#and i am excited i have THREE occasions coming up where i get to bake fun things and for one of them i get to do cookie decorating again

[mcmorare]

spent most of the day doing some stuff with my beads because i haven't Made things in a while and i love making funky earrings so !! i am Trying to learn actual beading patterns instead of just using them as accents and i think it turned out pretty good for first attempts :D

[thecrystalquill]

Hi again!

after a lot of thinking, i would like to ask you to write for Percy Jackson. Like a cute winter day or something where Reader and Percy just do cute stuff together.

maybe they cook/bake together, idk. if you need more to this you can tell me and i'll try to think of something more to add.

I went with Apollo!reader bc I’m biased. Hope you like it :) also very excited for my first post in the pjo fandom!

Also I’d like to thank my adhd for allowing me to write about my favourite demigods more accurately lmao (bless uncle Rick for making them like me 🥲)

(Book) Percy Jackson x Apollo!reader fluff

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

It was December. Persephone had been long reunited with her husband, and her mother - still bitter about their arrangement - let the world know of her sadness.

There was snow at Camp Halfblood, and the demigods who remained were enjoying it fantastically. All except the remaining children of cabin seven. With the sun weak and the weather cold, they seemed to slump about with low energy, no matter how they tried. Seasonal depression was often a little worse for children of the sun.

Which was why (Y/N) was glad to have Percy.

“What’s going on? Where’re we going?” She asked, letting him drag her by the arm through the snowy paths.

“Well, if I told you it kinda wouldn’t be a surprise.” He grinned that big stupid smile he reserved for occasions like this. He pulled her towards the kitchen, eager to see her reaction.

They entered the kitchens and (Y/N) saw before her a table arranged with bowls, utensils, and more ingredients than she could imagine using in a single recipe, along with three cook books all open at different pages. “We’re…baking?” She asked, kicking off the snow from her boots before she approached the display.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Oh, actually it’s a science experiment - I thought we’d have a try at making a bomb.” He sassed, ignoring the light slap to his arm and instead opted to help his girlfriend out of her coat. “I thought we could make a pie?” He explained, though it sounded more like a question.

(Y/N) smiled; it was times like this that she felt so lucky to have someone like him. “What kind?”

Turning to the pantry, Percy rummaged through for options, coming up with a bag of apples, a sack of peanuts, three oranges, and a black banana. “Uh… apple and cinnamon?”

At that moment, it could be a mud pie for all she cared. “Sounds perfect.”

Within ten minutes, they’d gotten everything together and started on the dough. Flour, water, salt, sugar, and butter. Easy.

“Why is it so… gooey?” Said Percy with dough stuck all around his fingers. “Am I not kneading it enough?”

(Y/N) looked into the bowl to assess the problem. The consistency was definitely off. “Maybe just add some more flour?” She suggested, grabbing a handful from the paper bag at her side to throw in the bowl. Only, she also threw about half of it all over his jeans.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, jumping back and almost dropping the bowl. He pushed as much of the sticky dough off his hands and grabbed some flour to throw back before she could defend herself.

“What’re you doing? Stop!” She squeezed, but laughed despite the powder on her shirt.

He did as she said, but the mischievous spark in his eye remained.

When the crust dough looked… good enough, they split it in half and rolled it to the size of the pie dish. They chopped and sugared the apples as the recipe said in the blue (or was it the red?) cook book, and Percy added the cinnamon until his heart told him to stop. (Y/N) mixed the filling while he preoccupied himself with decorating the edges of the crust. Her eye wandered as she stirred and listened to Percy talk about fun words he’d heard of in German (how did they get onto that topic, anyway?), until she saw an open cupboard with a tub of food dyes. Curiosity got the better of her, and she snuck a peak while her boyfriend was distracted. Red, purple, yellow, pink, green… why did they even have so many?

She grabbed two and sneakily poured them in - maybe a little too much, but Percy wouldn’t be distracted for much longer - and took her chance while Percy adjusted the oven. In the filling went, and she hurriedly covered it with the pie top.

“Hey, that was fast.” Percy complimented, unaware of the sly adjustment to the mix. “Just gotta put some holes in it and glaze the top with milk and sugar.” He smiled and picked up a fork.

“I’ll do it.” (Y/N) said, and Percy was more than willing to let her, happy to see the beautiful smile on her lips.

When the pie was finally in the oven, they let out a breath and leaned against the messy table. “Do you have a timer?” She asked.

Percy looked around but came up empty handed. “Nope. But it’s fine, the book says thirty minutes. We’ll remember.”

Famous last words.

Forty-eight minutes later, they scrambled to open the door and hoped with fingers crossed that it wasn’t burnt. Fortunately, luck was on their side; the edges were too brown and the top had started to darken more than the recommended golden colour, but it was salvageable.

The pie was sat on a wooden serving tray in front of them, and the couple pulled up some chairs. They’d worked up quite the appetite.

(Y/N) pulled out a knife from a draw and handed it over. “Would you do the honours?” She asked, and Percy bowed his head as he took it.

He licked his lips a little as the knife cut through the crumbling crust, and proudly pulled back the slice to see its sweet appley insides, chunky and sugary and… brown? “What the hell? Why’s it look like that?!”

(Y/N) looked around to see from his view and groaned. “Aw dam,” she sighed loudly, “I tried to make it blue.”

“You did?” Percy asked, and smiled anyway when he saw the frown on her lips. “That’s okay, it’s the thought that counts. Let’s just try it.” He said as he reached for some forks and handed one over.

They tapped their forks together and tried it at the same time. For a moment, it tasted pretty good.

And then that moment ended.

“Why does it taste like that?” (Y/N) said with a scrunched face.

“I don’t know! We followed the recipe…” Percy reached for the book and checked the ingredients. “See - five cups of flour, a pinch of sugar, two teaspoons of salt—“

“Woah, how much?” (Y/N) interrupted.

Percy held up the green book in his hands. “That’s what it says. Page thirty-one, ingredients—“

He was right, (Y/N) realised, the book did say that. Only, it was the wrong book. “Oh, Percy, that book’s green.” She said, and Percy looked at her in clear confusion, until she held up the book in front of them and one to her right “The ones we were comparing was the blue one and the red.”

Percy’s eyes widened comically large and he gasped. “Then what did I…” he flicked back a page to read the description. “Aw man, this is for a sea salt bread!”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, ew!” He groaned and banged his head on the table in a clear display of hopelessness. “I’m sorry.” Percy grumbled weakly, sounding beyond disappointed.

(Y/N) sympathetically placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. “Why’re you sorry?”

“I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Percy muttered, still with his head on the wooden surface.

“Hey,” she said, easing him to lift his head up and look up at her with his big, sad eyes. He had flour smeared on his forehead from the still messy table, and she giggled while dusting it off. “You did. We had fun.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess. But the pie sucks.”

Pausing for a second, (Y/N) opted to pick up her fork and take another bite, ignoring his protests. “It’s not so bad the second time.” She said. Sure, the crust was salty and crumbly, and a little burnt, and the filling was an unappealing green-brown, but she’d had worse. She scooped up another forkful and put it to Percy’s lips, waiting for him to take a bite.

He wrapped his lips around the offering, and tried not to think about the salt or the strong cinnamon flavour. “I guess it’s… okay.” He said, and he smiled at her gesture.

He hasn’t expected her to laugh at him, though.

“What?” He asked, frowning in confusion yet again, only making her laugh more. “What?”

The sight of a clueless Percy Jackson, with flour on his face and brown-coated teeth, was one she’d give a fortune to have on camera. “Y-you- you look like you ate sh—“ she managed before she was cut off by more laughter. If she wasn’t already sat down, she would have collapsed already from the near violent laughs taking over her body. Tears streamed down her face, and her stomach hurt like she’d done a minute-long plank, and she’d started laughing so hard that no sound even came out anymore.

Percy couldn’t help but laugh too, harder and harder each minute, until they were both exhausted and heavily meaning in the table for support. “This whole day was a disaster.” He chuckled and shook his head.

(Y/N) moved forward to cup his floury face in her hands. “Not at all - it was perfect.” She swore, and thanked him with a sweet, cinnamon flavoured kiss.

It was the best date they’d had in a while - sweet kisses were the perfect ending - and the clean up could wait until after. They’d remember.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

The camp’s snowman building contest was interrupted an hour before dinner by a scream from the kitchen.

“WHO THE FUCK TRASHED THE KITCHEN?!”

It might be best to skip dinner that night…

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Thank you for requesting :) what did you think?

[lilacandladybugs]

Winnie the Pooh Rendition: In Which The Syndicate Throws Technoblade a Birthday Party

It was a bright and snowy as ever June day, one of those days where nearly everyone is still sleeping, and the summer air is a bit thicker than normal, and the snowflakes still bustle through the air. One of those June days where the polar bears lay around lazily and the song of birds from nearby treetops feels even more gentle than normal. It was one of those types of snowy Junes, the most Junest that anyone had seen, when Philza Minecraft realized it was Technoblade’s birthday.

“Oh dear,” Phil said, standing up from where he had been writing Wilbur a letter, “Today is Technoblade’s birthday, and I haven’t got anything planned.” This simply wouldn’t do. Technoblade would need to have a large birthday to commemorate how Clever and Loyal and Generous he was, as everyone in the Syndicate agreed.

“I must go tell Ranboo right away, and we can make some plans together.” And so Philza gathered up his armor and went out into the snowy June morning to Ranboo’s house, which was just across the lawn.

“Ranboo,” Phil began, “I had nearly forgotten that it is Technoblade’s birthday today, and we must throw him a party as soon as possible.”

“His birthday?” Ranboo said, blinking his large enderman eyes, “a birthday.”

“Yes,” said Phil, “and we need to throw him a party.”

“Well birthday parties are things that shouldn’t be forgotten,” said Ranboo, who had forgotten what a Birth Day was, “and we should make sure everything is just right.”

“Yes,” said Phil, “we should.”

Ranboo considered for a moment what a Birth Day might be, and what type of party someone would have for it. Perhaps Birth Days were days where you had something good happen, and you needed congratulating. In that case they might want to write him a book. Or maybe Birth Days where when something solemn happened, and you needed consoling. 

“It seems,” Ranboo guessed, “That we should have a celebration.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ah yes,” Ranboo nodded seriously, “of course, Birth Days are always for celebrating and being happy.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But what should we do to celebrate it?”

Ranboo remembered that Technoblade seemed to enjoy fireworks, and he remembered that sometimes people set off fireworks when they were celebrating an occasion. “What if we set off fireworks?”

“Oh,” said Phil, “yes Technoblade does like fireworks.”

Ranboo felt pleased with himself for guessing something correctly, “Yes he does.”

“But fireworks are not very customary on such occasions,” Phil continued.

“True,” said Ranboo, “not very custardly at all.” 

Phil sat down next to Ranboo so that he would be in a better position for planning occasions, and thought about the firework idea, which still remained their only idea. “Well, I suppose we could have fireworks anyway,” he resolved, “given they are Technoblade’s favorite.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ranboo said.

“I’ll go tell Nikki, nobody would want to miss a birthday party.” Phil stood up with new resolve to make Technoblade a lot of fancy fireworks for his birthday, “Thank you for helping me come up with ideas. Come around our house at three o’clock, and I will have woken Technoblade up for his birthday.”

“Goodbye,” said Ranboo, feeling as if the exchange had gone exceptionally well for not knowing what a Birth Day was, and feeling very excited to finally find out.

“Goodbye,” said Phil, glad he wasn’t the only one who had nearly forgotten. Nikki was in her bakery, where it was much warmer than outside in the snow, and the smell of something sweet, but not too sweet, hung gently in the air. Phil stepped in and instantly felt much better about everything. 

“Hullo Nikki!”

“Hullo Phil,” Nikki said, pulling a cake her out of her oven, “It is Technoblade’s birthday today, and so I thought it would be a good idea to make him a cake.”

“Ah yes,” Phil said. He hadn’t even thought of making Technoblade a cake, even though such things were indeed customary at birthday parties. “Cakes are great for birthday parties. I would have made him one myself, of course, but I am not much of a cake maker, and more of a fireworks maker.”

“Cakes are good for birthday parties,” Nikki agreed. “and I am sure you are great at firework making.” 

Phil also realized that Nikki had remembered Technoblade’s birthday before he had remembered it. Nikki didn’t need to know that, she was on a need-to-know basis, if you will. “I, too, have remembered Technoblade’s birthday, as all good and proper friends should, and I have decided that we should wake him up for his birthday at three o’ clock this afternoon.” He smelled the cake and looked very closely, but not too closely, at the purple icing that Nikki had just pulled out of her pantry. “Would you like to come to the party?”

“Of course,” said Nikki, “Have you already told Ranboo? I’m sure he would be devastated to miss out on it.”

“Yes, I did,” said Phil, “And I think we all would be.” 

They stood there for a moment, thinking about how much everyone in the Syndicate cared about Technoblade, and how they had all grown incredibly fond of him, and how they would be devastated to miss out on such an Occasion as his birthday.

After they had given it a moment of consideration, Phil helped Nikki finish baking her cakes. Then he helped her carry them up to the cottage, and Nikki helped Phil set up a table outside with chairs, including one for Steve, and generally prepared for the birthday party. Ranboo, having never attended a party before, was practically buzzing with excitement, and talking to each of them very loudly about what he thought it might be like, and how much fun they were going to have.

At last, the party was all set up, and they went to poke Technoblade to get him to wake up from hibernation.

“Surprise!” They all said together when he opened his eyes, “Happy birthday!”

“Oh!” said Technoblade, struggling to stay awake, “Is it my birthday today?”

“Yes,” said Nikki, “You told me that June 1st is your birthday.” 

“So it is,” confessed Technoblade.

“How old are you turning?” Nikki asked innocently.

Technoblade paused for a moment trying to remember. 

“Ninety-seven,” he responded finally. This was not how old he was.

Fortunately, nobody asked him anymore questions about it and they all went outside to have cake and look at fireworks. 

Nikki presented her cake with purple icing and cut everyone a slice.

“This is the best cake I’ve ever had,” Technoblade said, “Where did you get it?”

“I baked them myself,” Nikki said, glowing with happiness, “at my bakery. I’ve been baking again recently.”

“Cake is always better than pie,” Technoblade remarked, and everyone agreed, even Steve. “Except pumpkin pie is alright.” 

“I don’t like pumpkin pie,” said Phil, “But I’ve only had it once, so maybe it isn’t that bad.” 

“I could make some for you sometime.” Nikki offered, and they all agreed that if Nikki made it then it would probably be the best, and being the best, would be enjoyable even for someone like Phil.

When they had all eaten enough, Philza Minecraft stood up, and everybody stopped talking and were very silent, except Ranboo who had eaten a bite that was a little too large and was having a fit of hiccups. 

“This party,” said Philza, “is a party because of our appreciation for someone who we all appreciate very much, and we are celebrating him turning…” Phil couldn’t remember how old Technoblade was either, “one year older.” He felt around underneath the table for his fireworks, “And I have got a present for him.”

Technoblade was very happy and smiling but he tried his best not to look too eager. When he saw what it was though he could not stop himself from smiling so much he was practically glowing.

Phil held up the present, seeing that Techno was happy and knowing that Ranboo’s advice had been very good advice, “They’re fireworks! I have spent all morning working on them, and I think they will be perfect.”

“I bet they will be,” Techno said, and he meant it, knowing that Philza Minecraft’s crafting knowledge far exceeded his own.

Now all of them were very happy, because Technoblade was happy, and Phil loaded some brightly packaged fireworks, lit them, and set them off in a vibrant display of colors against the white snowy backdrop. They made various shapes in the sky and came in different layers, some of them changed from one color to another.

Everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed.

But Technoblade was confused. The fireworks did Not look special to him, they looked Dull and Patternless. This was very confusing and surprising as they were made by Phil Himself. But everyone else was ooh-ing and ahh-ing, and it seemed like the right thing to do, so he did it politely along with them.

After Phil had already set off three of his special fireworks, Nikki noticed that Techno looked confused and said, “Technoblade, can you see the fireworks?”

“Well, I can see the colors a little,” he admitted sheepishly, not wanting to upset Phil, who he was sure had worked very hard on them.

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Phil, “you should be seeing the colors a lot not just a little.”

“You’ve forgotten your glasses,” Nikki pointed out.

“Oh,” said Techno, now feeling very silly.

Ranboo saw an opportunity to be helpful even without knowing what a Birth Day party was. “I’ll go get them for you.” He ran into the house and back very quickly and handed Technoblade his glasses.

“Thank you Ranboo,” Technoblade said. Everything looked sharper now, he could see the snowflakes and Ranboo’s large enderman eyes much more clearly.

“Let’s try again,” Phil said, and he set off a few more of his fireworks and they all ooh-ed and ahhh-ed, and Technoblade did not have to fake it as he could actually see them this time, and they were beautiful, and everything that one would expect from Philza himself.

Since this was everything they had planned to do, everyone talked for a little while longer, just enjoying each other’s company and laughing. Then they drifted off, after saying their goodbyes, and congratulated Technoblade on his new age, whatever that might be. 

But Phil and Techno stayed outside in the snow together for a long time and silently watched the sun set in the distance.

“When you finally wake up after hibernating, Techno,” Phil said at last, “what is the first thing you like to do?”

“I like find out how Steve and you and Ranboo are doing,” Technoblade said. “What do you do, Phil?”

“When I first wake up, I always wonder to myself what exciting thing will happen today.” 

Technoblade nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said, “It’s the same thing.”

[fawnandshadows]

After the Ceremony - Chapter 3

I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I could not be more excited to share it! Please let me know what you guys think, and I also wanted to thank everyone for their support because I was so convinced that no one was going to read this, and I am so incredibly flattered at the response I have received. This story is also available on AO3

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 2,938

Story Rating: M

Elain was giddy. She couldn’t remember the last time she woke up and was excited about the day ahead of her. Well, before the solstice she used to wake up and be content and hopeful. She would tend to her garden and try to make the world a more beautiful place; gardening was something that she was good at, something that she enjoyed, and it was something that was just hers. There were many times, before Feyre had been taken, that she wished she could have done something more substantial for her family, but they couldn’t afford the seeds to grow any food, and she didn’t even know how to grow food. So, once Elain settled into her fae life enough, she decided to learn a valuable skill - one that almost anyone would approve of.

She learned how to bake, and then she learned how to cook. The twins were surprisingly gracious and they were more than welcoming and patient with her, and before long Elain started to think of Nuala and Cerridwen as friends. The first friends she ever made that were hers, and hers alone. She knew they worked for Feyre, Rhysand, and Azriel, but the twins weren’t friends with them.

It was during this time that Elain started to hope to see Azriel every day when she woke up. Whenever she was with the twins there was always a part of her that wanted Az to show up and ask for a report, he almost never did, but she imagined it just the same. He would come in after a long day, and she would offer him the chocolate chip cookies she baked herself - Elain made those cookies at least once a week after learning they were his favorite- and they would simply enjoy each other’s company. She dreamed that he would open up to her, because the Mother knew he needed someone to talk to, and Elain would give him a lovely, cozy space where he would forget about his spy business for a bit. A space that he could think of as home.

And then there were the daydreams where Elain imagined they did a little bit more than talk. On many occasions, when Elain was alone in the kitchen baking bread and covered in flour, she thought of Azriel storming into the kitchen in a flurry of emotion - sometimes it was anger, but it could have been passion, or even an overwhelming lust - and he would take her into his arms and kiss her as if his life depended on it. They almost always ended up covered in flour, or whatever Elain was cooking, and right when her imagination was starting to get interesting somebody inevitably walked into the kitchen, and it was almost never the person she wanted it to be. Sometimes her family could be such busy bodies.

None of her fantasies lived up to the real thing.

The real Azriel, the one crafted from flesh and blood and bone, was so exquisite that her dirtiest most intense fantasy seemed childish.

Her heart pounded wildly just thinking about it.

A soft knock sounded from the door, disrupting Elain from the memories she was reliving over and over again, and Elain told whoever was knocking to come in. She briefly entertained the idea of feigning sleep, but she had already lazed in bed for almost an hour. A small indulgence she allowed herself - normally she would rise with the sun and immediately throw herself into the garden, or help with breakfast, or do something to show she was useful.

Feyre, to Elains surprise, entered the room and shut the door behind her.

“Good morning.” Elain raised herself up and smiled at her sister.

Feyre had not yet dressed for the day, she still wore her navy silk nightgown and robe, and it warmed Elains heart to see her sister in such finery. She was happy that Feyre found herself a mate that treated her like a queen - she deserved it after everything she did for their family. There were times when Elain felt the crushing urge to hug her sister, and she decided after last night to grant herself those small kindnesses - she had come to learn that it was never a bad thing to show someone you loved them, even if you couldn’t say it.

Elain had opened her arms and said, “Doesn’t it seem like a fine morning for a cuddle?”

Feyre laughed and walked over to her sister before plopping herself into the bed and into Elain’s open arms.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” Feyre said with a sigh - as if she were remembering the last time it happened and how everything had changed since then. “As much as I love Rhys he tends to hog the bed. He kicks off all the covers and then has the audacity to accuse me of stealing them, can you believe that,” Even though Feyre’s voice held a hint of exasperation Elain knew there was a smile on her face, probably one that found its twin on Elains face. “I barely got any sleep last night. Nyx woke up crying and I had to search the entire house for his favorite toy, you know the one - the stuffed bat that Cassian got him. Somehow it ended up downstairs in the ballroom.”

Elain felt tears start to well in her eyes. She was just so happy for Feyre, and her joy was only amplified knowing that Feyre was happy. Feyre was completely, utterly, and divinely happy.

“Is that why you decided to join me this morning? To get some peace and quiet?” Elain asked.

It was Feyre that almost stumbled upon her and Azriel last night. Her cheeks warmed not only at the memory, but at the fact that Feyre almost saw them. Elain was almost certain that Feyre didn’t know about the scene she interrupted, but still she wanted to make sure.

“Yes and no,” Feyre said, and Elain could tell from her voice that she wasn’t going to like what her sister said. Feyre shifted on the bed to face Elain. “Were you downstairs last night. I thought I smelled you, and you know how not great I am at distinguishing scents,” It was true. For all of her power and abilities, a keen sense of smell wasn’t one of them. “But I thought I smelled you downstairs when I was looking for Nyx’s bat. Of course when I actually got into the room you weren’t there, and I know my nose has been sensitive ever since I was pregnant, so I could have just been smelling you from earlier.”

A small smile tugged at Elains lips, and the delightful urge to share with her sister moved through her.

“Can I tell you something?” She asked shyly.

Feyre’s eyebrows raised as she said, “Of course.”

“I need you to be my sister. Not High Lady.”

At Feyre’s nod Elain couldn’t hold back. In excited whispers she told her sister everything that she felt, and most of what transpired last night, Elain kept some of the more private details to herself.

“That explains the torn nightgown.” Feyre commented at one point, and Elain couldn’t contain the giggle that burst out of her. It had never really been like this between her and Feyre, Elain had always drifted more towards Nesta, but she was glad to have this moment with her younger sister.

“Feyre,” Elaid started with a bit of hesitation. “Has Rhysand ever talked to you about me?”

Feyre’s brow furrowed a bit as she thought.

“He adores you, and he thinks of you as his own sister, but I can’t think of anything recently.” The two sat in silence for a moment before Feyre exclaimed, “Oh! He loved the tarts you made the other day, the apple ones, he was rather put out that you saved the last one for Az,” Feyre nudged her with her shoulder. “Although that makes sense now.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything else?”

“No, why? Should he have?”

Elain debated whether or not she should share this part, that part of Rhys being a meddlesome mother hen, with Feyre. She thought that her sister would be on her side, but Elain didn’t want to be responsible for a rift between her sister and her mate.

