get into a position where they are back to back, waiting patiently for the other boy to get into place, thinking through a strategy in his head. After a moment, Chris has reached him, and has managed to back himself into position, their hands just touching.

"Ok, you try and untie me." Chris says to him, holding still as Teddy immediately starts moving, fingers pulling at the rope. The knots are tight, and the position is awkward, but Teddy's persistence pays off as the bonds become looser, his fingers grazed and chafed now, though he knows the end result is worth the small pain. It takes a moment, but soon enough the rope drops to the floor, Chris pulling his arms around to his front, rubbing at his wrists as the blood returns to the cramping muscles.

"Come on, do me." Teddy hisses, wriggling his fingers at his friend.

"Yeah, yeah, hang on." 

This time the process is much faster, the angle being a lot better for the boy to do what needs to be done. Teddy practically groans when his wrists are released, his skin red and raw from where the bonds had cut into him, his captors having tied the rope on very tightly.

"Help me wake the others. You get Vern, I'll get Gordie." Chris orders him, going to the skinny boy lying a little way away.

Doing so, Teddy carefully shakes Vern's shoulder, giving his face a gentle slap when he doesn't immediately stir. The boy grunts and twitches, eyelids fluttering a little from the intrusive actions. Rolling his eyes, Teddy quickly leans over, placing a hand over his friend's mouth before pinching the skin of his arm, doing it hard enough that he knows the boy will not be able to ignore it. Yelping in protest beneath his hand, Vern wakes up, panic filling his eyes as he glances around, body writhing to get away from who he thinks is his captor.

"Vern, shut up, it's me, Teddy!" His waker tells him, keeping his hand in place until Vern quietens significantly.

"Where are we? What's going on?" He rushes out as soon as he can, eyes wide.

"Those fuckers from last night took us to some cave. We've gotta get out of here, so shut up and let me untie you." Teddy informs him, moving to loosen Vern's bonds, swiftly freeing him.

"We're where?! They're gonna kill us! Oh god, they're gonna kill us!" Vern's eyes quickly fill with tears, but Teddy is quick to reprimand him, forcing him to his feet instead.

"Come on, we haven't got long." Chris hisses from across the room, helping Gordie up as he goes, the dark haired boy blinking blearily in the darkness that has settled into the cave. 

Together, the four of them move to what they assume is the entrance of the cave, heading towards the lighter area, excited at the thought of escape. Outside, the sky has turned a deep blue, the moon just visible past the arch that creates the exit of this odd place, the boys unsure of where they are but aware that anywhere would be better than here.

It's just as they get to the very threshold of the cave that they notice the figure standing just past the rock, the trenchcoat and spiked hairstyle very familiar to them. Hearts dropping, the boys stagger to a halt as a low, mocking laugh echoes around them, the silhouette moving towards them, crowding them back into the cave. Terrified, the four glance around to check for other exits, only to notice the three other figures standing around them, eyes glowing as they grin wildly at them, fangs glistening in the dim light as Vern lets out a shrill cry of fear, the others gasping in horror. Pulling them to the side, Chris manages to recover quickly, yanking his friends towards a nearby tunnel, the darkened interior appearing safe to him until a pair of blazing eyes appear in the depths, laughter emitting from inside, taunting voices mingled with the malicious sounds. 

Helpless, the four boys stagger back in fear, Gordie making the mistake of glancing upwards, suddenly catching sight of the leering faces above them, blood dripping from exposed teeth, disfigured brows cast in sinister shadows, the hissing chuckles falling from behind the murderous lips instilling an ice-cold fear within him. The boy screams, causing the others to look up and scream with him, all four falling backwards against the fountain, hands gripping at the rock. A sudden whoop of cruel joy erupts from the space behind them and a familiar blonde springs into view, looming over them as they seek refuge against the dilapidated water feature. His smirk is wide, amber eyes fixed on their paling faces with glee as they all shriek again and stumble to the floor, covering their heads with their hands, the four boys completely and utterly terrified.

As before, smooth laughter fills the air, the four voices easily distinguishable now, their captors coming to stand before them.

"Well that was a lot of fun." The horribly familiar voice of their leader breaks up the humour. Sounds of agreement come from the other three, snickers of amusement following them.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Teddy exclaims, breathing uneven as he looks up, face etched with fear despite his bold words.

"You're a bit young for our tastes, kid." The taller blonde chuckles, smirking down at him.

When silence follows, the four killers simply laugh again, clearly finding it highly amusing that the boys are in distress.

"What? Cat got your tongues?" The shorter blonde comments, biting his thumb as he struggles to hold back his laughter.

"What do you want with us?" Chris speaks up, sitting up beside Teddy.

The four men look at each other, as if conversing in silence, the leader clearly unsure of whether or not to continue.

"Well, to put it simply, we're gonna need your help." The platinum blonde finally explains.

Shocked and confused the boys sit in silence, staring at their captors dumbfoundedly, eyes wide.

"W-what? You want our h-help?" Gordie asks timidly, stammering under the intense stare of the four murderers.

"No, we don't want it, but we're gonna need it." The tall brunette puts in, scrutinizing the boys critically.

"And you lot have no choice in this matter, before you try to worm your way out of it." The leader interjects, going over to sit in an old wheelchair.

"W-what do you need us for?" Gordie asks, more curious now than afraid.

"Oh, you just need to get a kid to like you. After that, you're gonna lure him over here." The shorter blonde shrugs, patching on the arm of the sofa.

"...huh?" Is all Gordie can manage, completely baffled by the instruction. The others are similarly confused, though Vern is yet to look up properly.

The leader rolls his eyes, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

"You heard what he said. You're gonna go on the Boardwalk and convince this kid to like you. Then you're gonna lure him to us." He clarifies again, inhaling a deep breath of smoke.

"But...why?" Chris chimes in, looking puzzled.

"That's none of your concern." The brunette states, staring down at them.

The boys are silent for a moment.

"Will...will you let us go afterwards?" Gordie asks, Vern looking up at this point.

The leader shrugs, exhaling his smoke into the room.

"Maybe, maybe not. You know too much, but you're too young to be of any other use." Is all he says, eyeing the boys idly.

Their hearts drop in their chests, aware now that they may not get out of there for a long time.

"Ok, what's this kid called?" Chris finally asks, hating himself for doing this.

The four killers smirk, glancing at each other triumphantly.

"Sam." The leader informs them, "Sam Emerson."

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x FemOC} Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: None

.....

The strong, bitter smell of coffee filled my nose and woke me. My back aches and eyes sting when trying to open them. The faint morning glow stabbing the back of my eyes. A noise from beside me wakes me further. That's when I realised I was laying against something apart from the log at my back. Opening my eyes I'm met with the smouldering fire ahead and Arthur laying right beside me, my head against his shoulder and his head propped up against mine. Arthur stirs and Pearson comes into view, adding a few more sticks to the fire and checking the coffee pot. Groaning from the intense headache and pain in my neck as I sit up, waking Arthur fully as I do so.

“Morning folks. Coffee is ready, no doubt y'all need it.” Pearson grins at us as he pours the coffee into two tin cups.

I look to Arthur, hungover evident in his features as he scowls and lets out a groan. We look at each other, smiling shyly and slightly embarrassed at the whole situation. Pearsons hands us the steaming cups and we murmur our thanks, not even prepared to move ourselves from the floor. We sipped our coffee in silence for a few minutes. Wishing for the intense headache to subside soon and hoping the unease in my stomach won't be the alcohol trying to make an appearance.

“I wanna die” I murmur into my cup

“Me too.” Arthur murmurs back

“I’ve never been that drunk. Does it always hurt like this?”

“More or less” He takes another sip of his coffee

I groan, wondering if this feeling is going to last all day. If so, today is going to be fun, to say the least. I’d love nothing more than to curl up on some bear hides and sleep till dusk.

We sit in silence for a while, as the others slowly wake, some looking just as much of a sorry state as we do. After our second cup Dutch calls for Arthur from his tent and he leaves with a groan to see what he wants. I stayed seated on the floor, not daring to get up as every movement inflicted some variant of ache and the threat of my stomach emptying its contents.

“You look worse than I feel” That Irish tone appeared from nearby at the fire. Sean pouring himself a cup.

“I’m trying not to vomit.” I grinned weakly as I looked up to him. He nodded in understanding, sitting on a crate nearby.

“So, tell me more about how your Knight in shining armour saved you.”

I couldn't help but giggle, my hand shooting to my stomach to ease the sudden and threatening twinge.

“My husband is one mean bastard…”

“You're married?”

“Unfortunately. Arthur, Dutch and Hosea were in the process of robbing him. I got caught up in it. Got out of the gunfight that ensued and asked, well, begged him to take me somewhere else. Passed out due to a few broken ribs and woke up here.”

“Damn what a shit show. You got somewhere you'll be moving onto, or will you be staying with this bunch of degenerates?”

I look around the camp, everyone now up and preparing for the day. Little Jack playing with a bunch of flowers, tongue out in concentration. Abigail watching over him as she collected clothing to be washed. Hosea and Lenny sat at the table playing what looks to be a very competitive game of dominoes. Pearson preparing today's breakfast at the food wagon. Sadie sat on a rock at the edge of the overlook, taking in the views and seemingly lost in thought as the morning sun beams down onto her. Mary-Beth and Tilly stitching garments in their hands, sharing a few laughs between them. Javier sat on his bedroll sharpening and cleaning one of his knives, all his attention on the task in hand. Strauss with his book in hand, that thing seems to be in his grasp as often as a bottle is in Uncles. Arthur stood at Dutches tent, talking about whatever jobs that need doing or what their next move should be to gain more money no doubt. Dutch is rambling on as Arthur listens, hands resting upon his gun belt, nodding along to whatever Dutch is saying to him every so often.

“I think I’ll stay.” I say unsure if I was answering Sean’s question or telling myself.

------

After a few hours of chores and making myself busy around camp, the hangover slowly began to ease. The distraction and the emptying of my stomach by one of the trees in the outskirts definitely helped. It was at that moment I vowed never to drink that excessively again. Lesson learned.

I sat with Jack, watching him play with his two wooden horse toys. He was bored and Abigail had become restless with his constant need for attention and questions so I was doing my best to entertain him to give her a few moments of peace and to complete whatever tasks Miss Grimshaw had asked her to do.

Watching Jack as he played out the story he imagined for his little horses Arthur came over to us. A slight smile on his face as he watched the boy play contently.

“Whatchu up to?”

“Playing”

“Anything fun?”

“I guess”

“You wanna come fishing with me?”

“Fishing?”

“Sure. It’s about time that you started to earn your keep.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Go get your pole then. You do have a fishing pole don't you?”

“I sure do! Uncle Hosea made me one.” Jack stood, little horses and their story now forgotten about in the dirt.

“Well go get it then. Let’s catch us some fish.”

“Yeah!” He almost shouted, running off into the direction of his tent.

We both watched as he went with a little skip in his step. Excited about having something new and different to do.

