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samwrights · 4 years

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I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai,

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason.

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise.

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames.

Back and forth.

Your body moves without a second thought.

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something.

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature.

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family.

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city.

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret.

All but you, anyway.

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public.

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it.

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city.

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city.

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri.

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think.

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now.

The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone.

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall.

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off.

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?”

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri.

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you.

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak.

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with.

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings.

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions.

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.”

Dammit.

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip.

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances.

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug.

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life.

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care.

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply.

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one.

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day.

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself.

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom.

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space.

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans.

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai.

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well.

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation.

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless.

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space.

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment.

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer. “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet.

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening.

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere.

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly.

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs.

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection.

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer.

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry.

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip.

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate.

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him.

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence.

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table.

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago.

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating.

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise.

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium.

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen.

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet.

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction.

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks.

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?”

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground.

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow.

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes.

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering.

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life.

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see.

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off.

“Thank you, Chisaki,”

You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books.

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?”

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen.

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke.

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind.

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine.

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm.

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts.

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct.

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder.

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother.

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled.

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered.

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you.

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak.

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out.

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look.

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly.

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities.

This was about population control.

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with.

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh.

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family.

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it.

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact.

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home.

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface.

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen.

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact.

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response.

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore.

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve.

Love.

Those were the words you associated with him now.

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved.

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him.

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain.

As if this was never going to happen ever again.

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink.

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones.

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear.

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all.

Maybe you didn’t.

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him.

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end.

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair.

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans.

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.”

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside.

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to.

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface.

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea.

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever.

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you.

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that.

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours.

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked.

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs.

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones.

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments.

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?”

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in.

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him.

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was.

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine.

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it.

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.”

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response.

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything.

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely.

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence.

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach.

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer.

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along.

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything.

“I found you.”

“Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back.

Enough was enough.

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you.

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain.

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one.

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band.

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

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toloveawarlord · 3 years

Text

Ch. 1

Characters: Coralie Van Alst, Mozart, Comte

Tagging: @plumpblueberry (Please let me know if you want to be tagged)

A/N: Finally another Ikevamp oc! This was the most voted for in the interest check on the 25 Days of Christmas Voting! Thank you to everyone who voted for this oc! Enjoy the first chapter of my little musician and her unknowing meeting of her favorite composer!

Another event. Night after night, the teenager could be found in a lavish dress, violin case in her left hand, and her benefactor, Grant, hovering behind her, speaking to clients interested in her talents. His rules were absolute.

One: Don’t speak unless prompted.

Two: Every performance shall be perfection.

Three: Always please the clients

Four: No outside relations beyond the job.

She’d never known others her own age. Her education lacking, only taught basic reading and writing along with etiquette. Music took up most of her days, whether practice or event. Her talent coveted by many, but they never acknowledged the work that she put in.

“Ah, Comte! What a wonderful party. We greatly appreciate the invitation. Your pianist, Wolfram, I’d like to have him play a duet with my Coralie.” His hands rested on the young girl’s shoulders.

The regal man he spoke to gave an empty smile until his golden eyes met the mismatched amethyst and blue ones, where it turned quite warm. “Monsieur DuPont, I was unaware you had a daughter.”

Grant chuckled, digging his fingers into her bared skin when she didn’t immediately return the friendly smile. “No. This lovely, gifted violinist is sadly not of my blood. I am simply showcasing her talent here in Paris.”

“I see. However, I do not dictate whom Wolfram plays with, but I am more than willing to introduce her to him. That is, if you’d like.”

The tension was thick in the air between the two powerful men. Most groveled in the great Grant DuPont’s presence. This man was quite different. Coralie dare not check to see how her benefactor reacted to Comte’s veiled pleasantries.

The musician they spoke of had been researched, like all with potential to leverage for the young girl to be seen by the most patrons. Wolfram Theophillius Perti. He’d been compared to the likes of Mozart. Coralie had yet to hear him play, but if he were in the same league, then for the first time, she actually wanted to meet him.

Most of those she played with were subpar, and she preferred to play alone, but she could never voice those opinions.

Thank them with a smile. Stroke their ego. Laugh at their cruel jokes.

Being a musician in this world was hard work, competitive. Many believed it not a place for women, much less a child. Some were unkind to her, jealous of her ability, of how a fifteen-year-old could play circles around them.

Always be charming, my dear. Dazzle them with your performance so no one can argue that you don’t belong.

The words of her father echoing in the back of her mind, bringing a small amount of comfort.

Grant smiled tensely but relented. He placed a sloppy kiss on her temple, all his affection for show. “Do take good care of my lovely Coralie. She’s very precious to me.” His tone light but she recognized it for what it was.

She was a commodity that brought him fame and fortune.

“I certainly will. Mademoiselle Coralie, I will escort you to Wolfram.”

With a soft thank you, she fell in step beside Comte. Eyes followed her wherever she went. Envy. Intrigue. Lust. Many high-class gentlemen wanted something from her, but never directly addressed her in fear of angering DuPont.

Somehow, it felt as though it wasn’t just her, they were watching.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing you play, but the talk among my friends is all high praise. Are you from Paris?” He’d heard many things. The young girl having only been here for a half a year and yet all social circles knew of her.

“No, Monsieur. My homeland is Belgium. Monsieur DuPont has been most gracious to house me and guide me in performing while I am here.” Always praise the one who has done so much for her family.

Comte hummed in response. He’d never liked the man. Too many rumors of his mistreatment of his wards, throwing them away when they were no longer useful. How long would it be until this young girl became nothing to him? “Ah, Wolfram, a moment please.”

The gaggle of men and women around the musician scattered at their arrival. Although he smiled at her, she knew how empty it was. Forced, just pleasant enough, and never reaching his eyes. He listened to Comte’s introduction, to the reason she’d been brought to him. Mozart hadn’t the opportunity to respond before Comte was called away by another gentleman. Left with only the girl, he politely declined, “I’ve completed my obligation to play for the evening. Perhaps another time.”

Coralie suspected that to be a placation. The pianist had no intention of playing another time. “Please reconsider. It would be advantageous to duet with me.”

“Advantageous? I’m in no need of benefactors or patrons. Of what advantage would it be to me?” Mozart lost his facade for a split second. His violet eyes narrowed then softened. There were far too many people within earshot. “Forget the question. I simply do not play with partners.”

Yes, she’d discovered that in her research.

It’s of no consequence. You perform a duet.

Her benefactor would be quite upset if she didn’t get this man to agree. Who could say what he might do to her family? “I understand. Most in our profession do not have the aptitude for an impromptu performance.”

“Precisely-”

“I am not one of them,” Coralie said, bringing her mismatched eyes up to meet his gaze. If he’d been anyone else, she would not push so hard. But she needed to hear him play, to know if he was worthy of being compared to the great Mozart. “None of them possess my skill. Please perform one song with me.” Coralie bent forward into a pleading bow, one thing that she was not allowed to do.

Being polite, gentle, quiet-- those were her instruction.

Never bow to those with inferior skill for that will only make you appear desperate.

If Grant were watching her, he’d surely be incredibly displeased. He likely wouldn’t understand why she felt the need to. Coralie had to make Wolfram understand how much she wanted to play with him.

“One song.” His voice low, filled with irritation, but it brought her attention up to his sour features. Mozart might admire how brazen the child was, and perhaps he relented because she reminded him of his human self. “One song and then you will never approach me again.”

A single chance was all she needed to prove her worth.

The pair didn’t speak as they prepared. Mozart took a seat on the bench; violet irises observed the practiced and careful way she took the violin from the case. The way she’d lit up at his song choice confused him.

Mozart’s Sonata 16 in C Major, first movement, do you know it?

Of course, she was well versed in all Mozart’s songs. He was her favorite composer to study and practice. Coralie rested against the chinrest, waiting for his first note. She felt the violin as an extension of her own body.

The crowd grew silent as they began, allowing the melody to flow around the room like the wind, gentle and constant. The strings caressed her fingers, sound pure and sweet. It mixed seamlessly with the rich, crisp tune of the piano. Two complete strangers in perfect harmony.

It was a reintroduction. Words failed to establish common ground. It was in their playing, their ability to create beautiful music, that they could begin to understand each other. Wielding their instruments was like barring their soul.

They complimented each other, piano and violin intertwining like polished dance partners gracefully gliding across a ballroom floor. They’d captured every ear, every heart with a poised rendition of Mozart’s Sonata.

It was only once the song came to a close that Coralie returned to the real world, applause erupting. Truly, this man was most incredible, like no other she’d been forced to duet with. He commanded the keys like a captain steering a ship through a deadly storm; firm and unrelenting, not afraid of the powerful sound. But he also contained a gentleness, making the ivory keys sing as the birds at the dawn of a new day.

Socialites swarmed around him, flocked to her. Their chatter equivalent to nails on a chalkboard to Coralie. She safely secured her violin in the case before slipping out to the balcony. She wanted to ingrain that performance to her memory.

