#and shoved her fingers which were caked in dirt into my mouth

[baccan0pe]

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[follyglass]

Follyglass : Merry

Our parents warned us not to go beyond where the flint road stops and turns to dirt. They said danger lived there.

When we were little, we listened wide-eyed as they told us about Merry Blackteeth, and how she was always watching for an opportunity to steal children. They said she waited in the still deep of the dark river amidst the shining fishes that we liked so much. They said she lurked in the hedgerows next to the bull pasture. Sometimes, she was even in our very own house, spidered against the sooty walls of the chimney, eager to jump down and snatch any children who got too close to the fire.

Among us children, she became a shorthand for danger: “Merry Blackteeth will get you!” She skurked around our nightmares and we would wake up screaming her name. When the dogs barked vicious at something unseen in the night, we shivered and whispered her name amongst ourselves, sure that it was Merry Blackteeth despite the protests of others that it was only a deer. We were such good children that we located her in places that our parents never dared to mention; in cellars and closets and in the long shadows near the edge of the pines, her limbs ratch-crackit, her boiled-egg eyes staring, clattering her black teeth at us and slurring curses jittered with laughter. Merry was always happy to scare us.

When we became taller than posts, she became a dare. To prove we were brave, we stared into the deep water past the shining fishes. To show we weren’t babies, we stood, waiting – fear and thrill, or what might have been her fingers, intermingling on our backs, on our necks – in the night attic.

Somehow, we survived, and in surviving so many brushes with the creature, we became surer of ourselves. Merry Blackteeth became a line that separated us from the shiver-bone stories of our childhoods. Eventually, someone dared me to walk beyond the flint. I did, while laughing that “Merry Blackteeth stories are for babies.”

When you dare crack the boundary that restrained you, there is an inner plea propelled by the fear that has been a companion since you were small: please let me be right. Please let me be ok.

Each new step I took was accompanied by these thoughts. But beyond the flint, past the hedgerows, and wending through the potholes filled with April bright sky, I found a small but cheerful house. In the side garden there was an old woman who quirked her head at me, but still bid me welcome.

“I’m Mary,” she said, extending the hand that didn’t cup a baby squirrel. I shook it, thinking ‘Merry?’ while she pressed on in her introduction, “Mary Blackheath, nice to meet you.” When she smiled, her teeth were indeed black, which I later learned – but was at that point in possession of the manners to not ask about – was due to her habit of bringing her smallbrush to a fine point by putting it in her mouth. Some of the inks and pigments stained in her teeth.

She tucked the baby squirrel into a pot lined with flannel, wiped her hands, then offered me a biscuit with a curl of butter and honey. I declined politely as I could, the echoes of fairy feasts and being taken ringing in my head.

“Well, then,” she said kindly, “there’s always the cakeberry tree at the gate if you’re hungry.”

My “thank you” came quietly, and I left the garden, rounded the stonewall and hid until I heard Mary’s door close. Confident that I was out of her sight, I shoved handfuls of cake berries in my pockets and ate them all the way home, where I arrived with my lips stained – as my father put it – ‘ghastly red.’

Over the course of weeks, I found reasons and ways to return to the peace and plenty at Mary’s home, but mostly it was to spend five minutes there before the clatter and tremor of suppertime at my own home.

Only the most curious of my friends followed.

Mary spotted them and put out plates of sweet crackers and jars of jewel-colored jam, while saying loud enough to carry over the finches’ chatter that “everyone is welcome here.”

They ate. They met the real Mary. Just like me, they managed to find ways beyond the flint road. Our visits became longer. Our parents didn’t bother to care; after all, we were teenagers and they had properly taught us to stay from danger.

Around her chores, Mary told us stories, while encouraging us to do the same. When we began a prickly shiver-bone tale, she leaned in and asked questions, and through her inquiries our stories would turn soft and warm in our mouths. Fearsome dragons became fascinating spectrums of scale and wing. Lilynymphs called out songs not to mesmerize, but to comfort those whose gaze began to become lost in the dark water.

We didn’t know it, but afterward Mary took down all that we said with her little brush. Only when the pages were filled with her fine script and fantastical creatures dancing amongst the marigolds in the margins did she show the book to us.

It was beautiful; a new world we had made with Mary’s help. The book was nothing like the stories our parents had told us: stories to warn, stories to keep us on the straight path… stories that kept us safe with them.

And so it was that instead of being fearful of the world outside our village, we became curious and welcoming. With our gentle new courage, we stepped beyond the borders of the flint roads and out into the world. When we were older, we were humbled and ashamed to have ascribed such monstrous qualities to Mary.

Mary told us the truth. Not just about the world outside, but about ourselves, too. In a way, I suppose our parents were right. Merry Blackteeth did steal their children.

......................................................

Thank you so much for reading.

This is Follyglass' 200th stand-alone piece. Most little tales here are cozy fantasy, some are New England based, a few are horror.... nearly all are flash fiction.

To begin at the beginning, start here at Cake.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 5

Throw a punch

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n finally beats Bucky, he has a surprise for her when she returns from her first mission.

Warnings: smut, violence, mention of death/murder

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

3 years. 3 godforsaken, bloody torturous years. That's how long I'd been in this hell hole. How long I'd been repeatedly beaten up by my only form of solace daily. How long I'd been whipped for simply not being good enough to beat a super soldier. How long I'd endured endless torture. And today, today is the day that it will all end.

If there was one thing the last three years taught me, is that I should duck and run rather than throw a punch. At least that's what I thought, and I'd never really been willing to risk a broken jaw to prove my theory. That is, until today.

Come on, y/n, you can do this. The words were repeated in my mind, my own mantra, in order to psych myself up for what I was about to do. There was a fire grip on my arm - arguably much tighter than necessary - as the guards dragged my down the hollow hall to my training session with the Winter Soldier. Pft, more like two hours of humiliation and a sore ass, I though, a little smirk spreading on my lips at my own joke.

"What're you laughing about? Something funny, Stark?" The guard who had the grip on my arm spat through gritted teeth and the smirk was instantly ripped from my lips, instead reverting back to the hard expression I had been trying to maintain while around anyone who worked for HYDRA.

So basically everyone.

We walked in silence the rest of the way, like normal, and the guard roughly shoved my into the room by a hand between my shoulder blades, like normal. But today wasn't like normal - no, today was the day I was the one to throw a punch.

They removed the silencer from my head and let me take a gulp of water before The General was barking the order for us to begin.

I walked into the centre of the room, shoulders back and stare cold. The soldier's gaze matched mine as his cerulean eyes bore into my own, his jaw clenched and hands already curling into fists as I stood before him. We maintained the stare for a moment - almost as if the other was waiting for the other to make the first move, an open opportunity to take the win.

And so I did.

Using the speed I'd worked up to over time, I farted towards the soldier, ducking on a seconds notice as his metal fist flew out. I landed a jab to his stomach, one hard enough to make him cough slightly with the knocked up air but far from hard enough to actually make him stumble. Distracted, he barely noticed me as I slipped under him - through his legs out by his back, which I was quick to jump on. I let my legs wrap around his muscular waist and my left arm wrap around his throat, making the soldier grit his teeth and attempt to pry my arm away from his neck as he began to choke.

When he attempted to fling my forward, I tangled my right fist into his brown locks, yanking painfully and making the soldier cry out as I lowered my lips to his ear. Another thing I'd learnt in the past three years is that the soldier was only affected by my powers under two conditions:

One, he was off-guard or vulnerable - hence the choking - and two, I was as close to him as I could possibly get.

I began to him a soft tune - one I had discovered was most effective in lowering my opponent's defence and lulling them into a false sense of security. I practically smirked irksomely when I sensed his eyes rolling back in defeat and his assault on my arm falter - body falling limp and relaxed under the quell of my voice.

When I was sure I'd lowered his defences enough, I slowly climbed down from his back and admired my handy-work.

The Winter Soldier, stood dopey and barely lucid before me, without so much as the energy to even move his arm, let alone land a heavy punch like he normally would. I took my chance, the man nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones as my leg swept through his, bringing the soldier down the the ground with a loud noise that resembled a mixture of a crash and a thud.

Of course, the impact made my tune immediately ware-off and the soldier was now fully lucid, but I could barely contain myself as I punched my fists into the air triumphantly and a grin curled across my lips.

A lonely applause filled the tall room, bringing me back to earth as I realised the situation. Footsteps angled towards me, slow and calculated as the claps slowed to a stop, The General standing before me with a tight-lipped smile.

"Well done, Miss Stark." He congratulated, looking around him and outstretching his arms. "It only took you, what? Three years?" He mocked, the taunting laughter of the guards making me feel nauseous. But I kept my composure, returning his mocking, tight-lipped smile that didn't even dare go near my eyes - which were alright with anger. "And now your training is complete. We shall have to teach you how to use a gun, I suppose?" He said lazily. I clenched my jaw.

"I knew how to use a gun perfectly fine, General." I gritted and his eyes brows shot up as he turned to face his comrades.

"Did you hear that, gentlemen? Looks like she doesn't need another three years to learn to fire a gun? My, my, haven't we lucked out with this one?" He mocked cruelly, coming back to face my burning eyes. He smirked, grabbing my chin between his thumb and his finger and angling my head up to meat his eyes. "Take her away, and get her ready for her first mission." He demanded, eyes churning with something that resembled pride, but darker. He kept his eyes on me as he spoke, before roughly jerking my chin away and letting the guards refasten the silencer over my mouth before they were grabbing and arm each and dragging me from the  training room.

The pulled me back down the hollow hall - passing my usual cell.

"W-where are we going?" I asked, swallowing heavily as they halted to a stop in front of an unfamiliar door and we shoving me inside. There was nothing gentle about the HYDRA guards, not that I ever expected there to be.

Once I was in one of them tugged the door shut, the other throwing a bundle of clothes at me, which I fought as the flew at my chest. I opened the ball of fabric out, finding a skin-tight leather tactile suit - red HYDRA symbol embellished on either arm and over my heart - along with underwear and some black tactile boots.

The men stared at me expectantly, eyeing me up and down by never making the move to leave.

"Aren't you supposed to give me privacy to change?" I asked sheepishly. As humiliating it had been to be whipped for three years the sight toppled in front of these men, the idea of willingly getting changed while they were stood staring at me like I was a piece of meat made bile ride in my throat.

"I highly suggest you get to it, unless you'd like us to help out, of course." One of the guards said with a sickening expression, making me grimace and begin to tug my shirt over my head.

"And how about you do it...slowly, if you don't mind, Miss Stark." The other remarked, arms crossed over his chest as he bit his lip and glued his eyes intensely on my body.

I gulped, continuing to pull the shirt over my head. Oh boy, this was gonna be a long day.

…

Blood and soot cakes my nails, the icky feeling of the grime a haunting reminder of what I had just done. I was in the shower room, scrubbing the mud and blood from my body as quickly and efficiently as I could. I was used to cleaning my own blood from my skin, but the feeling of someone else’s just made me want to-

I shivered, hands shaking the the brush tumbling out of my grasp and clattering to the floor. I braced a hand on the wall, letting my head hang forward as I took a deep breath, before looking back up and wincing as the cold water streamed over me.

No hot showers at HYDRA. I hadn’t felt the feeling of warm water rush over me since the last time I had a long bubble bath back home...

I shook the thought off, carding my fingers through my hair and attempting to pick the dirt and gravel out of it. My breath was ragged as I felt a hot steam of air on my neck, the faint tickle of fingers brushing over my hips and up my body until two large hands - one flesh, one metal - caged my head to the tiled wall.

“Soldier...” I moaned breathily, letting my eyes slip shut at the feeling of his hot breath hitting the back of my neck. It was an intoxicating feeling, really, especially after being void of affectionate human contact for so many years. The soldier buried his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply before bringing his lips to my eye.

“I can’t stay away from you.” He murmured, flesh hand coming down to grab a handful of my ass roughly before letting go. I almost whined at the loss of contact before I felt a harsh spank against my right ass cheek. What surprised me the most was the expected cry of pain did not escape me, but rather a moan of pleasure.

I could feel the soldier’s smirk against my skin at my reaction, my eyes still shut as his hand trailed over my hip once again, before slipping down my front and running a finger through my wet folds. I jerked away as his fingertip brushed over my sensitive nub, pressing my lips together to surpress a needy groan at his low chuckle, the sound going straight to my core and causing a pang of arousal to dance through me.

“Ever been touched here before?” He husked in my ear and o shook my head, almost in embarrassment. “No?” He checked and I shook my head again. “I’ll try to be gentle.” He muttered, but before I could protest his cold with gliding through my folds, now coated in my wetness and slowly sheathing itself inside of me.

A raspy moan tore from my throat, the soldier groaning behind me as his hand moved to my hip in a vice-like grip. His cock stretched me beyond my limits, and to say it was painful was an understatement. After a moment of keeping his cock fully seated within me, the soldier pulled his hips back slowly before slamming back roughly. A burn formed in my cunt and I let out another moan, dropping my head forward to to cool shower wall when he thrusted into me again.

After a few more thrusts the pain started to dissipate, instead turning into a delicious and pleasurable burn that sent tingles through me. When one of my hands reached backwards to grip onto the soldier’s thigh, he took it as a signal to speed up snapping his hips into mine until the only thing that could be heard were our skin slapping together, my breathy and broken moans and the soldier’s frankly feral and animalistic growls and groans in my ear.

A sharp gasp crawled up my throat when his hand transferred from my hip down to my core, two fingers flicking at my bungle of nerves. I could feel every vein, every ridge, every part of him as I clamped down around him, throwing my head back to rest of his shoulder as his pace somehow increased again - fingers drawing tight and fast circles on my clit in time with his thrusts.

My knees buckled as I came with a shout, falling back into him as my legs gave up on me. He let out a growl as his thrusts faltered, a few more strokes and he was shooting his load deep into me. I winced as he pulled out, falling forwards into the wall as I tried to catch my breath - breathing laboured.

As I turned to face the soldier, maybe pull him into a kiss, he disappeared. It was like he had gone into thin air. The only trace of him left was his cum dripping down my thighs, tickling my skin.