“You, er, wanna come with?” Arthur said, going through his satchel to pull out his cigarettes. Lifting one to his mouth and then lighting a match with the bottom of his boot.

“Sure. I don't have a pole though. But I could catch a few rabbits or something while there.”

He nodded then made his way over to his horse, giving him a brush down while he waited for me and Jack.

Thankfully we didn't need to go far from camp as the Dakota river was only a minute ride away. Jack sat in front of Arthur and I kept up beside them listening to their conversation. Asking if Jack was feeling better from recently being ill and Jack mentioning a storybook he left back at the camp in Blackwater.

We all dismounted at the riverside, the two boys making their way to the water to ready their poles as I readied my bow. Telling them I won't be far before making my way towards the gathering of trees nearby but far enough away from the dirt roads that noise shouldn't be an issue. It didn't take long to find a few Black-Tailed Rabbits hanging around the area, as well as a few squirrels running through the bushes and up the trees.

I knelt in an area void of sticks or piles of dead leaves, skimming my eyes over land ahead of me, waiting for that unsuspected rabbit to place itself in my line on sight.

Four rabbits later I returned to the boys at the river. Jack now sat nearby, flowers in his hands and a pile at his feet. A child that age doesn't seem to have the attention span for something like Fishing, something that takes a little patience. We should have known he would have gotten bored of it quickly.

“Catch many?”

“Uncle Arthur has!”

I smiled at Jack and walked over to Arthur who was currently battling a fish as we speak.

“Can I borrow your knife to skin these? I still don't have one.” I said as I held up my catch.

“Sure. It's on my belt.” He pulled on the rod, seeming to get frustrated that this stubborn fish wouldn't give up.

I sat a little aways from Jack, glancing over to see him delicately chain each little red flower together. His tongue sticking out from intense concentration.

For a few moments, it was quiet and peaceful as I skinned and salvaged the usable meat. Arthur muttering praises then whispered curses to the fish he finally reeled onto dry land. Holding them up to get a good look before throwing the back into the river.

“Hey, look at this.” Jack proclaims, holding up the completed chain of red flowers as far as his little arms to reach.

“At what?” Arthur says, kneeling in front of Jack to see his creation.

“This necklace I made.”

“Necklace?”

“For Momma. I made one for you too Miss Bella.” He grabbed another chain of red flowers from his side, handing it over to me.”

Putting down the knife and rubbing my bloodied hands on my pants I then reached out to take it. A smile beaming on my face and heart swelling twice its size at this adorable and thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Jack. It’s beautiful.” I place the necklace over my head for it to lay around my neck as delicately as possible. Worried that I might pull it apart accidentally. Thankfully I don't. A necklace like this is more valuable than any gold or jewels and should be treated as such.

In these few moments, we are seemingly so distracted by what is going on that none of us noticed two men appear nearby on horses until one of them speaks.

“What a fine young man…” One man says as he strides towards us, dressed in fine clothing. Bowler upon his head and a badge on his lapel. “And in such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan?”

The other man dismounts his horse and cocks his rifle. Not saying a word but striding towards us too. Weapon rested on his shoulder. A badge adorning his lapel also.

The three of us stand to the attention of these unwanted strangers. Arthur ushering Jack to stand behind him. “Who are you?” Arthur says, an air of confusion and wariness in his voice

“Yes, Arthur Morgan. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate. You've read the files, typical case, orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer.” He turns to his friend beside him, both nodding in agreement.

“Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency seconded to the United States Government.” They finally introduce themselves, taking slow but sure steps closer towards us. My heart starts racing, cursing myself for leaving my gun back at camp. I look down to the knife still on the floor beside me along with the rabbit remains. I’m sure Arthur could deal with them himself if it came to it but with Jack here it was too much of a risk. There is no way I could bend down to pick it up now with both their beady eyes on us, watching our every move. If I went for it when and if shooting started that would leave Jack more in the open and more at risk. Instead, I keep it in my sights and hope it doesn't come to that.

“Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.”

“Do ya?”

“You’re a wanted man, Mr Morgan. Five thousand dollars for your head alone.”

“Five thousand dollars? For me? Can I turn myself in?”

“We want Van der Linde.”

“Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months.”

“That so? Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.”

“Oh, ain’t that a little old fashioned nowadays?” He huffs a laugh.

“Apparently not. Listen, this is my offer, Mr Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde and you have my word, you won’t swing.”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways Agent, um…”

“Milton.”

“You see, I haven’t done anything wrong aside from not play the games to your rules.”

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it. From Mac Callander.”

“Mac Callander?”

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him so really it was more of a mercy killing. Slow. But merciful.”

Arthur fling the pole he was still holding to the ground, losing his composure but still trying to keep some sort of calm when given this information. His fists balling at his sides but keeping one close to the holster at his side. Jack jumps and gasps at the sudden outburst so I grab his shoulder with one hand to gently guide him to stand behind me.

“You enjoy being a rich man's toy do ya!?” There is a low growl to his voice, fury slowly pooling out with every word.

“I enjoy society, flaws and all. You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely! All of you.” The Agent gets up closer to Arthur, pointing his finger in his face to try and be imposing towards the man that is twice his size and could possibly snap him like a twig.

“ Oh, we're all gonna die, Agent”

“Some of us sooner than others. Good day, Mr Morgan.” With that, he turns and walks away. It wasn't till now that I realised the other Agent had his rifle up and aimed at Arthur and by the looks of it, Arthur might not have noticed either as he kept his eyes on the one now with his back turned. The other man starts to back away keeping his eyes on us but slowly lowering his weapon to the ground.

“Enjoy your fishing kid. While you still can.” It's all he says before turning as well. Both of them mounting their horses and riding off. Neither I or Arthur took our eyes off the two men until they were clearly out of sight.

“Who were they?” A little voice pulls us back, Jack now moving from behind us.

“No one to worry about, no one at all. Come on, let’s pack up your things and get home.” Arthur places his hands on Jack to steer him away. All of us collecting our belongings and mounting up as quickly as possible.

My heart began to slow as we mounted and made our way back but I had questions and it seemed Jack had a few too. He has a bounty on his head? And five thousand dollars no less? It can't be true. How would he get a bounty of that sum? I was told by Mary-Bath that they all lived near Blackwater before having to leave quickly but she never said why. I never had a reason to ask. I always knew travellers and outlaws moved from place to place quite frequently and some were known to be right bastards that needed to be hanged for the horrific crimes they committed but...this gang ain't like those, they don't hurt and kill for the simple fun of it. Maybe I should ask him at some point. My logic being if I am to stay and live amongst them I should know what to say or how to act if the Pinkertons come around again. I should know what I’m truly getting myself into.

We made it back to camp quickly, Arthur looking around us momentarily to make sure we had not been followed. He let down Jack before dismounting and making his way over to Dutch with urgency.

Whatever questions I have, they could wait for now.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Vlog 001

This is a rush job. I’m sorry in advance for all the typos and mistakes. I just had to do something to exorcise showering Rhett from my mind.

This was initially inspired by @galacticnocturne‘s addition to this post but as I wrote it, it kinda morphed a bit. So it’s not exactly that. 

---

“First of all, you’re gonna want to...”

“I can figure out how to shower!” Rhett snaps. It’s more for the entertainment value than from actual annoyance, but there is a bit of that too.

“Ok, fine! Fine,” Link says, smirking at Rhett from behind the see-through partition wall.

“I’m a man. I stay at hotels all the time,” Rhett adds before turning to inspect Link’s shower. He jiggles a knob and mutters, “That doesn’t do anything...” Suddenly, freezing cold water splashes onto his back, making him jump and yelp. He swallows down a curse and scrambles to adjust the temperature.

Link cackles, shaking the tripod he’s holding.

“Told you,” he says with a smug smile that is designed to make Rhett’s blood boil.

“Whatever,” Rhett mutters, looking at his own phone propped up on the famous shower window’s sill. “I bet he did that on purpose.”

Link laughs again, confirming Rhett’s suspicions. 

He pushes down the faint feeling of annoyance. It’s good content. The fans will love it. That was how he was cajoled into this whole charade in the first place.

I really think you should come and take a shower at my house. The fans would eat that shit right up. Those had been Link’s exact words. Rhett had barely put up a fight. Link had been talking about his shower for too long. It had been fun at first—the whole saga of he and his neighbor—but it was getting old and Rhett knew he wouldn’t let it go until Rhett came over. And if they could monetize that, all the better.

But now that he is actually standing inside Link’s shower, he isn’t so sure anymore. He feels strangely exposed—vulnerable. Nowadays, when they film there is always a flurry of people around them. Rhett has grown used to it. There is safety in numbers. Now there are just the two of them, all alone, in Link’s bathroom. It feels different, more intimate. And then there’s the fact that he is almost naked—apart from the speedos he’d worn—and Link is fully clothed.

“I think you should’ve stripped too,” Rhett says. He’s finally managed to get the water to turn nice and warm and ducks his head under the showerhead. “Just out of solidarity.”

“Yeah? And then I would’ve gone outside in my undies and walked up my neighbor’s driveway? Sure, Rhett. Sounds like a great plan,” Link says and shakes his head.

Rhett shrugs and rubs his chest theatrically while stretching his back. The water feels nice. If he closes his eyes, he can almost forget he’s being watched. A deep satisfied sigh slips from his lips.

“Good, yeah?” Link asks. His voice is lower than before, almost breathless. Curious to see where Link is going with this angle, Rhett peeks from under his lids. The partition separating them is getting misty and wet, hard to see through, but Rhett can still tell that Link’s stepped closer.

“You gotta do the thing,” Link continues.

“The thing?”

“The routine. My routine,” Link answers. He’s getting impatient. Rhett can see it in the way he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, swaying forwards and backwards.

Rhett chuckles. “What, like this?” He takes a bottle of conditioner and squirts a big dollop of it on his palm.

“Wait, that’s—!” Link tries to stop him but it’s too late. Rhett’s already rubbing it all over his hair. He’s making a show of it, closing his eyes and twirling his fingers in his curls. Since he’s already here, he might as well give the fans a show.

Fans. Mmhmm, yeah right... Keep telling yourself that.

Rhett ignores the small voice at the back of his mind. He’s good at ignoring that voice. A master at it by this point, after doing it for the past 30-ish years.

“Rhett, what the fuck? That was conditioner!” Link whines.

“Oh no, was it not yet time for the ner-ner?” Rhett asks mockingly, winking at his phone camera.

“This is not what we talked about. Do it properly!”

“Just an honest mistake. Let me wash it off,” Rhett says with a crooked smile. “I use this to wash my body, right?” he confirms just to annoy Link further and runs his palms down his chest.

“Rhett!” Link snaps. He sounds properly distressed but that only seems to spur Rhett on. His hands dip lower, traveling slowly over his stomach, rubbing the run-off of the conditioner into his skin. For a beat, he gets lost in it, lost in the warm flowing water and the feel of his palms against the slick skin. 

