#alright well that was fun. only lasted for about *checks nonexistent watch* over an hour

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

yk, its weird being Way Too Aware & In Control of yourself bc technically i believe im having a panic attack. but somehow i am Very Unbothered by this, bc i know whats happening and its illogical. my body's having an overreaction and i couldn't be fucked to join in

[frostedfaves]

Naive (1)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Of all the humans Wanda has met, you’re suddenly her favorite.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️ (be warned that this shit will get much darker in the future), subtle hand kink (don’t @ me)

A/N: special shoutout to the anon that inspired this fic series, I hope you enjoy this weird combo of AOU x IW Wanda. also if you have any previous knowledge of demons, throw it out the window before you read this because I guarantee that things will not add up here lmao

-

Wanda’s favorite thing about interacting with humans is her effect on them.

Walking through a crowd is fine. She’ll brush a few shoulders and rattle a few unsuspecting adults, flash solid black eyes at kids that either stare or scream. It’s temporary and brings a bit of fun to an otherwise dull day.

The real joy comes from direct contact. Wanda travels miles away from her apartment building, choosing different stores, restaurants and cafés just to keep things interesting. A new cashier each time. She’ll have an air of friendliness about her that isn’t exactly fake; she finds most humans to be charming, despite their fragile minds.

“Will that be all?” Roy--according to his name tag--asks with a grin and Wanda nods in response. “Okay, your total is $21.14. You can just swipe or insert your card in the machine there.”

Wanda inserts her card carefully, complimenting the decor as she waits for the transaction to be completed. After returning it to her wallet, she flashes a soft smile at Roy as he hands her the receipt, purposefully brushing her fingers with his. As his skin makes contact with one of her rings, she notices the goosebumps rising along his arm and hears his breathing pattern change.

“Roy? Everything alright?”

She hears the concerned voice of a coworker as she makes her way to a table to wait for her meal, already seated by the time Roy coughs in an effort to collect himself.

“Yeah, just feeling off I guess. I’ll be fine.”

A chuckle falls from her lips as she watches the poor cashier attempt to return to his previous state of mind, finding the urge to smile and wave when his eyes cut over to her. His voice trembles when he calls her name and he stands as far away as possible when she approaches the counter to grab her order.

“Thanks for everything, Roy.”

Sensing that he’s startled enough without it, she keeps her other tricks hidden in her sleeves and simply walks away, holding her laughter until the doors close behind her. A good meal with a side of human interaction, her absolute favorite.

-

The next day brings Wanda to a bookstore around lunchtime. She takes a minute to browse the aisles, taking an exceptionally long time lingering in the section harboring books on angels and demons. The stereotypes amuse more than upset her like they used to in the beginning.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Wanda turns to make eye contact with the employee behind her, about to ask a question for the fun of it when a laugh catches her attention. Her gaze redirects to the café counter straight ahead, and a warm feeling washes over her when she hears the laugh again.

You’re genuinely entertained by the elderly woman purchasing a bagel with exact change, and Wanda manages to catch the end of the conversation as she draws near.

“Safe to say, I haven’t worn the blouse since that day.” She bids you farewell with her bagel and receipt in hand, eyes twinkling as she observes Wanda on her way past. “You have such bright and beautiful hair, dear.”

“Thank you,” Wanda responds with sincerity, attention locked on you while approaching the counter. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you greet her with a voice much calmer than the one you use with most of your other customers. “What can I get you today?”

You watch the orange haired woman turn her head to study the items behind the glass, taking the time to do your own inspection. You admire the dark red jacket that covers most of her torso, gaze lingering on the multiple rings hugging her fingers that seem to be smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, almost in a nervous fashion. It brought you a bit of comfort, assuming that she was affected in the same way.

“What do you recommend?”

“Oh, well…” You walk over to open the glass case from your side of the counter, naming each item as you grab it. “I usually have this pretzel that’s stuffed with spinach and cheese and this brownie. I can heat both of them for you, if you’d like.”

“I would love that,” Wanda responds in a grateful tone, placing a bottle of water on the counter after taking it from the fridge. “And I’ll also have one of these incredibly overpriced waters.”

You begin her order with a laugh, and she watches you ring everything up with the speed and expertise of a seasoned employee, wondering how she’d gone this long without running into you. The total price is brought to the digital screen just before her card is inserted, and she takes the time to quickly slip her rings into her pockets while you’re taking the pretzel and brownie over to the miniature oven. The last thing she wants to do is scramble your brain before she even gets the chance to explore it.

“Here’s your receipt,” you announce while giving Wanda the slip of paper, your eyes lingering on her hand for a moment before looking at her again. “Your food should be ready soon.”

“Okay, thank you…” Her sentence trails off as she searches for your name, the letters rolling off her tongue with ease when she finally locates it on the apron covering your chest.

“You’re welcome…” You trail off in the same fashion and she catches on quickly.

“Wanda.”

“You’re welcome, Wanda,” you repeat as you hand her the water bottle before she can walk away.

Less than two minutes later, you approach the table she’s taken over with two small ceramic plates and a sheepish grin.

“I should’ve asked if you were going to stay a while, but I can grab some bags if you need to go.”

Wanda shakes her head with a laugh as she takes them from you, startling you when she doesn’t react to the excessive heat radiating from the dishes.

“This is perfect.”

She takes her time with eating, and your attention is drawn to her between customers, grateful that she’s too busy with her phone to notice your stares. On the other hand, Wanda’s mind is filled with thoughts of you. What you look like when you think she can’t see you glancing over, what you smelled like when you were close. The nerves, the kindness, the desire to learn her name despite her being just another customer to you. She knows that you noticed her missing rings, but she’s already prepared with a cover story. A two minute conversation has her dying to pick your brain more, learn your habits and become more familiar with your body, beyond a simple brush of your fingertips. She already wants you to herself, just the way you came, without her interference for now; that’ll come later.

A good meal with a side of human interaction, her absolute favorite.

-

Despite Wanda leaving an hour before your shift ended, she lingers in your thoughts on the bus ride and walk home. You find yourself recalling her kind smile, fidgeting fingers and the scent of her perfume when she passed you on her way out, and you’re so deep in your memories that you end up colliding with your apartment door.

“That’s not going to get you inside any faster, dear.”

Your cheeks burn as you face Ruth for the second time today, the first time being earlier when you sold her a bagel.

“I know, Ruthie,” you respond sheepishly as you pull your keys from your pocket. “Is everything okay? You’re usually in bed watching a cowboy show by now.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come home so I could talk to you.” She checks to see if the hallway is empty before opening her door and waving you over. “Come on, quickly.”

You scurry into the apartment behind her, taking in the scene before you while she locks the door. Having visited her before, you know she keeps the television at a higher volume, but it seems louder than normal.

“I know I might seem like I’ve lost my marbles, but I wanted to warn you about that woman you saw today....The one with the bright hair.”

“You mean Wanda?” you question, eyes widening when she nods. “Warn me about what?”

“There’s something off about that Wanda, if that even is her real name.” She snatches her arm out of her robe and brings it closer for you to see. “I’ve had these chills since I brushed against her earlier. Something’s not right with her. How do you even know her name? I’ve never seen her before.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you assure her as you help her slip her arm back in the sleeve. “I only know her name because we were having a friendly conversation and she used mine. I was just being polite to someone I’ll probably never even see again.”

“Just be careful,” she pleads as you head toward her door again, and you offer your best attempt at a relaxed smile.

“I’ll be fine, Ruthie. Get some rest, okay?”

You hear her lock the door behind you as you make your way back to your own apartment, rushing through the process of unlocking the door and securing it once you’re inside. As much as you don’t want to let Ruth get you worked up over a stranger, you can’t help thinking about the odd little things you noticed earlier. 

It isn’t unusual for someone to linger after buying food or drinks from your counter, whether they have homework or even just a phone to keep them busy. Wanda seemed to be waiting for someone the entire time, and you remember hoping that she wasn’t on a date, despite not wanting her to be stood up. But she simply slid her phone in her pocket and departed with a friendly wave as if nothing had happened.

You especially remember her waving at you with those ringless fingers, and wondering silently where the intricate jewelry had disappeared to. Obviously you just assumed that the rings were tucked away on her person and not dumped in the trash, but she doesn’t seem like the type of person to give up on her accessories in the middle of the day. Part of you--a part that you didn’t dare to address--wondered if she’d emptied her hands to send you a subtle sign. No, that can’t possibly be it.

Sleeping proves to be difficult with so many unanswered questions floating about, but you eventually give into the act. A few hours later, you peel open your eyes when you think you hear something in the room. The digital clock that sits on your bedside and serves as an alarm and occasional radio reads 3:34am, and you’re just about to close your eyes again when you hear another sound. You raise your head to turn toward your closet, and a scream is trapped in your throat as you catch sight of a figure in the shadows.

The next time you wake, the sun is out and your alarm is blaring on the nightstand beside you. Your gaze flickers over to the closet as you reach out to silence it, your heartbeat dropping slightly when you don’t see anything other than clothes. Deciding that you must’ve been dreaming, you shake away the fearful thoughts and head to the bathroom to start getting ready for another day of work.

The only thing you haven’t decided on yet is whether you want to see Wanda again.

[egcdeath]

cabin fever

pairing: ransom x female!reader 

warnings: very cheesy and unrealistic. lots of fluff, your teeth might fall out. strangers to lovers

summary: when a nasty snow storm ruins your girls trip to a ski lodge, you have to... adapt to your interesting new roommate. 

word count: 2.7k

a/n: and there was only one bed…. oh my god there was only one bed…. 

Come on, they said. A girls trip would be fun, they said. You all needed a break from your routine and work, they said. Who doesn’t wanna kick off their New Year on vacation, they said. Of course, that was all before you arrived at a remote, overbooked resort in the middle of nowhere, hours after your friends’ flights had been cancelled due to an incoming horrendous snow storm.

Now, you stood near the counter in the lobby, biting back tears as you began to desperately rake your brain for solutions to the bizarre issue you were facing.

“God damnit, don’t you know who I am?” a deep voice at the desk thundered.

“Of course, Mr. Drysdale, but you know that we can’t just give this room up to you in conditions like this,” the poor hotel employee told him, trying to keep his composure. “We have way too many clients for you to get a room like this all by yourself!” After hearing this remark, this ‘Mr. Drysdale’ character, who didn’t seem much older than you were, grit his teeth, leaned his head back, and groaned exasperatedly.

You tried not to be too nosy, but it was nearly impossible not to look over at the dramatic scene that was playing out next to you. A grown man, throwing some sort of hissy fit about not getting a room. Luckily for you, he glanced in your direction at the perfect moment to make an uncomfortable eye contact, and suddenly, his annoyed look turned into a devilish smirk.

Oh no.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m not here all by myself. In fact, my girlfriend is right over there,” he tilted his head to gesture to you. Oh no. This was much worse than you anticipated. When you saw that smirk, you thought that maybe he’d hit on you, maybe even catch you at the bar and make some crude offer to you. You didn’t think he’d be using you in order to get a room.

“Oh, I-” you stuttered, not even knowing where to begin. What the hell was going on? You could barely process the last 5 hours of your life, let alone the scenario you’d just been tossed into.

“Alright, Mr. Drysdale. Sorry about the inconvenience.” The hotel employee didn’t even bother hiding his annoyance as he looked down and began to type on the computer. The man looked back over to you, gave you a little chuckle, then moved a bit closer to you so that he could wrap an arm around you.

You were honestly at a loss for words. What the fuck was happening? Maybe you were asleep. There was no way that this was all real. You were incapable of fighting this situation, or even arguing with this man. To be honest, he was pretty handsome. And it seemed like you two were getting one of the last rooms in the whole lodge, so at least you wouldn’t be sleeping on a couch in the lobby until the snow storms stopped.

“Alright, Hugh, Here’s your key. 2C.” The employee bit the inside of his cheek, enjoying the tiny win of calling the bothersome man a name he hated. Hugh? Really? You thought to yourself while rolling your suitcase away, and keeping up the act of being some stranger’s girlfriend until the pair of you reached the elevator.

As you two stood in silence, the weight of your actions began to sink in. What the hell did you just sign yourself up for? For all you know, this Hugh dude could be a murderer. Or a rapist. Or a crazy murderer rapist. You began to envision your name as the title of some True Crime podcast. ‘The Ski Lodge Slaughter of Y/N L/N.’ You began to feel yourself sweat under your winter coat.

“So, your name?” Hugh asked you casually, as if he hadn’t taken you more or less against your will. He basically kidnapped you. Oh god, ‘The Kidnapping and Killing of Y/N.’ Hugh looked down at you and quirked a brow. “My God, loosen up. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” He laughed. You debated whether or not to even tell this man your real name, but in a split irrational decision, you blurted it out.

“Y/N,” you said, then grimaced after. “Hey, don’t try anything funny on my guy,” you warned, trying to sound tough, but probably not sounding like it. “I have pepper spray on me, and I know your full name. No funny business, Hugh Drysdale.” You warned.

You watched as Hugh’s face went through a rollercoaster of emotions, but the general theme of which being amusement. You swore he stifled a laugh as the two of you exited the elevator and walked through the rather cozy halls. The pair of you stopped in front of a pine door labelled 2C.

“How about you call me Ransom,” he told you before opening the door to your home for at least the next week.

----

You spent the first few minutes in your suite looking around at all the luxuries it offered. It was essentially an apartment, and saying you were impressed was an understatement. The space was truly beautiful, with views like nothing you’d ever seen before. The master bedroom overlooked a mountain, the bathroom was massive and gorgeous, the balcony contained a hot tub, and the living room held a massive fireplace. There was only one problem.

There was just one bed.

Maybe you could sleep in the living room or something. It was definitely large enough. You were simmering deep in your thoughts while staring out the main window in the living room when you heard the words of your new roommate.

“It’s nice right?” He asked while coming to stand next to you.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“We used to come here every year, you know.”

“Oh really?” you replied, trying to sound intrigued in order to stay on his good side in the event that he actually was a murderer. “Like, you and your family? Or like, you and your friends..?”

“My family,” he looked away from the window and at you. “I can assure you, it’s always this nice.”

You looked up at him and tried to ignore the fact that you felt like you were a character in a Hallmark movie. “Why’d you stop?” you inquired, and he shrugged before turning away. You honestly felt kinda bad for the guy, even if he was just a random stranger. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I was supposed to be here with my friends. But their flights got cancelled because of some impending snow storm.”

You swore you heard a faint chuckle as Ransom began to walk into the bedroom. “That is pretty funny,” he confirmed before you heard the door close. Rude. You thought to yourself, before sitting down on the sofa in the middle of the room, and trying to find a show to hold you over.

----

The flight must’ve taken more out of you than you initially thought, because you woke up early in the morning with a blanket lazily draped over you, and a sharp pain in your back. You dug into your pocket and checked the time on your partially charged phone. Unsurprisingly, it was way-too-early-to-be-awake-o’clock. Damn jet lag. You tossed the blanket off yourself and figured that if you were awake, you may as well be eating something good. Shuffling into the kitchenette, you found a room service menu, and ordered enough for a small army. It wasn’t like you were paying for the food in the first place.

Sometime after your food arrived, Ransom walked into the room as well, and sat across from you at the table. “Morning babe, what’d you get us?” He asked playfully before popping a strip of bacon into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but to quirk your lips. You were kind of annoyed that he hadn’t even attempted to offer you the bedroom and left you to sleep on an uncomfortable couch, but his playful demeanor was infectious. “Basically everything, babe, hope you don’t mind the tab.” You gave him a little smirk as you lifted a mug of coffee to your lips.

“Not a problem, babe. How’d you know I’d wake up with an appetite this big?” He continued to banter with you.

“I just know my baby so well,” you giggled, then abruptly stopped when you noticed Ransom was not exactly laughing along with you. “Uhm, I’m gonna go take shower,” you said quickly before standing up, pushing your chair in, then escaping to the bathroom.

----

Your awkward interaction had been about a day ago, but luckily you hadn’t had any moments like that since. Some time in the afternoon, you sat back down on the sofa and cuddled into your own little corner. A bit later, Ransom joined you on the opposite end of the couch, and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence while watching reruns of classic Christmas movies ever since.

You were honestly shocked at how fast you and Ransom warmed up to each other, and how quickly you’d let down your (nearly nonexistent) guard. But to be fair, what girl had the willpower to resist the kinds of baby blues in his eyes? And his slightly overly confident, yet funny personality was quickly growing on you. Not to mention the way he was wearing the shit out of every sweater he put on. You couldn’t help but to daydream about the man while a pot in the kitchenette warmed up the milk for your hot chocolates.

“Hurry up, babe,” he whined from the sofa, to which you rolled your eyes. What a brat.

“On my way, dear,” you giggled, before finishing up the drinks and bringing him a mug. “You know, I really didn’t know what to expect when you basically kidnapped me,” you stated while sitting down.

“Haven’t you had fun? I mean, I know we can’t really go out in this kind of weather, but I like to think of myself as a fun guy.” he took a sip of the drink, then reeled at the heat’s assault on his tongue.

“I mean, I never really saw myself having as much fun with a stranger as I did when we played Uno last night,” you gave Ransom a shy smile.

“That was pretty great,” he nodded in agreement, and returned your smile with a lopsided grin.

“You know, I really expected you to be a dick. I’ve never seen someone make as big of a scene as you did in the lobby those days ago,” you snickered, then let your laugh die away when you saw Ransom press his lips together, furrow his brows, and stand. “What?” you asked with concern laced in your voice.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said dryly before walking off to the bedroom. This man and his Goddamn mood swings. You set down your mug, and cuddled into the quilt covering your body before attempting to go to sleep.

--

You awoke to a loud thud, and the sensation of goosebumps prickling all over your skin as a visceral reaction to the frigid cold that had suddenly taken over the suite.

“What the fuck,” you’d heard a groggy voice say from the bedroom. Ransom shuffled out of the room, and stood in the hall leading to the living room while pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Did you do this?” he slurred slightly, words heavy from sleep.

“No!” you pouted. “I just woke up in the same freezer as you!” You sat up, and stretched your arms while you tried to think of a reason why it was suddenly so cold in your suite. Maybe the employees were playing a prank on their least favorite tenant. Maybe the furnace was broken. Either way, you were both cold as hell, and couldn’t find a solution. You only had so many blankets. Suddenly, something came to you.

“Go back to your room, asshole,” you said quietly before wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Ransom obliged, and you began your search for as many toasty clothing articles you could manage. Luckily, you were smart when packing, and made sure to bring plenty of cable knit sweaters with you. In your tired haze, you clumsily threw the articles of clothing on, then began your trek to the bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” Ransom asked while pulling on another sweater, seemingly having the same idea as you.

“Get in the bed,” you demanded, before flopping in the bed next to him and yawning. You nearly moaned at the comfort of a real bed, rather than a sofa, but filtered yourself. “Cuddle me. We’ll be like little penguins.” You whispered sleepily, already feeling more relaxed at the heat radiating off your bed partner.

There was not one word of complaint coming from Ransom as he threw a strong arm around you, then buried his nose in your hair. “‘Night, Y/N,” he told you, his voice trailing off.

Even in your sleepy haze, your heart rate quickened when you realized that the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces.

----

In the morning, you woke up to a soft, yet empty bed. The heat was now clearly back on, and the heat was definitely back on in your face when you began to recall last night’s events.

----

That day was more of the same for you, watching shitty Rom Coms, over-indulging on room service, playing endless rounds of chess, and even more card games. Neither of you addressed the furnace sized elephant in the room of your late-night cuddle session, and you honestly hoped to keep it that way.

Sometime between a game of Solitaire and Crazy, Stupid, Love, you fell fast asleep, and were surprised when you woke up without the crick in your back, and deeply inhaling the scent of pine.

After you’d drifted off, Ransom had decided to carry you into his bedroom. You just looked way too peaceful to have to spend another night in your sofa hole. He set you down on the bed, pulled the comforter over your body, then gave you a quick peck on your forehead.

“What the fuck,” He wondered quietly out loud to himself.

----

Cabin fever was beginning to eat at you and Ransom, and apparently, there was no better way to battle that than to drink excessively. It started when you added a bit of Bailey’s to your hot chocolates, and only escalated as you spent the night raiding the minibar.

After a few too many shots, you grabbed your phone and hit shuffle on a random playlist on your phone. “Come dance with me,” you giggled, pushing his hand away from a bottle of Grey Goose, and grabbing it instead. The pair of you stumbled over each others’ feet for a few minutes, before waltzing into the bedroom together and plopping clumsily onto the bed as a unit, with you straddling Ransom’s thin waist.

“I can’t believe I’m spending New Year’s Eve with you,” you leaned down and spoke into his face. “Imagine if I wasn’t so dumb, and I didn’t go along with your stupid plan to get this room,” your nose was basically pressed into Ransom’s at this point. You looked deep into his eyes, and he was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he commented out of the blue, reaching up to rub his thumb on your flushed cheek.

“Shut up,” you averted your gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He asked raspily.

“Yeah,” you agreed, setting your hand on top of his hand that sat on your cheek.

The sound of fireworks being shot off in the distance briefly caught both of your attention, leading you to look out the window for a moment, before looking back at each other.

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” you were quickly pulled into a sweet, passionate kiss.

And honestly, you couldn’t think of a better way to start the year.

[littlemissaddict]

7 Minutes in Heaven

Request: could you maybe do a reggie x reader where theyre playing spin the bottle/7 minutes in heaven? like not a smut but they do make out and it gets pretty heated?

Word count: 2724

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long to write, I had to rewrite it a couple of times because I didn’t like how it was turning out and I’m still not 100% happy with it but I hope you like it.

The sound of a book hitting the table by her head is what broke her from her daze as she stared blankly at the textbook in front of her. Blinking a couple of times to refocus her vision she turned to see the person responsible for the noise.

"It's Friday night what are you doing in the library?" Rose questioned, her hand rested on her hip the other one on the table beside y/n as she raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm getting a head start on the assignment due for English next week" she stated as if it was obvious because the last thing she wanted to do was rush it and risk dropping her grade.

"Well we got a party to go to so that will have to wait" Rose responds, letting out an exasperated sigh when y/n shakes her head and goes back to her work. "Come on I promised Bobby we would go" she pleads sitting down on the empty seat next to her.

"Just because I'm not going doesn't mean you can't" y/n mumbled not looking away from the textbook she was using for research.

"But Reggie’s going to be there," Rose says in a singsong voice with a sly smile on her face which turns into a giggle when she sees y/n's hands still against the pages and hears her breath catch. 

It had been about two year since Rose and Bobby had met during one of their shared college classes and he was always inviting her to parties which she ended up dragging y/n along too so it wasn't long before she had introduced y/n to Bobby’s best friends and bandmates. Ever since then y/n had been completely gone for the bassist and Rose knew that she could get her to do anything if it involved Reggie.

"You can't keep using him against me" she groans, turning to face Rose, a small pout on her face.

"So does that mean you're coming?" Rose asks, letting out a cheer, which earns her a couple of glares from others in the library, when she confirms that she is. "Let's go!" She says rushing y/n who's struggling to fit her books and laptop back into her bag before she follows, both girls heading back to their shared dorm room.

Once they're back at the dorm, Rose connects her phone to the speaker to play music while they get ready as y/n goes straight to looking through her clothes for something to wear. She pulls out a couple of outfits but Rose shakes her head at them and even offers her one of her dresses but she declines as dresses never really were her thing.

"Wait what about them?" Rose exclaims excitedly, reaching for the trousers that she had been talked into buying on their last shopping trip. They were skin tight black faux leather and reminded her of the ones that Olivia Newton John wore at the end of Grease.

"I don't know" she says hesitantly until Rose hands her a black bardot crop top telling her that they would look killer with her favourite heeled boots "okay fine, so where's the party at" she asks, laying the clothes out on the bed before reaching for her make up.

"No idea, somewhere off campus but we're meeting Bobby and the guys in about an hour so we better hurry up" Rose tells her as she checks the time on her phone.

Both girls are just about ready when there's a knock at the door followed by Bobby's voice asking they're ready. Rose answers letting them know they'll be a couple more minutes and she hears a loud groan from the other side of the door as she adds the finishing touches to her makeup and Rose finishes off clearing the clothes that they had left out from earlier.

"Finally" Bobby exclaims as the two girls exit the room. Rose playfully slaps his arm telling him to behave and he rolls his eyes in response but the smile on his face lets her know that he's only playing.

The girls greet Bobby properly once he's finished teasing them and they hear a disgruntled Luke calling them from a little further down the hallway.

"Hey Bobby’s not the only one here" he calls as he pouts at them but it quickly disappears when they acknowledge them. Y/n's gaze drifts from Luke to Alex and then finally to Reggie, where she lets her gaze stay a little longer than she should and the boy definitely notices sending her a wink as she feels herself flush slightly under his gaze.

The group make their way out of the dorm building, Bobby and Rose taking the lead with Luke animatedly explaining something to Alex a couple of steps behind them which leaves her and Reggie at the back of the group. She notices that Reggie seems quieter than usual and she's not sure why but she brushes it off assuming it's because they're not that close so they don't really have a lot to talk about, although she doesn't miss the way that Reggie keeps glancing over at her before pulling his gaze away when she catches him.

It only takes about fifteen minutes of walking before they come to a street where the party must be as they can hear the music as soon as they turn onto it, which leaves her wondering how they haven't had any noise complaints yet from neighbours. Although she didn’t have long to ponder the thought as the group were making their way through the front door to the house and the boys disappeared as soon as they got there so the girls went to find themselves a drink.

“So what’s going on between you and Bobby?” she asks, taking the plastic cup from Rose after she finishes mixing the drink for her.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing going on” Rose says a little bit too defensively for there to be nothing between the two.

“Oh come on, the way you look at each other; how you always pair up with him whenever we do anything as a group; the way you act with each other. Would you like me to go on?” Y/n states with a raise of her eyebrow as she peers over the rim of the cup at her friend as she takes a sip. 

