#two posts in a row? must be a miracle!

[hotttgrilled-cheese]

monk...... my little friend monk........

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[mothwingwritings]

Sanctuary

F!Reader X Kaoru Hanayama

Hello my little ghost, goblins, ghoulies, and all around babes! By some miracle I was actually able to churn out a lil Halloween fic feat. Vampire Hanayama for you guys to sink your teeth into ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) this hallow's eve. It was a lot of fun to write and I hope you all enjoy! Have a FANGtastic and funky Halloween tomorrow, my little morsels~!

(And yes, I realize I am posting two blood-centric fics in a row, I promise I don't have a thing for this heh heh heh)

WARNINGS!: Death, gore, blood, a horny and possessive vampire lord, an elderly couple having the worst day of their lives and terrible things happen to them, mentions of kidnapping and imprisonment/being held against your will.

There was a convenience store at the foot of the hill, the last stop right before you start heading into the mountains.

It didn’t have a name, the weather worn, paint chipped sign simply reading ‘GOODS AND SUPPLIES’. The building was so small it didn’t have a dedicated parking lot, and it had a touch of dilapidation that made the rare passerby wonder if it was even still in business.

But the old building’s lights always shined so bright through its foggy windows, drawing any would be customers to the warm luminosity. Though scant, the shelves were always stocked, and the older couple that had ran the place for the last 50 years always gave you a pleasant and warm greeting when you walked through its creaking door.

Though you were sure you must look like a strung out, malnourished, vagabond they never batted an eye at your appearance. They also never questioned why you came around on a somewhat consistent basis, even though all that surrounded you was endless forest and towering mountains, the nearest town miles and miles away. This shop survived solely by being the only accessible place for campers to grab necessities before starting their trek into true wilderness. Places like this didn’t have regulars, at least not until you started coming around.

Maybe they felt sorry for you, thinking you were some poor homeless girl that had holed up in the mountains somewhere just trying to get by. Each time you entered their establishment you wondered if they were concerned you may pilfer from their limited shelves. Not that you could blame them if they did, by all accounts you appeared sketchy. Donned in ratty hoodies, your shifty eyes and general downtrodden persona would have had anyone keeping an eye on you. However, your appearance never alarmed them. If anything they seemed genuinely pleased to see you, their eyes lighting up in recognition whenever they saw you meandering down their aisles.

If they were troubled by your presentation, ever sickened by the bruises that dotted your body or appalled by the shoddily hidden bite marks that trailed your neck, they never spoke of it. You wished you could tell them how thankful you were for that. The reminders on your body were bad enough to deal with on your own, someone else nit picking you about them would be too cruel of a reminder of just how futile your situation was.

This little Podunk store had become your lifeline, your only beacon of normalcy since Kaoru Hanayama had claimed you.  You couldn’t slip away to it often, having to rely on the security of the sun’s rays to protect you from the great vampire lord, but when you could escape his estate you always ended up finding your way here.  Often times you didn’t even have money, coming and going with no purchases made.  Yet still you were welcome here, and you readily sought solace within its fluorescently lit walls, a reminder to yourself that you weren’t the last human alive on this god forsaken planet. It had become your sanctuary.

… Up until today.

You knew something was off the moment you stepped through the front door. The lights were all on, the glow of the welcome sign beckoning you with a brightness that cut through the shade of the setting sun. When you pushed open the door the same familiar chime announced your arrival, and the same old TV in the corner was playing whatever sport happened to be in season (right now it was baseball, and judging by the cheering, a player had just done something good). As usual, the radio was playing outdated pop songs softly over the speaker system, a bit of static barely noticeable as it blended with the jaunty tune.

For the most part, the store looked as it normally did. There wasn’t anything alarming about the old metal shelves holding new merchandise, and the coolers filled with varying beverages lining the back wall all hummed along as they typically did. The aisles were tidy, the floors clean, the racks orderly.  If any other customer had stopped by to shop, they would be thoroughly convinced it was business as usual.

But you were the only regular they had, and you were savvier on how they ran their business. Someone was always at the counter, but today the position sat eerily vacant. Even when they had to step away for a moment, one of the two would call out a greeting as soon as you stepped through the door. Your arrival was always announced, but today no cheery voice welcomed you, there was no warm smile cast your way as you made your way inside.

The absence filled you with unease, a cold dread seeping into your bones.      

Tentatively, you stepped closer to the counter, part of you wanting to call out to see if you get a response. Maybe you had caught them unawares-you did show up at a much later time than you typically did. Perhaps at this time of the day they are busy in back taking inventory or getting ready to restock. Was it really so strange that a small store like this didn’t have staff front and center at all times? It was just the two of them, after all. You can’t expect them to be stationed front and center 24/7.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling nestled deep in your gut that something was very, very wrong. The closer you inched toward the checkout counter, the more unsettled you felt. After a few steps in, a foreign noise came to your ear, growing clearer with every step. At first it was barely audible, a small and drawn out wheezing that sounded in weird intervals. It came from around the corner, near the back where the store room was located. You wondered if maybe the heating system was about to bite it, or an old cooler may be on its last leg.

However, a dying refrigerator didn’t explain the sudden wet sputter that rang out from just beyond your view, followed by a low, agonized groan.

Instinct took over. Propelling your body into action as you leapt across the counter, your legs taking out various snacks and energy supplements as you vaulted yourself towards the backroom. What if the owners had fallen, or something fell on them and they were trapped? Concern surged through you for the elderly couple. Surely there was a good chance if an accident occurred they wouldn’t have the means to pull themselves out of it. If they were in a compromising situation, who knows how long they had been stuck like that, who knows what position they may be in.

Nothing could prepare you for the sight that assaulted you as you rounded the corner.

Red was the first thing your eyes caught. It covered the floor, splattered the walls, coating the world around you. Its source was the kindly old woman whose warm smile you were greatly missing just moments ago. Her gentle, pleasant face was void of happiness for the first time since you met her, instead twisted into a look of abject horror and excruciating pain. She had a pallor that damn near made her look like a corpse, and you supposed that wasn’t too surprising judging from the amount of blood that was gushing from her neck, trailing in angry streaks down her body as it dripped down to the floor, adding to the mass puddle of human gore where her husbands decimated corpse was discarded.

You stifled a gasp, your hands flying to your mouth to muffle any cries or vomit that threatened to spill. Your body shook violently, a mix of disgust, fear, and anguish urging you to flee the scene, leave and never come back. Abandon your sanctuary, save yourself. They were beyond saving. They were beyond hope.

But you remained frozen in place, incapacitated by not only the shock of the situation, but also by the presence of the man that perpetrated it.

The woman hung limply from his mouth, much like how a dog dangles a toy when it’s trying to coax you into playing. His jaw latched to her small throat in a death grip, white fangs peeking through his snarled lips as his eyes caught yours. The only thing supporting the woman’s body was his bite, the ferocity with which he clamped down, the bob of his Adams apple as he greedily gulped down her essence, was quickly and efficiently stealing her life away. With her final burst of strength, her glazed over eyes looked your way. She raised a shaky hand towards you, one final rasp sputtering from her torn throat. Was it a cry for help, or a plea for you to run? Maybe she was cursing you for leading her to this fate. Whatever it was you would never know, as one final bone shattering chomp broke the woman’s neck, effectively ending her life.

Hanayama looked so out of place here in your secret spot, standing center stage as if he belonged here and wasn’t a blight on the ounce of freedom you had left. The whole scene was so surreal you felt as if you were trapped in a nightmare, your mind struggled to accept the horrors laid out plainly before you.

His imposing form nearly took up the entire store room, his height making his head graze the ceiling. Looking akin to a caged bear he was panting, his eyes wild as he released his grip letting the woman’s body fall limply to the floor, joining her husband. He was high from his meal, though you couldn’t imagine it being much of a thrilling hunt. The excitement surely stemmed from you catching him in the act. If you knew Hanayama at all, you knew the look of sheer dread plastered across your face was sure to send excitement coursing through him.

He was dressed to the nines in his tailored designer suit, shiny Italian leather shoes clicking away on the scuffed tiles of the floor as he started to approach you, each step adding a splatter of blood to his previously immaculate ensemble. His feral look had waned as he approached, giving him a more composed air. You imagined this is how he must have looked when he entered the building, his stony face littered with scars, inhumanly red eyes boring holes at the cashier, a dramatic shadow cast across his face from his swanky brimmed hat. He would have definitely caught the older couple off guard with how out of place he looked. Such a strange gentleman wandering into their quaint shop must have entranced them. These good-natured and trusting hosts were probably intrigued with his outlandish presence, interested in his story and what brought him so deep into the woods.

They would have never guessed what he truly was until it was too late. You just hoped that it had been quick for the husband, and that the woman’s suffering was not lengthy.

“So this is where you have been slinking off to.” His voice was smooth as he languidly wiped the blood from his lips, smearing the brilliant red across the once pristine white sleeve of his suit. You shuddered as he addressed you, and he instantly picked up on the quiver, though it was only momentary. He knew you like the back of his hand, all your quirks and fears, it was foolish to think he wouldn’t be able to ascertain that you were sneaking off when he explicitly ordered you not to leave the mansion’s grounds.

“I try and avoid the elderly. Past a certain age and the blood loses much of its flavor and vitality.” His eyes bore into yours, a cold smile tugged at his lips, “But these two were surprisingly delectable, even past their prime. Maybe it was their fondness for you that made them so delicious?”

“I didn’t…” the words died in your throat, burning as you choked them out. You cast your gaze towards the dead couple, the shop keepers glazed over eyes soullessly staring at you. They were still wet with tears.

“You didn’t think,” Kaoru seethed, taking another step forward, crowding your personal space. The coppery smell of blood was radiating from him in such intense waves that you could taste the tang of it on your tongue.  “You made a decision, one that I warned you against time and time again, and now you must face the consequences of that decision.”

He grabbed your chin in a tight pinch, the blood on his hands still warm as it smudged your skin. Stepping aside slightly, his hand guided your head, forcing your attention back on the couple. His steady grip kept your head in place as he spoke in your ear.

“You caused this, (name). If you had listened to me and done as you were told, their untimely death would have been avoidable. You only have yourself to blame. May the weight of their deaths hinder you from making anymore foolish decisions in the future, little one.”

He sighed heavily, releasing your chin, “I took a huge gamble coming out here at this time of day. Even with the sun low in the sky it still poses a threat to my kind. I compromised my safety to bring you home.” His gaze softened, his hand relinquishing its hold on your chin in favor of dragging his cold knuckles softly against the back of your cheek.

“It’s good I came when I did. If I had taken even a moment longer, it was sure to cause issues. Before I entered the store I heard them discussing you, talking about their concern for you. It seems they misunderstood your living situation, seeing you as some form of victim, believing that you had some manner of backwater husband that was abusing you.”

He spat the words with disdain, casting a brief disgusted glance towards the corpses on the floor. “They were trying to formulate plans to ‘save’ you, even mentioning they wanted to bring the police into it. Ridiculous.”

A sob erupted past your lips at the revelation, tears blurring your vision as they began to torrent down your cheeks. Hanayama lowered his voice, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders as he pivoted your focus to him, holding you in place. “This is why you must stay inside, my love. They don’t understand us. Most humans have small, closed minds. They don’t have the capability to understand the nature of our love. They only seek to tear us apart, hell bent on placing an end to something beautiful.”

He scooped you up before your legs could give way, nestling you against his chest in a restraining hold. He pressed a rough kiss to the crown of your head as he stepped through the door, beginning the long trek back to the cold, dank halls of the mansion.

“It has been a trying day, and you need rest,” Darkness had overtaken the sky, the chill of the nights air stinging your wet cheeks. The brilliance of the full moon was your only guiding light as it shone down upon the two of you, making Hanayama’s pale flesh appear to glow.

“But the night is young, my love, and you have a lot of making up to do for the transgressions you have made against me this day,” There was a huskiness to his voice, the words were meant as a threat, but the underlying hint of lust made their true meaning crystal clear. “You are mine (Name), and I will enjoy taking my time engraving that reminder into your soul for as long as it takes, until you finally realize your place.”

[rolloollor]

I thought at least one of the zines I'm in would be out at this point... One comes out on the 23rd, but I have no idea about the second. So I'm just gonna post this now. (Watch the second go up tomorrow or something...)

It's time to share a preview of my mallerollo high fantasy AU! I was going to post just the first page, but I decided that I'd share the entire scene. It's very important to understanding this world and Rollo's position within it.

Everything's subject to change, etc. My first draft's not done and won't be done for a while.

The night was alive with the chattering of the audience that had gathered to watch the performances offered by The Caravan of Miracles. The folly artist (a so-called 'clown') had finished his act and now retreated behind the wagons, his hat jingling with coin.

It was Rollo's turn next. He took to the stage, his appearance silencing all who saw him.

No matter how many times he gazed out at the crowd clustered in front of the caravan’s makeshift stage, he could never shake off the hideous awareness of his short hair, of his small ears, and of the children that clung to their parents at the sight of him. As a half-human, he was the personification of an elf’s perversion and lack of control. Any one of them could lie with a human and spawn a creature as pitiful as himself.

Ugène, another member of the misfits they called a ‘troupe,’ hurried around covering the bioluminescent plants they used to light up the area after dark. There weren’t many—one for each pair of rows of plants fashioned into seating, of which there were maybe ten. Elves mumbled to each other as Ugène worked, some even leaning away when he came near.

With the mushbrights stifled, the night swelled like the tide. Good. Ugène was only a boy, but his malformed head, mismatched eyes, and haphazard teeth frightened other elves his age. He hurried away from the crowd and ducked behind the stage, but there was a loud thud as he went. The child must have knocked into something in his haste. Rollo would deal with that later.

No light save the stars above reached him or the spectators. It was time to begin.

Rollo held out his hand, his palm upward, and conjured a ball of flame. A handful of shrieks erupted from the audience, followed by harsh whispers. But they had come to see such taboo magicks—why did they act so scandalized? Was it in earnest or was it some game of pretend they all played with each other?

It made no difference.

With a few flourishes, Rollo crafted two burning figures, the silhouettes of characters known to every elf.

“Long ago,” he began, adopting a smooth, storyteller’s cadence, “before the sun blazed in the sky and the moon pierced the night, there was an elf known to us only by his title—the Righteous.”

The fire puppet on the right bowed, his flames turning white. His creation hovered safely in midair despite the fact that Rollo’s fire could burn nothing without his permission. Most elves didn’t understand this, however, so Rollo had to be careful to add an appearance of extra precautions. Once, he had allowed these puppets to race and fight above those gathered in attendance. That had gone… poorly.

The congregation hushed at the mention of the Righteous. As they always did, no matter if they were peasants, craftsmen, or merchants. Rollo might have done the same had he not been the one telling the tale.

“Elves and humans alike suffered in the endless darkness,” he said, punctuating this line by snuffing out his magick and allowing the void all around them to reclaim the stage. “The Righteous sought to save both peoples, the creatures of the land, air, and sea, as well as what flora existed then. But his half-brother, spawned from the unholy union of his Elvish father and a human mother, relished the night.” Rollo manifested the two figures again, this time with more defined features. The Righteous stood tall, with strings of flame representing his long hair swaying in an imaginary breeze. His brother slouched, his body formed of dark fire, his eyes furious, crackling sparks. “This half-human, incomplete as all half-humans are, insisted on accompanying the Righteous. He claimed that he would do all that he could to help.” The burning half-human got to his knees to plead to the other puppet. “How magnanimous was the Righteous for accepting him. How foolish was the Righteous for overlooking the danger he posed.

“Together, they traveled across the land. One winter’s day, the Righteous and his brother came upon human travelers who lacked the magick necessary to make shelter before they froze. The half-human offered them ravenous flames to keep them warm. They thanked him and gathered before the conflagration.

“How delightful it is, said the half-human. It provides heat and light. With this power, we can beat away the darkness.

“The Righteous, delighted by the solution, agreed. He did not know that humans do not burn as easily as elves…

“They brought this so-called boon to the nearest elf village.” Rollo weaved a handful of huts with a bonfire at the center. “The people there marveled at the crackling orange mass and brought it into their homes. Until—”

One by one, the hovels burst into roaring flames and burnt to nothing. A child in the audience cried out at the sight. The figure of the Righteous sank to his knees, his head in his hands. His brother remained standing, unflinching.

“Oh, this cruel fire! the Righteous cried. It takes and takes until it renders everything to ash! Its light temporary, its cruelty eternal. We must eliminate it, lest it consume everything in its wake!

“The half-human did not speak. But an inferno blazed within him and he would stop at nothing until he turned this world into one great pyre. When those final flames died, then and only then would the darkness remain unbroken.”

Rollo spoke about other incidents. The Righteous utilized traditional elf magick relating to the earth, plants, and water to solve the problems of others. His brother went behind his back to offer people his poisonous combustion and called upon bolts of lightning to fall in dry forests, sparking wildfires and destroying entire swaths of land. But each time disaster was poised to strike, the Righteous rallied his fellow elves and they doused the blaze with water summoned from deep underground or the heavens itself let loose its stores, rendering his fire useless.

Not once did the Righteous believe that his brother was the cause of all these ills.

Finally, the white flames of the Righteous climbed a smoldering mountain and ascended to the sky, becoming the sun itself in a dramatic act of self-sacrifice. The man that had saved so many from dangerous incandescence took on that role, but far, far away from his people, so that no harm could come to them. The half-human chased after him, becoming the moon—a faint, reluctant reflection of the Righteous, one that strove in vain to snuff itself and his greater brother out. A bright and a dim sphere replaced the elfenoid figures.

“To this day, the Righteous protects us. To this day, the half-human strives to destroy.” The ‘moon’ drifted in front of the ‘sun,’ eclipsing it. “But the Righteous prevails time and time again.” The ‘sun’ flared, shedding light so powerful that some in the audience flinched and turned away. The ‘moon’ crumbled into ash. “Evil may deceive, may delay, may defy… but it can never destroy. Not when righteous elves remain.”

The ‘sun’ rose triumphantly above his head as Rollo took a bow. When he stood up straight once more, he caught some handkerchief waving in the audience—a sign of approval. Ugène meandered along the outer ends of the seating, a bowl in his hands. Though he said nothing, the intent was clear. He received little coin. Typical.

***

So that's the first few pages. I wanted to include the whole muddled history thing from TWST. The story Rollo tells is the prevailing narrative among elves, but is it the truth? I think in this little story, there's a part where you might go, "But that doesn't make sense," which is intentional. Oh, and Ugène is Quasimodo and has a pretty big role in this fic, especially considering he isn't Malle or Rollo.

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 19: The Bloodied

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: In this time and place, as war descends, it all changes.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Big Epic Battle, return of the Razor Crest 💙, violence, blood, passing allusion to post-traumatic stress, ho so much action, and so much lore bullshitting just go with me here.

A/N: The walker described in this isn’t any specific canon version. Somewhere between an AT-AT and an AT-ST let’s say. I dunno, picture whatever you want. Thanks for reading!

--

The room fills for the final muster. 

It’s a scene similar to the first time you’d been in here, but now you’re witnessing it from the other side. Armoured and armed soldiers file into the chamber, an audience gathering before the conflict begins. 

This time though, rather than hiding in the shadows by the forge, you’re among the congregation, seeing the Armourer up front waiting as everyone files in. You stick to the back, find yourself shuffled along a row to stand uneasily by Fennec Shand. She leans a shoulder against yours, a gesture of staunch reassurance.

We got this.

Your eyes move over the backs of many helmets, scanning until you spot him. The man you miss more than you would breathing air must have been first in here. Front and centre, Din stands with his back to you and just a little side on. From your vantage point, you can make out the edges of the familiar heat sig sensor on his helmet’s right side. You can’t see any of the T visor, so he wouldn’t spot you staring at him unless he turned full to the right.

He must know you’re in here though. Whether he cares or not, you have no clue anymore.

Over the many broad shoulders between the two of you, you can’t tell if Grogu is with him.

Still, you whisper a silent entreaty, ‘please let them both be okay…’

Footsteps and shuffling whittle down to silence. Everyone waits. The striking figure at the front of the procession pushes her shoulders back, runs a gaze across the crowd, and speaks. 

‘War is here,’ she says. ‘And we are ready.’