There’s a faint sound and Rhett peeks at Link from the corner of his eyes. Did Link just whimper? No, he must have heard wrong. The pipes must be making strange noises. Link’s eyes are wide and his hand is trembling. There is no way anything he’s filming right now will be usable.

Rhett continues down his legs, taking the time to thoroughly wash his thighs and calves before finally, bending all the way down to rub his toes. He doesn’t see from this angle but he knows Link is still watching him. He can feel it.

“Rhett, please... Just—” Link whispers as Rhett’s hands drag up his legs. Rhett feels warm all over. Must be the water. The fact that the warmth seems to be concentrated around his groin means nothing.

Rhett’s hands climb back up and as a joke, he lets his fingers graze his nipples. He shouldn’t be surprised to find them perked up and sensitive, but he is, and he can’t stop the small gasp that escapes him. He should feel ashamed, embarrassed, flustered. And he is. He surely he is. But somehow that just makes it better. Makes him keep touching himself like this.

Link’s gone quiet. All Rhett can hear is his breathing—heavy, ragged breathing. Rhett screws his eyes closed and lets his hands move down again. His belly is soft and still a bit slippery from the conditioner. He doesn’t mind the little bit of tummy he still has despite his new vigorous gym routine. It’s nice. Absentmindedly he wonders if Link thinks it’s nice too. Nevertheless, he rubs it appreciatingly in small circles that inch closer and closer to his waistline.

Rhett’s fingers slip under the waistband of his speedos.    

A loud slam startles him from his dreamlike state and his head whips towards Link. Link’s palm is pressed against the steam-covered glass. Rhett stares at the hand, feeling confused. Did he hit it? Link’s other hand is hanging limply on his side. The camera and the tripod are on the floor.

“Rhett,” Link murmurs and presses his forehead against the glass wall, as well. His voice is strained—he almost sounds like he’s in pain. His eyes flutter closed for a moment but then he opens them and licks his lips. His gaze is piercing. He’s staring at Rhett who is still standing under the streaming water, hand halfway down his pants. The blue of Link’s eyes shines through the misty glass and he speaks again. It’s so quiet, Rhett almost doesn’t hear it. But it’s there. The faintest of pleas. “Can I?”

The rush of power Rhett feels is almost overwhelming.

“Can you what?” he asks, voice low, and dips his hand further into his wet pants. Link’s gaze is trained on his crotch and the deeper Rhett goes the more Link’s mouth opens. He doesn’t say anything, he just pants into the glass, puffing warm air onto it, misting it further.

“How did it go? Your shower instruction. If it hides...?” Rhett coaxes.

“...expose it,” Link says the words as if he’s been enchanted.

“Aah, that’s right,” Rhett murmurs and yanks down his speedo. It’s been thoroughly drenched, so it’s tight and barely moves down. But the few inches he manages is enough. Rhett’s swollen cock bounces free and Link lets out a whimper. This time Rhett doesn’t suspect it’s the pipes. Link’s hand no longer hangs free, it’s pressed against the unmistakable bulge in his pants. 

Looking Link right in the eyes, Rhett yanks the speedo down his thighs and steps out of it, letting it hit the shower floor with a wet plop.

“And then? If it flops...?” Rhett asks swaying his hips just enough to make his dick bop slightly between his legs. Link swallows so hard, Rhett can almost see a cartoon-like ‘gulp’ written on the steam next to his flushed face.

“...lift it,” Link gasps.

“Like this?” Rhett confirms and grabs his cock, lifting it towards his stomach as he strokes it slowly. The groan that spills from his lips is drowned out not by the rushing water but Link’s needy growl.

“Mmh,” Rhett moans, keeping his hand moving. “I don’t think it’s clean enough yet. Any suggestions?”

The rush of movement startles Rhett and he almost slips. His head dips under the water and for a moment, he’s blinded by the shower. When he gets his bearings, the place where Link stood is empty, except for his jacket, that lays crumpled on the floor next to the tripod.

Link’s in the shower. Rhett’s breath catches. Link’s on his knees in the shower.

“I can help,” he says staring up at Rhett. Water is bouncing off of Rhett’s body,  raining down on Link. His blue t-shirt is slowly getting drenched. Rhett reaches for Link’s face and his knees almost buckle from the way Link lifts his chin and leans into Rhett’s touch.

“Yeah? You wanna show me how it’s done?”

“Please,” Link whimpers. Rhett takes hold of his chin and pulls his mouth open. Link’s tongue slips out of his mouth and settles against his bottom lip. He looks up at Rhett, eyes fluttering. Water running down his face is making his eyelashes stick together. He looks like he stepped right out of Rhett’s favorite porn. He looks filthy. Gorgeous. Fuckable and sweet. All at the same time. 

“So, fucking sexy,” Rhett murmurs and presses his thumb on Link’s tongue. There’s a glottal throat sound that makes Rhett’s cock twitch and his legs tremble. He rubs Link’s tongue with his finger and reaches with his other hand to snatch his glasses and sets them on the window sill. He sees the phone, realizes it’s still recording but does nothing to stop it. It’s only from the chest up after all. And he definitely will want to relive what’s about to happen.

“Show me how you work that mouth, boy.”

[notalwaysthevillian]

Parent Trapped

Warnings: Not so subtle flirting, anxiety, jealousy, alcohol mention, food mention

Pairings: Romantic Remile, platonic LAMP

Word Count: ~1.7k

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Masterlist

Chapter 10: Parent Trapped

Phase one of their plan was to get their parents to spend some more time together. They decided to have weekly sleepovers, since either father would come in and spend a little bit of time talking while the kids got set up.Since it was summer, there were a few times they managed to have a few a week.

“They might as well live over here.” Remy joked on one such occasion as he brought the boys in. Roman and Logan vanished almost immediately, heading into the living room to make their sleepover fort.

Emile waved a hand. “It’s not like we don’t have the room. And they get along so well, they’re practically family. Did you want some tea?”

“Did you buy more of that lavender one?”

The adults headed into the kitchen, unaware of the whispering happening in the living room.

“Dad hated that tea.” Virgil whispered as he and Roman stretched a blanket over the couch. “He only bought more because Remy likes it.”

“Our dad bought mint extract yesterday.” Logan said as he crawled underneath to set up the pillows. “I only know one person who likes mint in his hot chocolate.”

The four of them crawled inside, getting settled. Patton put his hand out, high-fiving everyone. “Sounds like our plan is working.”

Over the next few sleepovers, the dads starting staying over later and later. At one point, the two of them realized that the four boys had fallen asleep while they were talking. Emile had been a little embarrassed, excusing himself immediately and heading home. But not before Remy had offered for him to stay over as well, causing the therapist to turn bright red before he left the house.

Bimonthly barbecues also became a summer tradition.

“Em, why don’t you come over here so I can show you how to grill?”

Cheeks ever so slightly pink, Emile left the boys at the table, moving to Remy’s side. “I’m a hopeless griller, that’s why I cook instead.”

“Come on, I can help you out.” Remy held out the spatula, smiling when Emile took it from his hand.

“How do you know when to flip them?” He asked, hovering over the grill.

“Sometimes you just know.” Remy said from behind Emile, making the shorter man shiver involuntarily. “And sometimes you have a timer set next to the grill.”

A laugh bubbled up out of Emile as he noticed the small electronic timer. “Oh.”

As it started to beep, Emile slid the spatula under a burger and flipped it. Unfortunately, the burger split in half and fell into the coals below.

“Here, let me…”

Remy grabbed Emile’s wrist, helping him through flipping the still usable burgers. When he was done he let go and restarted the timer, seemingly unaware of how his action had made Emile’s mind start reeling.

Near the end of the summer, Roman was struck with the absolute best idea he’d ever had. He waited until they were at their weekly sleepover to tell the others.

Once their fort was made, he dragged the rest of them inside. Patton knew Roman’s idea face, and squirmed a little while Roman made sure that their dads were still talking in the kitchen.

“Okay, I had the best idea in the universe last night.” He started, looking at each of them. “We need to truly parent trap them. Get them alone on what could be considered a date.”

Patton nodded, completely on board with the idea. “How do we do that?”

“Back to school dinner.” Virgil whispered, shooting a grin at Patton. “Dad won’t know any better.”

“I’m assuming it’s tradition to have a special dinner before the next year of school?” Logan asked, getting twin nods. “Our dad has never said no to a fun dinner. He commonly quotes Donna Meagle - ‘treat yo self’.”

“So we ask if we can go someplace a little fancier.” The gears were turning in Roman’s head, ideas forming left and right. “And then we slowly get out of it. I bet I can claim forgetting about summer reading and rope Lo into helping me.”

“Because you did that last year?”

“Shh!”

Virgil played with the frayed edges of his blanket. “I can tell him the restaurant makes me anxious. It probably will.”

Roman turned to the final member of their mission. “Pat?”

“I, um… I don’t know what to do.”

“You could fake sick?”

Patton made a face at Roman’s suggestion. “He’d believe it and then I’d feel bad. I don’t want to do something that isn’t true.”

“Tell him you worry about Virgil and don’t want him to be alone.” Logan suggested. “It’s not something that would be false, and it’s something your father wouldn’t question.”

“So it’s settled.” The huge smile on Roman’s face was infectious. “We commence stage three, dinner plans, next week.”

When next week rolled around, their plan went off without a hitch. Roman realized he actually had forgotten about summer reading. With how frantic he was, Remy allowed the two of them to stay home.

“Did you want me to help too? I can tell Em -”

“No!” Roman cried out, nearly blurting out their plan. “You can’t help, my teachers will know. They always know.”

A few blocks away, Emile was being nearly pushed out the door by Patton.

“If V is too anxious, we could go somewhere else.” He said, pulling out his phone to text Remy.

Virgil pushed on the phone, shaking his head. “Roman wanted a fancy dinner before we became sophomores. It’s not fair for me to deny him that.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“We’ll be fine, we haven’t had twin time in a while.” Patton ruffled Virgil’s hair. “And I think some of the blonde is coming back through.”

Virgil’s hands shot to his hair. “We’ll be careful with the hair dye.”

“Alright. Call me if you need anything!”

“Have fun!”

Emile arrived at the restaurant right on time, opting to wait in the entry for the Sanders. Needless to say, he was a little confused when Remy was the only one to walk in.

“I thought the boys were coming?”

“I thought your kids were coming.”

Before they could figure out what had happened, a waitress appeared next to them, holding a stack of menus. “How many?”

“Two.” Remy said, following the waitress as she headed to a table in the back of the room.

“Your server will be by for your drink orders shortly!”

Emile sat down across from Remy, sliding his chair in. “Virgil stayed home because he was anxious about the restaurant and Patton stayed to make sure he wasn’t all by himself the night before they start school again.”

“Roman forgot his summer reading for the second year in a row and needed Logan’s help.” Remy leaned his arm on the table, resting his chin in his palm. “I think we’ve been set up.”

“What?”

“Please, Em, you can’t deny that we have chemistry. Our kids would have to be blind to not pick up on it.” Remy said, his voice dropping ever so slightly. “Does this count as our first date?”