[heynikkiyousofine]

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3
The saga continues for my dear friend @enchantedink-ag, enjoy lovelies!
Part 2
Bounding from tree to tree in the scattered daylight as it filtered through the canopy, Inuyasha barely had time to catch his breath before taking off once more towards Meiji Shrine, a sacred temple located in a meadow with not much else around it. Miroku explained this temple was sacred, much like Mount Hakurei was. The temple had been built over the grave of the deceased demon, Koyanagi. It was where the twins had taken her, Miroku was sure of it. With it being a sacred place, it was the perfect location to harness spiritual power to bring him back from the dead.
He had been running all day, only stopping to take a quick drink in a stream he passed by earlier. Sweat covered his brow and Inuyasha knew he would have to move even quicker before sundown to make it there, that the full moon would be at its highest just hours after the sun sets over the horizon. Feeling his youki pulse, he pushed forward, leaping from a tree branch as his strength rose and his inner demon roared in anger. Kagome, I’m coming.
——————————————————————————————-
Kagome focused on the dirt on her bare feet, while Kimoto wrapped the sisal rope around the worn wooden pole that protruded from the ground. She needed to keep her strength up, even though she was bone tired and her whole body ached. The blood and dirt caked on her head had dried hours ago, while she sported a nice looking welt on her tear stains cheek where Kimoto had thrown her in the rough dirt. Whimpering, she felt a slight shiver and a wave of nausea roll over her as he continued tying, his hands brushing her backside. Inuyasha. I’m scared. Where are you?
As he finished securing her, Kirigaya spread out her scroll on a near by large stone few feet away, then pulled a dagger from her inner cloak. The smooth steel glistened in the bright moonlight, catching Kagome’s attention from her post. The soft breeze swished across the grass and Kagome knew she would have loved the lay here in the meadow and stargaze with her husband had they come across it in different circumstances. Swallowing quickly, she kept quiet and continued to observe the twin demons. Wiggling her fingers, she pulled against the worn rope, noticing that the rope wasn’t as tight as she had initially thought and felt a familiar aura approach the far tree line. Not wanting to give anything away, Kagome shifted and continued to stare ahead into the dark forest.
——————————————————————————————-
Inuyasha stood in a tall oak tree, glaring at the scene before him. He growled quietly to himself when he noticed Kagome was currently tied to a post in a dirt patch in the middle of a field. Farther back sat a small red painted building he assumed was the shrine. I’m going to kill those fuckers for kidnapping Kagome. He continued watching the duo move around Kagome, setting up the ritual. Glancing at the clear sky, he noticed the moon was almost at its highest point, shining brightly on the scene before him. It was time as he felt an evil aura spread over the forest.
He patted his kosode, feeling the rough outline of the pouch Kaede gave him, the stack of sutras from Miroku, wiggling his ears once, before grabbing Kagome’s bow and arrow and jumping quietly from his spot. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, he just knew he needed to stop the ritual from happening. He needed to save his wife and unborn child.
He simply strode forward silently, keeping one claw gripped tightly on his fang, the other still holding Kagome’s weapons, his eyes darting swiftly around. The two demons didn’t seem to notice him, or to care to even look up at him, which was he thought was odd. He was sure they would have felt his aura by now, unless they were ignoring him. Feeling a bit unnerved, he was suddenly throw back by some invisible force, yelping as he landed on his back. Fucking hell that hurt. Three heads shot up at the sound, the demons staring and smirking at his pain while Kagome’s eyes filled with worry.
——————————————————————————————-
“Ah, the half-breed showed up brother, I had wondered if he would find us. It seems he isn’t as dense as I assumed.” Kirigaya snickered as Inuyasha groaned and slowly stood, staying rooted in his spot. “If you couldn’t tell, we set up a barrier around the ritual site so no one can bother us.”
“That’s right sister, we don’t need anyone interrupting us.” Kimoto added, stepping away from Kagome. Inuyasha! Kagome struggled against the ropes once more, feeling them give away more this time. A plan was beginning to form in her thoughts. Her stomach lurched as she heard Inuyasha’s yelp once more, staring ahead as he was thrown back to the ground again. Her bow and arrows lay on the ground beside him and her determination grew. Once she was free of these ropes….
Kirigaya turned towards her scroll once more before lifting her head to look at the moon’s position and smiling broadly.
“It’s time. Brother, come here.” She reached for his hand, intertwining their slender fingers. “In just a short time, our brother will be returned to us and we will once again be all powerful.”
“You bastards! Let Kagome go!” Inuyasha yelled from outside the invisible barrier, staring at his wife with fear filled golden eyes. Kagome could tell by his wide stance, clenched fists and angry glare that he was becoming desperate. His demon wouldn’t stay away much longer. Hang in there for me Koi, I’ve got a plan. 
Kimoto turned towards her, pure joy in his gray eyes, and lifted his hands. The grass suddenly still and the air around her coming to a halt. If she stopped struggling, she was sure she could hear her own heartbeat with how silent the area was. Glancing at the love of her life, she saw him draw Tetsusaiga and the blade turn a crimson red. He’s going to break the barrier. I need to get out of these ropes and fast.
Kirigaya swiftly turned her head and glared at the half-demon with his sword raised high. She smiled and took a deep breath. Kagome knew what was coming. Kagome didn’t know it was her that was screaming, until Kimoto shoved a small piece of cloth in her mouth, as more tears fell down her cheeks. The pain wouldn’t stop, piercing her skull and making her incredibly nauseous. Focused on not passing out from the pain, she barely felt the blade slice her collarbone. After what felt like an eternity, the sound stopped and Kagome locked eyes with Inuyasha as he blasted through the barrier, shattering it into a million pieces before it disappeared into the air.
“You filthy half-breed.” Kirigaya was seething, gripping the scroll in her hands so tight, her knuckles turning white. Inuyasha stood at the edge of the dirt circle, a smirk spreading across his face. Whipping her head back, she urged Kimoto to continue. Kagome realized his hands had been roaming her body, touching her in places only Inuyasha had ever. Her stomach lurching, she pulled against the ropes once more, her right hand coming free. As Kimoto drew blood from her cheek with the small dagger, she quickly untied the rest of the rope, freeing her left. Pulling the dirtied cloth from her mouth, she shoved at Kimoto. I have to get to my weapon. Inuaysha!
“Inuyasha!” She screamed, her heart bursting at the seams as she watched him race forward.
——————————————————————————————-
Furious didn’t even begin to describe Inuyasha’s feelings. His blood boiled beneath his skin as he swung, breaking the barrier with his red Tetsusaiga. When Kagome’s blood curdling scream filled the air, his heart shattered and his demon roared. He was clawing to get out, determined to kill the very beings who harmed his beloved. He knew purple streaks had appeared along his cheekbones and his fangs were long enough to pierce his bottom lip. When the barrier disappeared, the ringing stopped. Smirking at the female, he was thankful he had decided to wear the ear plugs before arriving. Thank you Sango.
The scent of iron and blood filled this nose and if he could be any angrier, he would be. That fucker was hurting Kagome. He couldn’t use the Wind Scar in his position, he would hurt her too. Deciding his lengthened claws were a good enough weapon, he leaped at Kirigaya just as she stepped forward, drawing her own sword hidden beneath her cloak. Eyes wide, Inuyasha collided with sharp metal, his hands gripping the sword’s length.
taglist: @kalcia @smh1821 @stillunderyourbed @mandirox89 @littlepumkinseed @knittingknots @mamabearcat @bitch8901 @rikareena @swaggingtomboy @nonbinarypeeta @writemydaydreams @ruddcatha @mlb-stuffs @adorabubblesblog @sailorlolo @chaoticisapphic @zelink-inukag @meadashaw @inukagger @zanda-rl @born-for-eachother @wheremydreamsliethereyoullfindme @anisaanisa @mylindylady @aceverett15

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 3

I’m really happy that this has gotten some positive feedback, this fic is like my baby. Thanks to everyone for reading!

---------

It had been a week since getting out of the hospital and five days since the funeral. It was an odd feeling, and it didn’t make it better that it was a closed casket funeral since they had been burned so badly. It was probably for the better, that meant that the last time I saw them they were wishing me goodnight, smiling, happy, alive. 

I wanted to try to get back to normal. Uncle Noah told me that it was too soon too. He said he wished he spent some more time at home with Stiles, but he didn’t have much of a choice being the sheriff. But life goes on, even if I wanted to go back in time if just for a moment. Maybe getting back to something I enjoyed would be helpful in coping. Moving into the Stilinski house had been only a little strange. I had spent the night here before, especially when I was younger and Stiles and I would pass out in the living room watching Power Rangers or Disney movies. The only thing that bothered me was that I wouldn’t be going home after this, I had my own room with new sheets, new clothes, and only a few things that had survived the fire. Uncle Noah had painted the walls a soft (your favorite color). 

Everything seemed to be perfect, if you could even call it that. However, along with the fact that I lost practically everything, the person who took everything from me was still out there. Michael’s apartment had been cleaned out, his family was no longer in their home, they all just vanished. 

I stared at myself in the mirror, fiddling with the locket that Stiles had given me for my sixteenth birthday. Inside was a tiny picture of us at a birthday party when we were kids, our faces painted like cats, cake around our mouths. I smiled and thought back to the hospital. 

Uncle Noah left the room after giving my statement, leaving Stiles and I in the room. 

“Just so we’re clear you do mean Derek Hale. Main suspect in the fire that killed his family Derek Hale.” He asked. 

“Stiles, even if he did do it, why would he help me get away from Michael? If he was so crazy, why would he offer to drive me away? Why would he drive me to the hospital?” I sat up in the hospital bed.

“Maybe so he could murder you himself?” He scoffed. 

“I highly doubt that.” I looked out the window. But what he said did bring up a question. Derek and I were in completely different circles in high school. He could have completely ignored me and gave me back to Michael. But he didn’t. He helped me.

 I wanted to thank Uncle Noah for taking me in, so I insisted on making dinner tonight. To be honest, home cooking probably wasn’t standard at the Stilinski house. Some sort of pasta dish would probably be good. 

After giving my appearance a final once over, I made my way downstairs. Stiles was on the couch, eating ramen noodles. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head to the store, you wanna come?” I asked. 

He looked up mid-noodle slurp, “Uh yeah, of course. You want me to drive?” 

I scoffed, “So I can feel every bump in the road?” 

“Hey, Roscoe is a smooth ride.” He defended his Jeep. 

“I think that’s an oxymoron.” I grabbed my keys from the hook by the door, “Let’s go.” I smiled. He threw out his noodle carton and slipped on his shoes. Interactions like this made everything easier. 

- 

Around nine, I was just watching videos on the computer, hoping that it would numb my brain enough to go to sleep. Dinner had been cut short because Uncle Noah got a call from someone and went out saying he would be home later. But that didn’t mean Stiles would go to bed, even if his first day of sophomore was in the morning. 

“Hold it.” I called, not looking up from the screen, his footsteps were loud enough to wake the dead. I spun around in the computer chair, folding my fingers together, “And just where do you think you’re going, Mr. Stilinski?”

He straightened out his body, “Oh, just getting a drink of water.” 

I titled my head, “Really? You’re not going to go get Scott so you can find the body in the woods?” 

He squinted, “How did you know that?” 

“You think you’re the only one who’s tapped into police radio?” 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, “So are you gonna tell Dad?” 

“Of course not.” I hummed, “But I’m going with you.” I stood up, zipping up my jacket. The outfit had already been prepared after the police radio chatter explained that there had been a body reported in the woods. 

“(Y/N), I don’t know if that’s a good idea seeing that… you know.” 

“I’m a big girl, Stiles. I can handle it. Plus, we probably won’t even find it.” 

The whole way to Scott’s house was him essentially making me swear a vow of silence. As if he couldn’t trust me, he told me everything and I never tattled. 

At Scott’s, I waited in the car while Stiles made his way to the front door where Scott almost took Stiles out with a bat. After some convincing, Stiles and Scott made their way to the Jeep.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Scott smiled as he got in, shoving his inhaler in his pocket. The smile was a sad one, something I would have to get used to. I was the girl whose parents were killed. 

Close to the destination, Scott brought up a good question: "So which half of the body are we looking for?“ 

We both looked at Stiles who said: "Ahh, I didn’t even think about that." 

"And what if whoever killed the body is still out here?” Scott added. This made me realize that maybe coming was a mistake. Michael was still on the loose, who was to say that this wasn’t another victim. And worse, that could have been her body out in the woods, or at least half of it.

“Also something I didn’t think about." 

“Did you think about anything?” I piped in before we finally parked outside the main trails into the woods. 

-

About fifteen minutes into our hike, I stopped to make sure Scott didn’t fall too far behind. He had the worst case of asthma I had ever seen, he couldn’t walk for very long without needing his inhaler. I knew how much he wanted to play lacrosse, but I really didn’t think it was possible. 

Midthought, I was pulled down the trail with Scott by Stiles. 

“What the he-” I began, but Stiles shushed me. The sound of dogs rang out in the darkness. Without thinking, I started running with Stiles, leaving Scott behind. Our running was stopped abruptly by a dog, who barked and snarled at us from the ground. 

“Heel! Hang on, hang on.” Uncle Noah called to the officer restraining the dog, “This delinquent belongs to me. And so does this one. This I didn’t expect.” He looked from Stiles to me. I stood up, brushing the dirt off my behind. 

“I was uh…babysitting.” 

“Right. Babysitting.” He nodded along, very clearly not believing me. He looked back to Stiles, “Where’s your usual partner in crime?” 

“Who?” Stiles asked, “Scott? Scott’s home. Said he wanted a good night’s sleep for back to school tomorrow. It’s just me and (Y/N). In the woods. Alone.” I elbowed his side at his terrible lie. 

Uncle Noah brought up his flashlight, looking in the trees and called for Scott. When he got no answer, he put the light down. 

“Well, young man, I’m going to walk you back to your Jeep. You too, missy.” He wrapped an arm around both of our shoulders, “We can all have a little conversation about the invasion of privacy.” I took one last glance in the woods, hoping Scott was okay. And if Michael was the one to do this, I really hoped that Scott would be at school tomorrow. 

- 

The next day was the beginning of lacrosse season, meaning the beginning of work. Around one in the afternoon, I made up my lacrosse bag and had a quick lunch and went out to my car. I opened the driver’s side door but I paused, having an eerie feeling crawl up my spine, like I was being watched. I checked my surroundings but saw nothing. Without another thought about it, I made my way towards the high school. 

-

I made it just in time for lacrosse practice to start, Coach Finstock was on the sidelines. He had his usual look of discontent. I made my way to his side. He looked at me out of the corner of his vision, then back to the players making their way on the field. 

“Is there any way you could She’s the Man this and be on the team.” He asked. 

I held onto the strap of my bag, “That would be cheating, Coach. But I would if I could.” He patted me on the back. 

“Good to have you back, (Y/L/N).” He blew his whistle, “Alright, gather ‘round, ladies. Let’s keep this short so we can practice and maybe get something down today. This is (Y/N), my assistant coach. If I see any of you hormonal monsters so much as look at her the wrong way, I will make sure this season will be hell for you. That means you, Greenberg.” After some more instruction, he sent the boys off on their way. Stiles waved at me before starting to run laps. Since it was the first day, Coach said that just sitting in the bleachers would work for today. To be honest, it felt like he was taking it easy on me, if that were even possible for him to do. I sat up on the bleachers, watching all of the players run. I did see Scott so that meant he survived the night in the woods. 

“Hi.” A soft voice came from beside me. I looked up, seeing a brown hair girl had made her way to sit besides me. 

“Hey.” I said back, she didn’t seem familiar at all, maybe a new kid in town. 

“Come to watch your boyfriend?” She pointed to Stiles, whose legs seemed to work out of sync with his body. 

“Oh no no, that’s my friend. I’m also the assistant coach.” I held my hand out, “(Y/N).”

“Allison.” She shook my hand and looked back out at the field.

“You’re new, huh?” I asked. 

“Is it that easy to tell?” She chuckled. 

“Nah, you just didn’t look familiar. Was your last school into lacrosse too, or…?”

“Oh uh, no, I came to see him.” She vaguely pointed in the direction of Scott. 

“Scott? Yeah, he’s a nice guy.” I smiled.

“I know. He gave me a pen in class today, which was a life saver because I lost mine.”

 After a moment, a redhead I knew all too well sat down besides Allison. Not that I knew her personally, Lydia Martin was just the girl that Stiles had been in love with since… ever.

“Are you the girl whose house burned down?” She asked. Her subtlety was immaculate. Allison, looking mortified, gave me an apologetic smile. 

“Ahuh.” I shrugged, getting up from my seat, “I can’t really see the field. I’m gonna get a different angle. It was nice meeting you, Allison.” Before they could say more, I took the steps down to the grass. 

“McCall!” Coach called, “Get in goal.” 

I crossed my arms over my chest, “You think that’s gonna be a good idea? He’s never played goal before.” 

“I got a feeling.” He said, also crossing his arms and calling the players to line up and make shots at the goal. I gave Scott a quick thumbs up. Coach blew his whistle, Scott grabbed at his ears like the sound was too loud. The player sidearm shot the ball at the goal, hitting Scott in the helmet and sending him on his back. I winced, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stiles had the same reaction. This might not go well.

To my surprise, though, Scott got back up and caught the next ball that came at him. The next player to come up seemed to have an angry walk in his step.

"Who’s that?” I whispered to Coach.

“Jackson Whittemore.” He looked back, enthralled in the fact that Scott was doing well.

Jackson Whittemore was the town rich boy and did pretty well in lacrosse from what I understood. He also had a chip on his shoulder the size of Mars. He whipped the ball as fast he could, it was impressive. But it was no match for Scott’s new goalie skills.

-

After practice, Stiles, Scott, and I made our way back to the woods - this time in broad daylight- to find Scott’s inhaler that he dropped. He mentioned that while he was out, he was attacked by an animal and got bitten.

“I can hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear. Smell things.” He explained.

“Smell things?” Stiles scrunched up his nose, “Like what?”

“Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket.” He motioned towards Stiles. Stiles looked skeptical but when searching his pocket did find the pack of gum.

“How many sticks left?” I asked, a little amused.

