In Plain Sight - Chapter 2

Here’s chapter 2, guys! If you missed chapter 1, you can start the story [here] or [here] !

Summary: In a world where everything is black-and-white until you find your soulmate, one learns to navigate in shades of gray. When Soul, an agent tasked with recruiting operatives for the FBI’s tech division, gets a tip about Maka, a sharp-witted hacker flying under the radar, their story is bound to be a colorful one.

Chapter 2: Somebody’s Watchin’ Me

It’s been three days, and in theory, nothing has changed.

Soul wakes up late again, worms into the same pants, and drops his phone while putting on said pants. At work, his computer loads like molasses as he nurses a coffee cup, staring at the update bar through sleep-heavy eyes. He sits at the same desk, with the same task: wasting his life away, monitoring his newest recruit.

This is all well and good - except, of course, for the fact that everything has changed.

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you’re the direction i follow to get home

happy (belated) birthday @peregr1ne! he wanted fruits basket au smut so here is some… wildly out of order fruits basket au smut. uhhh. please don’t assume this happens immediately after the end of my resbang. 

beep boop thank you @chaoticlivi @silly-twin-stars and @sandmancircus for the eyeballs. yeah. 

Time slips through her fingers these days.

Days become weeks, and weeks become months, and before she knows it, Christmas has come and gone, too. It’s jarring, when she thinks about it. Maka crosses another day off on her calendar and wonders, fleetingly, what she should prepare for New Years. Mama had been a fan of ham, but Maka’d already borrowed her mother’s idea for Christmas dinner, and Stein gets weirdly squirmy whenever she prepares meat.

“Maybe something vegetarian, then,” she mutters to herself, tapping the pen against her nose.

Lees verder

Not Even a Cat Person

Look, part 4 of NECP! This is my AU where Maka falls in love with her next-door neighbor Soul, while her pet cat Blair wreaks all kinds of havoc.

first chapter | previous chapter | ao3

“This isn’t going to work.”

“It HAS to, Soul. You know it has to.”

“Yes, but Wes is smarter than me, Maka! And I realized that you were crazy within the first 10 seconds of meeting you. Hey, what the f—OW! Did you just pinch me?”

“Be nice! And you really need to get over the breaking and entering thing. Now that we’re dating that memory should be filed under ‘quirky and cute’ by now.”

“You broke my mom’s ficus! Blair peed on my couch!”

“That is so not the point of this conversation. Now hold her steady. But look natural! And look like you love me.”

“…..”

“Try harder than that.”

Soul had imagined this going very differently. Having Maka meet his family was a giant step in their relationship, not only because she was meeting his family, but because his family was meeting her. A girlfriend. Which Soul had. Nothing about this situation was a usual occurrence for Soul.

So it only made sense for him to be out of his mind with anxiety about it. After all, Maka was quite possibly the love of his life. Bringing her to meet not only Wes, but his parents, had a very high potential of jinxing their entire relationship. It’s not as if the Evans were easy to get along with, or even particularly inviting, for that matter. If Soul had anything to say about them based on how they treated him, they were downright unpleasant more often than not.

But Maka was Maka, a charming and beautiful and intelligent girl who was sure to win the heart of his family so long as she stuck to the notecards Soul so painstakingly wrote up for her to try and teach her something about music. And if she avoided talking too much about her cat.

“Do you think she can breathe in there?” Maka asks, peering down at the luggage Soul was carrying.

Herein lies Soul’s main problem.

“Maybe she suffocated in there. Maybe she’s dead and gone and all our problems for this weekend will go back to being whether or not you can recognize a quarter note, not smuggling your cat into my parents’ summer home.”

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natural light

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Who Would’ve Known? SoMa One-Shot

Cool guys aren’t always the best at staying cool; sometimes they can be awkward.

It had been quite awhile Soul and Maka were alone for once. Their friends invited them to go roller skating with them and of course, they said yes. Maka and Soul decided to stay a little bit longer at the skating rink; together, that is. The duo have liked each other for awhile but are afraid to confess their feelings for one another. What happens when the two are left alone and feelings erupt?

Hey there! If you liked my summary and you want to read my fic, you can read my fic here! 

Please give kudos, a bookmark or even a comment on what you liked about my fic! If you liked this fic, please reblog this post, thank you! :)

this is not the end (it is just the beginning)

I wrote a thiiing, please don’t judge me, it’s messy and sudden and I haven’t written anything in a long, long time. 

Make is used to it. Soul is not.   