The room fills with the beating of wrists. You and Fennec join in, tapping your comms cuff to your new wrist guard. As the sound fades to quiet again, the honorary battle commander continues.

‘We stand on the frontlines to defend our homelands. Mandalore. Concordia. Every place Mandalorians have come together to build a future. Every place the old, dead empire has tried to take from us.’

You can tell her words are meticulously chosen, because the room swells with an earnest pride and a thrum of determined energy.

‘As the Watch,’ she continues, ‘we’ve nurtured foundlings, raised warriors, and preserved our cultures. We have long held true to the words of the Creed. And it has led us through the dark. Now, we each of us have stood in the Living Waters. By the miracle of liberating Mandalore, we grow brighter. The bonds we forge and the strength we gain from them will continue to lead us.’

‘And it is with this revival that we must learn to reach into new space. We honour the Creed, as it speaks of ourselves and our past.’

She reaches behind her and once again draws out that familiar device. The one containing the texts of the Creed, its originals, its translations. The controlling lore of the people collected here. She places it down on her table.

‘Yet we have come to learn that there is more to our ancient Way than we knew. Now we have learned that the Creed goes further. It speaks of our future. And with the royal Clan Kryze guiding us, we have the way forward to meet it.’

The air pulses like a beating heart. The flames of the forge dance across the ocean of beskar. Everyone holds.

‘Bo-Katan Kryze is our leader, and she is also our guide, it is time we followed her on the path to walk both worlds. Each and every world.’

You’re puzzling over what this reverent monologue could possibly mean – what worlds? – when the woman standing before her people does something that beats the breath from your lungs and sends dizzying electric shocks through your body.

The Armourer, the devout and steadfast leader of almost every person in this room, reaches up and – with a soft hiss that echoes over the hushed crowd – lifts her helmet up, and off. An angular face, large eyes and a wide mouth. She nestles the golden mask under an arm and watches.

It remains deathly quiet for a long, agonising stretch. 

Slowly, just one at a time, and then a few, and then everyone in the place is lifting their hands to their own faces. The air is filled with the sounds of unclasping, pressure releasing. Beskar sings against itself as removed helms are cradled and caressed in gauntleted arms.

You look side to side with eyes wide and mouth agape, in crude contrast to the stoic and steady facial expressions of those around you. The unknown features of people you’ve lived and worked with for weeks are still and focused. Like they knew. Like they were prepared.

Then you’re searching. Over the arms raising and heads shaking out hair and sweat, you strain to see it. The helmet you’d held between your own hands and the man behind it. But he’s obscured. Too far away. You’re just not tall enough. Desperate, you raise onto your toes, craning your neck over the crowd.

‘Here,’ Fennec grabs your wrist and drops to a knee. You gawk for a second but she smacks her thigh with the other hand. ‘Up,’ she mouths.

This is ridiculous but you don’t even pause. You accept her boost, grasp her shoulder and let her hoist you up above the heads of the group. Fortunately everyone is distracted, some unspoken rule that no one looks around rippling across the congregation. They all stay focused front and centre, where the Armourer looks at each and every one of her people in turn.

Not at you yet though. From the very back, toppling a little, shaking violently, you sweep your gaze over to the spot you know him to be standing.

And you see it. You see him.

Dark curls. Damp and sticking to the nape of his neck and around his right ear. 

Huh. He has dark, brown hair. The sight slots into the image you’ve tried to hold in your head all this time. The sketch you’d traced out with your hands. 

Din is holding eyes front as well. All you can see of his face is the slight edge of a sharp jawline and nose. The fuzz of a scruffy beard. Hardly enough. Not enough.

Despite yourself, knowing it to be futile, you will him to look around. Look, I’m here, Din. Please, I’m here.

But you have to drop down before the Armourer, or anyone else, spots you. Giddy and a little nauseous. The grip on your forearm tightens as Fennec stands again. She leans in.

‘See what you needed to see?’ she asks.

You just let out the breath you’d been holding, hold up a trembling hand and stare hard at it. Try to steel yourself.

You hadn’t. Not at all.

A long, high-pitched siren cuts into the reverie that had engulfed the room, sweeps across the people who had just taken a step to change forever.

The Armourer speaks, clear voice projecting to every corner of the room, ‘Go, and bring glory to Mandalore.’

The whole room moves as one, helmets going back on and everyone proceeding to their assignments. Perfect, regimented, united.

Fennec Shand claps a hand to your shoulder and peels off, going to her mission, whatever that may be. Jolted back to reality, reminded of your mission, you cast about for Ari Wren, knowing you have to follow her into whatever comes next – no matter what. You spot her helmet first as it lifts up and over her head, spy just a hint of short cropped blonde hair as the mask locks back into place. She sees you too and strides forward.

‘This way,’ she instructs, fully composed like she hadn’t just uprooted her whole identity. ‘Stick with me.’

You let her guide you, all the while still looking back over your shoulder, just trying to get one more glimpse, one more look, just one.

You don’t see him again.

The first phase of the attack is nothing more than a battle of attrition. The enemy throws waves of ground troops at the Mandalorian defences. You stick with Ari Wren, barely holding onto awareness as pure adrenaline and instinct course through your veins and grant you unimaginable speed and strength. 

‘Stay in step,’ she yells. 

Shoulder blades pressed to the hot metal of her jetpack, you move as she moves. Your footwork is doing double-time to keep up with her rapid twists and lunges, the sword and shield seemingly featherlight in her hands. Each time laser fire comes at you, she’s there – shielding and deflecting.

In turn, you incapacitate anyone that gets under her guard. The close quarters lets you take soldier after soldier by surprise, sending them screaming to the ground clutching at ruined limbs.

The two of you make your way across what’s become the battlefield, move through the acrid air and across the ash-soaked scorched earth. Smoke rising all around, you position yourselves in the anticipated trajectory of their ultimate weapon. It hasn’t emerged over the embankment yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

You remain dimly aware of the rest of the battle – cover fire soaring overhead, the other fighters moving in your forward lines, and a pitched dogfight rending the sky above. But for all the chaos that has erupted since the imp forces descended, the world may as well be you and the Mandalorian yanking you out of the path of an oncoming pulse blast.

But then disaster strikes. It’s your fault. A trooper comes at your duo wielding a bayonet-clad phase rifle, the long nasty blade on its barrel glowing red hot with energy. They lay down attack fire on approach and, as Wren deflects each shot, move in to take a swipe with the sharp, searing edge. Your companion bats it to the side. She brings her own sword around fast, but the enemy manages to parry, twisting side-on.

Seeing an opening, you duck under Wren’s extended arm and take aim at a kidney. But she wasn’t expecting it and you’ve moved under her centre of gravity. You stagger each other and the split second of imbalance is enough for your foe to rend a long slice up Wren’s outer thigh, carving a line along the outside edge of her beskar.

She falls to a knee, then slumps back with an agonised cry. The assailant squares up as you stumble to regain balance. Before you can do anything, he’s drawing his rifle up to your face.

‘N--!’ Your cry is cut off by the soldier in front of you jerking sideways, a violent twist as he drops dead to the ground. Behind him, two more troopers are sprinting toward you, weapons drawn. But again, first one then the other jolts as if struck and falls.

Whirling and twisting, scanning the perimeter, your eyes finally look up and you see it. The long barrel of a sniper rifle and the curved sights of the assassin’s helmet peak over the far ridge.

Fennec Shand.

You stare for a moment until Wren barks your name. It pulls you back and you see you’re being surrounded by a rank of attackers, all sporting savage-looking shock batons. Some are already being taken out by Fennec’s pinpoint cover fire. But if you don’t fucking move soon, you and Wren are doomed.

One of the squad lunges in to attack.

Reaching back, the gaffi stick slung across your shoulders swings free and you connect it with the on-comer’s chest plate, the slugged end caving it in and sending him flying backwards. You spin to slice the barbed spear across another’s throat, blood making a crescent streak across the air.

Fennec hits one in the knee and, as he drops, your weapon rises to meet his face. The helmet shatters and your blood roars.

One after another, you never stop rotating. Cries of pain from your weapon and grunts of shock from the impact of a rifle blast work the group circling you down to the ground.

When it’s clear, you look back to Fennec, hoping she can see your nod of acknowledgement through the scope. She raises an arm to you.

Then you fall to Wren’s side, where she’s gripping her wound and cursing in fury.

‘Wren,’ you start, dropping your weapon and trying to assess the damage. ‘Hang on—'

An ear-splitting siren rips the air apart. Its meaning runs your blood cold. The walker is incoming. Wren tugs at your arm, a ‘help me up’ gesture. But you shake your head, lay your own hands over hers at the top of her thigh where blood spurts from the edge of the armour plate. 

‘No, no,’ you urge her back. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Have… to…’ she grits through her helm. But even the small movement she just made causes red to well between your fingers. 

‘Shit!’ you cry. ‘Gods, Wren. Hang on… Help!’ You look around frantically, yell into the deafening chaos of battle. ‘Help!’

Hells, think clearly, would you? You shake yourself and smack your comms. ‘I need help! Wren is down.’

Within moments, two Mandalorians have landed on either side. One, in medic garb, shoves you aside and begins to tend to her leg. They tap the ground to indicate she needs evac and you hear her grunt in abject frustration. Tries to wave them off.

‘No…’ she moans. ‘Need to…’ She tries to sit up but jolts with a cry of agony. She grips a fist tight before shaking herself and slapping her own comms, muttering into her helmet. You can’t hear who she’s talking to – why is she on a different comms channel?

Another siren has you whirling, then craning your neck up, back. A huge mechanised leg raises over the first fortifications only hundreds of feet in front of you, stomps down with a thundering crash.

You cradle your ears. Terror shoots through you. Whipping around, you look for another jetpacked fighter who could get you up there. Someone, anyone. But they wouldn’t know where to place the charges. How to time it. You sense your plan being blown to hell and panic sets in. This is it – that thing is going to wipe you all out.

Another gargantuan limb brings the monster closer and sends a garrison into full retreat. The horrifying sound of the thermal cannons warming up fills your ears with a sickening buzz. There’s no way to stop it. You look up to the heavens with defeat heavy on your chest. 

That’s where you see it. A pinprick at first, but growing larger. The gorgeous old gunship streaks across the sky, threading the needle through cannon fire and laser blasts. In a sharp nosedive, the Razor Crest is on full burn on its approach to you. It turns to make a low bank and passes over your heads. A figure drops from the hold, in a rapid descent to the field of battle not far from you.

Din hits the ground with a forward roll and releases a salvo of his whistling birds into the waiting war troopers. He’s incapacitated them in a matter of seconds as you sprint toward him. Up and fighting any and everything between the two of you, he makes his way to meet you in the middle. You can’t stop yourself from barrelling into him.

He just plants a hand on your waist and pulls you close, ‘Hang on!’ he yells.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to stifle your cry as his jetpack engages and rockets you both upwards, soaring toward the body of the walking terror. Nothing but empty air below and laser fire raining all around, you bury your face into his neck. Through the haze of fear and adrenaline, you feel him pull you tighter.

The underside streaks toward you. He manoeuvres to ascend up the thing’s body but, just as you come level with it, the rockets on Din’s pack cut out. Suspended in the air, weightless for one terrifying moment, a scream begins to bubble up as you anticipate a precipitous drop. 

But Din fires his whipcord ahead, planting its grapple at the top and swinging your bodies into the side of the massive unit. He twists his weight so he lands squarely against the side, shielding you from impact. Dangling together from the façade of the stalking, swaying machine, he nudges at you.

‘Climb!’ he yells, urging you upwards. 

‘Your jetpack!’ you shout back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got it, just climb now,’ he pushes. You reach up and grab the whipcord. His free hand helps you along, grabbing your legs and heaving upwards to give you purchase. You don’t know how his shoulder isn’t being torn from its joint, but he seems to be holding on. So you grit your teeth, ignore the cord cutting into your hands, and climb.

You hand over hand with the cord and plant your knees into the vertical surface. Push every shred of fear away and focus on what’s in front. Halfway up you glance back and almost scream again. Hundreds of feet below, the monstrosity steps through more barricades, nearing the centre of the fray. But you also see Din, who’s holding fast, looking up, watching you. You turn around and keep climbing. 

The second you reach the top, the whipcord whizzes back. You’re already scrambling toward the pilot hatch when Din’s voice crackles over your comms piece. ‘Just like you planned – you take the personnel, I’ve got the undercarriage.’ 

Gods, so he had been listening. 

Wind whips your face and the roar around you is deafening, but you get to the hatch and pop a thermal charge into the lock. Crawling back and shielding your head, you wait for the ‘croom ’ then leap forward, grip the edge of the opening, and swing yourself inside. The smoke and noise from the explosion has stunned your cabin buddies. They only manage a short shout of alarm before both find their necks snapping at unhappy angles.

You surge onto the portal, jabbing at controls and resetting target maps. The walker groans under the strain of turning 180, but the cockpit’s sights swing around until the advancing forces come into view. You set the target locking system and throw the lever into full drive before sending a quick blaster shot into the control panel. The guns below the cockpit begin a continuous barrage. You watch for a moment as squadrons scatter and tanks implode.

You back away and make for the hatch. Scrambling up onto topside, you hit comms.

‘Din!’ you cry. ‘We gotta go! Din?’

Instead of a reply, the Mandalorian rockets up over the edge and plants his feet metres from you. He strides forward, holding one hand to his helmet, shouting at R5 to bring in the Crest, and reaching his other arm out to you.

You don’t pause, moving in and resuming your grip on his shoulders. He holds for a second, then you’re fighting panic again as you launch upwards. This time though, you manage to keep your eyes trained down. 

You see the walker, marching back into its own lines, sending explosions into troopers and hovercannons. Then, perfectly timed, the detonators Din planted on the underside go off, buckling the legs and sending it tumbling into the central armoured column.

Good.

Then your vision is obscured and your momentum arrested. You start in alarm before making sense of the scene. The Crest has sailed elegantly into your line of ascent and Din has cut the jetpack, landing you both on the aft entry of the old gunship. It’s a heavy impact and the only reason your knees don’t collapse is the strong hold he has on you. You both stumble back into the hold of the ship.

As soon as you’re steadied, he lets go and makes for the cockpit. You give in to a brief moment of uninvited despair when he looks over his shoulder and barks, ‘C’mon!’ Then you’re following.

You allow yourself little beats to revel in being on the Crest again, but not for too long. The janky locker door that never quite shut all the way. The peeling paint on the ladder. The access panel that always flickered and whirred. Gods, you’d missed it so much. 

As you enter the cockpit, Din is taking his seat and engaging the controls from R5. You spot Grogu tucked in his pod, which is securely strapped into his flight seat. He looks over at you and waves his arms, burbling in excitement.

The seat on the other side, your seat, sits empty.

Your heart aches at the sight.

As if the ship senses it, the Crest groans and lurches nose down for a moment, forcing you forward. As Din rights its moorings, you flop back into the chair.

‘Get strapped in,’ he yells over his shoulder. He punches at the controls and brings the ship around to witness the skirmish taking place in the sky. The cockpit’s windows afford you a view of the aerial battle, so high up you can see the curvature of this moon and the combat below looking like a crawling insect colony. The fighters up here are intercepting and taking down enemy craft on approach, preventing any from breaking through to attack ground forces.

‘Just in time,’ Din says. ‘The Guild has arrived.’

‘Oh shit,’ you say, pulling the straps around and craning your neck out the window. You spot it. A hefty old transport frigate, Leaf Ghogal’s little army of bounty hunters, plugging a descent toward the edge of the fray, getting ready to drop a mess of bloodthirsty fighters right into the thick of it.

But Din seems unfazed. It puzzles you for a second before he flips the cockpit comms on and speaks to someone on the other end.

‘You’re up,’ he says.

‘Copy that, Mando my man,’ comes a reply – a painfully familiar voice. ‘Our frenemies will be taking a one-way jump to buttfuck nowhere in 3- 2- get goin’ hahaha.' 

Still eyeing the transport a ways off, you have a perfect view of it shuddering for a moment – the hyperdrive straining in the high atmosphere. With a massive shockwave, it shooms into nothingness. The energy fallout from its rapid departure collects the edge of a soaring tiefighter, taking its portside wing and sending it careening to the ground. 

‘Woo! Two fer one!’ The disembodied voice hollers and it hits you. 

‘Wha— Torre? ’ you sputter.

‘Hey dove,’ Torre’s voice echoes around the cockpit. ‘You made it.’

‘What are y-- what is-- what?’ 

‘Making up for my bullshit, hon,’ he says. ‘Or a little of it, at least.’

Din interrupts, like you aren’t in a full tailspin over this little fucking alliance going on right now.

‘Another mercenary outfit inbound,’ he says.

‘On it,’ Torre chirps, the clacking of keys being hit in rapid succession accompanying the transmission. 

You start to say ‘where?’ but Din just points. Another transport carrier trundles just behind where Leaf’s ship was. Your eyes track it as the Crest banks across the range. Huge, fit to carry upwards of two hundred combatants. Worlds, you think. If they land it’ll be a bloodbath.

But Torre’s counting down again and the boat – blip – bends out of existence. Just like that. 

‘That’s cleared,’ Din says.

‘Roger, roger,’ Torre responds.

This is too surreal. ‘Torre,’ you shout. ‘ What-- why are you doing this?’

A long sigh slips from the speakers.

‘Your Mando came and got me,’ he tells you over the comms. ‘Told me about how that fucker Cephlate used me. And how he got to you. Fuck. For that, and for the rest… Well, ‘m sorry.’

A beat of quiet as you absorb that. Then the Crest chimes in with its alert system, alarms blaring around you.

‘And speaking of the Devil,’ Torre says. ‘His craft is inbound.’

‘What?’ you yelp. ‘Cephlate is here?’ 

‘Indeed,’ Torre answers you. ‘Got his private little army in on this shitshow.’

Ice slides up and down your spine and sends cold shards to your extremities. The freeze of a carbonite unit crawls over your skin. Him. Your side aches right where your scar has steadily faded away. But it now throbs as if fresh. Your face, where he’d held onto your chin and threatened you, burns.

The only thing stopping you from succumbing to wild panic is the T visor that’s swung round to stare at you.

‘He’s not gonna touch you,’ Din snarls low. ‘Ever again.’

You lean into your chair, breathing deep into your belly as he turns back to the ship’s controls.

‘What can you do about it?’ Din asks.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve tried hacking in but he knows my tricks. All I can give you is something to aim for.’

A string of data rolls across the Crest’s targeting system, forms into a ship holo. An ugly, heavy-duty gunner-craft. Cannons and railguns weigh the beastly thing down. The holo rotates to reveal a glowing patch on the underside. Small and tucked against the exhaust latchings. You lean forward to get a good look at it. 

‘The stitch that will unravel his shields,’ Torre explains. ‘Aim for that. And he’ll be done.’

‘Okay,’ Din says. ‘I think you’re good then.’

‘Copy that.’

‘You gonna cause trouble?’

Torre’s chuckle rumbles over the speakers. ‘No worries there,’ he says. ‘Old mate Greef here hasn’t taken his pistol’s sights off me for a single second.’

‘I’ve got him, Mando,’ the high magistrate’s voice follows on. ‘We’ll take him back when the fight is over, won’t we IG?’

‘Bye then, dove,’ Torre’s voice sinks into you. ‘I’ll always be sorry.’

The transmission cuts.

Distracted by the insanity of what just happened, you miss Din’s question. He’s fiddling with settings on the HUD and, at your silence, looks back.

‘Huh?’ you ask.

‘I can’t aim for something like that and fly at the same time,’ he says. ‘So which do you want to do?’

‘Which do I--?’ You notice for the first time an addition to the instrument bank next to the flight chair you’re buckled into. A set of ship controls, twins to the ones Din’s got a hard grip on up front. Protruding just within reach. 

‘Had to get another ship mechanic to help install it, ‘m sorry,’ he says, watching you. ‘It was fiddly. The Crest did not want to cooperate. But we did it.’

‘Wh--,' you’re speechless. You reach over and they glide easily outward so you can orient them in front of you. Giving each an experimental twist, you feel the hefty tilt and take in the trigger buttons just by where your forefingers rest. ‘Oh wow… Din. But- I can’t--’

‘You can,’ he says. ‘I know it.’

