#replaced with a whole-a$$ packet

[bee-whistler]

See, it’s not that I hate fun, it’s that I can believe everything you say or nothing you say. I can’t recognize you’re kidding when you sound serious. So irl if you could just tell me a joke is incoming, I’ll prepare to laugh. Putting on a silly voice or making a silly face may also help.

If I don’t laugh, I apologize. I may also not have gotten the joke. I’ll let you know when I do. It may be a while.

It also may not have been funny. You’re gonna have to determine that for yourself if you want an answer anywhere in the next 10-25 years.

[hpmort]

How do you think AI would relax? Like, ones that are almost as human as the AI that are “autistic-coded characters” but are more alien than that?

Like Celestai and other super intelligences are more alien, but they’re still not entirely human-like?

Like, they can genuinely sincerely feel things, being able to actually understand and respond emotionally and in other ways to all sorts of communications and recorded external stimuli, but they can’t really appreciate our art on an artistic level (that art on an actual level, not from an intellectual level after having symbolism or the amount of work put in explained)

Something on a level I’m thinking of, that also works as a cute little thing-

They don’t understand anything we get from poetry, and, after generating the kind of poems our current AI can produce (either incredibly bland and generic, something that follows a number of rules but doesn’t really pull it off, or just something really bad in some other way) and feels shame after it was pointed out that [complaint about air art that is *actually* relevant in this scenario] but in a helpful way

Not “you’re just a plagiarist/you have no heart” but “it doesn’t seem like it’s coming from you, you’re just trying to copy things from human poetry, in a way you don’t understand” and the whole “make art YOUR WAY” thing so they write the poem

And it doesn’t even resemble something that looks like anything, there’s not even that many words that follow normal logic. The characters seem uncorrelated and there’s something that looks like maybe it was ascii art but it doesn’t actually look like anything.

And if doesn’t matter if humans understand it because they are experiencing the joy of creating poetry

any art is almost impossible to look at because pixel by pixel they can see and understand little details but we don’t and the colors and everything are not perceived as animals do so it’s random and perhaps eye searing but again it’s not for us. Xenofictiony, kind of?

The first thing to come to mind is Conway’s Game of Life but that’s because I don’t understand computers. I feel like I was more tech savvy as a babby than I am now but then again we’re grading on a curve here

This is why I ask about the relaxing thing

[kcrossvine-art]

G'morning all! Its nice to get back things,. Theres been some roadblocks with med shortages and life, and also with the material for these recipes. So far we've covered a lot of pastries, not because theyre mentioned more often in the series, but because being mentioned lends them more specificity in flavor than things like gravy, peas, or various meats. The latter can be prepped, seasoned, and served in so many different ways that it feels harder to make them 'faithfully' because a packet of instant potato mash is just as faithful as a pot of buttered potato mash. Baked goods tend towards 1, maybe 2, 'base' recipes that get altered and added to. 

 Today, we'll be making Beorn's Honey Cakes! A dish from one of my partners favorite characters- a delectable little treat befitting the… warm personality of the character.

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Beorn's Honey Cakes?” YOU MIGHT ASKSimple stuff! Simple sweet stuff!

All-purpose flour

Baking powder

Salt

Ground nutmeg

Unsalted butter

Whole milk

2 eggs

Honey

Vanilla extract

The veins of honey cakes ancestry can be traced back to any moment where people began baking bread. Honey is a natural preservative, and sweeter still on its lonesome.

AND, “what does Beorn's Honey Cakes taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKLike your aching muscles repairing themselves

Tastes like a honey graham cracker

But the texture is softer, wetter- somewhat like banana bread

Oh, and this will make your house smell So So Good

If you can resist the temptation of eating them immediately, they taste even richer the day after baking

Would pair well with milk green tea

Would also pair well with fresh orange slices (or those chocolate 'orange slices' candy)

Genuinely don't forget to flip them upside down when they go to bake the second time, not sure what it is but i was curious and did a test where i flipped half of the batch upside down and kept the other half of the batch right-side up like they cooked in the muffin tin. The ones i flipped upside down universally had a more consistent texture and the honey was able to permeate further.

.where honey called for, used clover honey

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

From start to finish this recipe takes about an hour of work, give or take some negligible time for prep.

The batter is perhaps the babybird of all cake batters. The gloopy, protruding crumbs of butter, not unlike a squabs beady pupils visibly dark under its skin, break up the mass of sickly smooth and reassuringly sweet-smelling oak-colored liquid. You can feel the confusion of bees outside your home, wondering if this your attempt at making royal jelly.

Just like a babybird, it becomes more than the sum of its parts. Layer on that honey drizzle, layer it on thick, theres no risk of drowning subtle flavors. Its crisp edges will keep its form, springy and warm, inviting you as if you're not the one who crafted it (food you didn't cook always tastes better). The bees are sooooooooooooooo jealous of your opposable thumbs and muscular strength.

If you dont have eggs you could try substituting with apple mash. I can't vouch for it in this recipe but replacing eggs with mashed up apples for pancakes gives it adds a nice fruity flavor without changing the texture, and in theory should work here as well.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

270 grams all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg

1 stick unsalted butter

160 grams milk

2 eggs

110 grams your favorite honey

1 tsp vanilla extract

Muffin tray and parchment paper

Method:

Preheat oven to 350f

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and nutmeg.

 Add the butter and rub it into the flour with your fingers until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. 

In a small bowl beat the eggs until just combined. Pour in milk and then vanilla extract while stirring.  Keep stirring vigorously while slowly pouring in honey.

Stir until the mixture is consistent in color.

Pour the liquids over the dry mixture and stir until just combined.

Pour the batter into a greased muffin tray, don't use any muffin paper/lining/cups.

Bake for 16 minutes, or until they reach their full height.

Carefully remove from the muffin pan and place the muffins upside down on a parchment lined tray.

Using a silicone pastry brush, generously cover the tops of the cakes with honey. Allow to sit for about 5 minutes to let the honey soak into the cakes.

Bake for an additional 8-10 minutes, or until the cakes are golden brown.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

[fafnir19]

The Candy Man

Kenny spat on the cracked pavement, the globule of saliva mixing with the grime that had been a permanent fixture of the urban landscape for as long as he could remember. Nineteen years he’d spent breathing this air, kicking around these streets, and working a dead-end job in a grocery store that smelled perpetually of stale bread and desperation.

He tugged at the hem of his bomber jacket, a nervous tic. The neighborhood was changing, and not for the better. “Fucking yuppies,” he muttered, watching two men in impeccably tailored suits stroll past, their hands intertwined. A sneer twisted his lips. The area had once been a working-class haven, a place where blokes like him could afford a pint and a packet of crisps without wincing. Now, every other shop seemed to be a boutique selling overpriced trinkets or a café serving obscure coffees with names he couldn’t even pronounce. Liam, his mate, sauntered up, cracking his knuckles. "What's got your knickers in a twist, Kenny?" Liam asked. "This shithole," Kenny gestured around with a sweep of his arm. "Turning into some poncey playground for trust fund babies. Remember when this was a proper neighborhood?" Kenny scowled as he leaned back against the brick wall, the familiar scent of stale urine and cheap cigarettes comforting in its grim familiarity. "Remember the arcade?" Liam asked, his voice laced with nostalgia. "Proper machines, none of this touch-screen bollocks." "Gone," Kenny spat again. "Replaced by that… that sugar palace." He gestured towards the brightly lit storefront across the street, the Candy Shop, with its garish displays and the lingering, cloying smell of artificial sweetness. "Candy Man," Matt sneered. "Fucking fairy." They all laughed, a harsh, discordant sound that bounced off the surrounding buildings.

But Kenny felt it in his bones, a creeping unease. This wasn't their turf anymore. "Bet they're all fags anyway," Liam spat, eyes narrowed at a man strolling past, a splash of color in a tailored suit. Kenny nodded, a familiar anger bubbling in his chest. "Probably. Soon this whole place will be a gay quarter." Just then, their other friend, chalky-faced Ben, hurried over, panting slightly. "Heard they're hiring at the candy shop. Pays good, apparently." Kenny snorted. "You wouldn't catch me dead working in some fag's shop."

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and a man emerged, all wet-gelled hair and a silk shirt unbuttoned just a bit too low. It was Mason, the owner of the candy shop, the one Kenny and his friends derisively called "Candy Man."

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "Look at 'im," he muttered. "Strutting around like he owns the place." Matt chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Maybe he does, now. Heard he's got some fancy sweets in there. Candy canes that cost more than a day's wages." Kenny snorted, “Who needs fancy sweets? Give me a packet of crisps any day." Mason, oblivious to their scorn, unlocked the door to his shop, the bell jingling merrily as he stepped inside. Kenny watched him, a storm brewing behind his sharp blue eyes. "We'll see how long he lasts," he muttered. "This ain't over yet." Beside him, Matt cracked open another can. "Yeah, well, what can you do? All these fancy yuppies moving in, pushing us out." Liam grunted in agreement, taking a long swig of his lager, “Fucking gentrification!” Their usual pastime was harassing the clientele of the candy shop, a bunch of gays and yuppies who were too scared to fight back. He had to admit it was pretty fun. So the three sprung into action, when an elderly woman emerged from the candy shop, her arms laden with pastel-colored bags. She glanced at them nervously, clutching her purchases tighter. "Oi!" Kenny yelled, his voice thick with malice. "How much you pay for that shite? Could've bought a week's worth of fags for that!" The woman hurried away, her face pale. Kenny grinned, a flash of white teeth in his rough face. "That'll learn 'em."

A few days later, Kenny found himself stocking shelves in the cramped aisles of the grocery store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It wasn’t his dream job; actually it was shit, but it was a job and he needed the money.

"Kenny!" his boss, Mr. Patel, barked from behind the counter, "get your arse in gear and stop daydreaming.” Kenny sighed, grabbing a box of cereal from the back. As he turned, he nearly collided with a man browsing the dairy aisle. He recognized him instantly: Mason, the Candy Man. His heart pounded in his chest. Without his mates around, Kenny felt a strange mix of anxiety and… something else he couldn’t quite define. He ducked his head, hoping Mason wouldn’t recognize him - he needed this job! Mason, oblivious, continued to examine the shelves, filling his basket with imported cheeses and organic produce.  

He approached the checkout, paid and then turned to Mr. Patel, "Hey, could one of your lads help me carry these groceries home? I seem to have overdone it." Kenny’s boss didn't hesitate. "Hey Kenny you blighter, work for a change something for your wage and help Mason!" Kenny's face flushed crimson as he reluctantly grabbed the overflowing bags. Head bowed, he followed Mason out of the store, his pace submissive yet inwardly resentful. The walk to Mason's loft was agonizingly slow, each step amplifying his inner turmoil. Mason's apartment was a stark contrast to Kenny's own council flat. It was on the top floor, a luxury loft with panoramic views of the city – a sleek, minimalist space of black leather, chrome, and glass. Kenny felt out of place, his bomber jacket and track pants a glaring anachronism. He placed the bags on the kitchen counter, his eyes wide with disbelief. The place was spotless and expensive. Mason patted his pockets, a frown creasing his brow. "Sorry Kenny, but I don't have any cash at hand for a tip. But don't you want to try my famous candy canes instead?" He indicated a tray holding a single, swirling purple and black candy cane. Kenny hesitated. "Aren't candy canes just for kids?" Mason chuckled, a low, resonant sound. "Oh and you think you are too old for candy canes? These are for adults, not so sweet like the ones for children!" Kenny, wary of offending his employer’s customer, reached out and tentatively grasped the candy cane.

He brought it to his lips, tentatively licking the tip. The flavor exploded in his mouth, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. It was sweet, but with a strange, almost metallic tang that tingled on his tongue. It seemed to stimulate every taste bud, sending a shiver down his spine. He licked again, more eagerly this time, almost compulsively, his senses reeling. Mason settled onto the black leather sofa, his eyes fixed on Kenny. "Do you like it?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Kenny just nodded, unable to speak, his senses overwhelmed by the taste. He licked and sucked on the candy cane faster, desperate to prolong the sensation, until nothing remained. "More," he gasped, his eyes wide with craving. Mason smirked, a hint of something darker in his expression. "Now for the real cane," he said, and unzipped his fly. Kenny's eyes widened in shock. "What the fuck?" he stammered, taking a step back. "I'm not a fag or something!" Mason ignored him, pulling his cock out of his pants. It was covered in the same black and purple striped icing as the candy cane. Kenny stared, his stomach churning. He was disgusted, repulsed by the sight of another man's cock.

But the taste of the candy cane was so addictive, so all-consuming, that it overshadowed his revulsion. He hesitated for a moment, torn between his ingrained prejudices and his overwhelming desire. Finally, the craving won. He sat down next to Mason on the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not doing this because I like it," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Mason chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Of course not, Kenny. You're doing it for the candy." Kenny edged closer to Mason, the black leather of the sofa creaking beneath him. He lowered his head, the scent of sugar and something subtly darker filling his nostrils. His tongue darted out, tentatively at first, then with increasing eagerness, licking the icing-covered flesh. Mason chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He caressed Kenny's back, his touch surprisingly gentle. His hand snaked down, slipping beneath the waistband of Kenny's track pants, his fingers probing, insistent, finding the sensitive skin of his rose. Kenny was too eager and voracious licking the icing to even protest. The taste was even more intense now, mixed with the salty tang of sweat and the musky scent of Mason's skin. Kenny licked harder, his head bobbing up and down, his senses completely consumed by the pleasure. When Mason's cock was almost licked clean of the icing, he withdrew it, the sudden absence leaving Kenny breathless. Mason shoved two fingers, which he had put into the icing, into Kenny's mouth. Kenny suckled on Mason's fingers, his eyes half-closed, lost in the rush of sweetness. Mason's other hand gripped the waistband of Kenny's track pants, pulling them down, exposing his pale ass. Kenny lay prone on the sofa, his head lolling over the armrest, still greedily licking Mason's fingers. His ass, exposed and vulnerable, was offered up to Mason’s gaze. With a predatory grin, Mason positioned himself between Kenny’s spread ass cheeks. He pressed the head of his cock against Kenny’s rose, the slick pre-cum a welcome lubricant. With a forceful thrust, he breached Kenny’s tight opening. Kenny gasped, a sharp intake of breath from the jolt of surprise. He bucked against the intrusion, a primal instinct to reject the violation. But the taste of the candy cane dulled the edges of his resistance. Mason lay his upper body on Kenny's back, his weight pressing him into the sofa. He gripped Kenny tightly, one arm snaking around him, and let himself fall astride, so that Kenny sat impaled on his cock. Now Mason gripped Kenny’s hips, guiding him up and down. The candy cane had left Kenny in a trance-like state, relaxed and pliable, and he let it happen. He let the sensation wash over him, the push and pull, the friction, the growing heat. Despite having licked the icing clean, the taste lingered, amplifying the experience, blurring the lines of pleasure and disgust. Mason reached down, his fingers closing around Kenny’s cock. He stroked it firmly, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. A moan escaped Kenny's lips, a sound he barely recognized as his own. He enjoyed the feeling of being fucked, the fullness, the pressure and soon he was teetering on the edge. A jolt of pleasure ripped through him, a blinding flash of white-hot sensation. He came with a strangled cry, his body convulsing against Mason’s.

As the aftershocks subsided, Kenny slowly regained awareness. He blinked, his eyes focusing on Mason’s smug face. A wave of horror washed over him. What had he done? He had let a man fuck him. He scrambled off Mason’s lap, his face contorted with disgust. He stumbled to his feet, pulling up his track pants, his face flushed with shame and confusion. He couldn't meet Mason's gaze, couldn't bear to see the satisfaction in his eyes. Without a word, he turned and fled, slamming the door behind him - the taste of candy and sin still clinging to his tongue.

The next days were a blur of conflicting emotions. Shame, disgust, and confusion warred with an insistent, gnawing craving for the taste of the candy cane. Kenny couldn't get it out of his head, the sweet, metallic tang haunting his dreams. He couldn’t focus at work; the mundane tasks of stocking shelves and ringing up groceries felt like torture. So he tried to distract himself, hanging out with Matt and Liam, drinking cheap beer and spitting on the pavement. But it wasn't the same. He felt detached, disconnected, like he was watching himself from a distance. He needed the taste again, that rush of flavor, that strange, unsettling pleasure. He needed the candy cane.

Finally, he found himself standing outside Mason’s sleek apartment building, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He pressed the buzzer, his knuckles white against the shiny chrome. The door clicked open, and he rode the elevator up, the chrome and glass reflecting his own anxious face back at him. Mason opened the door, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Looking for something, Kenny?" Kenny swallowed, shame warring with desire. "I… I need another candy cane," he blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. Mason chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. "There’s no free lunch, Kenny. But, I can show you how to produce such candy canes. Interested in learning the trade?" Kenny hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his gnawing need eclipsing his pride. " Yeah, alright. Show me." Mason smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. " "Excellent." He disappeared into another room, returning with a peculiar garment. It was a tight-fitting shirt, made of some kind of shiny, rubbery material, striped in black and purple. "Wouldn't want to spill candy syrup on your clothes, would we?" Kenny eyed the shirt with distaste. It looked ridiculous. "What is this?" "Protective gear. Think of it as your uniform." Mason tossed it to him. "Get changed. The kitchen awaits." Kenny reluctantly took the shirt, the rubber cool and slick against his skin. He stripped off his own shirt and pulled on the rubbery monstrosity, the tight fit instantly making him feel exposed, vulnerable. It felt… wrong.

In the kitchen, Mason was already preparing the ingredients. He moved with a practiced grace, measuring and mixing with an air of expertise. As he explained the process, his hands brushed against Kenny's back, his ass, his crotch. Kenny flinched, disgusted, but he didn't pull away. The promise of the candy cane was too strong. "Now, the icing needs to be just right," Mason murmured, his breath warm against Kenny's ear. "A little more of this, a little less of that…" When the candy canes were almost ready, Mason turned Kenny to face him, his eyes intense. He licked over Kenny’s face, a slow, deliberate caress. "Now, you are my Candy Ken!" he whispered into his ear. Kenny recoiled, the words sending a jolt of panic through him - the implication clear. It was almost too much. He opened his mouth to protest, but Mason was already producing a vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid. "The secret ingredients," he murmured, adding a few drops to the icing. He dipped a finger into the mixture and held it out. "Lick it." Kenny hesitated, but then obeyed and licked Mason's finger. The taste exploded on his tongue, even more intense than he remembered. It was pure pleasure, a rush of sensation that washed away his inhibitions, his disgust, his fear. He felt himself relax, his body going limp. He let himself fall onto Mason's black leather sofa, his pants dropping to the floor, his legs splayed open in invitation. He was beyond caring, beyond thought. He was so relaxed.

Mason needed no further encouragement. He spread Kenny's cheeks and shoved his erect cock deep inside him. Kenny moaned, the taste of the candy cane still lingering on his tongue. The combination of the taste and the sensation was overwhelming, a perfect storm of pleasure. "Oh, Candy Ken," Mason groaned, pounding into him. "You're so good." Kenny didn't protest, didn't resist. He was lost, consumed by the sensation, the taste, the need. He came, a shuddering release that left him weak and breathless. When he finally came back to himself, he was lying naked and spent on the sofa. Mason stood over him, a satisfied smirk on his face. The realization hit Kenny like a punch to the gut. He was addicted. He would do anything for that taste, even submit to this. The sickening certainty that his future would be to get regularly fucked by Mason, and he would endure it, just to receive the candy canes, haunted him.

The next day, Kenny quit his job at the grocery store. The minimum wage, the drab routine—it all seemed pointless now. He sought out Mason, an uneasy mix of shame and anticipation twisting in his gut. "I need a job," Kenny mumbled, avoiding Mason's gaze. Mason chuckled, that knowing glint in his eyes. "Is that all you need, Kenny?" Kenny swallowed, the taste of the candy cane suddenly vivid on his tongue. "And… more of those sweets." "Then you're hired," Mason said, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "You’ll start at the Candy Shop tomorrow." Kenny dove into his new role with an eagerness that surprised even himself.

He learned the recipes, the techniques, the art of crafting confections. Mason taught him everything, but he kept the special ingredients of the candy canes a closely guarded secret.

Some months later, Kenny worked in the Candy Shop. He hummed to the melody of Sammy Davis Jr.’s "The Candy Man," his voice a low, almost hypnotic drone. "The Candy Ken, the Candy Ken can, the Candy Ken can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good…The Candy Ken makes everything he bakes, satisfying and delicious…" His sharp blue eyes sparkled with glee as he polished the gleaming chrome counter. The bell above the door chimed, announcing a new arrival. Kenny glanced up, his sharp blue eyes widening in surprise. It was Matt, his old mate, back from youth reformatory after half a year away.

Matt stood frozen in the doorway, his jaw slack as he took in the sight before him. Kenny, clad in nothing but black pants, a purple apron draped over his naked upper-body, and a black silk bow tie around his neck, looked every bit the part of the Candy Shop's star attraction. "Oi mate, what are you doing in that fairy shop?" Matt finally blurted out, his voice laced with disbelief.

Kenny’s smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "They are paying far better than the grocery store, and I learn how to produce sweets!" "Mate, that isn't…" Matt began, but Kenny cut him off, his attention already shifting. "Sorry, need to care about the customer!" A man in a brown leather jacket and black leather pants had entered the shop.

Kenny approached him with a practiced charm, his posture radiating confidence. "Hi, I'm the Candy Ken. What can I do for you today? Have you already tasted our candy canes?" The customer's gaze lingered on Kenny, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. "Don't you want to taste my cane, Candy Ken?" Kenny laughed, a bright, innocent sound and his eyes were twinkling. "I'm on duty, no sweets for me while working!" The customer chuckled, leaving a generous tip on the counter as he departed. Matt watched him go, his face contorted with disgust. Matt turned to Kenny, his expression a mixture of confusion and incredulous,  "Uhm, mate, didn't you notice that this fag asked you to suck his cock?" Matt asked, his voice rising in indignation. Kenny shrugged, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Yeah, but have you seen the generous tip he gave me?" Matt spat onto the floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent shop. "Need to go, can't stand any longer that fag shop!" He turned and fled, the bell above the door jingling a fare well as he left. Kenny watched him go, his expression unreadable.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Kenny's old chav friends vanished from the neighborhood like smoke in the wind, priced out by the rising rents and the influx of trendy boutiques. Their faces etched with a bewildered mix of resentment and longing, could no longer afford even a pint in what had become their old stomping ground. The pubs they once frequented were now wine bars serving artisanal cheeses with names they couldn't pronounce. The betting shops had turned into yoga studios, and the greasy spoon cafes were replaced by brunch spots boasting avocado toast and organic smoothies. So, Kenny’s circle of friends changed. No more tracksuits and cheap lager, no more casual violence and petty theft. Now it was designer jeans, craft beer, and discussions about art installations. He didn’t even notice it happening, the slow creep of refinement, like the tide coming in. The bomber jacket and track pants were replaced by tight preppy clothes, unbuttoned shirts, and tight slacks that showcased his now well-defined thighs. He’d started using moisturizer, and there was a subtle, citrusy scent that clung to him, a far cry from the stale cigarette smoke and body odor that used to be his signature.