“Okay maybe I do like him a little bit but I’m not sure he feels the same” Rose replies with a small sigh causing y/n to shake her head at the other girl.

“You’re joking right, have you seen the way her looks at you? I’m like 100% sure he’s in love with you” she says with a slight giggle at the look of shock that crosses Rose’s face.

“Okay, well what about you and Reggie?” Rose shoots back with an expectant look on her face as if she’s going to tell her something she doesn’t already know.

“Me and Reggie? The two of us together are nonexistent except in my mind. I mean did you see him on the walk over here he wouldn’t even speak to me and usually you can’t get the boy to be quiet” she chuckles, trying not to let on how much it pains her to admit it because at this point she’s sure the feelings she has for the boy in question are more than just a simple crush.

“Okay but he definitely likes you, did you see the way he stared when we left the dorm and he kept looking at you on the way over her” Rose points out and she lets out a chuckle leaving y/n confused until she adds “I just remembered that Bobby told me that whenever we’ve hung out as a group or even if Reggie sees you he will talk forever about you”

Y/n feels a blush spread across her cheeks at that and finds herself avoiding Rose’s gaze when she next speaks. “Alright enough about boys lets go and have fun” as they go in search of the others.

They don’t make it far before they come crashing into Luke who has a big smile on his face. “Ah just the girls I was looking for, would either of you be up for a game of seven minutes in heaven?” he asks.

“Um.. Who’s playing?” Rose asks as Y/n just raises her eyebrows at him.

Luke chuckles at their responses before he answers “I don’t know who most of them are we kind of just stumbled across and asked if we could join but Alex refused as he has Willie; Bobby claimed there was only one person he would want to play with” Luke said, aiming at a wink at Rose as he told her about Bobby “so it’s just me and Reg unless you want to join” he adds as he waits for their replies.

“You go, I’m going to go find Bobby” Rose smirks at her as she walks away in the direction that Luke pointed at leaving her to be pulled along by Luke.

Luke leads her upstairs to a room which turns out to be a bedroom where there are about seven people, including Reggie, sat in a circle. After they’ve joined the circle someone places an empty beer bottle in the middle and spins it, they all watch as it lands on the boy to her left. She lets out a quiet sigh, which only Luke seems to hear, when she sees that the bottle hasn’t landed on her as the two get up and make their way to what looks like a closet at the far side of the room that she missed upon entering the room. Someone sets a timer and conversation breaks out while they wait and Luke, who seems to know everyone, introduces her to the girl on his right as he chats excitedly about a small upcoming show the boys have which seems to interest the girl. However y/n gets distracted by the feeling that someone is staring at her and she turns to find Reggie’s gaze locked on her. She shoots him a questioning look and she watches as color flares on his cheeks when he realises he’s been caught but then the timer goes off before anything else can happen.

The two step out from the closest looking a little ruffled and as they sit down to join the game again, someone else leans forward to spin the bottle and everyone watches waiting for it to stop. This carries on for another couple of turns until it’s Reggie’s turn to spin the bottle and she holds her breath as they wait for it to come to a stop and when it does it lands directly between her and Luke.

“I guess you get to choose between the two” someone speaks up but she doesn’t catch who said it as she’s too busy looking at Reggie as color flares on his cheeks again.

“Sorry Luke but it’s gotta be y/n” he finally speaks up and can’t believe what's about to happen. She’s spent so long imagining this and it’s about to happen but she’s glad that Rose isn’t here because she would definitely bring it up.

Luke gasps dramatically, feigning hurt as he brings his hand up to his chest as he speaks “And here I thought we had something” he jokes getting a few laughs from the others in the room including Reggie and herself.

Reggie leads her into the closet and once the door shuts he goes still which leaves her feeling confused, although she’s not exactly sure what she was expecting to happen.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to” she tells him, reaching forward and blindly finding his hand which seems to male him jump so she goes to let go but he squeezes it tightly not letting her.

“No it’s not that, I want to it’s just I really like you and I don’t want to ruin this” he admits, his voice quiet and that’s when she realises that despite all his flirting and the confidence that radiates off of him, he’s just like everyone else, a little bit insecure.

“That’s not going to happen because I really like you too and I want this, I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to” she assures him and before she has a chance to take a breath Reggie crashes his lips against hers in a bruising kiss that she wasn’t expecting so it takes her a second to react but when she does she kisses him back with just as much passion as him. 

Reggie lets go of her hand to rest his hands on her waist as he lets his fingers brush against the exposed skin there which makes her shiver. Whereas she trails her hands up his chest and over his shoulders until she can tangle her fingers into his perfectly styled hair and mess it up a little bit. He bites her bottom lip as she tugs on his hair which draws a gasp from her parted lips. Moving away from her lips, he traces gentle kisses down her jaw to her neck until he reaches the spot just below her ear where he grazes his teeth against the skin which makes her breath hitch and her finger tighten in his hair again and he groans into her neck but doesn’t stop his kisses which he begins trailing lower down her neck to her collar bones and she knows there will be marks for to cover in the morning.

She’s breathing heavily at this point as Reggie’s hands leave her waist, moving higher until there pushing under the edge of her top until he stops over her chest, palming the tender flesh over her bra and she can’t help the roll of her hips against his which causes him to stop his assault of kisses against her neck.

“Do that again” he asks as he lifts his head to kiss her properly again, moaning against her lips as she does. She does it one more time before a voice from the other side of the door is telling them that time is up. Reggie groans in frustration as he pulls away from her lips causing her to giggle.

“Do you wanna ditch the game and maybe get a drink?” he asks, pressing a quick kiss to her lips again when she agrees and they exit the closet. Reggie lets everyone know they’re leaving as the head for the door and down the stairs to the kitchen where they fill up their cups and then head into the garden where it’s a little bit quieter so they can talk.

“I’m sorry about messing up your hair” she giggles when she notices Reggie, running his hands through it to try and style it again.

“Don’t worry about it because if anyone should be sorry it should be me for marking up your neck” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he brings one of his hands up to trace the red marks on her collarbones which makes her shiver. “Are you cold?” he asks when he notices and he’s already pulling off his leather jacket and draping it over her shoulders before she has the chance to reply.

She thanks him as she runs her hands over the smooth leather against her body and she takes in the way his eyes run down her body. When he finally meets her eyes again his pupils are wide and he’s biting his lip “It’s a good look on you, you look ho- um you look good, really good” he rambles taking a step closer to her and glancing down to her lips.

“Do you wanna leave, we could head back to my room?” she suggests, as she feels her phone buzz in her pocket.

“You sure? What about Rose?” he asks, meeting her gaze again.

“Won’t be a problem, looks like she’s heading back with Bobby” she grins, showing him the message and letting out a yelp of surprise when he takes her hand and pulls her along with him back to the dorms.

[stones-x-bones]

Place Your Bets (Pt. 1) || Mina and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable​ and @inbextween​ SUMMARY: Mina and Bex go to the Stacked Deck for a little fun away from all the stress. CONTENT: Underage drinking

It wasn’t that Mina didn’t normally take a lot of care into her appearance. Except for the few occasions when she had to wear sweats to class because she slept on campus, she was usually always dressed nice and relatively put together. She didn’t go overboard, but she always made sure to look presentable, especially when she went to play cards. But she never labored over the decision of what to wear like she was. She attributed it to the fact that she rarely had company and wanted to look impressive. She still felt a bit silly as she revolved between sitting on the bed in her room at Morgan and Deirdre’s staring at her clothes and pacing while she stared at her clothes. This was silly. She shouldn’t be nervous. But she was also always nervous, so it made sense. Nice, long-sleeved blouse, skirt, and tights. There. She decided. She fixed herself up, did it again, checked in the mirror. Smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt. 

Finally, Mina was bordering on being late to get Bex, which was ridiculous because they were in the same bloody house. Grabbing her keys and checking in the mirror once more to make sure her sleeves were buttoned, she walked to Bex's room. She… hesitated before knocking but eventually figured out how to do that properly. Why was she behaving like this? She’d been hanging out with Bex for days. She’d been keeping her company through everything. Why was she like this? When the door opened, she said, “Hey! Hi. Ah, hi.” She gave Bex a smile. “Are you… ready?”

When Mina had first asked Bex if she wanted to learn how to card count with her, she hadn’t thought about the fact that most gambling was done at a casino. And Bex, well...Bex wasn’t twenty-one yet. And that really should’ve been the end of the conversation, but it wasn’t. And in the end, that wasn’t even what Bex was nervous about. She’d been to casinos before, as young as being 8 years old. Sitting on the floor next to her mom, who was glued to a slot machine. One more pull, darling, one more. So it wasn’t the place that made her nervous, and it wasn’t the person, because, well, she liked Mina. And she liked spending time with Mina. And she liked being around Mina and she thought about Mina like all the time. Kyle had been gracious enough to point that out to her. So it wasn’t that. But something was making her nervous, because she’d changed no less than five times and had asked Morgan no less than three which shoes went better with which dress and which jacket looked nicest, which one covered up her scabs the most. Finally, she’d settled-- and just in time. The knock at the door came as she was just finishing putting up her hair, sliding the last pin in. She’d even spent extra time on her makeup.

Her face lit up at the sight of Mina behind her door. “Hey!” she said excitedly, biting her lip gently as she nodded. “Ready!” She sidled out and shut her door, taking Mina’s hand when she turned back around. “You look really nice,” she noted, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek again. “Shall we?”

Mina thought that Bex looked really pretty. Of course she thought Bex looked really pretty. Bex always looked really pretty. That wasn’t even a question. “You look really nice, too,” she said, her cheeks heating a bit from both the compliment and the kiss. “Absolutely!” It wasn’t even a lie, despite the nerves. She held out her arm for Bex and began walking them to her car. “Are you sure you want to do this, by the way? We can do something else. I think our luck with movies has improved, or we just get something to eat somewhere.” Something laid back and easy. She backtracked quickly. “If you want to go to The Stacked Deck, though, that’s also fine! I just don’t want you to get bored.” There was also the fact that one of the card sharks was a couple of leprechauns that acted as if they were one person, and a few of them didn’t like her after an incident with a leprechaun colony last year. The one on top tended to give her the occasional look, and she couldn’t understand how any of the humans in the establishment didn’t realize that it was a stack of leprechauns in a trenchcoat, for crying out loud. “I’m really up for anything.”

“No, no! I’m sure!” Bex said, squeezing Mina’s hand. Couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the suggestion was because of what had happened to her. She wasn’t going to let that get to her though. “I wanna go. I wanna see how you do it.” She gave a toothy smile, hoping to encourage Mina-- she’d noticed over their time spent together how tentative the older girl was when it came to talking about things she liked and enjoyed (not to mention the hours they’d spent online teasing about it), but the way her eyes lit up when she’d talked about theorems and card counting made Bex want to do nothing more than make her smile like that again. She deserved to smile like that again. “I want you to teach me. You said you would. I know it’s not a p-word, but you’re not gonna go back on it now, are you?” She gave a false pout, sticking out her bottom lip as they headed to the car. She slid into the passenger’s seat and folded her hands into her lap, the way she always sat in the car, taking up as little space as possible. “So? To the Stacked Deck?” She wondered when would be the best time to let Mina know she couldn’t technically get into a bar, let alone a casino bar combination. Maybe when they got there? Maybe after she flashed her ID and the bouncer read the name. That was the one good thing about her parents being filthy rich and powerful. She reached across and took Mina’s hand again, her heart pounding in her chest-- which hurt less today, so that was nice. What a ridiculous notion, to be so nervous.

“Okay, then,” Mina said, taking a deep breath and giving Bex a small smile. “That I can do.” And, if she showed out just enough to possibly impress Bex a little, then it would probably be worth it. “Of course I will! I try to keep my word, when I can.” She rolled her eyes a bit. “‘P-word.’ You can say it, you know. That won’t do anything. I just ask that you don’t go around making any, especially not with me. Though I’d never make you keep one.” Even when it would serve her better to make sure Bex kept a promise to her. I’ll tell you before I do something, I promise. Mina couldn’t make Bex do that. She wasn’t planning on holding anyone to any sort of dangerous promise or bargain ever again. It had happened to her; she didn’t want to do that to anyone else. “To the Stacked Deck.” She gave Bex’s hand a squeeze before she started driving. The drive felt both too long and too short, but they made it. Mina grabbed her clutch and walked over to Bex and held out her arm, smiling and happy and nervous, the feelings fluttering in her stomach an awful lot for her to be doing something that she did relatively often. “Ready?”

“Well, no one told me that,” Bex argued weakly, frowning. But she wasn’t actually upset, and she couldn’t hold the frown long enough to even pretend she was, a smile bursting its way through. “But what about the really important ones? Morgan said those were okay, as long as you trusted the other person.” Though maybe now wasn’t the time to get into all that. Her heart hammered in her chest the entire way to the bar, and she slid out, taking Mina’s arm and wrapping both her arms around it. This was her second time outside of the house since the incident with Kyle, but those nerves were wrapped up in different  ones, so, really, the scariest part hadn’t even happened yet. “Ready! Well--” she started, then paused, pulling Mina off to the side when they got a bit closer, but hopefully not close enough for the man waiting outside to hear, “actually, I should probably let you know, uh, I can’t actually get technically get into the bar without a little, um…” she didn’t wanna say bribery, even if that’s what it would be at its base, “finagling?” She shrugged, giving a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you before, but I really wanted to come with you and hang out with you. Forgive me?”

“Well, you didn’t ask,” Mina said laughing. Not that she thought that was a common thing to really ask and talk about. It wasn’t normal. Promises shouldn’t be things that carried so much weight. Still, it would be so much easier if Bex would just ask things, sometimes. “If it’s life and death, don’t make a promise. Honestly, I would say that the important ones shouldn’t be promises. Not unless you’re okay with consequences.” She allowed Bex to pull her aside, her smile turning into a worried frown. “Wait, finagling? Why…” Usually, the main problem with getting into bars had to do with being carded for-- Mina’s eyes widened. What was the age to get into bars in America again? She knew this, of course she knew this. “Bex, how old are you?” Oh, this could be bad, right? “I forgive you,” she said immediately, without really thinking about it. Not that there was anything that should be forgiven. “Okay, alright, ah, okay. How much-- I mean, how much trouble would we get in if you went in there?”

“I’m twenty!” Bex said hurriedly when she watched Mina’s eyes go wide. She waved her hands in front of her a little, trying to diffuse any worry that might have popped up. “It’s only a year off, I’m not that young!” Though she wasn’t sure why the thought bothered her, of her being whatever too young to hang out with Mina was. She didn’t even know how old Mina was, anyway. How had they gone this long without disclosing that? It always seemed like there was so much other stuff to talk about, didn’t it? Holidays and whose rambling was more fun to listen to and how nice Mina looked working out. Did it really matter? “Besides, I’ve been to casinos and bars before. It helps having rich parents and an old name.” She looked from Mina to the bouncer, then back to Mina. “Um, depends? If we don’t get caught, none!” she said, brimming with a smile that came with experience. Being locked into a room had never stopped Bex from wanting to get out and explore, though she mostly did it at school where she knew the punishment would be far less. “It should be fine, anyway. Most people in White Crest know who I am, or at least, who my parents are.” She reached out for Mina’s hand again, and found herself a little less sure of an answer she should have been one-hundred percent about. “Do you trust me?”

The relief Mina felt was legitimate. “Oh, good. Okay, that’s good.” She hadn’t thought Bex was young-young, but the whole not being able to get into a club thing had thrown her, if only momentarily. “I… can’t really say anything. I’ve definitely been to bars and casinos before turning the proper age.” Her and her dad had actually lived above a bar for a time in Germany, and she’d only been about fifteen at the time. No one had really cared, then. Of course, things were always quite lax with hunters. “If we don’t get caught, right,” Just what did Bex intend to do to get in? Mina could always force the bouncer into a promise, but she wasn’t as well-versed in wordplay as most of the others in her species. And she doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t. There wasn’t much she could do. She looked at her and Bex’s hands. “I do trust you. Of course I trust you.” That wasn’t even a question. She squeezed Bex’s hand and gave her a smile. “Alright. Alright, let’s do this, then.”

“How old did you think I was?” Bex asked, raising a brow. “How old are you, anyway? I...don’t think you ever told me.” Not that it mattered, really. Her father had been ready to ship Bex off to someone when she was 18, but her mother had insisted she finish school first. “We won’t get caught. I might not look like it, but I’m really good at not getting caught. People never suspect the well-behaved ones.” She squeezed Mina’s hand. She trusted her. This was the most excited Bex had been in ages-- months, maybe even years-- and she wasn’t about to let a small thing like age ruin it. “Great! Follow my lead!” She tugged Mina’s hand and led them back over to the front doors, forgetting herself and perhaps moving a tad faster than her body was capable of at the moment. At the door there the big, burly man in sunglasses put a hand. “IDs?” Clearing her throat, Bex drew herself up and put on the face she’d been taught to in public-- soft and sweet and charming. “Actually, I’m supposed to be meeting my father here. Is he in?” It was perhaps a dangerous game, considering she hadn’t talked to her father in over a month, but the bouncer didn’t know that. She leaned around as if to glance inside, then looked back at the bouncer. The man didn’t look convinced quite yet.  “It’s Ochsenstein. Rupert Ochsenstein,” Bex went on. “You know, the one that one of the VIP rooms is named after?” 

Sputtering, the bouncer nodded. “Right, right! Of course! Miss Ochsenstein. I don’t believe he’s here yet, I can show you in, though, if you--” Bex tugged on Mina again and started moving past him. “Oh, no, that’s okay! My guide here is going to show me there. She’s a hired hand. Do you need her ID, too?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. The man looked between the two of them, then shook his head. “All good. I’ll let your father know when he gets--” But the door was already closing as Bex dragged Mina inside. She turned to look back over at her. “Guess they’re good for one thing, huh?” 

“Twenties?” Mina said, though she was unsure. “I mean, I knew you were an undergrad…” She hadn’t really thought about it much beyond that. Bex just seemed her age. “Ah, twenty-four, as of September.” She flinched, a bit. She would have cancelled her last birthday if she could. “Okay, alright, this will be fine.” And, really, she believed that enough that it didn’t make her feel all that sick. She allowed Bex to take the lead and was honestly more than a little impressed. The younger girl was terribly believable. For her part, Mina managed to give the man a shaky smile as he looked at her. She couldn’t really say anything without risking getting sick, and it wasn’t like Bex needed help with this. She gave the bouncer a smile as Bex dragged her into the building. She was more worried about whether or not Bex should be dragging her about, but she decided not to comment on it. “That was impressive,” she said, giving Bex a grin. “Much better than I could have done. Do you do stuff like this a lot?”

“I was on my own a lot as a kid,” Bex explained, sticking close to Mina now that they were finally inside. She’d forgotten how overwhelming public bars could be, and knowing the White Crest community, there was bound to be someone here she knew. But...she didn’t need to worry about that right now, did she? She wasn’t even talking to her parents. She was safe with Mina. “I had to learn how to navigate things without help, so, um, yeah? I guess.” She shrugged, stepping closer to Mina as someone sidled by them. “Okay, you’re turn to take the lead,” she nodded, sweeping her gaze around the bar before looking to Mina expectantly, eyes still alight despite the nerves building inside of her. She didn’t want to worry about all the things she normally did, she wanted to enjoy every moment of this night because it’d been so long since she’d just done something for fun. Just done something because she wanted to. And after the week she’d had previously, she just wanted to forget all the bad for a night. “Where to first?”

“Well, it was very impressive,” Mina said. “I could never do anything like that.” Despite their similarities, there were a lot of differences between Mina and Bex that became more and more obvious the longer they got to know each other. Not bad differences; at least, she didn’t think so. But she was beginning to realize that Bex’s parents and Mina’s dad were on two very different levels of strict when it came to parenting styles. Maybe not as different as Mina would like, sometimes, but still different. “Right, I can do that.” She looked around. The leprechaun card shark was at one of the blackjack tables, but there was another blackjack table open where she could avoid them. The woman dealing was also on friendly terms with Mina, which was nice. “You count cards with blackjack, so we can start there,” she said quietly, making sure that no one around them could hear. A few people waved at Mina as they walked by, and Mina returned the gesture with a smile. It had been a few months, but she used to frequent the Stacked Deck relatively often. She was familiar with several of the people there. “I’m admittedly much better at blackjack than poker. But that table’s not too crowded, and I like the dealer, and she likes me. Plus, there’s a card shark at the other table that most definitely doesn’t like me. Does that sound good?”

Bex just grinned, trying to hide her blush. She didn’t hear too many people call her impressive, considering she didn’t have many impressive qualities, she didn’t think. “Blackjack,” she repeated, “got it.” She had only ever played cards casually with other people, like other students. The closest she’d come to gambling was a game of strip poker she’d joined when she first got to University, but had chickened out halfway through when she’d lost another hand and had to ante up either her pants or her bra. “I’m really bad at cards, so I’ll just watch. Is that okay?” she asked as they headed over. She noticed people waving to Mina, greeting her, and it was apparent, then, that whoever was here wasn’t going to notice Bex. A bit of relief flooded through her, but she kept close. Being close to Mina always made her feel better. “What’s a card shark? That sounds like something not good, actually.” 

“Yep! It actually uses quite a bit of math, so it works well for me,” Mina told the younger girl, squeezing Bex’s hand in a familiar gesture. The Stacked Deck tended to use about six decks of cards; not the maximum number, but not the lowest by any means. She didn’t usually have a problem with keeping up with the decks, though, not at this point. She could do an entire paper on statistical analyses of cards at this point, but it would just be too short. “That’s fine, though I can’t promise it’ll be super interesting. I’m a pretty tame gambler.” Unless there was an opportunity that she couldn’t pass up on. She smiled. “Well, I mean, technically I’m a card shark, though I’m not exactly cheating. They’re manipulating the game like I am. But I’m better.” She was, too. It wasn’t necessarily bragging, but she was a bit pleased by the fact that she could beat a few leprechauns at the game. Really, they should stick to poker. They’d do far better against her in poker. 

“Well, you are the math expert,” Bex said, sliding into the spot next to her, “so I’ll just leave it to you.” There were only a few other people at the table, and a stack of chips was placed in front of them, and Bex looked to Mina. She was excited to see Mina in action, and by the way Mina was talking about everything, she knew the other girl was excited, too. And it always felt better to share that excitement with someone else, didn’t it? Bex could understand that feeling. She’d grown up such a lonely child, even just the idea of sharing something someone else enjoyed made her heart stammer. Or maybe it was just because she was with Mina. She recalled their visit to the falls, and how every moment had made her heart flutter. Even when Mina had seen her bite, eyes staring wide. Bex had never wanted that night to end. She looked down at their hands intertwined, then around to the table, noticing everyone else had both hands preoccupied with holding their cards and placing their bets. She let go of Mina’s and slid her hands into her own lap, leaning into her. She didn't want to assume anything, she didn't know if Mina might feel the same. Or if what she was feeling was really-- “So what first?” she asked, cutting her own thoughts off, wide eyed with wonder.

“I think ‘expert’ is pushing it a bit. I”m hardly an expert,” Mina said as she ducked her head. She got comfortable in her seat, though, and placed her bet as her cards were put in front of her. Two eights. What a bad move to start out on, but it was something she could work with. She frowned at the cards. “So, the goal is to get as close to twenty-one as you can without going over. The number cards are counted at face value, kings, queens, and jacks are all tens, and an ace is a one or an eleven, depending on what works in your favor. My value right now is a sixteen, which isn’t the greatest number to have because if I ask for another card, it could easily go over twenty-one, but if I keep the sixteen, the dealer’s cards could easily be over that.” She motioned with her fingers to split the pair of eights and laid down another chip. “Pairs can be split, though, so I can make this work.” She paid attention to the other players as well as the dealer and the deck, doing the calculations in her head as the dealer laid a queen and a six down on Mina’s split eights. She let the eighteen stand. From the rest of the table, the next card should be low enough. “So, I’m going to hit,” she motioned with her hand, and the dealer rolled her eyes through Mina’s explanations. Another six was laid down, and Mina grinned. “And now I’m going to let both hands stand, so I’m not going to do anything with them, and I’m going to see if this paid off.” She knew it would. 

As Mina explained everything, Bex did her best to pay attention. And it really wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in what Mina was saying, it was just that there were other things she wanted to pay attention to more. Like the gleam in Mina’s eyes as she explained what she was doing and how to do it, and that sly hint of confidence that even Bex caught when she declared she was letting her cards stand. Bex had never seen Mina so relaxed, so in her element-- she wanted nothing more than to make sure this lasted as long as possible. She took a moment to glance around at everyone else’s hands and wondered what information Mina was taking in from them, and how it was that she knew her hand was going to pay off. And when the cards flipped and Mina’s hand won, Bex felt a smile grow on her face. “You did it!” she exclaimed happily, before noting all the grumpy looks from everyone else around the table and sank back into herself. “You’re amazing. How’d you know how to do that?”

It was impossible for Mina to not feel happy, just like at the falls. Between the fact that her hand won and between the fact that Bex seemed so happy for her, and she didn’t seem bored, which was what she’d mostly been afraid of, everything was going better than she hoped. She couldn’t imagine that watching a card game was particularly interesting for someone who didn’t enjoy playing cards, but Bex didn’t seem to mind; she actually seemed to enjoy it. “I’m not! I was just--” She went ahead and laid down another chip, less concerned about this bet than the last one. She figured the numbers were going to run on the higher end, anyway. She looked down. Seven and a jack. She let it stand. “I was just playing the game.” She didn’t want to win too many hands in a row, especially with the way the table was. If she won too many, especially since she just got there, it would draw far too much attention in her direction. Card counting wasn’t illegal, but it was frowned upon, and it could get you kicked out pretty quickly. She looked at Bex, smiling, and asked, innocently, “Luck?” She raised an eyebrow a bit. “I usually don’t do so well on the first round, you know.” Because she didn’t try to; she just wanted to be impressive this time around.