She shook her head and said, “No reason. He just stepped on my toes a little harshly last night, but it wasn’t his fault. Cassian was practically falling on him, and when Rhys tried to get out of the way he landed on my foot. I was hoping to tease him about it today, but I’m afraid he might have been a little too tipsy to remember it.”

Before Feyre had the chance to respond, Nyx's cry filled the air.

“I suppose the day has to start at some point,” Feyre said and she rolled out of bed. “Starting it with my sister and son seems like a pretty good way.”

Elain nearly tripped over her cobalt dress as she rushed down stairs. She couldn’t help it. She was just too excited to start the day and to see Azriel again. She wanted to see him in the light of day, not that she minded seeing him in the shadows of the night when it was only them and the Mother, but Elain wanted to see his face blush with unobstructed vision, and she wanted his hazel eyes warm in the light of the sun.

It had been too long since they allowed themselves to be together in the light of day.

When she reached the kitchen Elain wasn’t surprised to see it was only Nuala and Cerridwen in the kitchen. Her friends gave her sly smiles as they took in her goofy grin and red cheeks before saying good morning to her.

“Good morning,” Elain replied, eyeing the cinnamon rolls that just came out of the oven. The rest of her family must have been waiting in the living room before breakfast, and a thought popped into Elain’s head. “Did you guys use the recipe we just came up with?”

“Yes.” They said in unison.

Elain didn’t stop herself from piling three rolls onto a plate and filling up a mug with coffee. She bit her lip to contain her excitement as she made her way to the swinging door, saying a quick goodbye to her friends before leaving the kitchen.

The trek to the living room was short, but the anticipation made butterflies flutter in her stomach. She knew what she was about to do, she was going to offer food to another male while her mate was in the room, but Elain was determined she wasn’t going to hide her feelings anymore. She brought Rhysand and Cassian food all the time whenever she wanted to surprise them. Elain even went out of her way to bring Amren the croissants she liked because Elain remembered how Amren was the only one who thought her strong enough to look for the Dread Trove objects, and Elain wanted to show her appreciation.

When Elain stepped into the living room no one noticed her. No one but Azriel that is, and even though he didn’t show it she was certain he was aware of her presence.

Azriel was on the far side of the room, in front of a big bay window, smiling down at More. Hesitation and fear threatened to break her resolve, but Elain moved before she could talk herself out of it. She suddenly remembered the one burning question she had forgotten to ask.

She had to trust Azriel.

As she approached them Elain was suddenly overwhelmed by Azriels beauty. She spent so long avoiding him that it almost felt indecent to look at him freely and openly in the light of day. The morning sun illuminated his tan skin and set his hazel eyes aflame. She could even make out a hint of blue in his inky hair. Hair that she had just found out was as soft as it looked.

“Good morning,” Elain said as she stopped a few feet away from them. “I brought you something. I know you love to have sweets in the morning, but you’re too disciplined to indulge yourself.”

His face was unreadable, but there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes as he looked at her. Elain was sure he noted that her cobalt dress matched his siphons which caused his eyes to go molten. Elain heard the conversations turn dull, just for a moment, before returning back to normal - and she was certain that a pair of violet eyes were watching their every move.

Elain could also feel vexation radiating off of Lucien as he watched them from his place next to the fireplace. Feyre, Elain noticed on her way in, planted herself firmly between Lucien and the group Elain was with.

Azriel took one step towards her, and Elain inhaled deeply his scent of night chilled mist and cedar. A small thrill skittered down her spine as his scent intertwined her own. Az let out a raspy thank you before taking the plate and the mug. He took a deep sip on coffee, his bright eyes maintaining contact with hers over the lip of the mug, and Elain would have sworn that the entire room disappeared.

Her eyes left his for a moment as they watched his tongue trace over his lips. Elains hands fisted in her dress to stop herself from grabbing his face and kissing the coffee away.

Elain watched as he set the coffee on the windowsill before picking up a cinnamon roll and taking a bite. A small groan emitted from the back of Azriels throat.

“Good morning.” A chipper voice broke Elain’s connection to Az.

Elain mentally shook herself as she looked at the blond standing with them. She had completely forgotten Mor was here standing with them, and Elain recognized the amusement in Mor’s tone.

“Good morning,” Elain managed a small smile as a furious blush overtook her face. From the knowing grin on Mor’s face Elain knew she had witnessed everything that just happened between her and Az. “You’re a lovely dancer. I saw you last night.” Elain had hoped to distract Mor with conversation.

“I think you might have been more interested in my partner.” Mor winked at her, and her face somehow turned warmer. She was blushing more than she ever had before. Elain noted the satisfied, and proud grin, that formed if Azriel’s beautiful lips. She wanted to kiss that grin off his face.

Mor looked between the two of them, as if she could see something that they couldn’t, and a frown appeared between her eyebrows. She quickly excused herself and left the room.

“Was it something I said?” Elain asked as she watched the blonde leave. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Of course not,” Az said quickly. His hand reaching out to touch her, she shivered at the feel of his calloused hands on her skin. He quickly dropped her hand and reached for his mug, took a sip, and then thought for a moment before offering it to her. “You are never an interruption.”

Elain didn’t hesitate before taking a drink of his coffee, she had brought it to him black because he liked it that way, and Elain almost always dumped way too much sugar in her own coffee. It thrilled her to know they were sharing a drink, and that they were doing it in front of everybody. They were done hiding. It moved her, and made her insides turn to gooey, as she realized that this was a giant step for them - that it was Azriel that initiated it. They could write off her bringing him breakfast, but sharing a drink was as intimate as they have been in front of everyone else.

Her eyes widened as she felt a damn break inside of her. Before her eyes, a silvery blue chord appeared and flowed towards Azriel, who just looked at it in complete surprise. It looked like a river flowing from her heart into his and after a moment or two it dissipated.

They looked at each other without saying a word, but somehow they were more aware of each other. She swore if she concentrated hard enough she would be able to feel his heart beating in his chest.

No one else seemed to be aware of what had passed between them. The conversation still raging around them, and Elain knew that if Lucien had seen what happened he wouldn’t have stayed put on the opposite side of the room.

“Do you know-” Elain cut herself off at the shake of Azriels head.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, she didn’t know what, but stopped at the appearance of the twins and the announcement that breakfast was served. She brought her hand to his tentatively, giving him the option of pulling away, and gasped at the jolt that went through her as their skin touched.

What every passed between them felt electric, and Elain noticed the warmth that was pooling between her legs and the need to rip her dress off to feel more of Azriel’s skin on her.

“Ready for breakfast,” A friendly voice asked her and a heavy arm landed on her shoulder. Elain looked up to see Cassian smiling down at her, looking a little too fresh considering how drunk he was last night. “Not everyone got special cinnamon rolls this morning.” Cassian winked over his shoulder as he steered her out of the room.

[spiked-tea-writing]

and they were roommates?!

SapnapxFem!Reader

Summary: Imagine being in love with your roommate, couldn't be you.

Pronouns: She/her

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: I don’t watch or know anything, I just like these people and I had a concept. Also, he and Dream aren’t roommates in this for the sake of I can’t figure that out. Also also, my timeline is probably fucked but who cares

The dynamic in the apartment was...interesting to say the least

In the two years of living together, it had shifted a lot

In the beginning, you and Sapnap had been... less than cordial to each other

Both eighteen, fresh out of high school, off to college thinking that you knew everything.

There was lots of fighting, to say the least.

All of the “No it’s your turn to vacuum”, and “I swear to god Sapnap I will punt you halfway across the world if you eat my pineapple again”

The only reason you didn’t slit each other’s throats was that if the other person was dead, who would pay rent?

It was the summer before college started at the time, and you were working long hours minimum wage so coming]’/ home to an annoying prick caused a crap ton of conflict

After a few months of being little bitches to each other, y’all got piss drunk in the apartment and it all just sorta fell apart

Got that good drunk therapy, spilling your deepest secrets

(y’all were underage but shhh)

So by the time college started, the two of you had become actual friends and started enjoying each others company

A few months into the friendship, you encouraged him to post the video of “Minecraft, but it’s Raining Cats and Dogs” on a whim

Lmao little did you know what you had created (we’ll get to that later)

You mocked his train of thought constantly, laughing at the timing of it all.

“Ahhh yes, I am Sapnap, the genius who thought it’d be great to become a YouTuber while in my first year of college.”

He’d always just laugh and roll his eyes, playfully shoving you while stealing your chips.

The next few months were a haze of studying, work, and him.

It was truly a friendship of convenience since you guys were so busy, him starting his youtube career, and you working restaurants, then school on top of that, it was just easy to find friendship in your roommate.

Of course, he had his close friends which he spoke to over the internet, and you had your friends from back home, but as for college, it really was only him.

You guys had a fun time just hanging around the apartment, and it became so easy to be friends with him

And it WAS truly platonic (we’ll get back to that as well)

The best thing he brought to the friendship was his animals

You got on fabulously with Cash and the cats

They were all so cuddly and honestly loved you more than him lmao

You guys were just trying to get degrees and not be too stupid, was that too much to ask???

Well to a certain 2020, it was

The beginning of that year was great.

He was sorta realizing that he liked putting himself on social media, but on top of that, it seemed like a great start to a year.

February brought him to twitch, which you loved

You found it hilarious how he would just sorta play games and have people watch him live.

But you were incredibly supportive, as a friend, of course

He really liked it so, you tried to ignore the shouting at three am, and the loud anthems at night

Sure you’d give him hell in the morning, but why kill his fun?

March started great, as it was his birthday.

You got him a glittery lighter as a gag, but it was the perfect gift for a broke-ass college student

Then a certain pandemic came a-knockin’ on y’all’s door

It was a hard hit on both of you.

An executive decision was made that you two would stay put, but being away from your families was incredibly tough.

That spring was the birth of The SMP.

It brought him so much joy, which in turn made you happier.

The rest of the school year was a blur of zooms and test

Nick nearly killed you on multiple occasions when you made fun of the fact that he was learning computer science over the computer or made him help you figure out what the fuck zoom was since it was tangentially related to his major

“SAP HELP ME YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS ITS YOUR FUCKING MAJOR!!!”

“NO, IT’S- AHHHHHHHHH”

Yall got more than a handful of noise complaints shhhh

That summer was fill was spent trying to fill the time in weird ways

Note to self, he can’t cook (which you learned the hard way)

Yall spent so much time trying to cook and bake, then sweating off the calories working out with The Fitness Marshall lmao

As sucky as the situation was, that summer was so incredibly fun for the both of you, and truthfully the only arguments were about what music to blast

“Y/n I swear if I listen to Cosmicandy one more time I will drown you.”

“Well if I hear American Idiot one more time someone’s knee caps are getting harvested.”

(that argument was settled with Elton John.)

When school started up again that fall, something shifted

After a year of actual friendship, you guys were no longer just friends, and the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife

You had watched every single one of his streams since day one, but within 2 seconds of his Love or Host, you felt the need to hurl for some peculiar reason

It was bizarre because there was no way you could ever like him, of course not.

Within the apartment, you guys suddenly got a lot more touchy, but only because it was getting cold with winter and all that jazz.

It wasn’t because yall were secretly in love, what is this, a romcom?

The number of times you guys woke up on the couch, definitely not cuddling was too many to count

You started sitting in his room while he streamed, definitely not watching him with heart eyes because of how excited he got

He always had a pot of coffee full and a 6-pack of monster in the fridge since he knew you ran on spite and caffeine, and definitely not so that he could spend more time with you in the early hours of the morning.

The laundry started getting all mixed around, resulting in just sharing any sweats, hoodies, or socks.

The same thing went for food.

No longer was anything labeled with a name, if it was in the fridge, it was fair game (unless there was a post-it because come on, yall weren’t monsters)

But no, y’all were just roommates, not dating, lets make that clear.

Feelings? We don’t know her.

This entire time, his friends have had to hear about you rip.

But they got front row seats to your relationship development

“OMG my roommate is the worst she ate all of the frozen strawberries”

“Y/n kidnapped Storm all day while she studied and I thought I lost the fucking cat asjvdk”

“I had to run down and talk to the landlord because we dropped a pot of pasta sauce all over the carpet and couldn’t get the damn stain out.”

“She is so nice in preparation for a family dinner zoom, she ran out to the local Filipino food place and pick stuff up.”

“Sorry I’m late I overslept and didn’t want to wake up Y/n.”

They weren’t stupid, and could clearly see how whipped he was.

Dream and Geroge teased him about it constantly.

“Woah, calm down Sap, you should probably tell her you love her before you propose.”

“Yeah Dream’s right, it’s kinda weird that you’re living together before ever dating.”

He always flushed and denied it with a shake of his head.

He wasn’t into you, are they crazy?

Quackity and Karl messed with him in more unorthodox ways

There are a solid number of clips where they are fake crying over how he’s cheating on them, and even more tweets to match

It only got worse when you met them accidentally.

He was chatting post-stream on a video channel with George, Dream, Karl, and Quackity, and just his luck, you came into his room.

Like of all the times you could walk in, it was the time he was with his five closest friends but I digress

“Yo I got some extra tips yesterday so I picked up some extra Red Bull if you want to do one of your weird all-nighter streams.”

“Y/n I’m on channel.”

“Oh shit sorry my b. Catch.”

All the guys heard was a thud and a groan from Sapnap as the six-pack hit him in the chest.

Dream was the one to recognize your name.

“WAIT IS THAT Y/N I WANT TO MEET THEM!”

You could hear Dream’s voice through his headphones

“Sap… who is that?”

“No one. I’ll be out in a sec to help with dinner.”

You could hear a British voice come through.

“Oh so we are no one now, huh.”

Another voice piped through.

“Common... ¿Qué intentas ocultar?”

You cut in.

“Your headset it shit my guy. I can hear everything. I’m down to talk to them.”

He let out a groan.

“Fine. But you’re gonna have to do the dishes tonight.”

“Deal. Now move.”

“What? No.”

“Fine bitch.”

You collapsed onto his lap, plucking the headphones off of him.

“Hello, Sapnap’s friends. I am Y/n. A pleasure to meet y’all. Can you hear me?”

You heard a series of laughs through the headset, and a voice came through.

“Yes, we can see you too. I’m Karl, it’s so nice to finally meet his girlfriend.”

A blush rose on both of your faces, and another voice came through.

“Yeah, we’ve heard lots about you. Plus we can’t see your face in that picture Sap sent us. I’m Quackity”

That remark stopped your embarrassment in its tracks.

“What the fuck? How do you guys know me? I’m not even his girlfriend? And what picture?”

Sapnap grabbed your arm to calm you down as another voice cut in, but his one you recognized as his friend Dream.

“Hey, it’s okay. He just talks about you a bit, and the picture I believe was of you holding like three cats with like a red bull can on your head.”

“Jesus fucking christ why do they have that photo??”

He looked guilty but chuckled.

“Because that photo is a damn masterpiece.”

Karl’s voice came back in with a giggled.

“Soooo, Y/n we’d love to hear about you. Specifically anything funny or embarrassing that you have learned by living with him.”

Sapnap let out a groan from behind you as you went off.

“WELL lemme tell y’all, he has no cooking knowledge, well I mean, now he does, but one time, about a year ago, I had I been keeping a pot of water boiling for about an hour, soft boiling eggs, cooing noodles, blanching bok choy, etc. but this fucking genius is like ‘oH tHe HaNdLe Is StIcKiNg OuT. LeMmE mOvE iT wItH mY bArE hAnD.’ Needless to say, he burnt the crap outta his hand and kept the bag of frozen blueberries on it for the entire night. It took me like a solid five seconds to actually help him because I was laughing.”

By the time you had finished that story, you had seen Nick roll his eyes like 5 five times while the rest of the guys were wheezing.

“Yeah, well remember the time you were trying to imitate Rapunzel after we had watched it over Zoom with my sister, and you swung the edge of the frying pan into our head and got a nasty bump on it? At least I moved quick enough to put some ice on it.”

“Ice? It was the damn leftover Slushy that I had been freezing.”

“True, but you got to drink it after, so it was a win-win situation.”

“Sap, I had a bump the size of a golfball coming off of my temple. There was no winning.”

“Fine, you’re just making me sound like such a shit roommate.”

“No that’s not true, you do all of the talking to the landlord, and you at least tried to muffle the noise when you stream.”

“I guess that’s true, but you do like 80% of the cleaning.”

“Yeah but only because you’re working. Plus in the past 6 months, you’ve made coffee every morning, AND made sure I was taking my meds.”

“Those things aren’t that hard and I do it to make sure you don’t die because I lo- care about you.”

“What?”

“What?”

You heard Dream’s wheeze laugh and remembered that you guys were still on call.

“Smooth.”

You both went red, and Sap moved his arm around you to leave the channel.

The next few moments were complete torture, the two of you just sitting in silence.

You were wondering if he meant what he was about to say and he was scared that you had heard it.

He was the one to break the silence. (mind you you’re still sitting on his lap lmao)

“I’m sorry about that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Should you ask him if he meant it? Because that wouldn’t be that bad. Or just pretend it never happened. Nah that’d be hella awkward. Or-

“I love you too.”

“You what?”

Wow, okay your brain is being a little bitch rn, but fuck it. Balls to the walls baby.

“I love you, and I have for a while now. I just want you to know.”

You finally looked him in the eye, and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Thank god. I love you, and nearly fucking told you for the first time in front of my friends accidentally. Damn, I’m smooth.”

You laughed and he smiled wider.

“Can I kiss you?”

After a quick nod he swooped in and holy hell his lips felt great. His arm wound around your waist and your hands made their way to his jaw as he pulled you closer to him.

The only thing playing in your mind was “and they were roommates”

[folklorelise]

Civilian girlfriend

MASTERLIST

Jean Kirstein – you visit him during his training days and after

—————

You grew up next to Jean’s house in Trost District. Since your mother was a baker, you would always eat leftovers and sometimes, your mother would call Jean’s family to join you for dinner. Jean was a shy and nice kid – you instantly connected with each other.

One stormy night, Jean took his pillow and run to your house. He opened your door and whisper your name multiple times before you woke up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked Jean worried. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I– I thought you would be scared… of the thunder so I came to protect you!”

“Oh.” you paused. “But I’m not.”

“Oh.” Jean trembled.

“Are you scared?” you asked cautiously.

“No! I’ll go, sorry.” Jean turned around but you caught his hand before he could move.

“You can stay with me if you’re scared, it’s ok.” You reassured him with a shy smile.

You both went to bed – it was a small bed, but you were both kids, so it was not a problem. In the morning, Jean’s mother was worried sick, but your mother quickly reassured her that her son was with you, both sleeping. From then on Jean would always come to you during thunderstorm. As he grew older, he stopped being afraid of it, but still came to you. Jean started to like you more than just as a friend very early on, but he was too shy to do anything about it.

When he told you that he was joining the training corps, you were devastated.

“We won’t be able to see other anymore…” you teared up.

“Y/N, of course we will. You’ll see, when I finally become a MP, I’ll bring you with me in Wall Sina and then we could–” Jean stopped abruptly.

“We could what?”

Jean stared at you hesitantly and then gave you a quick kiss on the lips. When he backed up, he looked terrified and he was all red. Your cheeks were hot too – it was your first kiss.

“Then we could get married maybe and live together.” Jean mumbled. “Because I like you… a lot.”

“You do?” you asked happily.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I like you too.”

“Good.”

Jean and you just smiled at each other, holding hands.

“In three years, we’ll be together again and from then on, it will be forever.”

Jean kissed you one last time before leaving. Jean and you sent each other letters from time to time, but he was busy. You were receiving fewer and fewer letters from him but then suddenly, in his letter, he told you about a visiting day and asked you to come. You took a day off – you were working with your mother – and your mother said yes. The morning before leaving, you baked a lot of pastries and breads for Jean. You dressed up nicely and went out. The training corps headquarters had their doors opened and lots of families were already there. You had your basket of food in your hand and walked in. You quickly found Jean at the entrance and walked up to him smiling.

“H-” but before you could greet him and his friends, Jean gave you a tight hug.

“I missed you so much.” Jean whispered.

“Is that food?” a girl asked excited.

“Stop Sasha! You don’t even know her!” Another boy said.

“This is Sasha and Connie.” Jean told you. “And this is Marco.”

“Hello.” you said awkwardly, no knowing what else to say.

“Are you horse face’s girlfriend?” asked a boy with two other people.

“What, you’re jealous?” Jean shouted back.

“No, just wondering who could veer be stupid enough to date you!” Eren, screamed back.

“You take that back you deep sh!t.” Jean shouted at him which surprised you. When Jean saw your expression, he quickly took you to another place, not wanting any other problems with Eren while you were here.

“What are these?” Jean pointed at the basket.

“Food I made for you.”

You ate together in his dorm – no one was there, everyone was with their families and friends anyway. You ate and caught up with what happened the last few months.

“How is it going? The training I mean.”

“It’s good – I’m good. I can definitely get in the top ten.”

“That’s great!” you cheered up.

“Yeah.” Jean said staring at you for a long minute before kissing you.

The kiss was awkward and cute. Neither of you knew where to put your hands but it was still a good kiss.

A good kiss that was interrupted by Marco entering the room.

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” Marco shouted embarrassed.

Jean and you stoop up quickly and you were both embarrassed too. Your cheeks were hot, and you looked at everywhere except at Marco or Jean.

“I’m so sorry!” Marco apologised again. “I– I didn’t know!”

“It’s fine. We– let’s just join the others!” you said.

You took your basket full of food and ate with Jean, Marco, Connie, and Sasha. You all laughed together, and they told you embarrassing stories about Jean and you told them about baby Jean. A few hours later, Marco wanted to present Jean to his parents – he wanted to reassure them that their boy was not alone. When Jean left, two other boys arrived at your table – Reiner and Bertolt.

“You must be Jean’s girlfriend, right?” Reiner asked you.

“Mh… I guess I am yeah.” you answered joyfully.

“It’s weird.” Reiner continued.

“What is?”

“I always thought he was into Mikasa. Always complimenting her or something.”

“Wha – who?” you asked him confused.

“Reiner!” Bertolt yelled.

“Who’s Mikasa?” you asked but none of them answered. When Jean came back with Marco you asked him who she was.

“Why?” Jean asked.

“Just tell me.”

“It’s her.” Marco said pointing at the girl you saw earlier. “Why?” he asked you when he saw you were clenching your jaw. She is pretty.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Jean asked worried, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah… it’s late, I think it’s time for me to go home.” you stood up.

“Y/N what’s wrong?” Jean hesitated, “You don’t have to go until tonight and it’s not even–”

You were already walking away rapidly. Jean looked at his friends confused, waiting for someone to explain to him what just happened.

“Reiner told him you were into Mikasa.” Sasha explained.

“What!” Jean yelled at Reiner. “What is wrong with you, you sick son of a b–!” he screamed taking Reiner by the collar.

Marco and Bertolt had to restraint Jean – no one ever saw Jean that mad.

“Jean, stop!” Marco tried to calm his friend down. “Go after Y/N instead of wasting your time here.”

Jean run after you as quick as he could, and luckily for him, you were just at the entrance.

“Y/N!” Jean screamed catching up to you. “It’s not what you think! I do not like Mikasa. Plus, why would you believe a stranger?”

“Because it made sense to me.” you stammered. “You stopped writing to me as much as you used to and maybe that was because you didn’t want to talk to me anymore… because there was someone else.”

“Hey don’t cry.” Jean said holding your face in his hands. “There’s only you. You are the only one I want to talk to; you are the only one I want to see, and you are the only want I want to wake up to in the future. I know we’re still young, but I like you a lot.”

“I like you too.” you sobbed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you talk first.”