The girl swam in the melody so fresh within her. Her body alight with chills. Never had a duet affected her so, sounded so alluring. This night would become one of her most treasured.

“It wasn’t unbearable. Although, I’d say you’ve plenty of room to improve.” Wolfram’s voice grounded her back in the world void of their dazzling melody. He didn’t make a habit of chasing after other musicians, but this girl... “You deviated from the song as written.”

“It complimented the original composition,” she countered.

“Irrelevant. You should always play as the composer intended.”

Coralie turned her gaze up to the night sky. The stars crowded between the gray clouds twinkled in applause. “I pay no attention to anybody’s praise or blame. I simply follow my own feelings.”

Silence followed her statement.

“No one can say what he intended, but he was right. Music is deeply rooted, entangled, in feeling. Any simpleton with a few lessons can play the notes on the page. What makes a true musician is the ability to breathe real, raw, emotion into the song, don’t you think?” Coralie turned to face him, a tender smile on her lips. There were few who could understand why she felt that way.

Mozart hadn’t the chance to respond. He’d been quite shocked at her enlightened view on music. It was rare to find such passionate sentiment with one as talented as her. He would have not hated having a discussion, but the young violinist swayed on her feet, lashes brushing against her pale cheeks.

He barely caught her when she fell unconscious.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp comte #ikevamp oc #coralie van alst #the essence of music #new ikevamp oc #she's a sweetie #the day she finds out that he's actually mozart tho #that will be a fun scene to write

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evak-fic-rec-turtleanon · 3 years

Text

Evak Fics - Christmas 2018

Christmas fics posted in 2018 (Includes non-English fics)

Snön ligger vit på taken by MinilocIsland, Treehouse (In Svenska, 62k words) - Det här extrajobbet måste vara den bästa idén Isak någonsin har haft. Långa, ensamma nätter med massor av tid att plugga. Helt chill. Ingenting som stör. Tills den där långa, snygga regissören flyttar in i taksviten.

Hele Norge Baker by MermaidsandMermen (61k words) - Are you brave enough to stay? Or strong enough to walk away? Isak Valtersen is neither, still reeling with guilt over leaving his little family, walking away from a life that was slowly suffocating him. He’s neither strong or brave, he’s a coward. Stupid, weak and easily led, with no idea how to make things right. He’s made himself a promise though, he is going to stay single and finally take control of his own life. He’s going to be happy. Work hard. Be the best father he can be, and he is never going to let himself get dragged into a relationship again. He’s been there, done that, and it’s not for him. He is going to have a quiet winter, a quiet Christmas and he is going to chill. Lick his wounds and for once just be himself. That’s the plan.

The First Noel by colazitron (2k words) - Even's parents have a cabin in Hemsedal where the family traditionally spends Christmas. This year, Isak's coming with.

Fucking Bieber by Kollakolan (6k words) - “So,” Elias starts. “You’ve decided to join us on Christmas Eve?” Isak just nods, as he is just about to take a sip. “Great. It’s not really that complicated. The baskets are already made; you’ll just pick them up and deliver them according to a list of addresses. Oh, and also, you need to be wearing at least a Santa’s hat.” “Since it’s Christmas specials and all,” Mikael adds.

boys and boys and girls and girls by colazitron (2k words) - Noora meets a handsome boy at the Christmas market one day, but all is not she may have originally thought.

The first star you see may not be a star by Laika_the_husband (53k words) - In this story of dark and woe Isak is a sex worker who specializes in services of not traditionally sexual nature. Want to watch someone sharpen a pencil really slowly, making a long twirly unbroken strip, for your kicks? Isak's your guy. He is good at his job and he likes it, and it pays the bills while he's studying civil engineering at the Met.It's also convenient that Isak doesn't have to actually touch any of his clients. Because he can't touch anybody, and nobody can touch him, or he'll freak out completely. One day, Isak goes to meet a client, and sees EvenStarr, the video artist whose stuff he loves. And his request is not the most bizarre, but the most disturbing one Isak has ever received.

Christmas prompts by nofeartina (4k words) - Collection of prompts Tina wrote for on tumblr.

The wish I wish tonight by imminentinertia (1k words) - A visit to Marianne, and a present, of sorts

Jumpstart by colazitron (2k words) - Isak and Even spend their first Christmas just the two of them in Trondheim.

What is the light by unsungyellowraincoat (1k words) - That year Mom can’t put up the Christmas tree.

Santa Baby by Laika_the_husband (21k words) - Part 3. The story where the author suddenly found out Isak is polyamorous. And genderqueer. The POV changes every now and then. I'm making this to examine the poly Evak from various angles.

Expiration Date by Treehouse (5k words) - In the midst if the December stress, Isak has to make use of the gift card Eskild gave him for Christmas last year. A gift card for a freaking massage.

The Næsheims by Kollakolan (2k words) - “Well, you know the Næsheims? ”Yes, Isak knows the Næsheims. Or rather, he knows of them, and he knows that Sana knows them. They have a restaurant down town where Sana’s brother works. They’ve gone by a couple of times when Sana needed to hand him keys or something. Isak also knows that the son in the Næsheim family is maybe the hottest guy in all of Oslo. Not that he has told anyone that he think’s so, but I mean come on, it’s not like Isak must spell it out. They have eyes.

By Your Side by MinilocIsland (1k words) - Some Christmas traditions may not be what they seem, but it doesn't really matter.

In una sera così serena by imminentinertia (2.6k words) - Isak has had quite enough of Christmas and it's only December 13.

December 2018 by imminentinertia (Series, 6 Fics)

bits and pieces of their love by cammm (Series) - One shots. All may not be Chrismassy.

Ho Ho Ho!!! by MermaidsandMermen (5.5k words) - A big fundraising School Christmas Market, to raise the last bit needed for that big Revue. It will be great. Lots of local families coming to drink glogg and buy hotdogs and do stupid money pinching games. Yes and the kids can meet Santa. Sit on his lap and get a present. Such christmassy fun.

one thing I really do need by colazitron (3.5k words) - Isak comes home from meeting the boys for some gløgg feeling festive and cheerful.

Den lengste natta by hjertetssunnegalskap (Crazyheart) (In Norsk, 22k words) - Det er fredag den 21. desember 2018 og vintersolverv. Fruktbarhetsguden Frøy, i Evens skikkelse, må for første gang gjøre seg fortjent til den gaven han ønsker seg aller mest; kjærlighet. 18 år gamle Isak syns kjærligheten virker uoppnåelig, helt til han kommer hjem til Oslo på juleferie og besøker Jonas og Eva på kafeen Eldrimni.

Gay Jesus by unsungyellowraincoat (1k words) - Eskild has an encounter.

A New Tradition by bri_ness (1k words) - Lea has Isak and Even over for Christmas Eve.

A different celebration by Kollakolan (3k words) - “We realized a few years ago that we were a few friends who never celebrated Christmas with our families. At first it was just me, Elias, Noora and one of Elias friends. But now usually some exchange students come along as well as other people that we find on the way.” “Like me?” Sana just smiles at him.

Times like now by nofeartina (3k words) - Isak watches him, looks into Even’s eyes with what light’s left, watches his mouth go slack as Isak slowly puts his hand inside the fly and pulls out Even’s dick. He’s so hard. Isak wants to worship him, wants to show him how perfect he is.

Warmth by bri_ness (557 words) - Isak doesn't know how to accept a Christmas present from his mom.

From Spark to Flame by MinilocIsland (1.5k words) - He'd thought he'd be alone in the castle for Christmas as usual. This year, however, there's a slight disruption to Isak's Christmas plans.

i wish for by hippopotamus (2k words) - Isak just wishes that one person would want to get to know him before they knew that he could do magic.

i think i recognise your face but i've never seen you before by monsterandmana (1k words) - Even works in a coffee shop. Isak is on the coffee run. It's Christmas.

Fotokalendern by Kollakolan (In Svenska, 12k words) - Tags says Christmas but not really so I’m not sure.

The Magician by folerdetdufoler (3.6k words) - the "christmas magic" prompt

Two truths and one tale by evak1isak (7.6k words) - Isak ends up in Eva's cabin for a Kosegruppa's New Year's Eve Party. And begins the new year with a new boyfriend.

I'll be home for Christmas by teatrolley (9k words) - They’ve been in Trondheim for half a year now. But for Christmas, they’re coming home. Or: Sometimes the things you were running from become the things you want to run towards

Merry Kiss My Ass (under the mistletoe) by TheGirlNoOneKnows5 (10k words) - Working in retail during the holiday season is a nightmare. Especially when Isak has to work right alongside his just friend and not at all crush, Even. Among freaky customers, secret santa presents and constant reminders of his one night of passion with Even, Isak doesnt know if he'll make it to the new year. If only he could figure out who was behind all the random mistletoes he keeps finding...