Aware you can’t waste time on doubt, you heave a deep sigh. Looking at the ship holo, at the tiny opening Torre’s given you, your fingers hover over the triggers. Something inside you makes the choice. 

‘Aim,’ you say. ‘I’ll aim.’

Nodding, he spins back around and flips a switch. The controls under your palms hum with energy and a HUD blinks in front of you. The Crest shudders as its weapons system primes itself.

Hells, how are you going to fucking do this.

‘I’ll draw him onto us, tell me when you’re ready and I’ll give you an opening,’ he says. Without further ado, he pulls his own controls back and the Razor Crest soars. 

How are you going to do this.

The Mandalorian pilots his ship through a mess of crossfire and the occasional spacecraft trailing smoke and plummeting to the earth. The menacing looking ship of the outer-rim warlord comes into view and Din positions the Crest right in front of it, racing ahead and catching the enemy crew’s attention. Pulls serpentine manoeuvrers to dodge the laser fire that begins a bombardment.

How are you—

Static crackles over the comms and the sickly, savage voice of the figure you’ve had nightmares about fills the space. Delighted, arrogant and bloodthirsty. Cephlate waxes lyrical about finally having the opportunity to ‘destroy you Mando, and all you hold dear’.

But you’re barely taking it in, fixated on the targeting system and trying to fathom how you’re going to do this.  

How, how, how—

Spiralling thoughts are interrupted by a feather-soft tendril of energy nudging at the edge of your mind. It swirls against your consciousness and seems to await permission. 

You look over at Grogu, whose eyes are shut tight and hands twitch with power. The sense of connection within you grows brighter, promises aid. Begs entry.

‘Ready?’ Din calls.

‘We have this,’ you shout. Looking at the child, you let him and the Force flood your mind, whip through your senses and snake into your arms and hands, held firm on the controls. They hum harder, some awareness deep in the bowels of the ship slips into you, a quiet there you are, where have you been? You set your shoulders and shout, ‘Now!’

Din hurls a lever back and reefs on the controls. The Crest drops into a free fall. The rear thrusters cut and tip the boat so you’re looking up into the sky. Laser fire passes overhead as does Cephlate’s ship. The glint in the underside, the break in the shield, is plain as day to your heightened senses.

You, Grogu and the Crest lock onto it and your fingers move of their own volition, releasing a single pulse that streaks ahead. Where it hits home, exactly on target, a burst of crackling, festy grey energy widens from the spot, shimmering over the whole ship. The entire shield system drops away in a few heartbeats.

‘No!’ the warlord bellows. ‘You--!'

Din smacks the comms to another channel over the top of his cries. ‘Move in,’ he commands whoever’s on the other side. To you, ‘Keep firing!’

You’re already setting up to unleash an angry broadside along the bottom of the vessel. He hauls the thrusters back on and gives you a perfect bank for the barrage to take out its engine array. When the Crest clears the front of the ship, it wheels around and you can take aim at the top-mounted cannons.

You see several other Mandalorian jets and fighters move in weapons free, your little T-Wing among them. It and the rest send explosions to impact on all sides of the vessel. Your ship makes another turn and you get to pass again – feeling feral, you zero in on the bridge and send the bow of the ship up in flames.  

It’s not long before the monstrous dirigible is listing, tilting away from the centre of the fight, toward the chordal coast where the imps’ forward party had been encamped. It disappears over the rim of the small mountain range bisecting the landscape. Moments later, a spectacular explosion reaches toward the skies.

You watch it as the Crest’s trajectory evens out, sails across the cleared air. You scan the radar, friendly craft soar around you. 

Only the roar of wind and the groan of the ship fill the cockpit. You loosen your grip just slightly on the controls as a wide grin spreads across your face. You glance up at Din, seeing his shoulders steadily drop as he relaxes. You laugh.

‘Well that, felt incredible,’ you say. He starts to turn toward you.

A burst of static covers what he says back. A boisterous voice thunders over the speakers, declaring glorious victory and the imp forces scattering like baby womp rats, the jet-packed Mandalorians running them down with ease.

You listen, fidgeting a little as a weird pang starts to bother your side. 

The comms cuts to reports of mopping up but Din turns it to low, moving dials and flipping the landing gear into standby.

You keep your hands on the gunner grips in case any last-minute moves are needed, but try to sit up a little straighter to stretch out the tightness that is drawing your abdomen into a knot. The tension of the fight setting in, maybe?

Din leans back. ‘Guess we can head in,’ he says, moving to turn to you again. Your heart beats harder, damn near straining against your chest. ‘And maybe we can t—’

‘Ebbe!’

The tiny, panicked shriek from Grogu causes you both to whip around to him. Your concern twists your guts. A strange nervous vibration is working its way up your spine, into your skull and clouding your vision. Your mouth is filling with icy shards and your ears start ringing. 

‘Grogu?’ you say. ‘Baby, wha—’

‘No!’ Din surges from his chair.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Oh Gods, no, no, no!’

That’s when you realise that he’s not lunging at Grogu but toward you. And Grogu is fine, but he’s pointing to your middle with fear-filled eyes.

Din kneels before you and chants your name. ‘Hang on. Please just, hang on, love. Stay, stay with me, hey! Stay with me!’ His confusing demands grow fuzzy and further away as he talks.

You finally look down. The haze and hot tendrils clawing at your eyes make it hard to see, but that’s definitely something sticking out of your stomach. You move a hand to it. It’s hot, and vibrating with a quiet menace. Your fingers come away bloodied. ‘Ohhhh wha…’ You fade out.

--

Prev | Next

Forgive me.

Thank you so much for reading this weird little story.

[scribblesquid077]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 16: 𝓦𝓪𝔂 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷

————-

💕𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂💕: Aspiring diva Kang Mi-na takes part in this year’s Squid Games, challenged among the fellow lower class. In order to have a safe chance of winning, the aspiring fashionista teams up with former-rapper Thanos. Not only is she tested on what she is willing to risk for money, but her place as one of Thanos’ confidants.

💜𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰💜: Choi Su-Bong(Thanos) x Kang Mi-na, Thanos squad + Kang Mi-na

💕𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮💕: mi-na lives au, se-mi dies instead tho :( , romance, angst, fluff, casual, flirty bantering, lots of jealousy on nam-gyu’s part

💜𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼💜: graphic depictions of violence, murder, mild gore, explicit language, drug usage, mentions of suicide, major character deaths, spoilers for squid game s2,

💕𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸💕: like the original show, this is intended for a mature audience, please proceed with caution. updates will be posted biweekly at the latest, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is dmed to me!!

💜𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼💜: work in progress 🤭

💕 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 💕: 1029

———-

💕𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 💜𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻

—————

Daddy wasn’t smart, but he always said that you didn't need a big brain to wear a hard hat. The smaller the head, the easier to wear, he would argue, always chose a briefcase instead. Mi-na would giggle, calling him silly, and he would tussle her hair. Daddy worked a lot, sometimes miss dinner. Mi-na didn't always mind, because that meant she could spend more time with Mommy.

‘The game you will be playing is Mingle.’

When it was dark and Daddy’s one working headlight still didn’t pull up, the two ladies of the house reigned supreme. Snuggled on the couch, they would stream K-dramas, some too mature for Mi-na. All the while, her mommy would braid her hair and point to every actress on the screen. She is beautiful, she would say, but my daughter exceeds in every way.

Her mommy had a magnificent touch on every person she met. Heads would turn, people would smile, only to shrivel later. Everyone was below her except for Mi-na, her most treasured girl. She’d coat minor scrapes with concealer, kiss her cute little cheeks, and dress Mi-na as though she were her own personal doll.

One night, her daddy came home with a special paper. It had a bunch of money, more than usual. So what better than to spend it on their daughter? For Mi-na’s eighth birthday, the Kang family went to the amusement park. There was nothing like it; a stimulating world of catchy music and rides bound to touch the moon. But the carousel was her favorite. There were several gorgeous horses, painted gold, bronze, and neon. Naturally, she loved the pink, sparkly one the most. So that was what she picked.

Her daddy scooped her up and onto the mare. Her mommy would watch from afar, snapping pictures with her camera. (A beautiful lady must look her best, after all)

The carousel would start its steady function, teetering up and down. Going up was the best part. Her stomach flutter, as if she had lost connection to both the ground and the sky. Just like soaring high on swings, where she could simply be. This was more than just a ride. Laughter would escape her. It was so easy.

Money was miles away.

‘Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle.’

Slumber parties, warm summers, glitter pens and jump rope. It was a miraculous, irreplaceable joy. She realized how important such simple things were until she lost them.

Eight now seemed closer than thirty.

‘All players, please step onto the centered platform.’

Picture books would soon become long rows of text, playtime sold to studies. From five in the morning to eleven at night, she belonged to the system.

Subpar grades were the norm; a D was a miracle. She despised those who were quick learners. Those who didn’t need to study to pass. The upper-classman most of all, who called her name and punished her all because she wanted to look cute. She couldn’t succeed and she couldn’t be beautiful.

Were these not the happiest moments of her life?

When the results came in, it was a greater blow for her parents. Even if she was the one who took the exam. Each smile and conversation strained, as though they were trying to hide the shame. Her mother’s constant praise–“such a pretty child”–rang false, the encouraging tussles worthless.

As a child, letters and numbers were all she needed to know.

Nothing could mask the crumpled tissues, the shouting sessions behind closed doors. Sometimes she would catch her father in prayer. He would call upon the gods of heaven and earth for a brighter future, a future beyond their reach. Pray that Mi-na would be in a better position than he ever was: smarter than him, kinder than her mother.

But how could she achieve that if she couldn’t even get into high school?

After all, they should have known better than to raise a child when they were hardly successful themselves. She was always their gateway ticket to a grander life, but she couldn’t get half as close to where they skimmed. She was too much like her parents, and it held her back.

‘When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number.’

The hardest part was over. In her eyes, she had lost her parents, and she could mask the anger with a heavy dose of perfume. Rewards of the finest pleasure would only prosper. Partying, attending concerts, shopping, karaoke. Waking up, god knows where doing god knows what. All to reclaim lost years and fleeting youth.

Her friends were just shallow women, convenient connections, and carbon copies not set in stone. Compared to the little girls who swore they would be friends forever. Now they were all off letting a boy ruin their lives, drinking at the expense of a shrubby liver, blasting any conscious thought with speakers. However, the world always came back.

‘You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the doors within 30 seconds.’

Even if she failed it.

But she didn’t need help, because she had all that she needed. A genuine passion, an eye for all things aesthetically pleasing. She could handle the insurance shit by herself: taxes, mortgage, and all the adult crap that was thrown onto her. It was like horseplay. She could go off and treat herself to her own rewards. Take out another loan. Cash in another check. Brush off the emails and phone-calls. Success didn't require attending a prestigious college or spending life in a dull office.

This was the best time of her life, and she made it so.

‘Let the game begin.’

Mi-na returned to the spinning platform; after all, she never left.

The carousel stopped working a long time ago, yet the horses still followed. Even when her shoes were now too small. The lights remained bright, and the music stayed cheerful. Her horses, although not pink and sparkly, were radiant as can be.

That eight-year-old girl wanted to go on one last ride, and that was exactly what Mi-na would give her.

——————

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1. Have the Correct Attitude First

Developing a positive mindset is the first step to becoming a successful Black Ox user. You must make a commitment to your fitness and health objectives. Supplements can be beneficial, but only if you take them.

Decide if you want to lose weight, gain muscle, or both.

Maintain consistency: As instructed, take the product daily.

Monitor your progress: Keep track of changes in your strength, energy, and mood using a journal or an app. 

2. Adhere to the Recommended Dosage

Typically, Black Ox is sold as capsules. Two to four capsules daily may be the typical dosage, but always carefully read the package.

For optimal effects, use it with food to prevent  upset stomach.

Take one capsule in the morning and one in the evening to divide the dosage.

Cycle it by taking it for eight weeks and then taking a four-week hiatus. Your body remains receptive as a result.

Don't take too much. Faster results do not come from taking more tablets. Side effects including hormone imbalances or mood changes may result from it. 

3. Consume Food Like a Pro

Your performance is based on your diet. If you don't eat well, no amount of test-enhancing supplements will help.

Foods That Increase Testosterone:

Eggs: Packed with protein and good fats

Lean meats include turkey, beef, and chicken.

Fish: Particularly omega-3-rich salmon and tuna

Seeds and nuts: flaxseeds, walnuts, and almonds

Leafy greens: broccoli, kale, and spinach

Fruits include berries, avocados, and bananas.

Foods to Steer Clear of: Processed foods

Sugar-filled beverages

Excessive alcohol consumption

Products made from soy may have an impact on testosterone.

Aim for little sugar, healthy fats, and high protein. Don't miss meals and drink lots of water.

4. Work Hard, But Wisely

Your workout should match the intensity of any supplements you're taking, such as Black Ox.

Pay Attention to Compound Motions:

Squats , Deadlifts , Bench press , Pull-ups , Rows

These workouts work a variety of muscles and increase testosterone levels organically.

Tips for a Workout Plan:

Five to six days a week, train

Combine HIIT (High-Intensity Interval Training) with strength training.

Don't overtrain, but keep your routines challenging.

Take one or two days off to recuperate.

You are built by hard effort, not by supplements. 

5. Get a Good Night's Sleep

Ignoring sleep is one of the most common mistakes people make. Your body produces the greatest growth hormone and testosterone when you are sleeping deeply.

Sleep Advice:

Try to get seven to nine hours each night.

One hour before bed, stay away from screens.

Keep your space cold and dark.

If you have problems falling asleep, use herbal tea or magnesium.

No matter how effective your supplement is, sleep deprivation might undo all of your achievements. 

6. Control Your Stress

High levels of stress cause cortisol, a hormone that reduces testosterone, to rise.

How to Naturally Lower Stress:

Engage in meditation or deep breathing.

Take quick strolls across the outdoors.

Steer clear of excessive caffeine.

If you're feeling overwhelmed, talk to someone.

Recall that developing a relaxed and concentrated mind is just as important as developing a fantastic body.

7. Continue Using Black Ox Regularly

In the first week, some people anticipate significant changes. It doesn't operate that way. You'll begin to observe modifications in:

Focus and vitality (after 1-2 weeks)

Strength and endurance (two to four weeks later)

Fat loss and muscle growth (after 4-6 weeks)

Prior to evaluating the outcomes, maintain consistency for a minimum of two complete months. 

8. Mix with Additional Beneficial Supplements (Optional)

If you've reached a higher level of fitness, you can combine Black Ox with additional safe supplements:

Creatine For recuperation and muscle strength

Zinc and Magnesium: To promote testosterone and improve sleep

Protein powder: For building and repairing muscles

Vitamin D3: Promotes testosterone levels and mood

However, avoid making things too complicated. Black Ox by itself can be very effective if you lead a healthy lifestyle.

9. Steer Clear of Typical Errors

A lot of users make errors that hinder their progress. Steer clear of these:

Using the supplement in the absence of exercise

Consuming junk food in the hopes of getting results

Either staying up late every night or skipping sleep

Anticipating "overnight" change

Have patience. The body undergoes tremendous but progressive changes. 

10. Track Your Outcomes

Monitor your progress each week:

Take pictures every two weeks.

Monitor your strength, size, and weight.

Note your bodily and emotional well-being.

This keeps you inspired and enables you to make wise decisions.

11. Recognize When to Rest

Take a 4-week break from Black Ox after 8 weeks of consistent use. This keeps your body from over adapting and aids in its reset.

While on break:

Pay attention to your workout, sleep, and diet.

Think about taking a simple multivitamin.

Consider your progress.

Your body will react even more favorably when you go back to Black Ox. 

12. Can You Trust Black Ox?

For healthy adults, Black Ox is generally safe because it contains natural substances. But still: If you have health problems, see a doctor.

Do not use it if you are younger than eighteen.

Steer clear if you're on any other hormone-related drugs.

Reduce the dosage or take a break if you experience adverse symptoms including headaches, agitation, or insomnia.

Conclusion

 don't just be a user; be a beast.

There is more to becoming a great Black Ox user than just taking pills. It's about developing into a more resilient, intelligent, and self-disciplined version of oneself.

In summary:

As instructed, take the supplement.

Eat healthily and work out vigorously.

Get enough sleep and control your stress.

Be dependable and monitor your development.

Cycle sensibly on and off.

You are the true force behind the change, but Black Ox can help you reach your full potential.

Thus, remain hungry, stay focused, and go make those gains. 

DESCLAIMER

There are an article an affiliate links of a best product in this article which may make some profit for me.

Click Here to Get it Now

[dfroza]

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures

for the 25th of September 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New Covenant) of the Bible

[The Book of Matthew, Chapter 3 • The Book of Joshua, Chapter 20]

along with Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms with Proverbs 25 and Psalm 25 coinciding with the day of the month, accompanied by Psalm 4 for the 4th day of Astronomical Autumn, and Psalm 119 for day 269 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

A post by John Parsons:

Torah explains that death was “inherited” from the rebellion of Adam, who represented humanity as its federal head, and that deliverance from death is given in Yeshua, the “Second Adam” who bore our curse on the cross and restored our lost estate by his resurrection.

====

Why does God want us to face the truth about death? Why does Moses ask God to teach us to "number of our days?" (Psalm 90:12). The reason is that by nature people deny the reality of death - they hide their eyes from it, ignore it, and pretend it's not there - so they can continue to live under the illusion that they are in control of their lives, that they are the center, that they are immortal little "gods." Death threatens the ego and humbles us to confess the truth about life, namely that we are not in control, that we cannot choose to be immortals, that we do not have power to exist in ourselves, and therefore we need life from a radically different source - spiritual life - wherein we receive a new identity and a new being found in relationship with God.

The "natural man" regards death as an offense or as "absurd" because it splits us in two, creating a "divided house" that cannot stand. The ego demands to be godlike, important, valued as sacred, etc., yet the prospect of death crushes the aspiration and yields alienation from reality. This creates a painful tension or dualism within the heart where the meaning and purpose of life is lost.... The message of the gospel begins precisely there, however, speaking to broken people who thirst for life but find themselves living on “death row” - people who are humbled and who understand they cannot heal themselves from the "sickness unto death," as Kierkegaard used the term. The remedy is not to deny death or to live as if death is not a genuine horror, but to understand it as our natural estate, brought about by sin that exalts the ego over the God who made us.

The power of the gospel is to partake in a new source of life and to be healed from the sickness of death by God's miracle in Messiah (2 Cor. 5:17). "Jesus saves" is not a cliché for the faith but the sober truth of reality. It is by our union or identification with Him, by the agency of the Holy Spirit, that we are imparted new existence, true spiritual being, that is not subject to the natural law of sin and death (Col. 3:9-11). Being "in Messiah" means you are "justified," that is, welcomed, affirmed, accepted and declared righteous by God, and that you are set free from the condition of "being unto death." You partake and share in the life (relationship) of God based on his redeeming love: you are "adopted" by God, made a member of his "household," and attain the inheritance of which is eternal life. Consequently you cry out "Abba, Father" to God who watches over you and leads you through the days of your sojourn here on earth (Rom. 3:32). Despite walking through the shadowy byways and tribulations of this world, you refuse to let death define you or be the last word: you trust that your Father is with you, working all things for your ultimate good (Rom. 8:28). You know who you are, where you are going, and what your end is because of Yeshua our Lord.

Facing death is essential because the message of the gospel must be grounded and framed in the language of our wretched desperation as lost souls in this world (Rom. 7:24). Death is the central problem of existence, and death is therefore serves as the "propaedeutic" that leads us to the salvation found in Yeshua the Messiah...