Jean hugged you close for a very long time. Once Jean graduated you were to celebrate with him, unfortunately it was not a happy one – Marco, Jean’s closest friend, died.

“I decided to join the survey corps.” Jean told you that night.

“Oh… okay. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It is, but that’s what I want.”

“I just… I don’t want to lose you when you’re out there.” you said resting your head on his shoulder.

“You won’t. I promise.”

Once the cadets were settled in the survey corps, the commander organised a visiting day for them and the other members. You and Jean’s mother went together to visit him. Jean was with his group of friends. You went over where they were with Jean’s mother and she greeted them.

“Hey,” Reiner said to you, “I’m sorry about last time we saw each other, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine, it’s all good now.” you affirmed looking at Jean. “Jeanie and I are good.”

“Jeanie huh.” Connie teased him, “I’m going to call him that from now on.” he laughed.

The whole day was spent talking to each other, getting to know all his friends. You also met Armin, Eren and Mikasa – they were all very nice. At night, Jean excused himself and took you with him.

“Where are we going?” you asked him.

“Trust me.”

Jean brought you outside and met with a Garrison soldier and exchange a few words with him before putting on his gear. He reached out his hand for you to take it, but you waited for an explanation.

“I trust you a lot Jean Kirstein but what did you plan?”

“Just come on, please.”

You took his hand and he just warned you to hold tight. He used his gear to take you on top of the wall. You were holding him so tight you could have strangled him.

“Oh, what are you doing! Don’t you dare drop me!”

“I won’t.” Jean reassured you. “You can let go now; we are here.”

“Oh, this is high. This is really high from the ground.” you rumbled. “Is it even legal to go there?”

“I asked permission, don’t worry. The commander is a nice person.”

“Why are we here?”

“I prepared dinner for us.” Jean showed you a basket full of food with a sheet on the ground. “We never actually had a proper date so I thought this would be the perfect occasion.”

“You did this for me?” you smiled.

“I’d do anything to see that beautiful smile of yours.” Jean said with a smirk that made your cheeks hot.

“You’re the best, have I ever told you that?”

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Jean whispered.

“No.” you gasped. “I– but I love you too.” you said before he kissed you.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 11 - Friends

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Fluff

Summary: You convince Gojo to make up with your best friend and memories from the past come up. 

A/N: A wild ex-boyfriend appears! I am finally introducing the character and getting into some backstory. I got some smutty chapters coming up, which I am excited to share because I do love writing sexy Gojo X comments are always appreciated! 

- - - 

( Three Years Ago)

You cleared the plates in front of you as you made your way back to your kitchen. You packed the meal that you had taken the time to meticulously prepare, including the expensive steaks you bought this morning and the vegetables that you hand picked at the farmer’s market. As you opened the fridge to put away the items, you saw the row of vanilla cupcakes placed neatly on a pan, your shaky handwriting spread across each one that read “ Five Years ” with red hearts decorated on the extras. Suddenly, it all seemed silly how you took the time to prepare a surprise anniversary dinner for your boyfriend. You’ve both been together for so long but you still insisted on making every occasion special.

After you tidied up your dining table, you picked up the wine glass you have been nursing for the last hour and made your way over to your bedroom, where you sat on the chair next to your vanity. You removed the earrings that your boyfriend had bought you for your birthday, your favorite pair because they matched beautifully against your skin, and safely tucked them away in your jewelry box. You were disappointed that you made such a big deal out of tonight, feeling like a sentimental fool as you took a sip of your drink. Haru has been so preoccupied with work lately and the pressure of being in a highly competitive field was getting to him. Of course with the way things have been he wouldn’t remember that tonight was your anniversary dinner. You were trying to be mature about it but you couldn’t ignore that you were hurt. You glanced at your phone, reading 10:45 on the clock before finally giving up on the hope that he would show up.

You removed the dress you were wearing, a bold shade of orange that accentuated your body in all the right places - a dress that he bought you while you both went on a summer trip to Okinawa a few years ago. You changed into something a little more comfortable, throwing on a tank top and some loose lounge pants instead.

You heard your phone ping, a message popping up on the screen from Gojo.

Gojo : How did the dinner go?

You sighed to yourself, before plopping down onto your mattress. You tapped away at the keyboard, erasing each message a few times as you were unsure whether you wanted to vent or give him a brief explanation.

You : It didn’t…I think he’s still at work :(

Gojo : That sucks :\ Well, if you have any leftover cupcakes, I will gladly take them off your hands.

You: Nice try, idiot.

Gojo: I didn’t hear you say I couldn’t have any :)

When you didn’t respond to his message, Gojo followed up with another text that read:

Gojo: You okay?

You: I’m fine, I was just looking forward to tonight. I’ll get over myself. Tell me about your night, you can keep me preoccupied from my disappointment lol

Gojo merely responded with some eye emojis, a cheeky indication as to what he has been up to this evening.

You: At least one of us got some action...what’s her name?

Gojo: No idea, I was too distracted by her legs to care.  

You merely rolled your eyes at his comment.

You: It doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?

Gojo: I’m a simple guy, really…

You: …

Gojo: …

You: In WHAT universe?!

Gojo : Pshh, so mean to me all the time :(

You: With reason :)

You smiled when you sent that last text, grateful that Gojo came in at the right time with a distraction. You tried your best not to dwell on the dismal way your evening ended and instead continued to list off the many reasons why the word “simple” and “Gojo Satoru” did not go hand and hand with each other. Your conversation made time fly but that was usually the case whenever you spoke with your friend.

You were so lost in the playfully heated debate you were having, you barely heard the knock coming from your front door.

You abandoned your conversation to see who it was, surprised to find a massive bouquet of flowers greeting you on the other side.

“What…”

Haru peaked from behind the flowers, his sweet smile spreading as he looked at you with sad eyes.

“Happy anniversary!” he chirped, but you could hear the anxiousness in his tone. “ I know I’m late, I know I missed dinner…”

A deep sigh escaped him, as he slightly slumped his shoulders, extending both his hands out to you to pass the bouquet.

“I know this is a meaningless gift in comparison to whatever amazing thing you prepared, I know my efforts don’t even come close to yours, you always put so much care into everything you do. By the time I knew I was late, I was running around the city like a mad man hoping that someone, anyone, would be kind enough to open their shop for me so I would at least not come back empty handed…”

“Haru, take a breath…” you replied, hearing how quickly he was blurting out his words, something he usually did when he was nervous.

You took the bouquet from his hands, admiring the selected assortment of your favorite florals, all picked out by your boyfriend. You traced your fingers along each petal, some a little bruised and you could tell that these flowers were from  the leftovers of the day.

Haru approached you, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down and planted a kiss on your lips.

“I’m so sorry . None of my excuses justify missing dinner tonight. I swear I am going to make it up to you…”

You tried to calm him down, running your fingers through his light brown hair and taking in every word he said as you remained focused on his hazel eyes. Your heart flutters thinking of him galavanting around the city in his disheveled work suit trying to knock on every florists’ door, a funny anecdote you will surely use against him in the future.  

“How do you plan on making it up to me?” You teased, noticing the way his brow raised at your question.

He pulled you closer into him, planting kisses along your neck before he brushed his lips against your ear to say, “I’m taking the weekend off, how does a nice trip to Hakone sound?”

“ Mmm, ideal… ” you replied, clutching the bouquet of flowers as he hugged you, “but if you keep holding me close, you’re going to ruin this lovely gift you bought me…”

“Then I’ll buy you another, and another, and another ...until I’ve given you enough flowers so that you can plant an entire garden,” he kissed you again, his fingers stroking the back of your neck as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I’m so sorry, baby…” he repeated, his voice wavering slightly from his second apology.

“It’s okay, work comes first. I know you have been busy and probably should have planned our evening with you instead of surprising you. But you’re here now and that's what matters.”

He nodded his head, finally untangling himself from your arms, relieved that you seemed to have forgiven him.

“ I love you so much.”

“ I love you too, Haru .”

You gave him a small smile, tilting your head towards the direction of your kitchen, “It might be too late for dinner but I baked you some cupcakes if you’re up for a little snack…”

Haru removed his blazer, carefully hanging it over his elbow before undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. He held your hand, following your footsteps as you led him into the direction of your kitchen.

“ I can’t wait to try them. ”

( Present)

“ You brought me here under false pretences …” Gojo grumbled, holding himself back as you tugged on his jacket.

It’s been four months since the two of you started hooking up and weeks since he and Rina have even spoken to one another.

After Gojo confessed that she knew about your relationship, you managed to find the time to sit down with your best friend for a heart to heart. The two of you had a ritual which included locking yourselves up in a room with snacks  and drinks until you came to resolve whatever conflict you were dealing with.

“I just don’t understand why you kept this from me,” Rina explained, before taking a sip of the mixed cocktail you both made.

“ You’ve been so overprotective ever since Haru and I broke up…it’s hard for me to talk to you because you start analyzing every little thing I do. Like when I told you I wanted to stop dating for a while, you kept insisting that I was making a mistake because I was running scared…”

“I also know you’re a hopeless romantic, and a few bad dates weren’t fitting this idealised version you have of love…” Rina pressed, “You got lucky with Haru, but diving back into the game takes time and work…”

“I know I was lucky. I know it’s not usual for the first guy you meet to be so… good ,” you replied, that word tasting bitter in your mouth, “But you keep pressuring me into something I am not ready for…”

“That’s not true!”

“Rina, you would take me out on “surprise” double dates when the two of us were just supposed to just be hanging out together. Whenever I talk about Haru, you shut down and change the subject immediately. I can’t even have a night out together without you herding every single eligible male and asking me my opinion…”

Rina sighed, “it sounds way worse when you say it out loud...”

“It’s like you can’t stand that I’m just… a little broken . I let Haru become a part of who I am for five years and losing him feels like I lost a part of me, and I am struggling trying to get that person back. You want me to be okay so badly it’s stopping me from opening up to you…”

Rina inched her way closer as the two of you sat side by side. A sigh escaped her before she spoke, “I’m not good at this…I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I just can’t stand seeing you so hurt. I know that he took a piece of your happiness and I am so angry that he did. I hate that he betrayed your trust, but more so that you haven’t been able to be yourself without him…”

She squeezed your shoulder before giving you a gentle reminder, “but he never defined you. You’re attaching yourself to the love you had for him. And you will find somebody else, somebody better …”

“Maybe but I can’t see myself falling in love again…at least not anytime soon…”

Rina rested her head on your elbow, “I don’t want you to ever think you can’t speak to me…we’ve lasted way longer than all the exes that have walked in and out of our lives…”

You were happy to mend this small fracture, one of the many that has tried to hinder your friendship.

You eventually explained your little arrangement with Gojo, watching Rina’s reaction closely and trying to pull the truth of what she  exactly  said to him.

“I may have thought you were dating, like seriously dating, and told him he wasn’t good enough for you. I am glad to know that you are not. We don’t need to trade one man whore for another…”

You laughed, “Gojo has always made it clear that he has no desire to commit to anyone. I’m not worried. Besides, we can stop our arrangement anytime we are over it.”

“Sooo, when might that be?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “right now, I’m having fun and I think he is too…”

Rina hummed, you could tell she was thinking about something but whatever ran through her mind in that moment she chose to keep to herself.

Even though you and Rina smoothed things over, you realised that neither she or Gojo tried to make an effort to speak to one another. He was avoiding her at all costs while she chose to ignore  the subject entirely. You still had no idea what was said that set those two off but you were over this cold game they were playing.

“Between your inability to handle any confrontation and her stubborn attitude, you two are going to drag this on for way longer than it needs to be…” you lectured.

You paused when you arrived at her store, staring up at Gojo with pleading eyes. “I don’t like being the reason why you two aren’t speaking… please just talk to her…”

Gojo whined, “throw it on my conscience instead, that way you have no reason to feel guilty…”

You furrowed your brows before letting go of him, but a thought passed your mind which gave you an idea, “Remember that thing you brought up the other night? Your little roleplaying idea…”

Gojo arched his brows from underneath his blindfold, surprised that you were even bringing this up. “ Yes… ”

You smirked, stepping closer to him without actually touching him at all. “If you do this for me then I'll happily return the favor…”

His eyes widened, his heart racing slightly as a wave of excitement rushed through him.

You could see he was contemplating your offer, finally scoffing in defeat. “You know saying no to you was a lot easier when you weren’t bribing me with sex…” he grumbled, as he begrudgingly walked passed you.

“You did tell me once that you were a man of simple taste…”

“And I vividly remember you disagreeing with me.”

“Thank you!” You called out watching him reach the handle of the entrance door.

“Just know I am expecting you to hold up your end of the deal,” he replied before making his way inside.

***

Gojo sat at the counter, the awkward silence hung heavy in the air as Rina waited for him to break the tension. When that didn’t happen, she sighed to herself before storming to the backroom of her shop.

Gojo waited for her return, his eyes widening when she finally reappeared with something in her hands.

“ I’m sorry for how I spoke to you,” she said, bowing in his direction and handing him some treats.

“Aww, Rina-chan, how did you know kikufuku was my favorite?” Gojo questioned, his tone softening his sweet words as he held the packet between his fingers.

“I heard it through the grapevine…”

Gojo couldn’t hide his pleasured grin.

You were always so considerate of everyone, going above and beyond to make them happy and paying close attention to the things they liked the most. You must have already spoken to Rina before he came here, playing the role of matchmaker between friends.

Rina definitely noticed his response.

“Thank you,” he replied as he opened up the packet, “I know your anger was coming from a protective place. I don’t fault you for it. Besides, you and I can happily agree on one thing…”

“What’s that?”

Gojo smirked, “she’s too good for me…”

Rina swallowed hard, mainly because of how sincere that statement actually sounded.

“I care about her…”

Gojo hummed to himself, taking a bite of the sweet snack. “And you think I don’t?”

“Can I be honest?”

“ Please. ”

“I am not questioning your care for her, I am questioning what your intentions are. I won’t apologize for not trusting you.  You promised me after she broke up with Haru that you wouldn’t make a move on her but here we are now…”

“I kept my promise.”

“You found a loophole…”

“It’s been three years…she’s allowed to move on.”

“Yes she is…”

“You know, I was surprised by how angry you got at her for keeping us a secret, especially since we both know that there are plenty of things you’re hiding from her right now. Then I started thinking that it wasn’t the secret that was bothering you, you just don’t want her moving on with me…”

Rina averted her gaze, completely surprised by how easily Gojo read her.

“Like I said, I don’t trust you…”

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the counter, “What did Haru tell you exactly?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I just want to know if you’re still adamant on convincing yourself that I am the bad guy or if you would like to know what actually happened between us…”

*** 

CHAPTER 12 - MUSE

[ladymercysletters]

All Grown Up

Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count : 1637

Warnings: fluff, angst

A/N: Ok so this started out as a cute fluff piece about holding hands with Colin and it ended up being sad angst. And spoiler alert ... they don’t even hold hands !!! (I’m angry at myself)

+++

You had come to the Bridgerton household aged four. Your mother had been forced to take a position that wouldn’t allow you to stay most of the time, so – with Violet Bridgerton’s permission, your grandmother had perched you on the kitchen counter beside her as she cooked and baked for the family. You would offer help occasionally, handing her a spoon, or offering to lick it; but most of the time you would scurry around the other household staff as they moved trays and baskets of laundry around the lower levels of the house.

It had been a spring morning, the winter after you had arrived, when you had first met Colin Bridgerton. You had been in the kitchen, helping your grandmother make some scones for afternoon tea when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Assuming it was one of the maids or footmen you thought nothing of it, until you heard voices.

“Father, I’m hungry” came a little voice.

“I know Colin, and if you’re quiet enough we might be able to sneak some treats without cook noticing.” At this you and your grandmother shared a look - with a raised finger to the lips, she told you to be silent. Soon enough, the door to the kitchen creaked open and in slunk on tall figure, with a small boy on his shoulders. You and your grandmother stared at them as they entered, the look of shock on their faces at having been caught made you grin; and you were almost certain your grandmother had to stifle a giggle herself.

“Your Lordship” she curtsied lightly. The young boy on his shoulders stared at you both before waving at you.

“Mrs Y/L/N.” he said kindly, “sorry for the intrusion, but …”

“You were wondering if we might have some light refreshment for you both?” your grandmother finished.

“Yes.”

“Yes, Please. I’m ever so hungry.” Colin interrupted. His father scolded him lightly, lifting him from his shoulders and popping him on the floor.

“Well, luckily Master Colin, me and Y/N cooked up a fresh batch of buttered biscuits this morning, didn’t we?” she said, turning to you. You nodded, hopping off the counter to fetch the tray.

“Thank you, Y/N,” the Viscount said, picking a biscuit off of the tray. “Colin, what do we say?” he persisted when Colin nearly knocked the tray out of your hands with the force of himself.

“Thank you, Y/N.,” he smiled, biting into the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Colin.” You smiled back shyly.

Ever since that day, you and Colin had been fast friends. Well, fast in the sense that once Colin knew the way down to the kitchen’s himself everyone always knew where to find him. You enjoyed having a friend your own age. Your grandmother had never let you run out onto the lawn and play with the Bridgerton children; she always said that Lady Bridgerton had been so kind in letting you stay that she didn’t want you overstepping the mark. But now that Colin came down to visit, and sneak the odd cake into his pocket, you finally had someone to play with.

You and him could often be found on the bottom shelf of the pantry together with the odd, slightly burned, cake to share between you. He would help you with your reading, bringing you down books his governess had been teaching him to read from or ones he found particularly interesting, and in return you showed him the wonders of getting to lick the spoon that had mixed the batter. Together you grew up, when he wasn’t playing with his own siblings he would sneak down and play hide and seek with you. You looked forward to every day the Bridgerton’s were in residence at Aubrey Hall.

It was only when you were eleven years old, the summer of 1803 to be precise, that he came down rather gloomily one day and told you he would be going to Eton in the autumn, joining his brother at the school.

“I’ll miss you.” you said suddenly after a long silence. Colin looked up at you and smiled.

“I’ll miss you too. It won’t be all bad I suppose, Benedict will still be there and I’ll come home every holiday.”

“I am sure grandma will have your favourite biscuits ready and waiting for your arrival.” You finished, letting him be called outside by his sister Daphne, but not before he pressed a small kiss, quite unsuspectingly, on your cheek.

That night you wept a little as you went to bed. You really would miss Colin. It’s not like his other siblings hadn’t joined him occasionally in the kitchens, and come down themselves on occasion, but Colin was different. And three days later the whole house wept. The master had died suddenly one day after collapsing the garden. Everyone had heard the Viscountess shriek and you had ducked into the corner of the kitchen as maids ran about frantically to help, filling pales of warm water to be brought upstairs and footmen, donning riding gear to chase into town for a doctor. It was only that evening that your grandma had told you the Viscount had passed away.

The rest of the summer seemed to go by in a flash and a snails pace all at once. Soon September was here and you watched from the high kitchen windows as Colin set off for Eton with Benedict, Anthony going with them to settle his younger brother into his new home. The house seemed oddly quiet after that; even after Lady Bridgerton had given birth to her daughter, it seemed almost hollow.

A few years later and you had gotten used to the quiet. The family spent most of their time in town, and only came back for the odd weekend and Christmas. It was on an occasion such as this when your grandmother had turned to you and told you that, now you were sixteen and had been helping her and the maids care for the house whilst empty, Lady Bridgerton had offered you a position at her London home. At first you were scared, then thrilled, then neither. You would miss your grandmother, and the Kent countryside, but London sounded exciting, and you were happy to be staying with the Bridgertons. So, when the family departed back to London after Christmas, you joined the carriage of lady’s maids and indispensable household staff to join them.

You hadn’t seen much of Colin in the years since he left for Eton. When he returned, he rarely came down to the kitchens anymore, and when he did you were usually helping to tidy a room or retrieve vegetables from the kitchen garden. In truth you had only spied him from a distance or through an open door in passing.

When you had arrived in London, Lady Violet had given you a position as a housemaid, but given your literacy and aptitude for numbers thanks to your grandmothers cook books she would often ask you to help file her accounts for her and tidy the library into its correct order – one poor maid had previously put several books on palaeontology back with some fiction titles and a book on eastern religions: it had taken weeks to find them again.

As it was at the moment, Eloise had left books strewn around the house, and for the past half hour you had searched every room collecting them. You were just coming out of the breakfast room, books piled high in your arms when you tripped and braced yourself to fall face first into the floor. Or at least you would have, if you hadn’t knocked straight into Colin, falling into his open arms as he reached out to catch you.

With one hand around your waist and the other holding your outstretched arm, Colin slowly brought you back to a standing position.

“Whoa there” he chuckled, looking down at you. Bending to pick up the books, you felt Colin kneel beside you. As you pulled the books back into your arms you reached out for the one farthest away at the same moment that he did. Your hand brushed against his and you pulled back lightening fast at his touch. It was only at that moment, when his hand was in your line of vision, did you note how large his hand was compared to yours. Your eyes flitted up to his face as he handed the book back to you. His eyes were just as warm and friendly as when you had last looked into them. The crinkle at the side of his eyes had gotten deeper and, now you looked closer, his features had defined. He was more adult now, more manly. Your heart skipped a full beat when he smiled at you. “Y/N?”

You mind froze. You had forgotten your position for a moment and with his questioning tone you were brought back to reality. You mouth opened and closed for a moment, you wanted to call him Colin, as you one had. Your tongue formed the word in your mouth but your senses stopped it before it came out. “Mr. Bridgerton” you ducked your head in a form of curtsy, as you were still knelt on the floor. You gathered the last of the books quickly and stood to leave.

“Y/N!” He stood as quickly as you had, reaching out to grab your arm as you turned to leave. “It is Colin” he gestured to himself “do you not remember me?”

“Of course, Mr Bridgerton” you smiled warmly at him, bobbing once more before turning to head for the library. You bit your lip harder with every step you took. He had grown up, you both had. But you were a maid, and he was a gentleman.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (3)

(Hey guys! finally got around to posting chapter three of this! There’s a second, mini series connected to this that’s called Journal Entries. You don’t have to read it to understand the plot, but I felt like it would be fun to write so enjoy it if you like!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 4

Chapter 3: There’s a First Time for Everything

Adrien tapped his pencil against his notebook paper and nestled his cheek into his open palm with a sigh. It’s been a little over a week since Marinette exchanged schools, and he’s yet to talk with her about it. He tried visiting her the day Ms. Bustier informed them of the transfer, but Marinette wasn’t home. Naturally, he tried again the next day and actually managed to catch her, but then she ran off. Ran off! Adrien still couldn’t believe it. Why would she run from him? 

“Dude, you okay?” Nino asked, giving him a light nudge.

Adrien straightened slightly. “Ah, yeah, just.. Just thinking.”

Alya scoffed behind him. “Don’t tell me you’re still moping about Marinette.” 

Needless to say, the class didn’t exactly share Adrien’s sentiment about Marinette’s leaving. With all of Lila’s stories circling around, they were overjoyed that the “bully” was gone. Alya was low-key furious, ranting about “injustices” and “letting Marinette run from the consequences of her actions”, but other than that, everyone was pleased with the outcome.

Everyone except Adrien.

Adrien knew better. The class may think that they’re better off without the bluenette, but he knew for certain that they were all going to drown without her. Marinette organized the budgets, supplied the goods for bake sales, signed off all of the paperwork for their trips- she even made dresses for the girls on special occasions. They needed her. That’s why he had to get her back. If only he could find time out of his packed schedule to visit her again..

“Alright, everyone, settle down.” Ms. Bustier spoke up. “The results for the new class president are in.”

Adrien sunk further into his seat. Ah, yes. The new class president, another reason Marinette should have stayed. With her gone, they had to make an impromptu election. Chloe, of course, ran again, but Lila decided to run as well. With the class’ obvious loyalty towards Lila, it’s a wonder Ms. Bustier didn’t announce the brunette as the president right there and save everyone the trouble.