The Magic of Christmas by wyoheartsmusic (4k words) - Isak hates his job - especially during Christmas; to be honest, he pretty much hates anything involved with Christmas. But then Even comes around and maybe he doesn't hate anything all that much

o night divine by thekardemomme (4k words) - This is the first Christmas in nearly five years that he’s spending without Isak, and while he still decorated his apartment and bought eggnog and spent an excruciating amount of time wrapping all of his gifts perfectly, the hole in his heart hasn’t gone unnoticed. It creeps in every time he goes to ask Isak for a bow for his gifts, every time he comes home and has to turn on the Christmas lights himself because Isak wasn’t there to do it for him, every time he plays Christmas music much too loud because Isak isn’t studying in the other room and teasingly pleading for him to turn it down a few notches. It also creeps in when he sees Isak’s present sitting under the tree, neatly wrapped. It’s been wrapped for two months, actually.

I'm Stuck on You by Twinklylightseverywhere (6k words) - Jonas lets out another nervous laugh. Isak wishes his best friend would shut up. “You two will take the spare room. Uh… with one bed.” “ONE BED?” Isak and Even both shout at the exact same time. “Merry Christmas!”

Mine egne meninger by hjertetssunnegalskap (Crazyheart) (In Norsk, 17k words) - Eva kunne allerede kjenne hjertet banke raskere. Hun visste det var tullete, men med ett bare visste hun at hun kom til å slite med å dele rom med Vilde. Hun kom til å bli gående rundt en feberhet tåke og tenke på Vilde hele helga. Til ingen nytte. Fy faen. Dette kom jo til å bli en helt strålende romjulsferie. I think this is an Evilde fic.

Shall I Find No Other by ultimatelawrence (5k words) - Everyone is born with a compass on their body, inked into their skin and commonly on their inner left arm. Instead of pointing to north, the needle on the compass points in the direction of your true soulmate. Even wants to find his as soon as possible.

hope you're wearing your best clothes by colazitron (2.6k words) - Even's original plan was to get Isak Harry Styles merch. One of those “treat people with kindness” sweatshirts because Isak likes being cosy and he likes Harry Styles and it's a nice slogan.

#evak fic rec #skam fic rec #christmas #2018

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

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Merry Christmas, kevaaronday!

For @kevaaronday. I tried to use all the tropes you liked, though I played a bit with the coffee shop!AU request. It ended up being pretty long, but I hope it pleases. Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Read On AO3

*****

Food, Drinks, and Pings

Stiles just wanted to clear things up—he did not work for Hale Corp, and he certainly did not work for said company’s inhouse café, The Family Bean. He was a writer, who just so happened to have been roped into the gig because he was best friends with the soulmate-fiancée of the best friend of one of the sons of the company’s owners.

See, one of Stiles’ best friends from high school was Erica Reyes, blonde, vivacious, and both crazy and powerful enough to castrate someone with her fingernails. She might look like she just stepped off the catwalk, with her hourglass figure, fluffy hair, and red lips, but she had a knack for business that led to a scholarship at a reputable business school. Stiles, on the other hand, took to writing like a duck to water, thanks to his overactive imagination and ability to turn a phrase. He could write anything and so he did—news pieces, articles, blogs, reviews, as well as a modestly famous soulmate series published under a pseudonym.

Erica’s soon-to-be husband and soulmate was Vernon Boyd III, a tall, dark, and delicious drink of chocolate, who was so fit he could bench press a baby elephant without breaking a sweat. He was the perfect picture of seriousness and silence, that Stiles used to wonder how he functioned as Hale Corp’s Director of Operations. After getting to know him better, he realized just how smart and charismatic Boyd really was.

Boyd’s best friend from childhood was Derek Hale, one of the sons from the famous and powerful Hale Family, owners and leaders of the mass media company, Hale Corp.

Stiles knew of the Hale Family, and who didn’t? You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t know the famous family of business tycoons and titans, a family so rich they could buy a person’s soul even. Nor would someone fail to hear about one of the most powerful love stories that rocked the world.

Talia Hale was the eldest child of the main branch of the Hale family and was poised to take over the world. Desmond Fitzgerald, in contrast, was the only child of elderly parents, and they lived at a shabby, squat house with no electricity, scraping by each and every day.

Talia’s father, the late and great Everett Hale, had visited the local community college as part of their charity program. Talia had tagged along, nineteen and already learning the ropes, and had tripped over the custodian who had been on his hands and knees straightening the welcome carpet.

Take a guess who the janitor was.

An accidental brush of skin, the burning of a Mark, and that was it.

Talia and Desmond turned out to be soulmates, and their Marks, her howling wolf and his crescent moon, had become one of the most romantic symbols of their time.

Now, where did Stiles and The Family Bean came in, you ask?

Aside from writing, Stiles knew his way around a kitchen. His mother had passed away when he was seven, and he had grown up with a Sheriff father who only knew the basics. Stiles had to learn how to cook a meal or risk them subsisting on fried everything and endless takeout orders.

So yes, Stiles knew how a kitchen worked. The thing was, Erica didn’t, and had spent high school eating Stiles’ meals and hanging around his kitchen. Nothing soothed her viciousness and temper like one of his desserts.

So whenever Erica was close to breaking someone’s jaw and risking a lawsuit, she’d invite Stiles over and he would come and work his magic at The Family Bean. It wasn’t like it was such a hardship. The place had a gorgeous kitchen, a full pantry, and a really comfy setup with cozy booths and colorful tables and chairs.

It wasn’t only Erica who benefited. Stiles often found inspiration at the tail end of a whisk or in between beating a dough into submission while listening to Erica’s gossip. He had come to depend on her brand of sass whenever he was suffering from writer’s block, or dealing with annoying clients, or avoiding his editor, Danny Mahealani.

It got to the point that Erica had HR make him a permanent guest entry pass—written down for Stiles S, Food Guy—and everyone knew him by name, the security, the delivery boys, the café’s actual employees, and some of Hale Corp’s employees.

That was what he meant by his original statement: He did not work for Hale Corp or The Family Bean. He was just Erica’s food guy and personal chef. Just another title to add to personal punching bag, platonic soulmate, best friend, and partner-in-crime, among others.

Boyd was surprisingly calm about the guy constantly hanging around his soulmate. Then again, no one would choose Stiles’ skinny ass for Boyd’s lusciousness, so Stiles could understand that he wasn’t much of a threat. Erica said that Boyd knew they were a package deal, and it helped that Boyd had been won over by Stiles’ banana bread. Either way, Boyd was cool and didn’t punch Stiles in the face for his and Erica’s weird platonic love affair.

So, in the end, that was Stiles’ life—work, his Dad, Erica, and his other friends.

Then the Hales happened.

It all started on a fine Monday morning with Kira Yukimura. She was pretty and petite, and the goddess who was actually the one in charge of The Family Bean’s kitchen. She wore floral dresses with studded combat boots, and held katana wielding lessons on Saturdays and a kids’ kitchen workshop on Sundays. Stiles adored her.

So when he walked in that day—after spending the entirety of the weekend not writing, because his protagonists, Peter and Wade, were being idiots—only to hear Kira’s cries for help, he was more than happy to tag in.

“I’m not crying.” She glared at him from where she was assembling sandwich orders, her gaze as sharp as her swords.

“But you still need help,” Stiles said. He put his laptop bag in one of the employee lockers, rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater, and put on an apron. “Erica wants to do lunch, but I decided to come in early.”

Kira nodded towards the window. “All right, because I got a purple ticket for you.”

Stiles jumped up. “Ooh, cool! I’ve never handled a purple ticket before!”

Kira gave him a relieved smile. “Well, today’s your lucky day. One of my employees called in sick, another is late, and I’ve got five packed tickets from different departments, three of them being rush orders, not to mention today’s purple ticket is a little too vague. I’m both swamped and stumped.”

“I’ve got your back, K.” Stiles gave her a salute and bounced over to the ticket tacked up on the holder.

Purple tickets were orders sent straight from the Wolf’s Den. It was the codename for the top floors occupied by the Hale Family and their closest associates. Boyd and Erica’s office were there, too. Stiles had only ever seen it through photos. There was a lot of security posted there, as if guarding the gates of heaven.

Anyway, purple tickets meant VVVVIP orders, note the number of ‘very’s. Kira usually handled those, but she obviously needed help now.

“Now, what do the Lords and Ladies want?” Stiles murmured to himself.

The Family Bean:

MH: hot chocolate

CC: pancakes

SHB: waffles

VHB: dirty chai

LH: anything

“You know who’s who?” Kira called out.

“Yep, I got it,” Stiles replied. He learned about this from Erica.

MH was Matthew Hale, the firstborn son and heir to the kingdom. CC was his seven-year-old daughter, who everyone called by her nickname. SHB was five-year-old Spencer, and VHB was his mother Valerie Hale-Barone, the firstborn daughter, second eldest, and the lawyer of the family. LH was Laura Hale, the third eldest and the maverick of the family. She was the only one not directly working for Hale Corp, and was more involved their side projects.

“Purple tickets are usually like that,” Kira said, looking at him with amusement. Stiles realized he had been frowning in confusion. “Despite being insanely rich people, they’re surprisingly not very picky about what they eat. Laura, in particular, will eat anything. It’s just difficult to give them variety or find a balance between upscale and too simple.”

“And now you want me to take a crack at it?” Stiles asked.