They’ve been on nineteen missions before it happens. Maka, honestly, is surprised it has taken this long. Perhaps their amateur status had prevented it, perhaps they had been lucky. No matter. She grew up in Death City, her father is a Death Scythe, her mother a renowned Meister. This is not the first time she sees the mutilated body of a kishin’s victim up close.   

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Battleflag

YOUR CONSTRUCTION SMELLS OF CORRUPTION - Soma Week 2017, Day 1.

Welp, here is the beginning of my Soma Week offering. The rest will likely be late, but I hope you still enjoy! There are many more shenanigans to come. >:)

The next time he saw Blaine, he’d wring his bulging neck until the only way that hair dyed monstrosity would enjoy his cool ranch doritos was through a straw.

Crammed into some girl’s closet on the very much off-limits ladies-only hall above his own, Soul had nothing better to do than relish increasingly violent thoughts about what he was going to do to his roommate for getting him into this mess.

It’d be a harmless recon mission, Blaine said. Just gather some info about the upcoming end of the year prank battle that the girls would totally leave out in the open like fucking morons, god – why didn’t he listen to his gut, say no way Brose, and just third wheel Blaine’s gooey date night? But no, he had to take one for the team, had to prove his brommitment to the cause, had to get himself trapped in the girls’ hall with no backup escape plan.

Soul was sure he’d have more time, since he knew that this girl stayed out later on Tuesdays and Thursdays for taekwondo club, but they must have let out early tonight because he’d only just begun to carefully open one of the desk drawers when there were voices on the other side of the door. He’d only had a moment to scurry as quietly as he could to the small sliding door closet before they entered, so here he was, wedged between what felt like the hilt of a wooden katana and a bag full of beanie babies.

Taekwondo girl was visible through the narrow slit in the closet door, and she was talking to someone – her roommate? – about breakfast plans or something equally banal. He waited, hoping they’d leave to brush their teeth or put on face masks or whatever it was they did before bed, until his legs began to burn from the awkward position he was holding and he fought back a fifth sneeze. Didn’t these girls dust?

Things seemed hopeful when the other girl, who had short blond hair and a small nose piercing, left the room, but then this girl shrugged out of her jacket and raised her hands to begin undoing the buttons of her blouse and no no no no, he did not sign up for this.

In a desperate attempt to look away from The Nudening in front of him, he shifted his weight onto his other foot and set in motion the first stage of the ludicrous Rube Goldberg machine that was his life. Somehow the simple act of adjusting his feet nudged a box he couldn’t see, and suddenly something fuzzy and plastic feeling hit the side of his face. Then, right in his ear, a voice: Hey boo loo loo.

There was just enough light from the crack in the door for Soul to realize, with abject horror, that a Furby had fallen onto his face. With a shriek high enough to shatter glass, he batted it away and leaped from the closet, nameless girl be damned. There were some things less holy than spying on someone changing, however unintended, and Furbies were one of them.

Read the rest on AO3 / FFN

it’s just a spark, but it’s enough to keep me going

(happy biiirthday @peregr1ne ♥)

hrGH. THIS GOT VERY LONG. thank you @skadventuretime for betababeing, @thefishywitchy for reassurance and @guacamoletrash for lending me their notcis eyeballs. this is loooong and you’re all champs <3

this is fluffy fluffy fluffy i’m sorryyy

The sniffling catches her off guard.

Crying isn’t exactly unheard of around the academy. In any school, really, with that many students, young and old, with so many hormones flying around - Maka thinks it’s bound to happen at some point. Children are emotional, children are still growing and developing and learning, and at the DWMA, these children are learning to meld their souls with one another and engage in battle with the creepy crawlies that walk the Earth.

So crying isn’t exactly out of left field. But it’s by the stairs, and the teacher in Maka almost breaks out into a run at the first hint of a breathy wail, until-

There’s another voice, too. Much deeper and more calm, with a certain familiar, rumbly timbre that sort of acts as a balm to her rushing pulse. She pauses, by the door, hands pressed to the sleek, painted wood, barely parting the gates, as the sound of her weapon’s music begins to echo.

Brows furrowed, Maka pushes a little more and peeks through the crack.

Sure enough, he’s there, sitting on the front steps of the academy, surely slacking off from his official Death Scythe duties, one scythe-leg propped up on his knee. The whole sight is so familiar, and while part of her feels like a nagging, exhausted wife, because he’s definitely supposed to be stationed in the Death Room right now, it’s not even dinner time yet, what the hell, Soul - there’s still a part of her that smiles fondly at him, the broadness of his shoulders, the wild mess of his hair, the way the tiny student next to him seems to soak up his song.