Ms. Bustier pulled out a small card with the results and cleared her throat. “With a near-unanimous vote, the new class president will be Lila Rossi.”

The class cheered, and Lila gasped as if she hadn’t expected this to happen.

“Thank you all so much!” She beamed.

Alya slung her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “You deserve it, girl.”

Chloe scoffed from her seat and crossed her arms, but no one acknowledged the show of disdain. They were too busy congratulating their beloved Lila.

“Congratulations Lila. You can visit Marinette after school to get the paperwork from her.” Ms. Bustier said, setting her cards aside.

Adrien straightened. Someone had to go visit Marinette? “I’ll do it!”

The classroom paused at the outburst.

“Oh, Adrien you don’t have to do that for me.” Lila remarked with a grateful tone.

“Oh, no, it’s my pleasure.” Adrien was quick to reply.

A hint of annoyance flicked across Lila’s features, but it quickly vanished when Alya said, “Yeah, Lila, you shouldn’t have to suffer through that.”

A smile forced its way onto the Italian girl’s lips. “Thanks, but I think it’s only right that I meet with her in person. Class president to Class president and all.”

Alya frowned. “Well, at least let me go with you. I don’t want her trying to pull anything.”

“Oh, Alya,” Lila sighed, patting the red-head’s hand, “It’s just a small visit. I’m sure Marinette and I can be civil about this.”

Alya reluctantly agreed, but if anyone had actually been paying attention, they might have seen Lila’s smirk.

~~~~~~

The soft rhythm of Felix and Allegra’s instruments floated around the music room as they played. Marinette never imagined the violin and the flute sounding well together, but the way Felix and Allegra harmonized had her swaying back and forth with the melody. It was a lovely song, and she couldn’t help closing her eyes to fully relish the masterpiece. 

Her eyes snapped open a second later, though, as her entire body jolted from the large calamity of piano keys that was suddenly pounded on by Claude. Felix startled as well, his violin flying off key, and Allegra nearly dropped her flute. 

“Again, Claude?” Allegra sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

Claude leaned back on the piano stool with his palms and flashed them an innocent smile. “What? I was only helping.”

Marinette held back a smile, but Felix wasn’t amused.

“I told you to stop doing that.” He scolded with a scowl. “You’re going to get our music room privileges revoked!”

“Good. You guys practice too much, anyway.” 

Allegra gave Claude a flat look. “We need to practice if we’re going to get better.”

“But you already sound great.” 

“Because we practice.” Felix replied pointedly.

Marinette subtly nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to get directly involved in their arguments, as that never seemed to go well.

Claude huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Waste your time on endless practice. I’m gonna do something more productive with my time.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

Claude turned to lay across the piano bench while throwing Marinette a smile. “Like making croissants! We’re still coming to your house, right?”

Marinette returned his smile, secretly relieved that he didn’t ask her to do something outrageous like going to chase pigeons around the park while on roller blades. (Yes, that’s happened several times in the past week, and yes, each time she’s said no.) 

“Yeah, but you guys are coming over tomorrow.” She told him. 

He pumped a fist into the air. “Yes! I can’t wait!!”

“Neither can I.” Allegra admitted. “Your parents sound splendid.”

Marinette’s smile widened. “I’m sure you’ll all get along great.”

“Yes, I’m sure.. If we can practice enough to go straight to your house after classes tomorrow.” Felix remarked, shooting Claude another look.

Claude tisked, waving a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah. Get back to your music already.”

Allegra gave a short laugh, sarcastically stating, “Oh, thank you so much. I was wondering when you would give us permission to play.”

“I know, I’m such a generous person.” Claude joked back.

Allegra playfully rolled her eyes and held up her flute to resume playing. Felix followed along, and Marinette went back to swaying as their song continued. 

-

The familiar ring of the customer bell brought a smile to Marinette’s lips as she opened the bakery door. 

Her mother, Sabine, looked up from the cashier desk with a warm smile. “Marinette! How was music practice?”

“It was wonderful, Maman. Felix and Allegra play beautifully.” Marinette answered as she walked inside. She set her bag next to the counter and gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Is everything ready for them to come over tomorrow?”

Sabine nodded. “Tom’s got the ingredients and tables ready for when they get here. He’s so excited to meet them, and so am I.”

Marinette chuckled. “They’re excited to meet you guys too.”

Sabine’s smile widened at the comment, but then her expression darkened as she said, “Hopefully they’re not two-faced and backstabbing like your previous classmates.”

Marinette gasped. “Mom!” 

“Well, it’s true!” Sabine replied defensively.

It was true, but that didn’t mean Marinette was any less surprised to hear her maman talk that way. Of course, Sabine did tend to speak her mind when Marinette’s feelings were involved. 

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang again, signaling a new customer’s arrival. Marinette turned with her mother to offer them a greeting, but stopped short when she saw exactly who the new customer was.

Lila Rossi stood in the doorway, a smug smirk on her lips as she eyed Marinette up and down. “I see you’re doing well.”

Sabine was in front of Marinette in the blink of an eye. “You are not welcome in this bakery. Leave immediately before I call the cops.”

A look of feigned hurt crossed the Italian girl’s expression. “How rude! I only came here per Mme Bustier’s request. I have to get the formal papers from our previous class president.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, stepping around Sabine with crossed arms. “I suppose you’re the new class president then?”

Lila’s smile returned, sharp and triumphant. “By a near-unanimous vote. Alya is still the deputy though, since she practically begged me to let her help.”

Marinette’s lips tightened into a thin line. That sounded about right. “How nice for you. You two really do deserve each other.”

When Lila first came around, Marinette had been torn and heartbroken about her friends abandoning her for a stranger. It didn’t help that Adrien kept assuring her that everything would be fine, that they didn’t mean what they said. He gave her false hope, and it made it all the harder to find the courage to leave. 

Now, she’s realized how toxic her old environment had become, and though it still hurt her to think about it, Marinette knew she couldn’t let them affect her anymore.

Lila faltered at Marinette’s uncaring tone. “Uh.. right. Where are those papers again?”

“Up in my room.” Marinette moved towards the stairs, bringing Sabine back behind the counter as she did. “I’ll go get them now.”

“Good.” Lila said, sounding satisfied. “I’ll be waiting outside, but don’t take your time. I’m supposed to go meet Alya and the girls for a girl’s night out.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes at the obvious jab, but continued up the stairs anyway. The sooner she got the papers, the sooner that lying leech could leave.

She swiftly ran up to her room and gathered the papers to stuff them into the large, blue binder she’d been given only two semesters ago. It sunk into her arms as she picked it up, and the sheer weight of the packed binder made her smile as she brought it back outside, especially when she saw Lila’s panicked expression.

“Um.. What is that?” The brunette asked, pointed at the binder.

“Oh, this?” Marinette replied innocently. “This is just the binder that holds all the formal papers you need. Being class president takes a lot of work you know.”

Lila nearly toppled over when Marinette dropped the binder into her arms. 

“That’s allergies, budgets, complaints, schedules, and trips!” Marinette told her with a grin. “But don’t forget to give Mme Bustier and Principle Damocles the proper reports each semester.”

Lila shot her a scowl, but quickly recovered, slipping on a smile of her own. “No need to be petty, Marinette. It’s fine to admit you’re breaking inside. Losing all your friends can be a hard thing to go through.”

Marinette’s grin faded slightly, knowing that Lila was right. She’d lost everything. All of her childhood friends, her crush, her fun teachers, anything she used to hold dear.

But maybe that was a good thing.

“Have fun sorting through the binder.” She said, spinning on her heel and walking inside. She had better things to do than listen to someone who had to lie just to get people to like them. 

The bakery door closed behind her, and Marinette saw Lila leave out of the corner of her eye, taking the painful memories with her.

~~~~~~

Friday afternoon. 4:45pm.

Felix stared at the bakery door, unsure how to proceed. The group had originally agreed to walk straight to Marinette’s house after school, but they changed the plan last minute to come back at five, an hour after school ended. It gave Marinette’s parents time to finish up the preparations, and the rest of the group time to drop off their school bags at their homes. 

Felix, as usual, arrived at the Dupain-Cheng’s early, but now he was doubting his actions. On one hand, he would get to meet the Dupain-Cheng’s without the chaos that the trio tended to bring. It would be a nice way for him to get a quick impression of the family over-all. 

On the other hand, he’s at Marinette’s house before the time she specifically told them to come, which could be considered rude in some cases. Should he go inside or wait in a nearby cafe?

After a few more minutes of debating, Felix stepped forward and knocked on the door. If they really needed him to wait until five, he would apologize and come back in ten minutes. The opportunity to meet the Dupain-Cheng’s on a one-on-one basis was too good to pass up.

It only took a moment for the door to open, and a short, asain woman greeted him with a sweet smile. “Hello! I’m assuming you’re one of Marinette’s friends from school?” 

Felix nodded, noting her raven hair that matched Marinette’s perfectly. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Felix.”

He stiffened slightly when she reached forward to take his hand in both of hers. “It’s great to finally meet you! Marinette has told us so much about you all.” 

A small smile passed his lips. For some reason, that knowledge gave him a satisfied feeling. Assuming that the talk was good, that is. “She’s talked a lot about you as well. I’m assuming you’re Mme Dupain-Cheng?”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please, call me Sabine.”

‘Sabine’ showed him inside, where baked goods lined the walls in glass cases. Claude was going to lose his mind when he got here. The overwhelming scent of vanilla and cinnamon alone was going to be enough to make the brunette’s mouth water.

“This is my husband, Tom.” Sabine introduced, gesturing to a tall, burly man at the cashier desk. “Tom, this is one of Marinette’s friends, Felix.”

Felix would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated by the man. His head almost grazed the ceiling as he approached them, making Sabine look like a dwarf in comparison. Felix felt like a dwarf in comparison.

Tom offered a wide, hearty grin, though that didn’t help Felix’s unease. “Ah, Felix! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

The man scooped Felix up into a bear hug, squeezing him tightly to his chest. Felix would have replied to his greeting had he been able to breathe. 

“Oh, Papa!”

Felix glanced over Tom’s shoulder- he’d been raised that high -and saw Marinette standing in another doorway behind the cashier counter, a slight cringe in her expression.

“Papa, put poor Felix down before he passes out from lack of oxygen!” She insisted, walking forward to tug on her father’s arm.

“Oh that’s.. That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Felix wheezed as Tom set him down. 

Marinette’s hands hovered around him for a moment, then she nervously clasped them together. “I-I’m so sorry, I should have warned you. I thought I was going to be down here when you guys arrived.”

Felix shook his head and bent over slightly to catch his breath. “No, no, you’re fine. They actually remind me of my own mother. She’s a rather adamant hugger herself.”

A relieved smile came to Marinette’s lips. “Really? I didn’t think anyone could be as ‘homely’ as my parents.”

Felix chuckled, but the customer bell jingled again before he could reply. Claude sauntered inside a second later, his arms spread as wide as his grin. 

“We’re here~!” The brunette sang, looking around the shop. His gaze found Felix’s flat one almost immediately.

“Hey!” Claude gasped, pointing accusingly at Felix. “He beat us here!”

Allegra stepped out from behind Claude, wearing a curious expression. That quickly changed to knowing smirk, though, as she shot him a playfully scolding look. “Why, Felix! I’m surprised at you! You should know more than anyone how rude it is to arrive at someone’s house early.”

Felix grimaced at the reminder of his bad manners and quickly turned to apologize.

“Oh don’t be silly!” Sabine said before he could get a word out. “Any friends of Marinette are friends of ours. You guys are welcome here anytime.”

Claude lit up at the sentiment. “I’m gonna be here a lot then.”

Allan popped out from behind Claude and Allegra. “Thank you for hosting us, M. and Mme Dupain-Cheng.”

Felix held back a smirk. He’d wondered when Allan would show himself.

“Please, call us Tom and Sabine.” Tom replied in a casual, yet booming voice. It highly contradicted his wife and daughter, who tended to speak in soft tones. “Follow me. I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

The group was led into a room in the back where three islands stood in the center, each equally parted from each other. A large counter lined the wall to the left as well, and two, large ovens sat on each end of said counter.

“Do you guys want to start from scratch or start with pre-made dough?” Tom asked.

“Oh! Scratch! I want to be able to make these at home!” Claude answered eagerly. 

Tom smiled. “Alright! Scratch it is. Everyone take the needed ingredients on the counter.”

The group took a moment to pass around the items, then they separated to find a counter. Allan took the first counter with Tom, and Allegra and Claude stole the last counter, leaving the middle counter for Marinette and Felix. 

“I’m glad you guys got to come.” Marinette commented as they aligned their ingredients on the shared countertop.

Felix nodded. “I think Claude’s going to get a sugar-crash before we leave.”

Marinette snorted. “With all of those baked goods in the other room? I’d be surprised if he makes it to supper.”

Felix spared her a glance. “Are we staying for supper?”

Marinette paused, having to think out her answer. She must not have noticed the implication when she said it. “Uh.. I mean.. I wouldn’t mind. Do you guys want to stay for supper?”

Felix shrugged, though the idea sounded perfect. It would give him more time to understand the Dupain-Cheng’s lifestyle. “I’m sure Allegra and Claude will be ecstatic over the news. I’d have to contact my mother about the change in schedule, though.”

“Oh, were you planning something with her tonight?” Marinette asked, worry lacing her tone. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to.” Felix hastily amended. “I simply need to tell my mother that I won’t be home for supper tonight. We always have a family dinner when everyone is available.”

“And you won’t miss it?”

“Well, it sounds like it’s a special occasion, but everyone’s available more often than you’d expect.” 

Marinette tilted her head up and mouthed an ‘oh’. “I’ll tell Maman that you’re staying, then. She was sort of planning supper for all of you anyway.”

Felix smiled. Given the daily croissants that the group’s received since their first lunch with Marinette, that didn’t surprise him. Mme Sabine had proven to be an extremely kind and charitable person, much like her daughter.

Tom, once his own ingredients were in order, regained the room’s attention and began showing them how to make the croissants. Because he was in the front, it was easy to see how the ingredients were supposed to be thrown in and follow along. That said, Felix found himself extremely grateful to have Marinette as a partner. Her little tips on how to mix the dough helped him immensely, especially since she told him when his mixing was sufficient.

“Alright,” Tom sighed as he set his bowl to the side, “Now that the dough is done, we’re going to start the hard part. Everyone needs to get some flour so we can start rolling the dough and folding it. Marinette, if you would.”

Marinette sprang from her place next to Felix and crossed the room to a cabinet. She pulled it open and grabbed a large bag of flour that appeared to be at least a fourth full, then carried it to the long counter against the wall and set it down with a huff. 

“Here’s the flour that you all are going to be using.” Tom explained. “That should be plenty, but if you need more-”

A light knock on the doorframe ahead of them caused Tom to trail off. Felix glanced at the door to see Mme Sabine standing there, holding a sheepish smile.

“Tom, dear. I know you’re busy, but could you help me with this customer real quick?” She asked politely. “They’re being.. difficult.”

Felix noted the sharpness of her smile, along with the iron grip she had on the doorframe. It appeared that the sweet, loving mother also had a temperance, though he didn’t blame her. Customers had a tendency to be massive pains for retail workers. (That included himself on a few shameful occasions.)

M. Tom’s nervous smile said it all as he joined his wife at the door. “Oh, of course. Uh.. children, just- just keep doing what you’re doing. Marinette will show you how to roll the dough if necessary.”

The parents left the room, causing the rest of the group to turn to Marinette for instruction.

Marinette, who had returned to Felix’s side by that point, shrank slightly at the sudden attention. “Oh, uhm.. Do any of you know how to fold dough?”

A short laugh came from Allegra in the back. “Mari, I’m quite certain that none of us have even touched uncooked food before.”

“That’s the price you pay for being rich.” Allan agreed, putting a hand to his chest and shaking his head with feigned grief. 

Felix opted not to comment. His mother rather enjoyed cooking, much to their butler’s dismay. She often cooked their family meals, and every now and then, Felix found himself helping. “It’s a necessary skill.” she would tell him. “Your future wife will thank me and so will you.”

Why his mother assumed he would be able to tolerate anyone long enough to marry them was beyond him.

“Oh, how horrible for you.” Marinette retorted with a playful eye roll. “I guess I’ll show you how to fold dough then. For your sakes.”

“We are forever grateful.” Claude joked.

Marinette laughed and scooped up her bowl, bringing it to the front with Allan for all of them to see. 

“Now, everyone needs to get some flour. We’ll start with Claude and Allegra getting some. That way, the flour will work its way to the front by the time we’re done.” She instructed.

Felix nodded. That sounded like a reasonable plan.

Claude walked over to grab the bag as told and hauled it back to his and Allegra’s table. “How much are we going to need?”

“Oh, not much.” Marinette answered. “You only need some on the table and some on the dou- Claude, wait!”

Claude tipped the bag of flour upwards, expecting it to slide smoothly onto the table. Instead, the flimsy ingredient smacked into the table in a large clump, causing white dust to explode into the air. Felix scrunched up his nose in annoyance. How were they supposed to mix that? How easily did it spread? He knew he should have worn something less formal. (Oh, who was he kidding? Felix didn’t have anything less formal.)

An apologetic whimper came from Marinette, as if any of this was her fault. Claude and Allegra quickly fell into a coughing fit as Claude dropped the flour bag onto the ground. Of course, dropping the bag only threw more dust into the air. 

The two attempted to wave the dust away, but it only partly worked. When the dust did finally clear, though, Claude and Allegra were left with a small pile of flour on their table. The rest of the flour was either in the air or draped across their clothes and hair.

“Wow.” Felix stated dryly. “I’m impressed. You actually managed to wait until M. Tom left before making a complete mess of yourselves and the room.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it u-” Claude’s retort was cut off by another coughing fit, but Allegra continued it for him.

“I don’t see you rolling out your dough in a perfectly clean and pristine manner.”

“That’s because you used up the rest of the flour.” Felix shot back.

Marinette gasped. “Is it really all gone?”

Claude and Allegra, suddenly dawning a sheepish expression, looked down at the bag that was still on the floor. Claude reached down to pick it up, but, as if the situation weren’t bad enough already, he grabbed the wrong end and pulled it up upside down. 

The last bits of flour trickled to the floor, spreading across the brunette’s legs.

“...Yeah. It’s all-” He let out another cough “-gone.”

Allan’s eyes widened, a mixture of admiration and mortification swirling onto his features. “How did you waste an entire bag of flour on one spill?”

“You’d be surprised.” Marinette muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“We can reimburse you.” Allegra was quick to offer. “How much did the flour cost? Do you take checks?”

A light chuckle fell from Marinette’s lips. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ve.. actually done worse.”

Claude’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You’ve done worse?”

Felix thought over the many falls that Marinette had had over the past week. Her clumsiness certainly made it possible to have more extreme accidents. 

“What do we do now that the flour is gone?” He asked, trying to get the group back on track. The sooner they finished baking the croissants, the sooner he could examine the rest of Marinette’s house instead of sitting in the kitchen. The Dupain-Chengs appeared to be a lively, fun-loving family, but he’d only gotten a small taste of their life, only seen the tip of the iceberg. Felix wanted to absorb as many details as possible before leaving. 

Marinette straightened. “Oh! There’s actually more flour in the back! I’ll go get it.”

Before Felix could offer any assistance- his curiosity piqued about where they might store more food -the ravenette had already left the room, disappearing through another doorway in the back. 

A moment later, she returned, another large bag of flour in her hands. This time, however, the bag was full. Felix vaguely wondered how heavy the bags must weigh for her to be wobbling over with one so easily. Wasn’t flour supposed to be heavy?

“Here’s a fresh bag of flo-ou-ah!” Marinette’s words jumbled into jargon when her foot caught on her ankle. Her body lunged forward from the momentum, and Felix stepped up to catch her on reflex.

Bad idea. 

Due to the weight of the flour bag yanking her downwards, Marinette crashed into Felix’s and dragged him to the floor with her. His back hit the floor with a painful *thud*, immediately sucking all of the air from his lungs. 

Of course, the flour bag popped open upon impact, sending more white dust directly into his face. Between the weight of Marinette and the flour, along with his aching lungs and the suffocating dust, Felix was convinced that he was about to die right then and there on the bakery floor. 

Felix Culpa: tragically taken from this world by a bag of flour and a clumsy classmate. What a way to go.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, Felix. Are you okay??” Marinette asked frantically, pushing herself off of him. 

Felix coughed out a weak response with what little oxygen he had. Even without Marinette, the flour bag pressed into his chest like a block of concrete. How had she been carrying this without breaking a sweat earlier?

Marinette hauled the bag off of him, and Felix sucked in a deep breath despite the flour still cluttering the atmosphere. All he needed right now was some sweet, blessed air. Infected or no.

It wasn’t until he regained enough of his senses to push himself up into a sitting position that he heard Claude’s howling laughter.

“Oh, man!” The brunette cackled. “And you thought we were bad! Look at you, Fe! You’re a ghost!”

Felix glanced down at his clothes, which were indeed covered in white. He could even feel the weight of the flour in his hair. How long was this going to take to wash out? Was he going to have to buy new clothes before going home?

A snort brought his gaze upwards, where Marinette stood with the bag of flour. She had a hand on her mouth- holding the bag of flour with one hand -and a barely contained smile on her lips that she was obviously trying to hide. 

That’s when Felix knew that he must be looking ridiculous. 

“At least I wasn’t the one to cause the mess.” Felix grumbled in response to Claude. He reached up to start brushing some of the flour out of his hair, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that Marinette was white with flour as well. It might have been irksome if she had escaped her fall unscathed while he appeared to be a freshly made snowman.

“I am. So sorry.” Marinette apologized again, this time offering him her hand to help him up.

Felix took it, his bafflement towards her uncanny amount of strength only growing as she managed to pull him up with one arm and keep the bag of flour steady in her other arm.

“It’s..” not your fault. Was what he was about to say, except that would be a lie. It was entirely her fault.

“It’s fine.” He said instead. “It’s just clothes.”

“Wow~” Allegra sang, immediately latching onto Felix’s nerves. “‘It’s just clothes’? That’s a first.”

“Remember that time Felix threatened to sue us for enough money to buy a new wardrobe if we ‘got so much as one drop of food on his vest’?” Allan chimed in.

Embarrassment coiled around Felix’s stomach, though he wasn’t sure why. That designer outfit was expensive! And the trio was acting especially chaotic that day. Who knows what might have happened had he not put his foot down when they started joking about a food fight.

Felix whipped around to Allan to explain that exact reasoning, but something caught his attention, causing him to pause. Allan was still at the front of the room, the farthest position from the chaos that had just ensued. Aside from the stray dust still fluttering around the room, the man was completely untouched as far as flour was concerned. 

“Marinette,” He said, catching the girl’s eye, “I do believe that Allan hasn’t gotten his flour yet.”

Marinette’s gaze flicked to Allan, then to the bag, and Felix prayed that he assessed her correctly. Because if Allan didn’t get flour on him this instant, Felix might be tempted to do something foolish. Like attempting to throw a bag of flour that was, without a doubt, too heavy for him to even lift on his own.

The barest hints of amusement lit up Marinette’s features. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Felix smiled, feeling a devilish satisfaction. Yes!

Allan took a step back, suddenly looking very concerned. 

“Woah, w-wait a second, guys.” He squeaked, holding up his hands as Marinette inched forward. “L-Let’s talk about this!”

“One of us. One of us.” Claude began chanting behind them. “One of us! One of us!”

Allegra joined in, and, in the spirit of things, Felix joined in as well, if only to push Marinette further towards his goal.