“Sure. It’ll be in my name anyway, and I don’t mind if you go wild,” Kira said encouragingly. It made Stiles grin. Most would be horrified at handing over their precious menu to someone who wasn’t a baker, much less someone who wasn’t a legitimate employee. But Kira had always been a rebel.

Under Kira’s guidance, Stiles filled up a purple delivery bag for the Hales. The dirty chai latte was pretty straightforward, though he didn’t know how Kira usually made it, so he went with his own style. He also made a raspberry hot chocolate, strawberry cheesecake pancakes, mixed berry waffles, and, for the anything portion of the ticket, a berry breakfast parfait made of yoghurt and fruits and graham crackers.

“Tastes awesome and looks pretty as a picture too,” Kira said, nibbling on her own waffle as she sat atop the counter, swinging her legs to and fro. Stiles could see a hint of her soulmate Mark under her dress just on the outside of her thigh. “I still believe you should have been a baker rather than a writer.”

Stiles grinned as he hung up his apron. “I’m both, but one pays the bills and the other’s a hobby. It’s surprising how most people would think one’s the other.”

“Kira?” a voice called out.

Kira perked up and immediately slid off the counter. She straightened her skirt and stepped out the door of the kitchen.

“Good morning, Derek,” she greeted.

Stiles peeked out unashamedly through the service window.

Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, DH or Derek Hale was the middle child of the family. He was the Chief Financial Officer, and was said to be shyer and quieter compared to his more unruly and flashy siblings. It made sense why he was childhood friends with Boyd. The two seemed to share a calm, quiet demeanor.

Stiles had always thought that Derek was quite handsome in an already attractive family, and every once in a while, he would get front row seats—or the view through the service window—to the man in the three-piece suit with the godly shoulder to waist to ass ratio. It was quite inspiring.

“I heard Val and the others had a purple ticket sent down,” Derek was saying to Kira. “I’m on my way up and I thought I’d bring it along and save you a trip.”

“Oh, thanks, Derek. I’ll get it from the back,” Kira replied. “How about you? Do you want anything?”

Derek thought about it. “Just a drink. Anything you want to make me.”

“So long as it’s sweet?” Kira teased, which made the man chuckle.

It was like a bulb lit up in Stiles’ head.

He met Kira at the door when she walked back in, and it said so much about how awesome she was because she immediately said, “Yes, Stiles, you can make whatever you want. I mean, you’ve already tried your hard at the purple ticket. Might as well go all the way.”

“Thanks, K. You’re a goddess.” Stiles bounced off to the machines. He had always liked a challenge.

In the end, Stiles added his specially made ‘very merry berry frappe’ into the bag. He made sure to put it in a cup cozy to hide the purple color. He wasn’t sure if Derek would mind, but it just wouldn’t do for one of the bosses to be seen with a colorful drink. He let Kira whisk the bag away and they watched Derek exit The Family Bean.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” Stiles murmured, eyeing the man’s backside.

“I’ll drink to that.” Kira giggled, clinking her extra glass of frappe against his. “And you’re teaching me the recipe by the way.”

“Not on your life.”

It took eight days before Stiles could once again visit The Family Bean. He had had a burst of inspiration following his last visit and had locked himself up in his apartment. His Dad John and his editor Danny were used to these binges, so they had taken turns visiting him to make sure he was alive and eating actual food rather than inhaling takeout, junk food, and soda.

He had sent off the first few chapters to Danny yesterday and had then slept for about eighteen hours, before Erica had barged in to make sure he hadn’t died. She had been pissed at him last week, annoyed that she hadn’t sampled Stiles’ berry-filled menu, but she’d gotten over it and had even brought groceries before dragging Stiles to The Family Bean for some fresh air and free lunch.

And if that wasn’t enough to perk Stiles up, she and Kira proceeded to tell him how well-received his menu was.

“The kids absolutely loved it, and Laura practically licked her parfait cup clean,” Kira said as they sat around the table for lunch. She had prepared honey sesame chicken, egg rolls, and sweet potato salad. She definitely had Stiles beat when it came to savory meals.

“Valerie was surprised that her dirty chai tasted great. She wasn’t biting people’s heads off more than usual,” Erica shared. She was running her fingers idly over her soulmate Mark, the three claw marks that spanned across her forearm.

Stiles felt pleased at the compliment, but he couldn’t help sending Kira an apologetic look. He didn’t want to usurp her clients and her kitchen.

Kira just laughed. “It’s fine. I know it’s due to your magic fingers and secret recipes. Just teach me how you do Valerie’s dirty chai and we’re good.”

“Sure thing, but it’s nothing special” Stiles said. “I did bring dessert, as thanks for letting me play around last time.”

Kira bounced on her seat. “Tomato pie?”

“With extra bacon and jalapeños, just how you like it.” Stiles grinned and showed her the pie, making Kira squeal.

“You gals eat up. I’ll mix us up some lattes, if you want anything,” he offered.

Stiles went to the kitchen to fix up Erica’s usual iced cinnamon honey latte and Kira’s vanilla almond. He was in the middle of finishing them up when he heard voices out at the main area. He recognized Boyd’s low voice and decided to make him a cup of blond roast with soy milk. He paused when he heard unfamiliar voices and took a peek out the service window. He instantly recognized the small group that had joined Kira and Erica.

There was Boyd, who immediately sat down beside Erica and kissed her cheek. His soulmate Mark was obvious, a rose on the back of his left hand. Stiles liked their marks, very beauty and the beast.

Having come in with Boyd was Derek, who looked just as handsome as he always did in a fetching dark blue suit. With him were his younger siblings, twins Cora and Cameron Hale, the artists of the family, who made music and art, played a bevy of instruments, and also drew and painted. Stiles was only two years older than the twins, but they had more talent in their pinkies than Stiles had in his whole body.

The twins’ Marks were one of the most popular, not just because the two were celebrities, but also because they were incredibly visible. Even from a distance, Stiles could see the compass between Cora’s collarbones and the lighthouse that popped up over Cameron’s collar at the left side of his neck.

Suddenly feeling shy, Stiles stayed in the kitchen and watched and listened.

“Nice spread, Kira. Is that for us?” Cameron asked.

“No, you Hales have your own food upstairs,” Kira said. “I heard Wild Flour Italian sent lunch over.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Jennifer Blake owns that joint. She’s been trying to get us to come over. No doubt she’ll just use it as some sort of advertisement. I’d rather take a bite of this.” She pointed at their table.

“That pie looks good,” Cameron said. “Can I have a bite?”

Stiles saw the gleam in Erica’s eye.

“Go on,” she said. “They’re good.”

Stiles watched as Erica and Kira offered the Hales a slice each. For some reason, he felt anxious to hear about how his food will be received. It had been nice to hear the rave reviews from Kira and Erica, but it was different seeing their reactions in person.

Cora let out yum-yum noises, which buoyed Stiles’ spirit.

“Okay, that’s pretty tasty. I love the caramelized bacon.”

“Wait, is this tomato in pie? Like a tomato pie?” Cameron asked, inspecting his plate. He took a large bite.

Kira bounced on her seat in excitement. “Yes, isn’t it good?”

“Who made this?” Derek asked. He didn’t look displeased, but he didn’t look happy either. He had a really good poker face. It might be good for business, but it was hard for Stiles to interpret. Stiles noted that he kept on eating the pie though.

“My Food Guy,” Erica said with a smug grin.

“Her Food Guy’s the one who made the berry-eautiful purple ticket that received quite the sensational reviews,” Kira added. She glanced at the service window and Stiles knew she saw him hiding there.

“The one who made my drink, too?” Derek asked.

Kira nodded. “The same one.”

“Spence went gaga for those waffles,” Cameron said. “And Mattie couldn’t believe someone got CC to eat fruit.”

A loud ring cut through their conversation and everyone started pulling out phones to check. It was Derek’s.

“Mom’s calling. Time to go,” he said, standing up.

In reply, Cameron started shoving the rest of the pie in his mouth and also popped in a couple of egg rolls.

“Where’s the Food Guy, though?” Cora asked, head turning to the kitchen. Stiles ducked down behind the counter. “If he makes stuff like this, I wanna meet him.”

“You can order a purple ticket if you want, but he’s not here all the time,” Erica said, and Stiles glared at her in his mind.

“He works part-time?” Derek asked.

“Not quite,” Kira said. “He’s—”

They were interrupted once more by a ringing phone, and this time Boyd spoke.

“Talia wants you all upstairs. Now.”

Stiles peeked out again. Cameron attempted to bring the entire pie tin, but settled for polishing his slice off. He then joined Cora in writing up a purple ticket order. After a moment, Derek put an order in too. The Hales left in a hurry and Stiles leaned right out of the service window just as Kira came bouncing towards it.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Boyd said, with a smirk.

Kira giggled. “Order up, Food Guy. You got a purple ticket.”

“I’m so proud.” Erica mockingly wiped a tear away. “Stiles, my Food Guy, charming the Hales off through the power of food.”

“Oh, fuck you all.” Stiles glared, ducking back into the kitchen.

At the last minute, he reached out and grabbed the purple ticket from Kira, ignoring the others’ laughter.