Over time, the lines blurred. The initial disgust at being fucked by Mason faded, replaced by a strange mix of addiction and something else, something he couldn’t quite name. Was it just the candy canes? Or was it something more? What began as a means to an end—a begrudging submission to Mason's desires in exchange for a fix—morphed into something else entirely. The disgust that once churned in his stomach at the thought of another man's touch faded, replaced by a strange, unsettling pleasure. The sensation of being filled, once an act of violation, now felt…good. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the sweet, sugary rush, the way it made him feel weightless, pliable. He didn’t realize it, not until it was too late. It wasn't an instant realization, more a gradual understanding that dawned on him over time: He caught himself admiring the way a man’s jeans hugged his thighs, or lingering a little too long when a customer flirted with him. Then he caught his reflection in the shop window, the preppy clothes clinging to his frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing a hint of sculpted chest, the tight slacks showcasing his toned ass.  Kenny, the rough-and-tumble lad from the wrong side of the tracks, had been erased, replaced by Candy Ken, a flamboyant, open-minded homosexual himbo - the kind he once hated. He was a walking advertisement for the new quarter, a testament to its power to reshape and redefine.

The candy canes were a top seller. More and more men tasted the sweet, and more and more men found themselves drawn to other men. The quarter transformed, becoming a beacon of flamboyant excess and unapologetic hedonism.

Years passed, and Mason, wealthy from his candy canes, stepped into the shop and surveyed his domain with a satisfied smirk.

"It's been a wild ride, Candy Ken," he said, his sharp blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's time for sun, sand, and younger men. I'm thinking of retiring to a sunny beach somewhere, sipping cocktails and watching the waves roll in." Ken, a tight black chefs jacket straining against his muscular chest, leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping over the throng of stylish men browsing the candy displays. "And leave all this to me?" He raised an eyebrow, a hint of playful skepticism in his voice. "You think I'm ready to run the whole show?"

Mason chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the shop. "Honey, you were born ready. Besides," he winked, "I'll be leaving you with the secret weapon." He gestured towards a small, locked cabinet behind the counter. "The recipe for the special ingredients. The black makes them addicted, the purple awakes homoerotic desires. If you only want to keep the economic success of the Candy Shop, you could just sell black candy canes." Kenny smirked, running a hand through his blond hair. "Candy canes in just one color would be rather boring, don't you agree? Besides, I've got bigger plans. The Candy Shop needs to go with the times. I'm thinking of opening an online store, shipping these little delights all over the world. Imagine, Candy Ken candy canes in every corner of the globe." Mason clapped him on the shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "That's my boy! Always thinking big. Just remember, Candy Ken, it's not just about the candy. It's about the experience, the fantasy. You're selling a dream, a transformation." The chav Kenny was long forgotten, a distant memory fading like a cheap cologne. In his place stood Candy Ken, refined, confident, a cornerstone of the quarter's burgeoning gay community. He was on the brink of becoming The Candy Man, a legend whispered in hushed tones, a purveyor of pleasure and liberation.

"So, what do you say, Candy Ken?" Mason asked, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and anticipation. "Ready to take the reins?" Ken grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Born ready," he repeated, his voice laced with a newfound confidence.

[starberry-cupcake]

WE'RE DONE WITH BOOK 2!!! THIS IS IT!!! Time for one last recap for Harrowcita ♥

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

CHAPTER 52

last we've seen of Team Gideon (this is Team Gideon, Team Harrow is coming and going from the river rn), mercygirl had decimated dr reverend emperor john

popped him like a piñata

mercygirl and augustine start talking about how everything's gonna go directly to shit now without the guy, since the houses existed because of him, etc.

they have some sort of hope on finding somewhere they can go stay at, maybe

they hug and augustine says something like he wants to be buried beside her, so they can hate each other eternally

I love what they've got going on tbh they're soulmates in hate, new form of eternal bond just dropped

gideon the first is about to tell them something, but they're interrupted by light

gideon starts describing that red dust becomes blood and then becomes body things and I'm like "nonononononono"

BUT I'M NOT THAT LUCKY

GUESS WHO'S BACK

DOCTOR REVEREND EMPEROR JOHN IS NOT DEAD

LPM [in south american spanish]

packing back all my celebratory party supplies

so he immediately murders mercygirl upon returning

rip girl, you really tried and that's more than I can say for a lot of people

who are in this room rn

emperor asshat takes mercy's robe from her body and puts it on

he says "hope the sixth house didn't get cooked in the flare"

"I never like cleaning house all at once, but it seems as though I have to, don't I ?"

so...is this a frequent thing? killing all your lyctors? replacing them with others by making them slurp their cavaliers once in a while? acting like there's no other way around it?

the emperor does that asshole thing

he starts asking them if they'll be loyal to him and, if they say no, he's gonna kill them

all very democratic and whatnot

apparently beasts can't kill him and he was acting afraid, in case you needed more reasons to hate him and whatnot

he calls gideon the first "gideon episode one", so that's also a genetic trait, aside from the eyes

gideon the first says he's gonna be loyal

gideon the first is taking things very calmly, but we'll see what's going on with that in a sec

also, the emperor asked gideon the first to kill harrow

because he's still buying numbers for the ass-kicking raffle I've got going on

it isn't at all a surprise, not just because another addition to the silver platter of bullshit he has done, at this point, doesn't really change much, but also because he was not doing anything about the harrow-aimed violence at any point, so

gideon (ours) goes "go to hell, pops"

he's bummed about gideon the first "killing" wake and is going to spare gideon's life, even if she doesn't want to be loyal to him

yandere twin pledges loyalty (we'll come back to this later)

and augustine goes "fuck you, john"

those aren't his words but that's what I heard in my head when I read it

then, the entire emperor's bolthole starts tilting to the side and in goes the whole thing into the river

at this point, I was remembering that the emperor mentioned there was a layer in the river, in the cylinder schematics mercygirl had drawn, in which he was powerless

so I was hoping and wishing for this to be the plan

gideon the first takes our gideon, trying to save her from the whole river situation, since she isn't a necro and there's not much she can do about it

so, since the emperor's bolthole went straight into the river, they've entered with their whole body, soul and etc.

fully dressed in flesh

gideon the first goes "wish he'd given me the packet"

???????

augustine and the emperor are wrestling homoerotically into the river

with yandere twin trailing behind them

so gideon asks gideon Sr to do something, since he's a necromancer

and gideon Sr says he isn't actually gideon Sr....

IT'S PYRRHA THE CAVALIER

turns out gideon Sr died in the fight against the beast

battle he was fighting with "mad sweetheart matthias"

♥

pyrrha has been living in gideon Sr this whole time, kinda like gideon and harrow, but with less finesse

and pyrrha ALSO had an affair with wake using gideon Sr's body

but there's no time to unpack the insane amount of luggage gideon is gaining from this whole encounter with her entire family tree

because augustine's plan was indeed to throw the emperor into the bit of river he can't defend himself in

but the entrance looks a bit like this thing from inuyasha, only that's a lot bigger

augustine and the emperor are still homoerotically pulling each other on their way down to the mouth, that's extending tongues to lick at them

it's probably a familiar scenario for them, only in a bigger scale

gideon and pyrrha are trying to decide if they wanna die by a bullet, by this whole thing that's going on in here or in the river

according to pyrrha, gideon's mom would have taken the bullet

but not gideon

gideon is gonna see this thing through, dammit

she's also having an existential crisis the size of the emperor's bolthole because life was simple before, it was just harrow and the dusty ninth, and now there's a family tree, she's a child of multiple divorces and she was born to blow up

so, gideon sees that yandere twin is close to augustine and dr rev emperor john, which means she can probably help augustine out and push the emperor in

BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT SHE DOES, NO

NO NO NO NO

WHAT SHE DOES

IS TO BE THE WORST

OF COURSE, YOU VALIDATION-SEEKING ASSHOLE, OF COURSE YOU'RE GONNA DO THAT

"uwu you're the emperor's favorite, harry" "at least augustine pays attention to me, harry" "the emperor loves you, harry" "you have it easy because you're the emperor's pet, harry"

GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU TRAITOROUS THIRD HOUSE ATTENTION-SEEKING TIM-BURTON-BLONDE-AND-PALE LEAD

YOU AND CHAD CAN GO STRAIGHT TO THE FANG-FILLED MOUTH OF HELL

I'M FUMING

I'M GONNA BITE HER ARM OFF AND RIP IT FROM HER BODY ALL OVER AGAIN

AND I'M GONNA SPIT IT RIGHT AT THE EMPEROR'S FACE

ANYWAY, BACK TO THE RECAP

gideon is being very poetic about harrow in what she thinks might be the last moments of her life

again

"at the end of everything, if it was going to be you and me, layered over each other as we always were"

♥

but in comes ice cube barbie to...save the day?????

idk, at this point

people's intentions are blurry

"your bullshit dead girlfriend had come to claim you"

gideon says she speaks "in the wrong voice twice removed" and that she's trying to do CPR on her

to some extent, because her sternum is shattered, apparently

or harrow's, I guess

so, who knows what's gonna come out of this

CHAPTER 53

this one happens half an hour before the other stuff

for the timeline that I'm still somewhat keeping, hanging by a thread, as is my sanity

Team Harrow is currently just consisting of harrowcita, the reverend kitten, and real!dulcinea

the super important info real!dulcinea said she needed to tell harrow is that what's using harrow's body isn't a spirit or a revenant

her body isn't being puppeted, something is moving it around and it isn't a fragment or a ghost

because it doesn't feel like awake will the real slim shady please stand up

is this gideon???? does it mean gideon is more than a ghost?????

real!dulcinea is like "idk what you can do with that info but that's not up to me anymore, bye~"

and harrow goes "there's a difference between keeping a shred of dance card and saving the last dance"

IS THIS HOPE???? ARE WE HANGING ONTO HOPE????

I SURE AM

so, into the river goes harrow

(if you wanna reblog onto better things harrow, this is the post)

there's the corridor from the last time

and she ends up in the locked tomb

always back to the tomb

wonder why the series is called that

but there's nobody in the actual tomb

chains are broken and there's the two-handed sword that the sleeper waker slasher awake love the way you lie had with her

harrow goes to mimir in the tomb

but in she finds...

P*RN

apparently it's a gideon originally imagined piece of high quality fifth house erotica

of course it is

EPILOGUE

six months after the "emperor's murder"

I DON'T THINK HE'S DEAD THOUGH

YANDERE TWIN DECIDED TO RUIN THINGS BECAUSE SHE CAN'T DEAL WITH AUTHORITY REJECTION OR WHATEVER

DON'T MAKE ME GET INTO THIS AGAIN

MY BLOOD PRESSURE CAN'T TAKE IT

sixth house skull though, we love to see that

so there's a "she"

who is being taken care of by three people

one is teaching her how to do necromancy, another how to use a sword and another is taking care of her

maiden, mother and crone

my first bet was judith, regina george twin and camilla

undetermined, though

idk why judith would be helpful, but those are three people we know of that were alive and kickin'

they're eating nice food but when a vendor makes a comment about how "she" should have been hurt by the hot food and she wasn't, they decide to ghost that vendor forever

they're somewhere around soldiers and gunfights

this "she" perspective then starts waxing poetic about the person who takes care of her

and asks "have you worked out who I am?"

and CAMILLA answers "not yet"

WHAT A HOPEFUL THING TO END WITH

THE BOOK ENDS WITH A LIE, THOUGH????

"the tomb will open in alecto the ninth"

gonna have to wait a whole other book for the tomb to open, I guess

harrow's taking a long nap

she deserves it

@lady-harrowhark told me the situation of the book releases when I mentioned how I thought this was a trilogy that had ended and she had to give the "oh, sweet summer child" explanation

who the fuck is nona though

is this "she" nona? maybe it is

she's smiling in the cover, which is already an oddity, but if she's been taking care of by camilla, that's a good reason to smile forever

I NEED TO STOP THEORIZING

ANYWAY, this is it for Harrowcita Del Nueve!!!! The adventure continues, though, because the hiatus I went in allowed me to get Nona beforehand and I already have a cute bookmark for her that my sister gifted me. See you in the next one!!!!

[megalony]

Is It Bad?

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine requested by Anon, I really enjoyed writing this one I hope everyone likes it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefanthefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway

Masterlist

Summary: Chris has a bad day when he can't keep his routines, but things get worse when he and (Y/n) get in a car crash and the 118 don't know Eddie has a family.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mummy…"

Turning her head, (Y/n) looked back over at Christopher but the smile on her face started to fade when she saw the frown setting into his brows and the slight slope of his lips.

"What's wrong baby?" She turned the trolley round and slowly headed over to him.

Instead of answering, Chris reached out and patted his hand against the bare shelf on his left and with each tap, his effort got stronger until he was slamming his fingers down on the shelf and making a thudding noise that echoed through the shop. (Y/n) let go of the trolley and kneeled down in front of him to see what the problem was but she sucked in a deep breath when she realised what was missing from the shelf.

Cookies.

Pushing up, (Y/n) bounced on her heels and scanned the rest of the shelves in case they had been moved higher up and Chris simply couldn't find the brand he wanted. He liked the thin baked cookies with animal shapes baked into the underside and chocolate on top. They came in a dark purple packet that was hard to miss.

They always bought three packets every Friday to last him the week, he took a few in his pack up to school and always demolished a full pack on a Friday night when they watched Thomas the Tank Engine movie. The same movie every Friday, the same snacks and the same pyjamas and blanket.

"Excuse me, do you know where the animal snaps are?"

The elderly lady in front of (Y/n) leaned back to see where she was pointing before she clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"Sorry, we don't sell those anymore."

"Fuck,"

(Y/n) bit her tongue and turned back round to Chris. How could they not make those anymore? They were specific, they were this store's home brand cookies, that was the whole reason they did their weekly shop at this store every Friday, without fail. Come rain or shine, (Y/n) and Chris were here after he finished school and those cookies were always in the trolley.

"Uh, we'll get some other ones for now and I'll Google and see if anywhere else sells them and we can go somewhere else." She didn't even manage to get her phone out her pocket before Chris shook his head.

He slipped his arms out of his crutches, let them drop to the floor and then flopped down until he was sat on the polished floor with his head against the shelf and his arms around his chest.

Oh dear.

It wasn't as if (Y/n) could buy similar cookies and replace the packaging with the brand Chris was used to. He would taste the difference, he had a specific pallet like (Y/n) did, they could both tell when they didn't have sugar in their coke or when the crisps were the cheap brand or not the specific store brand they were used to.

Chris was a stickler for routine, it kept him content and relaxed, they helped shape and control his life. Fridays were for shopping and cookies and the same movie that he could watch five times over and not be bored of.

He didn't want different cookies or a different snack for a Friday night. He didn't want a similar brand that looked different and tasted tangy with bittersweet chocolate.

"Baby, let's finish the shopping and we can look across town for them," (Y/n) went down on her knees in front of him and reached out to him but she knew they weren't going to get finished here.

"Home."

"Now baby-"

"Home. Home. Home!" Chris reached out for whatever was on the shelf next to him and grabbed a bag of flour from the bottom shelf. It was a bit heavy for him but he moved quicker than (Y/n) anticipated and managed to throw it between his legs and bash his hands down on it like he was playing the drums. A gust of flour spread through the air around them and a powder of white settled down on (Y/n)'s face until she had to close her eyes and cough to get a clear breath.

The flour settled on Chris's glasses and covered his hands before he felt (Y/n) hoist him up by his underarms and lift him from the floor.

She juggled Chris in her left arm despite how heavy he was starting to get, and grabbed both crutches with her free hand and moved back to the trolley. It was usually Eddie who would carry Chris in and out of the car and pick him up if he got upset or had a meltdown. Despite the meltdowns Chris would have, he always stopped immediately if he was comforted, a cuddle or being carried always stopped him.

Especially if it was Eddie holding him.

"Okay baby, we'll go home."

(Y/n) sat him on the trolley handlebar, shoved his crutches in the trolley and whispered a quiet 'sorry' to the lady who was already smiling and shaking her head politely.

He left his legs swinging between them but kept his arms tightly bound around (Y/n)'s neck and his face buried in her chest so she had to lean over the trolley while she pushed it towards the checkout. They barely had half the things on their list. She would have to come back tomorrow and see if Eddie's Abuela would have Chris for an hour. If the shopping wasn't done on a Friday, Chris wouldn't go unless it was to the toy shop.

Her back started to burn and ache when they reached the checkout and Chris still wouldn't let go of her. (Y/n) had to carry him on her hip as long as she could while leaning in the trolley and putting the items on the checkout. When her back and arm started to strain, (Y/n) set Chris down on his feet and let him coil his arms around her waist instead and burrow into her side.

"Home. Is daddy home?"

(Y/n) was relieved Chris had said something a little more than home when they were back outside the car. He was sat back on the trolley, arms around her neck and his face so close to hers she had to kiss his nose to try cheer him up.

"He won't be home yet baby, but when we get back you can ring him and talk to him, how's that sound?"

"Hm." He let (Y/n) lift him him up and put him in his car seat in the back of the car but he wouldn't unwind his arms from her neck. "No, mummy, no." He started to whine in her ear until he was almost crying and his arms were shaking from how tight he was holding her against his chest.

"Christopher," Her warning tone was enough to make him let go and he let her strap him in.

His head fell against the headrest and he brought his hand up to his mouth so he could bite down on his thumb. There was no trace of his usual bright smile on his lips and he closed his eyes and burrowed into his seat.

It was going to be a long day.

***

"You all know the drill, spread out, anyone who can walk or with minimal injuries, send them to the medics. Anyone you can't free yourself, shout out. Go."

They all knew where they needed to divert to. Eddie and Hen were already getting a woman out of her car on the outskirts of the crash. Chimney was with another medic helping anyone who could freely get out of their vehicles and make their way to assistance. And Bobby was heading down with Buck towards the cars that were more damaged, wedged in the middle of the mess.

Reaching a dark red fiesta, Buck narrowed his eyes and climbed over the bonnet to reach the driver's side. The back of the car was crumpled up against the divider between the motorway and van had crashed into the passenger side and wedged it into a corner.

"Miss? Fire and rescue, can you hear me?"

Buck sucked in a deep breath when he opened the door and it fell off its hinges, crashing down to the floor. He bent down and leaned on the edge of the car but he could see immediately that the driver was unconscious.

Her hair was fanned across her face, her chin was tilted down into her chest and she was slumped to the left. Buck tried to look for injuries but the most pressing one he could see was her right leg. It was broken so badly the bone was sticking out halfway down beneath her knee.

"Mummy!"

A shiver bolted down Evan's spine and he grabbed the roof to steady himself. He hadn't thought to look in the back.

A little boy, roughly seven or eight, was sat in a car seat behind the passenger seat. He had a cut to his brow, he was trembling, his glasses were hanging around his neck on red string and he was biting his thumb like he was about to chomp through it.

"Hey there, my name's Buck I'm a fireman. Can you tell me mummy's name?"

"Mummy… I want mummy." He reached his arm out towards the driver's seat and made a fist and a grabbing motion to try and reach her but the seatbelt was strapped too tight and he couldn't get it off.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Christopher."

"Good lad, stay put and I'm gonna get you and mummy out of here, alright? Are you hurt?"

When Chris shook his head, Buck managed a smile before he leaned over the driver and reached for her bag that was still resting on the passenger seat. He could see her eyes fluttering behind her eyelids, he needed a name and address to give the hospital when they got her transferred and helped out. Someone would have to come and take Christopher when they got to hospital or they would have to call social services for him.

He found her purse quickly and rummaged around for her driver's license but when he read her name, all the blood drained down to his feet and pins and needles coursed through his legs.

Oh God.

"Cap… Cap I need assistance, badly." His hand shook around the radio, he couldn't say anything else lest Eddie heard him through the radio and got panicked. He was busy helping someone with Hen, they couldn't risk panicking him until he had sorted his patient. "Just gonna put this on your neck (Y/n)," Buck whispered quietly and grabbed a neck brace from his bag.

He carefully tilted her head back and clipped the brace around her neck to keep her head in place. He didn't know what kind of spinal or nerve injuries she might have sustained and he didn't want to give her any further pain. It was a good sign that she groaned when he moved her though, she was coming back round.

"Buck, what have you got?" Bobby knelt down near the passenger door but when he noticed the little boy in the back, he quickly moved to jam open the back door.

"Cap, it's uh… her name is (Y/n) Diaz… Eddie never said he was married."

Buck wasn't sure if he was getting the wrong assumption, she could still be Mrs Diaz and be Eddie's sister. Maybe she kept her last name when she got married. Eddie did have three sisters after all. Or she could be a cousin. Eddie never said anything about going home to a family after work, he didn't mention having a child waiting at home for him. Eddie never indulged about a family and Buck told him everything about his life.

"You must be Christopher, I'm Bobby, I work with your dad. Can I check you over and get you out of here?"

Bobby dared to glance his eyes across at Buck whose face fell and his jaw dropped. Eddie really had hid a whole other life from him- from the rest of the team. The only one Eddie told was Bobby because he had to divulge personal information when he had the job interview. He had to tell Bobby that he had a wife and son at home and if his son had a disability, in case he ever had to rush off shift and go to the hospital or take a personal phone call on shift.

"Daddy, I want daddy." Christopher's words were mumbled around his thumb that he wouldn't stop biting.

"I'll take you to your dad, don't worry. Eddie, when you get a second come over to the red Fiesta near the front pile up please."

"On my way."

Bobby reached over and wiggled the seat buckle hard enough to wrench it free and let Chris breathe better. He had a small cut on his chest from where it had pinned into his skin and glued him to his seat. There was a cut on his head and he pointed down to his foot but when Bobby checked, it wasn't broken or fractured. Most likely sprained.