“You are,” Bex insisted, lifting a hand to rest on Mina’s arm. “Trust me, I know.” She scooted her chair a little bit closer, finding that she didn’t even care about all the stares around her. Most of the people were more concentrated on the game, anyway, and on Mina, who had come in with a hot hand, it seemed. “Luck is only half of it,” she mumbled so hopefully only Mina could hear, “you should give yourself more credit.” She turned to watch her other hand lay down and saw that she didn’t ask to hit on a seventeen, scrunching her brow. “Is that too high to hit on, then?” Someone made a disgruntled noise and Bex shrunk a little more again, leaning into Mina as if trying to disappear into the other girl. It felt almost like a reflex, as if any strange noise, now, meant something bad. She was her only anchor, her only solid rock keeping her grounded and safe. It didn’t matter what else happened, she was safe here, and she was happy, and so was Mina, and that was what counted. They're was nothing here that would hurt her, and she knew if anything tried, Mina would stop them. She tried to take comfort in that fact, turning away from the disgruntled man. “Sorry, I’m just trying to learn,” she mumbled, casting a grumpy glare over at the man who had rolled his eyes. “Everyone has to start somewhere, right?” 

Blushing, Mina cleared her throat a bit and said, quietly and just for Bex, “Yes, well, it is a bit more than luck. Though, I usually don’t play this good alone.” Not at first, certainly. She watched as a person further down the table won the hand. “Seventeen is risky because if you get any number higher than a four, you automatically lose. If you don’t know what number is coming up, it’s best to just let it stand and not risk it.” Which, she knew the probability of a number greater than four was pretty high, so she hadn’t even bothered. She cut her eyes to the man grumbling down the table, a face that she recognized but not a name to go with it, before she looked back at Bex and reassured her, “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. It can be difficult to get in the beginning.” When the man gave a loud, obnoxious snort, Mina realized, quite abruptly, that she was going to be taking all of his money. She didn’t even need to, but she was certainly going to. She might even want to do worse, but this way wasn’t violent, and this way only had the slightest chance of her getting them thrown out. She matched his bet and looked at Bex, smiling, “Ask anything that you want to. It’s quite alright.”

“Really?” Bex asked, unsure what she meant in the moment before she realized. “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed a little and she smiled to herself. As much as she’d enjoyed going to the movies or the falls with Mina, she had to admit she liked this much better. Not only could they talk, but Mina seemed to be thriving, and there was nothing more Bex wanted than to see her smile like she had when Bex had first asked her about all this. She owed her, anyways-- not only had she sat through two Jurassic Park movies with her (and that was pretty impressive, considering Bex could not, for the life of her, get herself to shut up during them), she’d literally saved her life. Even if Mina never admitted it or agreed to it, Bex owed her. She watched all the cards flip and Mina’s hand won again. For a brief moment, Bex’s eyes met with the grumpy man’s as he threw his chip into the pile disgruntledly. And in that moment, a sentence popped into her head, one that she hadn’t thought herself. A moment of fear came over her, but the thought came and went. Blinking, she turned to look back at Mina. “What’s an ace up the sleeve?” she asked under her breath.

“Absolutely!” Mina said as she took the chips. She felt more than a little smug, though, by beating the one man she was beating the rest of the table, and she had no intention of letting up on it until he left. She couldn’t beat an out of control werewolf like she desperately wanted to, but she could at least do this. She felt just a bit guilty, but not enough to really stop. She hadn’t been lying, before; she could be of a card shark, too. She was usually just a little kinder about it since, more often than not, it led to her being kicked out of places. She not only matched the man’s bet but doubled it, smiling sweetly at him as she did. She wanted him to know she was playing him. He didn’t seem particularly happy about that fact, though there was a glint in his eye that she didn’t like. At Bex’s question, she looked back and frowned. “An ace up the sleeve is like a secret weapon,” she said. She watched the man closely, looking at his hands. “Or,” she said, her voice a bit louder, “it’s an actual ace up the sleeve, and that’s actually considered cheating, holding onto cards to use for another round.”

Bex usually considered herself a relatively observant person, especially because her well-being often depended on it. But she hadn’t noticed much about the man until Mina spoke up and pointed out that the man had a literal card up his sleeve. She hadn’t even noticed, and neither had anyone else. Maybe her magic had finally done something good, if still unintentional Maybe she was getting better at controlling it. Maybe she could use it again, but-- she didn’t want to ruin any part of this. She just wanted something nice with Mina. So, Instead she just glanced from Mina, to the man, to the dealer, who was now glaring down the rude man. “Um, I heard him say it,” she piped up, unable to help a tiny smug grin from smearing onto her lips, “he mumbled it under his breath while he was insulting my intelligence.” People often assumed Bex would just bend to their will or not have any sort of backbone, because she was a relatively unassuming looking person-- but when there were no vigilant eyes on her, and she could be herself, she had decided to never bend to anyone. She’d had to fight enough of her own battles growing up, chasing people away from her who thought she was an object, and standing her ground in restrooms when angry moms with ugly purses decided she didn’t belong. And with Mina beside her, he didn’t seem so intimidating at all. 

The dealer waved over some security guards and they frisked the man, finding not one, but two cards up his sleeves-- an ace and a jack. He was then forcefully removed from the table and Bex turned away and hid her face against Mina for a moment, until they walked away. “Just in case,” she said quietly, their faces very close together. She swallowed, lingering for a moment before her cheeks burned too much and she leaned back. “Can we still play?” 

Maybe Mina just hadn’t been paying attention while the man was talking because she hadn’t heard anything or maybe it was just a Bex thing, but she was glad that Bex had picked up on it. She may count cards, a generally frowned upon practice, but she couldn’t stand people that cheated at anything. “That was brilliant,” she told Bex, smiling from ear to ear. She watched as the man was thrown out, and she couldn’t help but feeling more than a little pleased. It was almost better than playing him for his money. As it was, she doubted he’d be allowed back in the Stacked Deck anytime soon. She did her best to hide Bex from the guards in case they decided to look too closely, to see that Miss Ochsenstein (her dad had a room named after her, here and in a lot of other places and, wow, that was strange to think about) wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It took her a moment to realize just how close the two of them were. She blinked, a tightness in her chest that felt like it had been present since the falls. She looked away, glancing at the cards that came out of the man’s sleeves. “That’s, ah, that’s a blackjack. His cards. If he’d laid them down, he would have definitely won.” She looked over at the dealer, who was already getting back to business as usual. People got thrown out of the Stacked Deck on a pretty regular basis. “Yes, of course, we can still play.” She still wanted to see if she could get a few more wins before someone caught on. Mina didn’t make big gambles, usually. She was playing a dangerous game.

The word brilliant made Bex’s face flush even more and she glanced away, as if trying to hide it. “Oh, no, I just-- you know, happened to hear him. In, uh--,” she glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, and tapped the side of her head, “in my head.” Gave a crooked smile before focusing back on what Mina was saying, trying to concentrate on looking at the cards and not the smile plastered on Mina’s face. It made her chest tighten and flutter at the same time. Just like at the falls. They were feelings she both wanted to ignore and embrace, because they made her feel good and she wanted to lean in and-- “Blackjack,” she repeated, snapping herself out of her thoughts, “right. Is it-- is it only blackjack with those two? Or can you get it anytime you hit twenty-one?” She turned her gaze up to watch the dealer again, then over as someone else-- another relatively grumpy looking man-- sat down at the table and slid in his tokens. Bex watched him for a moment as he turned up his cards, set them down, took a drink, and tapped the table. An impatient man, she could tell. She looked back at Mina’s bet and saw that he had matched hers. “You know,” she mused quietly, “I think you’re the brilliant one.” She’d watched her mother gamble quite a bit, and she’d never been any good at it, and she’d always lost at cards. But Mina was so confident, she knew exactly what she was doing. Bex wanted her to win so bad-- she wanted to watch the smug grin on everyone else’s faces get wiped away.

“Well, that was far better than anyone else did. If it wasn’t for you, he’d have gotten away with duping the house.” Not that Mina was doing much better. She wondered if the dealer knew she was playing the system. It wouldn’t be long if she didn’t know already. She couldn’t exactly play the wide-eyed innocent routine that she usually played when she first walked into a new place, always fueled by nerves and excitement. No one ever thought to ask her if she’d played before, so she’d never really had to lie. Mina didn’t look like a gambler, and she wasn’t! She was just a mathematician that occasionally enjoyed having a bit of fun. She smiled at Bex, at her abilities, at her magic and humanity and brilliance. Mina could understand every theorem in every maths textbook on the planet, and she’d still be unable to comprehend just how amazing she thought Bex was. “So, blackjack is when you have an ace and any card with ten as its value: tens, jacks, kings, queens. As long as it adds up to twenty-one with only the two cards. Any other time you hit twenty-one is great but it’s not blackjack. She didn’t really look down at her cards before she hit, figuring she had a decent idea of what card would be laid down. Really, the dealer should shuffle her deck. She was making this easier than it needed to be for Mina. The man down the table groaned in frustration. He should have picked the table with the leprechauns. At least it was possible to tell that they were ruthless. Mina’s dad used to tell her that her best feature was the fact that no one could tell she was dangerous until it was too late.

As the chips were slid in Mina’s direction, she looked at Bex, feeling terribly, overwhelmingly warm. “Hardly,” she said, laughing breathlessly, trying to not look at Bex’s lips. “I mean, anyone can play cards! It’s really just about taking the time to learn how the game is play, and figuring out which strategies work, and--” The man cut her off, asking if she was going to lay down her bet any day now, girlie, causing Mina to throw a few chips in. “Really, I mean, really it’s not that big of a deal,” she lowered her voice just for Bex, “especially if he can do it.”

Bex just smiled, unable to hold it back anymore. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget herself and be unable to hold back other things. She kept her eyes on the table, instead, and pretended like her face wasn’t beat red and on fire. She hoped Mina didn’t notice, but she was pretty sure Mina wasn’t even paying attention to the table anymore. Instead, Bex focused on her explanation again, finding it so, so easy to let herself drown out everything else and only listen to Mina’s voice. “Okay, so, only if you get a ten value and ace. But twenty-one still wins? What if someone gets Blackjack but someone else has a twenty-one that’s not Blackjack? Who would win?” She looked up at Mina then, her gaze catching the man in the corner who was rolling his eyes and glaring at both of them the way Bex’s father often glared at his newspaper before complaining about how tainted the town has become. The chips made a clicking noise as they were all pushed towards Mina and Bex reached out to start stacking them back up in neat little piles while giving the man a cheeky grin. She glanced to Mina out of the corner of her eye.

“You should give yourself more credit,” Bex said, making sure to loudly click the chips as she stacked them, as if to show them off, “any old person might be able to play the game, but it takes a real genius to win.” She wasn’t usually this confrontational, but Mina made her feel good enough to give the man a pointed look as she dropped the last chip on and scooted them to Mina. She watched his jaw clench and almost immediately regretted it, sinking back into Mina-- fear very often won out inside of her head, and even if he didn’t have the eyes of a wolf, she couldn’t be sure. “Either way,” she said a little quieter, “I think you’re brilliant.” The cards were flipped again and Mina’s hand won...again. “Case in point.”

“The blackjack wins because it’s only two cards. It doesn’t need to be hit again,” Mina said, trying to stay focused. “It’s the highest value you can get with two cards, and the less cards you have, the better. More cards means there’s a chance you could overshoot the value and have a bad hand.” She almost couldn’t care less about the game, though she did a preliminary scan around the rest of the table. She locked eyes with one of the men as he glared before she looked away quickly. She could have easily stared him down or smiled or even asked him if he needed some help, but she had never worn that kind of cruelty well. Instead, she simply looked at the chips from the previous round. Then she looked at Bex, who seemed happy, and that was nice, wasn’t it? Knowing that she made someone genuinely happy, even if there was still a bit of underlying stress? She could be okay with that. She wouldn’t, but she could, and that was dangerous. She put down her chips again and resigned herself for a less involved round. She wasn’t going to win, but neither was the newest man at the table. He doubled down even though it was a stupid idea, causing Mina to mutter, “I wonder if he can even play at all,” as the dealer gave him a card that sent his number over twenty-one. She might have played it safe and not one the round, but at least she wasn’t playing it foolishly. “I’m not,” she insisted. “I just know numbers.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bex said, nodding, “that makes sense, actually. Sorry, stupid question.” She watched Mina examine the table and noted that she wasn’t trying as hard this round. Were they getting suspicious? She hoped not, she was having so much fun and it seemed like Mina was, too. And that’s what really mattered, right? All Bex wanted was to make people happy-- her mom, her dad, her friends. But it really only seemed like Mina was the only person she could make happy. Sometimes it even seemed like she could barely make Morgan or Nell happy. She didn’t know how to be what they wanted her to be, but Mina didn’t expect Bex to be anyone but herself. Still, she wasn’t sure she could be even that, even for Mina. And, maybe, she wanted to be something else for Mina, with Mina. She didn’t win the round, but she didn’t lose, either. No, the man who kept glaring at them did. One bigot replaces another. She tugged on Mina’s hand. “Can we go get a drink after this?” she asked quietly, not wanting to be under the scrutiny of this man anymore, despite enjoying watching Mina wipe the table with him. “Once you’re done taking all his money?” she felt a little smile pulling onto her lips, couldn’t help it. “Oh, but isn’t that brilliant?” she asked, blinking. “Knowing numbers? Do you know how many people struggle with numbers? I think it’s amazing,” she said, squeezing her hand, the words slipping so easily from her lips, “and so are you.” 

“It’s not a stupid question. You really can’t ask me any sort of stupid question,” Mina said, and she meant it; she didn’t think it was possible. She’d answer any question that Bex asked, even if it was one that she never wanted to. The man snorted, and Mina turned to glare at him. “Yes, can I help you? Would you like me to show you how to play the game? Because I think you could use a bit of instruction in basic arithmetic.” Really, if he was just in a sour mood because she was beating him, he could at least be more subtle about it. At least this one didn’t seem liable to start cheating. He was just rude and testing her patience. She felt Bex tug on her hand and immediately looked over at her. “Oh, absolutely. We can do that now, if you’d like?” It was… probably best if they left, she thought, watching as one of the pit bosses started circling towards their table. She recognized him. He’d gotten close to throwing her out before. Or was he the same one that had been there with her and Luce? She wasn’t sure. “Knowing numbers isn’t brilliance, I assure you. It’s just something that I do for fun. It’s not useful for survival or anything.” But she frowned as she said it. That wasn’t true in the same way it had been a year ago. Mina… didn’t know how to feel about that. She shook it off. “I think knowing about the Neolithic era is far more brilliant, you know.”

Bex felt rather childish in the moment, but she wanted nothing more than to stick her tongue out at the man who kept snorting at them. She wasn’t about to let him ruin their night, though, so she kept it to herself and couldn’t help the laugh that came out of her when Mina spoke up. She bit her lip and nodded, sliding from her spot as she collected all the chips Mina had won from the few rounds they’d played, pointedly sliding the large stacks together. “Wow, you did so well,” she said a little loudly, perhaps rather high on the feelings between them, her feelings for Mina. “Drinks are on you, then?” Once they’d gathered up all the chips into a bag, she took Mina’s hand again and pulled her towards the bar, away from the prying eyes and the unwanted commentary. For some reason, she wanted Mina all to herself right now. “You know,” she said, her voice a little more even now that it was just them again, “something doesn’t have to be useful to be brilliant. Knowing about a bygone era nowadays is no more useful than knowing the quadratic formula. And besides,” she stopped turning to look at Mina, “you get this funny look on your face when you talk about math or theories and that, alone, is worth it.” 

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t make you pay,” Mina said, though she leaned in closer. Teasingly, and so that no one else could overhear them, she added, “Though, don’t think I haven’t forgotten why you technically can’t get in here, you know. It might be drink, as in singular.” She was mostly joking. Though Mina rarely drank, she’d started partaking in alcohol when she was younger than twenty-one. Of course, things were different for her, and she’d spent most of her life in places where the drinking age was lower. Plus, she metabolized things differently than most humans, whether that was due to not being human on near constant hunter training for most of her life. So, she was only mostly joking. Still, the thought of potentially getting caught doing something illegal, even with the multitude of illegal things she’d done… chaffed. She didn’t like it. There was also the fact that Bex was still recovering from her injuries. Mina had heard that alcohol and painkillers didn’t mix. As they walked over to the bar, she said, “Okay, but yours is far more interesting, and you explain things well, and it’s nice. I like it. And useful things are-- In the grand scheme of things, it’s--” Mina didn’t really know what she was trying to say. Instead, she scrunched up her nose a bit, fighting off a smile. “A funny look? That’s-- Hey, no. What kind of funny look?”

“Oh, well,” Bex started, batting her eyelashes, “I would never ask you to do anything illegal. I’m the child of two lawyers, after all. That would be blasphemy.” But she had smiled through the entire thing, because who cared? She didn’t need a drink, it wasn’t even that she really wanted one-- anything would do. It was just about the natural ease in which she seemed to fall in to sync with Mina, like always. Or how fast her heart was beating in her chest, or how warm her cheeks felt, or how her face was probably going to hurt from all this smiling by the end of the night. But after everything that had happened-- the movie, Frank, being asleep for weeks, her parents, the falls, Kyle-- Bex felt as if she deserved at least one night where she could just be happy. And that, alone, was such a rare thought. “I think that’s actually a matter of opinion,” she pointed out once her thoughts finally circled back around to the conversation, “I’m more than sure there’s people here who would rather hear about algorithms over cavemen. Though, did you know, the earliest form of card game entertainment dates all the way back to the ninth century? In the Chinese Tang Dynasty. They wrote on leaves and called it the ‘leaf game’.” Bex gave a cheeky grin, shrugging, as she headed towards the bar again. “I dunno. It’s so hard to describe. It’s cute, though. Maybe if you made it again I could take a picture and show you. Add it to our album from the Falls.” 

There was that feeling of being too warm again, right in Mina’s chest where she didn’t think it belonged. She was growing to believe that she didn’t mind it, though, and she couldn’t decide if that was worse or not. It was worse, though, that she knew Bex probably wouldn’t have to ask Mina to do something illegal. She might just do it. “You know, I almost believe you. Almost.” But she’s unfathomably happy, despite being too warm. Impossibly happy, really, she absolutely shouldn’t be this happy. “I’m sure there are people who prefer to hear about algorithms over cavemen; in fact, I think my program has most of them, and we’re a very small program. I just think I might be included in the number that would rather here about cavemen.” Not for any particular reason that she cared to linger on. Mina already knew algorithms. She didn’t know anything about cavemen. “What kind of symbols were on these leaf playing cards? Did they use kings and queens and jacks, or did that come about later?” She made another face, though this one was genuinely displeased. “Oh, no, no more pictures. I can’t stand having my picture taken.” If she thought about it, there was probably about three legitimately taken photos of her on the entire planet, and one of them was of her and her dad as her phone lockscreen. Another one was her student ID. The last one was the one from the falls that made her smile. Wilhelmina Fitzroy did a really good job trying not to exist. “What do you want to drink?” she asked as they got to the bar.

Bex grinned, wide and toothy. “I’m just an innocent girl,” she teased, “how could you not believe me?” As they made it up to the bar, she turned her back and leaned against the bar to face Mina, contemplating an answer. “Alright, alright, you got me there. My point is that I’d rather hear about algorithms from you then any of the other math nerds. And, well,” she shrugged again, watching her face closely, “I don’t think I’d mind telling you about cavemen.” The bartender was still busy, so it seemed they had a bit more time until they got service. Her father usually never had to wait, at least not in places like this where they knew his face. “They used numbers, actually. But even as far back as then, they were still assigned suits. Four them! Um-- lemme try and remember, it was…” she trailed off a moment, trying to pull her memory up. “Coins, strings or sticks,” she put up two finger as she counted off, “myriads and ten-myriads I think? Don’t quote me on that, though.” Bex furrowed her brow, frowning teasingly. “Okay, no pictures. For now.” Bex could understand that, though her discomfort with photography had long since been burned out of her. The amount of photos she’d had taken was far too many. “I’ll just have to do my best to describe it, then. And, um-- something fruity?” 

“I don’t know, actually, now that you ask,” Mina said, feeling dazed. She leaned forward against the bar, turning to face Bex properly. Bex’s eyes were so pretty. Mina blinked momentarily, catching herself. Then she put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Other math nerds? Are you calling me a nerd?” She tried to sound indignant, but she was laughing, just a bit. “Math nerd, funny looks. You know, it could be considered very rude to tease the person who’s buying you drinks, you know that?” Not that Mina found it rude at all, actually. “Did it go up to ten? The numbers? How many cards were in a suit? Also, what, exactly, is used to represent a myriad? Because I only know the word as meaning a, ah, large number.” It was silly, the way her brain immediately associated that word with a musical. “Oh, I’m absolutely quoting you on that, for sure, if I ever write a paper on the history of the leaf game of the Chinese Tang Dynasty. You’ll be the first person I cite. What’s the typical citations for American historical papers? Do I put your last name first or your first name?” The bartender was slowly but surely making his way toward them. Mina found that she didn’t particularly mind the wait. “I take terrible pictures. You know this. The best one that I think that’s out there is from when I was about six, and I was missing a tooth. Absolutely dreadful. Ah, okay, fruity.” When was the last time Mina had a fruity drink? When was the last time she had a drink? “Have you had a cosmopolitan before?”

Bex couldn’t help but laugh. “Cute math nerd, I feel like I need to add that addendum. But yes, nerd. I mean, though, if you’re a nerd, I am, too.” Another laugh escaped her lips as she watched Mina, enjoying the smile that was on her face probably more so than her own. It was the kind of smile that reached her eyes, and Bex wanted nothing more than to make sure it stayed that way. “You’re right, it could be. But I somehow don’t think you mind,” she teased back, giving a wink. She leaned an elbow on the bartop and put her hand in her chin as she looked over at Mina. If she was lucky, this night would never end. “Yes! The numbers were two through nine, and then the myriad was all tens and the ten-myriad was kind of like what we think of now as face cards. I believe they were symbols that look like a bunch of circles stacked on top of each other.” At that, she almost snorted, giving a feigned indignant huff and playfully pushing against Mina’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare. But if you do, it would be the Chicago Manual.” Gave half a smirk, reaching over to brush a piece of hair from Mina’s face. “I think you take great pictures,” she mumbled, “even with a funny look on your face.” And somehow, she got lost for a moment, just standing there, looking at Mina-- the color of her eyes, the shape of her cheek bones, the curve of her lips. Her hand was still hovering near Mina’s face, fingers brushing against her cheek. She could have stayed like that, too, if the bartender hadn’t chosen now of all times to come over, making a loud noise as he set a bottle down. “What can I get you ladies?” he asked, and Bex pulled away quickly, clearing her throat. “Oh, um-- cosmopolitan. That sounds-- fine. Yeah. If that’s what you’re having,” she deferred to Mina, tucking her chin to her shoulder as she tried to calm herself down for a moment. Her heart was beating way too fast

“Oh, well, I mean, that’s-- That’s a welcomed addendum, certainly, but the nerd is still there.” Please, Mina begged herself, don’t do anything embarrassing like blush or get scaly. Please. I’m begging. “You seem incredibly sure of that statement.” Which, in Bex’s defense, she should be. Mina absolutely didn’t mind. She didn’t mind much of anything, at the moment. She couldn’t bring to mind much more than: don’t get weird and try to pay attention. So she focused on Bex’s words about numbers and circles and ten-myriads. “Okay, yes, this does sound familiar. That’s incredible, actually, the way things have managed to somewhat stay the same, even over centuries.” Her heart was beating a bit faster than normal, and the push caused her hand to twitch, reflex trying to take over before she smiled it off, laughing. “Okay, Chicago Manual. An entire citation format, named after a city of all things. And not even a particularly good one, either. Which, Chicago is okay, but--” She went impossibly still as Bex’s fingers brushed a piece of hair away and just… stayed there. Fight or flight, they said. They often forgot to mention that freeze was a well-used third option, though not the most self-preserving. “I-- Well-- I don’t--” She was saved from her stumbling by the bartender. “Ah, right, yes. Two. Of those. Cosmopolitans.” She handed the bartender more money than was necessary to ensure that he didn’t attempt to ask for any sort of IDs as she attempted to lower her heart rate. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

[pocketfulofrogers]

Solace

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’ve recently switched to the night shift and the adjustment hasn’t been great. Your neighbor would agree.

Notes: This is a part of @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge! I chose concept #5: Character and Reader are neighbors, and Reader keeps waking Character up by setting a really loud alarm in the middle of the night. 

I know this is a smidge late, but life has been crazy! Thanks for hosting, I had a lot of fun writing this!!

Steve Rogers considers himself a reasonable man, he really does. He remains patient with the trainees while he shows them new techniques again and again until his mind melts, taking each clipped jaw in stride. He even always smiles at the children trying to climb his body in their excitement when all he wants is a coffee. 

During those precious moments he isn’t in the suit, he’s a very quiet, laid back man.

Which is why he’s gone two months without breaking down your door in the middle of the night when he hears that shrill, incessant alarm you seem to be immune to seeping through the shared wall.

He’s been tortured before. This is worse.

Each time he comes home from a mission, peels the Kevlar from his body, and sinks to his bed, your alarm steals away the hope of a quick slumber and he loathes you for it.

Sam tells him to try writing a letter, Natasha offers to break in and steal it.

He considers both options, the latter more seriously, until one afternoon he runs into you after his morning jog. The elevator doors are almost closed when he shoves his hand in the small opening. He mutters an apology, but hears no response.

You’re leaned on the wall, arms crossed before your chest, head resting against the metal and for a moment he thinks you may actually be asleep.

He doesn’t say anything, he’s been there.

“6B right?” You mumble. He’s not sure he’s heard you correctly. “I’m 6A. I think I’ve seen you around.”