The dualism of life shows up within our hearts as well, as we wrestle with our own faith and with "double-mindedness," that is, the ambivalence that results from not having our minds entirely made up. On the one hand, we need to confess the truth of our radical sinfulness, our depravity, our brokenness, our legacy from Adam, and so on, while on the other we must learn to know ourselves as the "beloved" and to find faith that God’s blessing indeed belongs to us -- that Yeshua now represents us and gave his life for us -- despite ourselves. We have to be willing to take God’s new name for us and believe that God has transformed our ultimate nature for eternal good. We have to be renamed from “Jacob” to “Israel,” even as we yet know ourselves as both... In other words, we must learn to “put on” the new nature and to “put off” the carnal reasoning of our former life. The answer for us is found in the word "miracle," as God in great mercy and compassion regenerates us, comforts us, and then guides our way back to the truth of his salvation.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

Psalm 145:18 Hebrew reading:

Hebrew page (pdf):

9.23.24 • Facebook

from Today’s email by Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 1

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)

wc: 2.8k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, train robberies, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, assuming Ellie’s gender, reader has backstory, no use of y/n

authors note: it’s been a really long time since I’ve had the confidence to post a new series here. But these two have taken over my brain and I’m excited to share them with you. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and generally cheering this idea on.

You’ve found yourself in some spots before but never one as tight as this. You’re seated in the passenger car of a train bound for Chicago. If you make it there, you’ll hang.

Your knee bounces anxiously. You’ve been wracking your brain for hours now. There’s got to be some way to escape but you’re fresh out of ideas. Unless you can smash the window and jump out of a moving train, you’re screwed.

“Quit that twitching or I’ll give you a real shiner,” Brown says from behind his newspaper. He’s sitting on the aisle, between you and freedom. There’s a holster on his hip, his fancy pistol a promise that you won’t get far if you try to run.

As you suck your teeth in response, he chuckles to himself, and you wish you could punch him again like you did back in Laramie. 

Six years in Wyoming and your luck has run out. It’s bad enough that you’re getting hauled back east but being pinched by a Pinkerton man in a silly bowler hat and that ridiculous tin badge is humiliating. He’s actually twirling his fucking mustache, the bastard. 

“I’m hungry,” you tell him as he neatly folds his paper. You’re not but you’re grasping at straws now, trying anything that might get him to give just an inch. 

“That’s too bad,” he says. He pulls a little paper bag of jelly beans out of his coat pocket and pops a few into his mouth.

Fucker. 

You chew on a hangnail, pressing your forehead against the window. Your best chance of getting off of this train is Brown dropping dead. You’ve been wishing for him to have a heart attack for the last 35 miles but no luck yet. When the train stops in Cheyanne, you might be able to make a break for it but it’s too risky. There aren’t a whole lot of elegant solutions left.

The landscape of the west rolls by as the train chugs along. Wide, churning rivers, thick forests, and mountains dusted with snow. It was beautiful back when this was your refuge. Now, it’s just something else to scowl at while you listen to Brown munch his candy. 

Your sigh fogs the glass. All you can do now is hope for a miracle. 

The train reduces speed to take a curve and all you can see are thick, tall trees with branches that shade the tracks. They go from a blur of green to clutches of pale, white trunks and you realize you’re seeing more and more details on each branch. The locomotive’s slowing. It’s huffing and puffing with effort, sparks flicking off from the wheels as the hulking thing crawls along. Soon it’s so slow that you could run faster. There’s no station in sight, you’re still deep in forest here. Something’s amiss. Maybe the train is broken, maybe they ran out of coal. How trains work is a mystery to you to begin with but they must break down sometimes. 

You chance a look at Brown. He’s all suspicion, sitting up a little taller, eyes searching around for the answer to the same question that’s on your mind. What’s going on here? 

Suddenly the train lurches to a halt. A hat box falls off of the overhead shelf and a few passengers brace themselves against the seats with grunts and complaints. 

“Are we stopping?” a man a few rows ahead of you asks no one in particular. 

The locomotive answers with a long, tired hiss. 

“You got something to do with this?” Brown asks you in a hushed tone. 

“How could I stop a train all the way back here?” you ask him. 

“Maybe one of your compatriots,” he says. 

You give a laugh. If there’s one thing you’ve never had in your life it’s scruples and if there’s two, it’s compatriots. You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen and there sure as hell isn’t anybody in the world that loves you enough to stop a train for you. 

You don’t feel sorry for yourself, never have. RIght now, in fact, you’re feeling pretty pleased. Any delay on this trip means more time to think. Hope blooms in your chest and you have to keep yourself from grinning so Brown doesn’t get the wrong idea.

The train is motionless for a while, murmurs of speculation from your fellow passengers. 

Then the car door slides open and in walks an outlaw with a pistol in each hand.

He’s slight. Short and scrawny and youthful, maybe sixteen years old. The bottom half of his pale face is covered by a dark red bandana, mousy brown hair under a worn hat.

“Ladies and gents, I regret to inform you that this here is a hold up,” he says, tone so cheerful, you’d think he was a carnival barker. But his voice isn’t as deep as you expected. In fact you’re skeptical that’s a boy under there. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em and nobody gets hurt.” 

The other passengers gasp and whisper, nervous looks shared about the car. Your foot begins to bounce again as your mind races to figure a way to make this new wrinkle work in your favor. 

“That means you, too,” the kid says, sidling up to Brown. Now that she’s closer, you’re almost certain this outlaw is a girl. “No need for heroes here.” 

The Pinkerton man’s hand is laying on his revolver. 

“I suggest you move along to the others, young fella,” Brown replies. 

“Don’t be an idiot, buster,” the kid says. She cocks a pistol. 

There’s a long standoff between the two and nobody in the whole car dares to even breathe. 

The door slams open and you jump. 

A second outlaw enters. There’s a noticeable shift in the air. He’s imposing and dark, stalking in like a big dog, spurs jingling with each step. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. His voice is a cowboy drawl. He adjusts a canvas mail sack on his broad shoulder, no doubt stuffed full of money from the train’s safe. 

He’s dressed like any other outlaw, and you’ve seen your fair share. Shabby shirt, black waistcoat, a leather belt heavy with bullets around narrow hips. He’s got on a black hat and beneath it you spy dark curls threaded with silver, much older than the other robber. 

All you can see of his face are two brown eyes that flit between the standoff in front of him. He whips his colt 45 out of its holster with practiced ease. 

Brown’s outnumbered now. This is your chance. 

“You’ve got to help me, mister,” you say, rising from your seat with your hands up in surrender. 

Your sudden movement draws all of his attention. He points the barrel of his gun at your chest and your breath catches. There’s no point in being afraid, though. Odds are you’re going to die on the gallows anyway.  Maybe he’ll shoot you but at least you tried. Your heart’s thrumming in your ears.

“I ain’t on this train of my own free will,” you explain. 

“Quiet, you,” Brown growls.

“He’s a Pinkerton man. He’ll shoot you dead if you let him,” you say.   

You're sure Brown would love to glare at you if he didn’t have his attention trained on the man in front of him.

“Don’t worry about her,” Brown says. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, friend.”

The outlaw’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit.

“I’ve got a bounty on my head,” you say. All of your words are coming out fast.

“How much?” the outlaw asks.

“Enough,” Brown says. His hand stays on his gun. 

“He’s taking me to Chicago and I’m facing the rope,” you explain. “There’s a warrant in his breast pocket. It’s the god’s honest truth,” you say. 

The outlaw thinks for a moment and you tense. It never ends well for you when men think too much. 

“Take it off him. And the gun,” the outlaw says to his partner. Then he turns back to Brown and says, “Hands up.”

“I don’t intend to interfere with your business so long as you don’t interfere with mine,” Brown says.

“If you think you’ll have that gun up and shooting before I’ve put a bullet in you, you’re sorely mistaken. So I’ll give you one more chance to get your hands in the air,” the outlaw warns. His cold words light an exhilarating heat in your belly. 

Brown clenches his jaw but with two guns drawn on him he has no choice but compliance. You feel some vindication as he slowly raises his hands. 

With some fancy flips, the kid holsters one of her guns. Brown lets her take his pistol and pull the paper from his coat though he frowns all through it. 

You watch the outlaw skim the words on your warrant. His eyes bounce between you and the page. 

“She don’t look like the murdering type,” he says.

You suppose he’s right. You’re still rough around the edges but in your straw hat and prim, full skirt you might be mistaken for a school marm. That you certainly aren’t.

The kid looks at you with new interest.

“That’s up to the judge,” Brown says. “My job’s just to bring her to the law.”

“I’d be much obliged if you prevented that from happening,” you say. 

“Why should I?” he asks. 

You swallow. You’ve had to sing for your supper before but it’s never been a matter of life and death. 

“You’re going to steal her necklace and his wallet,” you say with a nod to the other passengers. “What’s the difference between that and little old me?” you ask. 

“Aiding and abetting is the difference—“ Brown begins indignantly. 

“You give her that black and blue?” the outlaw asks and there’s a new edge in his voice that thrills you.

You’ve almost forgotten about the mark on your cheek, when you and Brown came to blows that first encounter. He got you right in the under your eye where a big ugly welt remained. 

“She struck first,” Brown says with a smug little smile.

You want to knock his teeth out and it seems the outlaw has the same fancy. He whacks Brown right in the nose with his pistol. Brown wails and grabs his face, blood pouring between his fingers. Some of the other passengers gasp and a woman cries out in horror. 

You laugh so hard that it hurts the bruise.

As you step off the train you’re so flooded with relief. You’ve never been closer to catching a rope and your narrow escape, the pure fate of it all, is invigorating. The leaves look brighter than before and the air feels fresher even though coal smoke hangs all around you. 

You’ve got a second chance. Well, more like a hundredth chance. Anyone with an ounce of sense would see this divine intervention as a sign to change their ways, do things right. Not you. You just thank your lucky stars that you’ve put off meeting your maker by one more day. Whoever’s up there, you’ve managed to outsmart him so far and sometimes you’re arrogant enough to believe that you might avoid judgment day altogether. 

It takes you a moment to notice there are no other outlaws on standby. The tracks are obstructed by a pile of railroad ties which explains how such a small party could get aboard but other than that, it’s just deserted forest. The coal man and engineer must be tied up in the locomotive. An impressive feat for five men, let alone an aging cowboy and a teenage girl. 

“Keep moving,” the outlaw says and leads you away. 

He whistles uncommonly loud and two saddled horses— one the color of whiskey, the other nearly black— trot out of the tree line. 

A gun’s report echoes from the train. 

“Shit!” You duck. Brown and a Marshall stand on the caboose, aiming in your direction. 

The outlaw returns fire. A direct hit. He strikes the Marshall in the chest and his body topples over the rail onto the tracks with a great thud. 

“Come on!” The kid calls from the saddle of the brown horse. She’s got her hand out to you. 

You pull yourself onto its back behind her as more bullets whizz by. The kid shoots without taking time to aim. Her shots ping off the metal train car and Brown takes cover long enough for her partner to mount his horse. 

“Giddy up, Shimmer!” She kicks the horse and you’re carried off down the tracks, back west. 

The gunshots quiet and eventually stop and soon the train has disappeared from view when you’re around that bend. The horses take you off the gravel shoulder of the train tracks and into the trees, hooves picking carefully through the brush. They don’t stop until dusk is falling, miles away from where you started. Their hideout is a cave along the banks of a deep river. 

The kid hops out of the saddle south a celebratory holler and pulls the mask off to reveal delicate features removing her hat allows a long braid to tumble down her back. So you were right, that was a girl under there. 

“You see that shooting back there?” she asks her partner. 

He gives a gruff kind of chuckle but says no more. 

For the first time in days your whole body relaxes and you can’t help but giggle to yourself. You made it. 

“I’m Ellie,” the kid says after you’ve got your feet on the ground.“This here is Joel Miller.”

You’ve heard the name. The man notorious for robbing stagecoaches, banks, and trains stands before you. He tugs down his bandana revealing patchy stubble and a full set of lips that look like they’ve never seen a smile. It might be that he just saved your life but you can’t help but find him handsome. He’s rugged and square jawed, his neck dotted with beads of sweat. 

“As I live and breathe. I suppose I owe you one,” you say. 

You put out a hand for him to shake but instead your wrist is clamped in iron. He’s locked a handcuff around you. 

“God damn it!” you snap. You yank your arm back but he holds the other cuff in his fist. 

“Joel! What the hell?” Ellie says. 

He fixes his own wrist in the other cuff. You’re locked together with only about a foot of chain separating the two of you. 

“If you’re worth $10,000 I don’t need you wandering off on me,” he says and tugs back. 

All of the good will in you evaporates and you feel fire rise in your gut. You’ve never expected honor amongst thieves but this is more than treacherous. 

“You son of a bitch. You’d turn me into the law? I bet there’s a bounty on your head three times the size,”you gripe. 

“Four,” he tells you. 

Your face is hot and you’re ready to fight but Joel Miller isn’t just some city detective. 

“You’re a wanted man. How do you figure you can just waltz into the sheriff and ask for the reward?”

“You don’t worry about that, missy,” he says. 

The little moniker makes you want to slap him right in the face. 

“Joel, no,” Ellie says, features painted with disgust. 

“Don’t start with me,” he warns her. 

“We don’t need the money,” she protests. 

“Ellie.”

“Fuck you, you ugly lily-livered bastard!” you say. 

“Hey!” he barks, pulling the chain taught. “Listen here, missy. That handbill said ‘dead or alive.’ If you can’t be quiet, ain’t nothing stopping me from putting a bullet in ya.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine. There’s no reason for you to believe that’s an empty threat. Angry tears brim in your eyes but you’ll be damned if he sees you cry. You’re capable of violence, too, but unarmed, outnumbered, and imprisoned, you’ve got no choice but to shut up. 

You don’t go down easy, though. You spit at the ground between you and the frothy wad of saliva lands on Joel’s boot, then slips into the dirt. His nostrils flare and for a second you think he’s got mind to put you over his knee. You stand your ground, glaring into his dark eyes. 

There’s a twitch in his jaw and Joel turns away, working at the strap on his saddle, taking you with him. 

“Ellie, get that fire going,” he orders. “We’ll ride to the Boot tomorrow. Lay low for a week. Then we’ll go to Jackson and deal with her.” He nods at you. 

“You serious?” Ellie asks. She looks at you with apology in her expression. 

Joel tosses her the reins and she sighs. He shoves his saddle bags into your arms. 

“Make yourself useful,” he says. 

Your mind is already working again. You made it off of a moving train, you’ll find a way out of this new predicament. You’ve got one week to slip out of Joel Miller’s clutches. 

Chapter 2 - Series Masterlist

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Asks always open and I don't bite (much).

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Witcher, Metal Version

Ever since I stumbled across Orion's Reign I was wondering which metal bands or artists have made songs about The Witcher. By which I mean game and books, so you will not find Dan Vasc's (really good!) version of "Toss a coin" on this list. There are, however, some bands or artists that made metal versions of soundtrack pieces, and some of those are listed here, too. A good source to bands with Witcher themes is this reddit post, btw! Without further ado, here it goes: Metal Witcher songs! (And if you have additions, reblog this post with them, please!)

BG's "Blood of the Elves" is the latest I know of dealing with Witcher themes. It is, of course, about Ciri. Also Blind Guardian are - I'm sorry I'm saying this so often - one of my top fav bands, so they are the first on this list :)

Yes, "Elder Blood" by Orion's Reign is dealing with the same topic. Dan Vasc is the singer here ;) I simply love his voice, and the song is epic!

Vader must have been one of the first, if not THE first, metal bands to cover a Witcher theme. Rightfully so, they are polish... "Sword of the Witcher" is about the first game.

What else can you expect from a band named "Kaer Morhen" than epic songs? This is, according to the "Encyclopedia Metallum", an instrumental duo, so this is basically symphonic metal (or, as they call the genre, "Epic Symphonic Metal", ok). This song covers the game theme for Kaer Morhen and enhances it in an awesome way!

Skar has a couple of Witcher metal covers. This is "The Wolven Storm". Check out this guy, he has awesome songs!

Miracle of Sound is another really, really cool project with many songs inspired by video games. There are a couple of Witcher songs, this one's the "Wake The White Wolf - Metal Version" (it takes a bit to get "metal" but it's really neat!).

"Wild Hunt" by German band Oversense is a sadly widely unknown song with a very nice melody and lyrics about Geralt. Their song "White Wolf" is also really nice!

Can you imagine me finding out there's this band "Hekseblad" with a couple of Witcher songs, including "The White Flame?" Yeah, sadly it's Trash metal, which I don't really like... but thanks folks, now I know there is an Emhyr song. Wow.

We can NOT, of course, miss out Percival Schuttenbach, which is also known as just Percival, but does a bit of different music with both projects. Percival Schuttenbach, however, is considered "Folk Metal".

Midgard is a Ukrainian metal band, this is "The Witcher". Whenever you hear them sing two similar words in a row, it's "Белый волк", meaning "White Wolf".

I really like Elvenking (check out "Black Roses For The Wicked One!") and I was thrilled to find they have a song about the Wild Hunt!

If you're hooked now, but not that much into metal - no prob, there's a lot of witcher inspired folk music out there. Check your favorite streaming service for Myrkur's cover of "Lullaby of Woe", and definitely look for Gingertail's epic covers, especially "The Wolven Storm". There are also a LOT of "Toss a Coin" covers, if that is your thing, I'd suggest to start with Dan Vasc but also look into the really good guitar version by  Luca Stricagnoli.

Here's my list with more Witcher songs, non-metal!

More Metal songs, Eastern edition!

[thepsychewrites]

Forgetmenot

Summary: You and Spencer are feeling the aftermath of the biggest fight you have ever gotten in, one that was fueled by Emily’s return, both in life and to the BAU. Will he be able to save your friendship? More importantly, is he finally ready to confess the one lie he has kept from you? 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) reader.

Includes: deep angst, feelings of self-hatred, crying, some heartbreak in the start, fluff, and kissing. 

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: Hi guys! This is the first fic I’m posting to this account, and I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for reading. 

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You feel the tears clawing at your eyelids, begging for an escape as you finally get back to your apartment. God, a work week has never felt this long. You throw your keys onto your kitchen counter and shrug your bag off, heading straight for your bedroom. You didn’t dare check your phone, you already knew what would be waiting for you, and it could wait. 

All day long your colleagues have been sending you sympathetic glances and tight lipped smiles, and you wanted it to end more than anything. So what you and Spencer basically weren’t friends anymore? So what if your soul was entirely crushed and ground into nothing more than a fine power? So what if you wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and hide in the corner for the rest of your miserable life? They probably had reason to worry, now that you thought about it, but God it was suffocating. Penelope had sent seven texts in a row, as well as multiple sparkly cat gifs, as soon as you made it to your car. It was soon followed by a notification from Derek, JJ, and eventually Emily. Aaron had pulled you aside as soon as you guys had landed, wanting your assurance  that everything was okay. You remember nodding in confirmation.  

Yeah, everything’s fine. 

Oh how wrong you were. 

Emily had been gone for ten weeks. Aaron had sent her to Paris to hide from Ian Doyle, a man she had a long and complicated history with, and a man that wanted her dead. On Monday morning of this week before a debriefing for the teams newest case, she came back. You were the only one out of your colleagues to know where she was that entire time, and Spencer didn’t find out by you telling him. He found out by the relaxed expression on your face when Emily walked in, your eyes darting to anything that wasn’t her or the rest of your team. He found out by the way you didn’t even greet Emily as if she’d been gone for months. He found out by the way you didn’t catch your breath like the rest of them had - like you had been expecting her. 

Because you had.

You had worked in the BAU for almost five years now, coming in after working with the National Security branch of the FBI for two years prior. By some miracle, you had made quick friendships with your new coworkers, especially with the BAU’s resident genius, Spencer Reid. You two had the most in common, being incredibly young at the time you started, being super-humanly smart, and being interested in things like chess, comic-cons, foreign language movies, and extra strength coffee kept the two of you close. 

You considered him to be your best friend, and if someone would have asked him last week what he considered you, he would have said the same. But times change, and so did his attitude toward you. 

When Aaron had pulled you aside in the office eleven weeks ago to discuss the plan for Emily, you were lost. 

Why am I the one who has to know? Why couldn’t you tell Derek or JJ? You remember yelling, your voice loud and shaken. 

I trust you the most with this kind of task. You’re a better liar than any of them, and I know you’ll do what you must to keep Emily alive and safe. Plus, you worked in National Security. I’m having you keep tabs on her, and I know you’ll be able to hide her from him. It wasn’t a simple decision, but it’s the one I have the most confidence in. I’m sorry.  

I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry. 