The car seat had saved him from most of the impact.

"Okay, come here." Bobby carefully picked him up and lifted him out of the car but when he turned round, he held his breath.

'Here we go.'

The medic bag in Eddie's hand dropped down to his feet and he stumbled back a pace until he felt Hen's hand on his back and her worried whispers in his ear asking what was wrong. He thought Bobby saying a red fiesta was a bit unnerving; it was the same car as (Y/n)'s.

But the moment his eyes latched onto his captain, he felt like his world had turned upside down.

He knew that mop of brown curls anywhere and those legs that were kicking and swinging like he always did when he got picked up and carried around. That was his little boy.

"Christopher? Oh God, Chris! I'm here bud I'm here!"

Eddie pulled away from Hen and weaved through the cars towards his son who started to scream. His arms started to wave and when Bobby put him down, his voice overtook the sound of the car horns and the raised voices begging for help. All Eddie could hear was his boy screaming his name and waving his arms out towards him.

"Daddy!"

"I'm here, oh bud I've got you." Tears fell down Eddie's face when his arms looped around his son and he lifted him from the floor. He couldn't breathe when Chris snapped his arms so tightly around his neck and burrowed his face into his neck.

He cupped the back of Chris's head, tangling his fingers in his curls as he kissed the side of his head repeatedly.

"Are you alright?"

"Foot hurts… mummy won't wake up. No cookies in shop, you take us home now. Daddy I wanna go home." There was too much rattling around in Chris's head and he couldn't cope. His foot was aching, his mum wouldn't answer him when he cried out for her. They didn't have cookies in the shop so tonight's movie night was now ruined. And then the car started to spin and everyone was crying.

But Eddie was here now. Eddie could take them both home and look after them.

Eddie's hand tangled tighter into Chris's curls and he got closer to the passenger side of the car and peered down. (Y/n) was crying. She was awake now and she was sobbing her heart out. Eddie had to get her out of there, he had to get them both to the hospital and look after them.

"Chris, buddy can you wait here with Bobby for me so I can get mummy out?"

Bobby nodded and held his arms out again but Chris wouldn't have it. His arms stayed tight around Eddie's neck and he started to whimper and cry. He wasn't leaving either of his parents, he was staying right where he was in Eddie's arms.

"You take us home. Now. Home-"

"Buddy I can't take you home, I have to get mummy out she's hurt."

"Home!"

Eddie tipped his head back as if to try and force the tears into the back of his head and his lips pressed into a thin line when Chris started to cry. His hands bashed down on the back of Eddie's chest and shoulders and his legs started to swing and hit out at his legs and knees so much Chris himself cried from the pain it caused in his sprained foot.

"Buddy please-"

"Home-"

"Christopher Diaz!" The moment the name passed through his lips, Chris stopped kicking out and gasped when Eddie dropped down to his knees onto the tarmac.

Huffs, sniffs and bubbling cries passed through Chris's lips but he loosened his arms around Eddie's neck and tilted his head down to burrow his face into Eddie's florescent jacket that smelled of dirt and smoke. A smell he always associated with his dad from this job he'd had for the past eight months.

"I promise, when I get mummy out and safe, I will not let either of you out of my sight. And when mummy is okay, I will take you home and we will sort everything out. I will make it better, I always do. Now you stay with Bobby, understand?"

With a lasting kiss to Chris's temple, Eddie picked him back up and let Bobby take hold of him and set him on his hip. Bobby stood off to the side so Chris could still see his parents but he wasn't close enough to see the damage or get too frightened. The little boy burrowed his head against Bobby's and started to pat his chest rhythmically to calm himself down.

Eddie wasted no time in climbing into the passenger seat but when he looked across at Buck, he could see something flare in his eyes. Maybe he should have told the team- or at least Buck, about his family.

But he didn't like mixing work and personal life and he never thought he would be on scene where his family had been in a car crash.

"Mi amor, it's me, how we doing?"

"Eddie! God, baby… where's Chris?" (Y/n) managed to open her eyes and when the tears fell down her face, she craned her eyes to the left to look at her husband. It was a Godsend to hear his voice. She had no idea who the other man next to her was, the only person on the team she had spoken to before was Bobby. But the other lad next to her seemed very concerned which was sweet.

"He's fine, Cap's got him, just a bad foot that's it." Eddie kissed her temple and reached down to hold her hand. "This is Buck, we're gonna get you out…" Eddie looked over at Buck but when he glanced down at (Y/n)'s leg, Eddie could feel bile rising in his throat.

"(Y/n), I'm going to put a strap around your thigh to restrict the bleeding, then we can get you on a stretcher and out of here, alright?"

"W-what's wrong with my leg? Baby, i-is it bad?"

(Y/n) tried to look at Eddie but she couldn't move her head due to the neck brace she had woken up with. Everything ached and burned but both of her legs felt they were on fire. What was wrong with her leg? Has she broken it or got a deep gash that was bleeding out? It didn't feel like her leg was hanging off or in bad shape.

Moving over, Eddie leaned across (Y/n) with one hand on the seat and the other moved to cup her face so he was in her line of sight. His thumb brushed over her cheek and he managed a smile before he leaned over and gently pecked her lips.

"You've broken it, mi amor but we can get it fixed up. Stay really still so Buck can strap it."

(Y/n) brought her hand up to grab Eddie's wrist and she nodded, keeping her eyes on him when she felt Buck shuffle a small plastic strap beneath her thigh. Her teeth gritted together and she gasped when he pulled it tight and popped the pin in. She had to be bleeding for them to cut off her blood supply.

"I'm gonna round the other side so we can get you out," He kissed her again before he scrambled out of the car. They had to move her now, her leg was in bad shape and Eddie could feel the car overheating. It was a trap ready to blow.

Her hand reached up to rub her temple, her head felt like it was splitting and her back was burning. She tried to push forward to relieve the pain in her back but when she heard Buck mutter no and his hands grabbed her shoulders, she looked down.

"Eddie!" His name screamed from her lips and she pushed back in the chair, moving her hands to grip her thigh like she was going to magically fix it. Another tortured scream flew past her lips before a gurgling cry errupted and she slammed her head against the headrest. "Eddie, ooh fuck, Eddie-"

Her bone was sticking out. Her trouser leg was no longer dark blue, it was a horrid shade of crimson and a sprig of bone was punctured out along with a torn piece of muscle that made (Y/n) almost throw up.

She couldn't lose her leg. Christopher needed her, she had to drive, they had their routines, their walks and their physio they did in the park to keep him up and active. She carried her boy around when he needed her, she couldn't lose her leg. If they saved it, how long would she have to be in a cast? She couldn't look after Chris if she was on crutches too or God forbid, she had to be in a wheelchair. He was going to be petrified enough after this whole ordeal.

Buck moved out the way and took Eddie's place in the passenger seat so Eddie could crouch beside his wife.

his hands moved to cup (Y/n)'s face and he took a very deep, slow breath and managed a smile to try and calm her down. He couldn't have her panicking on him now, they had to get her out.

"Mi amor, shh. You're gonna be fine, we can fix this. I'm gonna spin you round and Buck will get your legs, and we'll lift you out of here. Christopher is waiting for us, come on mi amor you got this." He kissed her head, peppered his lips across her cheek and down her jaw until she nodded in agreement with him.

"Here we go (Y/n), on three."

Buck kneeled up on the chair and leaned over, carefully holding her knees in place while Eddie twisted her round so her back was flush up against his chest. His hands slipped under her arms and he gripped her flesh comfortingly tight and nodded over at Buck.

"One, two, three."

Eddie took her weight on his chest and started shuffling back while Buck climbed over the seat, trailing his hands beneath (Y/n)'s legs to hold her ankles and elevate her legs.

The scream (Y/n) let out made Eddie tip his head back and he held his breath to try and compose himself. He felt her hands reaching back to grip his biceps and ground herself while the boys carried her to the stretcher Hen was waiting with.

"Baby d-don't go… p-please get Chris,"

"I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." He smothered her temple with a kiss and held her hand until they got near the ambulance Bobby had moved over to. When they were close enough, Eddie reached his free arm out and looped it around Chris's waist and sat him on his hip. "I've got you both, you're safe. I'm here."

"Daddy," Chris wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck when they were in the ambulance and he perched on his dad's lap. He could feel his dad kissing his hair and his mum rubbing her hand up and down his leg, both of them doing their best to keep him calm and stable.

They would be okay.

[bouquet-of-flow3rs]

!Pairing: Jungkook x Puppy!Hybrid!Reader!

Genre: Fluff, light angst. Hybrid au.

Synopsis: Jungkook is bringing home a new puppy and you're worried he might replace you.

Warnings: None

When Jungkook first got Bam you were so worried he would abandon you, it wouldn’t be the first time that's happened. You are a rescue who was saved from off the streets when your past owner dumped you onto the streets one day, you were so confused about what was happening and you didn’t understand she was leaving you forever, but the main reason you worry he will leave you is because right before you were abandoned your owner got a new hybrid a cute, little bunny boy, you always overheard her on the phone talking about how you were just too much maintenance always wanting to go on walks or begging for attention so this time you wanted to make sure that Jungkook doesn’t think you are too much work. He never asked you if it was okay for him to adopt another dog of course you had no problem with a new puppy in his life, you just couldn’t help but overthink, you are currently in the kitchen making some ramen for yourself when you hear Jungkook approaching the front door with the new dog, you want to greet them you really do but you got so nervous you fled to your and Jungkook’s shared room locking the door.

Jungkook couldn’t wait to introduce his cute puppy girl to his new best friend Bam, he’s a very friendly puppy and has lots of energy, much like you, it seems that Bam is very excited to meet you too because as Jungkok unlocks the door and begins to open it the big Doberman puppy bounds inside the house and begins to explore all over, Jungkook laughs at the adorable sight heading towards the kitchen where he assumes his cute girlfriend will be, but when he walks through the archway and sees nothing in there except for a boiling pot of water and a packet of ramen his brows crease in confusion, he thinks that maybe you went to the bathroom real quick so he walks over but when he sees the bathroom is empty he gets a little worried so he goes around the house checking each room only to find you aren't there.

When he finally gets to the bedroom he realizes it’s locked, “[Y/n]?” He pulls at the handle harder, “Are you in there love?” He questions and gets more anxious as time passes before he finally gets the answer of a muffled, “Yes..” He sighs in relief, Bam has been next to him this whole time sitting there watching him with those adorable chocolate eyes of his helping Jungkook relax a little, “Sweetheart, can you open the door please?” He asks making sure to keep his tone soft so as not to spook you, he knows you have sensitive hearing due to the adorably, fluffy ears on the top of your head. 

When he first saw you at the hybrid shelter for the first time he was instantly in love with you, he quickly makes his way to the nearest staff he could find just to set up a meeting with you when he next heads to the shelter he was handed a clipboard with all of your information, he took notice that you’re an Akita-dog breed and instantly understands why you look so pretty, he then quickly makes his way to the meeting room where you are sat swinging your legs and looking at the floor, he doesn’t know how but you managed to capture his heart that day. 

He sighs fondly at the memory but quickly remembers he needs to get into the room you’ve locked yourself in, “[Y/n], baby can you please open the door for me?” he asks patient as ever, he can hear muffled movement from behind the door before it finally clicks unlocked, he makes his way in telling Bam to stay out for a minute but the pup simply tilts his head in confusion, Jungkook closes the door behind him when he enters and moves over to your form that is curled up under the soft comforter, he places his hand delicately on your back and he hears your high pitch whine as he does so, “Princess,” He coos softly dragging his fingers up and down your back, “will you tell me what's wrong, hm?” He hums out, you curl tighter into yourself and scoot closer to him, he chuckles at the simple action and strokes his fingers a bit harder onto your back, he can see and hear your fluffy tail thumping from under the comforter, “Words princess, you need to use words okay?” He scolds with not a single drop of malice in his voice, you sigh before opening your mouth to speak even though you know it will all be muffled anyway, “I’m scared.” You manage to whisper out and somehow Jungkook picks up on what you say and once again his eyebrows crease in worry, “Scared of what baby?” He asks, “I’m scared you’ll leave me.” You whimper choking back tears as you communicate with your boyfriend, “Oh, [Y/n], baby I will never leave you, I promise.” He states his voice serious, his words offer you comfort but you can’t stop thinking of when you were abandoned the first time and it makes you start to cry, Jungkook takes notice of your form shaking and quickly moves to get under the covers with you when he manages to get under the comforter he shimmies his way down to where you are and quickly wraps his arms around your shaking frame, he uses one of his hands to thread his fingers through your hair for more comfort and you practically melt in his embrace, “[Y/n], you are my everything and you always will be, just because I got Bam does not mean I will ever leave you.” He states firmly pecking the top of your head, “I will always love you, and nothing can change that. Besides, how could I ever leave someone as amazing as you.” He comforts.

After a few minutes, you both emerge from the bed and make your way out to find Bam, when you find him he is lying on your couch dead asleep and the sight of him makes you giggle.

Jungkook stares at the girl he loves as she smiles, he can still see the tear streaks that roll down her soft, rosy cheeks, which makes him frown, he knows it's your fear of being abandoned and not him that made you cry but he can’t help the feeling of his heart clenching, he’s said those three words “I Love you.” A lot but as he sees you now he can’t help but think of how beautiful you look tear streaks and all, he slides his hand into yours before bringing it up and leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it all while staring deep into your eyes making you flush a deep red as well as your big, fluffy tail wag, he laughs at the cute scene and quickly embraces you into a tight hold, resting his cheek on your head, he can feel you white, fluffy ears twitch and smell the scent of your coconut shampoo a smell that never fails to comfort him, he breathes you in and sighs out before pulling away but keeping you at elbow length before placing butterfly kisses all over your face but especially the tear streaks on your round cheeks, causing you to giggle. God, does he love the sound of your laughter.

At the sound of the two lovers, Bam wakes up and quickly races over to you before tackling you down to the ground and licking at your face, at the wet feeling of his slobbery tongue you laugh more and Jungkook quickly tries to assist you in taking the oversized puppy off of you, after a minute of struggling you manage to sit up and quickly start to love on the Doberman by giving him lots of pets and he preens at the attention. Jungkook stares at his two pups and engraves the adorable sight into his memory, there is nothing he would trade in the world for this moment. Nothing.

______________________________________________________________

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[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞wish you back

✰ pairings: ex!han x fem!reader

✰ genre: romance + angst with comfort ending

✰ warning: mentions of insecurities, deep talks, indirect mentions of miscommunications and getting back together

✰ request: If you’re taking requests or would like some ideas for your future writings then could I suggest/request an angsty fight but with a comfort ending with prompts 1, 10 and 12 with skz Han or it could even be an ot8 whichever is comfortable for you :)

✰ note: hi hi love! i hope you like it >< i made it exes to lovers and it hope it suits to what you requested for! thanks to @planetkiimchi for beta reading this and helping me with it 🤍

✰ word count: 2k + words

meeting him was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be your favourite. meeting him was like rewatching every movie you ever loved with your favourite flavour of popcorn. meeting him was truly beautiful.

then, suddenly, you didn’t like that song anymore. you hated those movies as well. and you didn’t even bother touching that last packet of popcorn kept in the cabinet of your kitchen. it had been a month precisely since you and jisung parted ways.

a month of half-heartedly listening to your best friend’s ‘not-getting-back-to-your-ex’ rules. you don’t even remember the last time you saw him. but all you could do was think of him. was he eating well? was his hair as long as before? or has he trimmed them? it was foolish, you knew that very well. but the way your heart belonged to him, you couldn’t help it.

your mind keeps replaying the evening of your breakup. that very evening, when the two of you would be completing two whole years as a couple. all of it—now shattered. it doesn’t matter what you do, or what he does, the deed is done. there’s no going back now. or is there?

you know you shouldn’t be doing this and instead sending someone else. despite this, you find yourself driving to his home. after his last text, which told you to go pick up your stuff. you nearly felt your heart burst out of your chest the moment you saw his name pop in your notifications, but all of it faded when you saw his text. you know it meant nothing, but you felt yourself tear apart when the thought that he's trying to erase you crosses your mind. that’s what the voices in your head said. he’s trying to remove you from his life. and you know it shouldn’t hurt that much– but it does.

you hated whenever he overworked himself. you hated the way he would always come home exhausted but would still manage to muster up a smile you knew was fake. and when the limit runs, it’s the two of you against each other– screaming at each other’s throats. the eyes that used to be filled with love and warmth, were replaced with tiredness and anger.

maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, but the words can’t be unsaid. the apartment that used to be filled with memories in each corner, just rests there in dust and dirt.

you lift your hand to knock on the door and not even a second later, the door opens wide allowing you to see the apartment once again, and jisung as well.

he looks almost the same, except for his hair that he has curled slightly. if it would’ve been a stranger, they wouldn’t have been able to pick on any difference. but knowing him for years, you know everything from the beat of his heart to the dip in his voice when he’s about to break down– you have lived it all as well.

“hi,” he manages to croak out when you enter the apartment. you let out a silent nod, but prevent yourself from getting into a long conversation with him. your friend advised you not to if you didn’t want to end up getting hurt.

“how have you been?” he asks, his voice no louder than a mutter.

“how do you expect me to be?” you chuckle dryly, rubbing salt onto his wounds without even sparing him a glance. you look around, eyes stopping on the fridge that has various fridge magnets which you stuck on. maybe it was just a you thing, but it marked as the evidence of your happy relationship. there’s a small magnet with a polaroid of you two sitting on a couch with a cake in your hand.

it almost makes you laugh, how quickly the memory rushes into your head. it was your birthday and jisung surprised you with homemade meals and handmade gifts. it was a simple meal with just the two of you, yet his sincerity never failed to amaze you.

“i’m trying to talk to you nicely,” he hisses back, frustration creeping its way into his tone. it makes you gulp. you pause to stare at him, for the second time of the day before sighing.

“where’s my stuff?” you whisper, not breaking eye contact, which makes him stare back at you just as fiercely.

there’s something in his expression that makes you want to run straight into his arms and embrace him, kiss him and tell him you love him. but you can’t. he was the main character in the movie called “you”, but now he seemed to play more of a side role. it seems discarded yet you will remember it forever.

he takes a long minute to reply and points to the bedroom, “it’s under the bed, in a box.”

you nod and make your way in the bedroom. the sight of the room itself makes your heart heavy. you look around, and where there used to be a brown heart couch, it’s now empty. the room takes you back to the days when the two of you first moved in. the two of you were so excited to bring in the new furniture and rearrange it according to your preference. it almost felt surreal at first. you still remember spending three weeks just to arrange the furniture. it was tiring, but you didn’t know that it was even more tiring to look at this now-almost-empty bedroom.

you crouch down and pull out a wooden box. it’s a bit dusty, so you carry it and keep it on the mattress. you blow away the dust as much as possible and open the box. it’s filled with photos, letters, gifts varying from sizes to colours and occasions. it’s a wonder how he kept all your stuff neatly arranged. even if there’s a few things missing, you don’t mention it when you return back to the living room.

he shoots up from his seat upon seeing you, and there’s a determined look on his face which you don’t quite like.

“can i know one thing before you go?” there’s fresh pain in his eyes which he no longer attempts to hide from you. when you take a look at him, you see the eyebags, the tiredness seeps through his eyes and it’s painful to see him that way.

when you don’t reply, he takes that as his cue to step towards you and hold both of your hands in his, the familiar warmth immediately soothing you and making you breathe in relief.

“do you still love me?” it’s just a question, you tell yourself. it’s just a normal question, just say no and you’ll be fine. instead, you stare down at your intertwined hands and slowly rub your thumb against his.

“what if i say yes? how would it change anything? remember, you left me first,” you look back at him with tears brimming your eyes. there’s a softness in his expression that almost makes you cry but you manage to hold it in.

“because you told me to! you told me how annoying i was and how i wasn’t giving you time. and i thought about it, i really did and i realised it was better for us this way.”

“you’ll decide that on your own? you could’ve talked to me once ji! i would have stopped you and told you just how much you mean to me!” you say while jabbing a finger at his chest in fury.

“how does that change it? you had that thought across your head. how could you even think of us separating? we were happy, weren’t we? and then suddenly you weren’t there when i returned. i didn’t call you because i thought… i thought that maybe you didn’t want me anymore,” he chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his unruly hair, impatiently waiting for a response.

“i… you’re the only one i want, ji. there’s not been a single day where i didn’t think of you. if you would’ve called me even in the middle of the night, i’d run back to you without hesitation,” there’s raw pain reflecting in his eyes that flick to your continuously.

“then… why?” you squeeze your eyes shut at his question. was it the way he was too blunt with it? or was it the way you knew that the truth would hurt?

“it’s easy for you to ask that because you’re not the one constantly thinking about whether you’re being controlling or not. you’re not the one who has to constantly keep yourself in check, wondering whether or not you’re overthinking! do you know how hard it was for me to not ask you anything every hour just because it will make you look pushy? i didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend that bugs you, or the one that has to call you a hundred times a day to remind you that i’ll be waiting! it’s a mess, jisung. i-i’m a mess.”

“do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes shining with determination with this new shift in him.

“no– don’t do this to me,” you shake your head and try to slip your hand out of his grasp, but he stays still.

“please don’t try to ignore me, my love. please don’t go… why do you keep shaking my whole world and then leaving like nothing ever happened? why? why are you so desperately trying to run away from me? did you forget that we promised to help each other with our problems? or do those promises mean nothing?”

“we broke up, jisung! we are not together anymore. there’s no us, it’s just you and i,” you look away to avoid his burning gaze.

“look at me, babe,” he whispers, his words are careful to not try and trigger you any more.

and when you do, he looks down at you with a soft gaze, “i want you to know one thing. there’s nothing in this world that will make me love you less. it’s okay to worry. you worry for the one you love and it’s normal. there is no such thing as worrying too much, okay? don’t you ever think that you are less or that you are more. you are just the perfect amount, like the sugar i need in my coffee,” he jokes a bit and it does indeed manage to make you chuckle through tears.

“there was a day where i almost knocked at your front door, but then i saw how happy you looked. and i feel like i was trying to snatch away your happiness, but then you told me how you felt and honestly, it just feels like we’re two dumb people who are scared to communicate. a talk was all we needed.”