Over the next three weeks, Stiles prepared four more purple tickets. According to Kira, his drinks and desserts had become quite attractive to the Hales, both because of the taste and the mystery.

“At this point, they don’t even want me handling the tickets. They always ask if The Food Guy is around before they send their orders down,” Kira said. This time, she was the one helping Stiles prepare and pack.

The Wolf’s Den was going to be holding meetings nonstop, so Stiles had to prepare a variety of drinks and snacks. It would have been easy if they had simple requests, but the Hales were a mix of eclectic and frustrating.

“I’m glad you’re cool about this, but the Hales are bound to find out that the one making all their desserts isn’t even an employee,” Stiles said, as he added an extra shot of syrup in Laura’s honey and milk iced coffee. Just like her usual orders, she had asked for ‘any drink that’s sweet’ which was such a large ballpark that Stiles wanted to clock someone over the head, maybe her.

“I’m more surprised that you keep making these for free,” Kira said.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s a challenge, and I like challenges.”

“Really, just for the challenge?” Kira asked. “Stiles, Valerie fell in love with your version of her dirty chai. I did it the exact same way you did, but she insists that it tastes different. Same with Cameron’s favorite spiced coconut coffee. Same with all the desserts you made for the kids…”

Her face turned serious. “Don’t you think there’s more to this? Don’t you think it’s a ping—”

“It’s just for fun, Kira. It’s nothing,” Stiles said, heart rabbiting in his chest. He pushed it down firmly. “Plus, it’s surprisingly inspiring for my stories. Right now, I’m writing a new story for my spy series and I’m trying to solve this thing going on between James and Quentin.”

Kira’s face fell but she smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “Ah, well. Whatever you say, Food Guy. I’m just happy I get free labor out of it.”

“So you’re the Food Guy?”

The two of them jumped up in surprise and they turned around to see that someone had come in through the kitchen doors.

“Nathan, hello!” Kira greeted. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

Nathaniel Hale was the youngest of the brood at nineteen, and with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he was quite the heartthrob in an already beautiful family. If that wasn’t enough, he was an athlete and a rising star in soccer.

Stiles didn’t really care at the moment, too busy wondering if the kid had heard what Kira had been saying.

Nathan leaned against the counter. “Everyone was arguing over who was going to pick up the ticket this time. I walked out while Laura was arm wrestling with Cam.”

Kira laughed while Stiles looked away, suddenly awkward.

“Uh, that’s cool and all, but I’m not remotely interesting enough to warrant an arm wrestle.”

Nathan shrugged. “Your stuff tastes amazing.” He smiled at Kira. “No offense, Kira. You’re still queen. But you… you’re interesting.” He gave Stiles a look. “You know, I’ve been ordering the same caramel vanilla iced coffee from The Family Bean for years now. You made it once and now everything else tastes different.”

Stiles couldn’t help flinching. Oh yeah. Nathan had definitely heard Kira.

But Nathan turned to Kira, breaking the stare. “Anyway, is the ticket ready? Can I take it up?”

Kira smiled and handed over the bag. “You just want to lord your victory over the others.”

“Of course. That’s what having siblings is all about.” Nathan scoffed, but grinned. “Anyway, thanks.”

Kira smiled. “Enjoy your meal.”

Stiles watched Nathan leave and rubbed his left shoulder. He had a weird feeling about all this.

A single touch was all it took to find someone’s soulmate. However, people couldn’t just go around touching one another. Some did, but there were laws against touching people without their consent. So Nature, in all its wisdom, gave people the capability to locate their soulmates by following a trail.

The best trail was through family members. Take for example one other famous Hale love story, that of Valerie. Her husband, the Italian magnate Piero Barone, was from a family of vintners. During Talia and Desmond’s trip to Italy, they met Piero at a wine tasting event and immediately felt what Mark experts called a ‘ping,’ a connection between them that hinted at the identity of Piero’s soulmate. Piero followed the Hales to America, met the family—all of which gave off similar pings—was finally allowed a Touch Test with Valerie, and the rest was history.

There were other kinds of trails, like what happened between Boyd and Erica. They both attended the same university, though Boyd had graduated several years earlier. However, even without knowing Boyd, Erica inadvertently joined the same groups and organizations that he had, and even lived at the same apartment that he had rented when he had been a student. Then after Erica graduated, she decided to take a year off to travel. Months later, when Boyd went on sabbatical, he ended up following almost the exact same itinerary. They finally met by chance during an alumni event and got to talking, which revealed all of the things they had in common. Before the event was even halfway through, they had done a Touch Test and found their match.

Stiles’ favorite trail story was of his parents’. John and Claudia met when they were children. Having no siblings, they didn’t have the benefit of a family trail, and being young meant there weren’t a lot of experiences that could link them. However, they had always known there was something special about one another. They grew up together, grew apart, and met later on in life. They still didn’t have the same life experiences—she was a librarian, he was a deputy—but the moment they saw one another again, they just knew.

Sometimes people just knew.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t know we were serving twink in the menu.”

Ordinarily, that comment would have had Stiles lashing out with his sharp tongue, but upon looking up, he hesitated. First of all, the other person was clearly drunk and it was only, Stiles checked his watch, three-forty-seven in the afternoon. Second, the other person was none other than the infamous Peter Hale, Talia’s younger brother.

The eternal bachelor, he was called, well known for his many dalliances and relationships. He was also the Hale with the most well-known Mark, not because it was at a visible spot, but mostly because he tended to flaunt the large image of a bird in flight that was across his chest via his tendency of wearing unbuttoned shirts.

In Stiles’ opinion, Peter reminded him of one of his book characters—the rich and powerful Anthony, who, underneath all the bravado, was desperately looking for his soulmate, only to find it in the fair-haired, gentle-hearted Steven, who wouldn’t take his crap. He wondered who Peter’s soulmate was.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Uncle, come back here!”

Stiles looked up to see Derek jogging over to them, looking both pissed and worried at the man leaning against The Family Bean’s pristine counter.

Peter ignored him. “Oh, lay off, Derek. I want a drink, and this twink is going to make me one.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “Peter, do not call—” He paused, dark eyes widening.

Stiles felt his heart jerk in his chest and his left shoulder burn. He felt like he had been hit in the head, so did Derek going by his gaping.

Peter suddenly tilted sideways, interrupting their stare down. Neither Stiles nor Derek were able to catch the man before he ended up sprawled across the counter. The sight of him had Stiles dredging up some semblance of control. He sighed.

“You are very rude, and also very drunk, but because I feel sorry for you, Mr. Hale, I’ll make you a free drink.”

Derek let out a gurgle and then a cough, obviously holding back laughter. Peter propped himself up on wobbly elbows.

“You feel sorry for me? Don’t you know who I am, kid?”

Stiles was both annoyed by Peter and buoyed by Derek’s reaction. It was probably what sharpened his tongue.

“You’re Talia Hale’s younger brother, but between the supposed—ahh, what was it—Big Bad Wolf of Media and this so-called twink, I’m not the one nursing a hangover at this time of the afternoon.”

Stiles shook his head and walked off, ignoring Peter’s angry, garbled words and the sudden chuckle from Derek. The latter made Stiles’ shoulder ache.

Stiles ignored that and prepared a quick takeout bag. He could hear Peter and Derek arguing out on the main area. It was the work of minutes to prepare a quick smoothie and throw in some crackers and fruits. He walked back out and handed the bag to Derek, but then quickly tucked his hands to himself. The other man’s piercing stare was making him sweat.

Peter grabbed his drink and took a gulp of the smoothie, before asking, “What’s your name, kid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Not even a thank you. How rude.

“Not a kid, and there’s no need to know my name since you’re just going to forget it.”

Peter smirked lasciviously. “Oh, that mouth on you.”

“I’m also not into geriatrics,” Stiles was quick to bite back.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Geria—”

Derek suddenly burst into laughter and the sound of it seemed to fill Stiles’ heart and mind, making his face flush and his body warm. Derek smiled at him and Stiles felt warmth bloom in his chest.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to will the blush away. He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, anyway, I’m happy to help. I’ll tell Kira you guys dropped by. See you around.” He glanced at Peter. “Not you. Drop dead.” He stepped back.

“Wait!” Derek lurched forward, startling Stiles and also Peter, who, true to Stiles’ words, slid off the counter to the floor. They ignored him.

Derek leaned forward over the counter. “I’m sorry if I’m forward, but are you—”

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

He ducked back into the kitchen, ignoring Derek’s calls and Peter’s drunken warbling. He leaned against the door and slid down until he could curl up into a ball. He placed a hand over his burning shoulder.

Sometimes people just knew.

Stiles was tempted to stay away from The Family Bean after that. He really wanted to. But it was hard to stay away.

Even harder to stay away from a ping.

Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to let that slip away.

Still, it was hard to face up to it and admit that he had a soulmate.

So for the next two weeks, Stiles stayed away from the front of house, always hiding in the safety of the kitchen. He kept on making purple tickets whenever they came, but he avoided coming out for any reason, especially after Derek started coming by nearly every day. Sometimes he even brought his work over just so that he could stay as long as possible.