When you look over at him, his stomach flops, does somersaults in his belly. You look positively wrecked. The light blue scrubs you’re wearing are splattered and stained with various colors, and the bags under your eyes are deep enough he’s almost concerned for your health.

Yet he thinks you may be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Uh- yeah, Steve.” He manages.

You nod and go back to resting your head. “Y/N.”

He imagines he may be more tolerant going forward.

**

He tries to catch you again in the following weeks, but your schedule seems to be more unpredictable than his. That stupid, stupid alarm still wakes him most nights, but he finds it easier to suffer through now.

**

One night he comes home after a long mission. Exhaustion weighs his body enough he almost considers passing out by the door, but after days of sleeping on dirt floors, his back is pleading for the comfort of his bed.

Looking at his watch he knows he has about 45 minutes before you have to be up for work. Maybe it’s the hope that for one night he could have a restful sleep, or perhaps the humidity of the jungle had just escaped had dissolved his patience, but his feet have padded their way to the hallway before he truly knows what he’s going to do.

Barefoot before your door, he knocks. Once. Twice. Then a third time.

He waits patiently until he hears you mumble something less than kind from behind the door and finds himself smiling at the irony.

**

Having someone pound on your door at midnight, ripping you from a dead sleep, is only about the third worst thing to happen to you this week.

You fling the door open. “Do you have any…“

Of all the people it could’ve been, Martha from 5A coming to complain about nonexistent noise, the new mom from 6F asking you to check out her baby for the third time this week, or the teen from 2 trying to convince you he definitely needs a medical marijuana card, a very tired Captain America leaning on your door frame is the last thing you expected.

He raises a brow at your unfinished threat. “Ah yes, 12:09. 21 minutes before your alarm.”

You furrow your brows. “How do- “

“Look,” He interrupts, pushing off from your door frame, you don’t miss his wince- the way he favors his right side. “I know you probably have a very important job, and getting up in the middle of the night for shifts like those must be brutal, but I’ve just gotten off quite a draining ‘shift’ myself and was hoping that for at least one night you could just not.”

You’re catching on. “’Just not?’ Are you talking about my alarm?” He nods. You’re stunned, having thought that with as much as you pay a month, the walls would’ve been much thicker. Or is it really that loud? Adjusting to the night shift had been rough. “Oh, wow, I am so sorry.”

He shakes his head and points to his ear. “Super good hearing, don’t worry about it. Thank you.” He turns to walk away and that’s when you notice his limp, and the blood.

“Woah, wait. Did you have anyone look at that?” You point at his leg and he shrugs, giving you a less than assuring ‘it’s fine’ and goes to open his apartment door. “Uh- no. That’s a 6-inch lac that’s still actively bleeding? Are you insane? Please, let me take a look.”

“That’s very kind, but-“

“Your ribs could also be broken and I’ll just spend all day worrying about if you died in your sleep from a punctured lung or something. I can’t have Captain America’s death on my conscious.”

He takes a moment to look you up and down and weighs his chances of being able to talk his way out of whatever this is. He’ll heal on his own, eventually, but the look in your eyes tells him he’d have more luck trying to convince Martha he doesn’t actually stomp around just to annoy her.

“Alright.”

**

Managing to get Steve to strip down to some shorts and a tank top, he’s sat at your kitchen table. It took you a solid five minutes to convince him that he needed stitches, and lucky for him, you steal suture kits.

“You know, when you told me your name it would’ve been the perfect moment to mention you’re Steve as in Steve Rogers.” You lightly chastise, holding pressure to his thigh.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Not like I was hiding it. You did look right at me.”

You laugh. “Well I had just gotten off a 36-hour shift, you cannot hold that against me.”

He watches quietly as you work, forehead creased with worry and constantly mumbling about how he’s lucky there’s no signs of infection, with an occasional ‘you really weren’t going to do anything about this’. He finds your commentary amusing.

Your fingers glide across his skin and your touch is faint enough it almost tickles. You’re worried about nerve damage, but he thinks you’re just that good.

With a pile of red stained gauze by your side and the area around his wound as clean as you could get it, you grab a lamp from your desk and pick up the needle with your hemostat. Well, not yours, really. Also stolen, but sterile!

When you hold the needle up and adjust your grip on the clamp, he gives you a wary look.

“What?”

“I don’t know how I feel about a thief stitching me back together.” He says with a raised brow. There’s a glint in his eyes, the smallest twitch at the edge of his lips.

You roll your eyes. “With as hard as they work me, this is the least they owe me.”

“What do you even use them for?”

Your quite for a moment. “Sewing.” You say quietly and he barks a laugh. “I just- hush, don’t distract me.”

He complies and sits back to watch you fondly. Your teeth sink into the pillow of your lip each time you push the needle into the flesh of his thigh. You had apologized for not having any kind of numbing agent, but he had assured you that he’d be just fine.

Still, you glace up with each pull to make sure it’s not some macho show. Then again, he was Captain American and by the look of him at this moment, the pinch of a needle is probably more an annoying after thought than anything else.

Cutting the last stitch, you place the bandaging and offer him a smile. He thanks you sincerely, but you tsk when he tries to get past you to the door.

“Shirt off.” You order. He takes a half step back, cocks his head to the side and smirks. How he could be even slightly amorous at this moment is beyond you. “I want to check your ribs, make sure nothing’s displaced.” Something in his eyes shifts, he’s hesitant- guarded- and you’re unsure why. “I haven’t seen you take a single normal breath in the time you’ve been here. A simple, quick exam can tell me if there’s anything to worry about.”

He looks away and you’re about to suggest that he just check in with the medical team at wherever it is that super people work. They have to have medical staff, right? You tuck that question away for later.

Steve looks back to you and nods before pulling the white cotton over his head.

You would be completely stunned at the site of his quite perfect physique if it weren’t for the bruises blossoming bright red and dark purple across his torso.

You catch yourself moving closer, reaching forward to graze a finger around the outline of the prominent colors. “Jesus, Steve.” You whisper.

“Heard that phrase before, never in a situation like this, though.” He mumbles,  but you ignore him and begin to prod as carefully as you can.

When you apply pressure to a certain spot that looks the most concerning, his breath exhales quickly in a hiss. “Sorry.” You mumble and find yourself asking how this happened before you can stop yourself.

He grabs your hand in his to stop your exploring fingers. The memory from these injuries hadn’t quite made their way through him yet. They sat too fresh on the forefront of his mind and being this vulnerable before someone he barely knows is quickly becoming too much.

“I’m fine, darlin’, really.” He says softly. You of course don’t buy it for a minute, but the proximity of him steals your fight, you lose your argument in the blue of his eyes.

“Ice it.” You order weakly. “Maybe just bruised, probably fractured.”

He nods, twitching the edges of his lips into a smile. Your hand is still in his and he brings it up to ghost your knuckles against his lips before thanking you again.

He leaves you there, stunned. You’re 15 minutes late for work.

**

“Wait. You had the Steve Rogers in your apartment half naked?” Your friend prods during your lunch break. You nod and lower your forehead to rest against your coffee cup. “And you didn’t even take advantage, kudos to you. Wait, is this a HIPAA violation?”

You sigh and look up to meet her narrowed eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised if SHIELD took me out, though.”

“Is that even a thing anymore? I can’t keep up with that craziness.” She shakes her head.

“Guess I could ask my neighbor, but I doubt he’d tell me the truth.”

“You have to see him again. You’re going to see him again right?” You try to ignore the excitement in her voice.

“He is my neighbor and those sutures have to come out eventually. Although he’ll probably just rip them out himself.” The thought makes you cringe.

“You know that’s not-“

Thankfully your pager goes off right then, cutting her interrogation short. “Sorry! Incoming trauma, gotta bounce.”

**

Steve comes home that evening to ice packs with the nearby hospital logo on them by his door. “Stop stealing from work.” He calls out and is rewarded with your laughter floating out from under your door.

**

He starts to make a habit of it, showing up at your doorstep sometimes bruised, usually bloody. You start to keep a bigger stock of supplies around, and worry on the nights he doesn’t show before you leave when you know he’s on mission.

He tries to message you when service and circumstance allows, just to ease you mind.

Every once in a while, you’ll find him sitting in the hallway beside your door, waiting with food and some injury that needs your attention.

Eventually you get around to asking him if there just isn’t any medical staff where he is, he tells you this is just more convenient. You don’t prod, but think it may have more to do with the way you treat him. Like a patient, a person, not an Avenger.

**

One night a knock awakes you in the middle of the night. You jump out of bed, knowing it’s most likely him. When you open the door and lay eyes on him, your heart stops.

He’s leaned against the doorway, barely able to hold himself up. There’s blood on the wall, his hands, his face, everywhere. He’s ghostly pale and you can tell he can hardly focus his eyes.

Before he can pass out, you wedge yourself under his arm and try to guide him inside.

“Probably shoulda just went to medical, shouldn’t’ve driven.” He tells you before collapsing onto your couch and you work quickly to get his suit off, apologizing each time he groans in pain.

“Oh god, Steve.” You whisper eyeing the deep gash on his side and quickly apply pressure.

He grunts. “I hope to hear you say something like that under different circumstances one day. You know, not in horror at the state of my health.”

“Well, don’t only show up when you’re hurt.” You shoot back and tape the gauze in place so you can get a line started. You had hoped he’d never show up this hurt, but a part of you can be relieved that you were prepared for it.

“Hey, I brought you food at work last week.”

You ignore that. “Steve, this is bad. Really bad. What the hell were you thinking?” 

Ignoring his half assed excuse, you get to work, quickly and tensely, mumbling your thoughts and a few vague threats about him not being allowed to die on you.

“Don’t worry, darlin, wouldn’t dream of goin’ anywhere.”

Once you get the bleeding under control unlike your emotions, you start to lay into him. Loudly. Your reaction is to be blamed on fear, the absolute nightmare that the man before you, who you’ve reluctantly become very attached to, could have actually died in your arms.

“I mean, seriously, Steve! How could you be so reckless?”

He drapes his arm over his eyes. “I like you more than the docs we have.”

You huff and begin cleaning the rest of him up. “I’m sure they’re just as good at their jobs.”

He shakes his head and willingly gives you the arm resting above him when you reach for it. “You’re better.” He states simply and you snort your disbelief. “Your hands are softer. I think your touch reminds me I’m still human.” He says quietly, eyes trained on the ceiling.

Your movements stall, his admission leaving you a little dazed. When he tilts his head to look over at you, you swear you stop breathing.

“I think I’ll always prefer you.”

The rational part of you is telling you to just chalk this up to blood loss, not to get your hopes up because this could get so complicated. But the other part, oh the hopeful part, was singing.

“I think I prefer you too.”

He laughs. “As a patient? Neighbor? Avenger?”

“Oh, come on now.” You start seriously. “The Black Widow went to Capitol Hill and basically told congress they wouldn’t arrest her because they didn’t have the balls. She will always be my favorite. You might be a close second.”

“Might be?”

“You’re first for everything else. Take the win, Steve.”

It only takes five minutes and two bribes to convince him to stay the night and that you should call out of work to keep an eye on him. He had protested, given you every excuse he could come up with, but you are well versed in the language of Steve Rogers.

You set a takeout menu from his favorite place before him during the middle of his ‘you have already done so much for me’ speech and he grumbles out an ‘alright’.

**

He awakes just after dawn to your head on his thigh, your body tucked tightly between his leg and the couch, and the intro music to some infomercial droning in the background. The last thing he wants to do is move, he could watch you like this all day. Maybe one day he’ll get to.

**

When you finally wake up, he’s gone. There’s a blanket from the laundry room draped over you and the smell of him still on your pillow.

A part of you is hurt, but you’re not quite sure why.

You don’t hear from him for two weeks.

**

Some coworkers suggest going downtown to blow of some steam and, since you knew Steve was home all week out of harm’s way, you agree. It’s not often you get to go out stress free.

However, mixing alcohol with a list of fairly serious questions that only one extremely handsome and infuriating super soldier could answer isn’t the greatest idea. Especially when said blue-eyed day dream lives right next door.

It isn’t long before you’re stumbling up to his door, despite the warnings of everyone that night that you absolutely should not. 2am wasn’t that late and when you get an idea in your head it’s hard to shake it.

He answers faster than you thought he would and his amused expression only distracts you for a few moments.

“You’re drunk.” He points out, trying to withhold a grin.

You scrunch your nose. “A smidge.”

“Lose your key?”

“No. Well… maybe. But that’s not why I’m here.” You take a step forward, place a hand on the door frame to steady yourself, and point a single finger at him. “I have questions that need answers, Cap. Let me in.” He raises his brows. “Please.” You add and he obliges.

You make your way to his kitchen and take a seat at the island, he trails in behind you. “Would you like some water? I think you should have some water.”

He sets a glass before you when you don’t reply, but with his eyes watching you, concern in the crease of his brow, you suddenly feel vulnerable- exposed. Where had that burning rage at him for leaving you without a word gone? Why had you been so angry to begin with?

It’s difficult to sift through the thoughts in your head, and the alcohol wasn’t exactly making that easier. What was the word for what you felt? Used? Forgotten? The last thing you wanted to do was sound like a needy child.

He leans forward onto the counter before you. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

Instead of meeting his eyes, you run the tip of your finger through the condensation on the glass, watch it pool on the marble.

“Talk to me. What is it?” He asks again

Suddenly you wish you had just gone home.

You chug the water. “It’s nothing, never mind. I’m just gonna go to bed.”

He steps in front of you before you can make it to the door, pleads with you again to just talk to him. You try to get past him, but his hand on your hip makes you freeze. He trails it up your side, grazes his knuckles up your arm. His fingers stop below your chin to gently tilt your eyes up to his.

His lips have barely parted to form his next plea when you cut him off. “What am I to you.” You barely whisper.

That catches him off guard.

“If this is just a convenience thing for you, I need to know.” He looks confused but you power through before he can respond. “Maybe your admission was just the blood loss talking and you disappeared to keep me from getting attached, although it’s a little late for that. Or, maybe there’s someone else. Which is fine-“

“Do you think I’m using you?” He appears hurt at the insinuation and suddenly it’s difficult to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Is that what you really think?”

“I don’t know what to think, Steve.”

He crashes his lips to yours. A sudden almost desperate act that leaves you useless. Your brain stalls and suddenly he is all there is. 

It’s needy and messy, but it is everything you needed. You thread your fingers through his hair and press yourself to him. The soft feel of him steals your hurt, dissipates that pit in your stomach, and you could almost hate him for it.  

He pulls away, breathless. “What part of ‘I will always prefer you’ wasn’t clear?”

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (1/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah's death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It's not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he's carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.) 

rated T | AO3 | 2.7k

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @sherlockianwhovian​!!!! Here it is: that random idea I sent to you a few months ago and we had a crazy conversation about. I’ve been picking at it here and there ever since and today seemed like a good day to start posting. I hope you have a beautiful day, darling, even with all the craziness in the world! (General note: this will mostly follow canon, but may jump around a bit. And will be updated whenever I get to it, lol.)

With the heaviest of hearts, Killian watched as the body of his darling lover—and part of his soul—dropped to the depths of the sea. A significant part of him wanted to join her, but he knew that’d be a disservice to her memory. 

So instead, he led his crew to Neverland to bide their time until he could find a way to destroy his crocodile. Aside from a handful of ventures into the Enchanted Forest and other realms, they spent close to a century in the ageless realm. 

When they finally left Neverland for good, it was only a couple of weeks until he was again put in stasis by the Dark Curse. Once time unfroze, he got anxious as the months ticked by and they couldn’t leave, but Cora assured him—“Time still hasn’t started to move here, not really; we’re just not frozen in place. You’ll still have your pretty face once the curse breaks.”

And when it did, everything seemed to run faster. Was it really only a matter of days from the time the curse broke, to meeting Swan, to their adventure (and her subsequent betrayal) on the beanstalk, to fighting at Lake Nostos, to landing in Storybrooke? No wonder he was nauseous once they’d docked in the sleepy town. 

He figured a night of rest would send that away, but it lingered in the following days, even while enacting Cora’s plan and finally, finally starting to seek his revenge. Though the rounds of abuse suffered at the hands of the Dark One and his librarian lover certainly didn’t help. 

He got the last laugh, though, with his pistol. Watching the Crocodile’s panic at the realization his love didn’t know him filled him with glee—even if he was in pain a minute later after being thrown by the heavy metal coach. 

So it wasn’t much surprise when, hours later as he woke in the infirmary, everything hurt, including his stomach. 

“Good morning, Hook,” a man said a bit later. “I’m the doctor looking after you; name’s Whale. You took quite a hit there.”

The blonde man looked as haggard as he felt; Killian recognized a hangover when he saw one. But he only eyed the man warily and let him continue. 

“Nothing too serious happened, and you’re lucky. Ribs heal, but we’ll have to be careful not to do anything to hurt the baby.”

Killian blinked. Baby? What? He wasn’t expecting. “Beg your pardon, mate?” he asked, voice a bit rough with disuse. “What baby?”

Whale seemed surprised. “Your baby; the one you’re pregnant with right now. You didn’t know?”

Cold fear washed over Killian; he couldn’t be, could he? “Is this some kind of joke?” he bit out angrily. 

“It’s not; we checked your blood before giving you any pain medication. You know you’re capable of carrying children, right?”

“Aye,” he confirmed; all men in his family had a womb, so he knew it was possible. “But I haven’t lain with anyone in at least a century.” Not since his last night with Milah—though, as he recalled vividly, the situation was right for him to conceive. 

The doctor thought about it for a moment, then asked, “If it’s been that long, then how are you still here as a healthy young man?”

“I’ve been in Neverland; time doesn’t move there,” he explained. “As well as a handful of other situations that left me in stasis.”

“Well, that’s it, then,” the doctor said. “If your body wasn’t aging, neither was the fetus. But now that you’re here, that kid is finally getting the chance to grow.” 

The man continued to drone on about the biology behind everything, but the only thing Killian could focus on anymore was the fact that he was pregnant—with Milah’s child. A child she’d never know. Yet another thing the Crocodile had taken from them. 

Anger threatened to wash over him again, but then a quick wave of nausea brought him back down and found him instead staring at his midsection. He tried to place his hand on it, but found it was cuffed to the side of the bed. So instead, he put his bare stump over it, a rush of paternal feelings rising within. 

He wasn’t sure how his blood had confirmed it, but once he’d heard the words, something just clicked and he knew it to be true. He was going to be a father. And suddenly, he didn’t want anything else.

“Hook, did you hear any of that?”

Killian blinked and looked back up at the doctor. “Afraid not.”

Whale sighed. “Okay, I’ll say the important parts again: we want to do an exam to make sure everything is okay with your baby, given the number of hits you’ve taken over the last few days. Does that sound alright?”

“I suppose so, yes.” If anything, he was curious about this realm’s medicine and how it worked. But if it enabled him to ensure the well being of his child, then he’d do it without hesitation; he’d likely done enough to risk their health. 

“Alright; I’m headed into surgery, but someone from the OB-GYN will be around later. Rest up until then.”

He didn’t know what those letters meant, but nodded his assent and the doctor left. Which meant he was alone—but not really, apparently. 

He glanced back down at his still-flat stomach. At first, he was filled with shame at not knowing that new life was growing within him; goodness, the things he’d done in the past decades. Hell, the past month. He’d have to curb that immediately, assuming he hadn’t done any damage already.

Gods, he couldn’t live with himself if he had. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Though he was sure the babe couldn’t hear him, it helped to say it out loud. “If I had known, I would have been so much more careful. But from now on, I promise to do whatever I can to keep you safe. Always.”

His mind grew fuzzy not long after and he drifted off; it was no surprise that he dreamed of holding a small child in his arms. They had bright blue eyes and curly hair that seemed to change color on a whim, from black to red to blonde. They were darling and precious and he couldn’t wait to meet them.

Until something pulled him from his dreams, and he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. He blinked, winced at the various maladies all over his body, and was finally able to focus; Emma was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Emma; he’d forgotten about her for a bit there. (Understandably.) She looked pissed, which didn’t surprise him, but just as fierce as ever. Something stirred somewhere else—thankfully not his stomach, for once—and the attraction to her that he didn’t fully understand came back. He was torn between wanting to bed her and fight her. (Maybe both?)

She set the tone immediately, though. “Where's Cora?” she asked sternly.

He tried to sit up, preferring to have a confrontation at the same eye level, but first the cuff stopped him, and then his sore ribs did. “Damn, that hurts,” he hissed.

Emma stood and hovered over him. “Told you. You cracked a few ribs. Where's Cora?”

She was all business, but she was no match for his well-honed deflection skills—or flirtatious front. “You look good, I must say, all "Where's Cora?" in a commanding voice. Chills,” he added salaciously. It was fun to get a rise from her.

She just raised her eyebrow, unamused. “You have all sorts of sore places I can make you hurt.” without warning, she lunged forward, aiming for his ribs; instinctively, he brought up his left arm to protect both them and his baby. She didn’t connect, but clearly wasn’t afraid of using physical torture methods; in that instant, he knew—he wasn’t about to tell her, or anyone else, about the baby just yet; not if they could use it against him.

She pulled back and he relaxed, but the ache was renewed. Sighing, he told her, “I've no idea where Cora is. She has her own agenda.” And it was true; he hadn’t seen the witch since she placed the cloaking spell on his ship. “Let's talk about something I am interested in: my hook.” He felt slightly naked without his prosthesis. “May I have it back? Or is there another...attachment you'd prefer,” he tossed back, eyes glancing down his body. If he couldn’t physically defend himself, he could at least annoy her until she left. (Though he wouldn’t complain if she took him up on the offer.)

Emma rolled her eyes, of course. “You're awfully chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car.”

“Well, my ribs may be broken, but everything else is still intact, which is more than can be said for all the other bad days I've had,” he said, gesturing with his stump. “Plus I did some quality damage to my foe.” 

“You hurt Belle.”

“I hurt his heart. Belle is just where he keeps it. He killed my love. I know the feeling.” Even further reason to keep his child far away from anyone who could hurt them.

Emma gave him a wry, insincere grin, and bent over him to come closer. “Keep smiling, buddy. He's on his feet, immortal, has magic, and you hurt his girl. If I had to pick dead guy of the year, I'd pick you.” And without another word, she turned and left.

He sighed and gently placed his stump back over his stomach; he hadn’t wanted to do that in front of Emma, lest it give her any ideas—male pregnancy was rare, but not unheard of, and he didn’t know how much she knew of the magical realms yet. But the encounter proved one thing: the number of people he could trust in this town was small, possibly nonexistent. 

And only reinforced that his child wouldn’t truly be safe until Rumplestiltskin was out of the picture completely.

Gods, he’d only known about the babe for a matter of hours and already had recentered his life around him or her. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, of course, but still—it took him by surprise.

He dozed off again for an unknown period of time until a soft knocking woke him. “Oh, sorry; didn’t know you were asleep,” a timid-looking man said. He had white hair and glasses and was of short stature, looking altogether unthreatening—but the machinery he pushed on a small cart was completely foreign to Killian. “I’m Doc, the obstetrician.”

“The what?” was all Killian could say.

“I’m here to check on the baby.”

“Oh!” Killian exclaimed, and tried again to sit up, only to fail again.

“Here; let me.” The doctor rushed to the side of Killian’s bed and pressed something, making the top half of the bed lift as if by magic. 

“How did you do that?” Killian asked, trying to peer over the rail without causing further injury.

“It’s all mechanical; I can show you later. But first: can you tell me when you think you conceived?”

“Um, about 130 years ago, if my arithmetic is correct.”

The doctor dropped his pen as soon as he’d picked it up. “Beg your pardon?”

Killian explained again his history with Neverland, and Doc was well aware of the magical happenings since then, having been equally cursed. Killian also told him what he knew about his ability to carry children, though it wasn’t much, seeing as his father refused to and his brother never got the chance. “All I know is the woman has to be on top,” he summarized.

“Got it,” Doc answered, though clearly embarrassed a bit. “Well, given that this is as new to me as it is to you, I’m going to have to do some poking around in some...personal places. Is that alright?”

“Don’t have much choice, do I?”

“No, sorry; but I’ll be gentle.”

The doctor was true to his word, carefully examining Killian’s stomach and private areas and proclaiming that everything appeared to look good.

But then he picked up a wand-like device that appeared to be attached to the machine he’d brought with him, and started fiddling with the contraption. “What’s that?” Killian had to ask.

The doctor was blushing; this couldn’t be good. “Well, uh,” he stammered, clearly not sure how to explain it; Killian subconsciously wrapped his arm around his stomach a bit tighter. “It’s a machine that lets us see inside the womb; there are a couple different kinds here, but this one is a little more...invasive.”

The fact that such a device existed was incredible to Killian, but he quickly put two and two together. “Does that...thing...go inside me?”

“I’m afraid it does.”

“Bloody hell. Is it necessary?”

“Given what you’ve gone through, and that we’re not really sure how far along you are, it is.”

Killian sighed dramatically, but he could tell it was important. “Go ahead.”

While he knew worse lay ahead, he sincerely hoped to not have to go through anything so awkward as that examination. “Just look at the screen,” Doc said, trying to keep him calm; but the space on the machine only showed nondescript black and gray blurs at first. The feeling of the device within him was not pleasant, either, but finally, Doc proclaimed “Ah! There it is! Hear that?”

The oddest noise filled the room from the machine; Killian had no description for it. “What is that?”

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat, and look—there it is on the screen.”

It didn’t look like much, but Killian had to admit—there was something vaguely humanoid about the blob-like images on the screen.

“That’s the head, and the spine, and there’s the legs.”

Killian had to tilt his head to make sense of it, but it started to take shape. “Does it not have arms?”

Doc chuckled. “It does; we just can’t see them right now. Based on that image, I’d put you at about 11 weeks along.”