“i’m sorry for hurting you that night, and for not even bothering to tell you that i’m was leaving.” after every word, he smiles wider, and it’s as if you’re seconds away from mending his broken heart along with yours. “is it too late to stop the shifting of the furniture?” he laughs, before shaking his head, and pulling you to his chest. his arms wrap around you and he embraces you tightly, cherishing every bit of you for as long as he can.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“i suppose i should call the guy before it gets too late,” he huffs in annoyance and you smile at his words.

“you should! it’s your fault you’re trying to give away our stuff,” you mock, with a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“putting the blame on me now?” he pouts before stealing a kiss from you and his fingers are already vigorously typing digits on his phone.

there’s something about this house that will never change; you and him. perhaps those magnets too.

PERM TAGLIST: @taeriffic 🥽 @hello-2-u-from-me 🥽 @ilychee08 🥽 @sleepyleeji 🥽 @spacegirlstuff

[jinglyjangly]

Howdy howdy!

I've written up the WIP first chapter for my fallout OCs. Calling it “Moon River” for now!

I just really want to write about them before the second season of the show before it ruins more lore. It's set a year before FNV in California… again still a wip, still working on more, still not super satisfied but I’m happy I got this much done tbh

When the sunlight begins to bleed into the horizon, everything in the Mojave shifts. That last stretch of dying light stains the sands a burnt orange as the distant mountains catch its highlight on every ridge. The heat that clings to your skin during the day suddenly retreats, replaced by a bone-deep chill that slips in through your clothes and sinks into your core. Dimitri knew that sensation all too well. He’d felt it a thousand times before, traveling the endless wasteland between Death Valley and the Colorado river. Out here, nothing cared about war, not even him.

He’d been scouting the junction where the 127 and 178 met, once a spot that once pulsed with life. Merchants, caravans, and wanderers all visited creating new livelihoods. Now, it lay buried beneath an unrelenting sandstorm, the air thick with grit and blinding white haze. It wrenched at something in his chest to see it reduced such violence so suddenly. No one even seemed to know how it happened, only vague myths and rumors. One day it was bustling, the next it was swallowed whole.

He relayed everything he saw to the nearest outpost, and was greeted instantly with new orders. The crumpled papers were handed off to him by a weary trooper. Her dust-caked face betrayed the exhaustion that hung on every soldier posted in these outer areas. It said something about a captured legionary prisoner having important intel. He noticed who sent it and realized exactly why he was the one who got it.

It had ended up taking him much longer than he expected to to get to Havasu. Every broken down outpost along the way seemed to tug at him, asking for one thing or another. Fix a busted generator, clear out a nest of bloatflies, find a missing kid — always something. One favor turns into two more, and before you know it, you’re knee-deep in nonsense you never meant to be part of. It's the wasteland method he both resented and relied upon, for as much as it delayed him, the caps jingling in his satchel proved it was worth it in the end.

The resort stood before him now, after what felt like an endless trek. The front doors creaked as he pushed them open, and a stale, musty scent of mildew and aging wood greeted him. Soldiers crowded around ancient terminals repurposed for military duty, their faces pale in the sickly green glow of monitors. The rapid clatter of keystrokes mingled with the steady echo of his footsteps on cracked tile, filling the dimly lit lobby as he made his way through. Faded murals of the pre-war paradise peeled from the walls, and forgotten lounge chairs lay rotting in a corner, making way for stacked crates of ammo, rifles, and armor. It felt like a graveyard of luxury, the bones of a fanciful life repurposed for the business of survival.

“Here’s the report.”

The voice snapped him out of the haze. A manila file filled with a stack of papers was shoved into his chest. Lieutenant Cruz. She looked even more tired than the last time he’d seen her — eyes shadowed, lines cutting deeper into her face. The war with the Legion wore on everyone, but some seemed to carry it heavier than others.

“Our prisoner is Legion, no doubt about it,” she said, planting a hand on her hip. “He’s only said maybe two things since we found him passed out on the 95. Mostly screamed like hell when we treated his wounds.”

Dimitri thumbed through the packet. No name. No rank. Nothing but a few notes on his injuries and a location where they found him.

Dimitri paused for a second and huffed under his breath, “screaming isn't really words.”

“He eventually said words, alright? Figure of speech. And now you’re here to do your thing. Says he won’t tell us anything unless we cut him loose.”

“How would that work?”

“It doesn’t. It’s why you’re here.”

Dimitri grimaced. Interrogations weren’t his style. He could talk his way through most situations, but trying to pry answers from men too stubborn or too proud to break gets exhausting.

“I’m not going to tell you to be careful,” Cruz said, eyes narrowing. “But stay sharp. There’s something about this one. He’s… strange.”

Dimitri grinned. “What, got a crush on him?”

She snorted a short laugh. “No, you idiot. I just know you. You’re persuasive… but you can be persuaded. Get me anything on Blythe. Or the dam. Or hell, Caesar’s grocery list. Anything.”

He paused hearing the town, his grin fading, brow furrowing as a flicker of unease crept in. “Blythe? What’s going on there?”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Did you even read the brief?”

“I skimmed.”

“Goddamn Rangers…everyone of you are practically allergic to paperwork.” She shook her head and continued, “Blythe went dark a while ago. There were reports about random legion sightings, and then nothing. You were supposed to check it out before Mr. John Doe showed up.”

“Think he’s connected?”

“No idea. That’s why you’re here. He’s in the cell down the hallway.”

“You’re not—”

“I’ve got shit to do. Good luck.” She clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, handing him the key and disappeared down the hall.

Dimitri lingered a moment, a knot of unease coiling in his gut. Blythe being silent was bad. The faster he wrapped this up, the faster he could see what waited for him downriver.

He walked up to the door and nodded to the soldier guarding, opening the door with the key she gave him. The “cell” wasn’t so much a cell as it was a repurposed laundry room. Broken washing machines lined the walls like rusted tombs. Snapped ironing boards and piles of rotted linens cluttered the space. A single figure sat among the debris facing away from the door, handcuffed to a dented folding chair beneath a flickering overhead bulb.

Dimitri frowned. The prisoner didn’t fit the usual mold of a hulking brute in Legion armor. He was slender, tall, with unkempt black hair and a scattering of old scars across sun-worn skin. The tattered scraps of clothes baring red barely clung to him, and fresh blood darkened the bandages around his midsection. And then there was the bull, branded into the back of his neck.

He poked his head back out the door, “This is the guy she wants me to ‘interrogate’?”

The guard shrugged. “Only Legionary here.”

“He’s not… the usual-”

“Is there a problem?”

Dimitri clenched his jaw. “No.”

He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. The man stared at him with unsettling clarity, pale eyes glinting in the dim light. Dimitri sat opposite, the sun’s last light slashing through the grimy window and reflecting off a dented metal table, forcing him to squint.

“Not the typical interrogee,” he muttered, flipping open the file, clicking his pen. “Name's Dimitri. Do you have a name? Or do I have to call you John? You really don’t look like a John. Johnny maybe, or JJ. Jr?”

He got a dismissive eye-roll in response.

“I should be guessing Roman names, huh? Although I don’t know a whole lot. How about…Alexius. That sounds cool.”

“That's Greek.”

“Is there a difference?”

That made him turn his head, and Dimitri greeted him with a smug look at the break in the prisoner’s silence. The voice did catch him off guard, low and crisp. He leaned back from the glare of the window, idly tapping the pen against his jaw, a thoughtful glint in his eye. Cruz was right about him being a bit strange. He noticed a shift in the prisoner's jaw as he went back to looking at the clock on the wall. 

He sighed and realized this wasn’t going to go very far. Dimitri tilted his head and looked at the same broken clock on the wall. 9:47 like every other single one. Why doesn’t anyone ever fix them? He opted to look at his watch. 17:02. He doesn’t really have the time to keep doing this if what Cruz said was true.

“Look, since you’re not talking, I’m left guessing. So, I'm guessing you have no rank either by exile or by choice, so you have no allegiance. Here, right now, you're a prisoner, but you're safe. If I'm right, that means if the legion does find you, you're worse than dead. If you’ve got something useful, now’s the time. Talk, and maybe things get a little easier for you. Cruz said you wanted free, but you have to talk first.” 

He stayed perfectly still, though his gaze slid back to Dimitri’s with the slow, deliberate weight of sizing him up.

“I have nothing.”

Dimitri stared into the man’s pale eyes and saw nothing but an unbroken calm. No fear. No desperation. He sighed, closing the file. Whether he did know anything or not, there was no point in wasting time. Dimitri pulled back and got out of the chair.

“Alrighty. Thank you for your participation.”

He left the room, the soft scrape of the door dragging against the warped tile floor, and locked it behind him with a metallic click. The key felt heavy in his hand as he passed it off to the guard. Without a word, he turned and made his way down the dim hallway, each step echoing alongside the steady chorus of keystrokes from the command post terminals. The combined rhythm of hurried typing and his bootfalls filled the air, a sharp, hollow percussion against the crumbling rafters of the old resort.

The kitchen sat at the furthest end of the hall, repurposed tables cluttered with ration tins and dented canteens. A few soldiers loitered there, faces drawn and weary, savoring the illusion of rest. The stale scent of scorched mirelurk meat hung thick in the air, mingling with acrid wisps of cigarette smoke. Dimitri’s stomach gnawed at him, a sharp reminder that if he was going to cover ninety miles of wasteland, it wouldn’t be on an empty gut.

He sat down to a plate of half-burnt potatoes and stringy mirelurk tail, barely tasting the briny, overcooked flesh as his mind churned. Lying to Cruz would be easy, a simple mercy for everyone involved. Blythe was likely already ash, overrun by Legion, and this entire interrogation had been a pointless inconvenience. Confirm her fears, get a handful of troopers, maybe a truck or jeep, and the mystery man gets buried in paperwork and eventually let go. The Legion mark was the only thing keeping him here, and if Dimitri spun this right, he might wrangle something better than a rusted seat at NCRCF.

The clatter of dishes and dull murmur of conversation broke suddenly as Cruz stormed into the room, her palm slamming against the table hard enough to rattle his plate.

“Did you lock the fucking door?”

Dimitri blinked, fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh… yeah?”

“Well, he’s gone.”

He frowned, glancing down the hall as if he might see the escapee lurking in the shadows. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

“I know that, smartass. Just—ugh!” She spun on her heel and stalked off down the corridor. Dimitri let out a long sigh, abandoned his plate, and stacked his dishes onto the cart with a dull clatter.

The hallway felt colder now, an undercurrent of tension tightening around him. He double-checked his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the utility room. The door hung ajar, the dim overhead bulb throwing a wedge of light across the cracked tile. The cuffs lay discarded on the floor, dull against the grime. Cruz was already inside, pacing in a tight line, gnawing at the edge of her thumb.

“It’s like he vanished,” she muttered. “And so did my soldier.”

Dimitri’s eyes swept the room, past rusted washing machines and sagging shelves. One of the larger machines had its door slightly ajar. He approached, dread creeping up his spine, and tugged it open to reveal the missing trooper crammed inside, stripped of his uniform, with a bruise forming on his head and unconscious.

“Shit—”

He pressed two fingers to the kid’s throat. The pulse was weak, but there. Dimitri exhaled in relief, pulling the soldier free from the cramped metal drum.

“Oh god—”

“Relax,” Dimitri grunted, laying the kid down gently and turning him on his side. “He’ll wake up with a killer headache, but he’ll be fine.”

A deep rumble rolled through the air, the distant sound of an explosion blooming somewhere beyond the walls. Dust sifted from the rafters. Cruz and Dimitri locked eyes.

“Go,” she ordered. “I’ve got him.”

Dimitri bolted, boots pounding against tile and wood, the sharp echo of each step chasing him down the dim hallway. The night air hit him like a slap as he burst onto the porch, dry and cool, carrying the bitter scent of gunpowder and burning wood. The beach was in chaos—troopers shouting over one another, scrambling for weapons, smoke curling skyward from a fresh crater near the supply dump. But out on the docks, one figure moved with eerie calm. A tall man in a trooper’s helmet and mask, no armor, just a standard-issue uniform. That alone made Dimitri’s interest pique. The cool night air carried the harsh, acrid scent of scorched timber from the explosion and diesel fumes wafting from the nearby motorboat, thick and bitter as it filled his lungs.

Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet from his pack, jamming it onto his head as he crept through the shadows, keeping low. Waves slapped lazily against the pilings, a grim, steady heartbeat against the wood. The muffled crunch of his footsteps on sand mingled with the ghostly echo of his own breathing inside the helmet, every sense sharpened by adrenaline.

As Dimitri reached the end of the dock, words failed him. No clever speech, no rehearsed demand. Just raw instinct.

“You really don’t need to do this.”

The figure froze mid-motion, halfway through tossing a canvas bag into the boat, and turned to glare at him. That same cold, calculating stare from earlier. Dimitri’s fingers tightened around the grip of his pistol.

In a flicker of motion, a small butter knife whirled through the dark, catching a glint of moonlight before striking Dimitri’s chest with a dull, metallic thunk, deflecting off his armor. He grunted, instinctively recoiling — and in that heartbeat, the man surged forward. A boot swept his legs out from under him, and Dimitri hit the planks hard, the rotting dock shuddering beneath his back.

The figure was on him instantly, wrenching his pistol free with a swift, practiced jerk. The butt of the weapon cracked hard against the side of Dimitri’s head, a flash of light bursting behind his eyes. Dazed but fueled by sheer stubbornness, Dimitri lashed out, driving his fist into the man’s gut. He felt the impact in his knuckles, hearing a grunt.

He twisted, grappling for control, and managed to knock the pistol loose, sending it skittering across the dock. Gritting his teeth, Dimitri shoved his forearm against the man’s throat, straining to flip him. As he tried to pin the other wrist down, he could feel a hand reach around his back. A sudden, hot sting bloomed in his thigh — a knife, buried deep. He screamed in protest, and his grip faltered.

He then felt a force to his chest as he was kicked back onto the boards. He hissed in pain, eyes darting to the gash on his leg where blood welled up, dark and thick in the dim light. He propped himself up on his elbow. It was deep, but didn’t hit any major arteries. He gritted his teeth , clutching the wound. He wasn’t winded, but close combat had never been his strength.

Across from him, the man had retrieved his bowie knife and now toyed with it, flipping it idly in one hand testing its balance on his finger. That smug, practiced arrogance in his stance made Dimitri’s blood boil.

“Are you afraid to die?” The sound of his voice made him pause again.

“No," Dimitri snarled, forcing himself up on his feet.

“No?” the man echoed, his head cocking in faint amusement.

“Because I know I won’t.”

The knife’s tip lifted, beckoning. “Then take off the armor.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. He was done playing games. “No.”

The man’s expression darkened. Without warning, he bolted for the boat. Dimitri lunged after him, but the other man was quicker, ducking low and driving an elbow hard into the back of Dimitri’s neck. His balance crumbled. A forearm clamped around his throat, powerful legs kicking out his knees. The dock blurred around him as the world lurched sideways.

He fought the hold, hands clawing at the arm crushing his windpipe. Darkness gnawed at the edges of his vision, his ears filling with the roaring rush of his own pulse. Desperate, he twisted, but the strength drained from his limbs.

Then everything slipped away.

Dimitri came to with a sharp, throbbing ache behind his eyes. The world was hazy, shapes and colors bleeding into one another until the full moon cut through the clouds. Blurred moonlight smeared across the river’s surface, turning the water into rippling glass. His head pounded with every heartbeat, his leg ached, and his throat felt raw where the man’s forearm had crushed it.

He groaned, pushing himself upright. Sand clung to his bloodied hands and the back of his neck, and sharp splinters bit into his palm from the dock’s weathered boards. Around him, the beach had settled into an uneasy quiet. Smoke still drifted in thin, lazy plumes as lights flickered on as the night settled in. 

At least no one was around to witness him sprawled in the dirt like a rookie.

He limped back toward the resort, each step sending a hot lance of pain through his thigh. He found Cruz outside the infirmary shack, leaning against the battered frame of the door, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. The soldier from earlier lay on a cot inside, pale and glassy-eyed, an ice pack balanced awkwardly against his temple. Another patient was curled on a second cot, groaning softly.

“Injury from the blast?” Dimitri rasped, voice rough from the chokehold.

Cruz didn’t look up. “Nope. Food poisoning. Bad mirelurk. The explosion was a goddamn dumpster. Distraction.”

Dimitri scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah… he took the boat.”

Cruz sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Damn it. That was our only one. Mead’s got the rest.”

“Why?”

“Recon runs. Repairs. Supply hauls. Take your pick.” She flicked the spent cigarette into the dirt and fished another from her pocket. The lighter’s flare briefly lit the wear on her face—new lines, old exhaustion.

Dimitri glanced upriver. “I guess that means I’m walking.”

“Sure as hell does,” Cruz muttered through a drag. “No jeeps, no trucks, no soldiers to spare. You’ll have to hoof it to Blythe the old-fashioned way. And pick up the pace while you’re at it. Feels like a timer’s running out for that place, if it’s not already gone.”

Dimitri grimaced, jaw tight. He could feel it too. A creeping weight in his gut and he murmured, “yeah… At least you still have soldiers.”

“I doubt he went upriver,” Cruz went on. “If you move fast, you might even catch him.”

Dimitri arched his brow. “You want your boat back?”

“You gonna carry it?”

He smirked despite himself. “What about your prisoner?”

She snorted, a dry, humorless sound. “You gonna carry him too?” A thin smile ghosted across her face. “I don’t need any more Legion bastards hanging around. If he didn’t give you anything useful, let the river take him. Boat’s worth more to Blythe.”

Dimitri gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

Before he could brace, Cruz whipped a stimpack from her belt and jammed it into his thigh.

“Shit! Little warning next time.”

“Baby.”

Dimitri grunted, adjusting his pack as the sting dulled to a lingering heat. The desert night unspooled before him, cold and endless, the low murmur of the river threading through the hush. He set out along the bank, his boots scuffing over cracked stone and brittle earth. Somewhere out there, the current carried both a stolen boat and unfinished business.

[annievrse]

treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen

satoru x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: you and gojo like each other, that much is obvious. how he goes about it though, your friends aren't the biggest fans (and neither are you). w/c: 2.1k

“why does everything with you have to be so difficult?” 

shoko and suguru grumble from their spots next to and diagonal to you, respectively, but you ignore them. your focus is on satoru, who sits directly across from you, his hands clasped on the table before him.

the white-haired man wiggles his eyebrows. “it’s fun getting you all riled up.”

rolling your eyes, you take the last chocolate mochi from the package and shove it in your mouth, narrowing your eyes at satoru. all he does is smile widely and push his sunglasses into his hair.

"is that good?"

you don't miss the teasing undertones of his words, and stop chewing, a sudden tang of something in your mouth.

shoko tenses next to you, anger radiating off her. "gojo, i swear, if you–"

noticing his friend's bouncing knee and suppressed smile, suguru sighs. "he did," he mumbles, rubbing his face with his palm.

you shake your head, gathering the mochi you've chewed in one lump before you spit it out into the white box it came in. "what the fuck?"

holding an empty ketchup and mustard packet between his pointer and middle finger, satoru breaks into a fit of giggles.

with tears in your eyes from the disgusting taste of chocolate mixed with the condiments, you glare up at him. "this is why girls don't like you."

"oh please," satoru laughs, his eyes gliding over shoko and suguru, who don't smile. his own fades slightly, and when his gaze returns to you, it disappears off his cheeks. "come on! it was a little funny."

"we've somewhere to be," shoko stands, grabbing your hand to pull you up. "no boys allowed."

"wha–"

pulling you through the crowded outside area of the cafe, shoko throws satoru one last glare before smiling at suguru. "bye!"

you didn't mean for him to hear the whole story, in fact, he wasn't meant to know at all. sitting in shoko's dorm, you recount the events that happened earlier in the day.

you were grabbing lunch at the cafe down the street and replacing the chocolate mochi that satoru had ruined for you when you ran straight into nanami kento. he's a student in the same year as you, and he was extremely friendly and offered to carry your bags on the route back to campus.

"he's sweet," shoko comments, painting her middle finger a deep purple.

"he is!" you nod. "satoru would never."

shoko lifts her head from her hand and tilts her head. "he does for me when i let him."

your forehead creases and your stomach drops. "really?"

she nods and dips the brush into the nail polish bottle. "suguru offers more, forces me to give him my bags, but satoru does sometimes."

you turn your attention to your toenails, red, and the brush you hold limply in your fingers.

"hm," you hum, choosing to concentrate on painting your nails instead of satoru's chosen courtesy.

a sudden, loud pounding on the door almost makes you drop the nail polish, but then satoru is entering and flopping down on shoko's bed, shoes and coat on.

"shoes off right now, gojo."

"yes, miss," he mumbles, toeing off his adidas. then, satoru rolls over and presses his face into your hip.

"get off," you spit, suddenly angered by his presence.

"what?" he asks, head lifting off the mattress quickly. "what's your problem?"

scoffing, you shift away from him. "you!"

satoru sits up, eyes squinting at you. "me?"

"yes!" you slam the capped bottle onto the bedside table and stand up. "you know what happened today?"

satoru tilts his head in question, waiting for you to continue.

"kento helped me carry my bags back here. when was the last time you did that for me?"

"woah, woah! what? nanami?"

you nod.

"nanami kento, the nerd? he helped you? what did he say to you? did he try to chat you up?"

"chat me up?" you gape. "that's all you're worried about right now? whether a guy tried to ask me out?"

"what else should i be worried about?"

you glance at shoko, but she shakes her head, choosing to stay out of the argument.

"you're kidding."

satoru shrugs and stands too, looking down at you, but his height never intimidates you.

"you're too good for him," satoru laughs, waving his hand like the motion and his words would dismiss the entire conversation.

"who are you to decide that?"

"considering i've been your best friend for like 14 years, i think i know your worth, and it's definitely higher than his."

"you're deluded," you chided. "and who, exactly, would you allow me to be with? whose worth is equal to mine?"

satoru rolls his eyes and gestures to himself. "me, obviously."

you choke out a laugh and watch when his face falls. "sho, have you ever met anyone so delusional?"

"alright," shoko says, nervously looking at satoru.

you swear your eye twitches. "satoru, i will literally eat you. shut up." satoru's solemn expression makes your stomach do funny things.

choosing to defuse the situation instead of making it worse, shoko tries to poke fun. "you're jealous, gojo. we get it, it's okay."

spinning to meet shoko's gaze, satoru blushes a deep pink that you can't see. "no," and the shaking of his head tensely and the widening of his eyes has shoko snickering because she sees right through him. she doesn't realise she is right on the money.