“Uhhh.” he sniffed, “Two.” I took the gum from Stiles' hand and opened it.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Two sticks.

“So this all started with a bite?” Stiles took back his gum, sticking it back in his pocket.

“Could this be some kind of infection?” Scott asked.

“I actually think I’ve heard of this. It’s a different kind of infection.” Stiles shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He gave me a side eye, I nodded.

“Are you serious?” He asked, getting more exasperated. We both nodded.

“Yeah, I think it’s called lycanthropy.” Stiles said.

“What is that? Is it bad?” Scott asked, the panic setting in.

“The worst.” I exaggerated. 

“It’s worse about once a month.”

“Once a month?”

“On the night of the full moon.” Stiles sighed, as if this “infection” was terminal. The fact that Scott hasn’t gotten it yet just told me that he wasn’t paying attention during Monster Movie night. Stiles and I threw our heads back and howled towards the sky.

“Come on, guys, this isn’t funny!” Scott glared.

“Didn’t you tell your mom about it?” I asked, then realized how stupid of a question it was. If Ms. McCall had found out how late he was out and that he was in the woods looking for a body, he would have been grounded for sure.

“Of course not.” He shook his head. After that, the boys had walked a little bit ahead, still going on about Scott’s new super infection. I took a little more time looking in the bushes to see if Scott’s inhaler had fallen off the trail. The thing was bright red, it shouldn’t be that hard to find. While I searched, I zoned out everything else in the world. I thought about my parents. There was still so much that I didn’t know that they never got a chance to teach me. The last night they were alive, they had mentioned something offhand.

“(Y/D/N), when are we going to tell her?” Mom whispered, biting her nails. They spoke in the hallway, not realizing I could hear. Dad paused for a moment, then looked down at her.

“We’ll tell her tomorrow.”

I never found out what they were going to tell me.

The other thing that I couldn’t seem to get off my mind was Derek Hale. He practically risked his life to help me. If I saw someone with a knife like Michael was, I would like to believe that I would do what Derek did, but I couldn’t be sure. Besides that, I couldn’t get his face out of my head. It would be a lie if I didn’t think he was attractive. The way he looked at me with those dark green eyes. It made you feel a certain sort of way. 

I looked up from the bushes I was searching and realized it was way darker than it had been and that Scott and Stiles were nowhere in sight. 

“Scott? Stiles?” I called. No answer. What did answer though, was a flash of rain. 

“Great. I’m lost in the woods, where there is a dead body. And even a murderer.” I moped out loud. I found my way back to what I thought was the trail and started walking. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and saw that it was completely dead. So much for calling in a rescue. Thunder roared in the sky, making my pace faster. 

By now it was dark, just flashes of lightning making it easy for me to see where I was walking. I walked for what seemed like forever until I found a large house in the middle of the woods. The place seemed vaguely familiar. It was in disrepair and looked like no one had been there in years. For now, it would probably be better to wait out the storm and start walking when the rain ended. I pushed the door and stepped inside. It was still wet inside from the parts of the house that were missing, but in places where there was still roof, it was dry. I looked around, seeing something on the wall, partially burned. It was a triskelion with a name underneath. Hale. I was standing in the remains of the Hale house.

“What are you doing here?” A deep voice made me jump and turn around. Derek Hale stood in the doorway, a lightning flash lit up his face and for a moment his eyes looked blue before going back to their green color. 

“I’m sorry, I just got lost in the woods and then it started raining. I-I’ll leave now.” I walked towards the door to go out again but he grabbed my arm tightly. 

“Don’t go out there.” He said, looking behind him.

“Why?” I asked in a hushed voice. He looked me in the eyes, looking pretty terrifying frankly. 

“You were followed here.” He said, making my blood run cold. 

“Was it…?” I took a deep breath, “Was it Michael?” He shook his head, pulling me further into the house. 

“No, something else.” 

“Something else? What do you mean?” I asked, pulling my arm from his grip. He stopped and looked at me confused. 

“Didn’t you smell it? Hear it?” 

“Look, Derek, I know we never talked in high school and you barely know me, so I’ll just let you in on a little secret: I can’t smell when something is stalking me in the woods.” I looked over my shoulder at the door. There was a creaking sound coming from outside that was pretty consistent with walking. He glared out at the creaking, taking his jacket off. 

“Put this on.” He held it out to me. 

“Why?” I asked. Looking from the jacket to him. 

“It will put my scent on you.” 

“Your freaking what?” I raised my eyebrows at him. Maybe he was crazy. I was stuck in an abandoned house with whatever was outside with a crazy person. 

“Will you just put it on?” He barked. No need to make a crazy man mad. I took the jacket and slipped it on. Like any other jacket it smelled like leather, but this had something else, a musky smell that would be very pleasing if the situation was different. 

“Go out the back and run.” He started walking towards the door, “Now.” He didn’t need to tell me twice. I took off running as fast as I could out the back door and up the long drive way that connected the Hale property to the main road. And, like an absolute angel, Stiles appeared in his Jeep, stopping right outside the entrance to the overgrown driveway. 

“(Y/N)!” He called over the rain. I ran to the jeep, got in and slammed the door behind me. 

“Go, go go go go.” I said hastily, put on my seat belt and he took off. 

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?!” He shouted, keeping his eyes on the road. 

“I didn’t charge it before going out in the woods.” I panted, looking over my shoulder to make sure the something Derek had been talking about wasn’t behind us. 

“Whose jacket is that?” 

“Derek Hale’s.” 

“Why do you have his jacket?!” 

“Listen, I could explain right now but apparently I was being stalked back there so put this thing in gear and drive faster.”

- 

Last night after getting home, I explained to Stiles what happened. We both agreed that it did sound like Derek was a little crazy. But the fact was that something in the woods bit Scott and it was probably better that Derek had found me instead of whatever it was. 

The next morning, everything should have been a dream. The whole situation would make more sense. But Derek’s jacket was hanging on the back of her door which meant that instead of encountering Derek being a dream, it was reality. Stiles would be in school by now and Uncle Noah was definitely at work, if he even left last night to begin with. Maybe a walk would take my mind off things. I got dressed and ready and was about to walk out of my room when I caught myself grabbing Derek’s jacket to put on. This jacket wasn’t mine, I shouldn’t be wearing it. I didn’t need to have Derek’s “scent” all over me but I grabbed it anyway. There was the possibility that I would see him while I was out since I had been seeing him a hundred times more than usual. I opened the front door, seeing Derek who was just standing outside the door. 

“We need to talk.”

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

Read part 4 here!

Part 3 down. And trust me, this part needed a lot of work from the “original” material. 

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@nyotamalfoy

[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

One 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, meet cute scenarios, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language 

Word count: 3.9k 

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO

homebody noun 

: one whose life centers around the home. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Grocery stores are a cursed place. Horrible. You might have guessed that if there were to be a special layer of hell to be reserved for you (which you sure as hell wished there wasn’t) it would likely be a grocery store. 

Firstly, they are one of the messiest places that you could ever experience. Have you seen the ways that those beige-y grey floors get caked with dirt and smudges from who knows what? Have you seen the dirt and grime that hides under those produce shelves? Secondly, why is it that everyone always feels the need to get so close to eachother crammed in those isles? Why is it that you have to do that awkward shuffle when your cart and someone else’s cart gets in each other’s way and you have to do the “no you go first” and “no, you go first.” 

You prayed that you had been good enough in this life to escape some kind of grocery-store induced hellscape. 

Partly it was Bomi’s fault. Temperamental nuisance. Three days into her newest bag of cat food and she suddenly decided to go on a hunger strike. The internet  had told you that perhaps she just didn’t like the flavor. Little did the internet know that you had nearly already tried every other flavor there was, even the expensive ones. 

You stared down to your crinkled up list filled with the ramblings of an attempted grocery list and other absentminded doodles. 

DONT FORGET STUPID NEW CAT FOOD 

Under the reminder, you had drawn an angry little cat face with Bomi’s characteristic calico facial splotches. 

“Damn cat. You’re lucky that I still love you.” You uttered under your breath. 

The wheels of your cart screeched as you turned the corner into the pet isle. Of course, you were the lucky one that had to pick the cart that had only three functioning wheels and whined like your mother over the phone. You cringed to yourself, bearing through the sound and the two glances from a mother and her child throwing an obscenely large bag of dog food into their totally normal cart. 

You didn’t need to, but you mouthed a tiny “sorry” to them as you passed them. 

The tall metal racks appeared to touch those flickering fluorescent lights above them as you perused them, glancing over all of the brands which you had undoubtedly purchased one time or the other. 

Tuna, salmon, tuna and salmon, tuna and veggies, salmon and veggies... 

What would it be that Bomi would tolerate this time? Was it grains that she didn’t like? Wet food? 

Merely looking at the prices for the canned cat food sprung such a headache that you wished you hadn’t looked at them at all. But, if it was what your princess would eat... 

On the highest shelf, your gaze caught a brand that you hadn’t seen before, so you summoned your strength to stand on your tip-toes, stretching up your arm as far as you possibly could, teetering just a little... 

“Al...most--” 

“Here, I can get that, let me just--” 

“--Oh no, it’s fine, I can reach it, thank you--” 

“--It’s alright, I’ve almost got it...” 

His elegant fingers got tangled up with yours. Had your determination been any weaker, he would have snatched it up all himself, but...

He chuckled a little. “Are you sure?” 

You turned your head to affirm, “Positiv--Minho?” 

“Y/n?” 

You had finally had the little can in your grasp, only to feel it slip out of your fingers in your shock. 

The terrible sound of the aluminum can hitting Minho’s head and glasses bonked between your fumbling arms, working just too slow. 

“Ssss-OW!” 

Minho’s hand went immediately to rub at the top of his head with eyes tightly shut. 

“Oh my god!!! Are you okay?” 

Instinctually you swooped in to see if any harm had been done. 

“Ah-I’m fine, don’t--I’m fine.” 

Your neighbor patted down his head, trying to craft a smile for you under his painfully crossed brows. 

“Are you sure? I-I’m so sorry. God, I’m so stupid and clumsy, don’t you think that you have a concussion or something?” 

He laughed out a sharp chuckle, then winced at what the action did to his head. “I don’t think so.” 

“Are you sure about that?” If he could have heard, he would have noticed your heart anxiously beating at a hundred times per second. 

“It’s okay, really, I’ve had worse things thrown at my head.” 

“What the hell could be worse???” 

“You don’t want to know.” He maintained his hopeful grin. 

Even after being assaulted by cat food, he was still just as beautiful as you remembered. 

“Oh! Your glasses!! Where did those go??” 

Frantically, you spun around, shoving your cart aside with another startling screee. Quickly you found them nearest the bird seed. 

“Here. Here you go, I hope that they’re not broken.” 

“Mm-doesn’t look like it.” Minho inspected them. 

“Oh thank God.” 

He huffed out one more little scoff-sounding laugh. “At least you’ve got the cat food that you wanted now. 

“Yeah, but at what cost?” 

“I said don’t worry about me.” 

Minho fluffed his hair back into place, likely hiding another rub to his throbbing head. 

What even does one say to someone who you nearly wrecked with cat food? 

“You uhh--what are you doing here?” 

“The same as you, getting cat food.” Minho snatched a bag of food from a lower shelf. “With three mouths to feed you tend to run out pretty fast.” 

“Oh! I-uh...can imagine.” 

“Weird shopping here like I live here now...never thought that would happen. I’m still getting used to everything around here; never knew that I would end up back living with my mom...and at my age.” 

“Don’t-don’t feel bad! It’s a nice area around here! At least I think, and it’s a... nice grocery store...” 

You did not think that it was a nice grocery store, but it seemed like the right thing to say. 

Minho smiled back at you warmly, just as he had done back on your doorstep, tabby cat in his arms. You had wanted to see it again. 

“-Guess that means I’ll be seeing you around here more often too then.” He took the cat food can--his ex-assailant-- to drop into your cart. 

“I guess so...and sorry, again.”

“Really don’t worry about it!” Minho rolled up his hands into little sweater paws on the handle of his cart. “I’ll see you later then.” 

“See...you...” 

Your words trailed behind him, seeing as he had already started wheeling away. As soon as he was out of an earshot, you cursed yourself out terribly--another habit you had developed since living alone; you really were your only company. 

“God, Oh god. Now he thinks that I’m a recluse and a wreck, oh god--” 

“--Hey! Watch where you’re going!!” 

An old man with a newsboy cap griped before you nearly collided with him and his cart full of diet sodas. 

“Sorry!! I’m so sorry!” You bowed profusely in apology while removing yourself from the isle as fast as you could.

Grocery stores really were your own kind of personal hell. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The cold metal of the bus stop sign dissolved into your sweating forehead while you watched the springtime sunset fade out before you. It really was pretty, and it was just enough to distract you from how weighed down your backpack and numerous reusable bags felt. Had your hands been free, you would have taken a picture. 

What time is it even? 

Your watch was restricted by the number of straps around your wrists. Sometimes stepping outside of your home and onto the sidewalk was draining enough to make you feel like scurrying back inside. Big trips like this however, had you falling asleep in those uncomfy plastic chairs in (also) disgustingly messy buses. 

To your right, you heard the usual hum of the number 10 bus wheel up. 

“Wait! Wait!! Hold the bus!!” 

Hurried footsteps came patting behind you, followed with shallow running breaths. 

Hair bopping and cardigan flopping a little like wings behind him, Minho sprinted to the doors. 

“Take a seat ma’am.” The bust driver snapped you out of your embarrassment over seeing him one more time than you would have liked. 

“Ah-sorry, I will.” 

You shuffled your way near back of the bus and attempted to hide your face behind your bags decorated with none other than flowers and cartoon cats. 

“Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.” You chanted under your breath while your neighbor looked for a seat. 

“Y/n? Heh, I just keeping running into you don’t I?” 

“Minho!!!!” You piped, just a little too animatedly. “Huh! Didn’t figure I would see you here...too...” 

Minho slid into the booth across from you. “I mean, it makes sense, we’re going to the same place basically.” 

“Don’t you...have a car or something?” 

“I do, but I figured that the grocery store was close enough, although, I didn’t really factor in how all of this would weigh a ton.” 

“Hm, I never really do as well.” 

A pair of older lades glared over at the two of you, clearly displeased that you were disrupting their peaceful bus ride. Minho cowered under their piercing and aged brown eyes, then stealthily slid into the seat next to you. 

His washed out jeans brushed up against your leggings, and you felt your hairs stand on end. If there was someone out there who decided if you went to a hellscape grocery store, they must have also been able to mask the smell of your sweat. You hoped that they were listening to your pleading requests. 

“It’s a really a nice evening isn’t it?” 

Minho peered out your window at the little shops and bustling streets beside you. The sidewalks were decorated with little skinny trees here and there which had just started to bloom with the buds of leaves and flowers. There was a peaceful air about the scene that reminded everyone that the cold would soon be gone for good, and the sky swirled into pinks and purples. 

“Oh! Yes, yes it is.” 

You tried your best to ignore the fact he was leaning into you slightly. 

“So. What else do you do besides be a cat parent and a part-time chucker of canned goods?”

You wanted to crawl in a hole once you saw his adorable grin once more. “I-I have a job, a couple actually.” 

“A couple? And what are they?” 

“I teach online college courses in creative writing and English.” your glasses fell a little down your nose bridge, so you adjusted them accordingly, “I also edit for a small publishing company--but that’s more of a side thing.” 

“That’s...a lot of writing and things like that.” 

“Well, it’s what I went to school for, and, I don’t mind...although my mother--” 

“--Have you written anything yourself? Anything that I could read?” 

You felt your cheeks set ablaze with heat. “You?! Oh no no no no.” 

“What?” A mischievous grin overtook Minho’s adorable one. “Do you write provocative content?” 

“No! I do not!” Your tone turned more defensive than you had intended. 

“Well, what do you write? Even if you did write that kind of stuff, I wouldn’t mind. Provocative contents are trendy these days.” 

“I didn’t even say that I write in the first place!” 

“I just assumed seeing as you seem to do other things in this field...so, what do you write?” 

“It’s embarrassing, and I don’t owe you the knowledge!!” 