Allan bumped into his assigned counter while trying to put useless distance between himself and Marinette. “Please, no! It’s rare that I come out of these things unscathed!”

Marinette’s grin was downright predatory as she held up the bag of flour. “I can’t imagine why.”

Allan’s scream was the last thing Felix heard before Marinette swung the flour bag forward. 

The entire room erupted into uncontrollable laughter as Allan coughed out at least half the bag. He was now stark white from head to toe, and Felix couldn’t be prouder. It served him right for poking the bear.

Allan hung his head in defeat, a bit of flour falling off of his head from the action. This only made the group laugh harder. Claude started to say something about the “set being complete”, but before he could finish-

“What is going on?!” 

M. Tom reappeared in the doorway, his eyes wide and puzzled as he stared at the flour-covered room. 

Felix froze. Right. They were supposed to be baking with Marinette’s parents. 

Marinette set the flour bag down immediately. “I’m sorry, Papa, this is all my fault.”

“No, that’s not fair!” Claude protested. “Allegra and I spilled the flour bag first!”

“So she had to go get more!” Allegra continued the explanation.

“I’m the one who told her to throw the fresh flour at Allan.” Felix added. If anyone was to get in trouble, it should certainly be him. He was the only one who actually spilled the flour on purpose. Marinette didn’t deserve to take the blame for his petty actions.

M. Tom furrowed at the near-simultaneous remarks, but then let out a hearty laugh.

“I see you’ve all gotten into the baking spirit!” He declared. “Now who wants to learn how to actually fold dough?”

Felix blinked. He’d expected the man to be at least a little upset. Did this sort of thing happen often? Or was Marinette’s father simply that forgiving? M. Tom did refer to the mess as ‘the baking spirit’.. Whatever that means.

“Yeah we do!” Claude shouted enthusiastically, taking Felix from his thoughts.

“Great! Let’s start with putting the flour on the table.” Tom smiled, going back to his original spot next to Allan.

Felix followed the notion, going back to his original spot as well. He tried brushing more of the flour off of his vest, but, as expected, it didn’t help much. He was probably going to get more flour on him during the folding process anyway.

“Don’t worry.” Marinette whispered as she reclaimed her spot next to him. “I’ll let you guys wash up in the bathroom after this. If you want to, that is.”

Felix nodded. “I would be eternally grateful.” 

Marinette giggled. “..So did you really threaten to sue them over your clothes?”

Felix paused his kneading long enough to sigh. Freaking Allan. That idiot deserved every speck of flour dust that he had on him.

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182

[enjennie]

Sweeter than Sugar | Na Jaemin

summary: wherein Jaemin goes through hell and back to bake a cake for you on your 3rd anniversary.

genre: fluff / boyfriend au

warnings: none

word count: 1.3k

[3:48 pm]

It looked as if a hurricane had swept over the kitchen as condiments, various baking tools along with spilled ingredients that managed to miss the massive bowl Na Jaemin was baking in cluttered the usually spotless counter that you and your boyfriend obsessively kept at its cleanest. Today, Jaemin couldn’t give a damn about being tidy, as he whisked the eggs vigorously with one hand, and tried to simultaneously sift the flour into a bowl with the other.

“Mom, mom! Please repeat what you said after beating the eggs,” Jaemin called over to his mom, who he’d speed dialed and put on loud speaker once the idea of baking came to him.

“Pour it into the dry ingredients then mix! Ah, why didn’t you get boxed cake mix instead?” His mother nagged. It did cross his mind, but Jaemin didn’t want to take the easy route. He never does. Not for his girlfriend, never. He’d go the extra mile for you.

“Did you preheat the oven?” His mother asked through the phone. Jaemin looked behind him to check. He’d randomly turned the knob when his mom told him to 15 minutes ago. “Yeah? It’s heated,”

“Okay, well after this you can put it into the cake tin then pop it into the oven for up to 30 minutes,” his mother instructed. “You could’ve just bought something special. Girls like that,”

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile. “You know Y/N isn’t like other girls,” He tells his mom. He knew for a fact you’re a sucker for handmade gifts, freshly baked goods and handwritten letters.

“Anyway, mom. Thanks for the help, I’ll send you a photo once I finish,” he reaches for his phone to end the call.

“Alright, goodluck! I love you!”

 With that, Jaemin gets to work on his own. He places the cake into the oven and starts coloring the icing he had prepared to decorate the cake with. Originally, you both had agreed to spend the whole day together as a celebration. But, due to your busy schedule and requirements that seemed to have chosen this day specifically, you’d apologized to Jaemin and promised a date night instead. A date night was all you prepared yourself for, but Na Jaemin had some tricks up his sleeve.

He quickly shot you a text, asking how you were. This wasn’t unusual, as he regularly liked to check up on you and asked if you needed anything. So, you replied without any suspicion.

@ the campus library, getting some articles for our thesis

Sigh. I’m sorry, honey. Will make it up to you l8r! xo

Jaemin chuckled, finding it cute how guilty you were even if he didn’t mind. He always wanted you to focus on your studies.

 [Aug 2019]

“I can wait, your future won’t so focus on it for now,”  Jaemin caressed your cheek lightly, brushing the hair out of your face and watching as the sunset hues reflected in your eyes as you both stood by the terrace of your shared apartment, watching the sun die down.

“You’re my future,” you mutter stubbornly to him. You watch as the corners of his mouth stretch into the gorgeous smile you’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Do well or I’ll have to tickle you,” Jaemin poked at your side and you jolt as a reaction. A laugh escaped his pretty lips as he pulls you in closer and began to tickle you everywhere. “Na Jaemin!” You screamed his name, trying to free yourself from his hold but the man was strong with the softest touch, making him seem like a buff teddy bear. Or a bubble wrap for that matter.

Jaemin turned you to face him, pressing his head against yours.

“Put yourself first, and I swear I’ll always be right beside you,”

And that’s how it’s always been between you and him. You focusing on your studies, knowing you had a supportive boyfriend to go home to who’d recharge you and understand your struggles. Someone who’d wipe your tears away, motivate you and refill your coffee mug at 3 in the morning when the 5000 worded essay just wouldn’t write itself.

Nothing was sweeter than Jaemin, not even the most decedent of cakes, or the most sugary cupcake.

 [4:21 pm]

Ding!

The oven had sounded, letting the boy know the cake was done. He rushes to see and to his delight, it looked normal. He pulls it out with oven mitts and places it on the counter to cool.

Jaemin popped a candy into his mouth, getting excited as things were turning out perfectly.

 [6:08 pm]

“Jaemin?” You called into the dark hallway of your apartment as you come in through the front door. The house was usually lit when you came home at this hour, so you wondered if maybe Jaemin had fallen asleep, or left to go somewhere. So, you walk in and switch the lights on yourself to reveal an empty house.

At the end of the hall where you stood, you noticed a little card stuck to the entrance which led to the living room. You flip it open and it read, ‘Welcome home! Meet me at the terrace?’ A smile instantly shows up in your face as you excitedly pocket the card. Of course it wouldn’t just be an ordinary date night, you’re dating Na Jaemin. You’d be a fool to expect anything less.

You make a quick stop to your shared bedroom, throw your bag to the floor and quickly pick something to wear. The pink dress you’d reserved for special occasions catches your eye and you take it off the rack, knowing your boyfriend was a sucker for the color.

After a little while, you finally make your way to the terrace, which he’d drawn the curtain over so you wouldn’t see. You push it out of the way, and find a panicked Na Jaemin huddled over a cake with its candles nearly touching the surface of the cake, almost ruining the design.

“Quickly, quickly!” he calls for you and lifts the cake. Without even being able to register and appreciate the perfectly set up dinner, or the sunset that stretched in the horizon, you ran to Jaemin, which was always the most beautiful in your eyes anyway. “On three, make a wish and blow,” he lifts the cake between you two and smiles.

With closed eyes, you sent your wishes to the sky and blew. You didn’t even notice he had kept his eyes open, and let you do it alone, with nothing but a smile on his face. Once you opened your eyes once again, you see the writings on the cake.

Always beside you.

 Jaemin sets the cake aside and wraps his arms around you. “What took you so long? The candles almost burnt out,”

“Sorry,” you couldn’t help but laugh. “I wanted to look good for you at least,”

He chuckles, “You’re something else, Y/N,”

“Hmm, what am I then?”

“Everything I’ve ever asked for and more,”

Jaemin didn’t waste a second more, and pressed his lips against yours, as each second that passed without your lips on his was a second wasted. He tasted sweet, both in a non literal and literal sense. Your boyfriend loved sweets, after all. Each kiss was enough to give you a sugar rush.

 As you both pulled away from the exhilarating kiss, you found yourself licking your lips, craving for the sweet taste he’d left.

“Happy anniversary,” he gives you another peck. Your eyes land on the table he’d set up for the two of you and the sight almost brought you to tears. The sun had died down while you were busy with each other, which left you under the dim lighting that the string lights Jaemin had hung up provided. You realize it looked extremely similar to your first date. Like Jaemin had tried to replicate the one at the restaurant he’d taken you to, three years ago. “You didn’t-,” your voice came out unstable as you were getting emotional and extremely nostalgic.

He grinned and pulls a seat out for you, “C’mon, the roasted chicken is getting cold,”

“Na Jaemin, I’m gonna marry you one day,” you walk over to him and pinched his cheeks before sitting.

You hear him chuckle, and nothing in your life could have ever prepared you for the next thing Jaemin does.

“Why not now?” He asked, getting down on one knee and opening up a red box, revealing the prettiest ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #27: The Lake: Bakusquad

In which you and Kirishima take a trip to the lake for a little class reunion.

Characters: primarily Kirishima / f!reader, but also Jirou, Sero, Kaminari, Bakugou and Mina / f!reader AND background Kaminari / Jirou

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, pro-hero Kiri, Bakugou, Denki, Jirou, Mina and Sero, group sex, polyamory, brief mentions of drinking, not a whole lot of attention paid to protection (sorry...)

Notes: Today’s prompt was “Orgy.” You can probably tell by how many fcking PEOPLE are involved lmao. I... had trouble with this one! This was tough. There are a lot of limbs to keep track of. But I wouldn’t be opposed to re-visiting this dynamic again soon, with more time to play around a little. 

I know it says 1-A on the masterlist, but it really did turn out to be more of a Bakusquad thing, sorry!

Kinktober Masterlist

You’re folding one last sweater into your weekend bag and zipping it up when Kirishima swings by to pick you up.

After a very long, hot summer week at the office, your boss let you go a couple of hours early on a slow Friday afternoon- just soon enough to catch the early train home. It turned out to be very lucky indeed, since Kirishima’s already here and you’re just finishing up your packing.

Then again, it’s not your fault you’ve been agonizing over what to bring.

The buzzer by your door sends your heart leaping into your throat, but it only takes a quick peek out the front window to confirm that it’s Kiri. He knows that you’ll look before you head for the door, so he’s stepped back from the front stoop a little and shoots you a bashful wave with one hand shoved into his pocket.

You melt. He’s cute enough to put your nerves to rest.

“Good afternoon, milady,” he greets with a sweep of charming enthusiasm when you pull the door open for him. He bows playfully before stepping into your apartment. “I will be your escort this weekend. Show me to your luggage.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of it to be called ‘luggage,’” you giggle. You slip an arm around his neck and push a kiss against his cheek.

“Hi.”

He gasps, pressing his fingers to the spot where your lips touched.

“Such unprofessional behaviour. I’m going to have to report this, you know.”

“Shut up.” You bat at his chest. The bastard, in all his well-muscled glory, barely flinches. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The threat’s playful, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t consider it, it in the darkest hours of the night before.

Every year, on the last weekend in July, Kirishima gets together with some old friends from UA. They rent a little cabin out by the lake, drink, party, and catch up. You’ve been dating just under a year, so you’ve never been to one of these before. Even though you’ve met everybody who’s going to be there individually, it’ll be the first time you see them as a group.

And Kirishima’s known them for ten years. You like to think you know him pretty well, but compared to them, you’re strangers.

“It’s not too late to,” he breathes, pausing to glance at you with a moment’s sincerity.

“No,” you brush. “No, I’m fine.” You put your hands on his forearms and squeeze gently. “Nervous, but… that’s what the drive up is for, right?”

“Yeah.” He flashes you a grin that steals your heart over and over again, sweeping you and your little suitcase out the door.

The drive is breezy and surprisingly quick, given the expected level of weekend cottage-country-traffic. You blast the radio and turn it down during the commercials. But you can’t help the sinking dread that pits in your stomach when the ETA in your navigation app drops from an hour and a half to forty-five minutes to five minutes.

The drive was supposed to be your chance to settle your nerves. You’re not ready to be here yet.

When you pull down the sloped gravel driveway of the cabin, there are already three cars there. You recognize Bakugou’s sleek Audi, but you can only assume that the other two belong to the rest of the crew.

So everyone else is already here. Makes sense. Nobody else works 9-5, so they probably cut off early to get here.

Doesn’t make you any less freaked out.

Kirishima insists on grabbing both of your bags. He shoulders his way into the cabin with excitement building in every muscle. You can see it from ten feet away. He’s thrilled to be here. That thought honestly helps, for a hot minute.

Until you hear the voices that drift from inside.

The whole cabin’s lit up with savoury, beautiful smells when you step inside. The kitchen’s crowded- Bakugou’s chopping vegetables and doing his best to shoo everyone out of his way while he sautés and chops and glazes and bakes.

“Jesus Christ. Finally. Will you get these assholes outta my way?” Bakugou snarls, waving his knife around as soon as he catches sight of the two of you.

Before you can even laugh properly at Bakugou’s temper, there’s a high-pitched squeal of your name from behind him, and he’s abruptly shoved against the edge of the counter as a bright pink blur streaks around the island and launches herself at you.

“Hiiiii,” Mina coos, pressing a kiss to your cheek after she’s given you a tight squeeze.

The rest of the party filters in around you- Sero and Denki crowding not-so-subtly around the new addition to their little crew while Jirou makes her way over at a respectful pace. It becomes obvious to you almost immediately that you’re the first girl Kirishima’s ever brought to one of these.

You want to let that feel special. Instead, the intimidation only spikes.

You need to relax.

“Here, babe,” Mina sighs, shooing the boys away from you. “Kiri’ll take your bags upstairs. Let’s get you a drink.”

She grabs your hand and drags you toward the bar cart in the living room. Kirishima disappears up the stairs, but before you know it, he’s re-appearing. So is everybody else. The smells from the kitchen are growing unbearably tantalizing.

Bakugou hollers when dinner’s ready.

He’s done glazed pork chops with some kind of gorgeous mango slaw- indulgent and delicious, but light enough that none of you will be too stuffed at the end of the meal. You sit between him and Kirishima and everybody catches up.

Mina and Sero are starting an agency together. Denki and Jirou found a place together just outside of the city. And Bakugou, of all people, has just taken on his first U.A. intern.

You feel sorry for the poor kid already.

Once the dinner dishes have been cleared, you’re starting to feel more at ease. The conversation flows easily between the group of you, and you’re kind of killing it with the one-liners. Even Bakugou gives a dull chuckle when you land a particularly good one.

But the real purpose of this weekend can’t be put off forever.

“Babe,” Mina coos eventually, leaning over Kirishima to settle a hand on your thigh. “I am so excited that you’re here. Do you know how long it’s been since we had anybody new to play with?”

“Mina,” Kirishima scolds. “Don’t scare her.”

“What?” Mina sits up. “You said you were gonna tell her before you brought her here. Kiri, tell me you talked to her.” She looked up at you with wide eyes. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” you promise, holding your hands up to settle her. “He talked to me. I agreed to come knowing full well what we’re here for. But… I’m still nervous as hell over here.”

“Don’t worry,” Mina promises. “We���re gonna take good care of you, sweets. Besides, you and Kiri and Bakugou have before, right? So between them, it’s basically like you’ve already slept with all of us.”

She’s got a point. But that doesn’t change the fact that your cheeks are like molten lava just thinking about it.

Every year, on the last weekend in July, Kirishima gets together with some old friends from UA. They rent a cabin out by the lake, drink, party… and fuck. You’ve shrugged monogamy with him before. Mina’s right- Bakugou’s joined you on a few different occasions. But this is something you’ve never even thought of trying before.

Still, Kirishima makes you want to take risks. He’s always been good that way- encouraging you to push your comfort zone without compromising your boundaries. When you first talked about this weekend, he’d framed his little pitch with the promise that if you weren’t comfortable with it, he was happy to miss out on it, too.

But you know his friends. You know his character. You trust him.

So you jumped.

“She’s so cute when she’s embarrassed,” Denki chuckles, propping his chin in his hand. He’s got his other palm on Jirou’s thigh under the table. In fact, everybody’s starting to get closer, now that dinner’s been taken care of.

“Let me kiss her. Please, Kiri?” Mina leans over again, resting a palm on Kiri’s lap as she bats her eyelashes at you.

“You’re gonna have to ask her yourself, Mina,” Kiri chides. He folds his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair, ready for the show.

Mina purrs your name again, smiling indulgently as she leans a little closer.

“Can I kiss you? Pretty please?”

You’re suddenly bashful, biting your lip. But you want this. You do.

“Sure. Okay.”

You release your lip from your teeth as Mina leans forward. Her lips are soft and so plush, and she’s a careful kisser. Out your right ear, you can hear Kirishima give a little sigh as he watches, and he rests a hand on each of your backs, rubbing soothingly.

“Come on,” Bakugou grunts as the two of you break apart. His chair scrapes harshly across the tile when he stands. “Get your asses to the living room before shit gets messy.”

Before you know it, you’re in a tangle of bare and sweaty limbs. You started out between Bakugou and Kirishima- the two boys you’re most familiar with. You’re stroking both of their hard cocks while they kiss each other, then you, then each other again. All the while, in the background, Mina, Sero, Denki and Jirou are stripping each other down, sprawling across the couch, letting a symphony of moans and sighs drift across the living room to your ears.

Before long, you’re pulled backwards into Denki’s lap as he fucks diligently up into you. Your pussy’s sloppy, slick from Mina’s tongue, and she’s perched right next to you, riding your boyfriend’s cock as the two of you let your hands drift.

You can see that Kirishima has a tight bond with all of these people. But you feel no jealousy towards them. If he can be so closely bonded with so many from his past, then why not you, too? Every time he catches your eye, no matter how many bodies there are between the two of you, he shoots you a loving little wink.

And at the end of the night, it’s you who’s going to be falling asleep beside him.

At some point, Bakugou pulls up a nearby chair, stroking himself while he watches the six of you drive each other to the edge, over and over and over again. By the time you’re all finished, you’re certain at least two dozen orgasms have passed between the lot of you.

And it shows. You’re exhausted.

After sharing such intimacy, you’re reluctant to break from one another. But inevitably you do, separating into your respective beds for the night. As you get ready for bed Kirishima’s full of energy.

“Holy shit, babe,” he raves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a tight kiss. “That was so fucking hot. You did such a good job, god damn.” He cups your jaw between both his hands and pulls your gaze to his.

He looks down at you with the Milky Way lit up in his eyes, fathomless love all for you.

“You looked so perfect,” he confesses, kissing your forehead, “in the middle a’ all my friends like that.”

You fall into bed together, feeling sore and spent and very loved, and sleep better than you have in weeks.

The next morning, in a haze of woodsy dawn, everybody fights over what to make for breakfast.

[monsoonblooms12]

Hey hey hey! These questions are different but hopefully fun!

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Bree, Thank you so much for this GENIUS round! A trip down the memory lane, when they just began falling for each other, it was such a beautiful and painful time for them as well as for me. I had a blast, and even though these answers are a pure mess, I had way too much fun answering them. Hope you like them too❤️!

The setting for this answers is: A week and a half after Ethan leaves the Hospital. Land(rat)ry and has been exposed, but Ethan doesn't know about that yet. Also, this is pre-chapter 15.

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

Pooja: Who goes first?

(Silence)

Pooja:...Fine. I'll go first. The first time, all I could notice was his Doctor's Coat and the stern expression that he carried. It was my first day, I was running late, I had a patient who had collapsed in front of me. So obviously I was a bundle of nerves. And seeing a very strict attending really did not help. I was freaking out and kept repeating "Concentrate, Pooja, Concentrate" in my head.

Ethan: So when you saw me, you freaked out?

Pooja: Quite obviously so.

(After a pause) What did you think I would have thought? That you were handsome? (winks)

Ethan: (Caught by surprise) I- Uh- That's not...

(Centers himself with a deep breath) That would have been highly inappropriate.

Pooja: (Smiles in Satisfaction) Your turn, Doc. Or maybe, Ex-Doc, Right?

Ethan: (Ignoring her) I thought you were amateur. Better than most interns on their first days but still, slow and confused.

Pooja: And hence can the nickname "Rookie"?

Ethan: Yes, hence Rookie.

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Ethan: I haven't heard her swear a lot, but the times I have, it's always either "Shit" or "Fuck".

Pooja: For him, it's mostly "Godammit" and on rare occasions, "Fuck". If he uses "Fuck" for an occasion, you know it's serious.

Quick: What color are their eyes?

(In unison, without missing a beat)

Pooja: Ice Blue

Ethan: Amber

(Ethan stares at Pooja, bewildered)

Pooja: What? (With a faux expression of sadness) Are you surprised that my observation skills actually exist?

Ethan: (He seems to regret his expression and tries straightens himself quickly) No, Of Course Not, I do not doubt your skills. (He smiles, but the surprise never leaves his features) It's just that no one ever-

(He looks at her, holding her gaze. They both seem unable look away... Until Ethan breaks eye contact and they concentrate back on the questions)

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Pooja: Can I name three people he doesn't hate? Possibly even that would be a large count.

Ethan: I don't hate anyone.

Pooja: Yaa, I know. You don't care about them enough to even have an opinion about them. Which is even worse than hatred, actually.

Ethan: (Rolls his eyes, but doesn't quite disagree) Dr Sharma and Hatred, on the other hand, is a combination I never have had the opportunity to observe.

Pooja: (A frown appears on her forehead and her jaw clenches tightly. She looks down, trying to control anger coursing through her body)

Ethan: (Looks at her with an eyebrow raised) Am I missing out on something?

Pooja: (Tries her best to keep her voice calm) Nope, nothing.

(Ethan notices that something is wrong, but decides not to push her further)

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Ethan: Dr Sharma, has a peculiar habit of always humming a song whenever she is writing or typing something. And every time, it's something different. I don't know about endearing, but it's definitely annoying.

Pooja: Please, you should be grateful that you have a walking, talking Spotify who supplies you with new music ad free and you don't even have to pay for premium.

Ethan: You think that you are hilarious, don't you?

Pooja: Oh, I AM hilarious (Rolls her eyes)

Ethan: (Laughs) You said that with an eye roll.

Pooja: And you laughed. So, Point Proved.

Ethan: (Shakes his head with the smile still on face)

Pooja: As for Dr Ramsey, whenever he has to deal with interns, he pulls out all the sarcasm he has, murmurs "Interns" with an annoyed sigh every time one of them begin to speak, and his intensity of rolling eyes increases by at least ten times. (Turning to Ethan) How did you like my description?

E: (Rolls his eyes) Accurate.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

Ethan: (Scoffs) Crushes... Juvenility at its best.

Pooja: (Opens her mouth to speak)

Ethan: Are you really going to answer the question? Because I am not.

Pooja: You do you and I do I.

(Begins to speak) I think Dr Ramsey has a crush on... (her voice cracks, and a sudden sadness overcome her once happy features. She is unable to complete the sentence and Ethan is unable to look at her)

Ethan: (After a long moment of silence, still not looking at Pooja) Can we please go to the next question?