Emile’s cheeks flushed immediately, earning a flirty smile from Remy. “I - what -”

“Hi, I’m Alice, I’m your server tonight.” A dark-haired woman said as she walked up to their table. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”

“Water please.” Emile squeaked out, before hiding his face behind the menu.

Alice looked over at Remy, leaning towards him. “And for you, handsome?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Remy could see Emile glare at the server. “I’ll take a bottle of sparkling rose for me and my date.”

The server immediately backed off, her customer service smile replacing her real one. “Of course. I’ll be right out with those.”

“This isn’t a date, Rem.” Emile put the menu back on the table. His cheeks were mostly back to normal. “A date is planned.”

“It could be a blind date.”

“We’ve met already.”

Remy nodded, before biting his lip. “Em, if you don’t want this to be a date, it doesn’t have to be a date. We can forget I ever said anything.”

“No! I - that’s not -” Emile took in a deep breath. “I would like to go on a date with you. But preferably not one set up by our kids. One that we plan together.”

The soft look Emile gave Remy was sweet enough to make him blush - which was something that other people were never able to do. He glanced down as he felt the back of his neck heat up. “Sounds great.”

“You weren’t wrong about the chemistry though.” Emile placed his hand over Remy’s on the table. Both of their cheeks heated at the action.

Remy laced their fingers together. “Good.”

The two of them took their time with dinner, lingering when they were finished.

“We should probably head out, I think they close soon.” Emile said, standing up.

Before he could grab his coat, Remy slipped it off the chair, holding it up. He helped Emile put it on, sliding it up and fixing the collar. Leaning in close, he whispered, “I can’t wait for our first real date.”

Emile wanted nothing more than to turn around and kiss him, but he managed to hold himself back. Instead, he gave Remy a peck on the cheek. “Neither can I.”

They went their separate ways, each being assaulted by their own children as soon as they walked in the door.

“How’d it go?” Patton asked, a knowing look on his face. Virgil was right behind him, wearing the same expression.

“It went well.” Emile hung up his jacket, hoping to calm his warm face. “Though next time, you could just tell us that you wanted us to go on a date.”

Giggles gave them away immediately. The twins disappeared into their bedrooms, satisfied with Emile’s answer.

When Remy walked in, Roman was at his side in seconds, tugging his coat off. “Well? How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date.” Remy kept his voice level, cracking once he saw their faces drop. “But we are going on a real date soon.”

“SUCCESS!”

Rolling his eyes, Remy pointed toward the stairs. “Now go to bed. And no more meddling in my love life!”

“So you love him?”

“Bed!”

Once the delinquents had gone to their rooms, Remy pulled his phone out, sending a text to Emile.

Babe: How does Wednesday sound?

Honey: Sounds wonderful <3

[bigpokico]

hello! may i request scenarios with akaashi, kuroo, and lev finding an small, injured baby animal with their fem s/o on their walk home? (i was thinking a baby owl could be cute ^-^) thank you!! i'm so excited to see a new blog!!!

Akaashi:

“Come on, I know you can do it. One more lap with me,” Akaashi encouraged, smiling fondly as you tried to pull your best pouty face with him. “But Akaashi, I’m tired. And it’s cold,” you whined and tugged on his jacket, which only caused him to roll his eyes. “Y/n, we’re only walking, and you insisted on coming this morning.”

When he had the time, Akaashi loved to go on walks through the park early in the morning, he felt that it was a very peaceful way to kick off the day. And today of all days, you insisted on joining your boyfriend on his walk. This morning, however, was colder than most, to your earlier point. It had rained the previous night, leaving everything in its wake covered in a chilling frost that you couldn’t appreciate too much. You blew warm air into your hands, despite the fact that you were already wearing gloves, causing Akaashi to laugh gently. You two, despite your fein complaints, continued your stroll.

It was minutes later into your walk that you halted your steps once more, “Akaashi, wait.” He stopped and looked at you, and eyebrow quirked upwards in question, “What?”

“Do you hear that?” you asked, causing Akaashi to focus and listen to whatever it was that you heard. After a few seconds, a high pitched chirping, once faint, began to become more and more pronounced, as if fussy that it wasn’t getting recognized. You pointed to the bush across the street, much more lively than before. You grabbed the young male’s hand and began walking towards the sound, leaving him to try and catch up with you. You got to the bush, and immediately gasped and what you saw.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” you asked, as there sat a small owlet in the bush, chirping at you responsively. You and Akaashi both looked at it in wonderment, until Akaashi noticed something strange. To check if he was right, he leans down and reached his hand towards the bird, but the bird instantly shied away, now displaying a dinged up wing. He looked back up at you and pursed his lips, “Just as I thought, y/n. It’s injured.” You were now bent down to look at the injured owl, and you began to move your hand towards it, pace exceptionally slow so not to startle to frightened chick. With as much care as you could manage, you eventually were able to scoop the baby bird into your hands. “Oh poor thing,” you say quietly, before looking back to Akaashi, “what should we do?” He gently massaged the top of the owl’s head with just his fingertip, “Before anything, we have to take them to the vet. We can’t do anything until then.” You nodded in agreement and huffed, “Well, what are we waiting for then? Let’s go!” And with that, you both made your way home, the little owlet now warm in your hands. “When it’s all healed in well, we’re keeping it as a pet, you know,” you declared to Akaashi, smiling with determination. He glanced down at the bird, squinting at the chirping ball. Suddenly, he felt troublesome sense of familiarity, “We’ll discuss that when we get there.”

Kuroo:

One of his arms wrapped around your shoulders, the two of you made your walk home, both of you holding a bag of groceries in your free hand. The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange light across the town. Kuroo heaved a large yawn and groaned, mumbling something to the effect of being tired. “Hush, hush,” you chided lightly, poking him in the side, “we’re almost home, don’t worry.”

Your eyes glanced down an alleyway as you passed by it, terribly dirty. Although there had been a perfectly usable trash can, garbage had been littered throughout the path. But it wasn’t unusual, so you decided to move on, continuing your trip with your sleepy boyfriend. That is, until a tall box from the alleyway tipped over and fell with a hollow ‘thud,’ catching your attention for another time. You slip from Kuroo’s arm and set down your grocery bag, deciding to go and inspect. Kuroo stayed standing there and watched you curiously, confused as to just what you were doing. Until he heard you exclaim and stand back up quickly, holding what you found on display for him excitedly. Kuroo’s mouth gaped in surprise, “Y/n, why do you have a kitten?”

“It was in the box over there! Look at him Kuroo,” you chirped, eyes sparkling. But something else about the kitten caught your attention, and so you examined the face of the stray cat, squinting. Ruffled black hair, lazy eyes, funky smirk.

Before he could ask what was wrong, you stated, “Hey Kuroo, this cat looks exactly like you.” Kuroo laughed loudly and set down the bags he was holding as well, walking over to where you were to get a better look. He petted the small animal, cooing softly when the kitten nuzzled into his hand. You pursed your lips to try and hide your grin, and tried to hint with a question, “So Kuroo…do you wanna take him home with us?” You boyfriend snorted, knowing very well what you were trying to do, “Do you want to take him home?” You blew his question off and puffed out your chest, “Well I guess since you insist so much we just have to, don’t we?” Kuroo shook his head and smiled, grabbing all of the grocery bags and then kissing you quickly along your hairline, “Lead the way, kittycat.”

Lev:

It was scary movie night for you and Lev, as you did every week; wrapped up in blankets, curled up against one another. Lev’s forehead was beginning to develop a layer of sweat. He was so easily scared, he should hate horror movies, and yet he always insisted on watching them, despite how jumpy they make him. The screen turned black abruptly, building tension increasingly in the pair of you. The film still silent, there was a scratch and tap on the window, shaking the blinds ever so slightly.

Lev screamed and grabbed you tightly, causing you in turn to scream and grab him back just as tight. “What was that?” Lev asked loudly, still holding onto you, though you had now let go of him at this point. “It was probably nothing, most likely the wind,” you said, grabbing your remote to pause the movie. To your answer, Lev shook his head and stood up with a huff, “I’m investigating.”

You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out, taking over his space on the couch before saying sarcastically, “Alright, soldier. Tell me what you find.”

He walked outside to the patio and shut the door behind him. The dark atmosphere of the room began to make you sleepy, and so you closed your eyes, if just for a few moments. You shot upwards and your eyes widened, however, when you heard a muffled exclamation from Lev outside, making you think that there might actually be someone dangerous out there. You stand up and start making your way to the door when Lev popped his head back in through the doorway, grinning cheesily. “Y/n! Look what I found!” he said excitedly in a whispered toned, pointing to the patio. You took a step outside and scanned the patio for whatever he was talking about and, immediately, your heart melted at what you saw.

There sat a kitten with dirty but white hair, pawing at a bug that scampered across the cement while paying you two no mind at all. No interactions needed, no thought into the pros and cons, Lev simply announces, “We have to keep it!” To which you looked at him skeptically, “We don’t know who it belongs to!”

“Oh, come on, y/n, look at it. The poor thing is practically starved,” he indicated, gesturing dramatically to the kitten. Your eyes looked over the small animal, and Lev was right, causing your chest to squeeze with worry. It’s true, the kitten’s ribs and tailbones jutted out, it was dirty. This was not a cat that had a home.

And just like that, you scowled ever so slightly, “Fine, we can keep it…if you can catch it.” Lev pumped his fist in excitement and began making his way to the cat, who was still paying no mind to either of you. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Lev scooped it up in one movement, which caused the kitten to meow in surprise and release its claws into Lev’s arm. Lev winced, but smiled nonetheless, making his way back into the house with pride.

The first thing you thought to do was put a some amount of leftover chicken into a bowl and set it out for the animal, who gladly began eating with gusto. You and Lev stood there, his arm around your shoulder as you two watched the baby animal eat. After a few moments of silence, you said, “You’re taking it to the vet first thing tomorrow.”

[themarshmallownerd]

New Chapter: Empire of Miracles

Link: Chapter 7

Previous: Chapter 6

First: Chapter 1 (AO3)

A/N: I did not expect this chapter to be this long; my apologies, friends! Don’t think any content warnings are in order, aside from the typical language and comic-book typical action/violence. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Preview: “How’re we looking?” Steve asked the moment he crossed through the threshold into the room.

Tony and Natasha were there, both at the desk on the other side of the room. Tony was sitting behind the main computer, with several projection screens hovering around him, whilst Natasha was on the opposite end of the desk, half-leaning and half-sitting on its edge as she tapped vigorously at a burner phone in her hand. Neither of them looked up, let alone acknowledged Bucky hovering close behind their Captain.

“Tracker’s a bust,” Natasha answered. “We’re turning to more old-fashioned methods.”

“Old-fashioned, how?” Steve pressed.

“Well, I’m getting our eyes on every traffic and security cam within the vicinity of where our last lead was,” Tony explained, his attention rapidly switching from screen to screen. “Jarvis is going to notify us the second there’s a face-match somewhere to Wanda. She,” he pointed in Natasha’s direction, “is spreading the word of said leads to Hill and Fury. Though, apparently, they’re so far underground at the moment, that communication with them is slightly delayed.”