Minho reached over your fuming body to pull at the bus cord, letting out the little stop requested tune. 

“What is it that you do then?” 

“Something boring and business-y that you wouldn’t care to know about. It’s definitely not as interesting as what you do I’m sure.” 

Your neighbor gathered up his bags while the bus slowed to the stop. 

“You coming?” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

[19:07] 

me: seung, i’m such a fool. you will not believe 

seungmo: should I even guess? what? Bomi yack during your online lecture again? 

me: no, worse. 

seungmo: i’m listening. 

i guess i don’t really have a choice though don’t I? 

you’re just gonna tell me anyway aren’t you? 

The cat in question purred in your lap, permitting you your usual one hour of cat-attention a day like she would during the evenings. After your day of embarrassment, you had hunkered down on your favorite place on the couch, swaddled in blankets with the TV playing some nature show that you had been trying to pay attention to. Somehow, the thought that Minho living just doors away made it all seem even worse; you were bound to see him again. 

You bit your lip and started tapping away at your phone screen, regaling the entire tale to your best friend--who frankly had enough of your awkward “you-isms.” However, no matter how socially insecure you were, Seungmin appeared to stick by you. In fact, it was one of your “you-isms” that had brought the two of you together. 

Four years ago at that pet shelter where you had got Bomi, Seungmin was there too looking for a dog. It was Bomi’s skittish self that leapt out of her cage and into Seungmin’s arms when his dog started barking. Bomi had nearly destroyed Seungmin’s sweater by the way that she had clawed into him. Of course, you took her crime upon yourself and insisted on buying him a new sweater. After an exchange of phone numbers, he hadn’t gotten bored of you yet. Bomi had always liked him more than you--the traitor. 

[19:18] 

me: ...and then he showed up on the bus, just as I had thought that I had escaped, and then started berating me about what I do for a living. 

seungmo: are you sure he wasn’t just asking questions, NOT berating? 

me: it felt like it. 

seungmo: and why are you telling me all of this? 

me: bc I wanted you to give me some comfort?? or reassurance?? isn’t that what friends do? 

seungmo: what do you want me to say? I’m sorry, that was really embarrassing? get over it? stuff like that happens to you all the time y/n, I don’t know why you are making such a big teal of it. 

*deal of it. 

me: wow, you’re being of such help. 

seungmo: you’re overthinking it. as always. 

me: but i’ll have to SEE HIM again. 

Seungmin’s little three writing dots disappeared, and you waited in silent anxiety for what he would say next. 

[19:24] 

seungmo: you’ve got a crush on him don’t you 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The evening sky had darkened, and you felt the air temperature begin to drop. It wasn’t unbearable however, and you had prepared yourself well with your giant sheep-like blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The cold wire chair that you sat in was undoubtedly pressing shapes into your bare legs crossed up on it, but you never seemed to mind it. 

Bomi yowled behind the sliding glass door to your backyard, so you allowed her to exit, making her a much happier cat. The two of you enjoyed these nights together deeply--they almost felt like a brief escape from life. Bomi would sneak around the edges of the fence, sniffing and looking rather suspicious when her green eyes would glow in the light of the house. Your glasses likely looked the same reflecting the light from your computer screen. 

You took one more sip of tea, then opened up your internet. A couple clicks, and you found the notification screen on your page. 

hearts: 267 

shares: 19 

comments: 21

Your eyes scanned over the little paragraphs that some of your readers had written for you. It made your heart swell with immense joy seeing the way that they had analyzed and picked apart every little part of your prose and how they would write IN ALL CAPITIAL LETTERS about how excited they were for your next chapter. 

~

I can’t wait for the next chapter! I’m DYING to know what was in that chest!! I really hope that Bomi can trust Davers. He just seems a little shady to me >////< 

YOU’RE INSANE FOR THIS. The fact that Bomi could fight off the dragon while Blaze was confessing his feelings for her??? I could never lollll 

 P L E A S E protect little Herbie. He’s such a cutie. I wish that hedgehog companions were real, I would take one with me everywhereeeee 

N/n, your writing is so so pretty!! I felt like I was right there in the scene with them! The way that you described the enchanted fountain had me drooling ahhh you’re such an inspiration to me as a writer!!! 

Blaze fanclub?? i’m trying to see somethin’ 

~

“If Blaze were real, I’d be the president of that fanclub.” You laughed out to yourself. 

Suddenly, you found you thoughts shifting from your dreamy Blaze to someone much less fictional. 

Crushes on boys who were real was much better than one’s who weren’t. It was nice admitting it to yourself at last. 

“Ahhhh” You sighed out, doing a little happy dance in your seat, then opened up the chat box to return to the replies. 

After responding to as many as you could, you opened up a new chapter. 

Chapter 22 

Blaze wiped off his sword, stained with the steel blue blood of the dragon, still steaming with heat underfoot. His disheveled deep black trellises were coated in his own sweat but it didn’t make him look any less dashing--per usual. 

“Princess Bomi, you still haven’t answered my question.” 

Bomi sheathed her own sword, then inspected her wooden shield for any more damage. For a moment, she thought that the claw marks made it look even more beautiful and intimidating. 

“Blaze. You know that I can’t talk about romance at a time like this, have you forgotten that the kingdom as stake?”  

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Bomi perched at her usual spot in the window, eyes fluttering closed before she would take her nap that would last for nearly the whole afternoon. You would have been lazing with her, but that would have to wait another hour or so: with your newest paycheck, you had decided to deliver some new flowers to yourself for your garden. 

The little array was spread out before you: yellow and purple pansies, pink tulips, fuchsia and baby pink peonies, and dainty while lilies of the valley were arranged where you had planned to adorn your front lawn. The aroma of the flowers lingering in the air was enough to make you feel as if you had transported yourself to the very magical gardens that you would be writing about that evening. 

A pair of songbirds chittered past, carrying their whistles behind them. For a brief moment, the sun shone directly onto your arms spotted with dirt and filled your whole body with warmth. Nothing was more peaceful than this. You took to work, crackling them out of their plastic pots, and digging at the earth in holes to hold them down. After a while, you felt the dew from the grass start to soak into your work-jeans, but it was a welcome little cool feeling. Next, you popped up to hose them down with your little attachment that made the water cascade like a rain-shower. You admired for a moment how the water would create little rainbows from the spray. 

“Ahem, uh-hi there!” 

You choked out a gasp before swinging around, aiming the hose like your sword to the startling voice. 

“STAY BACK!!’ 

You pointed the stream directly at them, only in your horror to see your neighbor, trademark cardigan and all, soaking wet from your weapon. 

“GOD! That’s cold.” 

The fabric hung onto him, adhering to every part of his body which was much more toned than you had expected.

Minho looked absolutely bewildered as the water dripped off his frame with sad little pat pat pats on the concrete sidewalk. 

“Oh God. Oh God. Minho, I’m so so sorry. I-I can’t believe that I keep doing this to you--” 

You nearly felt like crying, but for fear of embarrassing yourself further, you decided to turn around quickly in search of your rags. They were garden rags, but dry nonetheless. 

“Here, here, I-I think that these should help.” 

You dabbed at his body, although it was clear that this wasn’t helping in the slightest. 

“Stop, stop,” He pushed your hands away. “I just live next door, I’ll live being a little drenched.” 

“You realize that's an oxymoron right?” Your nervous hands continued dabbing. 

“A what??” Minho kindly laughed at your frantic hands. 

“It’s a...writing thing. Sorry...” 

“I really need to be careful around you don’t I?” 

Your mouth crinkled into a flustered line. “M’sorry.” 

“Can you quit apologizing?? Here, I came over to give you these, my mom made some extra side dishes so she wanted me to bring them over to you.” 

“Oh.” He handed you the little bundle of Tupperware containers. “Thanks.” 

“She also, or--I mean--I wanted to invite you over so that you could meet my cats...and! my mom. My mom too.” 

“You want me to come over?” 

“I did mention that I wanted to a little while ago didn’t I?” 

“Oh! You did...” 

“Does next Saturday work? Around 5?” 

“I-I can do five.” You brushed your muddied hand across your sweating brow. 

Minho scoffed, “You’ve...got something...on your...” 

“Oh! Oops.” You tried your best to wipe off the dirt, but you didn’t know you had only made it worse. 

Minho squeezed out his soaked sleeve to carefully raise it to your forehead. “Here, like this.” 

This close to you, his brown eyes deeply shone with the color of coffee, chocolate, the bark of forest trees after a spring rain, and a million other things that your writer brain could compare them to. 

“There. It’s all gone.” 

For a moment, you wondered if you really had fantasized him, or if he really was real. For you, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he was some kind of figment of your imagination: they usually were. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

[1 missed call, Mom, 09:12] 

“Y/n are you there? Why is it that you never pick up your phone? I’ve told you so many times that you should pick up when I call. What if it’s an emergency? What if someone’s died?? Nevermind, I wanted to call and tell you my friend’s daughter is getting engaged and I’ve been invited to the bridal party. I think that you should come with. It’ll be good to get you out of that house. 

Why is it that you haven’t gotten yourself married yet? You know that you aren’t getting any younger?? Either way, call me back. You’ll need to bring a gift too. Its impolite to show up without a gift. 

Ah, I almost forgot. Your brother got a promotion at work; I’m not sure if he’s told you. We’ll be having dinner to celebrate this weekend. Can I count on you to be there? 

Also, how is the job search going? Your father has some more connections for you to speak to. You need to take advantage of every one of them. You’re so close to getting something that really matters. I can feel it. Ah, I just feel like you’re wasting away there sitting at that computer with those silly classes. It’s like, barely any contribution at all. You could be making so much more money. 

Anyway, call me back once you hear this. 

love you sweetie, talk soon. 

i know that its tuesday and i said I would publish on mondays shhh just pretend I published this yesterday ooP 

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch22: Driftwood

Summary: It’s Mary’s birthday and for the first time ever she requests a party. Meanwhile, Evelyn makes a decision and Frank isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it.

Warnings: Bad language, 18+, Smut (NSFW 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: I have to a huge thanks to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for her input here! Have a biscuit, Ambi...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 21

 May 2020

“So this,” Frank held up the item in his hand, showing it to Alex, “is a fuel pipe. Without this the engine gets no food. Something you should be able to relate to.”

Alex’s response was another loud gabble as he looked at his dad from his vantage point, sat in his little bouncer which placed on the deck of the boat to Frank’s left. 

“Exactly, no food, no go.” Frank nodded, as he reached into the space, ducking down to get a closer look. He clamped the line into place before he shuffled out and stood up, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands on as Alex peered up at him, his arms and legs waggling as he gave another shriek. “Yup, I reckon you’re right, Son. Time to give it a try.”

Checking that his hands and arms were clean enough, he unclipped Alex’s straps and gently placed him on his hip as he strode to the front of the boat, jangling the keys in his spare hand. Alex reached for them, making a cooing noise of interest and for a moment Frank let the baby curl his hand round the metal before hastily moving them away as Alex went to shove them in his mouth. As the baby let out a noise of protest, Frank jiggled him a little before successfully distracting him by holding him up above his head, bringing him down quickly to blow a raspberry on his cheek.  With his son held safely against him with one arm, he stuck the keys in the ignition with his other and gave them a turn, letting out a triumphant noise as the engine fired up.

“I am a genius.” Frank looked down at Alex who beamed back, shrieking and Frank chuckled, kissing the tiny boy’s rosy cheek before he turned the key to cut the engine.

“You got it working, I see!”

Frank turned to see Fliss’ head appear over the side of the boat as she climbed the small set of ladders by the side and he grinned as she hopped onto the deck.

“Yup. Fuel line was blocked. Replaced it and bingo.” He dropped a kiss to her cheek as she gently brushed her hand over Alex’s head as he was now fisting his little hands into Frank’s rather grubby t-shirt. “He helped.”

“That right? You been helping your Daddy, Bean?” She beamed and Alex let out another string of nonsensical babble and she grinned, before she looked at Frank. “You’re filthy.”

Frank looked at his T-shirt before he bit his lip. “Shit, I didn’t realise. Here.” He made to pass Alex over but Fliss shook her head, frowning.

“Frank, it’s a bit of dirt, not like he’s eating it is he?” She looked at him, before she smirked. “Besides, that’s not why I mentioned it.”

Frank arched his eyebrow as she bit her lip, scanning him up and down, her eyes lingering on his tatty jeans for a second before she shook her head and looked back at his face.

“Down girl.” He quipped and she laughed.

“I’m just gonna sort his dinner, want me to take him?”

“Yeah, I’m done out here for the night.” Frank looked at her, passing Alex over. “I’ll just lock the garage up and be right in. You riding tonight?”

“No, I snuck in a quick one at lunchtime on Cap. Alex was down for his nap so I took advantage, parked him in the office and left him to it. Slept right through.”

“Yeah, we kinda lucked out a little with him there didn’t we?” Frank smiled. “He’s nothing like Mary, she was a pain in the ass to get to sleep. Still is.”

“Well, with a bit of luck he’ll go down easy tonight.” Fliss smiled, before she looked at Frank, a dirty little grin on her face. “Then so can you.”

“Oooh, Miss Gallagher you filthy, little minx.” Frank’s mouth curled up at one side as she laughed before she stood on her toes to give him a quick kiss.

“Glad to see you’re no longer cranky, Frankie.”

“I was not cranky.”

“Sailor, you exploded at Mary when she knocked a glass of water over.” Fliss looked at him, her face soft. “I’ve never seen you blow like that, Baby. Not over something so trivial.”

“In my defense, I had told her three times to stop messing around.”

“I know.” Fliss cocked her head to one side. “Just isn’t like you, that’s all.”

Frank dropped his head, letting out a heavy sigh, he knew shew as right. Work had really been stressing him out recently and unfortunately he’d taken it out on the very people he didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry.” He wrinkled his nose and Fliss shook her head.

“It’s fine, no lasting harm done.” With that she kissed him again and Frank’s hand giving her ass a quick squeeze as she turned to leave.

“Hey, can you manage?” He asked as he watched her grip the side of the steps in one hand, Alex held in her other arm.

“Yeah, I got it.” She made her way slowly down, before hitting the floor of the garage. “Don’t be too long, Sailor.”

“Like I said, locking up and be right in.” He smiled, watching her make her way out, chatting away to Alex as she went, Thor trotting at her heels.

Frank climbed down himself and then checked around the garage and workshop area, making sure his power tools were locked away before his eyes fell over the little shelf he’d made out of a piece of driftwood as a surprise for Fliss. She’d picked up Heidi’s ashes a week ago, which had been another tearful morning as she’d broken down again when she’d picked up the sleek, mahogany box with her beloved mare’s name engraved on the lid. The box was currently sat on her desk in the office at the stables, Fliss saying she didn’t really want it in the house as the yard had been Heidi’s home so she needed to be there. Later that evening, Frank and Mary had taken Thor down to the beach to collect some driftwood for their fire pit and they’d stumbled upon a particularly large, gnarled piece. Frank had instantly been struck with the idea to craft it into a shelf for Fliss, thinking it would make a nice feature upon which she could lay Heidi to rest for good, and the finished article was quite nice, even if he did say so himself. He’d managed to keep the character of it nicely, the edges remained rustic and the entire thing had come up beautifully when he’d applied the final coat of varnish the previous evening.

The builders had been there all afternoon, marking out the areas where the expansion to the yard was due to start on Monday, so he supposed tonight was as good a time as any to give it to her, to apologise for being so bad tempered over the last few weeks, and celebrate the launch of a new opportunity for her business in one go. He could put it up for her tomorrow when she decided where she wanted it to go. Tucking it under one arm, he stepped out of the garage, pulled the up and over door down before locking it and heading into the house.

Fliss was currently warming something up for Alex to eat and she turned to face him, frowning as she saw the shelf under his arm.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“It’s a shelf.” He smiled, setting it down on the kitchen island.

“Frank, it’s gorgeous!” Fliss smiled, her fingers trailing over the surface of it. “Did you make it?”

“I did.” He nodded. “Out of a piece of driftwood. I thought it would look nice in your office, somewhere for you to put Heidi.”