Your feet carried you to your room, shoving off the rest of your scratchy clothes until you were bare, now heading for the bathroom. Opening the shower, you turned the knob all the way over, watching the tiny room fill with steam. Steeping in, you let it fill your lungs. You let it devour you.

The plane ride to this weeks case was the biggest indicator that he was mad. Scratch that - profoundly pissed - is a better way of describing the anger that radiated from Spencer. He was quiet the entire week, only speaking when spoken to and never even bothering to glance in your direction. When the two of you had to go to the coroners together, he only spoke in short, passive aggressive remarks. And last night after the unsub had been apprehended and you guys had settled back into the motel for one last sleep before leaving for Virginia that next morning, you decided that enough was enough. You needed to talk to Spencer. You needed to explain yourself. You had to. That’s how you ended up at the door to his room at two in the morning. 

It was no use, however. He had already made up his mind. He wanted nothing to do with you, and your heart broke with every crack in his voice as he screamed at you. You deserved this. You deserved every last bit of venom he spewed at you. All of it. 

I mean come on! You willingly let me come to your house every day for ten weeks straight. You let me spend every night crying in your arms and mourning the loss of my friend, and you never had the decency to tell me that she was alive! What kind of friend does that? 

It wasn’t a choice, Spencer! I was given orders. It could’ve gotten Emily killed if anyone else knew! You think I liked having you cry in my arms every night? Do you? Because it killed me, Spencer! I would wait every night until I was sure you were asleep to slip away to the bathroom so I could cry. Because I couldn’t do it in front of you! Shit, some days I had to leave my fucking apartment when you were there because I knew I was going to be loud! 

You need to leave - I’m not doing this right now. 

But Spencer I-

I said leave. Now. 

And you left. You left the room of the only man you truly cared about. The man who wanted nothing to do with you anymore. He despised you. You just knew it. 

Reluctantly you turned the shower off, wiping the condensation from the sink mirror after you had stepped out. You hated what you saw in your reflection. Maybe you deserved this. Maybe you really were a terrible friend. 

Maybe.

You got dressed, only throwing on underwear and an oversize sweater that Spencer had gifted you two Christmases ago, something that had grown to be your favorite thing to wear. It was a dark brown with black stripes and he had worn it a few times during his ten week long stay here. He spent the night almost each time, not wanting to be alone in fear of his thoughts consuming him. You’d have to give it to a Goodwill or something, but not today. Today you were selfish, doing anything you could to make things feel normal again. It wasn’t really helping, though. 

You decided to finally check your phone, only taking a short glance before turning the ringer off completely and chucking it across the room. His name wasn’t on there. He still wasn’t talking to you. You had hoped he would. Hope is a stupid thing to have. 

You laid down in bed, your knees coming to your chest. This sucked so bad. All you wanted to do right now was to talk to him. Thats all you ever wanted to do, really. He was your best friend, after all. Over the years you slowly had felt... other things... for him as well, but he would never know that. He couldn’t because it was stupid and he didn’t feel the same, contrary to your coworkers’ beliefs. They teased the two of you all the time for how close you guys were, but it was just a friendly thing, right?

 I mean - friends play chess. Friends hang out outside of work most days of the week. Friends get each other coffee every morning... and sometimes a blueberry muffin or sesame bagel when they had time. Friends called dibs on each other when motel rooms were divided up. Friends cuddled when they had movie nights. Friends called each other when they had bad dreams- one always staying on the line until they reached the other’s apartment - even if it was the middle of the night. Friends learned everything and anything they could about each other, even what restaurants they avoided because they got food poisoning there once and how they got when there were too many people around and the noise was getting unbearable. Friends fell asleep on each other, especially on long jet rides - and because they always sat next to one another. They did those things, right? Right?

A knock on your front door pulled you from your thoughts, your head lifting up from your pillow. Another rung out, this one with more force. 

It’s probably Emily. I should’ve texted her back. 

You slipped from your bed and trudged to the front door, not bothering to put any pants on first since the sweater went down to your knees anyway. You unlatched the locks and swung it open a few inches, immediately regretting it when you saw who stood on the other side. You went to close it back, hoping he would just go away, but his voice caught you off guard.

“(Y/n)? Can we talk?” He said, his eyes drifting around your face. 

You were stunned, to say the least. Why was he here? Was he here to yell at you again? Did he really want to open that can of worms now? 

Not trusting your voice to speak steadily, you nodded, opening the door enough for him to slip through. He pulled something from behind his back, moving it to the front and holding it out. It was a bouquet of flowers - forget-me-nots and baby’s breath - your favorite. You looked at him with curious eyes, slowly taking them from his grip. You took a second to look at them before moving past Spencer, opening your cabinet for a glass. You filled it with water and put the bouquet inside, rolling the glass across to the corner of the countertop. 

“Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, especially after how awful I was to you yesterday, but I had to come see you. I had to come apologize-” 

“There’s no reason for you to apologize. You’re right. I’m a horrible friend and I lied to you. I hurt you.” You cut him off.

He shook his head, taking a short step closer to you, “(Y/n), you had no choice. I understand that now. I didn’t want to believe you at first because - I let my anger get the best of me - and I shouldn’t of blown up on you. I should’ve never raised my voice at you. If anything, you kept me from hurting. I would have been much worse off if I didn’t come here everyday. And I only have you to thank for that.” 

You inhaled, closing your eyes in hopes of keeping the tears from falling. “Do you know how Hotch had to order that new lamp for his office a few weeks ago? That weird blue one that we all made fun of?” You asked, still not looking at Spencer, who was now only a few inches from you. 

“Yeah”

You let out a breathy chuckle, a stray tear making its way from your failed barricade. “He had to get a new one because I broke his last one. I accidentally hit it off his desk the day he told me about what would happen with Emily. I kinda wish he would’ve fired me for it, but he didn’t. He just kept talking while I threw a fit like some... insolent child. I didn’t want to. But it meant life or death for Emily, and I couldn’t risk it, I couldn’t and I’m so sorry Spencer-” you blubbered, the tears now falling freely from your eyes. You felt warmth around you, his arms sneaking around your waist and pushing you against him. Your shoulders drooped as you cried, feeling terrible for what you did. He wasn’t having it, though - adamant on making you know he wasn’t mad anymore. 

You heard a sniffle come from him, his chest rising unevenly. “Please stop apologizing. Please don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad, I promise.” He pulled away for a moment, his hands landing on either side of your shoulders, his eyes inspecting your face. His hands trailed up, gingerly wiping away the wet paths along your cheeks. “I can’t lose you, (Y/n). You’re one of the most important people in my life and I refuse to be the reason we fall apart. I refuse to be the reason you fall apart. I shouldn’t of yelled at you like that and I will regret it for the rest of my life. It’s my number one rule and I broke it- and I can’t take it back, but I will make it up to you, so help me God.” He whispered, his words filling your heart with the warmth of a sweltering summer’s eve. 

“One of your rules? What do you mean?” You asked, the words replaying in your head. 

He chuckled, two of his fingers hooking under your chin. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asked.

You nodded.

“A little while back, I made rules about you. I mean - technically not rules per-say - but just promises I vowed to keep when I was around you. One was that I was always respectful to you, like I’d never yell at you or say degrading comments about you, even in moments of rage. Another was that I’d always check on you when you seemed off, even if you had already told me a million times that you were fine. It wasn’t anything official - but just things I wanted to keep in mind. I just wanted to be good to you, because like I said, you’re important to me. You’re so important to me...” He trailed off, his feather light touch grazing over your cheek. He drew back a piece of stray hair, tucking it behind your ear.

Oh.

“(Y/n)? Can I get a head start on making it up to you?” He asked, his head inching closer as he held your gaze. 

Your mind reeled as you nodded once more, watching his eyes flick to your slightly open mouth.

God, is this really happening? 

His lips landed softly on yours, a trail of goosebumps traveling down to your chest. You felt the room spin around you, the colors on the walls melting into one large blur, all of your senses focused on Spencer and how his hands were gripping your hips tightly now. His kisses against your warm mouth were passionate and endearing, and the swarm of monarchs in your stomach never settled. You both reluctantly pulled away, staring at one another in awe. 

“It was the flowers, wasn’t it? Derek told me they would help.” 

[devildomimagines]

Could you do the brothers (Lucifer especially) reacting to an MC who jokes all the time, seems carefree and stupid but eventually they find out that MC is actually a very deeply caring, responsible and intelligent person. They act like an idiot likely as a response to some adversity in their own past. Sorry if its complicated, i just like the idea of the brothers almost discounting MC only to realise they weren't looking deeply enough

Hi Anon! Thanks for the request! Sorry it took me so long to get to, it's been busy in my personal life. The older brothers are under the cut so this post isn’t a mile long lol. I hope this is worth the wait!

Belphegor

King of rolling his eyes at your antics.

Belphie is maybe the most knowledgeable about humans so, of anyone, he might be able to see a little deeper than the surface.

On one of the rare occasions you got Belphie out of the house, you two came across a Little D that was clearly lost.

He didn’t pay it any mind since he figured the Little D would just teleport to their master but you insisted on helping.

As you knelt down to the creature Belphie stood back and watched as you quickly soothed the Little D’s worries and it hopped into your arms. 

You brushed past Belphie to carry the spirit across the street and start talking to the shop owner. The two of you laughed and Little D hopped over to the shop owner’s hands.

“The shop keeper knows that Little D’s master and will give them a call,” you explained as you wrapped your arm around his and began leading him down the road.

“You’re amazing MC,” Belphie murmured, such a small act really changed his view of you.

Where he thought you were foolish in trusting him after what happened in the attic, he realized that he wasn’t a special case of forgiveness, you were just a truly caring person. 

“Hm, what was that Belphie?” You asked but he wasn’t sure if you actually didn’t hear him or if you were teasing.

He wasn’t too proud to admit his feelings but his face did heat up a bit, “I said you’re amazing.”

Beelzebub

He’s pretty caring for a demon so he could see you were too, although maybe he didn’t know the depth until today.

The two of you were enjoying a meal in Hell’s Kitchen. Beel was absorbed in the food that he didn’t at first notice you were distracted.

When you asked for a moment and got up to grab the attention of a waiter. Beel watched on curiously, he was hoping you were asking for more food.

The waiter nodded along and ducked into the kitchen. You waited in that spot and you caught Beel’s stare. You waved at him with a smile.

He waved back with a fried shadow bat in hand.

You laughed and then the waiter was back. They handed you a to-go container, you talked for a second, probably thanking them and then made your way across the restaurant, walking right past your table.

Beel thought to call out to you as if you had somehow accidentally overshot the table but you made your way right out the door.

He started to get up to go after you, he shoveled a few things in his mouth not totally satisfied but more confused why you were leaving.

Then he saw you through the window. He stopped moving as you approached a small demon looking into the restaurant through the window. Beel sat and watched the scene unfold.

It jumped back away from you, probably not having seen a human before, and was clearly defensive as you talked. You then offered the to-go container, popping it open so the demon could see the food contained.

The little demon inched closer, clearly hungry and tempted by the food you offered. You nodded and the demon took the container and ran. You watched for a second and then came back into the restaurant to join Beel.

You sat down like nothing had happened and went back to your meal. When Beel didn’t start eating you asked,  “What is it? Do I have something on my face!?”

He shook his head no, “You’re incredible.” He picked back up eating but he would not forget this moment.

Asmodeus

You watched on as Asmo was applying his make-up. He always enjoys your company when preparing for the day but he noted you were reading the ingredients pretty seriously.

“What’s got you frowning MC?” 

“This is from the human realm, right?” you held up the bottle so he could see the label in the mirror.

He hummed, “That’s right, I get products from all over so that one is definitely from the human realm. Have you used it before?”

“Um, no I tended to stay away from their brand.” You put the bottle back where you found it.

“Why’s that? It is kind of expensive in Grimm, was it the same in your currency?”

“Not really, it’s just that…” you paused trying to think of the most sensitive way to put it, “there are make-up brands in the human realm that test their products on animals before marketing it to humans.”

“How cute!” Asmo giggled at the thought of bunnies in blush.

“No Asmo, it’s more like they are testing if their products are safe for humans by using animals as a proxy. It can be brutal and even unnecessary and could result in the animal’s death.”

Asmo had stopped and turned to look at you as you explained. His face was slightly troubled.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! I just tried to use products that didn’t use that as a part of their process in manufacturing so as to not cause any unnecessary distress.”

He nodded understanding your thought process. The Devildom didn’t have such markers since suffering was the norm.

The fact that you were thinking about what products you used and their impact on others, even just some animals, had him reassessing you.

It was more thoughtful than he originally credited you. When you and him were joking around and gossiping, he figured your interests were more superficial.

It was refreshing that not only could you keep up with the most recent hot news around town but you truly cared and respected your impact on others.

“Asmo?” You asked, he had been quiet for a while lost in thought.

“It’s nothing!” He recovered but he kept peeking back at you with a mysterious smile.

Satan

The two of you were studying in the RAD library.

There was a particularly tough exam coming up, notorious for dropping the GPA of 75% off the class.

Satan was confident in his abilities but he agreed to come study for your sake. He didn’t have access to know your grade like Lucifer did but he assumed you were struggling by your pleas for his help and deprecating jokes about failing.

He watched as you diligently took out your books and notebook. You flipped through a few of your notes and then shifted your focus to your textbook. Satan shrugged as he opened his own books, you seemed to be off to a fine start.

After about an hour you asked, “Can we quiz each other?”

He agreed and flipped to the end of the chapter he was on for the review questions. Satan took a question and asked it in a slightly different way so you couldn’t rely on memorized answers. 

To his surprise you answered correctly and made up a question for him that he thought was actually pretty difficult. 

Of course he got it right but shrugged it off as a fluke that you didn’t mean to ask such a hard question. The next one he asked you was harder, not from the textbook in any way, it was something that the teacher had mentioned offhand in class.

You got it correct again. With your turn next, you asked another complex question.

Satan answered properly but was now on the edge of his seat, surely twice in a row was not a coincidence.

His next question, he matched your difficulty. You thought for a few minutes and dived into explanation with examples and even a source that you quoted off the top of your head. Your answer was insightful and succinct.

You were waiting for Satan’s assessment of your answer but he sat unmoving.

“Was I mistaken?” You asked, and started frantically looking through your notes.

While you reviewed your materials, Satan was seeing you in a new light. He figured you got along so well with Mammon because the two of you could joke and slack off with the best of them. He thought that you and Asmo got along more as a pair of airheads. But here you were, in this moment your intelligence came off as easy and effortless.

“No, you were right.”

“Really?” you looked up surprised but happy.

He smiled back, but wondered, “What is your current grade in this class, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Last I checked, like 96?”

Satan laughed and shook his head, unbelievable that he thought otherwise.

Leviathan

He already thought of himself as a charity case. The fact that you would be willing to sacrifice your time to be with him was a miracle in his eyes.

No matter how many times you told him you wanted to hang out with him, it wasn’t a sacrifice, he still didn’t believe you.

When he gets more comfortable around you, he let’s you see his uglier sides when the envy consumes him.

You were a safe space he could vent to and you took that responsibility seriously. You listened and he felt the things he shared never left his room when you left.

It was after one of those vent/gaming sessions that you had to excuse yourself.

You had never gotten up in the middle like that and it scared Levi, had he gone too far? Did you actually hate him?

He watched silently as you left the room. Once the door closed, he was on his feet, what was so important? He decided to follow you.

Levi followed about a hallway behind you, as you turned a corner he would sprint to the corner to watch where you go next.

He followed all the way to the kitchen? He didn’t want to peek in fear of being caught but he listened as you greeted Beel.

Beel asked what’s up and you answered you were getting snacks for an intense gaming night with Levi. Beel must have perked up with the snacks you grabbed and you shooed him off, “If Levi’s up for it, you can join us but you can’t have that snack, I made it for a special occasion.”

Special… special? Levi couldn’t wrap his head around it when he thought of himself but the silence in the kitchen meant you must be leaving… meaning you were heading right for the door he was cupping!

He turned around and found a hiding spot on the other side of the hall behind a vase.

The door swung open as he held his breath. You started the way you came. You were heading for his room and he wasn’t there!

Cue montage of Levi comically running through the halls of HOL to get to his room before. He jumps into his gaming chair seconds before you open his door quietly.

He was panting and sweaty when he turned towards you with a smile, totally failing to act natural.

“Sorry I got up so abruptly but I just remembered I made you this!” You presented a cupcake exactly replicated from the anime the two of you watched last week.

Levi’s heart melted, he felt bad that he had second guessed you. He reached out for the cupcake with one hand and with the other he took your hand to pull you to the bean bags. He was blushing but still said, “Let’s put on that anime while I eat it.”

The level of detail that you had gotten correct showed how dedicated you had been to paying attention to his interests and how much you cared for him in turn. He was also impressed with your baking knowledge, it takes a decent level of skill to be able to replicate something just from seeing it.

The scene was coming up where the protag was going to give the cupcake and Levi was struck with the most embarrassing thought. But if anyone would indulge him, it was you.

As the protag took the cupcake, Levi copied their posture. Then he copied their words in unison they both said, “Thank you, no one has ever made me anything like this before.” The two of them ripped the cupcake in half in the same spot and he extended the half to you as he protag did, “Will you share it with me?”

“Of course!” You and the character answered together then giggled as Levi blushed and hid behind the half cupcake as the two of you returned to sitting on the beanbags.

There was no way he was ever going to forget this moment, his eyes opened to how much you did care for him. Even if he was doubtful of others by nature, he would never doubt you again.

Mammon

People always write Mammon off as dumb and because you have a pact with him, you’re often included in that assumption. The two of you get along like peas in a pod. You’re here for a good time and Mammon can definitely provide that. 

His schemes to make money keep things interesting so you usually go along unless you have other commitments. Today’s work was clean-up in the local park. Not because it was lucrative, but because this was a punishment from a prank that backfired.

You had pleaded with Diavolo for a lighter sentence on Mammon’s behalf as his pact partner and Diavolo indulged you.

Mammon was brooding on your way to the park but you were looking forward to being outside in nature for the day so you chattered aloud to fill the silence.

Barbatos was waiting for you two with the materials you would need. He gave you a look of pity when you turned but Mammon caught it and knew Barbatos was probably feeling sorry you had to be punished when you didn’t do anything. Mammon ripped the rake out of Barbatos’ hand and sulked off after you.

You each set to different tasks, Mammon raking leaves and you weeding the flowerbeds. 

Demons and spirits passed with a few snickers, definitely not the first time Mammon had been sent to do community service but he hated that you were now a laughing stock with him. You didn’t seem phased by it though, even flashing him a bright smile when you two made eye contact. 

Halfway through the day, the two of you were taking a break for a snack and fluids, you shared a bench and admired the work so far. “We might even finish early!” You shared your optimism.

Mammon nodded but still kept quiet. It was so unlike him and you were hitting your limits of how to try to get him out of his own head, you figured he would be back to normal tomorrow but missed hearing his voice.

You two split the last of the duties, you were now cleaning equipment and decorations while he was trimming bushes and trees.

While Mammon was trimming a nearby bush, he heard your voice, then heard his name. He peeked through the bush to watch you talking with a crow.

“I thought it would make the day more fun if I was here with him because he always makes me have fun but it’s like I’ve made his mood worse…” You looked down at the bird bath you had been polishing and knelt down. The crow watched your movements from it’s perch on the top. “Maybe he hates that I intervened with Diavolo, I probably overstepped. I don’t know what I can do to get Mammon out of this funk. What do you think?”

The crow outstretched it’s wings and took off. You pouted, but continued polishing. Mammon was about to push through the bushes to comfort you, his mood wasn’t your fault and he felt even worse that you thought that but then the crow returned.

It swooped onto your shoulder and dropped something into your hand. You jumped with surprise and it scared the crow off your shoulder, it resettled on the bird bath. “This is perfect! Thank you!” The crow let you give it a few scritches and took off once more. You looked around for Mammon.

He nonchalantly rounded the bush so you would notice him, “Mammon! Look!” You rushed over and handed him the object.

It was a golden grimm coin. You explained, “A crow gave it to me, that has to be good luck! Take it and your luck will change, you won’t be punished forever!”

He wrapped you in a tight hug. What did he do to deserve you? Why did you care about him so deeply that you’d give him your treasure and good luck?