“You can tell from that? And what does that even mean?” He’d never heard of measuring pregnancy like that; he knew it took a certain number of months, but most people just estimated. The fact that they could narrow it down so much was astonishing—and made him realize how little he knew about what was to come.

Thankfully, Doc explained everything as he removed the device and cleaned up, and they were able to estimate a due date; he also recommended coming in regularly for appointments to track the progress of the child’s growth, which Killian wasn’t sure would be necessary, but he agreed in order to placate the doctor. 

The machine made some more weird noises and spat something out, which Doc took and handed to Killian. “Here; you can keep that.” It was the picture from the screen; goodness, this realm was proving to be a technological marvel. He wanted to take it but, again—handcuffs. “Oh, I’ll put it on the table then,” Doc said, and started to, but Killian couldn’t risk anyone seeing it.

“No, don’t—if you know where my coat ended up, can you put it in there? I...I don’t want anyone knowing just yet.”

“I understand,” Doc answered with a small smile. “It’s in the closet over here.”

As he put it away, Killian added, “I can trust your discretion, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Doc finished gathering his things and headed towards the door. “Oh, and Captain—one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations.”

Killian tried, but couldn’t hide his smile. “Thank you.”

He was going to be a father—a father to a child that was, by some miracle, the product of he and the woman he’d loved above all else. He didn’t consider himself a lucky man, but thanked the gods that they’d seen fit to bless him just this once. 

And he fell asleep once more, knowing that—for the first time in so many years—he had something worth living for other than his revenge.

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

thanks for reading! and be sure to send some birthday love to Leanne! tagging a few others: @cocohook38​ @ashley-knightingale​ @jennjenn615​ @wyntereyez​​ @superadam54​

[thepartyresponsible]

here’s the first fic for inbox cleaning week! i’ve received a few separate prompts for deadpool and dc crossover fics, but i’ve never actually had any luck writing them. i think the problem is that i was trying to throw wade wilson at jason todd, and that’s a molotov cocktail, not a love story.

so here’s deadpool falling absolutely in love with dick grayson. it’s ridiculous and fluffy and shockingly low on violence.

Word comes through the various superhero backchannels that Batman’s got himself murdered again. Or kidnapped. Stolen, dimension-hopped, married. Whatever. The point is, the Dark Knight is brooding in a better place. Or a worse place. A different place, definitely. That much, Wade knows, is true.

A power vacuum in Gotham is never a good thing. The local villains go wild in Bat’s absence, and it’s not the fun kind of wild with foam parties and naked dancing and drunken mistakes. It’s the kind of wild with blood in the streets and monsters rising from the sewers and terrible deaths played out to the soundtrack of mad laughter.

That kind of thing spreads, is the problem. It’s infectious. What starts in Gotham will spread to New York, and Wade doesn’t wanna deal with Gotham bullshit in New York. He doesn’t want New York to feel like it has to one-up Gotham’s weirdness. New York is weird enough.

So Wade, a concerned good-hearted citizen, a real man of the people, swings by Gotham to check up on things.

He expects to see Robin, if he’s lucky. Or maybe Batgirl. Red Hood, if things get especially spicy.

The last he heard, Nightwing was over in Bludhaven, so he doesn’t expect to see him at all.

It’s hard to tell, honestly, if Wade would’ve been prepared to see him if he’d had some kind of warning. It is not at all hard to tell if he’s prepared to see him unexpectedly. The only hard thing is him. Specifically, it’s his dick. Immediately.

It’s not his fault. Nighwing comes back-flipping into a street brawl like he’s qualifying for the Russian women’s gymnastics team. He’s lean and muscular and beautiful, wearing something blessedly skintight, and Wade thinks the entire world stops on its axis, stretches out time, just so he can stare, open-mouthed, at the shape of Nightwing’s ass as it spins under the murky glow of Gotham’s streetlights.

“Holy shit,” Wade says, when Nightwing kicks off a wall, knocks a man unconscious with his thighs, and then does a full twist in the air before hitting the sidewalk in a perfect three-point superhero landing.

“Oh my God,” Wade says, barely breathing. “Do that again. I missed my chance to shove a twenty in your utility belt.”

“Deadpool?” Nightwing stands up, rising from the busted concrete like Aphrodite from the sea. There’s a chorus of angels singing in Wade’s head; he doesn’t know Latin, but he thinks it’s a cherubic cover of Baby Got Back. “What are you doing here?”

“Fighting the good fight,” Wade says, staring helplessly at the bulge of muscle under all that sinful spandex.

Nightwing’s head tilts to the side. “The good fight?”

“Trying not to jizz in my pants,” he clarifies.  

It’s not his best first impression. But at least it’s an honest one.

Nightwing makes him promise not to kill anyone within Gotham city limits, and Wade feels like that’s a perfectly reasonable ask, because he was prepared to offer up three kidneys, half his teeth, and all his childbearing years.

He has a bit of trouble early on. Deathless crime fighting falls outside his general oeuvre, and there’s a whole caper two days in where a guy drops dead of a heart attack, and Wade spends twelve hours desperately hauling the body from one dumpsite to another, trying to find one the Bats don’t know about. But all in all, he does alright, and Nightwing takes him on a romantic picnic a week into his stay to celebrate.

“Is this a date?” Wade asks, as he kicks his heels over the side of the building, biting happily into the cheeseburger Nightwing handed him out of a takeout bag. “Because I’m not really that kinda girl, but we can totally do butt stuff on the first date if you want to. It’s just that you’re so gentlemanly and svelte. You’re completely overwhelming my natural modesty.”

“Svelte,” Nightwing says, laughing. He takes all of Wade’s flirting in stride, and Wade honestly can’t tell if it’s because he’s not interested or because he gets hit on so much and so often that he thinks it’s just how people talk to each other.

Last night, Wade slapped him on the ass in a last-ditch effort to clarify his intentions, and Nightwing just ass-slapped him back and then yelled “Good game!” over his shoulder as he executed a perfect double tuck off a fire escape.

“Bluebird,” Wade says, with a heavy, wistful sigh. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Nightwing looks over at him. He’s got a smear of ketchup right before his bottom lip, and his jawline makes Wade want to lick him from his chin to his ear.

Well, and everywhere else, too.

“You’re a funny guy, Deadpool,” Nightwing tells him. “When Batman comes back and runs you out of Gotham, you’re welcome to take sanctuary in Bludhaven.”

And isn’t that the perfect metaphor for the pair of them? Nightwing, human embodiment of grace and goodwill, ushering Wade, sack of sin in human skin, into a place of sacred safety?

“Okay,” Wade says. “But only if I get to show up in a nun costume and confess my sins on my knees.”

Nightwing nearly chokes on his food. When he looks up at Wade again, he’s smiling, wide and cheerful, a little crooked. He reaches over, pats Wade on the knee, and his fingers must slip on the way back, because they run halfway up Wade’s thigh before he pulls them away.

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he says.

Wade finds Red Hood in a shoot-out, and the pair of them go through some genuine gymnastics to get the whole thing calmed down without murdering anyone. Wade gets shot five times toward the end, when he gets bored of all the tireless back-and-forth and hops out from behind cover to go chase down the last guy. One of the bullets nicks his spine, so he ends up lying on the floor, face mashed into a growing puddle of blood, waiting for that to heal, but Red Hood’s a real sweetheart and comes along to drag him bodily to a dry patch.

“Hey, Red,” Wade says, when he can finally roll over under his own steam. “First of all, great color scheme.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t sound like he means it. He’s doing some Florence Nightingale cosplay routine on the criminals, patching them up while they lie there unconscious or bat at him weakly, cursing the whole time.

“Second of all, about Nightwing.” Wade pushes himself up on his elbows, tries to move his feet. They don’t respond, so he leans back, settles in to wait a little longer. “What’s he like? What’s he into? Flowers? Wine? Fellatio?”

Red Hood’s head swivels his direction. There’s a long pause. His hands move suddenly, and the trafficker on the ground underneath him screams.

“Yikes,” Wade says.

Red Hood ignores him and goes back to work. Wade watches as he takes a marker out of some unseen pocket in his suit and writes TOURNIQUET 1:21 AM on the criminal’s forehead. When he stands up, his pants stretch over his prodigious thighs, and Wade hears angels signing again, but they’re a little half-hearted about it.

A minute or so later, Wade climbs shakily to his feet and stretches while his nerves get their shit together. “I mean it,” he says, walking across the warehouse. “Nightwing. I’m trying to woo him. Got any tips?”

“You could fuck off,” Red Hood says, off-hand.

“Novel approach,” Wade says. “Don’t see how it’s gonna help.”

“It’s gonna help me.” Red Hood surveys the bloody scene, hands on his hips. He points directly at a pale man in the corner, whose leg is so badly broken than his toes are somehow pointing directly behind him. “You’d better not fucking go into shock. EMS is five minutes out. You’re alive when they get here, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Yeah,” Wade says. “Me too.”

Red Hood shakes his head and stalks out of the building. Wade follows at his heels. All these Bats have really amazing asses. He wonders what their workout routines look like.

“How many squats do you do?” Wade asks. “I mean, hourly. What’re we talking? Two hundred?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Red Hood ducks into an alley, and Wade ducks right along beside him.

“Nothing. I’m just curious about those thighs.”

Red Hood lets Wade follow him all the way up the fire escape, but then he turns around, blocks his path, and stares at him through the eyes of the helmet. “Stop following me. I promised not to kill anyone in Gotham, but you can’t die.”

Wade blinks at him. “What’s that mean?”

“It means,” Red Hood says, leaning in, “that I can do anything I want to you. Won’t kill you, right? And I’m in a real bitch of a dry spell.”

“Jesus, Red,” Wade says, clutching at nonexistent pearls, “did you mean that to sound as sexual as it did?”

Red Hood makes a low, disgusted noise. “Aren’t you panting after Nightwing?”

“Sure,” Wade says. He swallows, shakes his head a little. If Red Hood is the scintillating demon in skimpy red lingerie, Nightwing is the beautiful angel in white lace, and he’s trying to be good here. He’s trying to orient himself, dick-first, toward the side of light and beauty. “But, hey, I’m a flexible guy. Listen. If you put on a domino mask, maybe spray paint that red bat blue, we could have something.”

Red Hood visibly recoils. “I’m gonna throw up,” he announces.

“Yeah,” Wade says, nodding. “A lot of my romances start that way.”

Red Robin won’t give him any advice, either. He won’t even talk to him. He scampers away into darkness every time Wade so much as gets close.

He corners him, finally, when Red Robin’s in the middle of doing something complicated with what appears to be an actual, no-shit time bomb. There’s a digital timer counting down and everything. It looks like something out of a 90’s movie.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I can see you’re busy. But if you had to seduce Nightwing in five minutes or less, how would you do it?”

“Are you serious?” Red Robin points empathetically at the bomb. “I’m working.”

“Yeah,” Wade says. “I see that.” He glances at the timer. “Looks like you’ve got at least thirty seconds to answer the question.”

Red Robin make a series of persecuted noises. “I can’t believe he was serious,” he says, when he’s done.

Wade feels a flutter in his chest. It could be the chalupas he fished out of the dumpster four blocks back, but he thinks maybe it’s love instead. “Who? Nightwing? Was he talking about me?”

“No, Red Hood. He mentioned your weird crush in the group text.”

Wade gasps. “I made the Bats’ group text? Batman’s gonna see my name?”

Red Robin peers up at him. It’s hard to tell, given how much of his face is covered, but he looks pained. “Nightwing likes redheads,” he says. “Busty redheads.”

Wade thinks it over. “I can get surgery,” he decides. “And a wig.”

“Oh my God,” Red Robin says, and severs a wire.

They don’t blow up. That’s probably more important for Red Robin than it is for Wade.

Wade gives him a companionable slap on the back. “Hey, look at you, kid. You’re doing great.”

The look Red Robin directs his way is bleak. “Honestly, I was kind of hoping for a quick death.”

The smallest Bat doesn’t speak to him at all. He just comes at Wade with a sword. It’s maybe the single most adorable thing Wade’s ever seen.

“Look at you!” Wade coos, as they dodge and spin, blades clashing against each other. “You’re so cute and angry, oh my God!”

Robin shrieks something shrill and then tries to take his head off.

Nightwing and Red Hood arrive to break things up before the fight can get out of control. Wade loses a couple fingers in the brawl, but he manages to keep Robin from getting nicked even the littlest bit. He gives the kid a jaunty wave as Red Hood hauls him away in a fireman’s carry.

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” he yells. “I’m so proud of you!”

Robin flips him off with both hands, and Wade honestly tears up a little.

“Kids, huh?” he says, knocking his shoulder into Nightwing’s. “They’re the future.”

Nightwing runs a hand down his face. He seems embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Red Hood made a joke about protecting my virtue, and Robin didn’t get the humor.”

Wade nods sympathetically. “They’re very literal at that age.”

“Yeah,” Nightwing says, sighing heavily. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

Wade checks on his hand. The last three fingers of his left hand are just tiny little spurs of skin and bone, re-growing as he waits.

Nightwing breathes in sharp across his teeth. “He cut off your fingers?”

“Yeah.” Wade shrugs. “He’s a scrappy little thing, huh? But they’ll grow back.”

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Nightwing says. His hands land on his hips. He sounds deeply aggrieved on Wade’s behalf. Those butterflies come back, and Wade hasn’t eaten since he stole a box of Fruit Loops this morning, so he knows it’s not indigestion this time.

He nudges Nightwing with his shoulder again. “You could kiss it better,” he offers, with blind, desperate optimism.

Nightwing turns to stare at him. His eyes are an unreadable white behind his domino mask, but his mouth is twisting up into a dubious smile. “You want me to kiss your bloody stumps?”

Wade swallows. “Can I, uh.” He stops, swallows again. “Can I pick another stump for you to put in your mouth?”

Nightwing snorts and then shakes his head. His smile is breathtaking. Or would be, if Wade hadn’t snuck a quick glance down at his ass while Nightwing had his eyes closed. As it stands, Wade doesn’t have any breath left to take.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Nightwing says. “To make up for Robin.”

“Oh,” Wade says, perking up. “A second date, huh? Can we do it without the gargoyle chaperones this time? No offense, but they’re a real buzzkill.”

Nightwing shifts beside him. He makes a low, thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “We can do it at my place,” he offers.

“Jesus, baby blue,” Wade says, “I can’t deal with the innuendo anymore. You gotta cut it out. I’m gonna ruin my pants.”

Nightwing grins, smug and crooked, and reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. He’d seem almost shy, except Wade can’t believe for a second that a man who’d willingly leave the house in that outfit has a single spare ounce of modesty left in him.

“Who says it’s innuendo?” Nightwing asks. He glances up at him, sidelong through the domino mask, and Wade’s heart swoops, spins, and settles into the pit of his stomach. “Maybe it was just an offer.”

Wade wonders if he’s hallucinating. Maybe that tiny little Robin drugged him somehow.

“What?” he asks, turning to face him straight on. “What was that, Bluebird? Sorry, I hallucinated.”

Nightwing laughs. He’s still smiling, bright and friendly. “Come on, Deadpool. Let me buy you dinner. We can take it back to my place.”

“Maybe you’re hallucinating.” Wade steps closer, checks Nightwing over from the top of his artfully messy hair to the tread of his boots. “Did that little demon get you? Hit you on the head? Stab you with a needle, dose you up?”

“Hm, maybe.” Nightwing doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by how close Wade is. His voice is a little lower, though, dropping into bedroom range. “Maybe you’d better check.”

Wade stares, open-mouthed.

Nightwing shakes his head a little, still smiling, and then he reaches down and takes Wade’s hand, knots their fingers together, and tugs him toward the door. “You coming?” he asks.

“God,” Wade says, stumbling after him, ready to follow him to hell and back, right through the worst parts of Gotham. “God, not yet. But I’m really close.”

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part three

So...I’m thinking of deviating completely from canon soon because I love Mary and John’s relationship, and I’d love for the reader to meet Mary. So obviously what goes down with Mary wouldn’t go down here. It’d be a much happier ending, so to speak. I watched the wedding episode yesterday and immediately got hit with so many ideas. Thoughts? I do want some input but let’s be real, I’ll probably doing it anyway, because I’m going through it lately, and I need to write something with a fairly happy ending/happy scenes.

That being said, here’s another part.

Warnings: Just Mycroft and you having a chat. And a case.

It’s been four days. Four days since you met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Four days since you moved into 221C.

All you wanted to do was check out the music store around the block. That’s all you wanted to do.

           But apparently when you’re living at 221 Baker Street, nothing is ever that simple.

           You did get to check out said music store, at least. You were just getting to the letter B – just past The Beatles – in the crate of vinyl records when you were rudely interrupted by a woman in a black dress standing next to you.

           Not one to turn down a good time, you offer her a smile – that she returns. She’s too busy typing on her phone to carry a conversation, though, so you continue looking through the records, amused to find some artists you’ve never heard of.

           Then, your phone starts ringing. Thinking it’s John – because the old man has really become like a mother hen in the past four days you’ve been staying at 221C – you pull it out of your pocket with a huff. But it’s not John at all. It’s an unknown number.

           “You might want to get that.”

           You give the woman a strange look as you answer the call, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

           “Hello, Y/N.”

           You don’t recognize the voice at all. “Who is this?”

           “Do you see the security camera to your left?”

           You look. You nod. “Yes.” For Christ’s sake, can you not look through vinyl records in peace? You just wanted to do something simple after being cooped up in your flat for the past four days.

        ��  “Get into the car, Y/N.”

           “What car? I’m in a fucking vinyl store—” Your sentence is cut short when you look out the store window, a black (very expensive looking) car pulling up to the curb. “Who are you?” You ask again.

           “Get into the car.”

           “Alright, fine,” you snap, ending the call. You look to the woman, who is still on her phone, mind you, and ask, rather harshly, “I’m assuming you work for him?”

           She merely nods before she walks off toward the front door, giving you no choice but to follow her. And you do, a little reluctantly you add, because you aren’t sure who she is or who that man on the phone was. But you’ve gotten into enough trouble to know you’ve probably done something to him or some corporation he owns, and now he wants a word with you. Whether it be for revenge or to settle (because you have had some who are a little too annoyed with you to even bother with revenge), who knows.

           For God’s sake, can you not have one normal afternoon while you’re in London? You haven’t had a normal life, so normal days aren’t normal, but a few here and there would be nice.

           “Any point in asking where we’re going?”

           The woman snickers. “Your brother asked the same thing. No.”

           You blink at her statement and her answer to your question. You’re now thoroughly confused, especially since you didn’t know of John until four days ago. So there’s no possible way this could be connected to any trouble you’ve gotten into – or could it?

           Do others know John is your brother and the both of you have just been clueless this entire time?

           You shake your head at the absurd thought. John’s father’s name isn’t even on your birth certificate for Christ’s sake. The only reason you know who fathered you is because of your mother telling you and showing pictures.

           You have his eyes. So does John.

           The thought startles you. You always liked to believe you got every aspect of yourself from your mother. But meeting John has showed you which aspects are not at all hers.

           After what feels like an hour-long ride, the car pulls into a warehouse. Not abandoned at all, from the looks of it, but also not frequently used, considering the position you’re in.

           There’s a brief moment when your car door opens that you wonder if you’re going to die. But no one around appears to be posing a threat so far.

           Cautiously, you step out of the vehicle. In front of the car, but further away, stands a tall man leaning on his umbrella. Someone of high regard, judging by his attire…and entire being. You almost let yourself smirk at his appearance.

           You’ve dealt with a few like him before. You know how they work.

           You walk up to him, grateful in this moment that you decided to wear your heels – but not grateful as the thought of needing to make a run for it crosses your mind. Not because you can’t run in heels, but because your feet will absolutely kill you tomorrow if you do.

           “Nice place,” you comment. “Who the hell are you?”

           “It’s not mine,” the man replies, avoiding your question and instead addressing your sarcastic comment. “And when one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place and hence phoning when you were outside 221B Baker Street.”

           “Ah,” you nod. You should’ve known this had something to do with him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Sherlock has a reputation worse than yours. “Sherlock Holmes. The man of the hour. You know, everyone seems so interested in him. Care to tell me what your interest is?”

           He smirks. “You don’t seem very afraid.”

           “Trust me, I’ve been in far worse situations. This,” you gesture around you. “A damp warehouse and some power trip in an overpriced suit? Not my first.”

           “Right, the Troublemaker. That is what they call you, yes?”

           “My favorite nickname,” you grin proudly, glad to hear it again. This is fun. It’s been a while since you’ve heard it. “You’ve heard of my work then.”

           “Yes, and it seems only obvious you’d run into Sherlock Holmes.” The man sighs, suddenly very focused on the concrete beneath your feet. “What is your connection to him?”

           “Connection?” You scoff. “He’s barely uttered a few complete sentences since I’ve met him. The connection is nonexistent. Well, besides annoying him while he experiments.”

           “But you’re living in 221C.”

           “And you’re spying on me.”

           “I spy on everyone.”

           “What is it you want? I’m impatient.”

           “Yes, I see.” He taps his umbrella on the concrete. “I want you to provide me with…information.”

           “Information? On Sherlock?” You nearly laugh. “He doesn’t sleep. He’s been doing a chemistry experiment since yesterday afternoon and hasn’t finished it yet. And he’s a pain in the ass when he can be. Anything else?”

           He doesn’t seem at all amused. “I meant what cases he’s solving.”

           “Cases? There haven’t been any.” Well, there has. But minor ones. Ones Sherlock, and you quote, “solved without leaving the flat.”

           “And you’ve only known him for four days.”

           “Okay, again, who the hell are you?”

           “An interested party.”

           “Like that means a damn thing to me,” you shake your head. “Waste of my time.”

           “What was that?”

           “This is a waste of my damn time!” You repeat, louder so he can hear you. “What the hell would I get in exchange for giving you meaningless information on Sherlock?”

           “I’d be willing to pay you a large sum of money to…ease the financial burden you’re under.”

           “You would be willing, or you will?”

           He clenches his jaw. You almost smile. Pushing buttons; it’s your favorite hobby. “I will.”

           “Tell me why you’re interested in him.”

           “I worry about him. Constantly.”

           “Not good enough.”

           You’re bound to weasel it out of him. The secret you picked up on from the second you heard a single sentence leave his mouth.

           He’s Sherlock’s brother. You’re not an idiot.

           But he’s not giving up that easily. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

           “Well then,” you shrug. “I’m afraid I’ve suddenly forgotten who Sherlock Holmes is and what he does on a regular basis.”

           “I occupy a minor position in the British government,” he replies, rather quickly because in that lull you had decided to turn and begin walking away. “And I know you have a long history of getting in trouble.”

           “See, now we’re getting somewhere,” you smirk. “You work for the government?” He nods. You narrow your eyes, an idea suddenly coming to mind. “I’ll consider your offer…” You pause, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you can do me an added favor.”

           He seems pleased with this progression. “And what might that be?”

           “You know I have a record.” He nods. “Wipe it.”

           “I’m sorry?”

           “Clean slate,” you continue. “Erase all the charges. Give me a fresh start.”

           “Does this mean the Troublemaker is retiring?”

           “Christ, no,” you laugh. “I’m too young to retire.” You would just prefer to not run for your life for a while. Something about living on Baker Street has changed that in you.

           He narrows his eyes, weighing the options. “Alright. Done.”

           “Done?” You scoff. “You expect me to just take your word for it?”

           He tosses a roll of cash in your direction, a surprised look crossing his features when you catch it effortlessly with one hand. “Is that better than my word?”

           You raise your eyebrows. There’s more here than you’ve ever held in your hand at one time. This will last ages if you spend it right. “Much.”

           “I’ll be in touch,” he pauses, “when your slate is wiped clean as you say.”

           You smirk. “Pleasure doing business with you,” you begin backing away, and under your breath, low enough so he can’t hear, you add, “Mr. Holmes.”

Upon arriving back at Baker Street, you head past your flat and up to the boy’s. You’re surprised to find John has gone out, leaving Sherlock in his chair – thinking.

           You lean against the doorframe. “I was just speaking with your brother.”

           Sherlock doesn’t move.

           “He’s rather annoying, isn’t he?”

           “Who, Mycroft? Yes.”

           “Mycroft Holmes,” you mutter. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it as Sherlock Holmes.”

           This causes Sherlock to open his eyes, almost glaring at you.

           “Come to the store with me,” you try.

           “No.”

           “You don’t even know why.”

           “Fine then,” he huffs. “Why?”

           You smirk, knowing that he’s only asking to make fun of you. “I need help carrying stuff back here.”

           “No.”

           “An ass when he can be,” you shake your head, chuckling. “When will John be back?”

           “I don’t know when he left.”

           “Alright.”

           You head back down the stairs to your flat, chuckling to yourself. You hadn’t expected anything less from Sherlock. You merely wanted to let him know you’d spoken with Mycroft, and see if you could annoy him in the process.

           Mission accomplished, you’d say.

           And Sherlock would agree. Back in 221B, he resumes his thinking, but his mind is now clouded. An unfortunate thing that has been bothering him for the past four days, and he hasn’t found the cause yet. No amount of thinking has provided him with a good enough answer.

           He stands abruptly, grabbing his violin from the desk and begins playing a random tune.

           Down in your flat, you smile at the sound, moving to leave your door open so you can hear him play more clearly.