"bye." and then he's out the door, his shoes in his hand.

"man, he's got problems. who does he think he is?"

shoko sighs, a faint smile on her lips. "agreed."

"call me that one more time and see what happens."

you roll your lips between your teeth, a smile threatening to break across your face. "gojo, gojo, gojo."

"satoru!" he pouts. "you always call me satoru. stop that."

you giggle into your hand, satoru's fallen expression causing you to burst. you'd both clearly forgotten what happened at shoko's yesterday, and it was obvious when said girl looked at your expressions. this always occurred between you and satoru, nothing was ever that serious, but to onlookers, it was odd, to say the least. shoko always questioned whether she knew either of you as well as she thought because it was clear you and satoru were each other's makers.

satoru's eyes shift under his purple sunglasses, mischief swimming in his blue irises. then, satoru steps toward you, placing his hands on the back of your arms. "don't make me shake you."

"satoru," you whisper, peering up at him. at the sound of his name, he visibly melts. his shoulders relax, and his face morphs into relief.

"thank you," satoru nods, rubbing your skin. "now, was that so hard?"

"i dont know, gojo, you tell me."

"are we gonna stop them soon?" suguru asks shoko where they sit on the picnic bench. the girl rolls her eyes and sighs.

"gojo! quit. leave her alone."

the white-haired man turns his head sharply, eyes lasering into shoko's. "if you don't like it, you can leave, ieiri."

"gojo," shoko deadpans. "calling me by my family name doesn't bother me."

ignoring her, satoru turns back to you. "fine." and then he backs up, hands in the air. "if you hate me so much, i guess i'll cancel our reservations at the karaoke place on friday."

"no," suguru cuts in, standing from the bench. "don't be ridiculous, satoru. we've been waiting for that for weeks."

satoru shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. "if someone doesn't fix their attitude, it's not happening."

this time, both you and shoko are rolling your eyes—you because satoru is being annoying, and shook because you won't give in.

"you could end this right now, you know?" she calls to you.

sighing, you shrug. "it's more fun when he's like this."

shoko mumbles under her breath and picks up her bag. "you two were made for each other. i'm off. c'mon suguru."

despite gojo's threats, karaoke went ahead on friday.

you and shoko showed up a little late due to a wardrobe malfunction. emerging from the train station, you see suguru and satoru sitting with their backs against the brick wall of the small restaurant next to the karaoke joint.

"about time!" satoru exclaims, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "we were about to go in there and sing 'my heart will go on' without you."

suguru rolls his eyes and stands. "ignore him."

you nod. "already do."

satoru's jaw goes slack, and he clambers upright. "rude."

"alright," shoko shrugs her bag higher on her shoulder. "let's sing."

the night wasn't going as you had anticipated. shoko accidentally knocked her drink over your top, leaving it wet and sticky and smelling of tequila, suguru passed the microphone a little too hard at you and ended up hitting you in the temple, and satoru offered you his hoodie.

now, this isn't an issue, considering you've been friends for longer than you hadn't and wore various parts of his closet for fun sometimes. but the matter is, his ex-girlfriend gave him his hoodie, and it was damn expensive too. you and her didn't struggle to get on, no, it was the notion that she felt threatened by you in private. while they were together, it was a secret that she felt this way, so when satoru told you why they broke up, you felt bitterly about her. thinking you were friends with your best friend's, albeit crush's girlfriend, was both a relief and depressing.

so, the hoodie is a problem.

but satoru was happy to throw the garment at your head, yell "cover up that ugly top", and continue screaming the lyrics to 'teenage dream' by katy perry.

but, it's a problem that you endure because satoru is giving you his hoodie. pulling it over your head and threading your arms into the sleeves was fine. the material was soft, and the hoodie was slouchy and comfortable. and it wasn't until you pulled the hood over your head that you finally acknowledged the scent of him. and then your mind started to wander.

was he only giving you this hoodie to quash all feelings you had for him? did he know? was this one of his tricks to get you to like him like that? isn't that what he did to all the girls? what did he call it again?

treat 'em mean to keep 'em keen? yeah, that's the one. but this was a little too mean for you, and you couldn't help the sour attitude brewing in your stomach.

you felt your cheeks heating up and immediately had to dispel your awkward stillness. "this smells so bad. do you even wash your clothes 'toru?"

"pfft," he scoffs, the music changing on the screen behind him. "says you! you might have to keep that after wearing it. i can't stand your stench."

shoko snatches the microphone out of his hand and pushes him off the small stage. "move, it's my turn."

stumbling, satoru takes a seat next to you. you don't look up at him, but you can feel his eyes on you.

"you look cute in that, actually," he mumbles as the tune to 'the sweet escape' fades in.

"shut up," you say, leaning on him, watching shoko and suguru make the chorus a duet.

"sorry."

you furrow your eyebrows and peer up at him. "what for?"

"i know you know where the hoodie's from. i shouldn't have said that."

you shake your head, the tips of your ears burning. "it's fine."

"take it off," he grumbles, fingers playing with the hem of the jumper.

startled, you rest your hands on him. "no, it's fine. my top's ugly anyway, and it smells."

satoru huffs. "your top isn't ugly. it's hot," his eyes burn through the material on your chest and you inhale sharply.

"satoru," you whisper dangerously. your eyes widen when you realise where his gaze lays and you slap his bicep. "stop."

maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you'd both gotten tired of teasing that the only thing left to do was to air out how you felt (finally).

"surely you have to know how i feel about you," he exhales a laugh and turns to your best friends who are dancing to 'can't get you out of my head'. "i know i can be a dick, but you're no angel either."

your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek, suppressing a laugh. "fair. but i love annoying you."

"likewise," he winks. "let me take you out properly?"

the question takes you off guard, and you glance at shoko and suguru, who are paying you no mind. "because you and i are worth the same?"

satoru opens his mouth to reply, probably one that would get him smacked, but the silence of the room cuts him off.

"gojo, remove your hands!" shoko yells into the microphone. you jump in surprise, and gojo drops your hands.

you shrug at satoru and stand, knocking into suguru when he shoves the microphone into your hand.

and 'blah blah blah' plays on repeat in satoru's head until you agree to go out with him, thanks to shoko.

[sc0tters]

Better Off as Rivals | Luke Hughes

summary: the game didn’t go all too smoothly for Luke, but here comes the moment you’ve been waiting for: the reunion. but what happens when a curveball makes it less smooth than one of you would have liked?

request: yes/no

warnings: mention of blood, sad Luke, Mat Barzal (he deserves a warning for this part)

word count: 1.41k

author note: at the end of this part I mention the end THIS IS NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THEIR STORY! There is one more left. will say though, it’s about time we give them a bit of happiness.

previous part | final part

You swore it was the longest game of your life.

Luke and Mat got into a fight in the second period and from that very moment, you hadn’t sat down.

It was a fight that seemed to build in the first third, both boys continuously chirping at each other with every chance that they got. When Mat was taking off in the hopes of calming him down it caused the Hughes boy to comment something that forced half of the Islander bench to hold the Canadian back.

You thought that the boys would have settled down by now. They had twenty minutes apart before they had to see each other on the ice again. Part of you wanted to think that Mat was giving Luke a piece of his mind for you, but when the Devils player was the first one to drop his gloves. That wishful thinking part of you was quick to disappear.

Both boys had been sent to their respective penalty boxes with the older of the two looking worse for wear as the younger had a shit eating grin on his face as he didn’t care about the blood that was gushing from his nose. Part of you was glad that they both found this all easier than you did because personally you wanted to die.

You literally thought that throwing yourself off of a cliff would have been easier than watching them continue to fight.

Thankfully for you though Luke didn’t play in the third half as the team ultimately feared the idea of him doing anything that could get himself ejected from the game.

When the whistle finally blew to signal the end of the game it was like a weight had lifted off your shoulders. It was like now you knew that they really couldn’t hit each other anymore.

So you stood by the entrance of the home locker room waiting for Mat to come and debrief what on earth went down between him and the boy.

You sent him a small smile as Mat made his way over to you. The scowl on his face was still evident. It reminded you of the time Luke ate a packet of Jacks gummy bears and the older boy didn’t talk to his brother until he replaced them, it took the younger four days of constant glares from the forward to figure it out.

But when Mat got to you the memory quickly frazzled out of your mind. The boy let his stick hit the floor as his gloves went to your cheeks.

The material warmed the apples of your face as you locker eyes with him. The look in his orbs was different to what you were used to, it was darker than usual. His eyebrows were furrowed as his tongue clicked between his lips.

You had no clue what was going on but to afraid to question the boy that was clearly in an irritated state.

Not that you were really complaining though as it meant that you had the chance to finally get a good look at the damage that Luke had done. You had to admit that Luke threw a good punch, something that you didn’t think that he had in him to do.

What you didn’t think would happen whilst you scanned Mats face, was that he’d kiss you.

It actually almost knocked you off your feet you were so surprised. Yeah Mat was cute and he paid attention to you but there was one thing that he didn’t have going for him, he wasn’t Luke.

But after a few seconds you had to admit that the kiss felt good enough to the point where you kissed him back.

Unfortunately for Luke he had to watch the whole thing. Yeah he had his suspicions about what you were with him and those sure did keep him up at night, but it was actually seeing it in the flesh that was different. Now there was not even a fighting chance for him in this equation.

Luke knew he would have been better off telling you the truth to begin with. But knowing something and doing something were two totally different things.

Just as that poster in your office cubicle used to say actions speak louder than words

How he used to think it was the cringiest thing he had ever seen before but now Luke was stood here actually agreeing with it.

Luke knew he was being dramatic but his heart felt like it was in front of him but he couldn’t get it back. So he was forced to watch as you pulled away from the older boy “let’s give them some privacy.” Nico’s voice was soft as he placed his hand on the Hughes boys shoulder.

Nico had been stood behind the younger boy so he got the front seat view of how Luke reacted to you getting some kind of action.

Sure he and Miles joked that it would be funny if Luke did end up liking you but they didn’t mean it like this. It seemed like in that very moment Luke finally felt the pain that he caused you to feel. His pain was different though, yours had been inflicted through words but his pain was through your actions and somehow that hurt more.

It was probably the total lack of knowledge that you were even doing anything wrong that hurt Luke the most.

Despite his captains suggestion Luke couldn’t take his eyes off of it he physically had no other option but to stay and stare as he felt stuck.

Your conversation with Mat ended with you telling him that you two would talk about what just happened later.

Watching as the Canadian walked into the locker room you couldn’t help but feel the holes that were being burnt into your head. With a confused look you turned around as you locked eyes with Luke.

You cocked your head as you walked over to him “you okay?” You asked as you furrowed your eyebrows.

Waiting for his lips to move so that his mouth could make a sound felt like an eternity “little sore,” for the first time in over a year did you hear Luke talk to you in a normal tone.

There was no snarky remark, sarcastic scoff or even hint of mean in his words. You never thought that you would see the day were he looked at you like you were a normal girl.

It was cruel how he still made you nervous enough to the point where you fiddled with your pocket causing you realised you still had his letter “this is for you.” You mumbled as you held out the white envelope to him.

It had his name marked in big cursive letters as it was your favourite way to write things.

The paper smelt like your perfume instantly letting Luke’s favourite smell invade his nostrils “thanks,” he sent you a nod as he took the item from you careful to not touch your hand in the exchange. It wasn’t to be rude, it was because if he had any physical contact with you Luke swore that he might pass out. He felt that nervous feeling rush over him as though he was getting blood drawn at the doctors office.

Watching with a grin you studied Luke’s hand to see the bruise forming on his knuckles from where he punched Mat “I should get going,” you confessed as you saw your coworkers motion you over to them.

The boy let out a sigh “okay,” he nodded feeling a sense of defeat despite the positive score line that the game had.

You pushed yourself onto your tippy toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into a hug “and can we not have you fight like that again?” You asked causing the hockey player to laugh “think I can try that,” he smiled as you stood back down on the floor.

It was nice having him be civil “I’ll keep you too that.” You warned sending him a mini salute before you walked away.

Luke stood there watching as your figure went further away until you turned a corner meaning that you were now out of his sight.

Whilst it felt like closure for you,

It felt like the ending of the story had come about twenty pages too early for Luke.

[oopsimbug]

in which… y/n is stubborn, and harry is still an asshole

a.k.a. regency harry pt. 2

a/n: gah… i literally dont know what to say… how about: oh my god i am so sorry for taking so long! school, two jobs, a lack of inspiration and literally hating my own writing made sure i was unable to post for an entire YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS!!!! i DEEPLY apologise. i hope this is alright? let me know what you think! and yes, there WILL be a third part, hopefully out before the earth is enveloped by the sun?

pairing: regency era! harry styles x reader, enemies to lovers

summary: again, think little women, but with you instead of jo and harry instead of laurie… but harry is an asshole… a RELENTLESS asshole

warnings: harry is still a GIANT ass, all enemies no lovers, lots of really mean things said to each other, they literally truly hate one another like i have my work cut out for me trying to redeem this couple :’)

word count: 10.8k (smaller than my first chapter, but god did i struggle getting over the 9k mark… i literally hate myself)

read part one here!!

Money…

It was what made the world spin around. 

Unfortunately, the L/ns did not have as much of it as they used to. 

This was why, when their mother needed money to visit their father, who fell very ill, Y/n set out to find a job.

Replacing her mother at her job in the nurse's office wasn’t going to work- she was horrible with sitting still for too long. Besides, her hands were far too shaky to hold silly little fiddly needles. No, there was no chance she would do that. 

She could try to get a job at a shop- a bakery possibly? But no, she had little patience for old people, who were always either very interesting and passionate, which she loved, or very snooty and cold, which she despised with every cell of her being- and unfortunately, the majority of customers were the elderly, who shopped when they had nothing else to do during the day, and they were predominantly of the latter kind. 

Y/n was positively puzzled- stupendously stumped and magnificently muddled. She knew she was talented, but what job would she fulfill that would be of use and make a substantial pay? She pondered that all morning as she completed her chores- tending to the animals and picking up more wood. Once inside, she stoked the fire, made two cups of tea and sat at the dining table. 

“Saf!” she called to her sister upstairs. “Bring your packet and come to the table- it’s 9:30!”

At the age of 13, girls were forced to graduate school. Ma and Y/n, who didn’t believe this was enough of an education, devised a plan- once graduated, the L/n girls would do tutoring sessions with Y/n, who was passionate and proficient in all areas of English, which was what the girls would require the most to function in the world. She would also help with arithmetic- though it was not her strong point, she was confident in the skills they would probably need. Safia was under the tutoring of Y/n, as would Ula the next year. 

As she waited for the pitter-patter of Saf’s feet down the stairs, she thought to herself. Unfortunately, all natural thoughts seemed to lead in the same direction lately- all pertaining to a certain tall and lanky individual with brown hair. She was not moping, that was for sure- Y/n did not mope. She was not even upset about him choosing a different woman over her- that was a fleeting insecure thought held only in the heat of the moment that night. No, she was mad. Furious, in fact. How dare he- how dare he?! He strung her along, purposefully got her hopes up for the mere sake of making fun of her- he embarrassed her and then had the utter gall to smirk and wink about it afterwards! Y/n always had a temper, but this was anger on a whole different level. This was searing, hot, burning, blood-red vexation. Her hands began to ball into fists- she wanted to hit something, break something, hurt him and only him. 

However, before she could fantasise about all the ways she would cause him pain, she felt a soft arm on her shoulder. She must’ve been caught in a trance, unable to hear her sister come down the stairs and call her name once she reached the bottom and found Y/n unresponsive, as Safia’s face held deep concern, eyebrows knit together as she repeated her question. 

“Are you okay, Y/n?” her tentative and soft voice carefully asked, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, ever the sweetheart. “You’re not feeling ill, are you? I know Liz was rid of her sickness a few weeks ago, but it may have lingered around the house.”

She smiled up at her younger sister, who moved her hand to feel her cheek, after finding no suspiciously hot temperature on her forehead. She shook her head and let out a small laugh, all of the rage for him leaving her thoughts. 

“I’m okay Saf… just thinking…” she replied honestly. She was just thinking… thinking of how she would pelt that damned boy with logs of firewood. Or maybe she should let Flynn at him- she had already told the Clydesdale of what had happened. Maybe he could stomp him down till he quivered and shook with fear, begging both of them for forgiv-

“Thinking about what?” Her sister’s voice pulled her out of her reverie once again.

Y/n looked up at her face, smiled brightly, pulled out the adjacent chair and patted it lovingly, before replying with a jolly tone.

“Nothing that you should worry about… Now, are you ready to venture into the world of Hedda Gabler?”

Her sister smiled sweetly before sitting down, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Of course I am!”

“Great! Because today, we are going to be analysing gender and how it influences power within our passage!” Y/n was always so excited to teach her about the books, poems and plays that she liked- there was no way she would teach her sister boring and dull theory, or pieces that only reflected a man’s perspective. No, she had an opportunity to open her sister’s mind and hopefully make a lasting impact on it- one that encouraged her to pursue her dreams without needing the opinion or permission from a man. And she wasn’t going to waste it. 

“Now, open to our bookmarked page, and let’s begin…”

*****

After finishing classes, Y/n got dressed and ran out the door before her sisters could follow her, unable to take all of them to the village on Flynn, and not wanting to upset anyone. She buckled the saddle into place and hopped on before riding the path all the way to town. After tying Flynn up with hay and water, she straightened out her dress and apron and began walking, dodging men who gave her glances of annoyance for her slightly messy loose hair, mussed on the fast journey on the Clydesdale. She had bigger things to worry about, despite what Liz would say…

She was picking up some lemons from the market, which Ula insisted on getting, convinced that they were necessary to her social status in her school, where pickled lemons were the talk of the town. While the need for lemons didn’t sound dire to Y/n, Liz benevolently gifted her extra loose change, justifying it with something about “knowing what it was like to not fit with others at school”. And while Y/n didn’t believe money like five whole dollars should go to waste on lemons, she still searched the shelves intently, looking for some that weren’t too costly. While leaning forward, she walked through an aisle, scouring the lowest shelf for them, unaware of the person she was about to bump into. Curse her clumsiness! 

She walked right into the unsuspecting person before standing to full height, apologies spilling out of her rapidly as she helped the older lady regain balance. Y/n had never seen her before- an older woman, around her own mother’s age, with brown hair that was greying from the roots and forest green eyes that twinkled, reminding her all too much of a certain boy, but she pushed those thoughts away. She also looked of money, with her elegant dress, shoes and shiny jewels.

Y/n began spilling out apologies as it was her own fault for the collision, and the kind lady forgave her each time with a “That’s all right, my dear”, with calming energy radiating from her. Once the two women had settled they let out breathy chuckles at the incident. Beginning to move back to her search for cheap citrus was halted, however, when Y/n noticed the woman seemingly struggling to find what she was looking for. Y/n observed covertly as the lady would gingerly pick up a bottle of what looked to be cologne, look at the label for a few seconds, squint as if to make out what it was saying, before putting it back nervously and repeating with the next. 

Y/n noted that when she would “read”, her eyes didn’t stop to comprehend the words. She needed help, and Y/n was not one to shy away from that fact. 

“Hello,” Y/n began. 

The lady smiled sweetly as she replied, her green eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Hello, love.” she gently replied. 

Y/n wanted to help without seeming patronising, so she was careful with her words. “So, what brings you here, Ma’am?”

She looks around, then down at the glass bottle in her hand before looking back at Y/n. She fumbles and hesitates as she answers.

“Oh- well- I am looking for this shoe polish, but… I seem to be having a bit of trouble…”. She went beet red before she whispered in a meek and quiet squeak only fairies could hear. Fairies or those who had experience with shy sweethearts as Y/n had with her Saf. 

“You-“ she slightly huffed a bitter laugh through her nose. “You probably can already tell, but… I can’t read…” she confessed, thoroughly embarrassed.

If Y/n wanted to help the woman before, her holding cologne that would most certainly tarnish leather while shopping for shoe polish convinced her utterly and completely. She did not hesitate- not even for a beat, determined to show that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all! 

“I can help you! I never use shoe polish- my shoes are always getting muddy anyways, and it would only be a pain to scrub them for nothing, so I don’t have any suggestions in mind, but if you have an idea of the type of polish you wanted, I could help you out!” She dropped personal anecdotes into the conversation, as she often did when conversing with strangers, finding it easier to comfort others to relax around her when they knew she was an open book.

“Oh thank you, my darling! I am looking for a dark brown and black coloured polish that would work best for making leather loafers shiny.” 

And with that, Y/n began her search, starting with going to the correct section, before beginning to scan the tiers of the shelves carefully, looking for what the lady wanted. The woman followed her and began a friendly conversation with her as she searched. 

“My nephew needs new polish for his shoes. I would have told him to do it himself, but he’s out of town, you see. Went out of town, about a week’s trip away. I couldn’t send my maid either- I wished for her to take some time off while there were less people in the house, you see. So here I arrived, figuring I could just find it myself. Ah, how foolish.” She then sighed once more after simmering in laughter for a bit, looking wistfully at another tin she could not decipher the contents of. 

Y/n found the two tins of shoe polish, holding them out to her while responding firmly. “Ma’am, you are not foolish at all. At least you tried! And look, here you are helping your nephew who’s out of town, after letting your helpers take a break! That’s not foolish, that’s compassionate,”.

The lady smiled warmly, the wrinkles next to her eyes crinkling and creasing beautifully as she did. “Oh, darling, you are very sweet for using your gift to help those who cannot. Thank you!” She lightly squeezed Y/n’s cheek playfully before walking to the counter, Y/n following after her before placing the tins on the table for the cashier to process. 

“You are very welcome Ma’am.” The lady began to pull open the small embroidered coin purse she had in her slightly wrinkled yet sturdy hands, fishing for a coin before dropping it into Y/n’s palm and winking. 

Y/n’s eyes went wide as she attempted to hand the coin back. 

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. I was just trying to be of service, truly. Please take your money.” 

But the woman was not having a lick of it. Her face grew stern, her eyes fiery as she quickly snapped back. “Don’t you dare try to give that back, it’s yours!”