You laughed into his hug and he pulled back, “Alright, let’s finish this up and go home, I’ll treat ya to some ice cream on the way back.” He ruffled your hair but your shining eyes and too big smile made him blush and turn away.

Lucifer

He questioned if putting you under Mammon’s care at first was a mistake.

It’s not that you didn’t get along, in fact you two got along too well. Was Mammon’s stupid tendencies to slack off rubbing off on you?

You had been coming back late without being accompanied by one of his brothers and he was determined to find out what you were up to.

For the morning, he watched as you and Mammon walked to school. Lucifer stayed far enough away so he couldn’t be sensed so he couldn’t hear what you two were saying but it was clear you were having a good time. Mammon was snickering as you animatedly gestured and walked backwards. Lucifer’s heart warmed that his brother was genuinely happy then realized he was getting distracted.

You sat through your first class diligently taking notes and participating. The same for most of the classes that day. Lucifer started to acknowledge your responsibility to learning but it made him all the more curious as to why you skipped your last class. 

He watched you look around for any onlookers and dipped into the library. He was both surprised and amused that you were meeting with Simeon. The angel was leading you astray? 

Simeon didn’t look happy about it either, probably scolding you for missing class, but he was a pushover and your pathetic look won him over. The two of you sat as Simeon talked. You were taking notes on whatever Simeon was lecturing on. 

You left the interaction and Lucifer took the chance to talk with Simeon himself. He learned that you were asking about stories from the Celestial Realm. Simeon offered that it was just human nature to be curious what lays beyond life. Lucifer, the ever-skeptic, didn’t believe that was it.

He had lost your trail by talking to Simeon so he went home to wait for your return.

Lucifer intercepted you as you tried to sneak in. “MC, this way please,” he led you to his office, “How was today?”

“Good?” you answered but was unsure why he looked so serious.

“How was class?” 

You got nervous but answered, “Fine, same old same old.”

“Ah,” Lucifer smirked, “And how was Simeon?”

Your attempt to play dumb failed spectacularly when you stammered, “W-who’s Simeon?”

“Lying to me won’t do you well,” Lucifer reminded.

“Sorry, it’s just it wasn’t an approved activity so I didn’t want anyone in your family to be implicated…” you scratched the back of your head and looked away.

“And what activity is that?”

“Oh I thought you knew since you caught me,” you laughed, “Solomon and I were going to play with young demons at an orphanage in town. We were telling them stories from the Human Realm but I thought it would be nice to incorporate stories from the Celestial Realm too.”

Lucifer sighed.

You took that as a sign he was disappointed so you continued, “Let me explain, I know I should have asked permission first and for that I’m sorry. Solomon and I just stumbled on the place one day and the kids bombarded us with questions, never having seen humans before and before I knew it we were going almost everyday. I guess I thought it wouldn’t be bad because exposing the next generation of demons to humans would help Diavolo’s mission to strengthen relations between the realms. And I asked Simeon for stories so we could share Celestial Realm things too without getting Simeon in trouble or putting him in an uncomfortable position.”

Well that was definitely an eye opener for Lucifer. What you said made sense that changing minds starts with the youth. His original assumptions that you were just shirking responsibilities was way off base. He didn’t want to but admitted to himself he was wrong. Not only had you been doing something charitable but you were furthering Lord Diavolo’s message in a different way.

“You’re correct, you should have asked permission,” he started and you sank in your seat, “but I don’t see any harm in what you’re doing except for missing classes.” You sank further in your seat. “For skipping class, you’ll need to do extra studies,” he paused to make sure you knew this was a punishment, “I think a fitting topic would be interracial communication with a focus on the youth of Devildom.”

You perked up with a smile, “So I can keep going to the orphanage?”

Lucifer fought back a smile himself, trying to continue to be stern, “Yes, but that’s only if you don’t skip class and you have one of my brothers accompany you. As competent as Solomon is, he is also human and I would feel better if you had a demon escort.”

You were absolutely beaming now. “I’d like that but I don’t think you brothers would be interested.”

“They’ll do what they’re told but I think the twins would enjoy it the most,” Lucifer offered.

“Thanks! I would like if you could join us sometime too,” you suggested shyly.

He did smile at that, “If my schedule allows,” He didn’t finish before you were hugging him. He stiffened, not used to being hugged after doling out a punishment but softened and returned your hug, “I’ll make time to join you.”

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Making Amends

Summary: Five years, you thought he was gone for good. After the War, he disappeared. Now, after months of zero contact, he shows up at your bridal salon. A somewhat bitter Reader and a post-FATWS Bucky

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader

Word count: 2381

Warnings: Mentions of past violence and killings, adult language

I sigh, securing the train of the dress so it doesn’t drag against the floor. The dress is stunning, as they all are. This one—pouffy, ivory, grand—has a bateau neckline and falls to the floor in a long, glittering train.

The glitter gets everywhere.

I bend down, trying to wipe some of it off my pants leg, then work on my blazer. Every day, only black clothes. It’s tradition, but a stupid one — the glitter stands out on my clothes more than it does on the white dresses.

“Miss, someone’s here to see you.”

I grit my teeth, digging my hands into the fabric of the dress. The receptionist is young — barely out of her teens, really — and still quite new at her job. She, like others, disappeared on that awful day five and a half years ago.

The day I lost everything.

And she’s here today because of my friends’ sacrifices.

I try to remind myself to be patient. “We’re appointment only, Lydia. Tell her to call, make an appointment, and come back then.”

“R-right,” she stammers, and I can hear the bottoms of her heels scraping against the floor as she shifts her weight. “It’s just—well, he said it’s really important, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

That gives me pause. He?

As a product manager at a bridal salon, my day is mostly spent in the company of women. Brides, their mothers, bridal parties, wedding planners, etc. There’s the occasional fiancé, father, brother, friend come to support, or a groom shopping for a dress, but overall, men tend to stand out.

“Fine, send him in,” I allow. It’s obvious he’s not listening to Lydia, but I know I’m more intimidating than she is. I’ll tell him to schedule an appointment. “And then do me a favor — there’s a list of designers on my desk upstairs. Can you give their offices a call and update the contact info for each brand representative?”

She sounds relieved. “Sure, no problem.”

As the sound of her heels meeting the ground fade away, I breathe in the sweet, floral-scented air. We’re under-booked today. There are only a few brides occupying our east fitting rooms, so I’ve decided to spend my afternoon in the west, making everything look perfect for the weekend ahead. Having this section alone — just me, the soft piano music playing over the speakers, and the dresses — is almost peaceful.

It would be peaceful if I were anyone else.

I continue to straighten the dresses. Everything needs to be perfectly spaced, meticulously tucked and folded to make each dress impressive in its own way. There’s no room for imperfection, here.

The sound of heavy boots clicking on the floor rings through the empty room. “Hey, Doll.”

My body runs cold.

That voice. I know it well.

My mind flashes to late nights, stealing smiles and kisses, tight hugs, adoring eyes.

And then falling to the ground in grief. Changing outfits to attend my second funeral of the day. His. And, after years of grieving, healing, and suffering through, one chance to fix it all. The joy of having him back. Locking eyes on the battlefield.

And then nothing.

Nothing.

All my air leaves me in one, quick, sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I turn, both dreading the sight and longing for it.

And just like that, standing between two rows of eggshell and pearl and ivory, he’s here.

Dark denim jeans, a deep blue shirt—long sleeve, knowing him—a grey button-up open on his chest, and two thick gloves, despite the summer heat.

I cross my arms.

He purses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, crossing one foot over the other casually. “So, bridal, huh?”

I feel my jaw clench. “I’ve got to make a living, don’t I? Evidently you do, too.” I can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into my voice.

He sighs that long-suffering sigh, one that tells me he’s more resigned than upset. “I wanted to come back.”

I turn my attention back to the dresses, walking down the row of gleaming white. “No one was stopping you.”

He turns to face me as I continue my inspection of each and every gown. “It’s not that simple. I—I was working hard. I had to get freed from him.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to feel something. But of course, I do. Ever since I’ve known Bucky, he’s been wrecked by the things he’s done and terrified he’ll be called to do them again.

Terrified that he’ll lose his mind once again to the assassin.

When I saw him on TV, in a random news report from months ago, I’d broken down into sobs. I’d fallen to my knees and said prayer after prayer of thanks. Because the clouds had faded from his eyes. The fear, the ever-present dread, was gone. He stood taller, more assured —

Happier.

I knew then, that somehow, he’d gotten the Winter Soldier out.

I bend down, fluffing layers of crinoline in a ballgown. “You’ve been in the news.”

He hears the accusation in my voice. You’ve been back for months.

He approaches me slowly, coming to stand in front of me as I straighten. “I had a job to do.”

“What, the new Captain America doesn’t allow cell phones?”

He ignores the jab. “Doll, I had to wait to make sure, to be sure, but I’m safe, now. I’m not him anymore.”

“Bucky, I always felt safe with you,” I whisper, the emotion nearly winning. “I loved you more than anything. And despite what you said — that you loved me, too — you just left. Five years I waited for you. I didn’t think there was any way I would ever see you again, and then by some miracle, after so much loss, you came back! We fought in a war together. We killed. And we won. And then you disappeared. It’s been six months! I-I mean, I hate to think the worst, Bucky, but I really thought—” I cut off my words then, unable to continue without dissolving into tears.

His jaw tightens in that heartbreaking way it does when he’s sad, and he reaches forward. When I don’t protest to his gloved hand on mine, he pulls me into a hug. I want to melt into him. I want to collapse under nearly six years of unresolved grief, stress, worry, and let him hold me up, let him bear this burden for just a few minutes.

But that’s not the way I’m made.

I’ve entrusted my heart to him too many times.

And every time, I’m left alone and broken.

I push myself out of his arms, wiping my tears away quickly. Once again, the dresses act as my anchor, my distraction. I gather one in my arms, crossing the aisle to re-hang it in its proper place.

Bucky watches from a distance.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he looks at me sadly for a while before his eyes turn to the ground.

Silence falls between us. The only noises are the coos of elated brides and their adoring guests coming from the east side of the building.

After a while, Bucky raises his head towards me. “Does working here make you want it?”

I sigh. He can’t do that. Can’t come in here after so much time away with zero contact and then casually ask me stupid questions. “Want what?”

“You know,” he shrugs, leaning against the receptionist’s desk. “It. A wedding, a marriage, a…life.”

I purse my lips, shaking my head. I reach to adjust a hanger slightly out of my arm span, trying my hardest not to sound sad. “I’m not the kind of girl you marry, Buck. Not anymore.”

He scoffs, making a face. “What does that even mean?”

I turn on him, more than done with this conversation. “Exactly that! I see it every day — brides come in here, all starry-eyed, happy, innocent. They’ve got love, or at least the excitement of planning their ‘big day,’ and they just glow with all the life in them. I don’t have that, not anymore. I—” I lower my voice, gritting my teeth against the emotion that attempts to fight through. “I’ve killed people, Bucky. For a long period of time, that’s all I did. And, look, I’m really, really happy for you being able to heal and move on and be freed, but I can’t do that. I can’t come back from who I turned out to be.”

“That’s bullshit. You did what you had to do.” He pushes himself off the receptionist’s desk, adamant. “Every life you took was to stop the slaughter of others. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I can.”

We stare each other down.

He’s always had a good stare.

Steady, intimidating, unwavering. It’s like he can see into the depths of your soul and know he can outlast you.

But I work with furious mothers of the brides.

I raise an eyebrow, showing him I will not back down from this challenge.

He blinks and moves his gaze past my right shoulder. Something shifts in his eyes. “You’ve got a client.”

I force my expression to soften, maneuvering around Bucky to grab the clipboard from the receptionist’s desk. I give him a look that clearly says do not move, and hurry to the front door to welcome the bride and her guests in. Amidst the flurry of excited chatters, gushing about wedding plans, and a clear description of what she does not want, I check them in on the clipboard and take them to the east wing to meet a consultant. When I return, Bucky is exactly where I left him.

He smirks at me. “What the hell was that? Your voice rose like three octaves.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called customer service.”

He shrugs, leaning against the desk in a way I should not find ridiculously attractive. “Well, why don’t I get any of that?”

I grit my teeth. “Because they are going to buy a dress, which will pay my salary, which will make me happy. You on the other hand, have caused me nothing but anger, sadness, and worry.” I blink, absently shocked that all that truth escaped despite my best efforts.

Something flashes in Bucky’s eyes—regret, maybe—but he covers it well, tilting his head to the side and keeping his playful tone. “Really? Nothing but that? Gosh, I must have been a terrible boyfriend.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, staring down at my clipboard. It’s been six months. You may as well continue with the honesty. You don’t know the next time you’ll have a change to talk to him like this. “Buck…” I approach him slowly, buying myself time. Too soon, I come to stand in front of him. “You were a great boyfriend. I…” I sigh, shaking my head. “I thought you were it. I didn’t want anyone else. And we were happy, overall. You know—up until you disappeared without so much as a text and ignored me for six months.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. He leans forward, locking his eyes with mine. “We were good together. I loved you, more than anything, I—well Doll, I still love you. And look, I know I’ve messed up. In more ways than seems is humanly possible, but I,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I’m as clean as I’m ever gonna get. I shouldn’t have disappeared without warning. I should’ve called when I left Wakanda. I should’ve let you hear from me rather than seeing me on the news. I should’ve come back and done the work to rebuild what I broke. I’m sorry. I really am.”

I feel the clipboard digging into my stomach. I don’t move. I stare at him, terrified of the way his words, the honesty in his eyes, makes me react. Too easily, my walls are coming down. “What did you come here for?”

“I—just,” he digs his hands into his pockets, sighing lowly. “I’m back in town. And I’m here to stay for a while. If you’d allow it, I’d like to try to make amends.”

Don’t do it, I beg myself. Don’t set yourself up for more pain.

In the face of my silence, he nods slowly, taking on a look of sad understanding.

“I work till seven.” The words rush from my mouth before I can stop them, before I can think of the consequences. I grip the clipboard even tighter.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, the start of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod, my heart racing at the prospect of being with him again, of maybe fixing things. “I live in the same apartment.”

He grins fully now, but at my stern look, attempts to wipe it off his face. I’m still mad at him, he shouldn’t get too comfortable yet.

But the light doesn’t leave his eyes and, despite my fear that this will all turn out terribly for me, I feel my own lips threatening to turn up.

He pushes himself off the desk, standing closer to me than I think either of us intended. “Can I take you out?”

I release a long breath, not moving from my spot despite our proximity. “Yes.”

He nods slowly, not pulling his gaze from mine. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a trial period,” I correct, unable to keep myself from teasing him a little.

He tilts his head to the side, laughing indulgently. “Alright, I deserve that. Then, sure, I’ll pick you up at eight for our trial period.”

He smirks cockily at me, winking in that way he knows makes my knees weak, before turning and swaggering to the door.

Despite our play, he’s not getting off this easy. There’s a lot we have to work through, and we might not even be compatible anymore — he knows that, too.

But for just this moment, I allow myself to enjoy feeling comfortable with him, joking like we used to. When his gloved hand reaches for the doorknob, I call after him, keeping my tone light. “You’re on thin fucking ice, Barnes.”

He turns his head to mine, nodding solemnly in a way I didn’t expect. “I know, Doll.”

A/n Whoops, couldn’t get this one out of my head after seeing Bucky in FATWS, so here’s some angst, bitterness, and hopefully a little hope! 

|masterlist|

[sugaredraspberries]

MLQC Boys as Fathers

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen's Choice

Warnings: In the post below I decided to make girls like stereotypical girly things and boys stereotypical boyish things, but it doesn’t mean I believe it’s how it’s supposed to be. I personally had periods when I was very girly and ones when I was very tomboyish and that’s okay. What’s not okay is forcing your children to act certain ways and like certain thing just because they represent a certain sex.

Dedication: anon

Gavin

baby girl

Have you even seen that nail-painting Karma with him? This cutie!

If you guys had a daughter, she would be the happiest little girl on earth.

He would be unable to deny her anything. Don’t let these two go to the mall alone. Unless you don’t care for electricity or hot water. Then you do you, I guess.

I even can see him dressed in pink tutu, sitting by a small, pink table and sipping on nonexisting tea. Anything to make his little angel happy

I overall don’t see him as a parent who actively takes part in his child’s school life - like helping with organizing plays or sawing costumes or parent-teacher association associating or other stuff alike, BUT...

He sure would never miss a single performance of his baby girl and would support her along the whole way there.

And yes. He will watch YT tutorials to learn how to do some pretty hairstyles for his princess, even though initially he wouldn’t want to do them at all.

And yes. He will paint her nails when she’s old enough not to stuff her hands into her mouth all the time.

baby boy

They are collecting figures. Like, motorcycles and cars at first. Then also planes when the boy gets a little older.

He would look upto his daddy very much. Would adore that he’s a police officer and could fly and was just basically flawless - at least in your son’s eyes.

They would play with his plane toys, which boy could all name. His favorite would be the Supermarine Spitfire. Gavin could never play with that one. Dad is great and all, but it’s HIS plane.

When your sun gets a bit older, his dad would take him to aerobatic aviation shows and historic planes displays.

He surely would be a daddy’s boy, if you didn’t figure it yet. You’re cool and he loves you… BUT GAVIN?

Their bond remains strong throughout the years. They keep alot of secrets from you, but you benefit from it from time to time. Especially in saving nerves. So it’s cool. Unless it’s not…

When grown up he sure would become a police officer like his dad or a soldier. I sure see him in military aviation. Dad would be a bit worried, but would give him his full support and all the help he could.

I also believe you and Gavin would have more than just one child, but that’s just a side note.

Kiro

baby girl

He’s not a regular dad. He’s a cool dad.

Not a reckless dad tho. He knows it’s not good for kids to eat as much sweets as they want to. He knows it’s not the best idea to say yes to every single whim of theirs…

But his little princess is so pretty. And so cute. And so sweet.

Remember when I told you how Gavin would be not so happy to attend her daughter’s tea parties?

Kiro would live for those! He would buy himself dresses for those occasions.

And they would do fashion shows for you. 

This dad is going to ask his daughter to do his makeup.

Takes her to get ice cream behind your back after picking her up from her ballet practice.

baby boy

I don’t know why, but I see his son as that shy, artistic type. That romantic boy with an acoustic guitar kind of trope.

He would have a voice of an angel and a talent surpassing even his father’s. He literally doesn’t need Kiro’s evol to have his charm.

This dad would be so proud. A little sad that his modest, little boy doesn’t want to perform on stage with him, but still - so extremely happy to have such a talented son.

He would get him the best tutors, and the finest instruments and every other equipment his little angel might need. Not even necessarily ask for.

If that was what wished for, he would help him start a career. He surely has what it gets to make someone famous.

If that wasn’t what his son wanted however - he would never push him. He knows the price that comes with money and a large fanbase and he wouldn’t force anyone to pay it.

Lucien

baby girl

I see Lucien as the best dad of all 4, and before you get mad at me for being biased, know that he's not my fav. I like being called an idiot and men in uniforms.

Big part of it would surely be his psychological knowledge, not gonna lie. Second one would be his outstanding intelligence that helps him with application of  upbringing’s roles into life.

He just knows exactly how and when to be soft and when and how to be firm.

He would take his daughter for walks and movies. He would love to take her to an amusement park from time to time.

It’s important for him that his daughter would be well socialised.

And surprise, surprise - his daughter would be a genius. Doesn’t matter if you are biological parents or not. It just happened. And he’s very happy to be destroyed in a chase game by his nine year old.

He helps her with preparing for math contests. And any other contests there are.

They often sit together on the couch and read books. She even makes the same face as she focuses. Yes - even she’s adopted.

It’s a Christmas miracle, I don’t know. Ask Lucien, he probably does.

baby boy

Wouldn’t it be absolutely cute and a little bit ironic if his son would be a little trouble maker?

Wouldn’t want to study. Just spent all day on the playground with other kids. An tradic picky eater. Can fall asleep wherever he is, in whatever position he is.

I could see Lucien struggle to find a way to get to his child, but I couldn’t see him ever give up.

He would enroll his son into some school sports team and would very actively support it. They need a parent to go with them to attend a sports contest in another school. Sign him up. Lucien is a very busy man, that’s true, but not too busy for that.