           This is the first time you’ve heard him play.

 ~~~

John comes through the door some hours later, groaning because when he left, Sherlock was playing the violin, so now that he’s returned home to the same sound, he only wants to bang his head on the wall. You almost let out a laugh at how shocked his face looks when he passes by your door to see it wide open, willingly letting the sound travel inside.

           He knocks on the doorframe, not noticing you sitting in the middle of your living room floor with a book. The sight almost startles him. Something as mundane as reading a book is not something he pictured you enjoying.

           “Did you mean to leave your door open?”

           You give him a strange look, closing the book in your hands. “I did.”

           “Oh. Okay.”

           You offer him a smile. You can always tell when he wants to say something else, but never does. “What is it now?”

           “Nothing…have you eaten?”

           For some reason, he’s been concerned with your eating habits since he met you. You aren’t sure what brought it on, but it has become a bit over-bearing.

           So, you change the subject. “I meant to,” you stand to your feet, leaving the book on the floor. “But I was paid a visit by Sherlock’s brother.”

           “Mycroft?”

           You nod.

           “What was he doing here?”

           “Not here,” you shake your head. “I was out at the record store and got a call. Next thing I knew I was in a warehouse talking to some power trip in an overpriced suit.” You roll your eyes. Regardless of what you got out of the encounter – which is so far only some cash because Mycroft hasn’t been in touch yet – it still wasted your damn time.

           “Power trip in an overpriced suit,” John chuckles. “That sounds like Mycroft.” He pauses, a thought occurring to him. “Did he tell you he was Sherlock’s brother?”

           “God, no, he’s not stupid. But neither am I. After he said one sentence I knew exactly who he was.”

           “Did you tell him?”

           “‘Course not,” you smile. “Remember? I’m not stupid.”

           “Yes, well,” he shakes his head with a laugh. “Did you accept his offer?”

           John’s eyebrows raise when you nod. “I had one condition, but yeah.”

           “What was it?”

           As if on cue, your cellphone chimes in your pocket.

Done. –MH

           You smirk. “And my condition has been met.” You look up to find John still giving you a confused look. “Oh, I asked him to wipe my criminal record clean.”

           “You had a criminal record?”

           “Don’t look so shocked. Don’t we all have a record?” You roll your eyes, bending down to grab the book. “Anyway, that was him,” you give your phone a little shake. “He wiped it clean.”

           “So you’re just going to give him information about Sherlock, then?”

           “What more do I tell him? I already told him he doesn’t sleep or eat, he just sits around thinking.”

           “Well…”

           “JOHN!”

           You both jump, the loud exclamation startling you, but John looks less startled and a little annoyed.

           “We have a case, I’m guessing?” John calls back, shaking his head. “I guess we’re going out.”

           “We’re?”

           John gives you a look. “Yeah, you can come with. I could use someone else around on these things.” He turns, then pauses, “Hurry. He’s impatient.”

           Knowing that to be a fact – and being fairly impatient yourself – you slip into your heels (they’re closest) and follow John out into the hallway. Sherlock meets you both there, a smirk settling over his lips when he sees you’ll be joining them.

           The three of you climb into the taxi that Sherlock so forcefully hailed after barely stepping foot outside the flat.

           You sit beside John, but in between him and Sherlock. The silence isn’t as deafening because you can feel the excitement rolling off of Sherlock’s body.

           “Would you mind introducing yourself as Y/N Watson?” John suddenly asks, gaining your attention.

           You raise an eyebrow. “Why?” Your first thought is John wanting you to be a Watson, which will never happen. You’re a L/N, for Christ’s sake. You always have been.

           And the look John gives you tells you that he wasn’t intending for that subtext. “I just mean it would make this easier to explain.”

           “But this is none of their business.”

           He tries again. “It’ll make them quicker to trust you.”

           “You know I don’t care about trust.”

           “I know you don’t, but they do.”

           “He means it’s easier for their simple minds to think that you’re trustworthy by introducing yourself with the last name Watson rather than saying Y/N L/N and adding on the fact that you’re John’s half-sister he just happened to meet four days ago.” Sherlock barely moves an inch while he speaks, but does once he finishes to give the two of you a look. “It saves time.”

           “We were too loud,” you snicker to John. “Interrupted his thinking.”

           “Yes,” is all Sherlock replies with, but you see him turn his head to hide a smile. A smile Sherlock feels his brain beginning to scold the action, wondering why he would need to hide a smile or smile at all, for that matter. You had interrupted his thinking. That was something he should be frustrated with, not smiling about.

           You smirk. John gives you a strange look, your attitude toward Sherlock still being a first for him. He remembers being royally pissed at the man for the first few weeks he lived with him until he finally got used to the comments he makes and the way he behaves. But you seem to take everything in stride, with an amused smirk.

           When you reach the crime scene, which is a fancier looking hotel, you’re more than confused. You know Sherlock can observe and make deductions from just about anything, but what is the point of analyzing the crime scene if they’ve obviously taken the body to the morgue?

           That one is too easy to notice. There’s an obvious, cleaned bloodstain on the concrete outside the hotel. And there’s too many people mulling about. They’re not going to keep the body here if the hotel is still operating as usual – which they no doubt are. A hotel that looks like this has to have a reputation they want to uphold, and part of that reputation would not be that they left a dead body lying on their sidewalk.

           As soon as you get closer to the building, you recognize a certain face, immediately cursing under your breath and nudging John. “I think plan Y/N Watson isn’t going to work.”

           “What? Why?”

           You faintly hear Sherlock mutter his deduction. “Because Y/N and Lestrade have already met.” John’s head whips around to give Sherlock a bewildered look.

           “Y/N L/N,” Lestrade shakes his head, walking over with an almost shit-eating grin on his face. “Didn’t I arrest you just last year?”

           “That was me. How’ve you been Gerald?”

           He frowns. “It’s Greg.”

           You grimace. “Right.”

           “Bloody hell,” he groans. “First Sherlock, now you?”

           “Sorry,” you shrug, trying to lighten the blow. You’ve always been awful with his name in particular.

           “I got a call this morning,” Lestrade continues. “Telling me all your charges had been dismissed. What’s that about?”

           “Hm,” you smirk. “No idea.”

           Lestrade begins to ask you for a more in-depth response – because he knows you know, especially if you’re hanging around Sherlock Holmes and John Watson now – but you’re off and following Sherlock into the crime scene before Lestrade can even blink. John just sighs, giving the detective a smile before following after his half-sister.

           “The body is at the morgue already,” Lestrade announces when he reaches the hotel room, right behind John. “You’ve got five minutes Sherlock.”

           “I only need two,” Sherlock replies, lifting his head from the nightstand. “But thank you for your overwhelming generosity.”

           You roll your eyes, poking about the room aimlessly. You’re not expecting to find anything. You’ve met enough people to be able to analyze them when you meet them, but analyzing their hotel room? Not exactly your area of expertise.

           Nor do you particularly care about it all that much.

           “I don’t understand what we’re supposed to get from this,” you huff, kicking a random shoe over to the corner. It knocks into an open suitcase. “Whoever it was, obviously wasn’t here long.”

           Once Sherlock finishes his examination, which takes all of those five minutes, he stands, abruptly announcing, “I need to see the body.”

           Great. Now you’re off to a morgue.

           You follow John out the door and back into the street, Sherlock busy with hailing a taxi. While you’re waiting, you see Lestrade walking up with another smile.

           “Try and keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

           “Lestrade…” You shake your head with a grin, seeing Sherlock stop a taxi out of the corner of your eyes. “You do remember my name, don’t you?”

           “Yes, I do, Troublemaker,” he sighs. “Just don’t get yourself arrested.”

           “Oh, I plan on it,” you smirk, sliding into the taxi after John, shutting the door behind you.

           You actually don’t plan on it. You never plan on getting arrested, really. It sort of just…happens. But then again, you did ask Mycroft to wipe your record clean for the sake of starting fresh. You think you can go a few more days without getting into serious trouble, maybe longer if Sherlock keeps you as entertained as he is doing now.

           Cases, even though this is your first, appear to be fun. Mind racing, adrenaline pumping. The same feeling you get when you scale buildings.

           You sigh, suddenly feeling a wave of nostalgia for the activity. You haven’t had fun in a while like that. Maybe one day soon.

[dustonionpollywongus]

Kissing Booth

Excited for this one! I took this from The Kissing Booth movie and kind of twisted it to make my own one shot. The Party are in 'Hawkins High' and are around 16. Also Mike has a brother called Richie in this. A few time skips but I'll let you know.

Enjoy!😉

😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻���😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻

"A Kissing Booth." Will said simply, sketching out the Party's poster for their school's fundraiser. He and his friends were currently gathered at a table in the school's library at 4 o'clock, thinking of ideas for the stall they had to do on Saturday after next. Like every year, Hawkins High reserved a huge bit of field so they could host their Autumn Carnival in order to raise money for the school.

"What?" Max asked in disbelief, looking across the table to the small boy. The rest of the Party had equally puzzled looks on their faces, surprised at Will's blunt suggestion.

"A kissing booth. It's a great idea to raise money!" He spoke enthusiastically, a large grin plastered on his face. He sighed, peering at his friends' astonished faces. "We get people, preferably well-known liked people, to kiss the kids in school for money. Well not money for them, for the school." He shrugged, scribbling down names of the most popular girls and boys in their year.

"Nobody is going to agree to that." Lucas scoffed.

"Why not?" Will asked, looking at the short-haired boy. "They get to have all the kisses they want and the others get to kiss the most popular people in the school. It's a win win if you ask me."

"Come on Will, you know how those kids are, they'll only kiss the people they like, or think are hot or something. Everyone else would feel rejected and hurt." His best friend, Mike reasoned.

"Then we'll... blind fold them!" Will suggested, not letting go of his idea.

"That's even worse!"

"No it's not!" Will loudly whispered. Look it'll be great, I promise. Just give me a day to convince enough people and the Principle, then we can make it into a great stall." He said packing away his things.

"But, Will-"

"A day." He studied his friends' reluctant faces before giving them a reassuring smile and walking out the library, leaving them behind in shock.

The next day

"How's the hunt going." Mike Wheeler asked his best friend as they took their needed books out of their lockers. He noticed that Will was holding a sheet, a lot of names scribbled down on it in pencil.

"Good!" The brunet replied, handing Mike the sheet. He skimmed across the page, picking up names like Troy Harrington and Jennifer Hayes. "I've managed to convince 5 girls and 4 boys to do our kissing booth next weekend. It took some time... a bit of lying, but it worked."

"That's impressive." The freckled boy spoke happily. Maybe this isn't such a bad idea.

"I just need one more boy..." Will thought out loud. He looked at Mike. "How about you do it?"

"Me! Oh no, sorry Will but I'll pass." Will's face dropped, a frown replacing his teasing smirk. "But I can ask Richie, if you want. I mean he's quite popular, right? As much as I hate to admit it." Mike added hastily, noticing the look on his best friend's face.

"Ok," the brunet sighed, running a hand through his neat locks. "Yeah... that would be great." He started to walk away from Mike, gripping onto his backpack's strap tightly.

"Will wait!" Mike shouted. He held Will's skinny arm, stopping him from leaving. "Look, I'd really like to help with The Kissing Booth, but maybe I should do a job I'm good at. I mean come on, no one would want to kiss Mike Wheeler, or more commonly known as Frogface, curtesy to Troy." He said, exasperated.

Will studied Mike's face. He was kidding right? For so long has Will wished he could kiss Mike's pale lips. But he couldn't force his best friend to kiss random people, blindfolded at that.

"I know someone who would want to kiss you." He whispered quietly to himself, looking down at his black, second-hand shoes. Unfortunately, the raven-haired boy had sharp hearing.

"What?"

"Huh? What?"

"You said you know someone who wants to kiss me." Mike said, raising his eyebrows in interest.

"Oh!" Will could feel himself turning red. "U-u-uh yeah... uh I just saw someone staring at you during lunch the other day." He lied, wringing his cold fingers.

"Really? Do you know who it was?" Mike asked the stuttering boy, who refused to look at him.

"No. Um, sorry, I don't know their name."

"Do you know what they look like, Will?" Mike was intrigued. Someone wanted to kiss him? It made him feel happy and bubbly inside.

"Uh, yes, I t-t-think so."

"Really?!"

Will Byers you idiot, he mentally face palmed himself.

"What did they look like?" Mike asked the shorter boy eagerly.

"Brown hair, long long hair, definitely needs a haircut." Will giggled quietly to himself. He looked up at Mike, who was looking confused. This caused Will to laugh even more.

"Okkk, anything else?"

"Uhh, he s-s-she looked like she was nervous, like a nervous person in general ya know?"

"Wait." Mike stopped him. "How do you know they were confused by just looking at them?"

Will squeaked in alarm, oh god, I need to get out of here. He hastily looked down at his wrist, peering at his nonexistent watch. "I n-n-need to got to my next lesson. I-I-I'll see you later. Bye!" And before Mike could even object, he turned around and ran away.

Mike stood still, bewildered at what had just happened. But then slowly realisation began to dawn on him. He grinned to himself.

Will Byers had given away more information than he intended.

The day of The Kissing Booth

Over the past week Will had to try and avoid Mike's questions about the mystery person who wanted to kiss him. It was the day of the Kissing Booth, and Will wished the whole topic of kissing would be dropped after tonight. He shuffled awkwardly, glancing at his brother's old watch that was passed down to him a day prior. Only an hour left, he told himself. It was just him and Mike for the last hour, as he had told his other friends to go enjoy the carnival. He told Mike as well, but he had insisted on keeping the Byers boy company.

"Alright Will, who's up next." The Wheeler teen asked him, peering through the curtains behind the stage. "Stacy's time is almost up."

"It's Richie isn't it?" The boy replied, rechecking his schedule. "Any idea where he is?" He heard Mike sigh.

"No, the others don't know either. Sorry Will, but he's not responding to his Walkie." Mike gave him an apologetic frown.

"It fine... but we need someone to replace him." Will bit his nails, a bad habit of his. "I sorry Mike, but I think you'll have to do it."

"What? Will, no-"

"Mike, you look like him. He's your twin. No one will know it's you. With the blindfold and everything."

"That's not the point! I don't wan-" but Mike was cut off by chants coming from the crowd.

Richie! Richie! Richie!

"Shit." Mike groaned, rubbing his temple. He peered at his best friend's nervous face. He sighed loudly, and grabbed a black blindfold. "You owe me BIG time Byers." And with that he walked onto the stage, a loud chorus of happy screams erupting from the audience.

☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏☏

Will glanced down at his watch, ignoring the fact that it hadn't even been a minute since he last checked it. 5 minutes to go, he told himself. He bit his lip nervously, there were only 5 minutes until the end of The Hawkins High Carnival and Mike (well Richie) still had at least 2o more girls to kiss. Mike's brother must be more popular than I thought, Will wondered. It was good though, the stall had made way over 200 dollars and a large portion of it came from the curly-haired boy.

Will looked around the area near his stall, as he collected another giddy girl's money. Most people had gone home. He peered down at his watch again.

11:58

Only 2 minutes to go, he sighed in relief. Will didn't really like watching his best friend being kissed by random girls. He looked again at the queue. There were only about 6 or 7 girls left. Will was surprised to see a boy, short like him, who hard dark hair, contemplating whether to join the line or not. He smiled softly to himself, hoping that the boy would be brave and join the queue. He saw the boy look down at his shoes, with a lightly blushed face. Will deeply frowned as he watched him walk away, his shoulders slumped.

I wish society wasn't so cruel and judgemental, Will thought to himself, he really wanted that boy to be in the line, (not to kiss Mike, just to kiss someone he wanted to, which was in this case another boy). But then again, he was a hypocrite. If Will was brave enough, he would have put 5 dollars into the jar himself and gone up onto the stage to kiss Mike.

30 seconds, he told himself. He sighed happily as he watched Mike kiss the last girl. Time's up Wheeler, you've had your fun. He thanked the audience for coming to their stall, before walking onto the stage and dragging his best friend behind the curtains.

Half an hour later

"Look at that." Will said to Mike, contented, "we completely sold out."

Boys boys were now tiredly cleaning up the stall, just putting away a few bit and bobs, unplugging lights and such. It was late, so they decided to finish tidying the next day.

"Really?" Mike mused, coiling up some blue wires and putting them in a wooden box.

"Yeah! Gotta be more than 250 in this thing right?" Will spoke, struggling to pick up the heavy jar that was overflowing with bank notes.

"Mhm." Mike replied. He paused for a second, hesitating before speaking up again. "You know, I bought a ticket." He said, looking over towards the shorter boy.

"You did?" Will Byers was confused. He wondered who Mike wanted to kiss. "Who wa-"

"Oh, they weren't a kisser." Mike cut in, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning red.

"Oh."

"I wish they were though. Or I wish they at least came to kiss me."

"Mike, you wouldn't even know if it was them kissing you." Will said, holding up a black sleeping mask. "Besides they probably didn't even know it was you."

"No." Mike shook his head. "If they like me as much as you say they do, then I'm pretty sure they would've recognised me." He took a step closer to the Byers boy.

"Oh." Will blushed. Oh no, Mike hasn't dropped it. "W-w-well, s-sorry they weren't here then."

"But they were here, Will. I know. They just didn't come up to kiss me." Mike took another step forward, getting closer to Will.

"M-maybe they did think you were Richie. I mean, you are quite good at pretending to be popular." Will teased, a grin breaking loose on his face.

"Or maybe," One step. "They cared too much about what everyone else would say." Another step.

Will looked down. He could feel the heat radiation coming off his face.

"Nobody's here now." Mike whispered.

Will stood in shock, Mike was very close. He gulped, avoiding eye contact with the other boy.

"It's you, isn't it?" Mike asked, smiling slightly. He lifted a hand, caressing Will's red cheeks.

"Mike," Will breathed. No way is this real.

The raven-haired boy held up the ticket in front of Will's face. "Can I have my kiss?"

Will's breath caught up in his throat and that was all Mike needed before he leaned in, their mouths melting into each other.

The kiss was better than Will had ever imagined. Mike's lips were chapped a little, but they tasted sweet, nice. Very nice. Will brought his hand up to the taller boy's neck, leaning more into the kiss. They were both smiling, and the butterflies were flying around their stomachs.

Mike had waited so long for this. Everyday he would stare at his best friend, waiting to see if he ever felt the same way he did. Will's frantic description of the Mystery Person, told Mike for sure that there was a chance that theL two boys could be together. Now here he was, actually kissing the boy of his dreams. Sure, it was after the actual event, but Mike couldn't imagine it being like anything else.

He felt happy. So so happy. This felt right. Both boys felt complete. It was just them, together. Mike and Will, and The Kissing Booth.

[jackbabewang]

Two worlds 02

part one

Members: Jaehyun x Reader

Word count: 2,819

Summary: There’s a theory of electrons and protons that will be attracted to each other because of their unlike charges. Two human beings that are contrastive in every single way act as a real life experiment. Will it explain the truth or be proven wrong by the debaters? Watch as it unfolds in their very eyes.

Street style crossed with athletic sportswear, cool urban silhouettes, avant-garde detailing and fine construction; take on graphic sweatshirts from Balenciaga and Palm Angels, deconstructed denim from Y/Project, bold colours from Marine Serre and Off-White’s industrial strap bags—pretty much sums up your daily outfit and go-to clothing styles. 

As for Jaehyun, he’s basically an ordinary university student, one that aced his classes and studied in the library until sundown. He wears T-shirts and hoodies for almost every day, sometimes include pieces of varsity jackets and beanie when the weather gets colder. No sleek designs and bold graphics but washed out or near neutral colours that lack strong chromatic content. The only thing that separates him from the others, is his fine looks that’s perfection itself—you can’t argue with that, it’s the truth.

Frat parties or whatever celebrations inclusive of alcohol and explicit music, you never missed out any of them, having fun with your circle of friends like you should till the sun comes up albeit having lectures to attend the next morning. On the other hand, Jaehyun prefers staying in to catch some movies that are over its theatrical run or simply hangout with his high school friends at the local coffee shops, and most importantly getting consistent seven to eight hours of sleep per night.

Further elaborations aren’t needed to prove the obvious differences, the both of you are contrastive in every single way and will never ever be on the same page in the public’s eyes. Which is why people find your confrontation with him the week before was unbelievable and out of the blue. 

“Firstly, you have to determine whether it’s a one-way or two-way slab… There are three types of loads we have to consider which are the dead load, live load and floor finish load…”

While he continues to explain the structural analysis and calculation of—whatever he’s trying to say, you lost it after catching few glimpses of his appearance. His hair was always brushed, and his skin was flawless; you are reminded of the affair and how you missed the scent of his shampoo that lingered on your fingers as you combed through and the warmth of his cheeks under your touch. As much as you want to pass this module, he’s subconsciously preventing you from concentrating the words made out from his lips. And you miss those too.

“Were you even listening?” he frowns, but he wasn’t mad. He couldn’t possibly be, at you.

“You’re distracting,” the remark had the tips of his ears painted red.

Jaehyun drops his pen on a book you didn’t realize he’s been multitasking on, and you watch as he cracks his knuckles, twisting his neck and popping sounds erupt at the quick motions. “We can call it a day if you’re tired.”

“No, no. It’s alright.” You rise from your chair and round the table to take the seat beside him. He turns his head questioningly.

“I am going to stare at you and admire your beautiful face until you kiss me and tell me how annoying I am,” you wish you could tell him so.

“Just so I couldn’t look at your face,” you reasoned but you both knew that it doesn’t make sense. Maybe. The distance made it difficult for you to gawk at him without being caught.

The session carried forward for another half an hour with him getting his research done for a particular assignment, and you being told to read through his notes as well as completing the example questions provided by your lecturer. 

He was so indulged with his own work that he didn’t realize you’ve went abnormally quiet. That was until he felt a weight on him—your head leaning against his arm as you nod off from the combination of soothing silence and cold air. Seeing the way your neck strained at the position, he adjusted himself so you could lay on him comfortably. When you snuggle closer with a small smile on your face, he knew right then and there he’s completely wrapped around your fingers.

Staying for long hours in the library was never your thing, let alone scanning through paragraphs of more than five hundred words. Nonetheless, these activities just aren’t your cup of tea. However, you often find yourself turning down your friends’ requests to hit the clubs ever since you began to cling yourself to Jaehyun. You thought that this situation might even deemed to be ‘unhealthy’ for your usual lifestyle. You’ve explored enough of Jaehyun’s world and you reckon it’s about time to show him yours.

“Come to the party with me. This Friday.” Invitations always come in without a halt despite your declination to participate for the fourth time this month. A foreigner friend of yours, Chittaphon, alongside his fraternity are holding a semi-annual party at their household. Undeniably they have the best sound systems to paired with the hired professional spinners, fine spirits and chic artisanal cocktails, the overall ambience will be excellent, and you couldn’t miss out this one.

“You know I don’t go to-” Jaehyun lowered his head to avoid any possible form of eye contact.

“It’ll be fun! Don’t worry, I promise I’ll be with you the whole time.” You ducked to search his eyes and they soften at your glassy ones. For sure you knew he has a soft spot for your child-like behavior, something that your friends probably couldn’t witness for their lifetime. “Jaehyun….” Dragging the syllables of his name and that was his last straw.

“Okay.” He sighs, exhaling the breath he hasn’t realize he’d been holding. He knew you’ll always end up getting what you want, winning the nonexistent fights.

“Thank you,” your face lit up with impish glee, transmitting the positive energy to his features and he mirrors your reaction. You’re his happiness.

You have never been so excited about Fridays, the thought of meeting your friends again and a quality party sparks your nerves. More specifically, Jaehyun’s presence will be the cherry on top. 

Stepping foot into the mansion, the sight of bodies in carefully picked outfits, dim yellow lightings and music of dirty and invasive lyrics had a satisfied smile tugging up the corners of your mouth. It feels like home.

“Y/N! I thought you wouldn’t come,” your friend perks up when he spots you at the entrance. Immediately pulling you into a friendly hug and steals a peck on your cheeks.

“When did I ever turn you down,” the smile never left your face.

“You don’t say.” He rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, he’s more than happy for this reunion after you’ve gone missing from the crew for a whole month. “You look so beautiful tonight. I know you knew that.”

“Oh, and who’s this?” He turns to your partner, not missing the chance to throw you a sly grin.

“Jaehyun, this is Ten.” You introduce. “He’s the owner,” you added but your friend is quick to butt in. “Shush! It’s my pleasure to meet you,” he continues on with saying things like ‘her friends are my friends, my friends are your friends too’. You can’t help but fake a gag at the cheesy line, shooing him off otherwise the three of you are just going to stand at the foyer for the whole night.

Once your friend has gone out of sight, you make a beeline to the bar with Jaehyun trailing behind, him checking out the huge place and feeling the atmosphere at the same time. It was his first. 

You got yourself a shot of fine whiskey and tequila for him. “Try?” He hardly drinks but he’s willing to take a sip. Just for tonight.

You watch him from the rim of your glass and laugh silently as his eyes grow the size of saucers from the feeling of burn in his throat. Before he can push away the glass, you encourage him to down the shot and brought him to the other side of the room, where people are gathered around the long table for games of beer pong. You didn’t fail to impress him when you won, your opponent fueling the little celebration by offering you to swallow shots and shots of vodka and you comply. Usually you could take in a good amount of the alcohol, having high tolerance. Anyway, it took you by surprise that you’re a little tipsy by now—not even an hour since you arrived.

After going few rounds of drinking games with your friends and some unfamiliar faces, you’re pretty sure that you’re gonna get some painful headaches the next day.

Red light flashes across but you put that warning signal in the back of your mind. You’re already intoxicated, so another glass wouldn’t make much difference. You return to the bar and get your glass filled before dragging Jaehyun to the dance floor—it’s just a large open space featuring LED lighting systems and where the DJ booth is being set up. You’re once again amazed by the effort they put to organize this party. 

You move your body slightly to the loud bass music, bobbing your head to the beat as you enjoy the moment. “Loosen up!” You yell over the volume, and you take a step closer to drape your arms over his shoulders, hooking them in place. Acknowledging the distance, Jaehyun backs away only to have you pulling him even closer. You continue with your motions, mouthing to the lyrics of the song. When you locked eyes with him, you saw the faintest blush tinge his cheeks, to say you were curious was an understatement.

“You good?” You wondered. He hasn’t spoken much since the encounter with Ten, but you did introduce him to your friends that you happened to bump into, where he only answered their questions. You even caught some of the girls ogling at him shamelessly.

“You’re revealing too much skin,” he whispers, loud enough for you to hear. So that’s why, smirking at the thought. He’s been checking you out silently, not gonna lie about this, he did think you’re hot in the tube dress. The sweetheart neckline flaunts your sculpted collarbones and shoulders.

“Really?” You scoff in a joking manner and bring the glass to your lips, swallowing its content before setting it aside. Rising on your tiptoes, you push yourself to his ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”

The phrase immediately sent goosebumps to his skin, shivering a little when your fingers play with the short hairs at the back of his neck. ‘Going upstairs’ meant a lot especially for parties like this and he froze at the offer, his mind racing with the thoughts of the tricks you might pull on him. Certainly, he didn’t sign up for this when he agreed to your invitation in the first place.

You took his hand and make your way to an empty guestroom that’s almost at the end of the hallway, passing through people that are definitely getting drunk and wasted. It’s not like you’re eager to get to somewhere private just for the two of you and make out like some teenage couples, you would if you could. But that’s not the point anyway. You noticed that the longer you stay with the crowd, Jaehyun’s going to get more uncomfortable with the sweaty bodies and puffs of cigarette smoke that’s almost suffocating.

Closing the door behind, you both sit at the edge of the bed, relishing the silence in the room. “Ah.. So tired,” you arch your back and twist your neck before falling backwards onto the mattress, kicking off your heels afterwards. You never thought that parties are like a drainage of your energy, that is until you paused for a moment and felt a rush of fatigue in your muscles. 

“You can let go of my hand now,” you nudge, giggling when he pulls away reluctantly.

“You must have hated the party a lot, isn’t it? Sorry for forcing you all the way here.” Swinging your sore feet as you speak. The heels are really a pain in the ass.

“There’s always a first time.” His eyes fixated on the door, refusing to look at you when you rolled over to properly lay on the bed.

“So sleepy…” you mumbled. It was quiet for a short time before you speak again, “So, how many girls have you dated before?”

It took him by surprise. The question wasn’t fitting with the mood and he’s more than weirded out that you actually paid a tiny amount of interest in his love life. Please, you paid a lot. “Just one.”

Cool. And you thought he would’ve at least three, judging that he has the looks, personality, intelligence and everything a girl dreams of. He’s literally a boyfriend material. “Why did you break up though?” you push on. “That must be very heartbreaking. It was your first love.” 

“S-she dumped me…” You noticed the hesitation in his speech. Wow, this is some new information. Who knew someone had the nerves to do that, he’s a gem and you snickered, what a loss for her. As you’re still in your train of thoughts, Jaehyun has climbed himself to the other side of the bed, shoulders to shoulders.

“Y/N…” Hearing your name fell from his lips, you forgot everything you knew about gravity. “I have something to ask you…”

“Hm?”

“W-was it really your birthday last week?” Your body shook at his question, a tinkling musical child’s laugh, bubbling up out of your chest. He’s so cute.

“You’re still thinking about that?”

His fingers rubbing the fabric of the hem of his shirt nervously, gulping in embarrassment. “I-I mean…”

“Yeah. It was.” “Want to know what I wished for?” 

“You don’t have to-” 

There was never an intention to hide what you’re about to say anyway, and the alcohol in your system isn’t stopping you from making any decisions, even if they are stupid, even if it’s professing your love to your long-time crush.

“I was wishing for you and me might end up together,” you confess in a small panicky voice. Never had you ever felt so small and vulnerable in front of men.

It falls silent again, but it wasn’t as comfortable, there’s tension in the air and you felt nervous for what he’s going to say about it. Jaehyun ponders over your words again and again, looking for a hint of mischief in it however there’s none but sincerity. He turns to look at you and you had your eyes closed, fists clenched at your sides. 

The mattress dips at his movements and the shuffling sounds made you believe that he’s leaving, going far far away and hitting you with the reality that you just screwed everything up. Your head throbs at the thought and tears threaten to slip, before you knew it, you felt softness pressed onto your lips, breath fanning your cheeks as he lets out a sigh of relief. 

Your eyes shot wide open at the realization. Jaehyun supports himself on his elbows and his hands holding you still. He angles his head, slotting his lips perfectly onto yours and he kisses you endearingly. Delicate flesh molding against each other as you return the favor, rubbing sensually and the tingles channeling to your sensory neurons, carrying the impulses to your brain. Feeling lightheaded and at your peak from the pleasure he’s given.

Completely losing track of time, kissing like it’s the last and your fingers went from clutching onto his white tee to his soft brown locks, tugging the roots and he hums at the way you play with his hair. Soon you pull back, not before running your tongue over his lips. If it weren’t because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs, that he’s taken your breath away, you’d never want to withdraw from something so addictive. 

There’s no need for words to be exchanged. Only your dilated pupils staring back one another was enough to deliver the messages that were kept by yourselves for the past few months. 

Ragged breaths filled the room and Jaehyun grazes his lips back and forth teasingly. He wants more, more of you and it was a side of him you’ve never seen before. The greediness almost monstrous, so he dips his head to reconnect what was once detached. For the first time ever, you allow him to take the lead and submit to his doings. His fingers dance on your skin gracefully, trailing from your jawline, down to the column of your neck, travelling to your chest and gripping your thighs. It stays there for a moment before coming back to snake around the curve of your waist. In his arms, you slowly unfolded like a love note read in secret.

Of everything the God has created pairs. Heaven and earth. Night and day. Sun and moon. Shore and sea. Light and darkness. You for him.

part three

[rounse-error]

V-rella

[Mystic Messenger © Cheritz

Cinderella/Cendrillon © Charles Perrault

Story © rounse-error]

Please do not plagiarize my work! 

Plot: “Take away the magic and whatnot. How would a fairytale turn out to be?” 

AU: Cinderella Universe

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Comedy 

Pairing: Jihyun Kim (V) X MC

For @jihyunmcweek; Day 5: Fairy Tale 

Author’s Note: I originally wanted to write a one-shot but inspiration overtook me so yeah, here you go...a mini series for the event. After this, I’ll be sure to work on my 2nd batch request. 

Side note: My writing style - for this series - will change depending on the perspective of the focused character.

Part 1: Crown Princess MC

“As future queen, your main priority is to rule and lead our people in the right direction. However, as you are my precious daughter, I pray that you choose the right one.”

“Of course. I shall not fail you, father.”