It confused Kira and Erica, but they assumed Derek just liked the food. The other Hales also started coming by and many times, Stiles could hear them asking Derek why he was hanging around The Family Bean instead of working in his office. Always, Derek kept mum.

Because as it turned out, Derek hadn’t told anyone about the ping.

In fact, Stiles had a feeling that the only person in the Hale family who knew was Nathan. Maybe because he had already been suspicious of it. Out of all the Hales, he was the only one who didn’t ask Derek about why he kept hanging around the café.

The other one who knew was Boyd.

Derek had been called to a meeting one day, so Stiles had felt it safe to come out and work at one of the booths. He had already fallen so far behind on his writing commitments. After a few minutes, Boyd had dropped by and had joined him. Stiles knew he was typing gibberish on his laptop, but he kept on as an excuse not to look at Boyd, who was looking at him intently.

Finally, he spoke, “Looking back, I guess it wasn’t just your banana bread that won me over.”

Stiles jerked, sending a series of characters across the screen.

Boyd kept on. “I always had a good feeling about you from Erica’s stories, but when we met, that was definitely a ping.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Does Erica know?”

Boyd shook his head. “I love her, but Erica would have thrown a party if she knew.”

Stiles sighed, both in relief and in trepidation for the moment Erica find out.

Boyd studied him. “Derek’s a good guy, you know.”

“I know I got that impression from all the stories you and Erica had of him,” Stiles said. “I always thought it was surprising considering he could afford not to be a nice guy.”

Boyd studied him, making Stiles shift in his seat. “Is that the reason you won’t meet with him? Or do a Touch Test? Because he’s a Hale?”

Stiles almost protested, but he deflated. “…I don’t know.”

Boyd hummed under his breath. “Well, you’ve always played your cards close to the chest when it comes to soulmates, but I know you’ll figure it out.” He stood up. “But you better make it soon. Erica and the rest of the Hales are bound to figure it out.”

Stiles groaned and sank down on his seat.

“Noted.”

The day after that, a still-conflicted Stiles was once again at The Family Bean. Kira had gone up to the Wolf’s Den to deliver the latest purple ticket, so he had to stay and man the counter.

The door let out a little tinkle, and Stiles froze the moment he saw the woman entering the café.

He’d know Talia Hale anywhere.

Stiles almost panicked, but then he remembered that she didn’t know who he was. He took a deep breath.

“Um, good afternoon, Mrs. Hale. What can I get you?”

The woman smiled, quite warm and friendly despite her fierce reputation. “Just some tea, please. And are there any new desserts?”

It had been a moment of weakness, but Stiles had actually brought over some peanut butter stuffed cookies and added it to the purple ticket in the hopes that a certain Hale would like them. He still had a few cookies left, but he wasn’t sure if he should offer them to her.

“I smell cookies,” Talia said pointedly. “I’ll have some of those.”

Stiles gulped. “Ah, we have some peanut butter stuffed cookies. Let me get those for you.”

He swallowed his nerves and served the woman, who took a sip of tea and a bite of the cookie right there on the counter.

She smiled, studying the cookies. “Very tasty.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Stiles smiled politely. He turned away to leave and maybe gather his strength in the privacy of the kitchen.

“When we started hearing about The Food Guy, I admit I was quite intrigued. It’s very rare for someone to grab the attention of my entire family.”

Stiles paused and turned to her.

He should have known.

Stiles nodded stiffly. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Talia smiled, sharp and knowing. “And you, Food Guy.”

“Any reason for the visit?” Stiles asked, shifting on his feet.

“I wanted to meet you,” Talia said, taking another bite of her cookie.

Stiles frowned. “That’s all?”

“Were you expecting anything else?”

“Uh, well, I…”

Talia shrugged and sipped his tea. “I don’t blame you for any misgivings you might have should you prove to be soulmates with my son. I’m well aware of the reputation of my family. My late father, Everett, embodied the might of the Hale name better than anyone. You should have seen him back in the days.”

Stiles held up his hands. He couldn’t help the feeling that he had to explain.

“It’s not that there’s a problem with Derek or your family. Being a Hale isn’t the problem… not entirely…” he hesitated, but then plunged on, urged by the ping he could feel inside him and the desire to make someone understand. “My mom passed away when I was seven. She was soulmates with my father. He was—I was—we were never the same after.”

A heavy silence fell, and Stiles was both nervous and intrigued. Talia’s face changed. Something in her eyes darkened and she pursed her lips.

“Forgive my sudden melancholy, but I was just reminded of something.” She sipped her tea. “I was reminded of my youth. My father, Peter, and I had never been the same after mother walked away.”

“Walked away?” Stiles was taken aback. It was rare to hear any mention of Talia’s mother, but everyone had chalked it up to grief at her passing. “But you all said she died—”

Talia interrupted him delicately. “People think of Marks as the be all and end all where the only answer is yes. But even soulmates are a choice…”

“Desmond grew up without a penny to his name, so he rejected me as he could only see himself as an embarrassment to the Hale family. My opinionated father had, unfortunately, been a contributing factor to that line of thinking. I grew up with a rather jaded view of Marks and pings, and I had seen his rejection as a challenge and not a privilege. Desmond and I, our story had been tempestuous, quite unlike the romanticizing people had done.”

She finished the last of her tea. “If I may be allowed to request one thing, all I ask is that you make a choice so that Derek can do the same. No one in this family will certainly blame you for it.”

Talia pushed her empty cup and plate towards Stiles, and smiled. “Have a good day, Food Guy.”

Stiles watched Talia walk away.

He had some thinking to do.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried not to crush the boxes in his hands. He was nervous and his left shoulder was throbbing.

“Ready?” Kira asked him. She was carrying the other delivery boxes.

“As I’ll ever be,” Stiles replied.

Kira smiled, both encouraging and proud, and nodded to the guard on duty. The man held open the double doors for them, and Stiles was instantly met with a wall of sound.

“Purple ticket delivery,” Kira called out, leading Stiles inside.

The office was spacious, as it should be if it was going to accommodate all of the Hales, and all of them were there. There was a long table at one end where Talia, Matthew, and Boyd were talking and laughing. Desmond was on one couch, talking to Piero and Erica. Laura and Cora were seated on armchairs and were arguing loudly about something. Peter was egging them on. CC and Spencer, were seated in front of a television at a kids’ play area set up in the corner. Cameron was with them, all of them singing along to whatever cartoon was playing. Derek, Valerie, and Nathan were huddled around a table, looking at blueprints.

“Oh, yes! The food’s here!” Cameron cheered, which sent the children shouting as well.

Kira navigated the area like a champ, while Stiles slowly shuffled after. “You guys ordered a lot. I had to ask for help. This is Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s head suddenly jolted in his direction, nor Talia’s proud smile, nor Erica’s sudden screech of “Stiles!” which had everyone else turning their way. Stiles winced. He was going to get his ass kicked later for not telling Erica about this.

“Well, well…” Peter grinned. “Hello there, twink.”

Stiles shuddered. “Still not into creepy old geezers.”

“Oh, wait, wait! Is he the guy who called you a geriatric?” Laura asked, before shrieking in laughter.

“And the one who said Peter should drop dead,” Cora added, cackling.

Laughter rang around over Peter’s protests, and it made Stiles’ heart stutter. He felt warm all over, like the pings going off in his head were doubly delighted at the Hales. He glanced at Derek, who was smiling warmly.

Stiles winced when he caught Erica’s gaze though. She looked between him and Derek and her eyes widened. But Boyd was suddenly there, hand over her mouth and whispering to her.

Stiles helped Kira take out all of the food and the ravenous Hales were quickly upon them.

“Food Guy’s stuff tastes awesome,” Nathan said, licking his cupcake’s icing. He waggled knowing eyebrows at Stiles, who bit back a grin. Cheeky kid.

“Please pass our compliments to the chef, Kira,” Desmond said, reaching for his drink.

Kira giggled. “You can thank him yourself.” She waved at Stiles with a flourish.

Stiles felt a little like a deer in headlights when all their gazes alighted on him.

“You’re Food Guy?” and other iterations of the exclamation rang around the room.

Stiles flushed. “I’m glad to hear you all like what I’ve been making.”

“Oh, wow! How wonderful!” Piero piped up. “I haven’t felt a ping in such a long time. How nostalgic, don’t you think, dear?” He turned to Valerie.

“That’s a ping?” Matthew asked, confused, before his face cleared and he rubbed his chest. “Oh, hell, this is a ping.”

“Is that the tingly feeling here, Uncle Mattie?” Spencer asked, pointing at his tummy.

Erica finally managed to get out from under Boyd. “Stiles, did you ping with Derek? Is that why you’ve both been hanging around The Family Bean? You’ve both been pining over each other!”

Stiles groaned, while gasps and shouts suddenly rang around the room.

Kira sighed. “Way to ruin it, Erica.”

“You mean I was pinged through a tomato pie?” Cameron was asking, wide-eyed.

Cora started laughing. “Oh my god! Uncle Peter flirted with Derek’s soulmate!”

“That’s Uncle Derek’s soulmate?” CC asked.

“Yes, he is.” Nathan looked like he was immensely enjoying all this, and Stiles was starting to realize that he was a little shit.