At his words she stilled, her head shooting up to look at him and she blinked as her eyes welled with tears. She glanced back down, before she looked up at him, and gave him a huge smile. “Oh, Frankie. I love it. Thank you so much.”

Frank smiled and opened his arms, and she moved round to fall into them, resting her cheek on his shirt. His large hands gently rubbed at her back as she sniffed and he dropped a kiss to her head. “You’re welcome, Sweetheart.”

“You’re so thoughtful.” She let out a little choked sob and Frank chuckled.

“I try.” He looked down, his hands cupping her face as he wiped away her tears, dropping a kiss to her lips. “If you decide where you want it I’ll put it up for you tomorrow.”

“I already know exactly where it’s going.” She smiled. “Could you move the one above my desk to the back wall and put that in its place? I want her right up there where she’s in prime position.”

“Sure, not a problem.” He assured her, giving her another kiss. “Was Mary okay when you dropped her at Roberta’s? She wasn’t upset or-“

“Upset, no. Raging about you being a, and I quote, ‘miserable, bad-tempered douchebag’, yes.”

Frank snorted and took a deep breath. “I’ll apologise tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, I told her to cut you some slack. She gets it. I said you’d pick her up on the way back from the airport tomorrow morning. Everyone will be arriving for her party at one so she needs to be back here by at least midday. Roberta said she’d come too, give us a hand setting up.”

“Is there much to set up?” Frank asked. “I mean there’s only five of them coming.”

“Seven if you count the twins.” Fliss corrected. “But no, not really. Food is simple, just need to throw it on the grill. Mum’s got the cake done, snacks are sorted…just a case of setting the table outside and the music and stuff.”

“You know I think she’s more excited for the party than she was for her actual birthday.” Frank mused as Fliss pulled Alex’s dinner out of the microwave.

“Well, it’s her first party.” Fliss smiled, giving the cauliflower and haddock puree a stir.

“Yeah, I never thought I’d see the day she asked for one.” Frank continued to ponder, taking the dish that Fliss handed him, before he pulled a face looking at it. “This looks disgusting.”

“Well I’m not asking you to eat it.” Fliss narrowed her eyes at him and Frank raised his eyebrows.

“Good job.”

“Keep talking, Sailor and you’ll be wearing it.”

He gave a laugh, before he moved and sat down on the stool next to Alex’s high chair as the baby made grabby hands for the dish, noises of approval escaping his mouth as Frank held out the first spoonful to him. Fliss watched them for a moment before she smiled, and moved behind Frank, dropping a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll ring our order through for dinner, you fancy Thai or Italian tonight?”

“You choose.” Frank replied, his concentration fully on feeding his son and Fliss squeezed his shoulders, before she picked up her phone and rang the Thai place, knowing full well Frank would prefer that, even though she was in the mood for Italian.

*****

For the first time in weeks, Frank felt fully relaxed that evening. He wasn’t going into the shop that weekend, having put his foot down and said not a chance given it was Mary’s party. They’d eaten a fabulous take-out, drank a few beers and now they were sat together in his favourite place, outside in their garden around the fire pit, under the stars whilst their son was sleeping soundly upstairs.

“You know, I do love how it sometimes burns blue.” Fliss smiled as she snuggled further into him.  

“Yeah, it’s to do with the salt, I think.” Frank shrugged, his fingers tracing shapes on her upper arm. ”Sure Mary would be able to tell you if you asked her.”

“Sure she would.” Fliss chuckled. “Along with a detailed explanation of exactly what chemical compounds are involved, or the fact that the moon being in a certain position to Venus means it glows a different shade of blue or some other random shit like that…” Frank burst out laughing, pulling her closer. “I don’t know how she remembers half the shit she does.”

“Diane was the same.” Frank mused. “A goldmine for trivia. She was great for Quiz Nights.”

“You do it too.” Fliss sat up and looked at him.

“I don’t.”

“You so do.” She scoffed.

“Not as bad as Mary.”

“Hmm, hey, maybe that’s what we need to do next time they have a Quiz at Ferg’s. Smuggle Mary in and hide her under the table.”

“I doubt she’d stay there.” Frank pulled a face and Fliss shoved him in his chest, causing him to snigger again.

“Dick!”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it, Sweetheart.” He winked as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“I love you.” She muttered against his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“How much?”

Biting her lip she arched her eyebrow and snatched his beer off him, placing it on the table along with her glass of wine before she moved, straddling him, her bare thighs falling either side of his. Bending down she kissed him deeply, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her in closer. He let his lips dance across hers before she pulled back a little, looking at him.

“That much.”

“Yeah, not sure I got it…” He chuckled, pulling her back to him as he kissed her again, this time only parting when her hands wrapped in the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging at it until he moved to allow her to drag it off. He took advantage of the moment, dragging her cami over her top, letting out a soft groan as the sight of her bare in front of him. He dropped his head, kissing and nuzzling at her breasts, Fliss’ fingers digging into his hair to hold him close.

“Got it now?” She grinned as she pushed down, rubbing her sleep short clad core into his groin, making him hiss at the feeling, his dick growing hard through the constraints of the sweats he was wearing.

“Not quite…”  He teased, nipping at her neck. Fliss giggled as he went back to her breasts, hands cupping them, squeezing gently before his mouth gently covered a nipple. As he gently flicked the hardening nub with his tongue she gave a little squeak of delight.

“I mean… If you really don’t get it, Adler…” she panted out slightly, “then maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.”

“Well, you always tell my brains are in my dick.” He growled a bit, giving her chest a gentle bite, and Fliss arched herself into his mouth, hissing at the way the slight pain and pleasure mixed. His arm tightening around her, Frank lifted them both up off the cushion to lay her down on her back on the outside couch and took a chance to look over her, his eyes traveling down her bare torso, before his mouth followed suit, his beard scratching her skin slightly, mouth cooling the delectable burn as he went.

Fliss rolled herself up into him, enjoying the feel of his relatively firm torso against the softness of hers, allowing herself to get lost in the feeling as she bit her lip and tipped her head back against the arm of the wicker sofa, enjoying being in her man’s care. Frank’s gently gripped at the sleep shorts she was wearing, before he slipped them down her toned legs before he pushed his sweats down, kicking them to the floor.

He moved to a kneel, one hand gently hooking Fliss’ left leg up to rest against the back of the couch, her other leg falling automatically to the floor, toes pressing onto the smooth sandstone flags, leg bent at the knee. Frank took another moment to look at her as his hands rubbed against her inner thighs, taking her in from her toned shoulders and arms, right down to the gently curve of her hips. There wasn’t a single bit of this woman that he wasn’t achingly in love with.

Sliding his hands up and around, he gripped at those hips and shifted her slightly making sure she was where he wanted her.

“You know, Frank…” Fliss, looked up at him, and her deep brown eyes flashed in amusement, as she watched her fiance appreciate her body, and she could feel a flush rising pink up her neck, into her cheeks. The way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen still made her a little bashful at times. “If brains were dynamite, then, you wouldn’t have enough to blow your pants off.”

“Oh, really?” Frank leaned forward, kissing her lips, and down her neck as she laughed, his fingers drifting along her curves till they dipped between her spread thighs and slipped along her folds, causing her got gasp. “Never heard you complain before.” He braced a hand next to her head, as she starting to wriggle from where expert fingers teased her slick. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Shut up…” She groaned as she arched up into him, pushing against his hand.

“You started this, Sweetheart.” His fingers picked up their pace and he watched as she writhed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged pants, her fingers digging into his biceps, soft whimpers of his name leaving her mouth in a staccato chant.  “You wanna think about what you just said?”

“You’re not using your…fuck!” She cried, as his fingers stretched her open, gliding and rubbing against her walls which clenched with need around his digits. “-dick, you…oh, God!”

“Nope, not yet.” He agreed, dropping his head so he could reach her breasts, a pull of his teeth on a nipple drew out another cry from her. “But I’m not sure I’m gonna need to.”

His fingers moved even faster, Fliss quivering, her whole body rubbing against his, panting as she glanced down at him, his blue eyes peeking up at her, twinkling with desire and mischief. “Frankie, please, I gotta…”

His lips wrapped around the other nipple, sucking and working his teeth around it before he pulled away, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting as he arched up once more watching her. “Let go, Lissy.”

The heat in her stomach flooded her and she arched up off the cushions, a loud moan rolling from her throat as Frank felt her clamping down round his fingers, as her eyes flickered shut, her legs twitching. Frank leaned over to kiss her, deeply, as he slotted himself between her thighs, grinding down into her. Kisses flowed into soft bites of skin while Frank arched his hips up enough to slide his cock between her folds, and once he found her entrance, he pressed into her heat, burying into exactly where he wanted to be the most, forehead pressed against her own, breath mingling as both panted through the initial hit of sensations that coursed through their veins.

“You okay, Baby?” Frank looked down at her and Fliss nodded, tipping up to press her lips against his, tugging on his full bottom lip, nudging her nose against his.

“Better than okay” She rolled her hips once more against his, the shift in angle making her tighter, driving Frank crazy to feel her fluttering around him. Pulling his hips back he thrust deeply into her, causing her shudder.

“I can tell.” He grunted as he started to move himself, the thrust of his hips moving her slightly with each drive forward. Shifting to his elbows on either side of her head, Fliss immediately wrapped her leg from around the couch over his hip, rocking up to meet him.

“Oh, fuck, Frank!” The change in angle hit her deep and just right as he reached down and grabbed under her other knee, bringing that leg around his hips too before he fisted a hand in her hair, tipping her head back and dragging a swipe of his tongue up her neck. He kissed that sweet spot just behind her ear, once more dragging his name out of her in a chant, as he slowed his movements down, his hips now driving slow and deep. But her hands dragged down to his back, nails digging into the bunched muscles he was using to monitor his speed and she grabbed at him.

“No Sailor… I want you to fuck me.”

Frank gave a little groan as he moved to look at her and found her eyes challenging him. Fuck, he loved it when she got all fucking horny and needy.

“Oh, Cowgirl…” He smirked, shifting his chest across hers and pulling away, propping himself up above her as both his hands fisted in her hair to hold her down. “. “You better hold on to something.”

Her eyes flashed and then without warning he began snapping his hips forward and back with a brutal pace as he dragged himself back and forth from her fluttering channel.

It was so quick that Fliss screamed out, a vague thankful feeling crossing her addled brain about how she was suddenly glad they had no near neighbours, but all thoughts disappeared as soon as they flashed into her mind as she felt her eyelids flutter shut as she could feel nothing but how thick he was inside her, the constant pounding left her trying to keep up with his furious fucking, and she was failing, big time.

Her eyes opened and her entire gaze was filled with nothing but Frank, a wide chest with its spattering of dark hair drove her crazy, to the straining shoulders that gave him the leverage to shift his body in every way to claim her. And then his face, that handsome face she knew from memory, his sharp, bearded jaw was tight, those baby blue eyes burning into hers as his face hovered inches from hers, all his focus on her and only her.

It was driving her crazy.

Frank was just as swamped with the sensations. He enjoyed making love to his girl but he also enjoyed the faster, carnal fucking too. There was a darker side to him that enjoyed being able to use his size to claim her how he wanted and give her what she needed and since their weekend in Vermont, he knew he could do exactly that without fear anymore.

"Fuck…“ he growled out as he rutted into her, feeling her clench as he hit a particularly toe-curling spot deep inside her and her mouth dropped wide in a loud gasp. He was angled just right, and she dragged her nails down his back, urging him to keep hitting it, which he did, rotating his hips, making her groan and her whole body arch into him.

Frank kept going, relentless, hard, demanding, claiming. Fliss tightened her legs around him, her, hands scrambling along his back, and her head fell back against the arm of the couch again, and Frank heard her signature cry, a whispered, garbled tangle of words falling from her lips as, her whole body locked around him before with a loud, guttural cry of his name she came, hard.

Frank dropping himself enough to press his forehead against hers as she cried underneath him, his lips pressing to hers, swallowing her cries. He slowed his thrusting, helping her ride out her orgasm, but he wasn’t that far from his, it was simmering and he was teetering on that edge that he knew he was going to fall over soon. There was a slight stutter to his hips as he grained speed again, grinding into her until her clenching body was too much and with a gasp of a name and a dirty grunt he spilled into her, jolting to a stop after several erratic thrusts, sinking down over her as Fliss pressed her face into his neck, breathing in deeply.

After a moment, she eased her limbs from around him, her foot sliding down the back of his thigh and calf, humming softly post-orgasm, she leaned up, nibbling on Frank’s neck, and he gave a soft hum of delight as she nipped at his jaw.

“Maybe you could blow your boxers off. At a push.” She mumbled cheekily, and Frank laughed, his mouth claiming hers, if for no other reason other than to shut her up.

*****

Even if they’d had chance to lie in the next morning, which thanks to their son was not an option, they couldn’t have. Fliss was up early, the excitement in the house at the fact they were hosting Mary’s first birthday party was infectious, and Frank found himself getting swept up in it too. This was all he’d ever wanted for Mary, and the fact she’d actually requested a party in the first place had almost reduced him to tears.

By the time nine in the morning rolled by, the balloons were blown up and scattered about the place, banners had been hung and the music system was ready to go outside. With a quick kiss goodbye, Frank headed off to go and pick his mother up from the airport, before driving back down to their old estate to pick up a very hyper active Mary, and a slightly less bouncy Roberta.

Mary was overjoyed with the decorations, hugging Fliss and thanking her over and over again, and then the time seemed to fly by with her best friend Rosie arriving first, along with her parents who once more asked Fliss and Frank if they were sure the little girl was okay to stay the evening too. Fliss waved away their concern and asked if they’d like to stay for a while, an offer which they rather hastily declined and Frank snorted a little as Rosie’s dad gave him a wink when he told Frank they had ‘plans’.

By two, the pool party was in full swing, Steve, Frank and Bill overseeing seven kids as they dived in and out of the pool, jumping on and off inflatables as the music played in the background. Frank glanced around, watching as Fliss bustled about the garden, Alex perched on her hip as she laughed at something Roberta had said before she nodded and passed Alex over to the woman who beamed at him as he grabbed at her large beaded necklace.

“Frank?”

He spun to face his mother who smiled at him, her large sun hat shading her face. She held up the empty bottle in her hand. “Me and Verity appear to have finished this Sancerre. Do you mind if-“

“You’ve sunk a bottle by two in the afternoon, shame on you.” He gave a lout tut and his mother simply arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, well having children turned me into a raging alcoholic.” She stated matter of factly and Frank snorted.

“Touche, well, help yourself, you know where it all is.” He jerked his head towards the kitchen. “You don’t need to keep asking for things whilst you’re here, you know.”

“No, I know. But I was kind of hoping to talk to you actually.” Evelyn looked at him. “Come with me.”

“Oh?” He frowned, tossing a glance back at Fliss before he followed Evelyn into the house. He reached into the fridge, pulled out another chilled bottle of wine before he set it on the counter. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I just…well, I’ve come to a decision about something, and I wanted to run it past you first.”

“Okay.” He watched her as she cleared her throat.

“I’ve decided to sell the house.” She stated and Frank watched her, having a feeling he knew exactly what was coming next. “And I’m going to buy and apartment. Here.”

“Right.” Frank looked at her, his face passive.

“And one in Boston.”

“Two apartments?”

“One plus one was two last time I checked, yes.” Evelyn’s mouth twitched at the corner and Frank rolled his eyes. “I thought I could spend the winters here and the summers in Boston. That way, it would only be for six months a year. Sure even we could survive being in the same state as one another for that long.”

“Sounds like you got it all planned out.”

"I want my grandchildren to know me, Frank. I already missed out on so much with Mary, and yes, before you say anything, that was my own fault, but I don’t want to miss out on any more.”

 “And you won’t, I’ve told you-“

“Well, clearly I am because I missed the fact that Mary was now calling Fliss mom.”

Frank took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest, “I thought we’d been through this. You said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It isn’t, I just…well, I wasn’t prepared for it, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s on me.” Frank looked at her, his expression softening slightly. He hadn’t really considered what effect it would have on his mother, hearing Mary call someone other than Diane her mom, but then again, why would he? Evelyn had never seen Diane with Mary after all, it never even crossed his mind that it would upset her. “I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Evelyn shook her head. “Like I said, I wasn’t expecting it that’s all.”