“So, what can we do while we’re all waiting for a hit from either of those platforms?” Steve questioned, gesturing to himself and Bucky.

“Well, it’s just a rough idea, but desperate times and all that.” Tony finally paused whatever he was working on to spare the two super-soldiers a glance. While he did, he pulled a phone from his pocket and tossed it to them, which Steve easily caught. “Get Stark Industries on the line. Tell them I want to run a personal trial run on the R&D Department’s most recent project. If they want specifics, ask about the Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing project.”

Natasha also paused from her work, looking up briefly to give the inventor a skeptical look. “BARF?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, we’re still working on the acronym,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “The lead creator is a little…offbeat. Sometimes, I even get the impression he thinks we’re there to build weapons still. But he’s got good ideas with his tech. If we can get a few witnesses to the ambush in here, it might be usable to give us more clues as to what exactly happened at the time of the ambush.”

“If it’s from Stark Industries,” Steve put in, “how long would it take to ship it all over here?”

“If we classify it under ‘urgent,’ then it can probably be here for us to use within—”

All of a sudden, Tony stopped himself, distracted by something that blinked on the physical computer in front of him. Even from across the room, Bucky could see the way the other man’s face scrunched into confusion.

Evidently, Steve saw it too. “What is it?”

“Jarvis is telling me that we’ve got an email incoming from an unknown source.” Tony tapped once at the keyboard beneath the screen. Then he read whatever he had received, and his expression eased with slight relief. Shooting a look at Natasha, he announced, “It’s our pal, Benny.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“The dock worker that found Luna,” Natasha told him.

“Apparently,” Tony added, still watching something on the desktop before him, “he got ahold of some security footage from his workplace, and he spotted someone he and his buddies don’t recognize transporting cargo. It looks to me like…actually, this is a pretty good shot.”

“Blow it up?” Natasha implored.

Tony made a waving motion with his hand. The desktop screen followed the action, gliding through the other, holographic screens hovering along the desk until it was projected in the center image. The feed was momentarily stilled, holding on a blurry black-and-white image of a tall figure pushing a cart of large cargo boxes out of a warehouse. The image on the figure’s face zoomed in closer, showing slightly more detail, such as the sharp outline of the person’s face, the faint discoloration of a scar around their right eye, and the sheen of their dark, slicked-back hair.

Bucky felt his breath leave him, and his jaw clenched. Judging from the way Steve’s expression darkened beside him, he must have recognized the man in the image too.

Tony noticed the reaction, as well. “Do we know him?”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed bitterly. “You could say we used to know him.”

“Jack Rollins,” Natasha elaborated. “He was a member of Strike Team Delta with us.”

“As in the same Strike team where everyone but you two defected to Hydra during their obnoxious uprising two years ago?” Tony asked rhetorically. “That’s comforting.”

It really wasn’t. And that wasn’t how Bucky knew him. Rollins had been a frequent face to him in the later years he’d spent as the Winter Soldier. He had mostly been a guard for the Soldier’s handlers, in case Bucky ever tried to turn on them. Everything else about the agent had blurred together with the other guards in Bucky’s memory, but he did remember the guy was the type to rely more on his brawn rather than brains. Certainly not the kind that would have too many aspirations outside of whatever his superiors ordered of him.

Regardless, his presence here and now confirmed one of Bucky’s fears. Hydra was a part of this.

[s-nebul0sa]

Who needs a hand when they have a hero

Read on AO3

Her hands tremble and she can barely get her phone out of her pocket. It takes her some wiggling around and several pained attempts before she has a good hold on the device and can get it in her hand.

Halfway through bringing up her contact list, Lena realises the car engine is still running. Briefly forgetting the entire reason she’s sitting in the car, panic rushing through her entire body, she reaches out her free hand to cut the engine. With a pained yelp she pulls her hand back, cradling the throbbing fingers to her chest as she softly curses herself in between sobs.

She tries to fight the tears, but it doesn’t work. Her hand is aching so much and she doesn’t know what to do. She can barely think.

Deep breaths. In.... Out.... In.... Out.... she reminds herself. When the worst of the throbbing as receded and her hand is no longer hurting so much she can’t think of anything else, her thoughts drift back to her phone. She was trying to call someone.

First things first, though. With her good hand she cuts the engine.

Next, she picks up her phone again and looks up Kara’s contact information. She’s still trembling slightly as she presses the dial button and brings the phone to her ear.

“Hey Lena,” Kara greets enthusiastically but with a little surprise. Lena knows she isn’t one to just call out of the blue.

So as not to worry Kara, she tries to keep her voice steady and strong.

“Hey.”

She does not succeed. Even to her own ears her voice sounds small and frail.

“Lena? Are you okay?” Kara’s entire tone of voice has changed. From happy surprise to extreme worry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lena breathes out, “I just kinda tried to clean up some stuff and fell off a chair and on my hand. I tried driving to the hospital, but I can’t. My hand hurts really bad,” Lena admits shakily.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at home in my car.”

“Can you go back inside? I’m gonna leave here now and come over.” Lena can hear Kara start packing through her phone.

“Okay, yes. I can do that.” With her hurt hand still held close to her body, Lena fumbles to get the door open with her other. Her phone is clamped between her ear and shoulder.

“I think you should also call Alex,” Kara suggests. “She’s a lot better at this medical stuff than I am.”

Lena takes a deep breath. Kara’s right. Alex is the one with a medical background. She should’ve probably called her first. It’s just, she’s more comfortable being vulnerable with Kara. And even then, it’s just out of sheer necessity. She’s desperate and she needs help. If she could’ve managed to drive herself to the hospital, Kara probably would have never known how much this is rattling her.

“I can also call Alex for you, if you’re not comfortable.”

A sad smile graces Lena’s lips at how considerate Kara is. More tears slip out. It means so much to her Kara is trying to help her so much, even with the simple things.

“No, thank you. I think I can manage.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now. Are you back inside? Will you be okay?”

“Yes. I’ll call Alex.” Lena closes the door behind her and sits down on the kitchen floor. She doesn’t feel too well and sitting on any surface higher than the ground seems like a risk she isn’t willing to take. She feels too likely to fall off.

“Call me when you’re done calling Alex so you don’t have to wait all alone.”

“Okay,” Lena says softly before ending the call.

She takes a few fortifying breaths to try and feel a little more steady. Her head is starting to hurt too, a dull throb in time with the one in her hand though that is much sharper.

The phone call with Alex is much more down to business. Lena’s instructed to find something cold, preferably an ice pack or frozen vegetables from her freezer, wrap it in a towel and put it on her hand. She’s also told to take something for the pain.

It takes some effort to get up and collect everything she needs. Having only one usable hand is really impractical. Eventually, she manages to put some frozen vegetable mix on her hand and some painkillers in her stomach.

When her phone call with Alex is done — and Alex is on her way over too — Lena calls Kara again.

Kara keeps a steady stream of words going on and Lena is listening to them but when asked later, she won’t remember anything Kara talked about. It’s just a comforting sound in the quiet and emptiness of her apartment as she waits for both Danvers sisters to arrive and simultaneously tries not to panic and break down again.

She unlocks the door, leaving it slightly cracked so she doesn’t have to get up again, and sinks back down against the kitchen counter. Kara tells her to breathe deeply, to talk to her.

Lena remains quiet, listening to Kara talking to her. She does mutter something occasionally so Kara knows she’s still there. All the while, Lena tries to keep her breathing steady and deep. Tries to ignore the pain in the hand as she moves the towel with frozen peas around to cool different parts of her fingers.

It doesn’t take long before Kara arrives. The door creaks open slowly as Kara hesitantly moves inside Lena’s apartment, clearly looking for her before she hangs up the phone.

“Over here,” Lena says when Kara doesn’t spot her in the first few seconds after entering.

Kara looks slightly relieved as she puts away her phone but her face quickly morphs back to worry as she gets closer to Lena. She kneels down next to her and flails with her hands, wanting to help but not knowing what to do.

“How are you feeling? You look pale.”

“I am pale, Kara,” Lena retorts with a small smile. She can’t muster anything wider but it’s better than crying at least.

“I know, but you’re still pale even for you.” Kara puts a hand on Lena’s knee, providing some comfort without jostling Lena or getting too close to her painful hand. Lena appreciates the gesture. Appreciates not being pulled into a full body hug, like Kara is wont to do, even more. Her hand hurts too much for that.

A knock on the door signals Alex’s arrival and Kara quickly gets up to answer it. Kara leads her sister to Lena and Alex snaps into doctor mode.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened, Lena?” she asks. In the meantime she gestures for Lena to give her her good hand. Lena does so before answering the question.

Kara loyally sits down on Lena’s other side, her hand back at Lena’s knee as she silently watches Alex.

“I tried to put away some stuff but I couldn’t reach the shelf so I got out a chair but somehow my foot slipped, I think. I fell right on top of my hand.”

Alex’s hands gently hold Lena’s, the pointer and middle finger of her right hand resting on Lena’s pulse point to track her heartbeat.

“Okay, and how are you feeling now?”

“My hand hurts.”

Alex hums understandingly. “Do you feel faint? Sick?”

“A tiny bit nauseous maybe but it’s already getting less.” Lena decides to just be honest with Alex. It’s probably only in her benefit when she does so.

“Is it okay if I look at your hand? I promise I won’t pull at it or poke or anything, I just want to have a look and see what’s going on.”

Lena nods and removes the now no longer frozen peas. Her fingers are already double the size they should be and she’s glad she’s not wearing any jewellery. Alex moves around to get a good look at Lena’s hand and asks her whether she can still move her fingers, which she can but she can no longer fully stretch them or make a fist. At least she still has control of them.

“Thank you, Lena. I think we should indeed get you to the hospital and have some pictures taken to check whether you broke anything. But even if you did, it doesn’t look too bad. Your fingers are still functioning and you probably can’t move them as much as normal because of the swelling, not because of other damage. Just, better to be safe than sorry. That okay with you?” Alex looks at Lena for confirmation.

Lena fully trusts Alex’s judgement on this, so she nods. Alex is the expert on this so if Alex says she should get pictures taken, she’s not gonna protest. Right now. She’s in too much pain for that.

“How’s the pain?” Alex asks, not having made any move to leave yet.

“Bad but I can handle it.”

“Did you take painkillers yet?”

“Yes.” Lena gestures to the bottle on the counter.

Alex takes one look at it, reads the name and turns back to Lena. “I’m gonna need you to take something a little stronger. It’ll also help with the swelling. One moment, I think I have some in my purse. We’ll make sure to get more at the pharmacy when we’re at the hospital, okay?”

Lena nods obligingly. She doesn’t usually take strong painkillers. She doesn’t really take painkillers at all, having grown up without using them for most of her life. Not that Lillian wanted her to suffer, just that she didn’t often have anything that hurt and her periods were more manageable with hot water bottles and the pill than painkillers.