[ read: ffn or ao3! ]

Facets

And he lets himself wonder what it’d be like. In weaker moments, when she makes him laugh, he allows himself to imagine.

It’s not hard.

Would it be like dancing? He leads her inexperienced feet to the staccato rhythm of their partnership. He’s more sure, the less he thinks about it and in the distraction so is she. Would it feel like excitement and nerves and trying not to step on each other’s toes?

Would it be like fighting? She is steady and in control, erratic and obscene. He follows her lead and lets her handle him. She’s a natural, a perfectionist, The Best. He’s the balance, the center around which her hurricane forms its eye.

He learns-

It’s both.

A gasp of air. A stuttering heart. The need to rest his burning muscles and the will to never rest.

What a woman.

SoMa Week 2017

Day four: Habits

“Hey, whose turn is it to make dinner tonight?” Maka asked Soul, gingerly stripping her dirt-covered gloves from her fingers.

“Yours,” he said with a sadistic grin. Soul was always delighted on any day that wasn’t his turn to cook. “And don’t think I’m letting you back out of it again. I know we have groceries this time.”

Maka nodded absently, looking down at her scarred and calloused hands mournfully. She could barely uncurl them without feeling a tremor run through them.  It was only a month and a half after their fight with the Wolf Man, and while the burns on Maka’s hands had finally healed, the sensitivity remained a constant problem. After missions their functionality was shot to hell. She flexed them gingerly, hoping she’d be able to hold a spatula for next half hour.

“Hey, what’s the hold-up?” Soul called from the living room after not hearing pans clanging together. “You’re not gonna pull that I-have-too-much-homework crap again, are you? You promised to actually make dinner tonight.”

Maka grit her teeth and grabbed a nonstick pan from the drying rack, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to hold a pencil later when she finally did do her homework.

“I got it, I got it. Just don’t rush me, okay?”

Soul must have noticed a change in her voice, because he dropped the asshole routine and turned around on the couch to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, reaching into the fridge to pull out the ground chuck for hamburgers. The cool packaging of the beef felt wonderful on her swollen hands.

Soul rolled his eyes and stood up. “Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ that means something is wrong and you’re too stubborn to tell me.”

Maka stuck her tongue out at him as he made his way to the kitchen, but didn’t try to dispute him. He was right, after all.

“Your hands are hurting again, aren’t they?” he asked, watching as she tried to grab a spatula using only the tips of her fingers.

Maka sighed. “A little.”

He met her in the kitchen and took hold of one of wrists, bringing her hand closer so he could see it in the light. In most cases, Maka bared her battle scars with absolute pride. She loved her job as a meister and she knew that every scar on her body was an indicator that she made it out of a hard battle alive. But the scars on her hands weren’t inflicted by a kishin, but by her own stubbornness and stupidity. If she hadn’t been so insecure after their fight with the Demon Sword she wouldn’t have caused her and Soul’s wavelengths to be out of sync. The newly pink scars on her hands were a reminder of the way she almost broke up their partnership, and looking at them made her feel a little sick.

Soul prodded one of her callouses without warning. Maka yelped and snatched her hand away.

“Ow! What’s your problem?”

Soul took her hand back. “Sorry, I just wanted to see how bad it was.”

“Yeah, well a little warning would—be—” she trailed off when Soul’s hands moved to grip her whole hand instead, pressing his fingertips softly into the sore parts of her hand. “—nice…….”

It became increasingly hard to focus when Soul’s thumb and index finger were pressing against either side of her hand, massaging slow circles into the meat of her palm. The sensation was foreign and so welcomed that Maka completely forgot what she was talking about. His hands moved slowly up hers, rubbing her knuckles gently and pinching each finger around the joint until she could slowly unfurl her fingers. Maka watched the whole ordeal speechlessly, not sure what to say when her partner gives her a hand massage two minutes after berating her for not cooking dinner fast enough.

“Does the left one hurt too?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, and watched in amazement as he gave her other hand the exact same treatment. He rubbed each bit of her hand with careful scrutiny, waiting until she was able to flex it properly before he finally let go.

Maka looked down at her hands, which definitely still stung but were a lot more mobile than they hand been five minutes ago. How did he do that?

But as Maka opened her mouth to ask him what that was all about, Soul was picking up the package of beef from the counter to get a better look at it.

“Burgers? Cool. Tell me when they’re ready.” And with that, he went back to the couch to watch more TV.

Maka looked down at her hands in bewilderment, flexing her hands again. She still wanted to ask him about what just happened, or thank him maybe, but it seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it. So she picked up the package of beef, intent on leaving it be, for now.

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