Derek stepped towards Stiles. His face was a little red, but he was smiling and Stiles thought he was the handsomest man he had ever seen.

“My family’s a mess. Please ignore them,” Derek said, ignoring the protests from his siblings.

Stiles chuckled. “At least they keep things interesting. It’s just me, my Dad, and her.” He jerked a thumb at Erica.

“Oh, fu—dge you!” Erica said, glancing at the kids. She turned to Boyd. “And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “I was giving him space to process things.”

Stiles ignored them and turned to Derek. He only had one chance to do this.

“Ah, sorry, it took a while. I was figuring stuff out, but I thought we should get to know one another first.”

“Of course,” Derek said immediately. He reached out a hand. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced at Talia, who was whispering to her husband. She winked at Stiles.

“Soulmates are a choice.”

Stiles smiled at Derek. He could feel his Mark tingling in anticipation.

“Me too, Derek.”

He reached out and took his hand.

#kevaaronday #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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halequeenjas · 4 years

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Class, Sass, and a Little Bass || Evelyn & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @thronesofshadows & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: While visiting the Artesian, Jasmine notices Evelyn seems a bit down. Being the good Samaritan she is, she takes Evelyn out for a night on the town.

The last time she’d been to the Artesian, Jasmine couldn’t help but notice that Evelyn seemed a bit glum. It was something she decided simply wouldn’t do. She’d insisted that they go out and have a night on the town to help the other woman get in better spirits. Jasmine pulled a few strings with the club owner and had them both on the VIP list. With endless wine and dancing, there was no way Evelyn was going to go stay sad for long. Being responsible adults who weren’t going to drive around town drunk, they had a driver for the evening. This evening, she donned a little red dress with her favorite pair of black Louboutins. Evelyn, of course, was also dressed to the aces and Jasmine linked arms with her. “You’re going to love this place. They have a huge selection of wine and the music is great,” Jasmine assured her friend, “Plus, the saxophone player is totally yummy.”

For someone who liked to pride herself on doing her best to not show emotions, Evelyn knew that recently she had been less successful than usual. Not that she entirely minded when Jasmine had commented on it - the other woman was both a friend and undoubtedly one of Evelyn’s favorite customers, though ever since they’d first hit it off, it felt a bit odd considering her anything but a friend. Which was why she’d so readily agreed to go out for the night when she’d been invited. She was appreciative of anything that helped her get her mind off of everything else. She’d worn an especially flattering black dress and had pulled on a new pair of heels. With a grin, she turned to her friend. “I find myself loving it quite a bit already, though I am certain the company of a lovely friend without a doubt contributes to that.” She bit her lip. “Well, you will have to show me this saxophone player. Though I think we ought to start with drinks. What will you be having?”

One of the reasons she’d always loved this club was the contagious energy. Nothing like a little swing and fine wine to keep your spirits high. While Jasmine didn’t quite know why Evelyn seemed a bit down, she knew if anyone could bring some cheer, it was her. Whatever it was, she doubted her friend would be down for too long. She was far too beautiful, rich, and sophisticated to stay down. If Jasmine were to wager, she’d say she was already feeling better. She smiled brightly at her friend and responded, “I know you’d love it here. Jazz is so much classier than regular club music… not that I hate the regular clubs, but this dancing actually requires skill. And the wine selection is way better.” She leaned an arm on the bar and gave the bartender her most sparkling grin. “A bottle of Chateau La Tour White Blend, please.” She turned back to Evelyn and added, “I figured we both enjoy wine and white wine has a nice summer-y feel to it. I’m personally trying to enjoy these last bits of summer which I think requires one last pool day. I’ll definitely point out the sax player though I’m sure the whole band will be captivated with us once we start dancing.” Once, the bartender handed them an ice bucket and their wine, she took them in hand and asked, “Do you prefer one of the hightops or one of the sofa lounge tables?”

“Well, you do know me.” Evelyn grinned. “I agree. I mean, as a former ballet dancer, this is not my typical style, but I do have some practice in it. I have always adored any sort of proper dancing.” She looked over to Jasmine as the other woman ordered a bottle of wine. “You do continue to have excellent taste. No proper offense to most of this town, but why on earth do so few people understand class? Or have properly good taste in anything?” She ran a hand through her hair, letting it fall over her shoulder. “You chose a good one, speaking as the resident wine expert of the two of us. Enjoying summer is an absolute must.” She tapped her red nails against the countertop as she glanced around the bar. “Good, though I agree. I mean, between the two of us, how could anyone think to look away?” At Jasmine’s question, she tapped her fingers against her chin. “I think a lounge table sounds quite nice, personally. If that works for you, that is?”

It was pretty easy for Jasmine to imagine Evelyn dancing ballet. She hadn’t really done it since before she was a teenager, but she’d always preferred jazz dance classes. It was a little more upbeat and fun. “Somehow, it’s no surprise that you’ve done ballet dancing. I did too when I was younger though I enjoyed the jazz classes more,” she started before she grinned wryly and added, “I can lead the way through the jazz dancing.” She set the wine down at the small table in front of the couch. It was a cozy little spot only open to those who made the VIP list. They had a good view of the stage while still maintaining a bit of privacy to chat freely. “Good taste in wine is surprisingly not an automatic, even among wealthy people. One of the richest people I know sent me a bottle of wine for Christmas that was yes, expensive, but just not good. The notes in wine are supposed to be subtle and have finesse. I don’t want my wine to taste like I’m gnawing on a piece of oak,” she noted dramatically. She ended up trashing that bottle of wine, not that her client needed to know that. “You’re totally right,” she agreed brightly, “It’s nice and cozy over here. Good view of the stage and we still have a bit of freedom to chat amongst ourselves without anyone hearing. Speaking of--” She sneakily pointed to one of the saxophone players. He was wearing a white suit with coral accents and his skin always looked sun kissed like he had just spent a day on the beach… which was a hazard in this town, but a girl could dream of beach days with beautiful people. “That’s the saxophone player I was telling you about. His name is Ray. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but he’s talented and definitely nice to look at.”

“My mother was in the Royal Ballet, so even though she was not around, I felt drawn to it. A way to be connected to her, I suppose.” Evelyn shrugged again.”You did? Well, perhaps you will have to teach me more sometime. Though for now, I am more than okay with you leading the way.” Sitting down, she took another glance around the club. She appreciated people like Jasmine - people who understood how to appreciate the finer things in life. Though she did not regret leaving London, she did sometimes miss the elegance that came with the city. At least, the parts of it that she had been a part of. “Well, I do own a bar, so I think that gives me a bit of a leg up, but you are correct, money does not guarantee taste in wine. I certainly have horror stories, even from my own bar.” She made a small face. “Oh yuck, that sounds horrible.” Evelyn nodded along to Jasmine’s words, following where she was pointing. “I do appreciate the privacy that it provides. For all I can enjoy showing off, I also enjoy not having my conversations with friends broadcast for the whole world to see.” Crossing her legs, she gave a satisfied nod at the saxophone player. “I can see what you mean. If nothing else, I can always appreciate good looks and good talent.” Evelyn turned to face Jasmine and held up the bottle of wine. “Might I pour you a glass?”

“Wow, talk about incredible. I get wanting to have that connection to her, I’m still just impressed she was in the Royal Ballet,” Jasmine said with wide eyes. With how much Evelyn spent on her home, it was no shock that she came from old money, but still, the Royal Ballet was one hell of a status indicator. It explained the refined elegance that Evelyn seemed to have about her. “Some time might start tonight because especially after some wine, I’ll definitely feel like dancing.” Hanging out with Evelyn was different than most of her high school friends. Even the ones with money weren’t nearly as refined. She had to admit she wasn’t even as much so growing up in American culture. How many classic night club evenings had she had with Bea and Leah? There was something more appealing about this though she wouldn’t trade those late nights closing out the clubs either. She supposed she could enjoy both the finer things in life and the more basic things. She laughed easily and agreed, “Yes, owning the nicest bar in town, I’d hope you have good taste in wine. I've personally never been disappointed with your choices.” It seemed they agreed the saxophone player was nice to look at. Not as nice to look at as either of them, but that was a tall order. “A glass of wine sounds perfect,” she responded with a wide smile. “So,” she started off unable to quell her curiosity, “I know tonight is a fun night, but if you’d like to talk about anything going on, I can be a good listener when I feel like it.”

“For a few years, yes. It is how she and my father met. She was quite impressive.” Any of that sort of information was surface-level enough - and furthermore, it was information that came up if anyone searched for Evelyn anyhow - and she had very much wanted to be like her mother in many ways, even if being a dancer like her was not the primary one. However, it was one that she could connect with others about, even if they did not have the exact same shared experience. “It would be an honor to dance with you tonight, so please do let me know when it strikes your fancy.” It was nice, having someone like Jasmine around. A valuable, though uncomplicated friendship. Something she found herself craving more and more lately. “I do my research if the occasion calls for it, and while I may have not been a wine expert for years, I have always had good taste in many things, I think, and so it only took a little bit of reading when I decided that this was what the town needed. Thank goodness you both know how to sell the best houses in town and you appreciate my place of business.” She let a small smile cross her lips and she opened the bottle and poured each of them a generous glassful. “Most of all, I am quite pleased to consider you a friend. The others are simply added bonuses.” She took a sip of her wine as she considered Jasmine’s question. “I broke up with the person who I was seeing. Trying to move past that. Clearly not as smoothly as I might have liked. I never saw myself as the sort to react in such a way to romance, after all.”