Never have I Ever:

On the announcement of this round, Pooja brightens up a bit.

Never have I evers have always been one of her favourite games, so there was not a chance in hell she was going to skip the chance of learning about Ethan's secrets.

She turns to Ethan, who's turns to her and raises and eyebrow. His confused face is a precious scene and she cannot help but let out a giggle at it.

Ethan: And what is this now?

Pooja: I was going to ask if you have never watched those celebrity interviews but (she giggles) you and those, don't go together. At all

Ethan: Why would anyone want to answer stupid questions? And Why would someone want to watch them answer those?

Pooja: Because it's fun Dr Terminator. There is fun hidden in stupid things as such.

Ethan: (doesn't speak anything, but gives a small smile while thinking about her words)

Pooja: (takes the smile as a sign) So you are ready.

Ethan: When did I say so?

Pooja: You don't need to word your thoughts for me to know (gives him a smile)

(They hold each other's gaze for a while before Ethan coughs and turn away)

Pooja: (A tinge of sadness in her tone) Okay (coughs) So usually Never have I ever is a drinking game-

Ethan: A drinking game during office hours? (Raises an eyebrow)

Pooja: Says someone who doesn't even work at the office. (She looks at him once before continuing) But we are going to change it up a bit. Sienna, my friend has baked cupcakes today, so I thought why not use them instead? If the answer is yes, they don't get to take a bite from the cupcake. I it's no, then-

Ethan: You get a bite. You will always look for excuses to eat the pastries, won't you?

Pooja: See, you know me well.

(For a while, it seems as if Ethan regrets his statement, but soon he schools his features and any such indication is gone)

come into work hungover

Both Ethan & Pooja sit still, cupcakes intact.

Pooja: (Looks at him, amazed)

Ethan: (Raises an eyebrow)

Pooja: And here I was expecting a sarcastic remark about professionalism.

Ethan: We all have our days, Dr Sharma. Today's yours.

Pooja: It sure is (winks)

had a fistfight

Again, both of them sit still, no one making a move towards their cupcakes.

Pooja: But, it was back in high school, so...

(She moves to take a bite, when)

Ethan: Hey!

Pooja: What?

Ethan: You made the rules but that does not give you an allowance to break the rules.

Pooja: Look at you, getting all competitive over Never have I ever.

Ethan: Absolutely Not. I was just ensuring that the rules are being followed.

Pooja: Suure.

been kicked out of a bar

Both of them take a bite.

Pooja: Finally!

Ethan: (Rolls his eyes while trying to suppress a smile at the site of her getting all excited for a cupcake)

gotten a tattoo

Ethan takes a bite.

Pooja: I think you need to get one.

Ethan: Absolutely not.

Pooja: Don't worry I will let your significant other whenever they arrive, know that they have to make you get one.

(Even if said jokingly, the sentence fills the air with suffocating silence, that is only broken when the next question is asked)

broken someone’s heart

Pooja takes a bite. Ethan looks on.

Pooja: Dr Ramsey?

Ethan: Huh?

Pooja: Aren't you going to take a bite?

Ethan: (after a while) ...No. I am Not.

been in love

(Ethan goes to take a bite, just as...)

Pooja: Dr Ramsey?

Ethan: What is it?

Pooja: Look, I know it's against the rules, but can I pleaseee take a bite from your side?

Ethan: And why would I let you do that?

Pooja: Because A. You know I love cupcakes, B. You are my friend and C. Because I am asking you super sweetly. So, pleeaase? (She looks at him with puppy eyes)

Ethan: (After a momentary pause) ...Fine

Pooja: Thank you Dr Ramsey, You're the best Dr Ramsey-

Ethan: Do you stop or do I have to get a remote to shut you up?

(Pooja laughs, having succeeded in her mission. And before Ethan can stop himself, a smile breaks out on his face as well)

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Professionally I see him coming back to medicine. Maybe Soon, Maybe Later. But I cannot imagine him living the rest of his life away from medicine. This is where he finds his calm. Amidst complex cases that challenge his genius. I also visualize him working on another book, or assisting WHO with its endeavors.

Personally (She pauses, takes a deep breath, and another, and another) I, uh... see him happy. Most probably not married, but in a relationship full of care and satisfaction. He may even start believing in love (laughs) I can't predict the future, but I hope that he finds someone worthy of him. Someone whom he can love without having to constantly worry of a mishap, without questioning all his principles, without retching a battle in his mind. Someone... who can return his care and affection in ten folds (a tear escapes out of the corner of her eye, but she wipes it off as quickly as she can)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Impressive about him? Everything. But especially the kind of doctor he is. For someone who's so genius, it is commonly thought that he would look down on others, berate others on the basis of his excellence and his achievements, be arrogant and rude. But, he is an entire opposite.

Humble, caring, compassionate. Yes, maybe he gives interns an earful from time to time, but he never demotivates them. He is a great teacher, one who knows to keep his feelings apart from his work. To him everyone is equal, even if people suspect him of favoritism. His care and concern for his patients, it's an inspiration for me.

Last thing he texted you?

I...haven't really got any recent texts (or replies, she mumbles) from him. The last one he sent was the day we got back from Miami after the medical conference, which says, "Let me know when you get home safe, okay?"

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

(A small, humorless laugh) He wouldn't ask me out. Definitely not in this life. I am sure he regrets what happened- (Sighs)

I am too complicated of a case for him to pursue.

But, if, in a hypothetical, like, really hypothetical situation, he did ask me, I would say yes. In a heartbeat, to be exact.

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in her personal life?)

Rookie, I mean Dr Sharma, has impeccable talent. And she has more than proved herself during the time I was at the hospital. If she strives hard, and keeps up her hard work, I am sure she can achieve all she wants to. Maybe even restart the Diagnostics Team as a leader. I know she has a bright career in front of her, and as her mentor, I will help her achieve it in every way I can.

Bree: And personally?

Uh... Happy. She will definitely be happy, with someone who can make her smile her dazzling smile, who can give her the best life she deserves, and stand with her through thick and thin. Someone who doesn't break her heart due to their own... flaws. Someone,

Someone who can love her.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: Attractive? She is my intern, why would you expect me to make a statement as such?

Bree: So you don't think she is attractive?

Ethan: Of course I do. She has a sparkle in her eyes, the passion for medicine evident. The way she smiles when she talks to patients, the way she reassures them, how-

(He stops on his track. Regrets his words. Pinching the bridge of his nose he signals to go onto the next question)

Last thing she texted you?

"You know you can just tell me if you don't want me to text you. It would hurt, but this silence, the feeling of shouting into a void, it hurts more."

(He doesn't expand on it. Just sits for a while, looking at the cell phone, before turning it off and placing it aside)

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: She Wouldn't... Not after what I- (he sighs)

Maybe in another life, if I am lucky enough, I would say yes. But now....

It's a risk. And I can say from experience that it would not end well. The harm it may cause, the hurt I may cause...

She doesn't deserve it.

Bree: But there are no more professional complications now that you have quit, Dr Ramsey. Then why do you feel as such?

Ethan: It's about personal complications.

----

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[dontmindifidontt]

EARLY MORNINGS AND OVERTIME | Chapter 3: Nanami's POV

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader (fem, first person pov) Word count: 1873 Fic Summary: A smutty fic in which Nanami Kento brightens up the mundane, flour-dusted life a college dropout working in a bakery. Chapter Summary: That Day from Nanami's pov. Warnings: None yet.

Read on AO3. Masterlist. Please feel free to ask me to correct anything in the above info, this is my first fic and I want to be sure I’m following all fic-posting etiquette. Ty!

11 am. That day.

Phone calls with angry clients. Emails with angry clients. More calls. More clients. Still angry. Pacing back and forth in the cramped office kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew. More emails. Another call, this time with a not so happy investor. Checking the clock. Still waiting for that coffee. Still only sticking around in this job for the money.

I lean back in my chair and drum my fingers atop my nearly bare desk, resting my chin in the palm of my other hand. If I quit now, I begin to muse, I'd have saved up enough to last me a few years before needing to find work elsewhere. No, I wouldn't want to return at all. I need to wait longer so I can be out for good. Though I don't know how much longer I can take...

Check the clock again, it's 11:50am. The slightest twinge of excitement escapes through the deafening exhaustion in my brain: it's almost lunch. I figure I'll grant myself the short break to think it over and come back to my desk with a clear mind.

I rise and sling the grey jacket of my suit back on, pushing my chair in and quickly making way for the elevator. It's Friday and my usual spot for lunch has stopped selling my go-to, so I ought to try somewhere new. Perhaps it wouldn't kill me to buy from an actual bakery, it's not like I can't afford to stray from my usual convenience store.

The walk isn't far, but I take the time to consider my options, consider my future. All I want is to live life on my own time, without distraction from work or other people's problems. Everywhere I look, all I see are problems. Money problems, loneliness, or even worse, all the problems cursed energy brings. I try to shut it out and stick to myself. I tell myself that's not my job anymore.

I spot the bakery ahead and the negative thoughts begin to clear from my mind. To put it plainly: food makes me happy, it's one of the simplest pleasures I enjoy. I can't help but at least briefly forget the problems of the world when I'm about to take a bite out of a favorite meal.

I pull the door open and step inside, briskly walking to the register eager to begin my lunch. Impatient, I clear my throat to signal I'm ready to pay - only to be met with a reminder of why I was so desperate to clear my head in the first place. Tilting my head to get a better view, I see it clear as day: a fly head curse wrapped around the woman at the register's wrist. In an effort to ignore it, I avert my eyes, only to meet hers.

She's a few years younger than me, though I immediately recognize the familiar look captured in her eyes. The look of someone who's tired, overworked, and waiting on the clock to crawl forward. There's something else in her eyes, though, almost a bit of wonder. Is that aimed at me?

"Just the sandwich, please," I say while taking out my wallet, trying not to stare. There's no denying she has a pretty face, a beauty that appears effortless or natural, even when overtired from what I imagine was a long week of work. How one person can manage to look so charming even when carrying around the weight of a fly head I have no idea.

I notice she looks to the side before she speaks again, as if she has to look away to concentrate on what she's going to say next. She asks if I'd like a receipt and I decline, still watching over her pretty features and beginning to feel badly she has to work with that extra weight on her wrist. I'm usually better at ignoring this... there's just something about her expression. I can almost feel a sense of silent, shared exhaustion between us. I'm sure she works just as hard as I do, and she does it with a curse hanging off her body, and yet here she is smiling up at me when I'm just a customer who makes her day even busier.

I can barely make it to noon on a Friday without threatening to quit.

I turn to walk away only to hear her voice call out behind me, "come again please." With that request, something clicks. I pause as I reach the door. I tell myself these next words are based not only off of my attraction to her, but also out of a want to help someone whose work actually means something. It wouldn't cause me any harm to remove that fly head... in fact, I'm sure helping her live a more comfortable life would end up positively benefitting a lot of other people in return. Her work brings sorry people like me even a fleeting moment of joy. "Thank you. I will," is all I say.

The rest of the afternoon I couldn't shake the thought of returning to the bakery. Not returning next week when I'd order another lunch, or even Monday morning when it would open again. I had to return today. But how do I just reappear to secretly exorcise a weak cursed spirit? I'd look ridiculous to the non-sorcerer eye. There needs to be another reason for my return. I could use the situation to my advantage and ask her out to dinner... It's a pretty selfish solution, I'll admit, but the excitement and nerves building up in my stomach at just the thought were confirmation enough. She had a certain glow about her despite the clear exhaustion of her work, I can only imagine how she'd clean up for a proper date.

It's decided then, I'll offer to give my help over dinner.

6 pm. That day.

I arrive at the door at 6pm as promised, with her appearing only a few seconds later. My prediction was correct - having changed from her flour-dusted work attire to a much less casual ensemble made her beauty bloom. Seeing her round the corner in a perfectly fitted dress and heels I had to hide a smile, she must have matched her attire to fit the occasion of my own.

After introducing ourselves I turn to lead the way, excited to share my favorite steakhouse with my date. I answer her question about where we're headed by stating I'd assume that she'd prefer to spend dinner somewhere totally different from a bakery.

"What's the opposite of baked goods? A sushi bar?" I catch her eye as she asked this question, and I see a gleam of excitement and joy that hadn't yet presented itself in the short time I'd known her. She looked so eager and somehow already grateful... I wanted this happiness to last. Sushi it was then.

"Now you've guessed right. It's just around the corner here," I answer while internally sighing in relief for knowing a sushi bar nearby. It's one I used to frequent in the evenings before work began to keep me at the office too late on a regular basis.

As suspected, the hostess recognizes me straight away and we're seated in my former usual spot. Sitting face to face with my date now, I can't help but stare.

She has her hair pulled back, accentuating her cheekbones and putting each beautiful feature of her face on full display. Full lips, long curled lashes, and an ability to stare at me with eyes that will me to hold eye contact without breaking.

"So, how exactly do you plan to heal the ache in my wrist, Not Dr. Nanami?"

I guess she wastes no time in getting to the point. I don't blame her, considering I'm still a stranger and all... I chuckle at the thought of how selfish this entire idea was of me once again. Taking advantage of a curse as an excuse to share a meal with someone this beautiful? I have to laugh.

I reply to her question with the the truth: that I'll distract her while I swat this weak curse away and heal the soreness. Though I wasn't expecting to do this so soon... I need to think fast on how to create a proper distraction.

In the brief time I've known her I have noticed her tendency to look away while deep in thought. I'm counting on my observation to hold true when I blurt out, "Why don't you tell me three things about yourself, and when you're done I'll do the same."

At first she's taken aback, but just as I suspected she instinctively turns her head to the side while deep in thought, searching for a response to my proposition. Now's my chance.

I raise my right hand just a few inches above the table, keeping it low enough not to catch any attention. With fingers aimed at the pesky green fly head I flick my wrist with a snap, sending it flying and disintegrating in thin air.

She doesn't get the chance to finish even the second item about herself before feeling a difference. I smile and ease up in my seat. She looks so pretty with that hint of amusement in her eye. I feel myself hungry for more... more of her expressive eyes staring up at me, pleasured and thankful.

It hasn't even been an hour and I'm enjoying her company more than I expected. Did I hear her say she likes to cook earlier? I want to keep hearing more about her...

"So you never finished," I offer as a means to continue the conversation.

As she shares more about herself I find myself relaxing more each second, soaking up just how comfortable I feel in this moment. I'm not worried about the problems of those around me, I'm not worried about watching the clock or wishing time would pass - for the first time in a long time I'm actually wishing for the opposite.

"So you stay out of people's business, and yet here you are providing unsolicited help to me along with asking me to describe details about myself over dinner?" she asks. I barely let out an audible laugh at the way she worded this - a fair question no doubt.

"Both of those things are correct, yes," was all I let up in my response. I could never tell her the true explanation behind this date, the way I used a weak cursed spirit to my advantage. I'd sound beyond unbelievable and absurd.

We continued to play slightly coy and stare back at one another, enjoying the solitude of each other's company. By the time our meals were finished and the check arrived it felt as if the day I experienced this morning and evening I'm experiencing right now were a part of two entirely different years. Can meeting just one person make such a difference?

I closed server's book with the signed check inside and stood to pull out her chair. "Shall we?" I ask while lifting my forearm for her to hold on to as she stood. "How about I walk you home?"

.........

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[musehyacinthus]

Shoot Your Shot: Part 1

This is my first published work in over a decade, and I'm so excited to share it with everyone! Dash is my oldest and most treasured oc, and I'm so happy that I finally have the confidence to allow everyone else a peek into her life. This was originally supposed to be a short one shot, but is now going to be a 2(?) part series. I will hopefully be posting more work in the future that explores more of her background, as well as introducing some of my other oc's.

It was June, and the air was warm and sticky, which wasn’t ideal; the humidity made Dash’s hair all frizzy, and it always seemed to happen on a day when she wanted to make meringue.

This morning in particular, her eyes snapped open, bolting upright in her bed with a gasp. She had been having the most amazing dream, in which she was about to take a bite of the biggest, most beautiful lemon meringue pie she had ever seen. However, just as the fork reached her mouth, she woke up, returning to the sad reality where she did not have a mouth watering dessert in front of her. She smacked her lips, trying to recall what the pie had tasted like, but it was already gone. Tragic.

It was then that it dawned on her that she had the ingredients to bring that beautiful pie to life in the kitchen. In an instant, she rushed to her bedroom window. Maybe, if she was lucky, the weather would be on her side today. She pried open the window, a warm, thick breeze blowing against her skin. She groaned. No good; meringue wouldn’t peak in the humidity. No matter how good at baking someone is, they’re no match for mother nature. Pursing her lips, she pulled the latch shut, deciding to settle for banana bread muffins instead.

A couple of hours later, the muffins were nestled in her bag as she hopped off the trolley that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Thanks!” Dash chirped to the driver, exchanging waves with the man before she bounced away, not noticing the large, gray clouds looming on the horizon.

She clicked her tongue rhythmically as she walked, matching the beat to her steps and scanning the docks for her friend, Twitchy. The purpose of her trip had been to return a book he lent her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A group of four other teenagers had gathered nearby at the edge of the docks, crouching in a large circle on the ground. Curious, she inched forward, craning her neck to see what was going on.

As she approached, she could see they were surrounding a long piece of brown string that was tied in a circle, surrounding a cluster of marbles.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was fantastic at marbles! She always kept her own pouch on her in case of a marble emergency, which happened more often than one might think.

Now that she was closer, Dash knew the kids to be Newsies like herself from her other visits to the borough. Among the group was a short, round faced girl with glasses and hundreds of freckles who Dash remembered was named Abigail. Her curly, brown hair was pulled back into two braids, her eyebrows knit with frustration as she gazed down at the ring. There was also a pale, skinny boy with sandy, blond hair and brown eyes that Dash didn’t recognize, and a tall boy with broad shoulders and dark hair standing just behind Abigail and watching the game intently. The way he hovered over her, he seemed almost like a bodyguard. What was his name again? Something with a chuh sound…. Chuck? No. Chatter! That was it! She remembered now, she found it funny the first time she learned it because Chatter really didn’t say very much at all. He was a friendly enough guy, but he seemed to like observing and listening more than he liked talking. He and Abigail seemed to always be around one another when Dash saw them, their significant height difference almost comical. Finally, Dash’s eyes rested on the figure closest to her with their back turned. Their brown cap was pulled down low on their face as they knelt on the ground, but she could recognize those bright red suspenders anywhere. He was at an angle where she could just see that was holding a red shooter in his hand, weaving it through his fingertips thoughtfully.

Dash’s feelings toward Spot were… mixed; she could never stop herself from riling him up, and the two would often butt heads due to their wildly different personalities. Spot took himself so seriously, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It frustrated her that he tried to make himself seem so high and mighty, and she knew the kids in Brooklyn respected him, but as far as she could tell, he was just… some guy. The way he constantly tried to have the attention of those around him was so silly, and just made him come off as a bit of a show off.

She hadn’t seen him do anything particularly intimidating, but the Newsies back in Manhattan would often go on and on about how nervous he made them. She just failed to see any real reason for their apprehension. Then again, she really hadn’t been living in New York all that long; his reputation had been around for a good while. Maybe they all knew something she didn’t.

In any case, as far as she was concerned, he was just a kid who wanted attention. That was fine, of course, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease him. It was fun to challenge him, and she found herself getting extremely competitive in his presence. Of course he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

Dash would come to Brooklyn every once in a while to exchange books with Twitchy, who she knew was pretty close with Spot. He never seemed to show any signs of being intimidated either, and was an even bigger culprit than she was when it came to pushing Spot’s buttons. He would go to great lengths to make him look silly, like the time he filled Spot’s pockets with bread crumbs and got the neighborhood pigeons to follow him around all day. There was also a time when he dressed up in the same clothes as Spot, and had bribed the other Brooklyn kids with candy to pretend that he was the real Spot for an entire day.

Dash watched as the boy she hadn’t recognized leaned forward, closing one eye and taking a deep breath. He flicked his thumb, his yellow shooter zipping forward and smacking into another large, purple marble. Both marbles rolled over the string, coming to a rest on the other side. The boy whooped with delight, and Abigail let out a cry of astonishment.

“That was a cheap shot, Sonny!” Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring daggers at the boy. “You know I just got that marble yesterday!”

“It ain’t my fault I got good aim!” Sonny grinned, shrugging and walking over to claim the purple shooter for himself. “Sorry, toots.”

Dash thought Sonny didn’t look all that sorry.

Abigail huffed, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“Fine, whatever. Your turn, Spot.”

Spot, who had been silent the entire time, was already leaning down to shoot his own red marble. He extended his arm, appearing as still as a statue as he aimed the little glass ball toward the center.

At that moment, an idea popped into Dash’s brain. Slowly, without making a sound, she crept up behind him, biting her lip to keep herself from giggling and giving herself away. Finally, just as Spot started to release the shooter, Dash exclaimed “HI, SPOT!”

The boy let out a rather undignified yelp and his hand jerked, the marble rolling into the ring and bouncing gently on one of the mibs. It hardly budged, and Spot’s shooter halted beside it. The other three Brooklyn newsies broke out into laughter, and Spot’s shoulders tensed, turning his head slowly to glare up at Dash.

Dash just smiled, waving down at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said hi.”

Spot grunted and rose to his feet, his hazel eyes narrowing at Dash. Despite his intense stare, her expression remained unchanged.

“I heard ya, I heard ya.” He grumbled, glancing her up and down. “You messed me up, y’know.”

“Golly, did I do that?” she feigned surprise, her eyebrows raising. “Whoopsie daisies. Can I play?”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Actually, it’s just endin’!” Sonny chimed in from behind him with a smile. Spot glanced back and shot Sonny a look, who quickly clammed up.

“Aw, that’s okay.” Dash shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal, Spot’s just afraid that I’ll beat him at his own game.” she looked back to Spot, and she swore she saw his eye twitch.

“No. I am not.” He replied firmly.

“Are too.”

“Am. Not.”

“Are tooooo.”

“NO, I am-” Spot’s voice had grown higher pitched in the heat of the moment, but he quickly paused, giving a sideways glance at his Newsies who were all staring at them. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his voice now sounding much lower than it had a moment ago.

“Fine.” He said cooly.  “Fine, you wanna play? We’ll play. Clear the ring, Sonny.”

In a matter of moments, the ring was reset, thirteen mibs resting in the center in a cross. Dash fished her sack of marbles out from her bag, a little blue pouch that her father had fashioned for her out of some spare fabric. She had about a dozen shooters she had collected over the years, but there was a very special one she wanted to use for this occasion.

She rummaged around in the pouch for a moment before pulling up a shooter that was minty green and blue with little white swirls. Sonny whistled, leaning in to look at it.

“That’s real pretty.” He mused. Dash beamed, tossing it up in the air once and catching it.

“Thanks! It’s the first marble I ever won back when I was younger.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You sure ya wanna use that thing, then? Seems pretty special to be usin’ in a game. Don’t wanna end up like me and have it taken from ya.” She glared pointedly at Sonny, who only grinned back at her innocently with large, doe like eyes.

Dash nodded. “Oh, yeah! This guy is my go-to shooter, he’s real lucky!” She held it up proudly, admiring the way the colorful swirls glistened in the light. “I’ve never lost a match with him!”

Spot was also staring at the marble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Oh, well, it’s your funeral, girlie.” He stretched his arms over his head, shifting his gaze back to her. “You better say your goodbyes now, ‘cause that thing’s gonna be in my pocket real soon.”

Dash stuck out her tongue at him. She wasn’t nervous; her lucky shooter had never failed her before, and this game would be no different.

The two knelt on opposite ends of the circle, and the others sat off to the side as spectators. Spot motioned his hand toward her.

“Ladies first.”