“Will it make me be all weird like those people in the YouTube videos Kara sometimes sends me?” she asks after a moment, fearing the answer. She isn’t ready to embarrass herself. Certainly not ready to say something she might regret. Expose her secrets and darkest thoughts.

“No,” Alex laughs heartily. “Nothing that strong. Just something slightly stronger than what you’re currently taking, because that’s clearly not doing enough.”

Alex returns to Lena’s side, a glass of water and a small white pill in her hand. “This is still over the counter, no worries. You probably won’t even notice a thing, except your hand hurting less.”

Relieved, Lena takes the pill from Alex’s hand and swallows it with some water.

“Can we take your car?” Alex asks when Lena’s done. “I took my bike.” It goes unspoken Kara has arrived by public transport. She doesn’t own a car, like most sane people in National City.

“Yes, the keys are on the table.” Lena slowly gets up, only taking Kara’s hand when she’s already on her own two feet because she still doesn’t feel too stable on her feet and getting up with one hand is hard enough.

Alex takes the keys and Kara helps Lena, holding doors open for her and talking about everything and nothing to distract Lena from the pain. It helps a little and Lena’s extremely grateful for her.

Alex takes the driver’s seat without asking and Lena and Kara get in the back together. Lena doesn’t want to part from the person who gives her comfort — or from Kara in general but that’s a recurring issue she’s already had to overcome multiple times. Kara doesn’t seem inclined to let go of Lena either, only releasing Lena’s hand long enough for them to get in on opposite sides of the car.

The entire ride, Kara’s thumbs strokes Lena’s hand. Her chipper voice piercing the otherwise silent air as she talks about a new donut place she’s tried the other day.

———

After a lot of waiting, a doctor looking at Lena’s hand and two X-rays from different angles, Lena’s given a splint for her fingers and sent home. Luckily, it’s just a bad strain and a tiny bone splinter.

Relieved but tired, and still in some pain, Lena’s brought home by Kara and Alex. Kara holds the doors open for her while Alex carries her purse. Both things she could do herself but she’s still grateful for not having to. She’s too tired to fight them on it.

“You should put on some comfy clothes,” Kara says after they enter Lena’s apartment. Lena looks down at her jeans and sweater, her heeled boots. Obediently, she nods and makes her way to the bedroom.

“Do you need any help?”

With some effort, Lena finds words to answer Kara with. “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

Whenever she’s really tired, like now, and especially when she’s hurt, talking becomes an effort. Something she has to actively work to do.

Lena makes her way over to the bedroom and changes in an oversized sweater she’s borrowed — stolen, really — from Kara, leggings and fluffy socks — a gift from Kara. It’s a little struggle to unbutton her pants and slip them off without putting too much strain on her hand but she manages. Thankfully. It’s one thing to need help now but if she can’t dress herself in the morning or for the rest of the week — or next few — she’ll lose all her independence and that is probably one of the most terrifying things that could possibly happen to her. In Lena’s opinion.

Much to her surprise, Kara and Alex are still there when she enters the living room.

Her confusion must show because Kara gestures for her to sit down with them as she explains, “We couldn’t just leave you after the day you’ve had. Unless you want us to?”

Lena shakes her head. She doesn’t need them to leave. It’s kind of nice to have friends over now. To not be alone.

As Lena makes her way over, Kara scoots a little to the side in a silent invitation Lena gladly accepts. She curls up next to Kara, knees pulled up and hurt arm held close to her chest. Elevated, her fingers hurt less and sitting like this makes it less likely someone else bumps into her hand.

Kara’s arm wraps around Lena and pulls her a little closer.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And my hand still hurts a little.” Lena thinks for a moment what more she’s feeling. There’s nothing more to add. She actually feels quite good, all things considered. Her clothes are comfortable and she’s cuddled up with Kara, what more could she want right now?

“Did you have dinner before you hurt yourself?” Kara asks, ever the attentive friend.

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. I wanted to have it after I finished cleaning up.”

“What are you feeling like having? You should eat at least something or your body won’t have energy to heal.”

“Something light maybe. Soup?”

“Soup’s a good idea. Everyone likes soup. Except the people who don’t like it, I guess. Soup’s still good, as an idea. I’ll order you some.”

Lena can’t help let out a small chuckle as Kara awkwardly adjusts her glasses to recover from her ramble.

“Want to watch a movie in the meantime?” Kara suggests. Both of them have completely forgotten about Alex, sitting back on the other couch with her phone in hand.

“Okay. How about one of those ones you keep talking about?”

“Ohhhhhh!!!” Kara nearly vibrates with excitement. Lena knows how long she’s been wanting to make her watch some of her favourite movies. “Which one?”

“I don’t mind. The one with the talking llama you can’t stop talking about?”

Lena’s sure Kara’s going to vibrate herself into another dimension with how excited she gets at that suggestion.

“The emperor’s new groove!” Kara breathes, her voice a slightly higher pitch than usual.

“Oh no. I think you broke her,” Alex deadpans. “If I had known you could do that, I’d have sought you out and befriended you when I was a teen.”

Lena smiles at that. She knows it’s just sibling banter. Alex wouldn’t want Kara to actually break — or worse — and it’s always nice to hear confirmation of her friendship with Alex. It’s something she’s still kind of insecure about at times. Alex can come off a little cold and is very protective of Kara but Lena’s slowly learning Alex is also very fond and protective of her. Just not as much as of Kara.

“Hey, if you want I can ask Kelly to bring some soup. She’s on her way anyway.”

Kara’s focussed on pulling up the movie but at the mention of Kelly she looks up. “Is Kelly coming over too? To join for the movie?”

“Oh, well, she was going to pick me up but I guess we could ask her to stay, if that’s what you want.” Alex specifically looks at Lena when she makes the suggesting.

Lena feels kind of flattered Alex cares about her opinion and wants to make her as comfortable as possible. “If she’s okay with watching a movie, it could be nice.”

“Impromptu movie night,” Kara declares as she relaxes back into the couch, her head leaning towards Lena just the slightest.

Alex calls Kelly and asks her to join movie night and bring soup for all of them. Kelly hands Lena a bowl of vegetable-noodle soup, which makes Lena instantly a little happier because somehow someone made sure she got her favourite soup.

She’s pretty sure her eyes turn a little glassy when she thanks Kelly before she digs in. She has moved to the floor so the bowl can sit on her coffee table since she’s not really able to hold it with only one hand and at the same eat from it with that same hand.

The entire time she’s sitting on the floor — on a pillow now because Kara insisted — she can feel Kara’s presence behind her. She feels Kara’s eyes on her back and, occasionally, Kara’s foot bump against her hip. It doesn’t bother her one bit. She’s rather comforted by knowing Kara’s behind her and paying attention to her and her needs.

As soon as Lena finishes eating, she takes back her place on Kara’s side. Curled up in Kara’s arms. They spend the entire movie sitting like that, no matter the looks Kelly and Alex send them.

By the end of the movie, Lena’s gone from tired to utterly exhausted but filled with so much love she feels like her heart might explode if more is added. She lets out a big yawn, which prompts Kara to help her up and drag her along to her bathroom.

“Brush your teeth and off to bed with you,” Kara instructs, putting Lena in front of her sink.

Lena obediently takes her toothbrush and toothpaste and starts her bedtime ritual. She does have to ask Kara to squeeze some toothpaste on her brush because she can’t manage with one hand. If she really had to, she could have figured it out probably but she’s tired and it’s just easier to have Kara help her when she notices her struggling.

When Lena’s done and ready for bed, with a little more of Kara’s help, she lets Kara tuck her in under her blanket. Kara takes care to tuck in all the sides of the blanket, making Lena into a burrito. It feels very comfortable and warm.

“Promise to call me if you need anything. Anything, okay?” Kara asks, an insisting look on her face.

“Okay,” Lena agrees, more so because she doesn’t want to disappoint Kara than because she’s actually going to call her if she needs help.

“Even if you can’t open a bottle or put on your socks or whatever thing you might feel like would be bothering me. You got hurt and to heal faster you’re going to have to take it easy. So don’t do anything that hurts or might end up hurting you, okay?”

Kara looks really cute concerned. The small crinkle above her eyes very defined. Lena almost wants to reach out and brush it away. To put Kara at ease. Instead, she agrees.

“I promise I’ll call you if I need help.” This time, she means it. It would probably make Kara very happy when Lena calls her and Lena will do anything to make Kara happy.

She yawns again. She knows it’ll make Kara leave sooner, something she doesn’t want, but she can’t help it. She’s just so tired.

“Good night. Sweet dreams.” Kara leans forward, slowly inching closer. The distance between their faces getting smaller and smaller by the second. Then, Kara’s lips press to Lena’s forehead.

Lena can’t help closing her eyes and losing herself in the feeling of being so loved and cared for. The feeling of Kara’s warm and soft lips pressed to her forehead.

Far too soon, Kara pulls back and with a short exchange of goodbyes, she’s out the door.

Lena lets herself linger in the feeling of Kara a little longer. Of Kara’s presence. Kara’s warmth. Kara’s hug. Kara’s lips. Kara’s love.

Oh.

Kara’s love, Lena realises with a start.

Oh.

Yes. She is definitely in love with her best friend. Head over heels.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... (part two)

A/N: Back to Benjamin. No golden rings for Day 5 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics, sorry. Have some golden biscuits instead. And a dose of sweetness. And also some truth.

Word Count: 3,144 

Prompt from: @malionnes​ 

"Flour and sugar is a good look for you.” 

Benjamin had been watching you from the doorway to the kitchen as you pressed hard into the dough you were working, the wooden rolling pin flattening it out over the flour-sprinkled counter top. A few strands of your hair had fallen free of the loose ponytail you’d gathered it in, framing your face and catching the sunlight through the window. Stunning. “Flour and sugar is a good look for you.” 

With a smudge of flour streaked across your nose, you looked up at the sound of his voice. You blew the hair away from your eyes and it fluttered gently back down as you smirked at him. “Oh come off it, I’m a mess.” You rolled your eyes as he stepped away from the door frame, unable to keep himself from filling his hands with you any longer. Letting go of the rolling pin, you allowed him to pull you away from the counter, revealing more flour smears and streaks running down your thighs. You used the back of one powder caked hand to swat your hair away, leaving a new smudge on your forehead. 

You are a mess. Benjamin reached for your hip with one hand, slowly bringing the other up to wipe the newest mark away from your hairline with his thumb. He let his fingers comb through your hair, brushing the strays back behind your ear and out of your face. “Not to me.” He’d seen you with plaster in your hair, with paint stains on your jeans, with ink and dye and bronze polish underneath your fingernails after a long day of work. “I’ll take you dunked in flour and rolled in sugar any day.” 

You let out a loud burst of laughter, your eyes warm atop your rosy cheeks as you fell against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, surely leaving white hand prints on the back of his sweater. I don’t care. “Well, you’re in luck then,” you said, your words slightly muffled as you spoke into the soft green fabric. I sure am. He pressed you closer, smiling at the way it felt to have you in his arms as his lips found a sugary spot near your eyebrow. 