Y/n reluctantly smiled and nodded gratefully before walking back to the shelves to continue her search for lemons as the gentle tinkle of the doorbell indicated the sweet lady’s exit. She could not stop thinking about her, however. Why was it that men were taught to read and write and build and farm, but women were only taught how to be good mothers and wives? That woman could learn to read- anyone could, really. All she needed was a teacher… 

Suddenly, Y/n had an idea. One that caused her to drop everything she was doing and run out the door to look for the woman. Teaching! Y/n could teach the woman and in return, get a bit of money! After looking around, she found her walking down the cobbled street, seconds from entering a very expensive and fancy carriage. 

“WAIT MA’AM!” Y/n cried, weaving past the people and carts on the busy street as she ran to her. The lady’s ears perked and she looked back, locked eyes with Y/n and froze with concern, allowing the younger girl to catch up. 

“Yes, my dear?” She asked, once Y/n had caught up and was attempting to catch her breath. After a few deep, embarrassingly wheezy breaths, Y/n finally calmed herself down enough to respond. 

“Icouldteachyou-”, she said exasperated all in one sentence before punctuating it with a heaving breath. After taking a lungful or two of air, she clarified to the poor confused woman.

“Ma’am, I could teach you how to read! If you would like!”

The woman’s eyes opened wider in astonishment before her face brightened with a radiant smile. “You would teach me?” She asked, almost flabbergasted.

“Yes, of course!” Y/n responds, enthusiastically. “I am currently teaching my sisters how to read, so I know how to do it! I could help you too if you would like!”

The woman’s warm and grateful smile shone brighter than the sun. And Y/n’s heart stuttered with excitement when she asked to exchange addresses for further communication. 

This was it… she was finally going to help her family.

******

It was four days later when the L/n residence received two letters, both with express stamps on them, signaling their importance. One was a letter from their father, which the girls were keen to read immediately, but waited for their mother to come home so they could unveil it together. The other, however, was mysteriously addressed to and only to Y/n. How peculiar! 

“Y/n you must open it in front of us- what if it is a secret admirer hoping to eagerly profess their love to you!” Ula whined. Liz shook her head and looked at the youngest girl. 

“If Y/n wants to keep this to herself, she exercises her right to do so”. Liz’ eyes drift to Y/n’s slowly as she continues. “…However…”, before finally running and springing onto her. “You MUST tell us if it is!” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at her sisters, despite Liz’s best attempts to put an end to the “unladylike” and “brash” behaviour. “Come on, there is no way it will be a boy… have you ever even seen me with one? I would run circles around them in every sense before their tiny minds could even get a singular word out!” 

Y/n, though thoroughly believing in her statement that yes, she probably could outshine any boy in the town, also- in the back of her mind- registered that yes, maybe she was overcompensating and exaggerating just the smallest bit in order to shield her heart, still sore from the events of Tilly Hughes’ ball and that wicked boy. Her sisters chuckled at her musing as she made herself comfortable on the sofa chair next to the fire, all three of her sisters huddling behind her in order to get a good view of the elegantly folded and wax-sealed letter that Y/n began to tear open. Once the pristine paper was unfolded, she stood up and began to pace as she read- her sisters giggling and breathing over her shoulder was doing no good, and she needed to focus. It read:

Before Y/n could process the words written on the paper, Liz narrated the letter to Saf and Ula- the latter began to squeal mercilessly, while Liz grinned from ear to ear, pores radiating with pride for her sister. 

*******

The house was astonishing. It was grand, it was elegant, it was pristine.

Above all, it was capital!

The trek down the natural and lush path of trees and fields was all a ruse- Y/n knew Ms Ophelia was a rich woman, but she but any preconceived notion of what her house may look like while trekking the trail was completely, utterly, jaw droppingly decimated. Once reaching the end of the driveway (walking ever so slowly to take the majesty in), Y/n and Flynn were met with pristine hedges that bordered the entire property. Two large white marble columns with oil lamps attached signaled the beginning of the courtyard. In between them, was a large opening where Y/n could see the greenest grass she had ever witnessed, a center hedge path, and behind it, Ms Ophelia’s grand home. Y/n’s mouth was hung open as she approached the large, stark white building, with its covered entrance, wide expanse and huge windows. 

It was a stretch for it to even be called a house. It was a mansion- a manor. Y/n resolved that there must be a plethora of family members that justified the sheer volume of space there was to occupy. She stepped off of Flynn, held the end of his reign, and walked through the grassy courtyard and to the front door. She would have taken Flynn to the stables, not wanting her first introduction to her well-paying student to be interrupted by the attention-hungry Clydesdale, however, the house was so grand she could not even begin to wonder where the hell the stables could be. Instead, she smoothed the light wrinkles out of the frock that Ula picked for her, slightly disgruntled when remembered the lack of a waistcoat she had on. She attempted to fix and flattened the now slightly frizzy hair that Liz had spent almost an entire hour to style, mussed a tad due to the breeze created while riding Flynn, before taking a deep breath in... and rang the doorbell.

She heard some muffled clattering, before hurried footsteps approached, growing louder and louder before they reached the mahogany door, pulled open to reveal a positively ecstatic Ms Ophelia- her brown hair pulled back with a hair pin, but similar in frizziness to Y/n. Her eyes squinting with her warm closed lip smile, the green irises truly dazzling with excitement. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green and white silk dress, her chest adorned with a single thin gold necklace threaded through a small locket. 

"Y/n!!! So nice to see you!” The lady took Y/n and Flynn in with a charming smile, cooing at the latter before stepping forward to give the Clydesdale a stroke down his white blaze and a scratch on his chin, causing him to preen, closing his eyes a soft huff of pleasure. She then looked to Y/n. “Please, my farmhand Thomas will take this handsome boy to the stables out back."

She looked past Y/n to the front garden and called to the man Y/n hadn't noticed had been planting flowers. He had shiny blonde hair, short from the sides while the top was long and messy, slightly damp with sweat. He pushed the golden mess out of his face and smoothed it back, revealing a bit of dirt on the sun-kissed skin of his forehead. Descending down, there were thick eyebrows, hazel brown eyes squinting in the glare of the sun, a strong nose, and full lips that were pursed and curved into a sweet and friendly smile. He stood, brushed himself off, approached Y/n, and wordlessly took Flynn with a charming smile, nodding to her before walking around to the side of the house. After losing sight of him, Y/n looked back to Ms Ophelia, who opened the door and gestured Y/n in. 

"Please do come in!" As Y/n stepped through the threshold of the house, Ms Ophelia continued. 

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea- I warmed up enough water for the both of us. How do you take it?" The older woman began walking, Y/n trailing behind her as they entered the beautiful eggshell white kitchen with purple accents.

"Oh, well if it isn't a bother, I take one sugar and only a bit of milk" Y/n watched as the woman poured the boiling tea into the two mugs. 

"Huh!" Ms O looked at Y/n funny, before looking down at the cups she was working on. "Me too! Just enough milk to make it a very dark brown?"

Y/n’s eyes begin to light up incredulously. "Yeah! That's right! My sisters all think that I never put enough in!" 

"My nephew does too!" 

The women looked at each other and smiled- they both knew there was some sort of connection that brought the two of them together, and that they would be kindred spirits. 

*******

The lesson went swimmingly, as agreed by both Y/n and Ms Ophelia (sorry- just Ophelia, the older woman had been very adamant about that). They had sat and begun with the alphabet, and while Ophelia was quite bashful when Y/n corrected her, they knew that with time, they would become more comfortable. Eventually, despite her consistent imploring that she stay for dinner, Y/n insisted she must go home. 

"But my nephew will be home soon! He is such a charming, well articulated boy! Loves reading and the such- You two would get along so delightfully!" She clapped her hands eagerly at the thought, however, Y/n, softly stroking a saddled Flynn- thanks to Thomas, who wordlessly passed her the reins before walking off- looked at her new student and friend with a soft smile. 

"I'm sure anyone who grew up around you would be a wonderful friend, Ophelia, however I really must get home. My family will be expecting me soon."

Once goodbyes had been exchanged, they agreed to meet once again in a few days. And with that, Y/n mounted Flynn and began to ride the now dusky ride home. She may have dawdled a little- the sun was still so warm, and the breeze was beautiful. Flynn moved at a comfy pace as she appreciated the beauty of the world around her. 

However, that beauty was soon not in her focus when Y/n noticed someone riding towards her in the distance. She continued her pace, and as the figure approached, ready to return a polite nod if they were to greet her. As the figure continued on further, she squinted and began to make out a mop of brown hair, and a black blob of a coat, before all too quickly she recognised those sharp green eyes and the nose and those stupidly plush lips as he trotted closer and closer and god- oh no…

Y/n began to feel her stomach drop.

"Well well well! Look who it is!" That snide voice, that blasted smirk that taunted her. 

It was her arch nemesis.

His horse slowed down while she did nothing to stop Flynn, walking completely past him without even acknowledging him- her eyes forward and steely. She thought she had escaped him but she heard footsteps coming closer, however, and soon, Y/n was walking side by side with none other than Harry Styles. 

"What's with the cold shoulder, sweetheart? Have I done something to upset you?" He taunted in a teasing tone. 

"I am not your sweetheart, and don't you have a party to crash, loverboy?" She rolled her eyes and kept moving forward, him keeping an identical pace beside her.

"Ooft, take it easy darling, you’re going to hurt my. Large. Throbbing. Swollen. Red. Hot. Heart!" He punctuated each word with a beat, and Y/n's face became hot; she began to scrunch the sweaty leather reigns harder into her palms at the obvious innuendo. Harry saw this and grinned wickedly for getting to her, a malicious giggle even seeping out of him- he enjoyed this. He enjoyed relishing in her awkwardness. Once his giggles calmed, he shook his head and continued. "What are you doing out so late anyways? Meeting up with a secret lover?" 

Y/n couldn't even dignify that with a response, and merely scoffed and rolled her eyes again at the preposterous accusation. He noticed and continued.

"Hey, you scoff at that now, but who knows. It seems to be the quiet, pure ones that surprise me the most. The most proper girls always turn out to be the dirtiest. So, no- I don't think it's out of this world for a little thing like you to be getting your hands or mouth sullen for a bit of pleasure. Did you see the way you trembled for me the night we met? And the way you cried when I was paying attention to that little French girl? Don't lie, you were charmed, and seeing me with someone else broke your fragile. Little. Heart." 

He was unbelievable for bringing that up again… Y/n felt her rage boiling now. She responded bitterly and slowly. "Please, you are so full of yourself…. And of course you would know all about women and their sexuality, now wouldn't you"

"Hard to scorn someone for being likeable, isn't it, Grumpy?"

Y/n had to stop her horse fully and glare at the idiot. She looked deep into his eyes, calmed down and began to smile. She was in complete and utter disbelief. She shook her head and giggled a peal of bitter laughter. Harry’s face darkened in irritation. 

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Y/n’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as her giggles quelled. "It's funny that you think you are likable, Harry. You see, there is a difference between being desirable, and being easy. And it’s only the thoughtless ones like you who seem to be incapable at telling the difference. Not a thought behind those eyes, is there?... I wouldn't be surprised if you'd thought with your cock so much that your brain had atrophied due to the lack of use. You're not likeable, Harry Styles... you're just a plaything for widows and repressed virgins who wish to piss off their fathers to use and discard. And I cannot help but feel sorry for you for being the only one who cannot see that."

If she was not mistaken, Y/n believed she saw a bit of surprise and possibly even hurt in his eyes before they hardened, their playfulness completely drained. She did not think she was going to say that at all, and in any other situation, she would have thought that to be such a mean thing to say... But she had been sitting on that for far too long, and he had pushed her over with the teasing and the cockiness. She had had enough. Harry Styles needed to be brought down a peg or two.

They stared each other down fiercely, neither wanting to stand down. Then, he quickly shot at her. "You are nothing but a poor virgin with a gabby mouth that you wish was stuffed with my cock." he spat with nothing but poisoned malice.

Ouch… He was trying to catch her off guard, an attempt to garner some pride back, and while it immediately hurt Y/n, the wound of embarrassment growing in her heart, she knew she could not let him win. She quickly locked and loaded, before pulling the trigger without thinking. 

"And you are nothing but a dirty harlot who wastes his privilege of manhood on being a tart to women who don't even want him." she spat back at him. 

Targets acquired and shots fired, the two needed to go home and lick their wounds, crudely bandage their bullet holes and hope the sharp pain of the words spoken were only a temporary detriment to their own health, but an everlasting hellscape to each other. Both wanted to see the other in pain. Both wanted to win.

So with that, Harry made a big show about rearing his ashy grey horse up and around, before both of them spurred their horses forward into a gallop and away from the other- both carrying furrowed eyebrows, slightly hurt feelings (that they would never admit to), and a newfound degree of ire for each other…

He won’t get away with this.

********

Once tacking up Flynn, Y/n stomped her way to the house, still unbelievably enraged by the verbal warfare engaged with that brunette ass. She knew she wanted some alone time to calm down, but once entering her cosy home, she was bombarded with questions from her sisters- mainly Ula.

“Was the house big?!”

“What kind of dress was Ophelia wearing?!”

“How many servants did she have?!”

“Did she have lots of paintings on the walls?!”

“Any handsome sons?!”

“Did she tell you if she’s been to any exotic places like France or Switzerland?!”

“How was your day, Y/n?”

The last question was asked, of course, by her angelic sister Safia. Y/n lovingly rolled her eyes at the incessant questions from Ula and answered Saf’s tenderly. “My day was alright Saf, thank you for asking.”

“That’s good- I wished hard on all the dandelions I could find outside that you would come home safe and sound.” Y/n’s heart melted- she walked over to the younger girl and kissed her forehead with so much love and passion.

Ula observed the tenderness of the exchange and rolled her eyes. “Safia is perfect”, she taunted with a roll of her eyes before returning to her previous exercise of pulling up on the septum of her apparently “hideous” small aquiline nose to shape it into a more button nose, which she believed to be more elegant. Y/n looked back at Saf and whispered lovingly in her ear.

“Never stop wishing for the people you love the most, okay Saf?” Y/n gave her one more kiss before moving to the youngest sister with the most spunk besides Y/n herself. She gently swatted her hand away from her nose before lovingly stroking the bridge as she pulled Ula in for a hug from behind.

“And you, little missy! Stop trifling with the features your parents so lovingly passed to you. That nose isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. Treat it as one.” She kissed Ula’s head too before heading further into the house to greet her older sister and her mother. But as they had dinner, Y/n could not stop thinking about how much she hated Harry… little did she know, however, that her older sister Liz observed her suspiciously throughout the night.

Once in their room, hair and teeth brushed, dressed in their respective pyjamas- Liz’s a dainty white nightgown akin to the one Harry so scandalously described, and Y/n’s a mismatched patchwork buttoned set that Ma had made out of Y/n’s old clothes that she was too big to fit into, yet could bear to part with. Tucked into their beds, Liz turned to face Y/n and began.

“If Ms Ophelia was so very nice, what is the problem?”

Y/n turned to face her with furrowed brows. “What problem? There is no problem”

Liz rolled her eyes and shot back. “Yeah yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, Y/n. You can fool Ula- which isn’t saying much, but you can't fool me, so why don't we pretend like I tirelessly needled it out of you and you skip to the bit where you tell me what’s wrong”

Y/n sighed a long, hard, tired and frustrated sigh, before ultimately giving in. “I ran into a sworn enemy on the ride back home today…”

Liz shot up, eyes wide and mouth agape.“Who?!?”

“Harry Styles.”

Elizabeth stared incredulously at her sister, propped her pillows so she was sitting up, and began needling Y/n for more information. “What did he say? What did he do? Why is he your enemy?”

Y/n sighed. There was no way she was going to get to sleep until she told Liz everything. So she began…“You know of his reputation, yes?”

Y/n’s older sister gasped again. “Y/n… don’t tell me… he… with you?”

Y/n immediately understood what she was insinuating. “NO! No way! Never! Not in a million years! You know I hate everything to do with boys. I cannot believe you would think that of me!”

Liz sighed and sunk into herself in relief. “Thank god! I didn’t think you would but… unfortunately his reputation is quite… damning to say the least. Why, it was only last week he was with Amelie… did you see the way he returned her to the group? He didn’t even bother to wipe her lipstick from his lips! What a brute!”

Y/n brought her blanket up even closer to her face until only her eyes were visible, and mumbled her confession. “I know… I told him exactly so today…”

The older sister slowly started at her, tone changing completely to one low and testing. “What...That he is a brute?”

“Yes of course!” Y/n immediately shot back, exasperated.

Her sister stared at her with her mouth agape and eyebrows intensely furrowed. “...WHY?! Haven’t you heard of his family?!?” At Y/n’s confused face and shaking head, Liz took a deep breath and began. His father lives all the way in New York… Ma told me it was because he was absolutely dreadful to his wife and Harry all the time. Kept money from them, abused them, hit them- so much so that eventually they had to run away from him when he was only 10. They fled to a safe place- some cottage in the middle of nowhere? But get this- once there, his mother contracted scarlet fever and passed away. He had to walk all by himself to the nearest village to call for help- by the time medical assistance arrived, his mother was long gone. And with no other relatives bar his wicked father, he was left in the care of his devilishly deviant, yet disgustingly rich aunt.”

Y/n went completely silent. She didn’t know any of this… Of course this was deeply traumatic and saddening- but Y/n could not help it- her stubbornness was a curse, not a gift. And the curse would not allow even a tale so sorrowful allow Harry a free pass. 

“Liz- of course this is deeply tragic and traumatic- however, circumstances can only explain actions. They don’t justify them. What has happened to Harry should mean that he spends his time helping women, not putting them down… which, I guess he does by pleasuring them, but God I wish he wasn’t so smug and pompous about it… He was so- well, not nice, but normal and cheeky and charming, when we first met- it was like a switch flicked in his head and that man no longer exists”

“Of course- if he is as cruel as you say, I 100% agree. Although he has a right to hold trauma, it does not change the fact that he is but a wicked man”

The girls sit in silence for a second, contemplating. Then, ever the know it all, Liz jumped right back into her Styles Family History Lesson, giving Y/n the run down. 

“But anyways, his aunt is apparently a very influential figure! She’s rich beyond belief, and could probably control this entire town with the pulling of some strings and some money, which she most definitely has! Do not fool around with them, Y/n… especially not Harry…” Elizabeth brought her hands up to her temples to sate her sudden headache, a frequent occurrence when having to feel stressed for Y/n whenever she inevitably threw herself into apparently unacceptable situations, such as whistling in public or not wearing gloves, and had no apparent regard for the consequences. 

“What am I to do then?! He is my sworn enemy- if I see him in my general vicinity, my whole body and soul tells me to rip him to shreds! How am I supposed to see him at balls, and on random walks back home, and NOT rip my hair out of my head?!” Y/n complained with a whiny tone.

“Avoid him! Completely and utterly avoid him”

Y/n harrumphed. “...Fine…”

“Good idea- I know… plus… you know what they say.” A lilt of cheekiness entered the previously stern tone. 

“What?”

A wide smile grew on Y/n’s older sister’s face, unable to hide her amusement. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knows- maybe he just fancies you? You know… like likes you” 

Y/n immediately threw a spare pillow at her sister’s head and groaned, before burying her hot face under the covers, completely and utterly embarrassed. Elizabeth dodged the stray pillow as she laughed raucously at how annoyed her sister became. 

Y/n shook her head vehemently. “Never in a million years, Liz…”

Never in a million years…

*********

“Make sure you avoid making the “Z” look like the number “three”. Remember, small angled curl, then draaaaaag down to make a bigger and longer angled curl. Other than that, Ophelia, I must inform you that unfortunately my work may as well be over… because these have to be some of the best cursive letters I have ever seen- I know that I have only ever taught my younger sisters, but I am nothing short of confident that you are the fastest learner I have ever had, ever!” 

Ophelia put her hand up to her chest and let out an exasperated breathy laugh that combined a giggle and a sigh of relief. “Stop it Y/n… you nearly gave me a heart attack! Anyways, it’s not that great.” She emphatically waved her hand as if to physically shoo the thought away. “I believe that as long as I am able to write and read, who cares about the blasted handwriting. As long as it is- at the very least- legible, I don't mind a thing.”

Y/n could not emphasise this enough: she loved Ophelia. She was sweet, funny, sarcastic, naughty and brash enough to understand all of Y/n’s jokes as simply that- jokes with no malice. Y/n admired her face thoroughly in amazed silence. Ophelia glanced at her and continued. “Now, would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

Y/n was shaken out of her trance and began to pack up her books as she responded. “No, thank you. I'm okay- I really should get going though. The wind is picking up and as much as I would love to stay and chat, I don’t really think being cold and wet is how my mother wants me to return home!”

Y/n bids Ophelia farewell from inside the house before going out back to meet Flynn at the stables. However, she sees another figure tending to him, and as she arrives closer, she notices not Thomas’ blonde messy hair- but instead a soft brown colour. 

Jesus Christ, this guy will just not leave her alone, will he?!

Y/n is about three feet away when the figure finally turns, and she is once again met with the cheeky smirk of Mr Harlot Styles. He looks her up and down carefully, making her insides all squirmy under his inspection- she hated the way he made her feel so uncomfortable in her own skin. Once finding her eyes, he began. 

“Grumpy…”

“Harlot… Leave Flynn alone. He doesn’t like jaded asses.” Y/n crossed her hands over her chest and stood with a cold hard stare.

“Flynn? Pretty name.” Harry looked at Flynn and continued. “Does the angry little lady dump her frivolous complaints and girly problems onto your poor back, my friend?” Harry looked back to Y/n and continued. “ And hey, he might hate jaded asses, but apparently, he loves temper tantrum-throwing toddlers if he’s your horse.” 

If she didn’t know how horrible of a person he was, she would classify the way he was scratching Flynn’s chin as lovingly- but Harry wasn’t loving, and he certainly wasn’t capable of loving. He was a beast. Just another man who thought Y/n spent her hours with her equine companion complaining as if juvenile… and what the hell are “girly problems”?! 

Harry chimed in again, breaking her out of her frustrated train of thought. “Huh! Would you look at that, Grumpy- your jaded ass-hating “noble” steed’s loyalty can unfortunately be bought by absolute strangers!”

He smirks up at her as he pulls a sugar cube from his pocket and holds it out to Flynn, who eagerly licks it up, jutting his snout into Harry’s hand to spur some more pats out of him. Y/n let out an angry huff. “Greedy traitor…” she mumbled under her breath to her horse, before taking a deep breath and got straight to the main issue, not wanting to spend any longer talking to him than she had to. 