There was a pause and Frank took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve told you before. I want you to have a relationship with the kids, and, well, if you feel moving nearer to us is gonna help that then…” He trailed off giving a little shrug.

“So you wouldn’t object to me moving closer?”

 “What would be the point of that?” He asked, passing her the bottle of wine. “You’d do it regardless.”

“Yes, I would.” Evelyn stated simply before she took the bottle from him. Frank gave her a small smile which she returned before she moved to leave, greeting Fliss who had just walked into the kitchen.

“Did I just interrupt something?” She frowned.

“No.” Frank shook his head, watching his mother leave. As soon as she was out of earshot he gave a groan and pulled a beer from the fridge. “She just told me she wants to sell the house and buy two apartments. One in Boston and one here.”

“Oh.” Fliss frowned, cocking her head to the side. “But, that’s…fine. I mean, you and your mom get on okay now, so-”

“Yeah, we do.” Frank nodded, taking a huge pull from his bottle, swallowing his beer. “Because she’s in Boston and I’m not.”

Fliss gave a chuckle and slipped her arms round his waist. “Stop being a little shit, Frank. I hate to point it out but it makes sense. She’s not getting any younger and if anything happens she’s a three hour flight away, as we saw when Mary was taken ill.”

“Why do you always have to be so fucking sensible?” Frank narrowed his eyes at her and she grinned, shrugging.

“I’m not, I can just see it from her point of view. But hey, look on the bright side. If she’s told you, it gives you a perfect excuse to help her look for somewhere. Tampa’s not a bad area, and it’s a forty or so minute drive away…”

“Oh, now who’s being a little shit?” He laughed as he dropped a kiss to Fliss’ lips.

She chuckled and pulled back, looking at him. “Anyway, parking that for now, the kids are getting hungry. Can you we fire up the grill and I’ll get the sides and stuff out?”

“Sure.” Frank smiled, before he kissed her again and headed outside, grabbing Steve’s collar as he went, roping him into helping.

Half an hour later kids and adults alike were sat around munching burgers, hot dogs and various other items Fliss had dotted out on the tables at the side of the garden. Frank was stood drinking a beer as he watched Steve flop down next to Sian on the seat round the table the adults had settled at, gently rubbing his hand over her little bump, giving her a quick kiss. Frank smiled, thinking back to how it didn’t seem like five minutes since he’d been doing the same to Fliss.

“Not sending you broody is it, Son?”

Frank turned to look at Bill who nodded to Steve and Frank scoffed. “Nope. Two is quite enough for us, thanks.”

Bill laughed. “Exactly what Fliss said, well, not exactly. Her phrase included the words ‘fuck off, Dad’ but the sentiment was the same.”

Frank laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, we’re both agreed, thankfully.” He smiled, his eyes flicking to Alex who was perched on his mother’s knee, as she sat chatting to Verity.

“I had a nosey up at the yard before.” Bill took a swig from his bottle. “Looks like they’re all ready to start. Must be a relief that they’re finally getting going.”

“To be honest, Bill, I’ve not been as involved with it all as I’d like.” Frank bit his lip. “I mean I’ve been over the plans and keep checking the costs and stuff but as far as actively being involved in organising anything.” He let out a deep sigh. “I know I should have stepped up a little more.”

“Hey don’t worry!” Bill smiled. “We got it covered.”

“I know and I’m grateful but I just, well this is our future you know? Her business, our property and land and I kinda feel a little...”

“Left out?”

Frank wrinkled his nose. “Not left out as such. Not in control is the best way to describe it, I suppose.”

“We talking about the building work now or life in general?”

Frank snorted, it unnerved him how easily his future father in law could read him. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little, plus Fliss says you’ve been mad busy at the shop.”

“I thought it would have died down by now.” Frank shrugged. “But we seem to be getting bigger and bigger and, it’s just not what I had in mind when I went to work there. And I know, I’m grateful but I kinda miss when things were simpler, you know?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t really sound like I’m very ambitious does it? Most people would kill to be in my position.”

“Look, management and running a business isn’t for everyone. If it was, the world would hardly tick over the way it does, would it?” Bill said wisely. “Have you talked to James?” 

Frank shook his head. “I honestly don’t know what I’d say.”

“Well, what do you want to happen?”

“I miss the repairs.” Frank said, honestly. “I enjoyed it when I was running the workshop. It was a good mix between management and still being able to get my hands dirty when I wanted to.”

“Tell him that then.”

“Not that simple, we got a new guy running that side of things now. Plus it would be a drop in wages.”

“Do you need the money?”

“Not especially, Fliss brings in a fair packet and it wouldn’t be a bad income at all. But I like the security.”

“Well in that case don’t let that be a factor in your decision. Trading off a higher standard of living versus job satisfaction is a mistake I’ve seen a lot of people make in the past, Frank. It doesn’t end well as they become miserable and resent their choices.” Bill paused. “Have you not thought about going back into repairs full time, like working for yourself again?”

Frank shook his head. “No. The security which comes with this job is too big a pull to give up. Especially now there’s four of us to consider.”

 “You could make it secure if you did it properly.” Bill looked at him. “Set yourself up as an independent business but get a unit on one of the Marinas. Yeah, they’ll take a cut, but you’re pretty much guaranteed work and it comes with most of the perks but you’ll manage your own time.” Frank looked at him as Bill smiled. “Might be a bit of work at first to get yourself back in the game so to speak but I can help with the practicalities of setting out on your own. Fliss has an excellent accountant plus I hear you know a pretty good lawyer.”

Frank smiled. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Just think it over. If you need the money to set up you know me and V will help out. Plus, the beauty of it is Frank, you have a job to keep you going whilst you make your decision. It ain’t a bad place to be when you think about it.”

“Thanks Bill, I’ll give it some thought.”

***** The party filtered out at about five, and their family stayed around for a little while until they too left a couple of hours later. Mary hugged Fliss and then Frank tightly, thanking them both for ‘the best birthday party ever’, Frank not bothering to point out that the sum total she had held or attended didn’t give her much to go on. He was simply happy she’d enjoyed herself.

They managed to get the two girls to bed in Mary’s room at a ridiculously late hour, so when Frank woke the next morning he wasn’t surprised to find them both fast asleep still when he poked his head into the room. He was surprised, however, to find his bed empty. Sundays were normally their lazy mornings, none of them really bothering to get up until they had to, Alex often coming into their room for a few hours. But today, it was barely gone nine and Fliss was up and fully dressed in denim shorts and a baggy fitting t-shirt.

“Morning, Honey.” He greeted her with a soft kiss. “You’re up early?”

“Yeah, I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” She shrugged, before her face wrinkled up and she swallowed, rubbing at her stomach.

“You okay?” Frank frowned, his hands gently running up and down her arms. “You sick?”

“No.” Fliss shook her head. “I came on a few days early and it’s fucking excruciating for some reason. Hasn’t been this bad since I had Alex.”

“Oh, Baby!” Frank pouted and with an exaggerated fake chuckle-slash-sob she pressed her forehead to his chest and he smiled, wrapping his arms round her, kissing her head.

“My ovaries are trying to kill me.” She whined and Frank chuckled, his hands rubbing up and down her back.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Not really, other than give me lots of sympathy and pretend you know what I’m going through.”

“Think I can manage that.”

Together they made breakfast, Evelyn joining them and Fliss took care to leave enough batter to feed the girls with when they finally surfaced at half past ten. Frank then let them head back out to the pool for another hour or so before he dropped Rosie off home and swung by the store for some snacks which he knew would keep Fliss satisfied for the afternoon and hopefully help keep her killer womb at bay.

They all settled down for the afternoon on the sun-loungers outside, the lazy Sunday bleeding into the evening, as they dipped in an out of the pool before it was time to sort dinner, which consisted mainly of left over party food, Frank grilling the remaining burgers and sausages that hadn’t been eaten at the party. Once that was over, Evelyn asked if she could take Alex’s bath time. Fliss handed him over with a smile, whilst Frank headed upstairs to make sure his mother knew where everything was. Once he was bathed and put down for the evening, Evelyn retired back to the guest house and Mary retreated to her den to watch one of her new DVDs, leaving Frank and Fliss to curl up on their sofa, settling in for another binge watching session, this time making their way through The Witcher.

As Fliss shifted again, trying to ease a particularly nasty cramp in her stomach, Frank glanced at her, frowning a little.

“Have you taken some more painkillers?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, stretching her legs out. “Just haven’t kicked in yet.”

“What hasn’t?” Mary asked as she walked past the sofa from her den, heading to the fridge.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Frank replied, not even looking at her.

“Are you on your period?” Mary asked bluntly and Fliss glanced at Frank who looked at her, blinking, before they both turned their heads to look at her over the back of the sofa as he closed the fridge, juice box in her hand.

“How the hell do you know about that stuff? You’re ten!” Frank stared at her and she shrugged, moving back towards them.

“I read about it when I looked up where babies came from.”

“You looked up where babies come from?” Fliss repeated, her voice controlled as she was trying to supress the laughter bubbling in her throat.

“I was curious, Mom. Wanted to know how you made Alex.”

“Jesus Christ.” Frank groaned, as Fliss let out a snort. “I clearly need to increase the level of Parental Control on your laptop and tablet.”

“No you don’t because it didn’t let me google it, so I had to find it in a book in the library.” She said matter of factly as she paused by the back of the sofa, fixing them both with a look. “And, for the record, I think it’s totally disgusting what you did. But, now you have him, you don’t need to do it again. That is unless you decide you want another and-“

“No, you’re absolutely right.” Frank cut her off, his face serious. “It’s totally gross. I’m so relived I will never have to go through that torture ever again.”

Fliss couldn’t look at him, she had to turn away, the expression on his face was utterly dead-pan. She pressed her lips together, scrunching her face up as she tried desperately to stop the laughter exploding from her mouth.

“God knows what Uncle Steve and Sian think they’re doing, having another one.” Mary grumbled.

“Well, your Grandmother had two.” Frank pointed out, and Fliss slapped his thigh, in a desperate attempt to make him stop. His lips quirked at the sides ever so slightly before he straightened his face once more as Mary looked back at him.

“I suppose, but you were the eldest so she clearly thought she needed to try again after having you, you know, make it right.”

At that the laughter Fliss had been supressing burst from her mouth as her shoulders shook and she tipped her head back, roars of laughter filling the room.

“Well,” Frank looked at Mary, “you’re technically our eldest so…”

“Yeah but you adopted me, therefore you chose me.”

“Well, not really as you were kinda already here.” Frank teased.

“Yeah but you chose to be my parents, not just my uncle and his wife.”

“That’s true.” Frank nodded.

“So, that clearly makes me special.”

“Oh, you’re special alright.” Frank agreed, his face serious.

Mary grinned as she flounced back off to her den, shutting the door behind her. As soon as it clicked shut, Frank look at Fliss, who was now bright red from the force of her laughter, tears pouring down her face and he too began to laugh.

“Fucking hell.” He shook his head as Fliss wiped her eyes. “I can’t with that kid!”

��She’s hilarious, I love her.” Fliss chuckled. ”And you- I’m so relieved I will never have to go through that torture ever again, liar, much?”

Frink grinned, his arm curling round her shoulders, pulling her to him as she snuggled into his side. “Well, sex is dirty. But only when it’s done right.”

Fliss snorted. “And of course we do it right, Sailor.”

“Damned straight we do.” He leaned back against the sofa, pressing a kiss to her head.

“So, are you gonna tell Alex sex is dirty and gross?”

Frank hesitated, before he rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what Fliss was getting at. “You know, of course we will properly talk to Mary when she’s older and starts to get interested in dating, Fliss.”

“Careful there, Sailor. You’ll give yourself whiplash backtracking that fast.”

“I’m not backtracking."

“Course not.” Fliss wrinkled her nose sarcastically and Frank groaned.

“Look, can we stop talking about when she’s...” He waved his hand and gave a shudder. “I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Face it Frankie, it’s probably gonna happen sooner than later. You got to be prepared.” Fliss looked at him, her lips twitching at the corners. “I mean, you wanted her to have a normal life. Dating is part of that."

“Are you gonna shut up, or am I gonna have to make you?” Frank turned to Fliss, dropping his head a little so his nose was mere inches from hers,

“Thought that was like gross.” She teased. “And besides I’m on.”

“You know, I have heard that orgasms are supposed to help with cramps.” Frank shifted a little, his lips gently brushing her neck. “Could always do it in the shower,” he nipped at her skin. “No mess, no fuss.”

“I showered before and besides,” Fliss pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to stop his teasing bites to her neck, “it’s a known fact that a woman’s entire sexual reproductive system grows teeth in shark week.” Frank blinked before he gave a snort of laughter as Fliss shrugged. “Well, it feels like my womb is trying to eat its way out so…”

“There’s somewhere else I could shove it to keep you quiet.” Frank grinned and Fliss scoffed.

“Yeah that’s got teeth too, Sailor, and I ain’t afraid to use ‘em.” She laughed and gave him a gentle kiss. “But only when you ask nicely.”

Frank gave a groan against her mouth. “You’re killing me, Lissy!”

“Aww, I got you all worked up Sailor?”

“Yes.” He answered bluntly.

“Shame Mary’s in the den, I could have fixed that for you.”

Frank looked at her, before his head whipped round over his shoulder. “Mary! Go to bed!”

Fliss slapped his arm, laughing as Mary pulled open the door to her den and glared at him. “It isn’t even nine yet!”

“He’s joking.” Fliss looked at her.

“No I’m not.” Frank deadpanned and Mary rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Dad.” And with that she disappeared again, the door shutting behind her.

Frank groaned as he lay his head back, shifting slightly, trying to relieve the strain at the front of his jeans. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Fliss smirked to herself. She loved how she could get him worked up simply by using her words, it was a fucking huge turn on.

“You know, I’m sure I just heard Alex upstairs.”

“What?” Frank turned his attention to her.

“Yeah, I best go check on him,” she looked at Frank, “you know, upstairs,” she bit her lip, “and it might take me five minutes or so.”

With a puzzled expression Frank watched her go before he turned his attention to the baby monitor. On the small screen he saw Alex was sleeping soundly. He frowned, Fliss had no reason to be-

Oh. Oh

With a grin he stood up. “Mary just gotta nip upstairs for a moment. If you need us just, well, just wait.”

And with that he shot after Fliss, taking the stairs two at a time.

****

Chapter 23

[mister-supernova]

Memories Lost

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader

Before Malivore

I.

“Y/n L/n, please do not tell me that you forgot to add eggs to the cake mix.” 

Your eyes widen like a child who is about to be in some serious trouble by their parents. Now that you thought about it, something did feel off about the batter you’ve been struggling to stir for the past five minutes. 

You look up from your batter bowl to see Hope staring at you with daggers in her eyes. 

Yep, you were screwed. 

After gently placing your wisk on the kitchen table, you give the tribrid the best innocent smile you could, “Okay. I won’t tell you that, but I will tell you that we’re going to have to start over since there may or may not be a key ingredient missing from the mix.”  

As much as you wanted the smile to dilute the situation, Hope still pinches the bridge of her nose and runs her fingers through her hair, obviously more stressed out than ever.

Today is Commonwealth Day and some of Hope’s family members from New Orleans are supposed to be coming into town, one of which includes her mother. If anything you felt that you should’ve been the one who was stressed out. 

“How do you forget to add eggs to a cake mix, Y/n?” Hope asks, flailing the full carton of eggs around. She looked like she was on the verge of erupting like Pompeii. 

You decide to approach with caution, “Okay, okay,” you slowly reach for the carton and carefully take it from her hand, “Let’s not break the only eggs left in the fridge, yeah? We do need those. Let’s also take a steady breather for a second.” 

The two of you inhale one large breath of air together and then slowly breathe out. 

“There we go, Hope,” she’s still looking at you with a small amount of fire in her eyes, “Hey, I apologize for my idiocy. I honestly don’t know what you expected when you left me alone to make this, but it’s a minor setback.”

“That was the only box of cake mix we bought, Y/n.” Hope states. 