Dash positioned herself in front of the ring with her shooter. Without any delay, she flung her marble forward, grinning at the satisfying clack it made as it smacked into one of the mibs, sending two of them rolling out of the ring. Dash whooped loudly, and Spot continued to watched in silence with a serious expression.

“Nice!” Abigail grinned.

Her shooter was still within the circle, which meant she was able to shoot her marble again from the inside the ring. She hummed, hopping to the other side and returning to her knees to the left of Spot. As she reached for her shooter, her shoulder briefly brushed against his. Spot jumped as if he had been shocked, scowling and moving a few inches to his right. Dash barely even noticed him, focused on finding the right angle to shoot her marble. She flicked it once more and the marble struck another mib, but it didn’t have as much force as the first hit. It rolled a few inches and stopped just before reaching the edge. Dash shrugged, flopping backward onto her behind. “Oh well. Your turn.”

Spot nodded, adjusting his cap. Dash saw him glance over at the other kids for a fleeting second, then returned his gaze to the marbles. He cracked his knuckles loudly, which Dash found rather unnecessary, and flexed his hands at his sides. He scooped up his red shooter, assuming the position. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip.

This was ridiculous; the longer she waited for him to make his move, the more restless she felt. She drummed her hands on her lap as she waited. After what felt like centuries, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can’t you go any faster?” She huffed.

“I’m focusin’.”

“Focus faster!” she urged.

Spot’s jaw clenched, still not looking at Dash. He exhaled, finally releasing his marble. It hit two mibs at once, sending them flying out of the circle in opposite directions. Sonny cheered loudly and Abigail nodded with approval while Chatter clapped politely beside her. The marble stopped right where it hit its mark, meaning it was still in play.

Spot grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he turned his attention back to Dash. She clapped, nodding slowly.

“That was great, yeah! Hey, at this rate, maybe we’ll have a winner by Thanksgiving!” she teased. Abigail let out a cough that Dash could have sworn was a laugh.

Spot’s grin snapped back to a scowl, squinting hard at her. Dash smiled back. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Spot closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the look in his eyes had changed.

“Oh, I ain’t movin’ fast enough for ya?” he asked, stretching out his arms and making a big show of moving into shooting position once more. Slowly, he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. “That’s no problem. I can go faster.”

He set his eyes on Dash’s lucky shooter, and before she could even process what was happening, he shot his red marble straight for it.

Dash’s eyes widened in horror, and she gasped as the shooter crashed into her minty blue sphere, causing it to roll right out of the ring.

Her heart sank, realizing what he had just done. She looked up at him in dismay and was met with a smug smile.

“Oh, would ya look at that? Seems like ya lucky marble ain’t so lucky no more.” He snickered. “Oopsie daisies.”

The other Brooklyn kids appeared stunned at what their leader had done, exchanging nervous glances with one another. Sure, he had joked about taking the marble, but it didn’t seem like they thought he would actually take it.

“Spot…” Abigail started, but Spot ignored her, plucking the shooter from the ground and rolling it across his palm as he stood.

“You were right, Abby. She shoulda listened to your advice, don’t’cha think?”

For a minute, Dash was speechless. Did that really just happen? Was he being serious right now?

Her shock quickly turned to rage. She rose and stormed up to him, lunging toward the marble.

“No! That’s not fair, you can’t-”

“What exactly ain’t fair here?” Spot interrupted, snatching it away and holding her prized shooter high in the air. “I ain’t no cheater, ask anyone here! I won this here marble fair and square!” He looked over at the others for confirmation, daring any of them to argue. “You all saw it, right? No rules broken, yeah?”

Reluctantly, the three nodded in agreement, which only fueled Dash’s anger. She grunted and jumped toward his raised hand in an attempt to grab it, but he stepped back, barking out a laugh.

“Better luck next time, short stuff!”

Dash grunted, jumping up and down as she tried snatch her marble. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re barely three inches taller than me at most!”

“Still, it’s three inches you ain’t got!” he snickered. “I’m playin’ the game the way it’s s’posed to be played! When ya shoot your opponent’s marble outta the ring, you claim it! That’s the rule!”

They danced around one another, Dash hopping up toward his hand and Spot pulling away at the very last second. Dash could feel her cheeks burning. She grit her teeth and let out a loud groan. “Why are you being such a jerk?!” She exclaimed, taking another swing just as he jumped out of the way.  “You only shot at my marble to be mean!”

“I’m the jerk?” He scoffed, side stepping when she tried to snatch it again. “You’ve been pickin’ on me this whole time! ”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“WAS NOT!”

“WERE TOO!”

“Hey, now,” Chatter spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. His voice was deep and soft. “Maybe we should all calm down…”

But Dash didn’t want to calm down. She was fuming, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a silly, little marble, but she couldn’t control it; she was livid! How dare he take something from her that he knew was special to her! How dare he hold it over her head and taunt her with it! The way he smirked down at her made her stomach bubble with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

She lunged once more, but this time, she wasn’t aiming at his hand.

She reached for his head, plucking off the brown cap from his head in one quick swipe and scurrying backward with a triumphant “HA!”

Spot blinked in surprise, his free hand instinctively moving toward his head. His caramel hair was now in disarray, falling in wisps across his face.

“Ha ha. Very funny, girlie, give it back.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Dash, c’mon.”

Dash was already scooping up her bag of belongings and throwing it over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face. It was juvenile, sure, but it was the only thing she could think to do in the heat of the moment. She offered him a quick salute, then bolted from the scene of the crime, leaving a flabbergasted Spot behind her.

She was already halfway down the block before she heard an enraged bellow behind her:

“DAAAAASH!”

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

End of Part 1

[babbushka]

The Shape of You (3/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

7.4k ; CW: mentions of injury, mentions of past torture, angst

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

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

When you wake, it is dark once again.

For a moment, you blink and stare at the ceiling, the phantom image of his face swimming in the inky black of night. Holding on to that face, you tentatively reach a hand out into the air, hoping to touch him, hoping to feel something.

In the end, it is nothing but empty air, and your hand drops.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swingin’ dancers on the radio blare once again, an official signal that the time for dreaming is over.

With this new encounter, this new…you don’t even know what it is, you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken. Everything is the same – you will get up to brew your coffee, Armitage will pound against the wall, you will share your breakfast and take three buses to work – but simultaneously, nothing will ever be the same again. Because possibly for the first time in many years, you do not dread the thought of going to work.

Not that you dreaded it, work, not really. It was a good job, an important job, a job that was part of something bigger, much bigger than yourself. But you could not deny the excitement that simmers just below your skin at the thought of it.

The thought of seeing him again.

“You’re chipper this morning.” Armitage scowls as he opens the door for you, a bright cheerful smile on your face.

“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean.” You breeze right past him, placing the percolator down on his pot-holder that he keeps on the counter just for this very occasion. Immediately going to his cupboards, you begin to remove the flour and sugar, giving him a knowing glance and asking even though you know the answer, “Pancakes?”

“Please, god knows I’m going to need something sweet today.” He groans, moves to sit at the table.

Sometimes, you can’t help but think how domestic this is. How your friendship had blossomed into a bond so much stronger than you had ever expected. You wonder if Armitage thinks it too, if he ever is reminded of a lifetime ago, when he was married to a beautiful woman and had a house in the suburbs, if when you pour his coffee and flip pancakes on the stove, his heart aches for that long gone time.

If he does, he says nothing about it, so you don’t bring it up.

“What have they done now?” You ask instead, knowing that this is a topic of conversation in which Armitage will always have something to say, always have something to complain about.

“It’s just these essays. Half the class it would seem, completely missed the point of the extra credit film.” He sighs, gesturing to a stack of papers once again sitting on the kitchen table.

“Oh that’s alright, at least Boris is happy.” Sliding pancakes off of the pan and onto a plate, you douse them in a generous helping of syrup and powdered sugar for the both of you, before moving to sit opposite him at the table.

Just then, the lights flicker on and off, making you both frown. The power had never had much of an issue before, what with the movie theater just downstairs needing those extra generators. You glance out the window, it wasn’t raining, and it wasn’t windy – both telltale signs of potential power failure.

“Do you ever worry about what will happen when he has to shut down the building?” Armitage grumbles, carefully and very specifically cutting his stack of pancakes into wedge pieces.

“No, because he won’t.” You shut that train of thought down at once within him, knowing that while he likes to pretend otherwise, your Professor has a proclivity for the dramatics unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. “He has renters for a reason after all, and the summer tourists bring in enough to make ends meet.”

Armitage thinks about that for a moment or two, before accepting the answer.

“You’re right.” He concedes, sounding resigned.

“I’m always right.” You wink, and the two of you finish your breakfast in companionable silence.

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

When you leave Armitage’s apartment and go back to your own, you cannot deny the rush that is the thought of seeing him again. It seems so silly, and of course it is silly, but something in you wants to look nice for him.

You fix your hair and pick out your cleanest most nicely ironed uniform, concerned for the first time about how it fits you, how it forms to your body. It is a modest uniform – you are a cleaning woman after all – but you find that despite the drab color palette and utilitarian shape, you look good. The clock chimes, and you realize that there isn’t much time to fuss, so instead of standing in front of the mirror, you pick a pair of heels off your grand shoe display, and hope that he finds the bright blue color appealing.

Dawdling had never been a trait of yours before, and now you understand why.

The bus is sitting and waiting at the stop when you exit your apartment building, and you run in those bright blue heels as fast as your legs can take you to make it just in time. The click-clack of your steps on the pavement alert everyone nearby, as you bolt towards the bus. Water on the ground from the night’s dew reflects the colors of the neon signs all around you, and when your foot splashes in one of the light puddles, a rainbow scatters around your ankles.

You make a beeline straight for the doors, which are open and welcoming you like a warm embrace, and only once the momentum of your body has thrown you into your seat, do you let out a long exhale.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry!” You could bury your face into your hands with how embarrassed you are, but your hands are shaking from the adrenaline of nearly missing the bus.

Missing this bus would have been bad, very very bad. It would have meant that you’d be late to work, and you have never once, not in the entire ten years on the job, have you been late for work. Such an irregularity would have raised suspicion, would have called attention to you – more attention than there already was. They wouldn’t like that, it would compromise your larger job, your more important mission -- you could not afford to be late. So, you sigh with relief and will your heart to stop pounding in your chest; all was well, you are on the bus, it did not pull away from the stop without you on it, you will be there on time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N), no need to apologize, you know I’ll always wait for you.” Mr. Henry’s kind eyes glance at you with amusement through the rearview mirror, and you once again thank your lucky stars to have a friend like him.

Much like Armitage, you had never expected to befriend the bus driver. You had of course planned on being friendly and polite, but the extent to which you enjoyed the elderly man’s company had surprised you. And what’s more, you were constantly surprised by his willingness to be friendly with you in return. It reminded you that perhaps, there was a solidarity at the bottom – when there is no one to look out for the people like you and him, you look out for one another.

Could Mr. Henry have gotten in trouble by waiting for you? Would he be late to his other stops now? These were questions that you couldn’t help but think, but you have to wonder if they were questions he considered. Surely it would have been easier to simply leave you behind, but he hadn’t done such a thing, and you cannot express how grateful you are for that.

You resolve to thank him somehow, some way more meaningful than simply the words. It strikes you then, that despite speaking to one another every day, you still know very little about the man. You know he has a beautiful wife and a blossoming garden, you know he picks up a cup of coffee from the donut shop before starting his route, and you know which music stations he prefers to listen to. But beyond that, you have both remained relatively private.

He was not so different from you in that regard, you suppose.

Most people are not so different from one another, you suppose.

“For absolutely no reason at all, what is your favorite type of baked good, Mr. Henry?” You ask after a few moments, when the bus has left the stop and has continued its route, the Las Vegas strip a myriad of lights and colors, blinking and twirling in the night.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that – ”

“But I want to.” You insist, “Please let me?”

He looks up at you once again through the rearview window, and you see the sparkle of a smile in his eye. You wonder when the last time someone did something kind for him was, someone doing it just out of the want to see him happy.

“I may or may not be fond of those caramel brownies you make.” Sheepishly, almost as if he will be scolded for revealing such information, he confesses this to you.

You recall a time when you had to bring something to the company party, a holiday get together many years ago. You had been charged with bringing a dessert, and as a thank you to Mr. Henry’s continual kindness and hard work, you offered him one.

It makes you strangely emotional, to know that he had enjoyed it enough to remember it, after all these years.

“How very interesting to know.” You smile, and he smiles back, before he turns his attention to the next bus stop, and your window for conversation comes to a close.

 She is waiting for you at the bus exchange today, standing and huddled in the large group of other passengers. It is chilly out in the desert tonight, and she has a beautiful black and white checkerboard coat wrapped around her body. In moments like these, watching the steam and fog of the bus exchange plume around her feet, Gwendoline reminds you of a movie star.

Perhaps in another life, her face would light up the screen, her silvery blonde hair and striking cheekbones commanding every man in the theater to fall head over heels in love with her. Sometimes she talks about it, about moving away from this city, about quitting her job.

Perhaps in another life, you might go with her.

Armitage would surely come too, wouldn’t he? He could get a job as a professor anywhere, he could pack up his apartment and join you and Gwen on a trip to Los Angeles, or New York City, or perhaps somewhere abroad – but you can’t, can you. You can’t leave.

And so, as selfish as it is, you hope that Gwen never leaves either, because you’re not so sure what you would do, were she to go.

This is especially true, as she catches sight of you politely making your way to where she is standing, and she smiles and throws a hand up to wave to you, as if you didn’t already see her. Gwen was, in so many ways, a beacon of color in the world of black and grey.

“(Y/N)!” She hollers happily to you, competing with the noise of the bus exchange.

The hiss and hydraulics of brakes and doors opening and closing, the sound of engines revving and radios humming, of the news playing on black and white screens behind a window of glass, of people talking and smoking and eating and laughing even though it’s too early for it all, still through this noise Gwen’s voice cuts through.

“Morning,” You smile back at her, offering a thermos as is your tradition every morning. “Coffee?”

“You’re a saint,” Gwen responds, accepting it as is her tradition. “Oh I love when you wear the blue shoes!”

She takes a step back for you to point your toe and extend your leg ever so slightly, the dazzling satin shining like sapphires in the artificial light of the fluorescent overheads. One of the men waiting in the crowd with you lets out a whistle when your skirt rides up just enough to show a little thigh, and you have to physically restrain Gwendoline from snapping her teeth at him.

“I really like this pair, I don’t know why I don’t wear them more often.” Chuckling just a little at your friend’s fierce protective nature, you draw her attention back to the shoes. It wouldn’t do to get into a fight just minutes before being in an enclosed crowded space together.

“Maybe because they’re the least practical thing for a janitor?” Gwendoline mutters, still shooting the man dirty looks. He has, thankfully, backed off – probably for his own safety. Rarely do men ever expect women to snap back, and oh how Gwendoline’s bite is worse than her bark.

“Maybe, but they are so beautiful.” You shrug, and this at the very least, Gwen can understand.

“Come, I think that’s our bus now.” She whispers to you so as to not draw the attention of the crowd around you, knowing how the rush of everyone wanting to get onto the bus and secure a seat can often lead to a mob.

Sure enough, as she pushes her way to the front and you follow her diligently, when the bus rounds the corner and the pushing and shoving begins, you two are already on your way to the back of the bus, coats and purses in your laps, a deck of cards ready to be shuffled.

 In the back of the bus, you and Gwen hide your faces behind a hand of cards each, a game of Go Fish that you are sorely losing. You almost wish that the bus would hit a bump in the road, so that the cards could go scattering all over the floor and you wouldn’t be shamed with the loss, but then the thought of having to clean it all up makes you reconsider.

Gwen, for her part, doesn’t ease up on you one bit, a great big grin on her face as she claims yet another of your cards for her own little pile.

“I dreamt of him again.” You bring up, as nonchalantly as you can.

The bus has greatly reduced down its number of passengers, thankfully. No longer packed like sardines, you and Gwen have enough room to spread out, your belongings no longer piled up on your lap. Instead, they rest on the seat just across the little aisle, as you normally do. Still, it’s not entirely empty, there are quite a few stops to go before the bus pulls over into the dark of the desert and identification is requested.

All this means, is that while you can speak, it has to still be in hushed tones, lest someone from outside the building’s personnel overhear. Gwen hears you perfectly well despite your near whisper, and her face practically alights in the same way those flood lights search the sky.

“Please tell me there’s a face this time!” She abandons the cards to grasp at your hands.

For someone who prides herself on practicality, Gwendoline was incredibly invested in these dreams that you have. Every time you bring it up, she is genuinely and completely interested in hearing more, and you’re more than happy to indulge her.

“There is, and you won’t believe it, but it was, well, it was the Asset.” The last word is whispered so quietly that you might as well just be mouthing the words.

Upon hearing this, her eyes widen, mouth falling open ever so slightly.

“You’ve seen him?” Her shocked whisper makes you cast a glance around.

Good, you think, no one is paying any attention to you, everyone who is left has seated themselves at the front of the bus, knowing that they will be getting off soon and not wanting to have to shuffle through the narrow aisle.

“I – ”

“(Y/N) you didn’t sneak into the lab after all that, did you?” Gwendoline suddenly turns frustrated, exasperated with you. She hisses through clenched teeth, “After that creep Tarkin warned us specifically not to do that very thing?”

“I couldn’t help it Gwen, you can’t tell me that you’re not so curious to know what’s going on in there!” You explain, and she only scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Of course I’m curious! But I also have some sense of self-preservation.” She looks down at where her hands are clutching yours, turns your palms over in hers. You look down, see how calloused and rough the both of your hands are from a decade of harsh chemicals and hard work. “What if that man is dangerous? What if he hurts you?”

“He can’t, he’s behind bulletproof glass, I don’t think he can even hurt himself with how secure they’ve got him.” You try reassuring her, and it seems that at least for the moment, she is convinced.

Chewing on her lip for a moment or two, eventually she relents to your assurances, and a great big smile spreads over her face once more. You have half a mind to ask her what lipstick she’s wearing, and there you go again, daydreaming about looking nice for this man…

“What does he look like?” Gwen snaps you out of your reverie, and you duck your head, bashful.

You’ve been thinking about him and the way he looks ever since you laid your eyes on him, on his incredibly impressive frame.

“He’s huge. Built like a refrigerator, tall and wide. His face was hard to see, he wears a mask that covers nearly half of it, but his hair is long and dark, and his eyes…” You can see it so clearly, there in your mind’s eye; can see his flexing biceps, the abs, the thick trail of hair that disappears behind those swim trunks they have him in.

With a knowing smile and a shake of her head, Gwendoline sighs.

“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you.” It’s not so much a question, as it is a resignation. She knew you well enough to know that once you’ve decided something, once you’ve put your mind to something, there was very little that could stop you.

If only she knew how deep that sentiment ran.

“I have to, I promised him that I would.” You say, that giddy excitement returning to you once more.

You know that the lab is going to be on your list, you and Gwen are the only ones with high enough clearance for it, you know that at some point in the day, you’ll be face to face with him once again. And that thought thrills you, it has your leg bouncing, your pulse quickening.

Gwen can feel it in your palms, and she lets go of your hands so that you can fiddle with something to keep those busy fingers satisfied.  

“Just…just be safe, okay?” She whispers, “You know I’ll cover for you, but I need you to promise me that you’ll be safe.”

Much like Armitage, and even like Boris, or Mr. Henry, you find yourself once again wondering how you got so lucky to have friends so willing to look out for you. You would do the same for any of them in a heartbeat, of course, but something about the knowledge that Gwen would lie to Mrs. Parker, or even Robert – something that could risk her job – made your heart clench.

“I promise.” You whisper.

She looks at you hard, trying to see what thoughts are going on inside your head, before letting the conversation go entirely, picking up her cards once again, determined to beat you at a few more hands before pulling up to the shuttle stop.

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

The morning passes uneventfully, as the mornings typically do. Today though, there’s an undeniable pep in your step, a glow about you that the other janitors notice. It’s not that they hadn’t noticed you before, they had of course – but with Gwendoline around, usually she absorbed all the attention. It was flustering to be on the receiving end of it, listening as the boys in the halls got a little too chummy with you, thinking your smiles were for them. Things like:

“Lookin’ good (Y/N)!”

“Where are you off to with a smile that big?”

“Fancy a smoke with me and the boys?”

Are whistled and shot your way, much to your amusement -- funny what a little confidence and a pair of heels could do!

You politely reject everyone’s advances, diligent about getting your work done and doing it well. The sooner you finish everything on your clipboard, the sooner you can get to the lab. It’s on your list, as you knew it would be, but it’s so far down and comes after so many other tasks, that you feel as though Mrs. Parker knew you were eager to return to the tank and the man inside of it.

Thoughts of the man consume you, as you go about your list. Nothing was too strenuous today which you were grateful for, it wouldn’t do to be too exhausted to spend time with him. So, as you empty all the little trashcans and ashtrays, as you clean windows and glass panes in offices, as you take the great dust broom to the floors, you let yourself wonder about him.

What were they doing to him today? Were they going to hurt him again? Would he kill someone again?

The last time you saw him, he was wounded, and that bacta shit had healed him. Would they be wounding him further, or did they have what they needed? You wondered if the scientists in the lab would be so careless as to leave their notes out again. The boys back home would be more than interested in reading further developments, you were sure.

Reminded of the boys, you feel more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on with this man, why he’s there in the first place. Surely he must be Russian, why else would the government be so keen on keeping him as contained as he is? Although, you don’t recall ever seeing a plane like the one that was being dissected in that warehouse, so maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t human at all…the thought pops into your head, and you blink it away.

The stories of alien life in Area 51 were just that – stories. No matter how often you liked to joke about them with Gwen, that’s all that it was, just jokes. Still, that ion engine, the strange shape of the wings, the strange gel that seems to have otherworldly healing properties…it raised so many questions that you simply didn’t have any answers to.

As you sweep the floors, back and forth and back and forth with your big dust broom, you wonder if perhaps you’ll be able to speak to the man. Perhaps he could give you some answers, perhaps you could help him.

You have no idea how you could, but maybe if the two of you worked together, you could figure out a way. One thing was for certain, you felt something for this mystery man. A sense of protection, a bond of some sort. It didn’t have a name, didn’t have much to define it at all – but it was there. Much like the dream, that reoccurring dream, it was indefinite and blurred around the edges, but it was there all the same.

For a brief moment, you wonder what the man dreams about.

You wonder if he dreams at all, in the tank.  

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

Time passes strangely, in the building. You’re certain that you’ve just gotten there, had just hopped off the shuttle with Gwen – but in the blink of an eye, it’s lunch time. Gwendoline very shyly lets you know that she’s going to be having lunch with Mary, and true to your word the other day, you’re nothing but encouraging.

Besides, it means that you could spend your lunch in the lab, it was the next place on your list anyway, no one could be angry with you for being there, no one could accuse you of being out of place. In the locker room though, you find yourself frozen, standing in front of the little metal locker that you call yours. There’s a compact in your purse, and you pull it out, look at yourself, really look at yourself.

You feel so foolish for all this, especially when you open Gwen’s locker and find one of her tubes of lipstick. She always keeps a couple in her locker for emergencies, something you found silly, but now are eternally grateful for. Picking out a shade that best compliments your skin tone, you apply it carefully. The damn thing is likely going to smudge anyway while you eat your lunch, but at the very least you’ll look put together when you first arrive at the lab.

He better be appreciative of all this, you think to yourself with a nervous chuckle, he better care about all the effort you’re going through. Gwen would tell you that men never care, but she’s not here right now, off playing footsie in the courtyard with Mary.