“Oh my god, that sounds like something out of a rom com,” Jasmine commented somewhat incredulously. She was almost positive her own parents had married for money, not that they didn’t love each other, but it seemed like a primary factor of their marriage. They had both been very business minded. “After some wine and when the perfect song strikes, I’ll do just that.” It was nice to relax a little bit. Before visiting, she had placed wards around the building. She’d helped the owner buy his house and with an exorcism later on, so he had not qualms with her keeping wards up so she could enjoy some Larry Bob free evenings out. Plus, she’d surely have a hard time explaining a poltergeist to what was arguably her most normal friend. And definitely not in an average way. Evelyn was definitely classy and something else, but she didn’t want her thinking she was a freak. She found her fingers drumming along to the upbeat melodies of the trumpet and smiled as Evelyn spoke. “Oh makes sense, we’re still young. Research and learning is always applicable… especially when it comes to wine. And shoes,” she added the last part eagerly. If shoes being a hobby was wrong, Jasmine didn’t want to be right. “I’m pleased you’re my friend as well. The same could be said of you.” Evelyn was particularly great at gift giving, but her company was just as great. She frowned a bit at the mention of a breakup and the way she seemed to scoff at romance. She braced herself with a sip of wine before she said, “Oh, breakups are totally the worst. It’s not like you date people with the intention of ever breaking up, but sometimes it just happens. And hey!” She gave her a small nudge on the arm, “Romance is an okay thing to be sad over, though I’m positive you’ll find your person sooner rather than later. I mean-- you’re hot, you’re rich, you’re smart, you’re classy-- literally anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Believe it or not, you are not the first person to tell me that.” Evelyn grinned. Despite having very little knowledge of actual rom-coms, from all that she did know, her parents’ marriage and meeting did sound like that. The deeper reality was far more complicated, and not something she often got into. Besides, some part of her liked to believe that her parents had been entirely in love up until her father found out about the fact that her mother wasn’t human. It was one of the few amounts of naïvety that she still held fast to. “I look forward to this quite a bit.” This night out was absolutely something that she needed - and though jazz was not normally the sort of music she listened to, Billy did have a fondness for jazz piano playing at the Artesian and so in the past few years she had come to be more aware, and she preferred it to whatever sort of electronic music that she knew was popular at most clubs these days. “We are indeed still young. Besides, why not make things into a learning opportunity. I must admit, I find it especially satisfactory to tell certain customers of mine all about wine, particularly because they rarely expect me to have such deep knowledge, despite owning the place. I have done a fair bit of reading about business and stocks as well, mostly out of spite. I do not like being put down, and if I can show them up when they are acting especially stuck up, all the better.” She took a sip of her wine and offered Jasmine a grin. “I am glad to hear all of that.” She ran a hand through her hair. “They are rather terrible, I must admit.” Evelyn bit her lip. “Well, thank you. You are all of those things and more. I think that in this case, I just thought that my ex was possibly my person. I suppose I do not like to be wrong.” She took another sip of her wine. “Is it wrong to still want to talk to him? Even though I feel mad, and I am certain he feels the same - or rather more certain that he wants to get rid of any memory of me? He left a box at my house with everything I had left by his house.” Evelyn shook her head. “At least I know that I have friends like you,” she gave Jasmine a small nudge back, “who are excellent at knowing just when I need a distraction.”

“Then it must be true,” Jasmine responded happily as she took another sip of the refreshing white wine in front of her. She could only hope her life eventually got its romantic comedy moment, but she wasn’t too worried about it. Outside a pesky poltergeist that wouldn’t leave her alone, she was doing well for herself and was happy with where she was. It only made her happier that Evelyn was all ready to do some jazz dancing with her. There had to be some sort of science somewhere that said it was impossible to be sad when buzzed on white wine and dancing to jazz. If not, maybe she’d fund that study. Her hands made a small clap as she exclaimed, “I love that. It’s always satisfying to surprise people older and more experienced than you with your knowledge. I imagine some of the older men must be the worst about that.” Was she snobby herself? Yes. Snobby old men still annoyed her to no end. Especially the older realtors who thought she didn’t have a place in the business yet still handed off the haunted houses they couldn’t sell to her. Selling them at record speed always showed them. It didn’t erase the annoying factor of having to prove she was worthy of respect. She nodded along as Evelyn spoke about her ex. She could relate easily enough. She had thought Josh was going to be her forever person until she found out about his side fling. If there was one thing she would not stand for, it was cheating. “I get what you mean. It is a crappy feeling to think someone is supposed to be that person for you and then they’re just not,” she said almost wistfully. She finished off her first glass and poured some more for herself. She gestured to see if Evelyn would like more. “Oh, dropping off your stuff is a rough part and I think it makes sense to still want to talk to him. I mean, you were a big part of each other’s lives and it’s hard to shake that, but you have to. Men take that as groveling or wanting them back even if it’s not the case. I take it things ended poorly?” The last part did make her smile a bit. “Glad to be here and bring some cheer.”

“It must be, I suppose.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her friend. Focusing on thoughts about her parents was not a good road to go down, particularly not right now. Not when that reminded her too much of everything she sought to ignore - when it provided her with memories of her first anxieties of not belonging. Of that time with her mother’s journals and the look on her father’s face that was forever etched into her memory. “Right? It is the best. Truly.” Making a face at Jasmine’s next comment, Evelyn gave a nod. “Oh, they are. It is particularly delightful when they think they can both hit on me and talk down to me. I remember when I first opened the place that I got to give a good few of them a shock when they found out that I owned the place.” Though she was well-aware that she could be stuck up herself at times, it was never in the same way that some of her customers were. “Exactly.” She forced herself to relax. This wasn’t her bar, and breaking a glass here would not end well - besides, the last thing she wanted was to cut herself and have her utterly delightful though wholly normal friend push her away. Taking in a deep breath, she adjusted her focus back on Jasmine. “Not used to it, I suppose. Though,” she bit her lip, “I mean, I was not exactly raised with the idea that showing all of my emotions is a good thing. So all of this was a bit overwhelming.” She scrunched her nose. “That much is also quite possibly the wine talking. Maybe my tolerance is not what it used to be.” It didn’t stop her from taking another sip before nodding for Jasmine to fill up her glass again. “We were. For four months.” Evelyn shook her head. “Yes, I am not going to give him that. Ended poorly? You could say that. He was not everything I thought he was, and I might have reacted strongly to that. But it is fine. I just worry a bit about running into him in town.” However, Jasmine’s smile brought one of her own across her face. “Glad to have you.” She took another long sip of wine.

Older generations of men really were something else. Jasmine couldn’t easily understand how a woman of any age would be attracted to them, but she assumed it had something to do with their wealth. Was wealth worth the complete loss of self respect? She’d say no and that was saying a lot. “Show them just how smart women can be. Who said we couldn’t have beauty and brains,” she asked playfully. At the mention of these same men hitting on her, Jasmine was not all surprised. For whatever reason, certain men thought mansplaining was attractive or something. It wasn’t. Respect was way more attractive, but some men just needed to feel like they were better than literally everyone. Usually that meant overcompensating. With a laugh, she retorted, “Oh, of course they do! Have to act all mighty and treat you like you’re dumb to show how great they are before they hit on you. Any woman with an ounce of self respect wouldn’t put up with that crap.” As she spoke more of her ex, Jasmine frowned a bit. It was clear she was really going through it and she wanted to go off on a limb and say no man was worth this much distress, but she’d had some rough break ups herself. “I can see that. You seem like a woman who is usually right, but some people are better at hiding who they are which makes it easy to be wrong about them,” she tried to assure. Sage wisdom wasn’t necessarily her forte unless it came to designer clothing and the best makeup products. Life-- well, she’d made a name for herself, but she was still figuring shit out too. They all were. She shook her head, “Hey, we’re all allowed to show emotion from time to time. We’re not robots. I don’t think they’ve figured out how to make robots look this hot just yet.” She cracked a smile at the last part and gestured to them. As suspected, it had ended poorly. “Well, it’s not your fault he wasn’t who you thought he was. Some things can be serious deal breakers and a woman of your standard is bound to have some of those. All I know for sure is you’ll find someone way better for you. I mean, come on, who could resist that Evelyn charm?” She gave her friend another playful nudge and finished off the last of the wine. She took her friend’s hand and said, “Come on, we’re dancing now. Trust me when I say it’s impossible to be sad while dancing to a song with some good swing.” Though Evelyn boasted she was more of a ballet dancer, she caught on quick as Jasmine led them through some moves. The energy seemed to be enough to have Evelyn in mostly good spirits again so Jasmine would consider the night a success.

#wickedswriting #class sass and a little bass #as always writing with emily is a TREAT

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