You fall silent for a moment to let that information sink in, “Okay, slightly more than minor setback,” Hope lets out a frustrated groan and moves past you, “We don’t have to make a cake, Hope. I saw a box of brownie mix in the pantry.” 

“Yeah, that says ‘Lizzie Saltzman’s Brownie Mix: DO NOT TOUCH’ in big black letters. In case you don’t recall, I’m not exactly in her good graces at the moment.” 

“Eh, name me one person who is in her good graces,” you shrug as if it’s no big deal and take the box out anyways, giving it a good shake, “Doesn’t feel like she put any jinxes on it. My arm has yet to fall off so therefore I think we should be safe.”

Hope gives you a look telling you that she’s still unsure of this. 

“Come on, I of all people know how much crap she makes you go through on the daily basis. What’s a box of brownie mix compared to torment?” You pause and think, ‘that’s probably a little much’, “Maybe not literal torment, but you get the picture. I’ll even take the blame if she starts asking questions.” 

“Are you kidding? She’d probably kill you if she found out.”

“That’s what I have you for,” you say matter-of-factly, taking a few steps closer to the tribrid until you were face to face, “What, you thought that I was your friend because I like you?” You ask in a playful tone, making Hope roll her eyes at you even though she was clearly amused, “Keep dreaming, Mikael-” her eyes widen and she covers your mouth with her hand before it’s too late.

You are the only student in the whole school who knows that Hope’s father is Klaus Mikaelson. It took many months of trust-building after your friendship began, but one night at the pier, Hope mustered up enough courage to tell you about her family history. 

She half-expected you to go running for the hills and leave her in the dust. Instead, you blew her expectations out of the water by having the calmest reaction she had ever seen. You thanked her for trusting you so much that she felt that she could tell you something not everyone knew at the time. 

She made you promise not to tell anyone to which you agreed to with a pinky promise. This moment has been the only time you nearly slipped up. Thankfully no one else was in the kitchen, but who knows who could be walking by. 

You raise an eyebrow at Hope, glancing down at her hand that was still covering your mouth. 

Hope quickly retracts her hand back, “Sorry. It was just, you know-” 

“No, that was my bad. Good save though... Marshall.” You say, followed by a cheeky wink. 

A tint of red flushes Hope’s cheeks as she gives you a thankful smile, causing your cheeks to warm up as well. 

You clear your throat and break eye contact with the tribrid, “Shall we get started?” You ask, raising the brownie mix up to your face, “Ass beating from Lizzie or not, I still wanna make a good first impression on your family, especially your mom. God knows you’ve probably dragged my name through the dirt every chance you had.”

Hope playfully rolls her eyes, giving you a small shove before giving in and pulling out a clean mixing bowl. “Fine, let’s just get this over with before we get busted.”

“Atta girl!” You grin widely before ripping the box open. 

There was no going back now. If you two were going down, at least you were going down together and you were getting a sweet treat out of it, too.

II.  

It was a beautiful day to be out at the Salvatore Boarding School for the Young and Gifted. The weather was your idea of perfect; sunny, breezy, and clear. 

Students were reading outside on the grass, the younger kids were playing tag, others playing Wickery, and you were getting your ass beaten by the world’s strongest tribrid.

This was your guys’ third round of sparring for the day and you had yet to win a single one. Just when you thought you had her arm locked behind her back, she whispers the incantation, “Dimiterre.”

Everything went by so fast that you didn’t have any time to think about landing on your feet. Instead, your back slammed against the small wooden pier after being flipped over the tribrid’s shoulder. It wasn’t fair that she could just chant any spell she wanted to throw you off guard. 

“Is that really all you got today, Y/n? This is just embarrassing.” She shakes her head at you like a disappointed coach. 

“I’ll make you eat those words, Mikaelson,” you grunt, feeling a new surge of energy course through your body as you jump back up to your feet, “We’re just getting started.” You smirk, wiping a drop of sweat off your forehead. 

Hope grins back at you, readying her position for another round of sparring. The both of you share the same look of determination, neither one backing out as you throw the first jab. 

Several more rounds pass. All of which ended with your ass hitting the pier as if it were some kind of magnet.

“You’re making this too easy.” Hope says triumphantly with a cocky smile. 

You huff out an exhausted breath of air, “I’m obviously letting you win, Mikaelson,” you use your arms to help you jump back to your feet, “I could easily take you down if I wanted to.” 

“Oh yeah?” Hope wonders, taking a step forward. She was a little less out of breath than you, but you could tell that she was playing it off just as much as you were. 

“Oh yeah. Why don’t we do one final round? This time I won’t hold back.” You challenge her.

“You seem pretty worn out for someone who was holding back.” She states and you pretend not to be hurt by her jab at your lack of combat skills. 

“Maybe that’s just to fool you into thinking you can beat me again,” you shrug as you watch her readjust her gloves, “Oh, and you can’t use your magic. Too much of an advantage.”

Hope’s mouth falls open and she shakes her head, “Then I’d be at a disadvantage. You’re like a whole foot taller than me.” 

“Come on, if it’s so easy you should have no problem pinning me down within two seconds of the round.” 

Hope silently thinks it over in her head, then quickly comes to a decision, “Fine. Loser buys milkshakes at the Grill.” 

You grin, “Deal. Prepare to pay up, Mikaelson.” 

After waiting for one of you to make the first move, Hope decides to sweep kick your legs at an unfathomable speed and knocks your back to the ground. 

She straddled your hips and placed her hands on both sides of your head, “Ha! Looks like someone’s- wha-” 

As quickly as she knocked you to the pier just now, you pulled her neck down to where her face is inches closer to yours, trapped her arm by wrapping yours around it, lifted your leg to trap hers and then rolled your body over to where you were now on top.  

Breathless and cheeks redder than before, Hope stared up at you in shock. If you were completely honest, you had no idea that move was going to work, but you were so glad that it did. For one, now you get a free milkshake and two, you’ve never had Hope Mikaelson’s face this close to yours before. 

Her legs were practically wrapped around your waist and your hands were holding her arms down above her head, making her face dangerously close to yours. It would only take one of you leaning forward for something to happen. 

Instead, you kept your cool, “Looks like I win.” you smile, also breathless, “I like cookies and cream, by the way.” 

III.

“So you do this… for fun?” You ask, sitting as still as possible on a wooden stool in Hope’s bedroom. 

It was a stormy weekend in Mystic Falls, so most of the outdoor activities were closed off until the rain cleared up, which didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon according to the weather broadcasts. You weren’t a huge fan of being alone during thunderstorms--you’d never let anyone know that--so you found yourself hanging out with Hope. 

Well, you were mainly watching Hope. She came up with the idea of painting a portrait of you sitting by her window to pass the time. Being that you’ve never had a portrait painted of you before, you thought this would be kind of fun. You didn’t expect it to be such a long and quiet process, but you definitely preferred this over being scared out of your mind listening to the thunder by yourself.

Hope hums a yes to your question as she concentrates on her strokes, “Can you look back out the window?” 

You sigh, turning your head to look outside for about thirty seconds before nearly falling off the stool because of the lightning bolt that crashed a couple miles away from the school. As pretty as it looked, being struck by lightning was still one of your irrational fears. 

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to be looking outside?” You turn back to look at Hope. 

“Y/n, I promise nothing is going to happen to you. Now sit still,” she says in a not-so-reassuring voice. 

You let out an annoyed huff, but you do you’re told and turn to face the rain covered window glass.  

“How long does it usually take you to do these things? Asking out of curiosity. Totally not because I’m losing feeling in my glutes.” You wonder, shifting in your stool.

“I’m usually quicker when my subject isn’t interrupting every five seconds and moving around like they have worms in their said glutes.”

You face her again with an over exaggerated look of shock on your face, “Is that some sort of degrading werewolf joke? That is extremely offensive.” 

She leans away from her canvas to look at you, her eyes squinted, “I’m part werewolf, too, idiot.” 

“You’re a tribrid. That’s different. One third of a werewolf doesn’t count, therefore your little worm joke hurts me more.” You stick your tongue out at her.

“Why am I friends with you again?” She’s trying her best to hide it, but you can tell that she’s resisting a smile.

“Because as sad as it is, no one else can make you smile like I do, Mikaelson.” It took a few seconds until she couldn’t help but reveal a very faint yet noticeable grin. She leaned back behind her canvas to conceal it, but there was no use since you already caught sight of it.

“Just shut up and look out the window before I cast a freeze spell on you.”

You wanted to make another snarky remark, but you knew your friend well enough to know that she was serious about casting that spell. To avoid being frozen in an uncomfortable position for God knows how long, you closed your mouth and relaxed your body before looking back out the window. 

IV.

“What do you mean you can’t dance? I’ve seen you do it all the time.” Hope asks, watching you from her bed as you pace back and forth in her dorm room.

“That’s me flailing my body around like a fool hoping it looks good! I don’t know what I’m actually doing!” 

Josie asked you--as a friend--to be her escort for her and Lizzie’s 15th birthday party. You’d only be dancing with her one time, but the problem was that it was supposed to be a waltz and you had absolutely no idea how to do that. 

“It’s embarrassing enough that she asked me to be her escort, I don’t wanna embarrass her even more for not knowing how to do a stupid waltz!” Hope rolls her eyes before having enough of your unnecessary freakout. 

She gets up from her bed to stop you from pacing, “Y/n. Just relax, okay? You freaking out is freaking me out,” she says, holding onto your shoulders, “I can teach you how to waltz.” 

Your body relaxes and a small wave of relief hits you, “Seriously?” 

“What? You think I can’t dance either?” Hope playfully asks, placing her hands on her hips as she tilts her head at you. 

“I’ve never seen you do it before,” you argue, getting a small smack to the arm, “Ow! Okay, I’m obviously kidding… sort of,” she smacks you again, making you laugh this time, “Okay, okay. Forreal now, I could really use your help.” 

Hope sighs, pretending to have second thoughts because of your teases. You don’t worry too much though because you know she wouldn’t leave you to crash and burn like that... at least you really hope so.

“Give me your hand.” She gives in, fitting one of her hands in yours. You grin as your other hand finds her waist and hers rests on your shoulder, “Make sure you’re relaxed, you wouldn’t want to look stiff as a board while you’re dancing.”

You nod your head, taking in a deep breath as you let your muscles relax.

“Also, always have your eyes on your partner. You’re more likely to be tripping on their feet if you keep looking down.” 

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” You say without meaning for it to leave your head. Hope bows her head for a second to hide the redness appearing on her cheeks.

After composing herself, Hope looks back up at you, “First, step forward with your left,” you follow her movements smoothly, “Step sideways to the right,” your right foot steps out, “Close your feet together, then step back with your right,” you glance down at your feet for a second which was your first mistake.

You slightly stumbled, but caught yourself when you put your feet back together. 

Hope chuckles, “What did I tell you?” 

“Hey, now cut me a little slack. I was doing pretty good for a second there,” you defend yourself before repositioning your feet, “What’s next?” 

“Step to the left, bring your feet together, then repeat it all over again but a little faster. You’re going to want to count one-two-three in your head to stay in rhythm,” you raise an inquisitive eyebrow, making her smile, “Okay, I’ll count out loud and you repeat the moves we just finished learning. Does that sound good?” 

You nod quickly, then she takes her step back and you follow, remembering what she taught you. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. The longer you two went on, the quicker you picked up on the moves and the more comfortable you felt. 

Eventually, you felt that you didn’t need to keep dancing with Hope, but it was hard not to keep going when you have the most beautiful girl in your arms right now.  

“Stop looking so smug.” Hope says, noticing the smile that appeared on your face. Even though she stopped counting, the two of you continued to flow around her room gracefully. 

“I’m waltzing with the big and bad tribrid. How can I not be smug?” 

It’s Hope’s turn to smile, but she gives you a playful eyeroll to counter the fact that she was enjoying this, “If you tell anyone I did this for you, you’re dead.” 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare let anyone know you’re an actual decent person, Hope Mikaelson. It’ll be our little secret.” You wink at her, making her cheeks even redder. She moves her mouth to one side of her face to keep herself from smiling any wider. 

It made your heart flutter, seeing how comfortable she was around you. You got to see the vulnerable side of her that she rarely ever showed to anyone else at the school. It’s the small moments like this that you knew you'd keep in your heart forever. 

~

this one is more of a flashback situation in comparison to parts 1 and 2 and there’s some more happy moments since the first 2 were a little more angsty lol part 4 coming soon! 

taglist: @chicken-wang09​ @trikruismybitch​ @sodangtired​

[little-ligi]

you have SIX PLANNED FICS OF CAGE FIGHTING GWAINCELOT???!!!

*unholy screaming*

and i will be checking out that published one later today 😌

it is such a good trope and you can get the ✨ angst ✨ in there too, it's wonderful

😁😁😁 I do indeed...! (you know what we were saying the other day about having two cakes?!! Well yeah..... HAVE SIX!!)

(Eee!! I hope you like Blindfolded, it is one of my favourite things I've written!)

Ok, so, since I love talking about my wips and I adore screaming about Gwaincelot, please allow me to prattle on self indulgently for a while...

I’m going to put this under a cut because it is kinda long and has some little snippets!! 😉

1. So first, one that is pretty much exactly like that post, set in episode 3x13. When Lancelot and Percival arrive, Gwaine takes one look at Lancelot and goes, ‘I know you’. And then immediately punches him in the face. The other soon-to-be knights split them up and Merlin has to try and reassure them that they are all friends (at which point they basically have a ‘Merlin is MY best friend! No, he’s MY best friend!’ kind of fight 😂) Equal parts angst and humour!

“Come and meet everyone,” Merlin said, leading Lancelot and Percival over to where the others were sitting.

“Good to see you again, Lancelot,” Gaius said gladly, a smile breaking over his tired face.

“Hang on,” Gwaine suddenly blurted, a frown tugging his eyebrows low over his eyes. “I know you.”

He stormed over until he was right up in Lancelot’s face, scrutinising him with disdain. Then, without warning, he drew his fist back and punched Lancelot solidly in the mouth. Lancelot staggered backwards, stunned and cradling his face. Percival caught him before he fell and practically growled at Gwaine.

“Whoa, whoa!” Leon cried, putting a hand on Gwaine’s chest and pulling him back. “What was that for?!”

2. This one is after they have become knights, and they can’t work out why the other seems so familiar, until Arthur pits them against each other in training and Gwaine does his cool disarming and catching the sword then fighting two handed thing and BOOM... ✨angsty flashbacks!✨

Lancelot’s fingers are bent backwards as the sword is twisted out of his grip. It jars his wrist painfully and he dodges back, suddenly defenceless. Gwaine catches Lancelot’s sword as it arcs out of his hand, bringing the tip down to point at Lancelot’s chest with an easy grin.

Lancelot falters. Only once before has he ever had someone disarm him in such a way; years ago, in a slaver’s fighting cage. He blinks, staring at Gwaine. He imagines him without his chainmail, his face covered in dirt and bruises, his beard longer, his hair tied into a ragged knot at the back of his head.

He stumbles backwards and falls to the ground. It was Gwaine. It was Gwaine fighting in that cage.

3. Another is basically episode 2x04, except Gwaine is there too. It’s Gwaine that does the first fight and sees Gwen (and because he hasn’t been to Camelot yet, he believes she is Morgana) After the fight he tells Lancelot about Hengist having kidnapped Morgana. Lancelot being the noble knight-wannabe he is, obviously wants to rescue Morgana, goes to her cell and finds Gwen instead. (This one is actually more Gwencelot 💕 than Gwaincelot really.)

“Hengist has captured a princess. He’s holding her for ransom.”

“This is no place for a princess,” Lancelot said darkly, his gaze fixed on the dank corner of the room, the echoing sounds of fighting coming from the main hall.

“Particularly not one as beautiful as the Lady Morgana,” Gwaine said. He shook his head sadly.

Lancelot sprang to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Lady…? Did you say the Lady Morgana?” Gwaine nodded. “We have to rescue her,” Lancelot said firmly, his voice brooking no argument.

Gwaine considered him for a moment; he knew Lancelot had a twisted loyalty to Camelot despite the way the king had treated him, but this seemed a little crazy. Although…

“Rescuing princesses?” He ran a hand through is hair and grinned. “Sounds like just my kind of thing.”