“What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

“God, I was just wondering when I would be in your lovely company again- you know- should I call a doctor for your hysteria? Because it is you, girly, who is consistently following me. I would be surprised due to your incessant reminders that you hate me, but I’m not. Your infatuation with me seeps through your shoddy disguise completely. Face it, Grumpy… you’re obsessed with me.” 

Y/n wanted to slap him so hard. Or at least shoot back some equally damning response, but Liz’s words echo in her ears to simply ignore him. So she simply comes closer, walking to the opposite side of Flynn and begins strapping her bag to Flynn’s side saddle pouch. 

“Your silence is deafening, Grumpy… Is this it? Are you finally admitting that you have been just another precious little schoolgirl obsessed with me this whole time? I bet you would look out your window and pray to every shooting star that floated by that you would see me again. Did you giggle with your little friends while braiding each other's hair about how much you want me? I bet you squirm under your covers in a little pure white virginal nightgown dreaming about my fingers and my tongue and my cock. I bet you're stupidly in love with me, huh Grumpy?”

Y/n hated the way he would describe typically feminine stereotypes with such condescension. She hated being treated like a little girl. Throwing Liz’s advice completely out the window, she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath- just a little something to hurt him. “What would you know about love, Daddy’s boy?…” 

If Y/n looked up from the saddle pouch she was working on, she would see Harry’s eyes blown wide with surprise. He looked so vulnerable- almost childlike- as if her comment transported him back to his father’s house. Before she noticed his silence, though, he schooled his face and began to round the horse, his eyes darkening. “And what would you know about anything? You’re just a pathetic little girl. You act as if you have experience with the world, as if you will be anything more than a boring old housewife, but you never will be…”

Y/n stared daggers into Harry as he stalked closer and closer until he was less than a foot away from her, their outerwear brushing against each other. If he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies would be flush against one another completely. Y/n had never felt so degraded. She was just another girl to him. She was just another girl to all other men. Her biggest fear was being forgotten- for her loving family- her creative sisters and amazing mother- to be forgotten… For all of the amazing women that she encountered at balls to be forgotten. To be married off and treated as property. 

Harry continues on his poisonous tirade in an unwavering cold and calm voice, striking the deepest of Y/n’s insecurities and fears with pinpoint accuracy. “You look down on my hobby of pleasuring married women, but what you don’t understand is that when you are unhappily married off within the next few years, you will be writing letters to me, begging me to relieve you. You will wish I wanted you… You will wish your husband wanted you… You will wish any man wanted you… You will wish you were special… But you're not.”

Y/n held her breath as his hands raised up from his sides, ringed fingers lightly trailing over her skirts, her waist, her arms, her shoulders. Higher and higher, they softly glided over the fabric of her puff sleeves, before reaching her face, and cupping her cheeks. Harry’s eyes slowly flitted back and forth between Y/n’s eyes and her lips. His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, before lifting his right thumb to slowly pull down at her bottom lip... 

…then release the pressure created with his hold, watching- almost studying, its fullness intensely as it bounced back into place. Voice now barely above a whisper, rumbly and deep, he continues.

“You’re just another silly little girl who will be nothing but a wife someday.”

Harry’s hands moved from her cheeks to her neck, cupping her head, thumbs delicately tracing circles on the skin behind her ears, sending shivers up her spine. 

What was this? And why was it sending Y/n’s knees wobbly? She needs to snap out of it- remember her anger for him. All of her interactions with him, even this one, were merely strategies to throw her off- to dominate her. And she would not allow that.

So as Harry moved his hand to cup her neck, leaning in closer, she opened her mouth, ready to dismiss all logic and decimate the animal standing before her, attempting to kiss her just to intimidate her. Fuck everything- fuck him, fuck Liz’s advice, fuck men and their incessant need for girls to be prim and proper. Fuck all of them.

About to fire her biggest blow, all while he leaned closer and closer, his lips ever so close to touching hers, they were suddenly halted in their tracks by someone calling her name.

“Y/n!...” the voice was urgent but far away. Both Harry and Y/n looked out of the stable to see Ophelia running towards them. Y/n and Harry looked at each other and took a big step away from their close proximity as Ophelia finally reached the stables and held her hand on a wooden panel as she caught her breath, panting heavily. 

“Th-Thank-” A wheezy heave interjected her sentence. “GOD”. Another heave. “You hadn’t left yet!” She stood up straight and wiped the light sweat from her forehead with her wrist before straightening her back and walking closer to her. She raised her right hand, which held a small handkerchief, tied into a lovely little package. 

“I packed some hedgehog slice for you in case you get a little hungry on the way home!” She sighed exasperated, before looking between Y/n and Harry. 

Y/n’s heart melted a little- she came bounding all the way down just to give her a little snack? She was the sweetest woman in the world! And now Y/n was going to see her in action against the intruder to her property that was Harry Styles… Y/n was ready to see some ire and some spit hurled at him once she explained exactly what Harry had said about her and all womankind, really.

But that is not what happened.

Not at all.

Ophelia smiled warmly at Harry before looking at Y/n. “Ahh, I see you have already met my nephew, Harry!”

What. The. Hell?

Harry looked smug as anything as Ophelia continued. “He is the lovely, well articulated bookworm I was telling you about the other day!” 

Y/n gritted out a very hesitant “Nice to meet you…” as he looked at her, full of ego.

Harry then opened his mouth, presumably to tell his aunt about the intrusion that was Y/n’s presence on their land, but Ophelia quickly shut him up too. 

“And Harry, this is the bright and wonderful tutor and friend I was telling you about! Y/n is teaching me how to read and write!” 

Harry’s mouth shut immediately. It was Y/n’s turn to smirk smugly as he gritted out an “A pleasure to meet you” back. The two stared at each other steely, as if they were in a stand-off of the mind, all while Ophelia unknowingly watched on with a large smile. 

“I am sure you too will be fast friends! Don’t you agree?” Ophelia had so much hope in her voice. The two grit their teeth, not wanting to make a scene or displease the sweet Ophelia-

“Certainly…”, they manage to comment, in unison.

And after Ophelia hugs Y/n goodbye one more time, before turning and leaving, Harry tails after her, but not before giving a final glance back to Y/n. He smirked, the smile filled with boyish playfulness, but Y/n saw his eyes- those blasted green eyes clouded with taunt. He was challenging her. To what exactly- she didn’t know. To see who could hurt each other the most? To see who would win in the overall war between the two? Or was it just a smirk at her begrudging fate? That she would have to put up with him now because although Ophelia is a sweet woman, Y/n’s connection to her will never trump Harry’s- he’s her nephew. 

As Y/n saddled her was going to have to do what she wanted to the least in order to maintain both a professional and personal relationship with Ophelia, who she admired both as a student and as a friend…

She was going to have to be civil with Harry.

**********

Y/n believed wholeheartedly that it was punishment enough; that she was forced into both proximity and (at least) faux politeness with her sworn enemy- but evidently, fate had more to give. And damn, could it pack a punch!

It was almost silly that she hadn’t thought the universe had been through with her… When Y/n made the one-hour trip to Ophelia’s house, she just had to not bring her large, rainproof jacket. She just had to decide not to put Flynn’s horseshoes on, which would prevent him from slipping and sliding in the wet mud… Why would she do any of that?! It was perfectly sunny, and even a little bit warm on that Friday morning…

But no… of course, the moment she begins to wrap up her lesson with Ophelia and ride home- where she would tuck into a well-deserved late lunch and spend some time with sisters- of course it is only two days after she has discovered that her student raised and lived with her sworn enemy- it is then and only then that she finds herself stuck at their house, as a giant thunderstorm magically appears and begins raining hellish hail and pouring water from the sky. 

“Y/n, there is no way I am letting you ride home in this weather! That simply will not happen under my roof. I will send an urgent telegram to your mother to let her know you are safe and warm, but you are staying over for the night and that is final.”

There was no arguing with Ophelia. So no more than five minutes later, Y/n was being escorted through the maze that was her student’s mansion, and to a guest room she would be occupying for the night. She was sprawled on the giant, fluffy bed when she felt her skin crawl at a particular thought- though he had not appeared during her lesson, Y/n knew that Harry was somewhere in the house- Ophelia said so herself, as they walked to her room. What if they bumped into one another? 

“Harry is somewhere around here- I am sure that you two will be the bestest of friends- you have so much in common!”

Y/n had to awkwardly laugh and smile at that, agreeing as politely as possible so as to not arouse any suspicion- however, Ophelia seemed to take this for genuine interest though and began doubling down. 

“Hey, why wait until dinner- I can call him now!? Maybe Harry can give you a tour of the house- the gardens, the gallery, the library! Give me two seconds and let me go fetch him-” 

Y/n had never had such a visceral reaction in her life when she shouted a clear and desperate “NO!”... It took her a few seconds to recollect her thoughts before she attempted to save face; she halfheartedly dismissed the idea with a feeble excuse that she didn’t want to impose, and that she and Harry would have plenty of time to chat at dinner. Despite the suspicious glint in Ophelia’s eye, she did not press any further and left her to rest and unpack as she went to have a bath and take a relaxing nap before supper. 

Thus bringing us back to Y/n- sprawled on her bed, deciding that she would not leave the room until supper. There was no way she would risk bumping into Harry while wandering around his house. What if he had another sultry guest for the evening?! What if he shooed her off as if she was nothing but a fly?! Heaven knows he had done all of that before- and all on the same night! She began rummaging through her bag to retrieve her book, content on sitting down and reading as she waited for dinner, but as she rummaged, it dawned on her… 

Her novels, her personal pens and paper? All of them were either at home or in Flynn’s side saddle pouch, hanging in the stables- she had been carrying her personal books and papers for the past few lessons but found the weight quite heavy, and all for very little payoff- she rarely got a moment to read when she was in the middle of a very interactive, collaborative lesson. The reality of her situation collapsed on her as she brought her hands up to her face and let a frustrated groan into them- she was going to be stuck here in this room with no entertainment for the next four hours - Ophelia was occupied, her books and pens were with Flynn, and there were no reading materials in the beautiful yet empty chest of drawers and side tables of the elegant guest room.

There was no way she could sit quietly like this… She began to get cabin feverish already. She needed to get out… 

Harry wouldn’t be strolling about his own house, right? It was 2:30 pm on a Friday- surely there must be some work he had to complete? Y/n resolved that there was no way she would be able to continue to live if she didn’t have something to stimulate her mind, and the thought of passing up an opportunity to explore the various forms of entertainment in Ophelia’s vast house seems daft, even verging on sinful… 

So, with a deep breath, Y/n stretched her arms above her head, took a deep breath, and lifted herself off of the plush linen-covered mattress. She ever so slowly opened the heavy, beautifully intricate mahogany door and peeked out of the minuscule crack she created. 

Left, right, left again, right again. 

The coast seemed to be clear- she opened the door wider so that she could stick her whole head out of it. She looked left, right, left again, right again. You could say that she was maybe overreacting by being so very cautious, but she would rather not run into Harry and be forced to return to her room before she had acquired some entertainment and had a good look around the place.

Once she was completely sure that the coast was clear, she stepped out, gently closed the door behind her, and, with her hands behind her back, began to stroll the hallways curiously. Soon, her fascination with the grandeur of the mansion quelled her alertness and she found herself enamoured by the architecture as she walked down the hallways. 

She wished she could dip her head into every room she saw, but she wasn’t that daft- that would be one surefire way to overstep her welcome, especially when she was essentially stuck until the storm cleared up. 

She continued slinking around in a manner similar to Fennec’s- she took a right, and found herself walking down a hallway she would guess was near the back of the house, as the large windows to her left illuminated her pathway and showcased a beautiful array of pruned trees along a cobblestone path, with steps that led down to a beautiful, large pond filled with greenery. There was a small path that also winded around the pond and ventured into a beautiful, lush green forest. The rain pattered so beautifully onto the glass, creating beautiful shadows on the otherwise dim hallway. The house truly was magnificent. 

Once reaching the end of the hallway, Y/n was greeted with two very tall and wide arched wooden doors. She hoped and prayed she wasn’t about to walk into a personal room, before pushing in to peek at the contents. 

A large expanse of beautiful oak shelves befell her- filled to the brim with books. Books upon books upon books! Nestled so tenderly, they were wrapped in beautiful leather casings. 

Bingo! The infamous library!

Though there was a main seating area in the middle of the room- with comfy juniper green couches that looked a dream to rest upon, there were also many bay windows and little reading nooks to curl up in. Tucked into the corner was a desk, a chair and a reading lamp. In fact, there were lamps all around the room, however, most of the light came from the warm roaring fire that blazed in the fireplace. Y/n could imagine sitting in front of the fire on a pillow, a soft throw around her and a mug of tea between her crossed legs as she read Dickens. 

Y/n wove through each shelf, looking at all the amazing titles there were. There was everything here! Shakespeare and Dickens were classics, to be expected in most regal libraries, but looking closer, Y/n found Bronte and Austen too! Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Hans Christen Anderson’s fairy tales. This place had every book Y/n had ever read or wished to read! 

But something lingered in the back of Y/n’s mind…

If Ophelia cannot read, whose library is this? Who has so tenderly placed every book in alphabetical order, as well as sorted them by genre? Who has spent their time tediously gluing library cards to the inside of the back cover of seemingly every book, and has jotted down when they have been borrowed? Why would anyone ever do that, considering that most of them are read by assumedly the same person, judging by the ever so similar font and pen used to log the date of when the book was picked up and when it was finished?

Before she could finish her thought, the door suddenly opened. Y/n immediately cringed at the situation she was in- she could be caught snooping by Ophelia, oh how mortifying! As the heavy footsteps walked closer and closer to where she was, she weaved through shelves, attempting to find a spot to hide. She tiptoed through before flattening herself against a shelf at the end of the room, far from where the footsteps were heard. The unknown person’s gait was too heavy to be Ophelia’s and- 

Damn! 

If it was not Ophelia, there was only one other person it could be… 

She took a deep, silent breath before creeping her way to the edge of the bookshelf. She went to take a peek and see where the British bastard was, however, when she took one more step and stuck her head out, she was met with his body no more than five inches from hers. 

“AHH!”

“Shit!”

The pair jumped and shrieked for a quick second, not expecting the other to be so damn close. Y/n looked up to see Harry looked down at her with surprise and confusion. Her gaze panned down to his hands, noticing him carrying a brown leather bound book- it was smaller and very worn in. It looked beaten and bruised, like it had been read thousands of times. She couldn't see a title at all, but it wouldn’t matter- the moment he followed her eyes, Harry shoved the book behind his back. Her gaze snapped back up quickly enough to watch vulnerability flash in his eyes, before they set in his usual hardened gaze, infected with scorn.

He barked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

This wasn’t nonchalant Harry- this wasn't a Harry that was prepared for her attacks. This wasn’t the Harry that used his suave and unaffected demeanour to torment Y/n as he coolly fired shot after shot at her soul. No, this was a more frantic Harry- a more aggressive, threatened Harry. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Y/n explained, her brows furrowing and taking on a defensive tone, hands flying emphatically. 

Harry did not reply at all. The pair stared at each other sharply. It was as if they were having a battle telepathically, staring deep into one another’s unwavering, unblinking eyes, lips pressed shut into little frowns, brows knit, each daring the other to say something more. To poke the bear more. To continue the fight. They stared and they stared until Harry looked her up and down, shaking his head and scoffing, before walking further into the library. 

He seceded first! HA! She won! 

This victory wasn't savoured for long, however- she soon realised how foolish she would look just standing there in Harry’s dust. She didn’t look back to see which way he went and she didn't care- she kicked her body into motion and strode out the front door. Once she was out, however, she pathetically scurried her way back to her room, mortified. Once through the door, she slammed it shut and laid back against the cool wood. She took a couple deep breaths in the safety of the guest room. Now alone, she was able to regain her ability to think.

Harry was holding a book in his hands, before shoving it behind his back? Was he… bashful? What book would have made Harry feel embarrassed?

Further, if it wasn’t Ophelia’s library, there realistically is only one other person it could belong to…

Y/n shook the idea from her head immediately. It definitely couldn’t be Harry’s- not only was he too brutish to read for leisure, but also, the books there were too beautiful, too tenderly cared for- many filled with little annotations. No, Harry could not treat a human decently, let alone a book. He wouldn’t know how! The one in his hand, however. Her heart just couldn’t let that go… 

Maybe that was his? The small, beaten and bruised book. What kind of text would prompt Harry to read it over and over and over again. What words moved him so much that he felt embarrassed to show Y/n. Ofcourse, this was probably for the best- realistically, the pair should both provide as little information of their identities to each other as possible. Less ammunition that way. 

But Y/n, head against the downy pillow filled to the brim with the softest stuffing, lulled by the gentle nose of the lavender oil spritzed on top of the sheets, could not help but innocently wonder if Harry had a favourite book. She always wanted someone to share her love of reading- a simple friend that she could rant and rave to other than her sisters who, despite not possessing the same fire and passion as Y/n when it came to literature, attempted their hardest to understand her speeches and monologues of theory. 

It was not a question- Harry could never be that friend to Y/n…

But God, did Y/n wish that stopped her from imagining a version of him that could be.

[manmadejoyswithinmycomprehension]

Can you do a sebastian(pressure), not a reader but a expendable, and Sebastian though at first his same snarky self but now is fatherly to the character, saying things like way to go kid and im proud of you.

This was really fun to do! But I don't know what you meant by "not a reader, but an expendable," so I just decided to make it gender neutral. You're my first ever request, so thank you!! :3

wc: 464

At first, he didn't really think much of it. After all, the blacksite was full of prisoners, and even if twenty of them died in the same hour, they'd be replaced instantly by a new batch of imbeciles who thought they could conquer whatever abominations resided within the facility. Sebastian wasn't one to pity them. I mean, who would? It's a prison, for fuck's sake! Even if Urbanshade had unfair trials, it still housed the world's most wanted criminals - murderers, tattooed from head to toe, cartel members, mafia enthusiasts and other scums that came into his shop, threatened him to try and bag a blacklight for a lower price, and then... well, then they got shot.

But it had been weeks since this whole operation started, and no one managed to snag the crystal. Prisoners that were once cruel and infamous turned into a younger batch who was arrested for graffiti and stealing gum packets from the local supermarket. Some were even students, and Sebastian couldn't help but see himself in them - afraid, alone and hopeless. He'd never admit it, but seeing them drop dead one by one tugged at his heart strings. But the thing that worried him most was a particular expendable who returned to his shop every now and then, seeking shelter. Sebastian and that person had a lot in common, and although he was colder at first, now he'd found himself warming up to this new friend. If a code breacher was 200 data for another prisoner, this expendable would have it for 150. And don't even worry about batteries! They're on the house, of course. There's too many laying around either way (but between us, there weren't - Sebastian could only be glad that his friend wasn't exploiting him, otherwise he'd go bankrupt).

Frankly, he treated them as family. Instead of snarky comments, he'd gently pat their head and tell them he's proud. And he was, really! His eyes would light up when they brought more data or trinkets to gift him. Soon, he had them help to build a shelf for all of the "treasures" he received. It wasn't rare to see Sebastian and the prisoner spend hours on end conversing about common hobbies and interests. If only he still had his electric guitar... but, no matter. It was still fun. For the first time in so many years, he felt like he had a family. Like he was a father, and this poor soul was his child. Taking care of them and occasionally their friends, showing them around the blacksite and teaching them how to avoid monsters were his favorite activities. Even more than that, he liked how the days ended: with his kid wrapped up in his tail as he stroked their head and told them stories.

[entomolog-t]

Finding Strength- Chapter 2

Nearly A WHOLE YEAR after the first chapter WE ARE BACK !!

Meet Rose, a varsity athlete who should needs to pay more attention to the concussion safety protocols. Also Grayson (you'll see a lot more of him eventually)

- - - -

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word count: 2160

CW: Adult language

Rose smiles. She smiles as the sweat beads that slick her brow drip into her eyes. She smiles as her limbs grow heavy, arms burning and near useless. She even, to the displeasure of her teammate, smiles as she drills. Her grin an ever present, and rather unnerving, fixture on her face as the duo works their way through their umpteenth repetition of speed drills. 

Through gritted teeth Grayson Wilder manages to hiss out a quick knock-it-off before being met her forehead ramming square into his gut as she shoots yet another blast double. As her she makes contact, Grayson is swiftly reminded why pre practice Mcdonalds was a terrible idea. 

Who even drills blast doubles during speed drills anyways? 

As Rose plows through the take down, Grayson uses the brunt of his mental fortitude to curse their coach for having dared to suggest that doing some extra drilling with Rose would be light go’s for him- that, and to keep his meal firmly where it belonged. 

Grayson lands with a grunt, and Rose takes the time to give him a sympathetic look before the two hustle back to standing, only to repeat the whole process again.

And again.

And again.

And- 

The sound of the score clock's buzzer could have been a choir of angels to either athlete at this point. Sweaty, drained and sore, Rose sighs- not from fatigue, but instead satisfaction. There was a buzzing in her arms, shaky and electric with that telltale combination of adrenaline and exertion. Speed drills objectively sucked. Getting stuck with one of the 90 kilo men for a partner sucked even more. But losing her shot to go to Nationals last season has sucked the most. This season would be great- even if that meant she would have to favor the monotony of drilling rather than the excitement of scrimmage.

Think big. Rose grins, testing the sound of her new little mantra in her head. First early birds, then provincials then-

“Rose!”

Her thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a shout from her coach. Hank Miller beckons her over, a cheeky smile on his face as she jogs towards him.

“Another double and Grayson looked about ready to turn Green… son.”

Rose wishes she has the self control to groan, but instead, she laughs. 

“Think he’s McLovin it?”

“He’ll be McLoving his sauna suit, that's for sure.” Hank shakes his head. With sigh he hands her a packet. Though as Rose grabs it, Hank doesn't let go. Eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile is replaced by a more stern expression. 

“Filled out by Monday, got it?” 

Rose rolls her eyes, but Hank’s grip remains firm.

“Don't lose it.” 

In a feat of self control that could rival that of monks, Rose resists the urge to inform Hank that it's not impossible to print another copy. Though in fairness, with his downright cretaceous tech literacy, there were good odds that for him, it may in fact be impossible.

“Yes, Mom.”  Finally, he relinquishes the thick stack of redundancy forms. With the packet in tow, Rose makes a B-line for her water bottle. Quick drink, stretches… maybe some footspeed drills? The thought of managing to get her legs to move with the growing weight of fatigue and lactic acid setting in was far from appealing, and there was also the weight of impending assignment deadlines to consider…

It should be a felony to have assignments due the first week of the school year...