***

The capital city of the Han Kingdom buzzed with life and wonder. The streets were crowded with citizens as usual and went on with their daily routines. Numerous shops were open and its store keepers advertised their goods to the public with booming and lively voices. Children ran around and played around to their hearts’ content.

But unbeknownst to the citizens, the crown princess stood amongst them. Disguised in a simple attire, MC strolled around the ever-busy streets with ease and by her side was her faithful maid and friend, Jaehee who kept an eye on her.

“Shouldn’t we do our main objective by now, Mi-…MC?”

“Oh, Jaehee! We have until sundown to accomplish it! Why don’t we entertain ourselves with the common pleasantries first, hm?”

“No, MC. Our objective must be our priority or else, the Ki-…your father will be disappointed.”

MC huffed out her annoyance of Jaehee’s constant nagging and placed her palms on her hips. With a pout, she stated, “Jaehee…but father dearie also did say that I can enjoy eating common foods called food in a stick, watch puppet shows, and other fun things!”

“Fine. You may do whatever you want for two hours only…”

“Thanks, Jaehee!”

And thus, her venture began.

Amazed and curious about the commoners and their simple world, MC subconsciously slipped away from Jaehee’s watchful eyes and failed to anticipate a nervous lad – who was burdened with carrying a file – running into her direction. Her eyes focused in a certain painting until they both collided against each other in a forceful impact. Due to her small structure, she fell flat on the cemented ground and soiled her dress in the process.

MC was rather surprised by a hand held out to her yet pushed the feelings of embarrassment aside and took the stranger’s hand. Although it was brief, MC noticed how calloused and larger the stranger’s hand was as well as the faint colorful smudges in the ends of their fingers.

Those smudges…they’re dried paint, aren’t they?

“I-I’m so sorry, Miss! I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

MC was taken aback by the harmonious and refined voice of a handsome stranger. She felt being lulled to sleep as he continued to utter words of apologies. Despite her nearly spacing out, a stern and queenly part of her willed herself back to reality. She forced herself to focus at the mint-haired beauty before her without letting herself slip away.

“It is fine. No harm was done to me,” she stated to end the awkwardness between them.

With her reply, he blinked away all the stress and anxiety away and she felt herself being captivated by staring deep into a pair of beautiful turquoise orbs. Those eyes held serenity and kindness yet underneath them was a pair of virtuoso eyes that saw the world much deeper compared to her imaginative and childish view.

For this man to be so perfect, he must have been an angel in disguise or maybe, this was just her imagination talking…

“-ss? Hello, Miss? Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine. The heat is just getting to me,” MC reasoned while faking in rubbing her nonexistent sweat away with one forearm.

Great job, MC. You managed to make a fool of yourself. Of course, no one would buy your excuse-

“Well, the heat is certainly extreme around this time of the month,” he said with a nervous chuckle. He felt the urge to copy the same action as MC but resisted due to the confidential file in his grasp.  

He’s either playing along or didn’t notice it at all…

As MC opted to looking at anywhere but him, the file in his possession caught her interest. The stranger paled as MC attempted to squint her eyes to get a better look on his father’s file. “Um, Miss?”

“What’s that you’re holding?”

“Well, this file consists of financial statements of my father’s business...”

“Ah. Could it be that your father is a businessman?”

“A merchant to be extact…”

“Interesting,” MC stated with eyes brightening up in curiosity. Perhaps, he could be of help with her request.

“It sure is.”

“If you’re a merchant’s son…then, can I ask you a question about a certain product?”

“I’ll do my best to answer it,” he replied, trying not to let his worry get the best of him as MC forgot about her ruined attire and didn’t have the slightest clue about bystanders staring at her disheveled form while gossiping among their peers.  

“I’d really like to ask permission from a painter who made this beautiful painting…if I could buy it,” her hand gestured to a painting that stood out amongst other paintings outside of an art shop as merely a display to which his eyes followed her gesture and they widened in surprise. Then she continued, “…perhaps, you might know him or her?”

“That painting?”

She nodded after he pointed to a painting of the sun that shone over the Han Kingdom, then he fell silent as if pondering over something much more complex than she could think of. She waited in anticipation, hoping that he knew of the mysterious painter called V.

“Fortunately, I know whom you speak of. I’d certainly ask him, but may I inquire as to why you desire to have it?”

“Well…you see, I-…I mean, the crown princess is secretly fond of V’s art works. I promised to purchase one for her if it’s possible,” she hoped that her reason was convincing enough not to draw suspicion from him, and to her relief, he nodded without question.

“Oh, I see. He would definitely be delighted to hear such a praise.”

“Thank you very much. Well-“

Their conversation came to an end as they saw Jaehee frantically calling out to MC. All color was drained from MC’s face, fully knowing that she’d prepare for the worst to come once she’s been found. “I should get going. See you around!”

He waved at her in response before turning his back and his figure slowly faded from her line of sight. She smiled dreamily before a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders to turn her back and she came to face with a furious Jaehee.

“You gave me such a fright! Your father would have my head if I truly lost you!” Jaehee’s grip on her tightened yet MC knew that Jaehee was also careful enough not to bruise her so MC made no effort to peel herself away from her frightening grip and sheepishly grinned instead.  

“Sorry. I got distracted and left you behind…I didn’t expect the capital to be this fun!”

“I’d have to report your unruly behavior-“

“Let’s leave that for later! Jaehee, I found the one for my upcoming ball!”

Never had she seen Jaehee look so relieved in her entire life. Could it be she’d given her poor friend enough trouble for these past few weeks? Feeling her shoulders being free from Jaehee, the numbing ache began acting up. MC let them keep hurting, fully aware that she deserved it for giving Jaehee a new set of wrinkles in her forehead.

“That is great news. So, what do you plan next?”

MC tapped on her hip, trying to remember her next move while Jaehee prayed that it didn’t involve trespassing someone’s premises and whatnot.

“Well…”

***

MC grinned in triumph as she held a piece of intel about her chosen partner. Putting it inside her gown pocket, she knew that there was no point in staying here – Merchant Kim’s premises – any further. MC checked for unwanted presences within her line of vision before leaping out of an open window and landed perfectly on the moist grassy land.

Not far from where she stood was Jaehee hidden inside the bushes and MC could faintly hear her mantras of apologies in breaking the law and indulging the wishes of her mischievous princess.

“Jaehee, I’m over here…”

Upon hearing her princess, Jaehee crawled out of her hiding spot and heaved out a sigh, feeling relieved that MC managed to sneak in someone’s premises – that was packed with busy workers – undetected.

“We’re done here, now it’s time to flee,” she said as she grabbed for Jaehee’s hand and they fled the premises sneakily, managing to be out of the workers’ sight by hiding behind every tree and every bush.

Now, they sat on a bench in a local parker and basked themselves under the light of sundown. They took a quick breather before MC handed Jaehee the piece of paper, Jaehee’s brows narrowed in confusion as she read the details.

“But what you wrote is someone’s measurement for the trousers, the top-…wait, what am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’ll be shopping for a bit,” MC answered, still enjoying her roasted corn in a stick. Then she proceeded, “and then…you’ll be playing Fairy Godmother for this person if it’s alright.”

An amateur drawing of a min-haired man was in Jaehee’s grasp. Her blank expression offered no guarantee of her request being fulfilled. MC secretly hoped she’d be willing to accept it…

“To think that Crown Prince from Choi Kingdom influenced you this much, I’d have to report this to your father as well…”

“But Saeyoung is my new friend who turned out not be a snob or an arrogant idiot! And please Jaehee, this will be my last request!”

“Well, I-“

[TBC]

[imaginesnkdorks]

“Thank Goodness for Crazy”

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 |

Part VI: A Day in My New Life

Pairing: Erwin/Reader;

Summary: Reader is just your regular gal from our world, but that changed one day when she woke up in the world of Titans. Giving a fake name to Erwin Smith who found her, she tries to understand the world she’s thrust upon and to survive in it. And try she did. And she thinks she could be Mulan, now. But then she found out it wasn’t that easy.

Note to self: think twice before enlisting for the military. Mulan sure made it seem easy. With just one round of “Make a Man Out of You”, they’re all experts at hand on hand combat and at firing missiles.

Me? I’m a heap on the floor, with my body aching all over.

My chest moves up and down rapidly as I try my best to catch my breath. A gentle laugh rang around; it was almost musical. Then a hand reached out to me.

“Come now, just one more round and we’ll call it a day.” My teacher Erwin said, urging me to grab his hand.

“No... hah, … Can’t we … ahh … take … a break? Hah” Impossible. I can hardly lift my head, let alone the rest of my body. Erwin then laid down beside me, both of us staring at the smog free sky.

As I lay there catching my breath, I can’t help but remember the look on Erwin’s face when I told him I wanted to join the Survey Corps.

His eyes were like saucers, and you don’t need to be a master of observation to say that he was surprised out of his mind.

I really don’t know if I should take it as a complement or as an insult.

Anyhow, once he recovered from his state of surprise, he gave me his answer: “No.”

“What do you mean no?” I practically yelled at him. Seriously, my voice was so high-pitched it rivals Bernadette’s voice from the Big Bang Theory.

“It’s far too dangerous! You saw how it is outside the walls, you were in the middle of it all!”

For a moment there I just stared at him with my mouth hanging agape. I gotta say, hearing Erwin scream at me is scary. I felt like I’ve done something terrible and I sure am going to pay for it bigtime.

Also, I’m taken aback by his intensity. Like, what is your problem, Erwin? Is he that concerned about me?

Composing himself, he spoke again. He was still obviously on edge, but he did his best to keep his tone in check. It was painfully obvious.

“There is a high number of casualty every expedition, and most of them are new recruits. New soldiers who spent the last three years training.”

With a sharp, intake of breath I finally found my voice, “alright. I understand, but that’s why I want you to teach me. Come on, if you think I’m not ready then don’t let me out the wall. Please?” And I gave him the best puppy eyes I could muster.

 A poke on my cheek tore me from my thoughts.

“What are you smiling about?” Inquired Erwin, a playful grin on his mouth.

“I was smiling? I can hardly breathe; I doubt I was smiling.” I said. Clearly, my argument is weak as I can breathe perfectly fine now. Apparently, my little flashback was a good five minutes.

Erwin just looked at me, the bastard doesn’t believe me. Ugh.

Yielding, I told him the truth, “I was thinking about how I convinced you to train me. You looked so funny with your eyes all big and round.”

He laughed at that. “Well, it was the last thing I thought I’d ever hear from you.” Turning his body sideways to look at me, he went on, “You just doesn’t seem like someone who’d hurt a fly.”

Mimicking his move, I looked him straight in the eye and told him in the most serious tone I could, “you thought wrong.” I also threw in the most wicked smile I can do.

We soon forgot to resume training and spent the rest of our time talking. We mostly talked about my world as Erwin is tight lipped about his childhood.

So I spun some crazy, wonderful world for him based on Pokémon and Game of Thrones. The thing about Pokémon masters and their trustworthy partners catches his attention. I think we’re both thinking about controlling titans.

“I’ve been a soldier for almost two decades, and I’ve never seen a single titan that can be domesticated.” Bingo. He is thinking about it, too.

“Yeah, well that would just be crazy.”

And our topic went to the most random things, like food, animals, fish and plants that can be found within the walls. It was very limited – they don’t even know monkeys. It took me ten minutes just to describe monkeys. Who would’ve thought it’d be hard to convey? It’s like trying to describe a fucking color.

The sunset alerted us that we wasted yet another day on idle chatter. Honestly, we train for like, three hours a day. In between Erwin’s busy schedule and my motor-mouth, we can’t get much done.

The grass crunched as Erwin stood up, he then offered his hand and helped me stand.

By this time, almost every other officer is in the mess hall. I’ve been here for a while and I’m glad to say that I’ve made friends.

“Andi!” Hange squealed when she saw me enter. This woman’s so noisy! She literally grabbed me violently away from Erwin, and dragged me to “our” table. Turns out she just finished crafting a net for catching a titan.

Erwin soon arrived and can’t do anything aside from sighing and shaking his head in exasperation. He knows he can’t win against Hange when it comes to handling me.

You might have guessed that Hange can be really rough. I don’t really mind, but there are times she leaves bruises. I don’t really know if this crazy bitch loves me or hates me. But I guess it’s just that she’s excited like all the freaking time.

Erwin, on the other hand treats me like I’m breakable. To be honest, it makes me feel nice. But most of the time it’s disappointing to be thought of as someone weak. I think I get where feminists are coming from. But that’s neither here nor there.

The only person who acts pretty much normally around me is Nanaba, whom I thought she was a really cute guy at first. And let me just say that the first few days between us was awkward. Don’t ask why, I feel embarrassment all over again.

Anyways, Hange was still blabbering about god-knows-what as we eat. I assume it’s the usual titan crap. Honestly, after the initial excitement, I soon got tired of hearing about it. I was so successful in tuning her out that I didn’t realize someone else was talking, and was talking to me.

“Damn Erwin, you broke Andi!” My dear friend Nanaba complained. Apparently, she’s been talking for a while.

“What?” I asked to no one in particular. I can feel my cheeks heat up as I become flustered about this.

“I was asking if you’d like to spar some time. You’ve been training for a month now, and by Erwin at that. I’m sure you’ll do fine against me.” Nanaba answered. Her face was so freaking serious I can’t help but just swallow some nonexistent saliva, as my throat was suddenly dry.

I’m nervous, of course! I’ve only been training for almost a month, and only on basic hand on hand combat. Nanaba, on the other hand has been a soldier for a couple of years, and has spent three years before that training.

I guess my fear was apparent – I don’t know which gave me away; my skin probably turning a sickly green, extreme goosebumps you’ll think I have to poop, or my hand shaking – that Mike, the equivalent of a bomb-sniffing dog spoke up, “you’re scaring her Nanaba. Turn that evilness in your eyes down a notch.”

Good thing it was him that spoke. Nanaba tends to listen more to him, I’ll make sure to remember that so I could tease her. And boy, I’ll take pleasure in her flustered face.

I was just starting to recover from anxiety when Erwin spoke up, “I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Nanaba.” And with that, a cocky smile played on his lips. Unexpectedly, Mike was the one who answered him.

“Really now, Erwin? Nanaba can do jabs in her sleep.”

“Wonderful. Andi here can render a man unconscious with her powerful roundhouse kick. I’m not sure if a mere jab would be effective against that.”

“Oh, that’d be difficult. But it wouldn’t be a problem if the kick didn’t hit in the first place.”

Oh my god. I guess wherever you are, boys will be boys. The rest of us watched in awe as this goes on back and forth between them. Me and Nanaba had the same face, a mix of surprise and annoyance.

Damn Erwin haven’t even taught me the kicks. All he did was make me punch a bag and work on my foot work, we’ll lay down trying to breathe that’s only me, though), talk, then call it a day.

I haven’t even learned how to operate that zip line thingy they call a 3DM gear.

Dinner time ended with Erwin and Mike passive-aggressively “attacking” each other. I honestly can’t tell if those were friendly jabs or not, but I seriously couldn’t care less because I am going to have a duel with Nanaba a week from now!

Hange, being the asshole that she is decided to make the event “fun” and have bets. And this only hyped up the boys, like they’re the ones fighting.

The walk back to my room was silent. I can’t deny that I’m both pissed and anxious about the events, and when I’m like this I really don’t want to talk. Good thing Erwin was silent as well. As we reached our rooms and I opened my door, Erwin broke the silence.

“We’ll begin training tomorrow at five in the morning.” His face was so serious you’d think he was outside the walls facing off one on one with a titan.

All I did was mutter a weak “ok.” He then ruffled my hair and went off to who-knows-where. I guess he’ll be making a special training regimen for me, his room is right next to mine! I gulped and made a silent wish, “this better make me a fucking good soldier someday.”

Copyright © 2017 by imaginesnkdorks. All rights reserved

[cassiefanfic]

Don’t Forget

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Character/Ship: Newt x Reader

Warning: The Scorch, Flashbacks, Fluff, Love being taken away

Writer: Cas

Words: 1949

Requested by: @my-unique-mind

Summary: Newt x Reader. The reader lives in the scorch and knows the crank city in and out. She worked for WCKD, she and Newt were a couple but she left when he was sent up in the maze. Jorge needs help finding Brenda and Thomas, he asks the reader for help. Newt feels like he knows her, she doesn't say anything because he knows he doesn't remember, none of them do. They sleep at her house while she plans on how to find Brenda and Thomas. Newt offers to help and it leads to him comforting her about his past.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy! I had fun writing this! I don’t know if I did Newt out of character a bit but oh well

Y/N’s POV

I did my best to keep quiet, live my own secluded life in the scorch. My food supply lasts and I help very few, and that's how it is. I've lived here for a couple years, especially after they took him. I escaped with stolen goods and hid away. I get it. I seem cold and heartless, only because they made it that way. They took away the one thing I loved and locked it in a cage. And that's how I ended up being how I am now.

My house is small, small to me at least. It resembles what I believe to be a bank, the vaults hiding my supplies. I get called the Banker, the Deal Maker, and a few other things too. I don't mind. People come to me wanting help through the city or other things and I help for a price. Food, weapons, money, whatever they can offer. That's the way I run things without many questions.

It was just gonna be a quiet day. I was just going to hang around, shoot any cranks that tried to come in. I was just wasting away another day, I certainly didn't expect any visitors. So I didn't expect the heavy footsteps to fill my home, nor did I expect a familiar voice to shout my name.

"Y/N! I know you're in here so you can stop hiding!"

"If you know so much Jorge then why do you come to me?"

"You're a smart girl that's why." Jorge smiled widely, despite my eye roll and dug through his bag before setting contents at my business counter. "$400, canned peaches, dried meat and three bottles of water."

"Fruit and meat. Those are expensive items. This must be important to you," I observed the items and inspected the cash.

"I will pay you more after the job okay? I know our arrangements, now will you help me?"

"You only bring fruit if you need someone. Who do you want me to find?"

"Anyone home?" I love that sound. The way his voice flowed like a waterfall, even those were nonexistent now. I turned to see the smiling British boy leaning against my room, which was both my office and sleeping quarters, door and I let out a small laugh, walking to him as he met me halfway, a small smile formed on his lips. His arms locked around my waist as I rubbed his shoulders lightly before locking my arms around his neck.

"You're so beautiful Y/N. I missed you."

"It's been one day Newt," I laughed and kissed him softly. His lips pressed into mine in response and he sighed happily, causing me to kiss a bit more. I gently pulled away and rested my head on his chest.

“I know… But sometimes even one hour feels like a whole year. So a day feels like 24 years.”

I could only smile in response before we laid on my bed and cuddled. He slowly ran his fingers through my hair as I traced his free hand.

“How long do you think it will be until something happens?”

“Not for a long while my love. Don’t worry.”

But we were wrong. Not even a month later did they send Newt into the maze. I remember my screams as they put him into the box and raised him up, while I was pounding on the door and watching through the small window. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him before he was taken. Not long after, I left into the scorch. I saw no use in staying while the person I loved was trapped away from me. That’s why I became heartless. That’s why I do what I do.

It was an accident. I was trying to find Brenda, and the one Jorge called Thomas. I remembered the name lightly from WICKED, but I doubt it's the same one. My net traps were set off and I went to go check them. It was a group of about 5 people, one girl, and four boys. I, at first, didn’t notice the blond hair. But the second he yelled, in that oh so familiar British accent, “What the bloody hell is going on?!” I knew. I knew it was him. I gulped and whispered out “Newt” before clearing my throat and walking to the part of the trap where I could set them free.

“Now, this may hurt.”

About 2 seconds after I cut the rope, the group fell to the ground, groaning lightly in pain. I immediately walked to Newt and helped him up. It was his hand… his arm…. Those eyes…. I quickly turned away but his hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me close to him.

“Who the bloody hell are you and what the hell was that?”

“They call me The Banker…”

“What’s your real name?” The Asian boy behind him snapped.

“Y/N. No thanks to all of you, you set off my trap and now I’m screwed over. What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Trying to find our friend, Thomas.” The girl spoke up.

“What are your names?” I questioned, already knowing one of them.

“Teresa.” The girl replied.

“Minho.” The Asian boy snapped.

“Frypan.” An African American boy spoke up.

“Aris.” The young boy replied, head down.

I looked up at the sky before collecting the net and I sighed.

“The sun’s going down. Come with me, I have a safe place you all can hide in.” I said as I looked around carefully for any cranks.

They all spent a few moments debating it and I let out a sigh.

“I’ll help you find your friend okay? But it’s more dangerous at night. Come on.” I ordered and they all followed me to the bank. I locked the door and sighed. “Have any of you eaten at all?” I earned multiple head shakes, even from Newt. I nodded and got them some fruit before showing them two old vaults.

“You guys can sleep in here. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” I said coldly before walking upstairs. I got out some old maps I had and laid them out on the table. I looked over the areas in the scorch where I knew lots of activity would be, thinking hard.

Where would you be Brenda? Where would you be hiding Thomas?

“Uh, Y/N? May I talk to you?” I turned to see Newt standing in the doorway, his jacket off with his arms crossed. I nodded and gulped. That face… I haven’t seen that face in 2 years. His eyes, his smile. But he wasn’t smiling at all, he looked angry and confused. That’s what happens when they wipe the memories. What I would give for him to remember me.

“Yeah, Newt right?” He nodded and I gave a small nod back. He didn’t need to be freaked out more than he already has been. He walked to my side and looked over the maps.

“What’s all this?”

“I have to find someone. I think it’s the same Thomas you need help with.”

“Do you mind if I help? It’ll be easier finding Tommy with more than one person.” He offered, causing me to nod. I could’ve said no, I could’ve told him I’ve been doing just fine on my own, but all I could do was nod. We spend the next hour looking over maps before we accidentally touched. I looked up at him and he looked at me in shock.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“What?”

“That feeling. I feel like I remembered. Do I know you?” I looked down and gulped, not wanting to answer. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer to him.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Newt.”

“No bloody hell shank. Tell me what you know.” He demanded and I pulled away.

“I know you. We knew each other. I knew you before they took you.”

“Before WICKED took me?” I nodded and sighed.

“But you don’t remember me at all. That’s the problem.” I mumbled.

“How did you know me? Were we friends or something?”

“More than friends,” I said softly before looking over the maps. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you more about what I know when we make more progress. If we find him. I’ll tell you everything I know. Deal?”

He sighed and paced a bit and all I could think was ‘Please say yes. Please say yes Newt. I need you to say yes. I need to tell you.’

“Alright. Deal. But you better hold your end of the deal Y/N.” He warned, earning quick nods from me.

Maybe he can love me again if I tell him. Maybe I can get him back. Maybe…

“They’re coming,” I whispered to Newt as I sat up from the bed. He wrapped his arms around me and made me look at him.

“Hey hey, it’s going to be okay. It’s gonna be okay. They can’t take you away from me. It’ll be okay love.” He whispered back as he hugged me close. I gripped onto him and kissed him repeatedly, small kisses that we always held onto.

“Don’t forget me. Please, don’t forget me.”

“Never. I’d never ever forget you Y/N.” He whispered as a few guards barged into my room and pulled him off me. He began to get dragged out of the room and I screamed, running after him as best I could as a guard held me back.

“Newt! Newt! Please let him go, please! Newt! Newt! I love you!”

“I love you Y/N! I’ll never forget-”

I don’t remember what else he said because at that point the guard knocked me out and threw me to the ground. I remember waking up an hour later and running through the halls until I reached the hall where they kept the box. Two guards threw him in with supplies and shut the gate. I screamed and hit the glass repeatedly as the box began to rise, slowly separating me from Newt, inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard.

“Newt! Newt! No please!” I sobbed as I fell to my knees and sat against the wall crying. They took him, they took him away from me. I felt two hands grab me and help me up. I looked up to see Chancellor Paige looking down at me.

“Wh-Why him?”

“I’m sorry dear, it’s for the best.” She whispered as she led me back to my quarters. I sobbed into her shoulder as she hugged me. I didn’t believe them at all. It wasn’t for the best. It was the worst. I couldn’t imagine him in that awful maze.

Two nights later, I stole supplies and left into the scorch. I couldn’t stand being in that building without knowing the sad truth that my love was in a maze fighting for his life. I couldn’t stand thinking about that. I couldn’t look at the people who did this to him. So I became the Banker. Nobody knew what happened to me in my past, and only a few dared to ask, but I didn’t tell them. I suffered from constant nightmares of him being in the maze, him not remembering, him being taken away, and worst of all, him dying. But also dreams of him finding me, us being together at last, and living together safely in the Glade.

Maybe now that I found him, he can remember me, and we can be happy together. I just need him to remember. I need him to remember me.

I need him to remember us.

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part ten

Your and Sherlock’s friendship appears to be just as Ms. Hudson suggested: a good thing.

           John has never seen you this happy – granted, he has only known you for almost two months now. Well, not happy, necessarily, because he doesn’t feel right in saying you’re happy when both men who saved your life – John means to ask you for more context at some point – are now dead. But if he didn’t know any better, he would say you seem…happy.

           A powerful thing it is, a façade.

           You know how John worries. You know Sherlock shares some of the concern, even though he would probably throw a fit before he admitted to it. And your concern with Sherlock is more or less with his observational skills and blurted deductions. You’d rather keep him off your back, which is where this façade comes more into play.

Regardless, you know how they both are – especially your brother.

           John has been worrying about you for too long. You know he hasn’t stopped worrying from the day he met you, and you don’t want that to be what he fills his days with. He deserves to fill his days with better things, not worrying about his half-sister who might as well still be a stranger.

           So, you’re sleeping in your flat now. And by sleeping you mean you don’t. At all.

           Lucky for you, another small investment you made with Mycroft’s money was some makeup to cover the bags under your eyes. It isn’t foolproof, but it’s enough to lessen the color so that when paired with a bright smile, you seem like everything is totally okay.

           Even if everything is as farthest away from being okay than it ever has been.

           But you’re keeping yourself distracted. You think the real reason you are able to keep up the façade is that it’s just something else to distract you. And that is precisely what you need right now. You don’t have time to grieve right now when Gidon is still out there, even if he has been totally silent and surprisingly nonexistent the past few days. And, despite Sherlock’s kind words and kind intentions from the rooftop, you know you don’t deserve to grieve the loss of friends who you got killed in the first place. They saved your life, and it was your responsibility to return the favor, not get them both murdered. It’s your fault entirely, therefore grieving their deaths seems ridiculous and something you’re unworthy of.

           Distractions. You’ve read more books in the past six days than you probably ever have in your entire life. They’re in a neat stack in the corner of your room, most of them being John’s, so you sneak a couple back to the shelves upstairs when Sherlock is too buried in his mind palace to notice you and John is out (presumably) with Mary or his friend Mike.

           You and Sherlock have played just about every game he owns, all while making up your own rules and creating new paths because the games can get rather dull after the third or fourth round. He’s been surprisingly willing to play them with you, which you do find somewhat odd considering he would typically be doing better things like experimenting or investigating. But you suppose he does all that when you retreat to your flat because you always hear him walking around.

           You blast the records you bought more often than not, your most recent obsession being that of Queen. So much so, that you’ve decided today is the day you’ll go outside and go to the record store. You need to get more records – maybe a chair, you still haven’t gotten that yet – but definitely a couple more records. You had asked Molly about having lunch together today, but that has been pushed out until Monday because she’s rather busy, but you don’t mind—

           “Oh, hi,” John chuckles, straightening the collar of his coat. “Where are you heading off to?”

           “The record store,” you blurt, possibly a little too quickly. “And maybe a bookstore.”

           “Okay,” he narrows his eyes, and your mind immediately tells you to flash a smile, wanting to convey to him that you’re still absolutely totally alright. “Well, I’m uh, about to meet Mary for lunch if you’d like to join us.” He pauses. “She wants to meet you.”

           “Oh, um, maybe a different day,” you smile sheepishly. You’re not sure if John notices that today is the sixth day since Allen was murdered, but regardless, you think it’s best if you stay alone today, so that way if something does happen…well, it’ll only happen to you. “Sorry.”

           “No, no it’s okay. We’ll plan a day. Maybe even drag Sherlock out, too.”

           “Sounds good.” You don’t think Sherlock will agree to that, but okay. You think this is more of John trying to have a moment with you. You’ve been avoiding moments with him because, well, for starters Sherlock has been obsessed with Cluedo (probably because John wouldn’t let him play it for so long; he told you about that) and you’ve been intentionally filling your time. Sorry, Johnny.

           “Okay,” he nods, flashing his own smile. “Do you… You said you’re going to the record store?”

           “That’s the plan.”

           John sighs. That’s at least a ten-minute walk – because he knows you won’t take a taxi, you prefer walking. And it’s in the opposite direction he’s going, though he isn’t sure you’d want him to walk you to the store anyway, and then what happens when he leaves you?

           “Hang on a second. I’ll be right back.” He turns and goes back up the stairs, leaving you in the doorway of your flat with a puzzled look.

           While he’s gone, you lock your door, stuffing the keys into your pocket. You check your other pocket, making sure your cash is there, but it takes a second to really feel the bills. You clench your hand into a fist, trying to stop the shaking – and to start circulation again. Your hand isn’t cold, though, so circulation appears to be fine. Your brain is probably playing tricks on you due to the lack of sleep, that’s all. You shake your wrist out just as John is coming back down the stairs with…

           “A gun?”

           “Yeah, it’s mine,” he pauses, holding it out to you. “Take it.”

           “What?”

           “Y/N,” he breathes. “Please. Just take it.”

           “I’m not taking a gun with me to the record store, John, that’s insane!”

           “It’s not insane when there’s someone out there who wants to kill you.”

           “And you think a gun would stop him?” You blurt the rhetorical question before you can even think, the gravity of your words settling in when you see John frown deeply. It’s natural, you suppose.  Quickly, you try to say something else. “Look, I just don’t feel comfortable carrying that around.”

           “I don’t feel comfortable with you not being able to protect yourself.”

           You blink, his response not being one you were anticipating. “I can protect myself just fine.”

           He gives you a skeptical look.

           Fine, you think. He wants me to open up, I’ll open up.

           “Last time I held a gun, I killed a man,” you admit, maintaining eye contact to be sure he hears you with this. “You can imagine why I’d be hesitant to handle one again.” It is true, after all. You may be the Troublemaker – though lately you aren’t so sure you are anymore – but you never killed anyone. Until that one night. And since then, you haven’t held a gun. You know Gidon is dangerous. And you know he has to be stopped.

           “Y/N…”            But you’ve already turned to head out the door.

           “No, John. I’ll be fine.” If Gidon wants to come after me, he can. I don’t care. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

           “No you won’t.”

           You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “Sorry?”

           “You heard me. You won’t.”

           You sigh.

           “I’ve given you the option to call me before, and you haven’t. So, please, don’t say you will if you’re not going to.”

           “Well, if nothing happens then I won’t need to call you, will I?”

           He steps up to you, holding his gun out once more. “Take it. If you want me to stop worrying, then take the bloody gun.”

           You reach forward, tempted to take the weapon when you see the relief in his eyes, but you shake your head, pushing the gun back toward him. “I’ll be okay. And if anything happens, I promise – John, I’m serious. I promise I’ll call you.”

           You see him clench his jaw, before he nods, letting you win this round. “Okay,” he breathes. “Come here.”

           You already know what he needs, seeing that look in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him the biggest hug you’ve ever given him. You don’t want to think cynically right now, but if something does happen, you do want your last memory of him to be a good, secure hug. Not an argument over a gun.

           “You better call me,” he says again, shaking your shoulders. “But have fun. Spend some money.”

           “That’s my plan,” you chuckle. “I’ll see you later? Or tomorrow?”

           “Alright, I see,” he gives you a look, reading what you’re implying perfectly. “Later. Mary has something to do tonight.”

           “Oh? What does she do?”

           “She’s a nurse, but--”

           “Shame. I thought you were gonna say stripper.”

           John’s eyes widen before he practically shoves you toward the door, all while you’re laughing – which does make him feel momentarily better, your laughter. It makes you feel better too, to add some light to this situation before you go.

           “I’m kidding you! Christ, you should know better by now. Don’t take anything that comes out of my mouth too seriously.”

           “Yes, I know, now get outta here.”

           “Gladly,” you smirk, feeling a little lighter now that he’s off your shoulders. You aren’t sure by how much, but it must be at least a little.