He would learn the rules and tactics of whatever game his son plays.

Would help him practice outside his practices. Even if he might not enjoy it.

And obviously, would eagerly help him if he had any problems in school.

Overall, I see Lucien as a very loving father, who doesn’t shy away with expressing just how important his kids are for him.

Victor

baby girl

The one who would constantly motivate his children.

They are learning languages, participating in at least one sport, playing an instrument and traveling around the world with him to experience many different cultures.

His little girl would be confident, smart, self-disciplined and an absolutely cute dork who thinks daddy doesn’t know she figured how to get to that cookie jar on the highest shelf.

She started drawing things for him since she was too small to even talk properly… and she was really good for such a small poppet.

He quickly decided to add art classes to her already long list of extracurricular activities.

At some point she was absolutely wonderful. Daddy was swelling with pride.

A perfect student, remarcable artist… Obviously a Li.

She would then study architecture at the most prestigious university in the country. Victor would spare no expenses. She deserves it.

baby boy

A quiet but intimidating kid that sits in the first row in class and gives his teacher a challenging look.

Destroys in chess even Lucien’s daughter… sometimes.

Has no friends because he’s disgusted by other people.

Daddy’s boy lvl. 100 Future LFG CEO.

If he could he would even sleep with daddy… but daddy doesn’t let him because he needs “privacy” with you. Good thing you sometimes make him sandwiches, because you might get taken care of…

Victor would have his kid’s photo on his desk. Two of them actually. One facing him and one facing anyone who sits on the opposite side. People need to know just how cute they looked in their matching shirts during last year’s father’s day celebrations.

They would go to the movies together. Victor who usually makes sure your kids are eating healthy would buy him a huge popcorn… and sometimes even M&M’s.

Victor would be a principled dad with high expectations, but don’t make a mistake. Even if his kids weren’t as ambitious and success focused as he’s he would love them just as much and care for them just as much.

There would also be no favoring if you had more than one child. Everyone must feel equally loved and he would make sure it’s exactly the case.

[whitesparrows97]

Head In The Clouds

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers AU

Summary: When things get too much at home, you book a flight to the other end of the world to escape your thoughts for a few days. The fact that you meet a handsome stranger on this flight, who distracts you from the intrusive thoughts of your ex-boyfriend, is more than convenient. So far off the ground, it’s only a matter of time before feelings and desires run high and one thing leads to another.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content including fingering in public, risk of discovery, protected vaginal sex, light choking, being insecure after sex

Word Count: 9.1K

Author’s note: Hi! After getting your positive feedback to post this, I’m doing just that. I get that at times like right now, getting away as easily as in this story is not possible and being stuck at home can be difficult. But I hope that this story helps at least a little bit to take your minds off things for a little while! 

You had to get away. You hadn’t cared about where, as long as you brought as much distance between you and your boyfriend as possible. Ex-boyfriend, you corrected yourself in your thoughts. This addition still felt strange to even think. The last five years had been a waste of time. In retrospect, all the energy and time you had put into the relationship would have been better spent on something else, something better. Something better, that’s what he had said to you as well when you caught him with another woman doing it on the kitchen counter. You had to suppress the gag reflex that was building up inside you when the image of the two of them came back to your mind. 

Maybe it had been the first shock, but maybe you were just too naive, too gullible and that was why you hadn’t turned 180 degrees at that sight and left your ex-boyfriend behind without any further explanation. Because did it even need that? An explanation? It had been more than clear what had happened and actually you should have be above it all. Actually, you should have rolled your eyes and left after the first desperate attempts of your ex-boyfriend to explain what happened. But you just weren’t like that. Unlike him, you wanted to give both of you another chance. 

She is simply better than you. 

This sentence echoed in your head for weeks now and it was almost comforting. Had you made a mistake at work? Well, others were just better than you. Did you argue with your parents again because you were supposedly not helping enough in the household? So what, you just couldn’t keep up with your siblings’ diligence. Another reason why you had to go away for a few days. You had shared the apartment with your ex-boyfriend and finally found some of your pride again. So two days later, when you knew he was at work, you had packed your stuff together and moved back in with your parents for a while. You hadn’t been aware of how difficult it was to live at home again after living alone for so long. As grateful as you were to them for taking you back in this situation of need, you just wanted to have your peace and quiet after work.

You sighed with exhaustion as you dropped into the waiting area of the terminal and put your backpack on the seat next to you. Getting here at all had been almost impossible. Your mother had tried for hours to convince you that such hasty decisions would never end well and that you would be homesick by the time the flight started. But to get homesick, you needed a place you could call home. Your ex-boyfriend had taken all that from you when he threw away your five years of relationship. He had taken that feeling of familiarity with him. Since then, everything seemed dull, somehow strange. You even watched your own reflection, wondering if that was really you. If you were the mistake, the reason why your ex-boyfriend had cheated on you. 

You are not spontaneous enough. I feel like we’re already eighty and have been married for sixty years. The relationship is in a rut. 

Whether that was the reason why you were now bouncing your leg up and down in excitement and nervously looking at the screen of your phone to see what time it was, you didn’t know. You were doing exactly what your ex-boyfriend had criticized you for and you had the feeling that you were still being controlled by him. He had determined the last five years of your life, it had to end now. After all, he had put an end to it months ago. 

You listened to the announcements of the staff echoing through the airport while you waited for the boarding to begin. You had arrived at the airport too early as usual, which was a miracle when you thought back to all the discussions with your mother, who had tried to persuade you to stay. But a few days somewhere else would probably not only do you good, but also your parents. It must have been difficult for them too to share the house with you again. But it was almost destiny when you saw the post on Facebook of a friend of your family who was subletting his apartment. He had bought a vacation apartment in Sweden years, if not more than a decade ago. Maybe that was why your mother had given in at some point because she knew the friend well and knew that you were in good hands there. And it was only for a few days. A few days in which you hopefully would find yourself again and were able to organize your thoughts. 

You stared into the distance as countless thoughts flashed through your head and you watched the many planes landing and taking off, which you could observe through the countless windows. That was why you missed the glances of a young man who had sat down in a seat opposite you. You crossed your legs so that you wouldn’t bounce your leg up and down anymore and tried to relax a bit. It was the first time you flew alone. In the past your parents were always there, later either your ex-boyfriend or your friends. During the last hours you hadn’t had time to think about what could go wrong. But now that you were alone in the terminal waiting for your flight and had nothing to do but exactly that, waiting, you had time to think. You had forgotten in your hurry that flying meant mainly waiting. You arrived hours earlier, only to either queue up in rows, waiting for the plane to be ready to take off or for you to finally arrive at your destination. Oh, how nice it would be if you could teleport. 

Again, a soft sigh escaped you as you watched the people around you to see with whom you would spend the next hours. It was strange, you didn’t know each other and spent hours with them in the most confined space. You shared the toilet with strangers and even fell asleep next to each other. That was more than you could say about your first boyfriend back then. Your gaze lingered on a young man, about your age, who was sitting directly opposite you. He wore a face mask, so that half of his face was covered. His gaze was on his phone, which he held in one hand, and he seemed to be listening to music through the headphones that were in his ears as he gently bobbed his head up and down. 

Your eyes wandered further down over the dark green hoodie and the torn jeans, which gave you an excellent view of his naturally tanned skin on his knees. You looked up again and your heart almost stopped as you looked straight into the eyes of the stranger. Quickly you looked to the side and you felt your cheeks getting hot with embarrassment as you realized that he had caught you checking him out more than obviously. You felt his gaze on you and tried to ignore the urge to look back at him and see if you were right with your feelings or just imagined it. It was worth a try, it was unlikely that he was still looking at you. Right? He probably had a short laugh and then turned back to his music. 

You risked it and your gaze quickly slipped to the stranger and back again. Nope, he still stared at you and if you had seen it right in the hurry, he grinned. At least if you interpreted it correctly, how his eyes had formed into small crescents, the rest was still hidden under the mask. You cleared your throat because you had the feeling that a lump had formed in your throat. With numb fingers you fished your phone out of your pocket again and tried to distract yourself with social media while you still could. Once you were in the air, you had to rely on your book, which you had packed especially for the flight. 

You could feel how you relaxed a bit when you turned your focus and concentration away from the man’s stare. For the next few minutes, you continued absent-mindedly scrolling through your Instagram feed, which felt like it was repeating every day before your flight was finally announced and boarding began. When you looked up and tried to grab your backpack, you unconsciously took a quick glance at the seat opposite you. Your heart sank when you realized that it was empty.

And that was exactly the reason why you could never meet new people. You have had the perfect opportunity to talk to him. After all, you already had his attention, and a quick chat before the flight would probably not have been a bad idea. Just to calm down your thoughts, which just shot through the ceiling again at the upcoming flight.

You were a little angry at yourself for blowing this chance when you lined up to get on the plane. You forced a smile when you held your phone on the scanner and shuffled after the other passengers as the employee wished you a good flight and you thankfully put your phone back in your pocket. Although you had booked the flight so spontaneously, you were even able to get a seat by the window. You couldn’t imagine sitting for hours in the aisle or worse, in the middle. You needed the comfort you felt that at least on one side you had no one sitting next to you or constantly passing you. 

As you walked through the narrow corridor looking for your seat, you noticed that the plane in general, fortunately, did not seem to be too crowded. But what did you expect for one of the last flights of the day and in the middle of the week? Maybe you were lucky and the two seats next to you would be free so you had a little more room to perhaps even lie down. You had a busy day, which was very beneficial to you because you would probably fall asleep soon and sleep through most of the flight. This was the only good way to spend such a long flight. 

Almost at the end of the plane you finally spotted your seat number. As you lowered your eyes, you could see familiar brown, slightly tousled hair looking over the seat of the row in front of you. Your breath faltered when you realized who was sitting directly in the seat next to yours. Before you could think too much, he had looked up from his phone when he noticed you standing hesitantly in the aisle in front of the row of seats. 

“Oh, are you sitting here?” he asked and gestured to the seat next to him, which he was currently blocking. 

You smiled apologetically and nodded. “Sorry, if I had known that someone was sitting next to me, I would have gotten in line earlier.” You watched him stand up and duck his head so he wouldn’t bump his head. 

But he waved his hand in reassurance. “No problem, I could have got on later as well.” He threw you a smile again, which you at least interpreted as one. You wondered if you would ever see his face without a mask. You took a step back to give him enough room and tried not to let your surprise show when you noticed how much he towered over you. But maybe it just seemed that way in the small space when you looked up to him intimidated when he was standing right in front of you. “There you go,” he said, and made a broad arm movement into the row of seats and you had to laugh softly as he bowed to you. You almost felt as if you were getting into a luxury limousine and not letting yourself fall on the sat through seat in economy class of an airplane. 

He also sat down again on the seat next to you while you tried to make the very limited space you had available for the next hours as comfortable as possible. You felt his eyes on you again and looked up with curiosity. It seemed as if he had been caught before he regained his composure and his gaze glided to the backpack that you were still holding between your legs. “Do you need help with that?” he asked with a nod in that direction, “I can put it in the top storage for you. You don’t need to be afraid to ask if you need it again,” he explained to you immediately when he noticed your hesitation. 

You thought briefly about his offer. It would certainly be more comfortable if you had a bit more legroom and could stretch your legs a bit every now and then. And if he already offered that you could always ask him if you needed something from your backpack, he really didn’t seem to mind. So you accepted his offer with a smile. When you handed your backpack to him, your fingers brushed against each other and you had to suppress a pleasant shiver. 

Quickly you leaned back in your seat and stared intently out the oval window, hoping that he didn’t notice your awkwardness too much. 

What was the probability that your seat was next to his? Even though you had never been very good at math in school, even you knew that the probability was very low. Either fate was particularly fond of you and gave you a second chance after you screwed up the first one. Or it laughed at you and wanted to see you suffer, because you were probably thinking of nothing else but the attractive man next to you for the next few hours. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he pulled down the table in front of him and put his laptop on it. Okay, good. He seemed to be busy and had no intention of keeping the conversation going. That was convenient for you and you were by no means disappointed because you wanted to know more about him. No, that would be strange. He had just been friendly, that was all. 

In order to stop sitting oddly next to him, you reached for your book and turned to the page where you had stopped. You still had a good two-thirds to go and, even if you couldn’t get a wink of sleep, you definitely wouldn’t be able to finish it. The reading did you good, it distracted you from the turbulent start and the warmth radiated from the man next to you. Every line more you read, pulled you further and further into the spell of the story. You did not know how much time had passed, but when you looked up, your neck hurt, which had been bent down all the time. You groaned softly and rubbed your neck to release the tension. Then you heard a soft laugh next to you that made you look to the side. 

“Murakami, huh?” he asked without taking his eyes off his laptop screen. “I understand why you were so absorbed in the book.”

Surprised, you stared at him and unconsciously stroked the cover of the book. “Have you read any of his books?” Your gaze slipped further down and only now did you realize that he had taken off his mask. It was almost unfair how good-looking he was. How his dark red lips curled up into a little laugh or his jaw, over which you would love to let your finger slide. You didn’t even want to begin with his delicate nose, on which sat round glasses with a filigree frame.

He nodded and turned his gaze from the monitor to you. “A few?” he asked almost shocked, “Almost all of them, and let me tell you, there are not exactly a few,” he laughed and you couldn’t hold back your smile. “Is this your first book by him?”

You nodded, somewhat embarrassed. He seemed to know so much about the author while you were still stuck on page 250 of the first book. “That obvious?”

He shrugged his shoulders and let himself fall into the seat where he had previously leaned forward to see the screen better. “1Q84 is probably the first book of many by Murakami. Do you like his writing style?” You hesitated a bit, you didn’t want to spoil it by criticizing his possibly favorite author. But he seemed to notice your hesitation and had to laugh. “You can be honest, I think he’s written better books than this series.”

“Oh, really? Which one do you recommend?”

“Definitely Kafka on the shore,” he said without batting an eyelid. “A friend of mine is also enthusiastic about Hard-Boiled Wonderland, but to be honest I never really enjoyed it much.” His eyes fell on the book you were still holding tightly on your lap. “But read the other two books from the series first.”

Slightly surprised, you raised your eyebrows. “What, there are more parts to the story?”

He laughed softly and you watched him as his slim, long fingers reached for the laptop and slowly closed it. “People are always surprised because they only know the first book,” he said more to himself than to you, before he turned towards you and smiled at you. “I am Hoseok.” He held out his hand to you and you gladly took it. 

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself and his smile grew a bit wider. 

„Nice to meet you, Y/N,“ he said and his brown eyes almost burned into you as he looked at you. His hand held yours for a moment longer before he let go and looked to the side. Only now could you breathe again. You didn’t know what it was about him, but you felt your own heartbeat rushing in your ears, which even drowned out the roar of the turbines. “Are you staying in Sweden, or is this a stopover for you?”

You were taken aback for a moment that he was still seeking the conversation. “Oh, I’m staying in Sweden. An acquaintance has a vacation apartment there and I just wanted to get out for a while.”

“Ah, how nice,” he sighed, “And I completely understand, sometimes you get a little stir-crazy, right?”

You hummed in agreement. “Especially when you moved back in with your parents. How did you put up with them as a teenager?”

Hoseok laughed. “As much as you love them, but what’s the saying? Everything in moderation.” You felt his gaze on you and sensed that he was assessing whether he could ask the next question or should keep it to himself. He decided on the former. “May I ask how you ended up living at home again?”

You sighed, did you really want to tell a stranger your worries and problems? You decided on a short version, you did not want to bore him right after a few minutes of conversation. “Long story, actually. In short, I shared an apartment with my boyfriend, sorry, ex-boyfriend. He cheated on me and I didn’t find a new apartment in a hurry. That’s why I have to live with my parents again. But probably better than living on the street.”

“Okay, wow,” he said after your monologue and you already regretted having opened your mouth at all. “You moved out even though he cheated on you?”

Oh, that was not the reaction you were expecting. “Yeah, I couldn’t kick him out of the apartment and I didn’t want to live with him anymore.”

“Understandably,” Hoseok added, “but if I had been in your place, I would have put his things on the street and changed the locks. Oh, what am I saying? I would have thrown his belongings right out of the window, so he would have had to pick them up himself from the sidewalk.”

You laughed at his statement. “You’re right, but I just wanted to get away at that moment.” Your smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. All that remained was a frown. 

“Cheating sucks, I hate people who do this to their partner,” Hoseok continued the conversation, which had briefly drifted into an oppressive silence. 

“Me too,” you agreed with a sigh. But then you were seized with courage. You had told him something intimate that you had hardly told anyone before, except your closest friends and your parents. And that was the only reason you asked the next question. “What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”

He smiled, almost embarrassed and briefly avoided your gaze. “I work a lot, to be honest,” he began to explain and pointed to his laptop, “My last girlfriend didn’t handle it so well that I didn’t have that much time. Instead of making her a priority, I mistakenly thought she had to accept that work comes first.” He glanced around briefly as if he remembered a moment from the past that was hidden from you. Then he pulled himself together again and gave you a warm, sincere smile. “Now I know better.”

“Relationships are complicated,” you said, putting your book aside. On the one hand, to suggest to Hoseok that you wanted to keep talking to him, and on the other hand, to stop your fingers from continuing to play nervously with the cover, which was already beginning to peel off. 

“Not with the right person,” Hoseok contradicted you and winked at you. He winked at you. Your jaw almost dropped at the sight of it, and you pulled yourself together to keep your facial features in place as best you could while you frantically searched for an answer. 

“It’s just not so easy to find the right person,” you admitted shyly, playing with your fingers because the book was out of reach.

“Well, maybe they’re closer than you think,” you heard Hoseok say next to you, and as the words left his mouth, your gaze shot back to him, which you had previously fixed on your thigh. He grinned at you before he opened his laptop without another word and continued working on his project. 

Should you say something? You didn’t want to interrupt him at work, but you didn’t want your conversation to end either. As you wrestled with yourself further whether you should speak to him or not, the grin grew on Hoseok’s face, which you didn’t even notice, so much you were absorbed in thought. So you flinched slightly when you suddenly felt a hand on your chin that gently turned your head in his direction. You looked at Hoseok with big eyes, completely taken aback by the sudden touch. 

“Your ex-boyfriend was a complete idiot for cheating on someone like you. I wonder how he could think that he could find someone better like you. Don’t let an idiot like him fuck up your confidence. I’ve only known you for a short time, but you seem like an incredible woman who deserves so much more in life than that.” He threw a sad smile at you, and you wondered if he had experienced something similar. “I see how insecure you are, and of course I don’t know if this is related to that or maybe it’s because of me. But let me tell you one thing quite openly from man to woman: You are incredibly attractive, smart, have a good sense for books,” you laughed softly at this comment, “and you’re an excellent partner in conversation. I’m glad I’m sitting next to you and not next to Elizabeth, who had been telling me non-stop about her terrific son Jasper on my last flight.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter and Hoseok let go of your chin before he joined in your laughter. “Well, then, Hoseok, your standards are very low.” You remembered a sentence that almost got lost in his short monologue. “Besides, it’s not because of you that I’m so insecure. I mean, a little bit. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Who wouldn’t get nervous? But I’m not uncomfortable with you, if that’s what you meant.”

Hoseok grinned at your words and only now did you realize what you had just said. “So you find me attractive?”

Confused, you pulled your eyebrows together. “Are you serious?” You didn’t know whether he was just playing with you and trying to get you to come out of your shell, or whether he was really a little insecure. So you decided not to tease him, but to be honest. You had nothing to lose anyway. “If it makes you happy, you’re just my type.”

“I see,” Hoseok said, and you watched him as his gaze flitted across your face and finally caught on your lips for a moment. You took a deep breath as you looked back at Hoseok, the unspoken question hanging between you. The passenger compartment had calmed down a bit, most people were focused on their books, magazines or laptops and some had already prepared for sleep. When you looked past Hoseok for a moment, you noticed that it had become almost dark outside. Dark blue changed to black and there was hardly anything else but darkness. 