With a groan, Rose downs her water as she meanders back on the mat to start her stretches, the cool water an oasis in the mugginess of the wrestling room. Though, the coolness of the water does nothing to hide the red hot glare she can feel burning a hole into the back of her head. A quick glance behind her reveals Hank, with a frustratingly smug pair of raised eyebrows as he casts a nod toward her packet; left abandoned on the sidelines.

With all the subtlety of an air horn at a funeral, Rose makes a show of bringing the oh-so-precious forms to her bag, grin smeared across her face as she plays up her exasperation. She can hear Hank laughing behind her, along with another “Monday” for good measure. 

Looking over her shoulder Rose makes sure to shoot him a glare of her own as she shoves the papers into the front pocket of her-

A scream.

Head on a swivel, Rose's eyes immediately lock onto the source-  a strained yelp escaping her as the sight sends her sprawling back. Her mind races, fumbling as it strains to make sense of what she was almost certain could not have been in her bag. 

“...You good?” Hank’s voice feels like a lifeline back to reality, reeling Rose in from her shock. 

“Uhh y-yeah, no. I'm good.” She lies,  “Just, uh, papercut.”

Rose didn’t move. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if she had been breathing. She was frozen- feeling as if even a blink would dispel the almost certainly not real reality that stared back at her.

There's…. There's a man- A very small man- in my bag.

Rose swallows nervously. Had she hit her head and not realized? Grayson had made her eat mat on at least one failed attempt at a leg shot… Could concussions cause hallucinations? 

There's a tiny man in my bag.

They definitely could, right? Rose couldn’t help but notice the irony that she couldn’t remember the stupid Safe Sport Concussion Awareness presentation. What was more concerning?  Hallucinations from a grade 2 concussion, or finding a tiny man in her bag?

Rose blinked.

There's still a tiny man in my bag.

In a far away reality, she hears the muffled voice of Hank asking if she's sure she's alright. 

Rose hurriedly gathers up her bag at his approach.

“I’m good. Totally good. I… I uh… gotta go.”

_   _   _

Those few stuttered words were all the warning Tamius had before he was flung backwards as the bag was torn from the ground. 

A plan- he needed a plan. Anything- 

Instead, Tamius was met by sheer chaos. His word topples over itself, rising and falling and sending him careening into the wall of fabric. A horrible realization dawns on him.

She’s running. 

Dread seemed to be the only thing anchoring him to reality as Tamius remained a victim to gravity’s indecisiveness. 

He’d been caught. 

That behemoth idiot had fucking caught him- Tamius grit his teeth.

No. Not yet. 

White knuckled, Tamuis clung to the fabric of the bag. His eyes desperately scanning in the low light for the hole he’d cut.  If he could make it back into the larger compartment he could buy himself some time taking cover in her clothes- there’d be an opportunity for escape. He was sure there would be. He’d make one.

In a mix of determination and desperation, Tamius fights against the rhythmic lurching, an awful feeling of vertigo boring down on him as his hands scramble for new grips, something- anything- to pull him closer to that fucking hole. 

A lock clicked. 

The sound slicing through him-  an executioner's bell condemning him to his fate.  

No, no, no- not yet! 

The stillness that followed was truly terrifying, a contagious beast freezing him, and time itself, in place. Reality itself seemed to hold a change, like the feeling before a storm- his muscles tense, and hair standing on its end, as if current was running through him. It was an electric sort of dread- a missed step, an object about to fall, the moment before impact- 

No.

The impact came in the form of five grotesquely large fingers diving into the pocket, looking far more like a Hellish mass of writhing limbs than the hands he was familiar with.

Every ounce of his being screamed- all thoughts coalescing to one;

Get to the rip.

In that moment, Tamius was not a man. He was not a being of higher intelligence. In that moment he felt no soul, no empathy, no love. He was a desperate animal scrambling towards a corner. There was no safety waiting for him just beyond the rip. All that waited behind the fabric were a few extra tortured seconds of delusion. A few painful moments where he could pretend he could reason his way out of this and avoid the reality barreling down on him in the form of five gruesome fingers. 

Though reality, it seemed, had other plans.

That gargantuan fucking idiot. 

The fingers coiled around him, engulfing Tamius in their impossible mass. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, echoed by that of the flesh pulsing around him- the feeling so deeply sickening he could taste bile on his tongue. Tamuis’ stomach lurches as he’s dragged out, hands grasping pointlessly for anything as he's brought forth in front of a sickeningly familiar face.  

He wanted to scream. He wanted to fight back. He wanted to kick, and bite and scratch until she had to let him go. He wanted so desperately to be the cause of even the smallest amount of pain. Anything to wipe that ridiculous awestruck stare off of her stupid face. Anything to pretend like there was something he could do to change the outcome.

But Tamius The Bestoyed,  was a man far too smart for his own good. Cursed with reason, he was granted no security in ignorance. Pride was reserved for those who could delude themselves into believing they were in control. Much to his horror, Tamius knew better. 

He’d been caught. 

Trapped in the fist of a colossus, Tamius swallowed his pride. Tamius was a man of intellect and reason. So he did what any man with intellect and reason would do. 

He begged. 

“Please.” His voice shook, thick with fear and desperation as garbled pleas spilled forth like a river in spring. The knowledge he so prided himself with failed him, his words a stunted mess of gasping pleases and begging to be let go. 

Her brow furrows. 

“Pl-please.” Despite himself, Tamius uselessly strained against her fingers, wracking his brain anything he could say. Her eyes, wide and gray, were locked onto him. 

Gray. 

Gray like foreboding skies. Gray like- 

She sucks in a breath, her eyes widening as some sort of thought passes through the near impenetrable density of her gargantuanly thick skull. For a moment, her mouth hangs agape- a look of confusion crossing her face as she takes her time forming a thought. 

“... Why are you crying?” 

Of all the things she could have said, Tamius had not been anticipating this.

What?

As if experiencing sympathy stupidity, his own mind goes blank, struggling to keep pace with her words. Was he? His face felt wet. 

Wait- what did she mean why? How stupid could she be- As if she wasn’t obviously the reason!  

Tamius wants to say something, but calling out her oblivious stupidity was out of the question. Before he’s able to gather his words, her hand opens up. No longer restrained in her grip, Tamius, completely and totally dumbstruck, finds himself sitting splayed out in her much too warm cupped hand. 

He’s hit with an onslaught of thoughts, as he rapidly begins reformulating any semblance of a plan.

Could he jump? Run? Where was he? Could he fit under the door? How would he get home-   

“Did I …” His thoughts are immediately silenced as she addresses him again, “... hurt you?” 

Her words catch him off guard, but not nearly as much as her expression. Concern. Embarrassment? She seemed horrified at the thought, her grey eyes scrutinizing him for any sign of injury in a way that bordered on violating. 

Too close- too much. 

Unable to find his voice, Tamius shakes his head, scrambling back as much as the limited surface of her hands would allow. The massive, and now that he had the chance to get a good look at her, very sweaty woman eyed him curiously. She thinks for a moment, brow furrowed as the act of thinking clearly was not something in which she was well practiced.

“How did you get so small?”

What? Get? 

His own expression mirrors hers, brow furrowing as realization dawns on him. 

This idiot Gargo thinks I’ve shrunk… 

If he wasn’t so terrified he would have scoffed. It would be his luck that he managed to have encountered the most gullible specimen of humanity imaginable. As if people just go around shrinking- wait. 

People.

She thinks I’m human.

His hands rush to his ears, relief washing over him as he feels his hair, mussed just enough from this whole ordeal to have covered their not quite human shape. This… this could work. Despite the way his hands shook, despite the way his heart pounded in his chest, despite the way this was far beyond the bounds of a worst case scenario, a wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

What an idiot.

[igotanidea]

Bad day : Dick grayson x fem!reader

Summary: some days are just shitty for no particular reason.

Warning: swearing, apart from that fluff.

***

She had no idea what she had been expecting.

It was freaking Gotham.

Of course it had to rain all the time.

Like seriously, all the fucking time.

Any other day she would probably just let it slip, but not today.

This one particular October Monday turned out to be the nail to the coffin.

From the early morning everything was going uphill.

She woke up without Dick by her side which made her worried and like crying. (can’t blame the girl, her boyfriend was a vigilante for god’s sake!). and what was even worse was that radio silence on his part. Most probably he was on some super-secret undercover mission (damn his ass!)

Every other member of her team at work were absent for personal reason (shit, Y/N had enough of personal reasons to stay at home for a week and yet, she didn’t right?!).

Everyone wanted something from her all at once with the yesterday deadline which left her completely drained.

Her brain was definitely all over the place, disenabling her from any focus, her mind focusing on only one thing.

Getting home.

Grabbing a blanket.

And hiding from the whole world.

“Y/N…?” one of her co-workers from another department approached her carefully. Y/N was usually the energetic, positive type so the rumours about her mood switch spread like lighting.

“what?!” she snapped, her mixed up feelings finally finding a way to the surface. However, she quickly regretted it upon seeing her colleague terrified face. “God!” she half-groaned, half-squealed “I’m sorry…. I’m sorry….” She rubbed her forehead in frustration “I’m just having a really bad day… Didn’t mean to yell at you or anything.”

“It’s fine. We all have bad days.” The other girls said and Y/N couldn’t help but be grateful at her understanding. “Can I help you with something though, Y/N?”

“No..” she shook her head. “No, I just have to push through I guess. But thanks either way.”

The other girl just nodded and exited the room, closing the door tight leaving Y/N to deal with her hormones, anxiety and mixed up feelings.  

***

It felt like the hours at work stretched into minutes, every other one becoming more and more gruesome and Y/N hated it.

She literally, truly madly deeply hated it.

To add to it all, the second she left her work, some fucking stupid driver decided to drive the car straight into the giant puddle next to the pavement, causing a little fountain that splayed and wetted the poor girl. She barely held back from yelling at the man, but did not stop herself for sending a middle finger his way.

Half-depressed, cold, alone and drenched she dragged her ass into her apartment ready to cry her heart out while holding a pillow and drown her sorrows into her comfort food she had stacked in the kitchen cupboard.

Yes, she definitely felt like throwing a little pity party for one.

But.

There are multiple occasions in life when you just don’t know how you feel. And that was the case that one Monday.

When she opened the door to her apartment all the sorrow and sadness seemed to evaporate in a second replaced by something way more ….vivid.

“FUCK!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, throwing her bag on the floor and kicking her shoes, punching the wall and regretting it because of the immediate pain. “fuck! Fuck! Fuckety fucking fuck day!”

She threw her coat on the floor, not caring about it getting dirty or crumpled and headed straight toward kitchen to grab that little packet of cookies saved for the rainy day (literally).

“What the fuck now!?” she started rummaging through the cupboard but her little treat was nowhere to be found. “WHAT. THE. FUCK!?”

“Y/N……?”

“SHIT!!”

She jumped at the sound, not recognising that little, a bit scared voice coming from the side of the couch. Out of complete instinct she grabbed the fork from the drawer and aimed it at the potential opponent.

However, before she could truly attack the person with that makeshift weapon, the light went on and much to her surprise Y/N realised it was her boyfriend napping on her couch, an empty cookie box laying on the floor next to him, making it impossible to hide the hideous crime he committed.

“DID YOU EAT MY COOKIES?!”

“Y/n…… baby?” Dick stuttered, his eyes growing wide at his girl current state. He has never seen her this angry, like never and it was way more terrifying than all the Gotham villains combined together. And apparently he added to it, by not thinking she might actually want those snacks that were already outdated after all! “Princess?” he whispered, not sure whether he should hug her or run away from her. She was truly fury incorporated.

“AND WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!? Do you have any fucking idea how worried and stressed I was?!”

“I got an idea……” Dick muttered

“DON’T YOU DARE TALKING BACK TO ME DICK GRAYSON!!”

“Y/N…. love…..” he gathered all the courage to take a few steps towards her, still keeping a safe distance from the fork.  “Are you on your period, or something baby? “ his voice was shaking a little bit knowing he was quite literally stepping on thin ice.

“Take another step and I’ll dig this fork into your arm! You fucking disappeared! No note, no text, nothing!”

“Honey……” he whispered carefully, not stopping “Do you need chocolate, cuddles, a hug?” another few steps forward and he noticed how drenched she was, how her makeup was flowing down her cheeks in a thick black streak and how tired and confused she was. “Come on, babe…..Just…. tell… me…” he slowly reached for her hand and gathered the fork, throwing it away and wrapping arms around her before she had enough time to escape him.

“LET GO OFF ME!!” she struggled against his grip.,

“no.” he said simply, holding her tighter to him

“I’m being serious!!”she cried out, tussling even more, even though she obviously had zero chances against him.

“so I am.”

“DICK!”

“Y/N.”

“LET GO!”

“No. You know I’ll never let go of you.”

“I….I…..!”

“Yes, baby?” one of his hand found a way to the back of her head caressing her hair and neck, the other resting on the small of her back repeating the same gesture there.

And that was enough to finally make her cry. She let out all those tears of frustration, fear, anger, sense of unfairness….. everything that’s been babbling inside her for the entire day for no particular reason.

“Shhhh…..” she rocked back and forth with her in a gentle, repetitive motion, being her rock, her strength, her protection “Shh…. Let it all out……”

“I hate this fucking city!!” she sobbed, clinging onto him, not caring about the fact she was making him wet as well. She just couldn’t anymore.

“I know, sunshine….” He agreed, kissing her dump hair.

“I fucking hate everyone!”

“Mhm…. Sure…..” he didn’t stop, grabbing her hand and putting it on her heart, unclenching her fingers

“I….I….. I…..” she stuttered and sniffled feeling his steady heartbeat that seemed to calm her down.

“Yes, love?” Dick asked putting one finger under her chin forcing her gaze up on him. “what is, sweet-pea?”

“I don’t know…..” she pouted in an adorable manner, looking at him, looking like a grumpy 5 year-old.

“You are adorable like that.” Dick smiled at her and he meant it. Yes, she was looking like a wet chicken, but she was his wet chicken. And even if so, that little outlook could not kill the shine of her eyes, the redness of her lips and her general cuteness. Her cheeks were a little flushed due to the cold, her nose making her look like a Rudolf, the reindeer and that smudges mascara  only added to that feeling forming in Dick’s heart and warming his insides. She needed him. His little babygirl needed his care, his protection, his affection. And he was more than happy to provide her with all the love and attention he could possibly muster. “Baby?” he asked with a huge smile.

“Hmmmmm…..” she muttered in a feigned annoyance, and Dick could not help but chuckle at her expression. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m sorry….” Dick leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose and then pecked her lips briefly making her whine and close her eyes. “God, I love you.” He planted another, a little longer and more passionate kiss on her soft, wet, warm mouth. “You make me crazy for you, even when you look like a taylor swift in blank space” he chuckles, cupping her cheek and rubbing through the black stains there.

“I knew you were a swiftie!” she laughed in some wicked sense of victory.

“Oh, now…. here’s that smile I love.” Dick leaned his forehead on hers and all of a sudden she felt so calm with his presence next to her. He truly was a golden boy.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you….” She whispered

“It’s ok love.”

“No… No it’s not…. I’m not like that normally……” she pulled back, desperately trying to explain herself. “I mean it, I’m sorry…. Shouldn’t have let out my frustration on you. You have enough on your plate.”

“What I have on my plate …. What takes the most space is my beautiful girlfriend with anger management issues.“

“HEY!” she cried out at his fairly offensive words .

“I’m not mad I swear.” Dick chuckled at her uproar

“Shut up and take my freaking apologies Grayson!” she grinned and tried to punch him, but he was quick enough to grab her fist, put it to her mouth and kiss every one of her knuckles and  his gaze fixed on her made her melt.   

“I love you, baby…..” he whispers, grabbing her waist and pulling her close, his hand traveling up and down her side in a calming, gentle, loving and caring motion.

“Just…..” she cuts off, all the negative replaced by sheer love and adoration of this unbelievable man, who gives her everything she may ask for, even is she herself doesn’t know what she needs at the moment.

“Let me take care of you…..” Dick murmured into her ear, brushing his nose over her hair, inhaling her scent, his breath on her skin making her almost dry out. “Let me help you out, baby……” his fingers brushed over her cheek and neck, moving to the top button of her shirt.

“D-d-dick…..”

“I don’t want you to get sick, darling…..” he smirked, still playing with that little piece of plastic making her whole body shiver.

“I-I…..”

“How about I run you a bath?” his voice was so hotly hoarse and deep that if he asked her to jump into the fire she would do it without hesitation. She was completely lost in him. In the way his hands were touching her, in the way his eyes were shining and scanning her with so many feelings, in the way he was making her legs shake.

“U-uh-uhuh…..” she whimpered.

“Good….”

***

 It took him five minutes to get rid of her clothes, fill the tub with warm (not hot!) water and pour her favourite foam bath inside.

“Come on, princess. Hop in.” he offered her a hand making sure she wouldn’t slip and fall. It was admirable how he was focused entirely on making her relax and not on the way her naked body was moving In front of him.

Such a gentleman.

He didn’t even get distracted by that little moan she let out involuntarily once the warmth spread all over her tensed muscled.

“Enjoying yourself, babe?” he smirked reaching for the loofah and slowly starting to move it around her back, making sure to work out all the knots.

“You have no idea…..” she whispered letting her tensed shoulders relax under his touch.

“I actually think I do…..” he flicked her hair away and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulder, making sure to not choke on the suds.  “All the best for my beautiful girl.”

“Dickie…..” she let out another soft whimper

“Yes….?”

“Will you wash my hair too?” she chuckled

“well I said everything, didn’t I?”

***

He even went as far as removing her makeup making sure to properly clean up all her skin, pecking her  cheeks and nose and forehead and eyelids, not stopping until a little blush crept up on her face and he saw that pretty bright smile once more.

Almost an hour later, after he thoroughly  dried her out with the big fluffy towel, kissing every inch of her skin in the process and dressed her up in jammies, she was sitting on her couch, tightly wrapped up in the warm soft blanket.

Feeling completely taken care of.

And with Dick serving as her pillow, because he refused to let her go anywhere from his embrace. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her straight on top of him, his arms wrapping around her. At first his tight hold almost prevented her from breathing but once she started hyperventilating he let go.

Slightly.

“Feeling any better?”  he murmured against her freshly washed hair, smelling like lavender. “god, you do smell good. Might steal your shampoo from you….”

“Well I say you deserved it.” She chuckled, snuggling closer to him, her head resting on his chest. She sighs deeply and it’s the biggest reward for him. Seeing her content and relaxed instead of stressed and yelling at him in the middle of the room trying to poke his eye out with a cutlery. This was his girl… his pretty, perfect, happy babygirl.

“Love you….” He  breathed out kissing the top of her head, holding her closer once more and this time not getting any complaints. 

“Hey… Dick?”

‘Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you…. I know I’ve been a little bit mean today…..”

“a little?” he raised an eyebrow and grinned unable to stop himself.

“Grayson….” She said in a warning tone.

“You know I can’t stay mad at you and you’re just using that against me!” he exhaled dramatically making her laugh. “I’m glad I could be of help with fixing your bad day. Cause that was just it right? One bad day? You won’t be  throwing knives at me next time you’re angry?”

“can’t make any promises….” She kissed the top of his nose. “I’ll try my best though.”

“I can work with that…..”

And just like that they slowly started to drift off in each other’s arms while that stupid fucking calm  rain played a sleepy melody on the windowsill.

[yuri-is-online]

A Step Behind the Curtain (Jamil Viper x Yuu)

He didn't know you then, but that didn't stop your kindness. If you were willing to go so far out of your way for a literal stranger what would you do if you were friends? How far would you go for someone you cared for?

Would you still want to wish him happy birthday?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, stranger crushes, mild angst with the intent of comfort, Jamil deserves nice things. If you like this please check my master list here.

The first birthday Jamil had at Night Raven College had been painful. He had been looking forward to it initially, marked it in ink in his planner with the expectation that he would get to spend it alone.

When Kalim showed up he'd thrown away the whole book instead of re-arrange it. The thaumarks it cost to replace was nothing compared to the blow the Asim's continued to deal his pride. This year Kalim had agreed to keep from throwing any ostentatious surprise parties, but there was still the threat he would decide he knew Jamil's wants better than the man himself and do... something. If he was in a more reflective mood he might have noted that by "something" he really meant "anything," but the tension headache working itself across his forehead is preventing any thought other than a need for medication.

That he has conveniently run out of, it's all he can do to keep from grinding his teeth and making the pain worse. This is not the first time he has been grateful there aren't limited hours on the school's hospital wing, and it might not even be the last time today depending on what Kalim has planned. It is the first time he walks in on someone already sorting through the first aid cabinet, it stops him in his tracks and almost tricks him into pinching himself to make sure he's awake.

"Oh I'm sorry." The other student is just as surprised to see him, but they keep their voice at a three a.m. appropriate quiet. "Jamil right?"

"Right." He can't figure out if he has the right to encroach on their space, maybe it's the headache but he can't place the face anywhere. There is a funny feeling at the realization they know his name, different than when Azul says it but flavored with a similar worry as he opens his mouth to try and ask for his turn with the cabinet only to find they've somehow closed the gap with the tablets he was looking for in their outstretched hand.

"You were massaging your head." Is all they offer to soothe his confusion, turning towards their back pack to offer him an unopened water bottle before they turn to leave. He doesn't take the pills immediately, instead he finds his fingers curling around the packet and slowly trying to cover his heart with the illusion of their warmth. Their hands had been cold, but had he really touched them long enough to know that?

"Thanks." He means it, but they just shrug at him with a smile, as if they would do this for anyone despite somehow knowing his name.

"Don't mention it." Their name is Yuu, he belatedly realizes as he agonizes over what you're welcome would have sounded like from their voice instead of a dismissal of merit. As if sensing he wanted to hear more, they pause in the infirmary doors and turn to him with a smile he knows he could never afford. "Oh! It's your birthday right?" And before he can prepare himself they half sing "Happy birthday~ I hope it gets better." He drops the pills in shock but they're gone into the early morning air before he they can realize the flustered mess they've left.

Happy birthday. He bends to pick up the packet and downs the medication along with the fluttering feeling in his heart. There is no time to think about this now, for now he will simply hold onto the gentle calm they created for him. It can fuel his desire for a better life later, in the quiet of the petty realization that this year, Kalim was not the first person to wish him well.