~~~

Shopping for new records would go smoother if you didn’t feel like someone was watching you.

           John’s words echo in your mind. You better call me. But you aren’t sure if this warrants a call to your older brother because it very well could be your lack of sleep. And you’ve had to deal with days like these before, where you haven’t slept in ages. You did manage a few hours last night, but nowhere near what would be deemed a normal amount. Regardless, your senses are all heightened. And while that would normally be a wonderful thing – you know, be aware of your surroundings at all times – today it is rather annoying.

           Gidon doesn’t come to mind because while it is the sixth day, the pattern seems unlikely to you. Yes, Tony was murdered after six days, but Gidon wouldn’t return to that style. You know how he works, and he would want you to wait. It also could be some religious thing, but you haven’t looked into that just yet.

           All you know, is you’ve felt someone staring at you – well, not so much staring as watching – for the past thirty minutes.

           You turn to look in a different crate, hoping to get a better view of whoever it is – and you do. It’s a man in a full suit with sunglasses on. Security of some sort.

           Security.

           “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath. This absolutely warrants a call to your older brother, and maybe someone else, too. You press your phone to your ear, waiting for him to pick up, and in true John fashion, he picks up on the second ring. “John? Hi—”

           “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

           “I’m fine. You wouldn’t have happened to tell Mycroft I was going out today, would you?”

           “I, uh, haven’t spoken to Mycroft, why?”

           You feel like he’s lying, but you let it slide anyway. “Hm, okay. Let me call him.”

           “Y/N—”

           You end the call – you’ll call him back; he can calm down – instead calling a certain Mycroft Holmes this time. He picks up almost immediately, which just screams guilty. Even if John didn’t call him – you’re trying to believe John doesn’t worry that much – you know Mycroft has eyes literally everywhere.

           “Mr. Holmes, I do not need a babysitter.”

           You hear him sigh. “Is he bothering you? I told him to be discreet.”

           “So he is your pet,” you give the man a hard look, but he continues staring straight ahead. “I’ll say it again. I don’t need a babysitter.”

           “Well, Miss L/N, I’d argue that you do.”

           “What the hell for?”

           He doesn’t answer you. Instead, you watch as a black car pulls up to the curb outside the record store in the same spot it did all those weeks ago.

           You sigh into the phone. “I’m not in the mood, Mycroft.”

           “Yes, I know,” he deadpans. “I need to speak with you.”

           “Well, I gathered that.”

           “Now, Y/N.”

           “Okay, fine. I’m going.”

           You end his call, rolling your eyes as the man in the suit turns and walks to the door, holding it open for you. Grumbling like a toddler – which is what you feel like right now – you get into the car, immediately dialing John’s number.

           “Hello?”

           “Hey.”

           “Y/N? Are you okay?”

           “Yeah, I’m fine,” you glance out the car window, noticing the street signs. Mycroft must be opting for his actual office instead of a dirty warehouse this time. “I’m on my way to see Mycroft.”

           “Mycroft?” John asks incredulously. You still can’t detect any lie, but you also can’t see his face right now.

           “Yes, he had a babysitter in the bloody record store. I called him and he confessed, and now he suddenly wants to speak with me.”

           “Well,” John sighs. “It’s Mycroft.”

           “Unfortunately,” you chuckle. “Hey, John?”

           “Yes?”

           “I called you.”

           “Yes, you did. Thank you.”

           You smile. “Are you with Mary?” You know he is, but you felt like you should ask.

           “Yes, she’s uh—She’s sitting across from me.”

           “Good. Tell her I said hi. And sorry for interrupting your date.”

           “I’m not telling her that.”

           “Did you tell her I thought she was a stripper?”

           “Y/N!”

           “John! I’m kidding!” You let out a loud laugh, leaning your head on the car window, feeling the vehicle slow down. “Still, tell her I said hello. I’m here to see Mycroft now.”

           “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

           Your car door opens, which is essentially your cue to get out and get off the phone. “Here I am. Talk to you later, Johnny.”

“How is my brother?”

           “You know, if you really wanted to know how he is, you could just talk to him.” You cross your arms over your chest while Mycroft pours you a cup of tea. “But he’s fine.”

           Mycroft could’ve told you that. Sherlock is always fine. Mycroft hums, indirectly wanting you to continue.

           You roll your eyes dramatically. “He’s fine. We’ve played every game he has, but Cluedo the most. He’s eating, I’m eating. He’s good. He still doesn’t sleep, but then when does he ever?”

           Mycroft freezes, eyeing you suspiciously. “‘We,’ as in…?”

           You raise your eyebrows. “Me…and Sherlock. We play games to pass the time. Are you okay?”

           “I’m fine, yes.” He pauses to hand you your tea before settling into his chair across from you. “Now—”

           “Okay, first, if you need to talk to me, just phone me. I have a phone for a reason. That specific reason, actually. That’s what it does. And second, I do not need a babysitter.”

           “Yes, as you’ve stated many times.”

           “I’m serious, Mycroft.”

           “I’m serious, too, Y/N, and if you had any idea what Gidon Dietrichson is capable of, then you would understand.”

           “I know what he’s capable of. I’ve gone up against him, remember?”

           “Yes, which resulted in your hospitalization. By the way, how’s the shoulder?”

           You clench your jaw. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to push your buttons as much as Sherlock does sometimes, so thank God Mycroft is here to remind you. “Fine. Good as new.”

           “And yet you wouldn’t take John’s gun.”

           You chuckle, placing your cup down on the table beside you. “He called you, didn’t he?”

           “I have eyes everywhere, Y/N. John didn’t need to call me.”

You narrow your eyes. He didn’t need to only implies that he did. “What do you want?”

           “To protect you.”

           “I don’t need protecting.”

           Mycroft eyes you again. “You haven’t slept,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes, “in days.”

He noticed it when you walked in here. Your tired eyes and too-thin patience. Not to mention how you’re drinking black tea, when you usually have sugar. The lack of sleep must have made the difference go unnoticed. Your shaking hands don’t help your case much, either. And you know he notices all of this. He doesn’t need to voice his deductions.

           “Rude,” you tease, trying to deflect his deductions with humor. “I got two hours last night.”

           “What is wrong with you?”

           You shrug. “A lot of things. It’s hard to narrow it down, really. But you didn’t ask me to be here so you could talk to me about how I’m feeling, I know you don’t care. Now, what do you want?”

           “I told you. I want to protect you.”

           Oh, John definitely called him. “What do you really want?”

           “I can’t have tea with you to see how you are doing?”

           “No, you can’t. Because we’re not friends.”

           “I happened to have noticed today is the sixth day since Allen was murdered. Forgive me for wanting to keep you out of harm’s way.”

           You nearly smile at his words, but then you remember who you’re talking to. “What’s gotten into you?”

           “I suppose I feel a bit of…what is it? Guilt, for not fully disposing of The Congregation, and now to find Gidon Dietrichson is targeting you.”

           “Guilt? Mycroft Holmes feels guilt? Michael Holland feels guilt?”

           “Yes, how long did it take you to figure me out?”

           “Longer than I’d like to say.”

           “What gave me away? Humor me.”

           “You were a little too interested in the case.” You pause, remembering his text messages and willingness to look into the matter for you. “That, and the initials. You showing up at Baker Street last week only confirmed it all.”

           “John phoned me.”

           “Obviously. But you were still too interested.”

           Mycroft sighs heavily, setting his tea down. “You brought us enough information to make the calculated move that we did, all while putting your safety in danger. And now that this has resurfaced, I feel I owe you an apology.”

           “Apology accepted,” you reply, giving him a weird look. John definitely must have had a few words with him – a few heated words. “I still don’t understand why you’re saying all of this.”

           Well, while it is none of his business, it has concerned him. And the state you are currently in has only concerned him further. So, he says what is on his mind. “My brother seems to have taken to you. And you to him.”

           “Please, tell me you are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

           “Sherlock has never had a friend outside of John Watson, and he seems to be enjoying your company.”

           “You do realize we constantly argue, don’t you?”

           “Yes, that seems to be a trend,” Mycroft pauses, thinking momentarily of The Woman. “But he did talk you off a rooftop. And you two have been playing games together since.” He doesn’t even need to mention the incident of Sherlock placing you in his bed, or the apparent piece of music Sherlock is composing that has your name practically written in the spaces between the lines of the staff.

           “I would hardly call arguing over whether or not the victim committed the murder in Cluedo as enjoying one another’s company, but I’ll take your word for it.”

           Mycroft narrows his eyes. You appear to be hiding something, but you’re nearly impossible to read when you are this exhausted. Not to mention that all he sees is pain in your sleep-deprived eyes.

           “Well, if that was all,” you shake your head at the strange sound of it. This was probably another big waste of your time, which appears to be something Mycroft enjoys doing. “Then I’ll be going. I have records to buy since you rudely interrupted me.”

           Mycroft stands with you. “Yes, apologies.”

           “Yeah…don’t send security to follow me around. I’m sure you have ways of watching my every move that doesn’t involve someone breathing over my shoulder.”

           “Understood.”

           Now he really is acting strangely. “Uh, okay. Goodbye, Mycroft.”

           “Have a lovely day, Y/N.”

           You send him another strange look over your shoulder as you exit his office, guided by who you’re assuming will be driving you back to Baker Street. You’re going to request the record store around the corner since you are entirely serious about finishing your shopping.

           As soon as the office door has closed, Mycroft phones John.

           “She seems to be alright, no signs of any drugging.” Mycroft doesn’t mention his other deductions as he’s sure John will see them.

           “Okay, that’s good.”

           “Uh, John, they play Cluedo together?”

           “Yes, uh, they do. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

           The older hums. “Yes. Peculiar.” He shakes his head.

           “Okay, she’s phoning me now. Bye Mycroft.”

 ~~~

You settle into the back of the car, dialing John’s number. The line is busy for a moment before he answers your call. If your suspicion wasn’t raised before, it sure is now.

           “Hello?”

           “Hey,” you breathe. “Who were you talking to?”

           “Oh, Mike called.”

           “Oh,” you nod, liar. “I know you called Mycroft.”

           John sighs heavily. Busted.

           “Listen, John, I know you worry, but I’m fine, really. I don’t need anyone to protect me, and I really could do without you phoning Mycroft to spy on me.”

           “Mycroft spies on everyone.”

           Weak excuse. “John.”

           “Okay,” he replies, quietly. “Okay. No more.”

           “Good. Now get back to your date.”

           “Okay,” he chuckles. “Mary says hi.”

           You smile then, not being able to help it. You’re happy for John, really. He deserves someone who makes him happy, and Mary seems to do just that. “Tell her I can’t wait to meet her.”

           You wait as John relays the message. “She says the same.”

           Because you’re on the phone with John, you completely forget to tell the driver to take you to the record store, and you don’t realize this until the car pulls up outside 221B. You sigh.

           “Okay, I’m here now. Bye Johnny.”

           “Bye Y/N.”

           You open the car door for yourself, tired of the suit doing it for you. He looks rather annoyed after being halfway out the car by the time you got out of the car.

           The car speeds away as you unlock the front door. As soon as you step inside, Sherlock stops playing his violin.

           “Don’t stop on my account,” you call out as you walk up the stairs.

           Sherlock turns around from the window, seeing you leaning against the doorframe. He sniffs. “You’ve been with my brother.”

           “Because my brother phoned him,” you grumble, pushing off the doorframe to collapse in John’s chair. You’d prefer the couch, but it’s freezing, and John’s chair is closer to the fire.

           Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. “John phoned Mycroft?” Why on earth would he do something like that?

           “Yes,” you sigh, curling up and grabbing the blanket from the back of John’s chair. “Apparently, they think I need a babysitter.”

           “How absurd.”

           “Thank you!” Then you pause, giving him a look. His tone sounded entirely too agreeing for you to take him seriously. “Sherlock?”

           “Hm?” He raises his eyebrows, tuning his violin absentmindedly.

           “Do you think I need a babysitter?”

           “To be completely fair, my brother thinks I need one as well.”

           “But do you think I need one?”

           “Your life is in danger, not at this current moment, but it is in danger. But no, I don’t think you need any security. I think you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.”

           You settle back into John’s chair, smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

           “Mm.”

           Sherlock begins playing something on the violin, the same tune you’ve heard him play for a while. You want to ask him what it is, but you figure you’ll know when he wants you to know. You enjoy to too much to risk making him self-conscious and stop playing it.

           You notice a blanket on Sherlock’s chair, and your shivering practically forces you to reach over and steal it, stretching it over your legs. Sherlock catches this out of the corner of his eye, turning around to give you an incredulous look.

           He stops playing. “You’re shivering.”

           “Brilliant deduction.”

           “Not an exciting reach. You haven’t slept in five…six days. Sleep deprivation causes your body temperature to drop dramatically. ‘Course, the lack of sleep would also explain for the way you stumbled up the stairs.”

           “I did not stumble!”

           “Oh, you stumbled. And you went out to spend money yet returned without spending anything.”

           “You know how I am.”

           “You’re exhausted.”

           “Sherlock Holmes, you’re on fire today.”

           He smiles – which is odd, considering you’re used to a smirk, but you aren’t complaining. The smile is slightly different, but still just as nice as his smirk when he doesn’t try to hide them. Without saying anything else, he begins playing again.

           You shake your head, moving to lie down in the chair with your head on the arm closest to the fire. And before long, Sherlock’s playing has lulled you to sleep.