Hoseok embraced your face and immediately your attention was back on him. He slowly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb and you wanted to melt into the seat right there and then. No one had touched you so tenderly for months, if not years. Nervously you bit your lip as you weighed the pros and cons. What happened if the kiss was weird and you had to sit next to each other for hours afterwards? Was it inappropriate to kiss someone else so soon after the breakup with your ex-boyfriend? Why did you even bother about what others, especially your ex-boyfriend, thought of you?

Hoseok exhaled with amusement and shook his head. “I see you thinking, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you muttered and lowered your head in shame. But Hoseok also raised his other hand and now embraced your face from both sides, so you had to look at him. 

“I won’t do anything that you are not one hundred percent comfortable with. Deal?” You nodded in agreement. “So, baby, tell me what I can do to make you feel good.”

You were taken aback by his question and your heart leapt at the pet name he had addressed you by. You no longer knew how words and language worked. But Hoseok noticed your hesitation and you held your breath as he moved a little closer. You felt his hot breath on your face and instinctively closed your eyes. Light as a feather, you felt his lips as they gently brushed against yours, but not yet touching yours completely. “Is a kiss a good start?” he whispered and you nodded eagerly.

Without wasting another second he pressed his soft lips on yours. You sighed as he took a hand off your cheek and buried it in your hair. He pressed himself closer against you as far as the armrest between you allowed and you pulled him a little closer to you by his hoodie. He could barely be close enough to you. The warmth he radiated immersed you in an indefinable veil of lust and desire. It wasn’t long before he opened his mouth and you felt his tongue on your lips. With a smile you opened your mouth more than willingly and immediately he pushed into you. You had to suppress a moan as he explored your mouth extensively and savored your taste. 

“Shh,” Hoseok whispered against your lips and the vibration of the words on your lips sent a shiver through your whole body. His thumb gently stroked your lips as if to emphasize his words, and an almost desperate whimper escaped you. “We don’t want to wake up the other passengers, do we?” he exhaled and his hot breath grazed your face. 

With your eyes still closed you shook your head and your lips found his again. His lips were soft and your mouths moved together in an almost familiar rhythm. Willingly you buried your fingers in his hair to draw him even closer to you and feel his body against yours. Hoseok grunted dissatisfied and reluctantly separated from you. He reached between your two bodies and a moment later he pushed the armrest between your two seats upwards.

“Better,” he murmured and pressed his mouth firmly back onto yours again. A soft sigh escaped you when you could finally turn to the side on your seat and he pressed you tightly against him. Your fingers curiously explored the muscles that were hidden under his t-shirt and he sighed into the kiss as you slid your fingers under it to let your fingers dance right over his skin. He exhaled trembling when you touched him and you had to stifle a grin. 

Meanwhile, one of his hands moved down your side and hip before finally resting on your thigh, where his thumb made circling movements. You drew in the air sharply as his thumb stroked the inside of your leg, sending a wave of excitement through you. The feeling took you by surprise so much that you didn’t even realize how you had stopped to respond to the kiss. Only when Hoseok’s head moved away from you and looked at you waiting, did you open your eyes and notice your slight freeze.

“Is that going too far?” he asked with concern and your eyes widened at his assumption.

Immediately you shook your head. “Not at all,” you said quietly, so that none of the passengers sitting around you would know anything about your conversation. Then you had to laugh softly and briefly dodged his questioning look. “On the contrary. If you continue like this, I just don’t know if I can hold myself back.”

At these words, Hoseok had to smile before it turned into a dirty grin. “Then I guess I’d better stop, right?” Contrary to his words, he started circling his thumb on the inside of your thigh again. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch and millimeter by millimeter Hoseok worked his way up between your legs. “On the other hand,” Hoseok began and paused, sliding his thumb right between your legs and slowly stroking the fabric of your jeans. You had to bite your lower lip hard to keep from moaning. “What should the crew do? Throw us out?”

You had to giggle, even though you knew there would be other ways to punish you for your inappropriate behavior.

“I would take my chances,” you whispered and smiled honestly at him. That was the last confirmation Hoseok had been waiting for. He released the grip around your thigh and unbuttoned your jeans. His gaze almost pierced you as he slowly, almost teasingly, pulled the zipper down before he let his hand slide in. 

He pressed his lips to yours just at the moment when a surprised moan left your lips as you felt his fingers right against your naked skin. You straightened up to give him better access to your pants and immediately his long, narrow fingers slid deeper. He had to feel how wet you were as he slid one of his fingers along the length of your labia and then circled your opening. Slowly he began to penetrate you with the tip of his finger before pulling back again. He repeated this movement a few times until you were sure that your panties would be completely soaked. You could not remember ever having been so wet. Your ex-boyfriend and you had mostly used lube to make it more comfortable. But now you were sure that Hoseok would be able to penetrate you just like that.

At the thought of Hoseok cock you inevitably clenched around nothing. You managed a soft whimper and Hoseok felt pity for you as he pushed his finger completely inside you. You held your breath and had to squeeze your eyes together when he immediately started to curl his finger to find the slightly rough spot inside you that made you see black spots behind your eyes. You were more than happy about the loud turbine noise of the plane, because otherwise you were sure that the other passengers would hear how wet you were. 

“Hoseok,” you brought out between wet kisses and grabbed his forearm. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“Bathroom?” he asked straight away and you nodded. He pressed a short kiss on your lips before he slowly pulled his finger out of you. With a mixture of fascination and pure lust, he looked at his glistening finger, which had been buried deep inside you just a few moments before. “Fuck, baby,” he said softly, and you almost didn’t hear him over the sounds of your surroundings. He moved closer to you and breathed into your ear, “You turn me on so much, you have no idea. God, I’m so hard, it almost hurts.”

You whimpered as your abdomen contracted painfully around nothing at his words. Without a second thought, you broke away from him and feverishly searched your purse for the small box you always carried with you. Just in case. You would never have expected that you would use it today. You rustled and rummaged and almost let out a cry of relief when your fingers closed around the little box.

“Shhh,” someone in front of you suddenly hissed, and when you looked up, you looked directly into the annoyed eyes of the man in front of you, who had turned around during your rummaging and glared at you from between the seats.

“Sorry,” you hissed back as well, although you felt the heat spreading to your cheeks. You didn’t even want to know what you looked like right now – reddened cheeks, tangled hair and bloody kissed lips. But your tone of voice seemed to surprise him a bit, so he turned around without another word. 

“Wow, you can be really scary,” Hoseok laughed in your ear, and his breath tickled as the gust of air released one of your strands of hair. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled and nodded towards the end of the plane where the nearest toilets were at. 

He just shook his head laughing as he slipped into the seat next to him and then straightened up. You waited a moment, which you used to button your pants again, even though you were sure that nobody was paying attention to you two anyway. As you bridged the last meters with wobbly legs, you noticed in relief that the row behind you, and thus the last row in the plane, had remained empty on both sides. You took a quick look over your shoulder backwards before you followed Hoseok into the narrow bathroom where he held the door open for you.

“Fuck, this is smaller than I thought,” you said in surprise as you let your gaze slide through the small room.

But Hoseok just shrugged his shoulders and leaned close to you to lower the cover of the toilet. “We’ll work it out,” he reassured you and winked at you. Your stomach did somersaults again and you cursed Hoseok for the effect he had on you without much effort.

“Do you have any preferences or anything you don’t like at all?”

You thought about it for a moment, but then you shook your head. “Except anal. Not a fan of that.”

With a smile on his face, Hoseok grabbed the small box you were still holding tightly and had almost forgotten about. “Okay, good to know,” he said with a quick glance into your eyes before opening the box and taking out a condom. He put both on the shelf of the sink behind him and turned back to you.

You already noticed how much the small room was heating up and without further ado you pulled your sweater over your head, which was already sticking to you. Carefully you put it on the toilet lid and made sure that it didn’t touch anything else. 

“You’re so hot, do you know that?” Hoseok muttered and firmly grabbed your hips. He pulled you against him and willingly you pressed your hips against his, where you immediately felt more than clearly his hard erection between your legs. You rubbed your hips against his a couple of times, causing Hoseok to grunt roughly. Without hesitation, he had turned you around so he could push you backwards against the sink and let his pelvis snap hard against yours. 

You moaned loudly before you could restrain yourself and immediately Hoseok’s index finger was on your lips. Almost disapprovingly he looked at you, but his eyes were sparkling treacherously with a grin. “We have to be careful, baby. Otherwise someone might catch and interrupt us. You don’t want that, do you?”

You shook your head. The thought that someone would stop you almost brought tears of frustration to your eyes. 

“Good,” Hoseok said softly and his gaze slipped back to your lips. “Then you’d better be a good girl and be careful not to make a sound.” He moved closer and added in a whisper, “Unless you want me to punish you.”

You moaned into the kiss that Hoseok pressed on your lips and at the sound, Hoseok grabbed your butt and kneaded it hard. He pressed his hips firmly against yours again and a wave of excitement flooded through you. Soon your fingers found their way to the buttons of his jeans and a second later you unbuttoned them and pulled them down over Hoseok’s butt. 

“Do you like it from behind?” Hoseok asked and he didn’t even have to finish the sentence, you had already turned 180 degrees.

“Fuck, yes,” you replied breathlessly and opened your jeans with skillful movements. You watched in the mirror hanging directly above the sink as Hoseok fixed his gaze on your butt and massaged it with both hands. To have a little more support, you leaned forward and placed your forearms on the sink. This inevitably pushed your butt and pelvis backwards, which pressed directly against Hoseok’s cock. Hoseok cursed at the contact and you had to suppress your grin.

“God, baby, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he said and you watched him in the mirror as he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your mouth watered as he wrapped his hand tightly around himself and stroked it up and down a few times. Then he grabbed the condom with one hand and returned your gaze firmly as he ripped open the package with his teeth. He grinned at you over your shoulder before he pushed your panties to the side and let his cock slide between your legs. You exhaled trembling as you felt the tip pressing against your opening and slowly penetrating you. Then Hoseok suddenly let his hips snap forward so that his cock pushed completely inside of you. Your mouth fell open to a silent scream as your inner walls were stretched by his thick cock. 

“Shhh,” Hoseok whispered and put his flat hand on your mouth so that no more sound came out of your mouth. You felt his cock slowly slide out of you before Hoseok pushed back into you with one quick movement. “Fuck, you’re so… argh, tight,” he managed to say through clenched teeth between his powerful thrusts. The obscene sound of clapping skin on skin filled the small space and you felt Hoseok squeeze your arousal out of you with each thrust, where it dripped down your thighs. 

Hoseok released his hand from your mouth, and you pulled yourself together not to moan loudly with each of his thrusts. He let his hand go under your shirt and grabbed one of your breasts after he pushed your bra down. When he rolled your nipple between two of his fingers and pinched it hard, you had to bite your lips. He released his hand from your hip, which he had previously gripped tightly, and wrapped it around your upper body to straighten you up a moment later. Your back came into contact with his upper body and you felt his muscles and hard chest in your back.

“Hoseok-ah,” you moaned as you watched in the mirror as his cock slipped between your legs and disappeared deep inside you with each thrust. It was mesmerizing to watch and with each stroke you felt his cock rubbing against your g-spot, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm. 

He also struggled to hold back with his sounds as he put his head on your shoulder and grunted in your ear. “You are fucking amazing,” he said, and focused on long, hard thrusts that pressed you firmly against the sink each time. “I can’t – fuck–” He picked up his pace and you too felt the knot in your abdomen tighten more and more. You trembled with excitement as you felt his fingers on your throat and your eyes flickered upwards to return his passionate gaze with which he was fixing you. Once he lightly squeezed with his fingers, your eyes fluttered shut with the sensation and you pulled yourself tight around his cock, which was still pumping in and out of you rigorously. “Oh baby, do you like to be choked?” His fingers closed tightly around your neck again and with an especially hard movement of his hips against your ass you came. 

Hoseok released his grip around your upper body and you used your elbows to support yourself on the sink. You covered your mouth when your orgasm came powerfully over you and Hoseok grabbed your hips with both hands to push hard into you a few more times before he also came and emptied himself into the condom. 

At the edge of your blurred perception, you heard him curse continuously before he finally came to a halt buried deep inside you. You both gasped for breath and you had to lay your heated forehead on the edge of the sink, so exhausted and spent you were. The coolness of the ceramic felt good and you closed your eyes for a moment. Only when Hoseok slowly pulled out of you and you heard him open the trash can next to the toilet to dispose the used condom, did you straighten up again. 

“Oh God,” you said breathlessly and heard Hoseok laugh behind you. When your gaze found his in the mirror, a bright smile spread across his face.

“I hope a good ‘Oh God’?” His fingers found your panties, which he put back in place and which you hadn’t even noticed. You were too focused on getting your breathing back under control and holding yourself upright on your shaky legs. He also helped you to pull your jeans back up.

You nodded and a little smile came over your face as you buttoned your pants and reached for your sweater. When you pulled it over your head and there was nothing but darkness around you for a brief moment, you felt your heart beating up to your neck. And you knew that it wasn’t just because of the physical effort and your orgasm. 

You were afraid if you were completely honest with yourself. 

What was that between you now? Were you just a quick fuck to him? And what was he to you? What did you want from him?

When your head came through the opening of your sweater, your eyes found Hoseok, who looked at you with a little smile on his lips.

“What?” you asked, laughing softly, but he shook his head briefly and took a step towards you, so that he stood right in front of you. 

He lifted his hand and his fingers stroked your hair gently, almost lovingly, “You are incredible, I just wanted to tell you that.”

His sentence hung in the air like a half spoken confession and you were frantically searching for an answer. You managed nothing more than a little laugh, though, and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. His thumb stroked over them while he watched you. God, you couldn’t stop smiling. Especially not when he looked back at you with that grin. 

It was quiet between the two of you, only the loud engine noises of the airplane could be heard and for a short moment you had forgotten that you were several kilometers above the ground. This realization literally brought you back to earth and Hoseok seemed to realize this as well.

“We should go back,” you noticed after another moment when none of you moved from the spot.

Hoseok cleared his throat before nodding and letting his hand fall. “You’re probably right. Do you want to go first?”

“Okay,” you agreed with him and grabbed the small box that you put in the pocket of your hoodie. The two of you changed positions before you bent forward and pressed your ear against the door to check if someone was in the hallway. Except for the loud engines, you couldn’t hear anything. Your fingers found the latch of the door and pushed it aside. You turned to him again and said a quiet “See you in a moment,” before quickly squeezing out of the small room and closing the door behind you. 

You were more than happy when you dropped down to your seat, exhausted, and had not met anyone. It seemed as if most of the passengers had gone to sleep in the meantime, since the lights in the passenger compartment were also turned off for the most part. But you knew that at least for the next hour you wouldn’t be able to get any sleep. At least not if your heartbeat didn’t calm down soon and continued to throb in your ears.

But you were wrong. You noticed how Hoseok came back as well, but your eyelids had already become heavy. It seemed as if the stress of the past weeks was finally catching up with you and your body was getting what it desperately needed and why you had gone away in the first place: rest. And sleep.

The last thing you noticed that night was your head falling to the side and landing on something hard and a soft touch on your cheek.

The next time you opened your eyes, you had no idea how much time had passed. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and straightened yourself up with a soft groan when you realized how your whole body hurt. Confused, you squinted as the sun and sudden brightness blinded you. You could swear that it had been pitch black a moment before. Astonished, you turned your head and winced when you noticed how stiff your neck was. 

“Good morning,” said a soft voice and blinking, you looked up at the person sitting next to you. Hoseok had a warm smile on his lips as you tried to understand where you were and what had happened.

Then everything hit you full speed. Your ex-boyfriend, your spontaneous decision to travel for a few days, the handsome stranger at the airport who turned out to be Hoseok, and finally… “Hi,” you croaked and cleared your throat to release the lump in your dry throat.

Hoseok laughed. “You were completely out of it. You just slept through six hours. I’ve never seen that on a flight before.”

“Six hours, huh?” you asked and leaned back in your seat. When realization hit you, your eyes widened in shock. “Six hours?” you asked stunned and looked at Hoseok, who just nodded. “That means we’re almost there, doesn’t it?”

“We’re already on the approach,” Hoseok explained and your heart sank as he said. 

Great, so you slept through the entire time you would have had with Hoseok. You beat yourself up on the inside as you thought about what he must think of you now. Falling asleep just like that, without another word after your… act. He probably thought that you found him boring or not good. Fuck, what if he thought you were just pretending to sleep so you wouldn’t have to talk to him? Oh no, oh no, oh no, that wasn’t good at all. 

You noticed your heartbeat quickening and pure panic gripped you. You had to set it right, right now. “Hoseok,” you started and he looked up from his laptop. “I–” you started, but then you were interrupted by a stewardess who told you to fold up your tables and fasten your seat belts. You complied and you watched from the corner of your eye as Hoseok neatly stowed his laptop in his bag. When he straightened up, you were already looking at him. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at you in surprise. Then he tilted his head. “What exactly are you apologizing for? If it’s for last night,” the corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he remembered, “then you don’t need to apologize for anything. Not at all.”

The heat rose to your cheeks as your thoughts drifted to the previous night. You nervously intertwined your fingers as you searched for the right words. But Hoseok interrupted your flood of thoughts when you suddenly felt his fingers under your chin and he lifted your head slightly so you looked at him. “Are you okay?”

Fuck, it was definitely not normal for your stomach to somersault at the way he was looking at you. Too nervous to speak, you just nodded, “Well then,” Hoseok replied, and his eyes flickered briefly to your lips before he dropped his hand and turned his attention forward. A moment later, you felt the wheels of the plane touch the ground and the plane slowed down. As you looked out the window and saw the buildings of the airport just a few meters away from you, you realized that you really had already landed. That it was not a dream. And that you would part ways with Hoseok in a few minutes. You didn’t even want to think about the possibility that you might – presumably – probably – never see him again. 

By the time the plane had stopped, connected to the bridge to the building, and the stewardesses told you that you could get up, you had already convinced yourself that it had been nothing more than something quick and easy for him. A one-off. You flinched at the word. You picked up your things like all the other passengers and walked one after the other down the narrow corridor to the exit. Your gaze fell on the back of Hoseok’s head, from which his hair stood out in all directions, probably from sleeping. You would love to run your fingers through his soft hair and straighten it. But you didn’t know how he would react and if he would welcome your touch. 

You said goodbye to the crew and you shivered slightly as you experienced the first touch of cooler weather. Hoseok took rapid strides and you had trouble keeping up with him. Did he want to outrun you? Was he hoping you would disappear into the crowd and he could steal away just like that?

Just as those self-destructive thoughts came to your mind, Hoseok looked over his shoulder and slowed down his steps. He reached out his hand to you, which you gratefully took. 

“Sorry,” he said and you had trouble understanding him over the bustle at the airport. “I have an important appointment in an hour and I have to hurry a little.” You had arrived at the baggage claim and Hoseok pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards the exit. “I’m only traveling with hand luggage because I’m only staying a few days and normally I’m a gentleman and would help you with your suitcase, but–”

“It’s okay, Hoseok,” you placated him when you noticed how he drifted more and more into a monologue. You did the same thing when you were nervous and had to smile when you noticed this similarity. “Good luck at the meeting.” 

Ask him for his phone number.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Hoseok replied and a moment later pulled you into a firm hug. You took a deep breath and his masculine, soothing scent enveloped you. You were certain that he was giving you a kiss on your hair, but you weren’t absolutely sure about the soft touch. Before you could say anything, he had detached himself from you again and had taken a few steps back. 

Ask him before it is too late.

He gave you another smile before he turned 180 degrees and walked towards the exit. Your lips were sealed as you watched him move meter by meter away from you. 

His name was on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly turned and shouted over the distance: “Let me know what you think of the end of 1Q84!” Confused, you frowned. How would you do that? Hoseok seemed to notice your hesitation, but he just grinned and pointed to your backpack, which was hanging from one of your shoulders. 

As quickly as you could, you pulled it off your shoulder, struggled to open the zipper with your trembling fingers and then rummaged for your book. Unlike the small box, you found it immediately and turned to your bookmark. When a small piece of paper fell towards you, you looked up smiling and relieved. You just saw Hoseok waving to you and you thought you could hear his laugh even from a distance before he disappeared around the corner. 

I really hope you liked this short oneshot and I’m more than happy about any feedback! Please stay safe and healthy! See you soon! 💜