It was different, holding you, than it had been with anyone before, even Julia. Especially Julia. He’d never felt so sure in his bones as he had with you, never felt like he had to be anyone other than himself. With his ex-wife, he was constantly challenged to prove himself- prove that he was more than his shortcomings and less than the malicious intentions that Julia’s oldest son Patrick refused to let go of. With Allie there was a never ending race to prove that he’d be able to give her more. What next, what else, what then- she was never happy enough with him to spend a single minute in the moment, always looking for more, which she eventually found in someone else. But with you, he felt relaxed for the first time in decades. With you, he thought that maybe there was a chance that he could tell you everything, open up all the closets and free the skeletons he’d conditioned himself to hide. Right after the holidays. No need to ruin Christmas. 

You sighed, giving him a squeeze before unwinding yourself from around him. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on you, palms sliding down your arms to stay connected as long as possible. You rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to the birthmark beneath his eye, a habit you’d formed that made him feel known on a level he’d never felt before. Flattening your feet back out, you returned to your normal height before turning back to your biscuit making, moving the pin aside and picking up a snowflake shaped cutter. “Did you finish what you needed to?” You asked, pushing the metal form into the gingerbread dough. 

“I did.” Benjamin leaned back against the counter, crossing his ankles and gripping the edge of the granite. “I’m all yours until after Christmas.” He’d been waking up early to get his work done so that he’d have the day free to help you with the cooking, baking, wrapping and everything else that comes with hosting family members for the holidays. Classes had finished the week prior, but Benjamin had been given a work-study position with the head of the History department. Dr. Kesting was writing a new book on the Russian Revolution, and he was in need of a research assistant to fact check and compile lists of dates and references. Benjamin had been all too eager to accept the position, as it was the only way he had been able to resume work towards his Masters degree once the Julia Day Scholarship was no more. He’d taken two semesters off following the divorce, and was starting to lose hope of ever being able to continue his education and the subsequent debt that it would put him further into. He admired Dr. Kesting, and though he didn’t talk about it much, he hoped to continue on the path to his Doctorate, so getting to work closely with his mentor was a gift in more ways than one. 

“That’s great,” you paused halfway through pressing the snowflake into the last inch of usable dough and looked up at him. “You should be proud of yourself, I hope you are.” You finished cutting the shape and then worked your fingertips beneath the excess dough to lift it away, leaving a dozen or so perfectly cut snowflakes behind. With the same careful precision that he’d seen you use to peel back layers of paint or plaster with a spade, you slid a thin spatula under each shape and gingerly transferred them onto a waiting parchment lined tray “I am.” 

Before his heart could swell at your words of encouragement, he felt his insides twist. Will you still be proud when you know everything? Do I deserve you to be? He tried to assure himself that you would understand, that you wouldn’t blame him for the cards that he kept close to the vest. Hi, I’m Benjamin. I did time in a juvenile detention center for a murder that I covered up for my older brother, and then I changed my name, moved away and pretended that I had no family. Not exactly the greatest conversation starter. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t make you love him less, and perhaps more importantly, that it wouldn’t make you trust him less. But despite the fact that he was sure that he wanted- no, needed- you to know everything, he found himself afraid to actually bring it all up. His phone vibrated in his pocket and brought him back to the kitchen and back to your flour streaked cheeks and the smile you were treating him to. 

You smashed the excess dough between your hands, combining it all to be rolled out again for another round of snowflakes, your brow furrowed at his lack of a response. “Benjamin?” You smacked the ball of dough again before dropping it back on the counter and wiping your hands on your pants. “What’s wrong?” Your frown took the light right out of your eyes. 

He shook his head and pushed off from the counter, reaching for your forehead to smooth the worry lines back out. “Nothing. Nothing at all, love.” Yet. “I’m... sorry, I was distracted.” He felt you relax under his touch, your lips falling into a more neutral set. “My phone went off and I was thinking about…” He shook his head again. “Never mind.” Picking up the ball of dough and the rolling pin, he turned to face the counter top where you’d been working. “Should I..?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, sure, if you want.” 

“I want to help you,” He insisted, leaning in to kiss your nose. When he pulled back, all the signs of worry were gone from your face, and you smiled again. 

“Alright then, roll away.” You grabbed the full tray of unbaked cookies and turned your back to him to open the pre-heated oven. “I’ll get this batch in, and then we can-” When you turned back around, he was leaning on the counter again, his phone in his hand. “Benjamin.” You let the oven snap closed, the sound drawing his attention to you. “What’s going on? You’re...something’s up.” 

Shit. He gaped at the screen in his hand and then back up at you. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s…” he pointed to the phone. “It was an email from Dr. Kesting...I figured it was just him thanking me for the notes that I sent over this morning.” 

“But it wasn’t?” You asked. He shook his head. “Okay...well, what was it about then?” You set the timer on the oven before swiveling to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Benjamin took three deep breaths through his nose to combat the dizzy, tingling sensation that was creeping into his brain. He rubbed his fingers against his sweaty palms, thinking about how to answer you. It had been an email from Kesting, that was true. And he had thanked Benjamin for the notes, as he always did. But he’d also let Benjamin know that he’d gotten a phone call from a man claiming to be his brother, asking how to get in contact with him. Goddamnit Kieran, can’t you let me have a life? He hadn’t noticed that his hands had started to shake, but you had. You took them between yours and he looked down at you, wide-eyed. 

“Benjamin,” you said his name softly, trying to coax some words out of him. “Hey, come on, you’re scaring me here. Spit it out, what happened?” 

Okay. Now or never. He recalled the way that Julia looked at him when she found out the truth about Kieran, about him; utter distrust and a hint of betrayal. No, she’s not like Julia. It will be different. Closing his eyes he swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat, blowing out a breath when he opened them again. You were waiting patiently, your hands still around his, your thumbs caressing the cup of his palm soothingly. “I really didn’t want you to find out this way, I-” He pulled one of his hands free from yours to drag it over his mouth and chin leaving his beard dusted with white from the flour. “Have you ever had a secret that just...that just got so big it became a part of you?” 

You pressed your lips together, confusion etched into your face again. “Sure, I mean, everyone has secrets…” You shrugged. “But what-” 

“I need to tell you something. Now. Right now. Because I should have told you already, and now I…” That dizzy feeling was coming back, but he fought it by focusing on your eyes. “Just promise me it isn’t too late. It can’t be…” 

“Benjamin...it’s not. Whatever it is, it’s not too late.” 

“I just… I don’t want you to...Look. There are things that you don’t know about me. Bad things. Things I don’t...like to think about, or...or tell people, because it’s better for everyone if I don’t.” Shit, this is not how I… “I waited too long to tell Julia these things, and it made me look like I was lying to her, that I was purposely keeping things from her, and with her son already in her ear about me, it almost...we almost didn’t go through with the wedding because of it...and we shouldn’t have, because she never really trusted me afterwards and I just…” He paused, taking a breath and reaching for you, pulling you tightly to his chest without warning. “I can’t let that happen again. Not with you. I can’t lose you for him, I won’t.” He stroked your hair and spoke quietly into your ear before leaving a kiss there and pulling back just as abruptly as he’d gathered you up. 

“Who, Benjamin? What are you..?” 

“I have a brother. Half-brother, really, our mum she… well she wasn’t around much, she’d rather be out with her,” his lip curled as he thought about the men his mother used to bring home, and you moved to sit on the counter while he continued. “Her boyfriends. And she’d leave Kieran and I alone alot. We grew up looking after each other and… and, well I guess that was a good thing because she…” He sniffed, looking away for the briefest of moments. “She died young, left us on our own. We were hard, but we were just kids. Couldn’t stay fed off Kieran’s job at the petrol station, so he had this...this idea that we could knock over a corner store. You know, grab all the cash and run. He’d staked it out, checked, made sure there weren’t cameras. It was before everyone’s mobile could record, so he figured what could go wrong, right?” 

He looked at you, quietly sitting amongst the mess, Christmas lights twinkling from the next room and the smell of baking gingerbread wafting through the air. This is not at all how I saw the day going. You looked sympathetic, concerned, saddened for the lost little boys in the story he was telling, but you kept listening, you didn’t run, didn’t tell him to get out or start throwing things around the room. You sat there, waiting for the rest. 

With a sigh, he continued. “Keiran told me he’d take care of the shop owner and that I should wait outside, keep an eye out for the police or...or anyone. He said he was just going to knock the guy out and that he’d wake back up before we got home. He said…” Chest going hollow, he remembered the look of fear on his brother’s face when he ran out of the store, wads of quid stuffed in his pockets, grabbing him by the arm and urging him to run. He looked up at you to see that your mouth had fallen open, one hand suspended midway to covering it. You know where this is going, don’t you. He knew you did. You were smart. “The man...the shop owner...he didn’t wake up. He...Keiran didn’t mean to...but he…”

“He killed him.” Your voice was paper thin. 

Benjamin nodded, trying with everything in him to keep tears from his eyes. “He killed him.” He echoed your words, their truth scratching at his throat on the way out of his mouth. “He was already 19, but I was a few years younger...young enough just to get juvenile punishment, so…” He let the sentence trail off with the lift of one hand. 

“Oh, Benjamin...you…” 

“Yeah… so…” He rid his lungs of air with a huff. “So when I got out, I…” He stepped closer to you. “I changed my name. My name’s not really Benjamin it’s...It’s Sean. Or it was...I” It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know if Sean still existed, if there was any piece of that person left inside of him. “I changed my name and moved...put all of that behind me and...and I just… I invented a life for myself. One that I would have wanted if I could have it...and…” He looked at you again, a wave of nausea rolling through his belly. “Can you say something, please?” 

You sighed, sliding from the countertop and taking a few steps toward him. Your arms came around his neck and you pulled him against your body. “I’m so sorry, Benjamin.” Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails slowly scratching his scalp. He closed his eyes and finally lost his battle, tears slipping silently from under his lids. “I wish I could take that from you.” Your other hand came behind his neck as you pressed your lips to the exposed skin above the collar of his sweater. “I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner, I do…” You do? “But I’m glad you told me now.” You...are? Pulling back, you used the bent crook of your finger to rid his cheek of the single salty drop that was falling down. “I want you to be able to tell me anything, Benjamin. I love you,” his heart stopped as you said the word, starting back up again with a different rhythm. You still… “I love you, and I want us to be a team.” 

He surged forward and kissed you then, taking your face between his palms and pouring every ounce of himself into that kiss, tilting your face to get a better angle and feeling like he could fly from the soft little moan that you let out against his lips. When he broke apart you were both gasping. “I love you.” He nodded, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “So much.” 

You let out a burst of air that took the form of an emotional laugh. “So much.” 