 As you walk the halls down in the bowels of the building, you realize how utterly alone you are in here. Everyone is on lunch, all the scientists, the janitors, the management. Not a single soul is in these halls, the greenish bluish light no competition for the sunshine that waits them near the picnic tables outside. You don’t mind, not one bit, and in fact it thrills you, the thought that you might be with him all alone.

Swiping your keycard through the little number pad, the doors beep and slowly open. Three layers of bulletproof steel slide open, one set horizontally, one set vertically, and one set diagonally. This lab would likely be perfectly impenetrable, in case of an attack, but you recognize that as well designed as it is to keep things out, it is also designed to keep things in.

Things like the man, who finally, after what seems like a lifetime, you will get to see again.

The lab is, much like the rest of this wing of the building, empty.

Once again you are faced with the mechanical nature of it all, the dark grey metal walls and floor, the tables with all sorts of piles stacked high atop them. The lighting is dark, kept dim, even dimmer than the halls outside. You hold your breath as the doors shut behind you, as they lock time and time again, sealing the lab away from the rest of the world.

You park your janitorial cart against the wall, your brown paper bag lunch clutched in your hands, just for something to hold, something to keep your hands occupied so that they don’t shake.

"Hello?" You call out gently, hopefully.

The tank is on the far end of the lab, and you take care to approach it cautiously. There are a million bubbles filling the tank, the bacta gel having been disturbed, and recently. Those bubbles trap the air and make the gel look nearly white with all the foam. You have to get closer, have to approach the glass, straining to see inside it.

“It’s just me, I’ve come back to visit you.” You try again, this time speaking a little louder. Maybe he just couldn’t hear you, through the glass and the gel.

Bracing yourself for him to scare the shit out of you with a startling appearance, you nearly press your nose to the tank. But seconds go by, and there is no activity. A deep deep sense of disappointment and fear spike through your body – if he was not here, where was he? What had they done to him? Where had they taken him? Was he alright -- ?

The immediate string of questions is interrupted by a splashing sound coming from your left, and you whirl around, clutching the brown paper bag to your chest.

He is out of the tank, but he is still here, still in the room with you. For whatever reason, he has been moved from the tank to the pool, and you know this because as you watch with wide eyes, he rises up out of the water, standing up to his full height on his two legs, strong legs, powerful thighs that flex and carry his body towards you.

Remaining perfectly still, you do your best not to gasp. You had thought perhaps, the glass from the tank had distorted his proportions, maybe he wasn’t nearly as big as you had thought. But you’re wrong, he’s even bigger somehow, in the flesh, in front of you. He must be over six feet tall, and twice as wide as the normal man, or at least, twice as wide as any man you had ever seen.

But the most unexpected thing of all, is that he is not wearing the mask.

You have a clear, unobstructed view of his face for the first time, and it takes your breath away. He is utterly, completely, totally handsome. Your imagination could have never come up with the configuration of his features, never in a million years. His nose, so strong and proud looks slightly broken from the front, but when he shakes the water away from his hair and you catch sight of his profile, it is beautifully sloped and triangular. His lips have to be the most full and plush that you’ve ever seen, his ears are large as they poke out from the dark drenched blackness of his hair.

You’re staring, you know you are, but he doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, he’s staring right back at you, looking at you with soulful brown eyes that seem to be sharper than anything you’ve ever seen, eyes that seem to be taking you in with the same level of intensity that you do him.  

“Oh!” You realize that he can hear you now, you realize that this is the chance you’ve been hoping for, so you reach out your hand for him to shake, and offer him a friendly, “Hello.”

The man’s eyes track the movement in a way that can only be described as predatory, as an apex creature focusing all their energy on their prey. Strangely though, you don’t feel like prey. Keeping your hand extended, you take slow even breaths, showing him that you mean no harm, showing him that you won’t hurt him.

You’re not like those men, those scientists, you won’t hurt him.

“My name is (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You introduce yourself, speaking as carefully and clearly as you can. “What’s your name? Can you understand me?”

The man simply looks at you, as if in a trance of some kind. You look around, check over your shoulder to make sure, absolutely sure, that no one is around.

Once you’re determined that the coast is clear, and this man continues to take in the sight of you, you move one step forward, closer to the edge of the pool.

“Can you understand me now?” These words come in another language, a switch of your tongue that would have you arrested on site if anyone had heard.

He frowns, confused, and you wonder if this is the first time anyone has tried being polite to him since his capture. You’re about to retract your hand, when suddenly, he lifts his own, his arm tensing as he reaches for you – only to be stopped by long chains that are attached to cuffs on each of his wrists, and to the metal collar he wears around his throat.

The man looks at his bindings, and strains against them with a strangled shout of frustration. His muscles bulge, but it’s to no avail, whatever he has been shackled in, is too strong for him to break through. You have to sit, your legs unable to support you for the moment as you take him all in. Settling on a step near the edge of the pool, you lean in enough for this man to do the same. He too sits, just on the other side of the edge, as close to you as the chains will allow.

Reaching your hand further, further, further still, the man freezes as you place a palm to his cheek. The skin of his scar is smooth, and you find that surprising, as you stroke his face. Eyes closing, the man lets out a shaky shuddering exhale, nuzzling into your palm. He reminds you of a bear trapped in spiked teeth out in the forest, or a lion in the cage of a circus.

“Why do they have you chained and collared like this, why are you here?” The Russian flows freely now, you no longer hold it back the way that you might have in front of anyone else.

Then, suddenly, the strangest noises come out of his mouth. You think that he might be in pain for a minute, but then you realize no, he is speaking to you, impassioned and desperate, his voice is deep, rumbling, coming from the depths of his chest, a baritone that vibrates down inside your bones.

This is the voice that you heard in your dream, you realize. The voice parroting your words back to you, now you know why it had sounded so strange, so off. This man didn’t speak English, and he had only been mimicking the sounds, not knowing what it meant. You’re not sure what this man speaks, and it pains you, it pains you to not share this with him.

“I – I’m sorry I don’t understand.” You have to cut him off, putting your hand over his mouth to interrupt him, to get him to stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what you’re saying, if he can understand but not translate it out of his own mouth, you don’t know. “I’m familiar with ten different languages but yours isn’t one of them, I’m sorry.”

The man looks so sad, devastated, and that at least feels like maybe he can understand you. All at once, you recognize that if he can understand you, there may be hope. Perhaps if you both learn to communicate in a way that doesn’t rely on words, perhaps if you can find a way, you can help him.

That will require some planning, great planning, careful planning.

The man is watching you, he rests his head on the ledge of the pool, his black hair slinking and sliding down the strong muscles of his back. It is as if he is telling you to not be afraid of him, the very same way you were trying to tell him not to be afraid of you.

It strikes you, for a moment, how human he is. Even if by some cosmic improbability he is an alien, he is human. His stomach growls then, loudly, so loudly that it makes you laugh, and you shut yourself up immediately, afraid of scaring him with the noise. He doesn’t go anywhere though, his eyes only widen, making you smile.

The man mimics the motion, smiling back at you, a small laugh of his own.

He has dimples, you think, as you only grow more and more attached to him, and his teeth are so crooked.

“Here, I don’t know what kind of shit they feed you, but you must be hungry.” You rifle through the little brown paper bag that you’ve been holding in a death grip this entire time, pulling out the first thing you see. The clementine fills your palm, you offer it to him cautiously, encouraging, “Go ahead, you can have it, I promise it’s okay.”

The man, wherever he has come from, must not have seen one of these before, because he takes it in his hand and immediately goes to bite through the rind. Your hand flies out and grabs his before he can do so, and despite it all, you laugh again.

He scowls, thinking you’re making fun of him, so you simply shake your head and demonstrate how to peel the hard outer flesh of the fruit away.

“Don’t make fun of me for the way I peel it, I can never get it to come off in one go.” You mutter, wondering wondering wondering if he can understand you.

Watching diligently and carefully, he sits patiently at the edge of the pool, his palm extended, resting near your hands. Piece by piece you peel the clementine, always trying to get it in one spiral but failing, as usual. Eventually, once the floor has been littered with peel and the clementine is bare, you pry the citrus into segments, and place one in his hand.

It looks so small, comically small in the man’s palm, even smaller as he raises the piece to his mouth and pops it in between his teeth, the juice squirting into your face, making you laugh once again. The man’s face lights up immediately, already asking with those strangled sounding words that you cannot understand, a language foreign to even your ears.

“It’s good right?” You hope that that’s what he’s saying, you hope that he likes it. Giving him the whole thing, you watch as he delicately pulls the segments apart. “Bright and sweet. It’s just about the only thing bright in this whole place, hm?”

Instead of eating the entire thing as you would have expected him to do, the man thoughtfully gives you half of the segments. You notice that they are the larger pieces, the ones that must be more flavorful, juicier. He is kind, you decide, kind enough to offer you the better of the halves at the very least.

“Why are you here?” You whisper, knowing he cannot answer. “Why do they torture you so?”

There are no fresh wounds this time, you are glad to see. Nothing healing or inflicted, just the smoothed over scars. You long to touch them, the pink lines that mar his flesh, but he is a person of agency, and you will not disrespect him the way that these scientists do.

So instead, you offer your hand out to him once more, and after careful consideration, the man presses his cheek against your palm. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against the little beauty marks and freckles that pepper his skin, and you sigh.

“I’m going to figure out a way for us to communicate. I don’t know how, but I will.” You tell him, tell yourself, “You won’t be alone, I’ll help you, I just need to figure out how.”

Out in the hall beyond the sealed off lab, a bell chimes, signaling that lunch is over. Regret and disappointment rise up in your throat like acid, you don’t want to leave him, you don’t want to go away from him. He has been in your dreams, all this time, it has been him, of this you’re now sure. But you have a job, you have a responsibility, and you cannot lose it now.

Pulling away, he makes a noise of protest, and this is a noise you can understand.

“I have to clean. You can watch me, if you’d like, but I can’t just sit here all day, or else they’ll be very angry with me.” You explain to him, willing him to understand, “And if they’re angry, then I can’t visit again.”

The man sighs, chews on the segmented clementine.

With that, you move to the other side of the lab where you’ve parked your cart. The only thing on the list is to mop the floors, and you find that you hate that, you wish there were more, wish that you could have more time. You never thought you’d think this, but you hate how efficient you’ve become, how they’ve entrusted you with the jobs they know you are quick at. It is a double edged sword, because if you weren’t good at it, then maybe they wouldn’t have assigned this lab to you in the first place.

Dunking your mop in the solution that you make yourself – vinegar and baking soda, and a little dish soap – you begin to work, the thing you’re actually there for. It is very obvious that he’s watching you, from his spot in the pool. He walks back and forth, almost stalking you, his hulking frame tethered to you by an invisible string. When you go to the right, so does he. When you double back to the left, he goes as well. You smile, hoping that he finds the incredible mundanity of it all not so mundane.

“You’re very handsome. I’m only saying this because I know you’ve got no idea what it is that I’m saying, otherwise I’d be dying of embarrassment. But you’re handsome.” You admit when your back is turned to him, swishing the mop this way and that, picking up the little stains and debris that have stuck to the floor in the time since it was last mopped. “I was wondering what your face looked like, without the mask.”

You continue to mop, and he continues to watch you.

In a strange sense, it is almost like a dance. The sound of the water splashing as he moves back and forth, as he creates little waves and currents, acts as a rhythm, a steady beat to which you mop. His breathing is calm, and he seems to be in a relaxed mood. Maybe he has been hypnotized by the repetitive motions that you make, or maybe, a hopeful part of you thinks, maybe he feels completely at ease with you.

The thought sours in the back of your throat, because you know that once you have finished this, you will have to leave.

You prolong it, you try your best, you really do. But eventually there comes a point in which you cannot procrastinate any longer, you cannot draw it out. The floor is mopped, your clipboard is checked.

Carefully, walking over the freshly mopped tiles slowly and deliberately so that you don’t slip, you sit on the edge of the pool once again, something painful like sorrow making your head hurt.

“I’m done.” You whisper, “I have to go now.”

He’s alarmed by this, the man. He seizes forward, rushes to reach for you with wide panicked eyes, but the chains around his neck yank him back, and he stumbles for a moment, nearly loses his footing in the water. You could cry, with the desperation in the words that he speaks, with the way he reaches for you with bound hands.

You lean as far into the pool as you can, your arms wrapping around him, nearly toppling over into the water with how far forward you are. You don’t care, so what if you should fall? You cannot bear to see him so sad, and so you pull him into an embrace. He holds you tightly, hands curling in your hair, breathing in your smell.

“I know, I know I’m sorry – I don’t want to leave you. But I’ve got more work to do.” Your voice wobbles, hating this, hating how he’s chained, hating how he’s going to be all alone, how he’s going to be tortured and harmed in your absence. You hate it, and he doesn’t want to let you go, you can tell by how strong of a grip he has on you as he talks and talks and talks in a language you don’t know.

There is nothing you can do today though, to help him. For the first time in your life, you feel overwhelmingly insignificant, in the way that you can’t do anything to help him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, even if it’s not on the list, okay? I’ll come back, I promise.” Your hands cup his cheeks, looking at one another, your eyes boring into his. “I’ll always come back.”

You let go of him now though, and you turn your back to him, mopping up your steps so that the footprints do not give you away.

Swiping your keycard through the number pad once more, the doors open for you, and you do your best not to cry when you hear his pained shout muffled behind the steel.

[justgillespie]

Missing (4/?)

Summary: Your next door neighbor, Luke Patterson (a.k.a. your longtime crush) has gone missing, and you think you could help finding him.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: None!

Part 5

•

As soon as you both finished eating, she took you to his room.

It felt weird to you to see the rest of the room you couldn’t visualize from your window. You could finally see some furniture and more posters.

“I promise I won’t go off limits, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. As I said, this is a pretty special situation. Just call me if you need anything.”

That took you off guard. You didn’t actually think she would leave you by yourself.

“Thank you, again.” You said before she left.

You looked around for a moment, and giggled.

You couldn’t believe you were there. You made it.

You looked at your window room from there, and couldn’t help but think that just a few hours ago, you were there trying to figure out how to get to Luke’s room. Max would not believe this.

You started going through some notebooks found on a desk. Maybe one of those had some information about the band. But you didn’t find anything relevant. If there was something, you couldn’t really tell. He had horrible handwriting. You did notice signatures from the other band members. Mostly Alex and Reggie’s, but nothing else.

You moved on to check the desk drawers. You found a polaroid picture. He was there, with three other boys.

You opened your eyes wide. The band. They had to be the rest of the band. Of course, you didn’t know for sure, but you had a good feeling. You grabbed the picture. You would ask Mrs. Patterson if you could take it with you.

You then stood in front of his closet, thinking whether or not to go through it too. You decided to open it and give it a quick glance. Not touching anything, just looking at it.

And so you did.

You opened it and noticed that it was practically empty. A couple of jackets were hanging inside and a single flannel shirt. But you thought it was impossible for him to take every piece of clothing he owned. If he ran away on his bike, as his mom told yours, than he must’ve taken a simple backpack with him. Something easy to carry.

Just to take away the doubt, you checked the drawers and indeed, there were several shirts and pants in there, perfectly folded. You closed those and finally went up to that one poster you were so familiar with at this point. But there really wasn’t any more information besides the band’s name.

You then checked his night stand and, besides a lamp, the only thing that you found was a guitar pick. It was white, and it had the letters SC written on black. You took it and then, giving the room a last look, you left to meet Mrs. Patterson in the living room. You showed her the polaroid you found and told her that you suspected they could be Luke’s bandmates. You asked if you could take it and she said yes.

“I also found this guitar pick? I think he might’ve forgotten when he... left. I just thought that maybe I could take it with me just so when I find him I can give it back.”

You noticed the conviction in your voice, and by the sweet smile Mrs. Patterson gave you, you could tell she did too.

“Of course. Take it.”

“Thank you.”

Before leaving, you and Emily ate a couple of the cookies she baked while you were up in Luke’s room.

“Take care.” You said to her on the door, when she gave you a hug.

“You too, sweetie.”

“I promise to come visit you more often.”

“I’ll be waiting for you. I repeat, you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You both released from the hug and you were already walking away when she called you again.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned to see her.

“You’re a really nice girl. I think you and Luke would get along perfectly.”

•

Tamra got home first, as usual, and she parked her car in the garage. As you thought she would. Which was the reason that made you leave her a note on the fridge. You decided to wait for Max in front of his house, on his steps.

His mom, Mrs. Miers, invited you to come inside but you told her you would just wait for Max there. She tried to convince you otherwise but you insisted, so she asked you to at least accept a glass of lemonade.

You emptied the glass just when Max was arriving.

“Hey! How did it go?” You rapidly got up on your feet and walked to him.

“Well, hello, I’m fine, thanks.” He rolled his eyes.

“Hi. So?!”

He sighed. “I did it. I talked to people... kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Well... I asked my friend Ian to do the talking. I went with him, but he was the one doing the questions.”

“But you got information?”

“Yes- Ow!“

You squealed and hugged him, just like you did that morning.

“Hey, calm down, it’s nothing much, really...”

“It doesn’t matter. You got something, I’m so proud of you!”

“Don’t exaggerate.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“I got something too, actually.”

“Let’s go inside.”

Max guided you to his living room, inside his house.

“You go first.” He said and you obeyed, since your information wasn’t much relevant.

“So first of all, I got into Luke’s room.”

“What?! Without asking?!”

“Obviously.” You said sarcastically and rolled your eyes. “Obviously not. I had lunch with Mrs. Patterson at her house today. We were just talking and I asked her if I could go check it out and she said yes... But I didn’t get much. Just this picture... I was wondering if you recognize them.”

He took the polaroid. “Yes! They are the guys. This is Reggie, Alex and Bobby.”

After all these days, you could finally give those names some faces.

“Great! Besides that, there weren’t any other clues. So what about you? What did you find out?”

You decided to not tell him about the guitar pick. It was something you would save for yourself.

“They practice at Bobby’s garage.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Well... no. Look, we were trying to be subtle since Bobby, Alex and Reggie went to school today. I honestly think they might know where Luke is. But they wouldn’t say anything. Today at school they were called by the principal. We supposed it was to ask them about Luke... My point is, we tried not to ask too personal questions in case they found out what we were doing.”

You wanted to protest but of course, Max had a point. If they were covering Luke, they were going to do anything to keep his location a secret.

“But I thought you guys weren’t classmates. You and the other guys.”

“We aren’t. Ian is. I mean, Ian has french with them.”

You nodded slowly.

“Oh, we also found out Amy’s mom is friends with Alex’s mom? From some pilates class... maybe it was yoga. I don’t know.”

“Amy? Amy our neighbor? That Amy?”

Max chuckled. “Yeah. Amy Campbell. Ian was actually the one who provided me that information. He and Amy’s older brother go to karate together.”

“Tomorrow is Amy’s birthday party! Do you think... Alex might go?”

“I doubt it. As far as Ian told me, Amy and Brandon never actually got to meet Alex... You’re going to Amy’s party?”

“Yeah. I already told her I would. You?”

“I told her I wouldn’t.”

“Max!”

“What? I don’t wanna go. At parties I usually just sit all night, eat and sing if I know the songs.”

“Come on, let’s gooo.” You insisted. “This isn’t a normal party, it’s a pool party!”

“Why do you want me to go? You’ll probably just leave me on my own anyways to talk to the rest.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t play the victim. I’ll drag you with me everywhere okay? Come on, what if Alex shows up after all? We don’t know, this could be good! Even if nothing happens, then it could be fun to distract ourselves for a bit. Please.”

He sighed and stared at you for a second before groaning. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

“Yay! I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You then said goodbye and went to your house.

After saying hi to your family, you rapidly went up to your room to get ready for your dance class.

“How was everything today, honey?”

Your mom asked you, later at dinner.

“I called Mrs. Patterson a while ago and she was so happy you went. She told me you two had fun together.”

You smiled. “We did. I’m planning on visiting her more often.”

“That’s a great idea.” She smiled back.

“Do you girls have any plans this weekend?” Your dad asked.

“I actually... Wanted to ask you something.” Tamra asked, and she seemed nervous. Which was rare to see.

“Sure baby, what is it?” Your mom said.

“What do you guys think if I bring Tyler for dinner, on Sunday?”

You heard how your dad dropped his fork and knife on his plate, while your mom clapped and you looked at your sister, surprised.

“Really? Is it that official?” You asked.

“Shut up.”

Tamra never actually brought any of her boyfriends to the house, for some reason. You were the only one that met them since they usually were guys from school. One time, she even dated a guy from your dance studio, who was her age.

This time, though, you never met him. You only knew he existed because she announced it to all of you at dinner once.

“Oh, Tamra! We’re so glad to finally meet him! I am so excited! What should I cook?”

“This counts as a special occasion, so we need dessert. Does he like cheesecake?” You said, excited too.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Dad!”

“David!”

You, Tamra and your mom complained at the same time.

“I’m just saying, honey, aren’t you too young for boyfriends?”

You rolled your eyes. “Dad, she’s eighteen. Leave her alone.”

“Well, she’s still my daughter. I think I have a say on this.”

“We’re discussing this later.” Your mom stopped. She faced you. “What about you, Y/N, do you have any other plans?”

“Actually, yes. Tomorrow is Amy’s birthday party. It’s a pool party. I was wondering if I could go?”

“I don’t see why not.” She looked at your father and he nodded approvingly too.

You clapped. “Perfect! Thank you.”

Later in your room, you took the polaroid and the guitar pick and checked them carefully. You saved them in your night stand before leaving to dance.

Luke was smiling in that picture, just like in any other you had the opportunity to see at his house.

You sighed. You really hoped he was okay.

The idea of Bobby, Alex and Reggie knowing where he is, really made you hopeful.

“Hey” Someone said, entering your room.

You knew it was Tamra way before you looked up to see her. She never knocks, so it was easy to tell when it was her coming to your room.

“Hey” You smiled at her. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I just... I came to tell you what happened.”

After you came up to your room, you knew Tamra stayed longer because your dad wanted to talk to her.

She sat on your bed, next to you.

“What did dad tell you?” You asked.

“Oh, you know. He started with this big speech about growing up, and that I should be careful, and stuff like that. But then he started started being emotional and said that he was afraid of me leaving the house or change my plans for college and other stuff.”

You frowned and then giggled. “He’s so dramatic.”

“I know. I won’t throw away everything I’ve planned for years just for a boy I’ve been dating for two months.”

“Not any boy, I can see.”

She rolled her eyes but blushed. “Anyways, dad also said he was happy for me and that I would always be his baby.” She said like bragging, with a shrug.

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Childish. Now, tell me, where is this Tyler from, anyways?”

“I met him at The Drop.”

It was a caffe near your dance studio. It had a mini library with books you could read while enjoying any kind of drink or food. You two would go there after class sometimes, or when your classes aren’t too long, she would wait for you there.

“It was a few weeks before we moved. You actually know him. He’s the barista.”

“Wait, that Tyler?! Are you serious?!”

You knew something was going on. He would always give dreamy looks to your sister and would talk different to her. You told her so, every time you noticed but she would just wave it off saying you were just imagining things.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You said, a little hurt.

“I don’t know. Things were different with him. I was... scared. Of you not liking him, or something.” She admitted. And you knew that was a big deal. Just by the fact that she was showing her vulnerability, (which she barely ever showed to anyone), you knew she felt something strong for this guy.

“Really?” You asked, a little confused and flattered.

“Yeah. I’m actually terrified now. For the dinner. I really want you all to like him.”

“I’m sure we will.” You assured her. “Tamra I’m really, really happy for you.”

She smiled and hugged you. Tamra was almost never affectionate either, but when she was, you really appreciate it.

She stayed a little longer with you and you two chatted for a while until she went to bed and left you alone with the polaroid and the guitar pick again.

You really hoped you could get to something this weekend.

•

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