“I wanted to tell you...I was going to, after Christmas. I didn’t want to keep this from you...but I also…” He breathed your name. “I didn’t want this… Keiran, my past… I didn’t want any of that near you. Near us. But now…” he gestured at his phone and the email that Kesting had sent. “Now I guess he’s found me again… I couldn’t...I...you needed to know. I couldn’t risk him coming here or...or looking for you. Kesting didn’t give him my number or our address or anything, but...when Keiran wants to find someone, he does, and I didn’t want you to be caught off guard or...and I don’t want you to think I’m...It was starting to look like I was lying and...I’m not...there’s nothing else that you don’t know, now and…” he sighed. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“Now?” You asked. Yes, please, I… “Right now?” He nodded. “Right now, Benjamin Greene, I think that I love you. I think that you’ve been through so many unfair situations. I think that you’ve come out on top of all of them, and I think…” You scooped up some powdered sugar from the bowl behind you before wiping both hands down the front of his shirt, pulling a genuine laugh of surprise from his heart. “I think that flour and sugar is a good look for you.”  

How did I get so lucky? The thought melted into thin air as he held you down and rubbed his hands all through your hair, turning it white from the flour, turning your face red from your squirming laughter. By the time the day was done, the kitchen was a disaster, the biscuits had all been baked, and you knew the truth about him. And you loved him anyway. 

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.

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[profitinaecho]

So You Wanna Spin the World Around ch2

You have got to be kidding me, Liz thinks. She flushes and looks around disoriented. Licking her lips nervously, which Max follows with his eyes fascinated, Liz takes his hand. “Hello, Max. I didn’t know you were a detective here.”

Her mouth suddenly feels dry and her nipples harden as she is flooded with memories from their night together. He is such a sweet, respectful man. Until you get his clothes off and it becomes a completely different story- one she would love to visit again.

“Is that a problem?” Max’s chocolate brown eyes search her lighter ones like they hold the secret to the universe. His dark bangs hang boyishly over his forehead from the angle he has to look down at her because she is so much shorter than he is.

Liz shakes her head in answer and gently slips her hand from his. “I’m here to see Sheriff Valenti. She’s pairing me with a detective to work on a case.”

Max eyes her speculatively then jumps when he hears his superior's voice cut through their conversation. “Detective Evans! Stop boxing the forensic scientist in so she can come join us in the conference room.”

Michele Valenti became the sheriff of Roswell in the election after her husband passed away. She is a short latino woman who worked her way up the ranks and expects no nonsense. Her voice booms and is assertive, largely to ensure that no one questions her size or authority. She is clearly the one calling the shots in this precinct.

“Did you bring your crime scene analysis for those four Jane Doe’s to discuss and see if they were related?” The sheriff asks Liz, looking at the folders Liz is holding.

“Of course- with a few extra copies for the meeting. I also ran the DNA and are ready to discuss the results.” Liz follows the sheriff to the conference room confidently with her shoulders back while Max follows closely behind them, trying and failing not to check out Liz’s ass.

“This is Detective Evans. He will be the detective you are paired with to work on this case.” The sheriff gestures back towards Max.

Liz wills herself not to react to that news as if it is a shock to her, and nods in agreement. This will not be awkward at all, considering she has already seen him naked in all sorts of positions. “We just met in the lobby.”

They enter a conference room with a handful of officers already seated. Max sits down  in the front row next to the wall and the sheriff sits in the middle in the back to oversee the meeting. Handing out the folders of preemptive tests she ran on the cases that were sent to her, Liz makes eye contact with Max as she hands him his folder and gasps out a breath when their fingers brush and electricity shoots straight to her clit.

His lips part and tongue peaks out to lick his lips as if he feels something too. Liz can remember vividly how it felt to have that tongue circling her bare nipple, among other places, during their night together and is entranced. A sound- part groan and part sigh- escapes her lips watching his tongue.

Max’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush at the sound. She’s still holding the folder and he discreetly tries to pull it from her grip on it. It only takes a couple seconds but Liz is convinced that if the sheriff could read their thoughts, they would be fired on the spot. His deep baritone voice feels like a caress across her skin when he rumbles out a quiet thank you to her. Maybe she should request a different officer? But what would she say? I’m sorry, I can’t work with this officer because I am intimately acquainted with his cock? Not a good career move.

As she goes to move on to the next officer to pass out the rest of the folders, Max’s fingers wrap around her wrist and slide something small into her hand. “Hold on. You dropped something.”

He can quite clearly remember being on his knees between her legs and the way she tasted. Based on the way she is shifting nervously and the flush in her cheeks, she can too. She left without leaving him her contact information and he needs to talk to her as soon as possible about that night to make working together less awkward. Some closure would also be nice. He has been worried that he did something wrong since that night to not deserve a goodbye. On his end, it was the best sex of his life and she seemed to enjoy it, so why did she leave?

Liz almost drops her folders at his contact against her bare skin and he discreetly hands her a folded piece of paper. She mutters thank you and his fingers slide away from her wrist. There’s no way she dropped anything since Liz is still holding all of her folders. Liz gives him a strained smile before moving on to the next officer and handing him his folder. She passes out the rest of her folders and then goes to the front of the room.

“As you can see from the autopsy done on Jane Doe #1, the victim died of strangulation by some sort of ligature. Semen was found and DNA tested- more on that in a little bit. The victim was 18 years old and latina.” Liz confidently states her findings. “Next page, we have Jane Doe #2, a mid 20s woman listed as a transient. She also died of strangulation with a ligature and had a semen sample to be DNA tested.”

Taking a deep breath for the next part, as it greatly frustrated her, Liz continued. “On the next page, we have Jane Doe #3. As you can see, she also died of strangulation with a ligature and was also a mid 20s latina. However, the DNA sample you gave me came back as having three different people’s DNA present in it- the victim, an unknown male and an unknown female. Usually this means that the sample was contaminated and the evidence would not hold up in court. In the future, I need to be the one to take samples to ensure it is done in a way that isn’t cross contaminated with the officers like Jane Doe #3. I would be happy to teach all of your officers to collect a proper usable sample, Sheriff, so that we do not lose DNA in the future. And if at all possible, I need access to that body to get another sample.”

To Max’s left, an officer scoffs and rolls his eyes. He is pretty positive that is the officer that found Jane Doe #3’s body and took the contaminated sample. When he mutters something about not needing to be told how to do his job, Max discreetly kicks him under the table. “So sorry.” Max whispers, although he definitely did it on purpose.

“Jane Doe #3 was cremated a month ago, unfortunately. We will have to make due with the sample we have. And what of Jane Doe #4?” Sheriff Valenti steepled her hands under her chin, watching Liz speculatively.

“On the 4th page, we have Jane Doe #4. She was an african american female in her early 20s and died of strangulation with a ligature. Her DNA was able to be tested. Interestingly, all four victims’ samples contained DNA from the same unknown male perpetrator. I need to have a detective run that DNA profile through CODUS to see if there is a match to a known felon in the system. And I need to cross reference the missing person’s reports around this time period to the victim profiles to see if we can ID some of these women and notify their families.”

“I’ll get right on that, Ms. Ortecho. I’ll move that to the top of my todo list.” Max gives her one of those half smiles that pops his dimple and tips his hat slightly at her.

Liz pauses for a moment and flushes before coming back to herself. “And most importantly, there appears to be enough evidence to suggest that all four cases might be linked. We might be dealing with a serial killer here.”

___________________

Entering the bathroom after her presentation, Liz unfolds the piece of paper Max gave her. It simply says “We need to talk” in his neat scrawl along with his phone number. She sighed and slipped it into her purse to deal with later. After doing her business and washing her hands, she jumps when she exits the bathroom to see Max standing there.

“I was just going to put that sample into CODUS. You want to be sure I do it to your standards?” He teased her.

“Sure. But Detective Evans, you’ve never had trouble doing anything to my standards.” As soon as she said it, Liz covered her ruby painted mouth. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I said that. That never happened.”

Max chuckled at her slip and winked conspiratorially. “I didn’t hear a thing. Follow me, my office is this way.”

Liz follows him closely to his office and wills herself not to check out his bubble butt as he walks slightly bow legged to his office. Max playfully covers his keyboard while he enters his password to hide it from her. Then he pulls up the CODUS database and asks Liz to read the numbers on the DNA samples to him to cross check with felons in the database to try to find the perpetrator. The computer soon bings with no results found.

“Try searching for relatives of the sample.” Liz suggests, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen. Max feels like he is surrounded by her desert rose scent and briefly blanks out on what he was doing. Taking his hand on the mouse when he doesn’t move fast enough, Liz moves the cursor to the part of the screen to check to also check for relatives. “The square is kind of hidden if you haven’t used it before.” She explains, before flushing realizing her hand is still over his and quickly moving it back to her side.

“No results detected.” Max reads on the screen. “Huh. So the perpetrator’s DNA was found on all four samples but is not someone yet known to the system. We have our work cut out for us.”

“We will catch him.” Liz reassures him.

“We have to before he kills again. Ok, so lets try the Jane Doe’s to see if we can find a match in the system. Read Jane Doe #1’s barcode number for me?” Max waits for her to start reading the long number out with his fingers poised over the keyboard and types as she reads it to him.  

They do this for all of the Jane Doe’s and manage to identify Jane Doe #3 as a mentally ill woman who was in and out of jail just before her death. Sighing, Max tousles his hair in frustration. “Ok, if I pull the missing person’s reports for the last three years to try to match the characteristics with any of the victims, will you help me sort through them? It’s going to be binders full of people.”

“Ok. And we can cross check anyone we flag to see if we agree.” Liz suggests, flopping in the chair across from his desk while she waits for him to go pull the files they need to go through.

“And then, I’m taking you to dinner. We have a lot to talk about and we will both be starving by then.” Max adds, popping his head back in his office. When Liz opens her mouth to suggest that going to dinner alone maybe isn’t the best idea, he holds up his hand. “On me. Don’t argue.”

Max returns with six binders full of missing person reports. If any of the characteristics match a victim, they will then need to find a family member to test for DNA to match them to the victim and positively ID the victim. After hours of flagging missing person’s reports of early 20s women, it is  6pm and technically time to clock out.

“I’m going to stay and finish these. We only have two binders left.” Liz tells him, picking up another 3” binder full of papers to sort through.

“I’ll stay with you to finish up. We can order take out while we work. Do you like chinese food?” Max sits down on the floor leaning against the wall closest to Liz with the last binder. All of the previous binders have dozens of little flagged pages in each of them. Identifying the victims will be a lot of work and this is just the beginning. Max grabs one of the neon pink sticky flags Liz brought and puts it on the report he is reading because the report is about a latina in her early 20s.

“Of course I eat chinese food. What kind of soulless person doesn’t?” Liz laughs, flipping the page she was reading. “Oooh do they have teriyaki chicken with noodles?”

“I’ll make sure to find a place that has what you want.” Max assures her. “We work well together.” He looks up at her shyly through his bangs sitting on the floor by her feet.

“We do.” Liz agrees, smiling warmly at him.

When her stomach growls loudly, Max laughs. “Ok, ok, I’m calling. Your food will be here soon.”