4. This one they are prisoners and after a fight they are shoved in a cell together and start talking. Lancelot mentions Camelot and being friends with the prince’s manservant and how he was banished, and Gwaine turns around and spouts basically the entire plot of episode 5 (minus the magic bits of course 😂) Lancelot is slightly freaked out and asks how the hell Gwaine knows his whole story. And Gwaine tells him how Merlin and Arthur and Gwen all talked about Lancelot constantly the whole time Gwaine was in Camelot. Basically everyone loves Lancelot, including Gwaine before he even met him!

“You’re Lancelot!” Gwaine cried suddenly, making the other man flinch back. His jaw clenched and alarm flared in his deep dark eyes.

“How do you know my name?” he asked warily. Gwaine didn’t miss the way his hand crept to his waist to draw a dagger.

“Merlin never shuts up about you; his friend who wants to be a knight but isn’t noble.” He grinned. “You killed a griffin.”

“No…” Lancelot shook his head uncomfortably, ducking his eyes away from Gwaine’s. “I… didn’t –”

“Don’t be modest!” Gwaine crowed, slapping him on the back. “Even Arthur mentioned how brave and honourable you are.”

5. A darker whumpy one, where they are really fighting for their lives, fighting to kill each other. They are both pretty badly hurt and are just left for dead by the bandits that were keeping them. They end up grudgingly helping each other. While delirious with pain, Gwaine starts talking about Merlin and Lancelot decides they need to try and get to Camelot (screw their banishments, they need Merlin!) Lots and lots of angst!

6. And lastly, they are both in the fighting ring and have beaten everyone else so their captor keeps pitting them against each other hoping to name one of them as his champion. They are pretty much equal and there is lots of juicy 🔥rivalry🔥(my favourite thing 😉) They start betting each other, but they have nothing to bet with except their life stories so it becomes a case of every time one of them gets a good hit in the fight the other has to tell him a secret about his life. They become really close and eventually fall in love! 💗

Unfortunately you can’t have snippets from these two because neither of them actually have any words yet, just very long rambly plot plans and notes! 🙈🙈

So there we go! Ligi is finshed shamelessly talking about her wips!! (for now 😉😉) I will try and finish all of these at some point... but you know, I say that about all of my wips and then rather than doing it I create new wips instead! My wip count is now up to 84.................. 😑

While writing this post I have actually had two more ideas for new cage fighting gwaincelot fics as well.... 😂🙈😅

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh. 

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.  

 “They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.  

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more. 

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words. 

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.” 

“Like I said, I’m so so-” 

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin. 

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice. 

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff. 

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. 

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.  

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​ @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

[jaxsteamblog]

Bending Practice

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

Katara sat in her office after breakfast, sorting through all of the correspondence that had flooded in for Thuy. It always surprised her how much obvious bribery went on and, as she sliced open a letter, she watched dispassionately as an ornate broach fell from the packet. Both broach and letter went into the donation pile, and Katara frowned at the growing number of thank you cards she was going to have to write with thinly veiled reproach. 

Before she could even make a dent, Zuko knocked lightly at the door. The others had gone out to watch Thuy at her earthbending practice.

“Come in.” Katara called from behind her desk, reaching for another letter.

“How’s it going?” Zuko asked.

“About the usual.” She replied.

Zuko put his hands on the desk, leaning over it so he could kiss her. She relished the soft pressure of his lips against hers and the brief scent of shampoo when his hair slid forward. 

“Want to go see Thuy?” He asked, still leaning toward her. Katara, angled forward herself, smiled and watched his mouth.

“I really should get through all this.” She said.

“But then how can I show off in front of my fiancee?” Zuko asked.

Katara kissed him again and then rose from her seat.

“Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

Large nets surrounded the training grounds, in anticipation of future inexperienced Avatars. Rohan and Ty Lee were outside of the nets, sitting on one of the few benches at the perimeter. Zuko, still feeling some sort of way about his sister’s friend, sat next to Rohan. Katara wandered closer to the next, watching Thuy and Toph spar.

“Welcome to the cage match!” Rohan said and Katara snorted.

“It does look a little bit like Toph’s arena.” She said, not turning around. 

“Could you imagine what other element arenas would look like?” Rohan asked. 

Katara tilted her head, thinking. 

“I mean, we all know what an Agni Kai is.” Zuko replied dryly.

“Okay, we’re not talking duels, but actual, like, bouts.” Rohan countered.

“I don’t think anyone dies at pro bending.” Ty Lee added. 

“I think it’d all be the same concept right? Like trying to knock the other person out of the ring. But maybe with more obstacles.” Katara said, finally turning.

“I like that idea actually.” Ty Lee said.

“What if you had to face off against a bender of another element?” Rohan asked.

“Well, then it’s not really a show of skill at all. The forms are different.” Zuko countered.

“Sure, but it’s like that one trading card game. You know, it was super popular with kids a decade ago. Aw nuts, I’m blanking on the name.” Rohan snapped their fingers, looking at Ty Lee.

“I know what you’re talking about. The one with the energy rat.” Zuko said.

“That’s it!” Rohan clapped their hands and turned back to Zuko. “So Thuy is going to have a hard time with airbending because it’s the most unlike her birth style. Earth is mildly frustrating, but fire should be a piece of cake.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Zuko replied dryly.

“I’ve seen you move, you’re like a secret Waterbender.” Rohan stated.

“That’s not usual Rohan.” Ty Lee said. 

Rohan looked at her, confused. “No?”

Ty Lee shook her head and they turned back to Zuko.

“I knew we rubbed off on you, but I didn’t think it was that much.” They said.

“My uncle taught me other forms. He said it would make me more balanced.” Zuko said. 

“And? Are you balanced?” Katara asked.

“Want to see?” Zuko asked, sounding coy. The energy shifted and Katara felt her face warm.

“Yeah, let’s go, you and me.” She said, putting more confidence in her voice to cover how he had turned her spine into jelly. 

Zuko stood and started to unbutton his shirt as he walked to the fencing.

“Hey Beifong!” He called. 

The clattering earth stopped and Zuko waited, still carefully removing his shirt.

“Her feet are fine Lord Bunsen Burner!” Toph yelled back.

“I was more wondering if you’d let us use the field.” Zuko said. He fully removed his shirt, folding it over his arm. His undershirt was tight and Katara, aware of the audience, forced herself not to stare. 

Thuy and Toph conferred for a moment.

“Why?” Toph asked.

“Sparring match.”

“With Wet Wipe?”

“With Katara.”

“WITH MASTER KATARA?” Thuy shouted.

“Ditches and pits girl, lower your voice!” Toph snapped.

“Sorry Sifu.” Thuy replied. 

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’d like a chance to witness what it is you keep going on about.” Toph said, starting toward the door of the fencing. “Find out if all of Ty Lee’s hard work is for a purpose.” 

Zuko tossed his shirt over an empty bench as he and Katara walked to meet them. Thuy was nearly bouncing in excitement when they met at the door. 

“Water?” Toph asked, sounding more like a prompt.

“I’m fine Sifu.” Thuy chirped.

“No, I meant go and get your Master some water to work with, you walnut.” Toph retorted.

“Oh!” Thuy looked alarmed and then darted off. 

“You don’t have to be so hard on her.” Katara said.

“Why not? Everyone else is falling over themselves to kiss her backside.” Toph replied, shoving Katara lightly to the side. 

Zuko and Katara went into the caged field. Pausing to kiss her cheek, Zuko was quiet as he jogged to the middle and started stretching. He was clearly taking this seriously.

Thuy returned to the door of the fencing carrying two large and battered buckets filled with water. Katara wondered where on earth she had even found those.

“Thank you Thuy.” Katara said.

“Of course Auntie!” Thuy replied cheerfully and darted away before Katara could reprimand her. 

“Ready?” Zuko asked as Katara walked over. 

“Let’s go.” She said, dropping the buckets.

The moment the metal bottoms hit the ground, Katara pulled the water up around her. The force of it actually kept the buckets momentarily suspended, but fell with a dull clatter. 

Thinking back to their late night talk, Katara couldn’t help the wry smile as she watched him take a more traditional Firebender stance. 

Firebending always seemed more like fencing to her, and Katara pulled her water around Zuko’s sides playfully, testing his open sides. He was fast, though, and get under her attacks before she could refocus. He was taking it far too seriously.

Very quickly, they fell into step. Remembering their dance at her coronation, Katara smiled freely as they stepped in close. Zuko would feint and flicker, but Katara was patient. In a one on one battle, fire was meant to injure, so Zuko had little in the way of movement to test her. On the other hand, Katara was used to larger fights with multiple assailants, so finding a way to fine tune her approach took time. They danced together, testing for weaknesses and vulnerabilities. As they got in close, Zuko winked at her, and Katara faltered on her heel. 

“I’ve seen musk sloths move faster than you!” Toph yelled.

“You can’t see at all!” Katara yelled back. 

“Yeah but I can and this is BORING.” Rohan added.

A gust blew them back, with Katara immediately pulling a frozen shield across herself and Zuko. 

“A new challenger approaches!” Rohan stated, standing in front of them. 

“Shall we?” Zuko asked, holding out his hand.

Zuko relaxed and Katara found herself relying on his style in order to free her movements. Rohan seemed more interested in dodging, which was easier since they weren’t bound by any physical need to stay on the ground. 

And it was all fun and games, until the Earthbender attacked.

Toph jumped in, deciding that a sparring match had to actually involve sparring. When Rohan still wouldn’t get pinned down, Toph decided to change the game.

Avatar versus the four nations.

Thuy, having not even started Firebending or Airbending, was summarily chased around the fenced field. Katara, feeling for her bending kin, took her side, while Zuko ran interference.

Knowing she wasn’t getting anywhere, Toph called it and yanked Rohan out of the air after they made the mistake of bumping into one of the protruding earth columns. The two of them then called over Thuy, and they started planning something.

Zuko avoided the benches, and instead sat down against the fence as he watched the others. Katara groaned as she fell next to him, leaning against his shoulder. They were both sweating and smelled like dirt, both wet and charred. 

Throwing his arm over her shoulder, Zuko pulled her close and kissed her hair quickly. Hating the warmth of his skin against hers, Katara still relaxed against him, not wanting to move. 

“I am going to be so sore.” He said. 

“I can fix that.” Katara said. 

“Look at them, disgusting.” Zuko said, jokingly. 

Still, Katara looked at the trio in confusion.

“What?” She asked.

“This is all they have to do. No leaving to run a country, just playing tag with the Avatar.” 

“Oh, that.” Katara remarked. “Yeah, that does suck.”

“Doesn’t it?” Zuko rubbed her arm, but his fingers pressed into her skin in a familiar way.

“We can’t.” She whispered.

“Can’t…?” Zuko turned to her and, upon seeing her face, blushed deeply.

“Ah.” He added and cleared his throat. “Right.”

“I swear, every time you practice, you get like this.” Katara said, laughing. 

Still blushing, Zuko smiled and kept his gaze averted. 

“My blood’s hot, what can I say?” He replied. 

“That’s not where your bending comes from.” Katara countered. “It’s more here.”

She pressed the tips of her fingers against his abdomen and Zuko held her hand, pressing it against his chest. 

“And yours?” Zuko asked softly, leaning toward her.

“Would you two please get a room?” Toph shouted. “I can feel your weird vibes from here!” 

“I’m pretty sure Zuko’s gonna spontaneously combust if he has to wait much longer.” Rohan said.

“Does that happen?” Thuy gasped.

“According to some urban legends, yeah.” Ty Lee answered, moving to the fence to get closer. 

“Could that happen to me? I’m going to be a Firebender too.” Thuy asked.

Zuko grumbled as he stood up, but Katara snorted. 

“I don’t know, who are you dating, young lady?” Rohan asked.

“There’s a guy that keeps hanging around my school. I guess I know why now.” Toph said.

“Sifu!” Thuy shouted. 

Zuko held out his hand and Katara took it, standing as he pulled her up. 

“I need a shower.” He said.

“We both do.” Katara replied.

“Oh come on!” Toph yelled. “Just leave already!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Zuko said, giving Katara’s hand a firm squeeze.

“They’ll probably be distracted for awhile.” Ty Lee said, as the pair came through the door. “It looks like Rohan is drawing diagrams in the dirt.”

“Hmm.” Zuko grunted, not looking at Ty Lee.

“Just make sure Thuy gets her acupuncture and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Katara said lightly. 

Ty Lee patted the pouch clipped to her belt and Katara smiled. Then Zuko yanked her away, heading purposefully back to the house.

“Zuko? Your shirt?” She asked.

“I’ve got plenty.” Zuko said shortly.

“We don’t have to rush.”

“You owe me some healing.” Zuko said and glanced over his shoulder. His gold eyes glinted and the edge of his gaze was a razor in her lungs. 

She wondered if she would ever get used to him like this.

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[totallysharkycomplete]

Tears Come From The Heart (Stan Pines x Reader)

Stanley Pines can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen you cry. Now you’re in front of him crying because of him and he knows he’s fucked up. Stanley Pine x Reader Rating: Teen Warnings: implied child abuse/neglect, underage drinking, cursing, little bit of blood

Stanley Pines could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you cry. He always had known you were a strong, independent woman, even when you were a child. Yet here you were, in front of him crying, because of him. It was at this moment he knew, he fucked up. The first time Stan saw you crying was when he met you. He and Ford had found you crying on their ship. You had said you weren’t crying, but a witch had cursed you to have water fall from your eyes until someone found you. Stan and his brother were hesitant at first to let someone new play with them, but when the day was over the three of you were best friends. Stan can still vividly remember that summer spent playing on the beach, getting sunburnt, and exploring caves. He remembers how you looked with your tattered dress and tangled hair, dirt on your face and socks. He’ll never forget the first time you came over for dinner. How his mother was so surprised the friend they had been telling her about was real, and no less a little girl. At the dinner table he remembered how his mother praised your good manners, and how even his father seemed impressed. “You could learn something from her.” His father had said. That night he watched as his mother sat you infront of her vanity and brushed your long tangled hair. He and Ford watched from the doorway, not allowed in their parent’s room. Stan could see how your demeanor changed as his mother transformed the hair on your head from a rats nest to a clean ponytail tied with a ribbon. She said she always wanted a little girl. You smiled wide as you thanked her. She sent you off and you bounded out of the room to your friends. Ford said you looked like a princess. Stan said you didn’t look like a rat anymore. You laughed and playfully shoved both of them. They walked you home and you yelled thank you as they walked away. The boys turned back to you to see the door to your home fly open and a large man, presumably your father, yell at you for yelling, before shoving you roughly through the door. The next day Stan and Ford stared at you with their jaws on the ground. You had showed up to play with your hair unevenly chopped off, almost shorter than their own hair. The ribbon their mother gave you was tied around your head in a small bow, your smile wide, seemingly unfazed by the sudden change to your hair. Stan remembers when school started back up that year. He remembers how you’d grab his arms to stop him from beating up people who bullied you. You were an easy target the way your hair had been chopped up, and the way despite how hard you would try to keep them clean, your clothes were always dirty. They way you’d come into school covered in bruises. People would say it looked like an alligator chomped all your hair off, or people would ask you if you slept in a ditch. The insults were dumb, but you were a child, so they hurt. They were never enough to make you cry. You were strong and ignored them when it came to you, however, Ford would have to stop the both of you from trying to fight people who bullied him. It was easy to take insults, but not to hear someone insult your friend. Stan can recall how on their birthday one year you had surprised them with a cake that you had helped his mother bake. He remembers how your eyes caught the light of the candles as you sang to them, how your voice made his heart skip a beat. The second time Stan ever saw you cry was when you were fourteen. It was in the middle of summer and a storm had hit. It was late at night. Stan and Ford were both reading on their beds when their window to the fire escape opened. They both bolted up ready to fight off an intruder when they saw it was you, soaked head to toe. You closed the window behind you and stood there silently for a moment. “Are you alright?” Ford asked. Stan placed his hand on your shoulder and noted and noticed tears streaming down your face, and you tried to sniff them back. “What’s wrong?” Stan asked in the softest voice you had ever heard from him. “My dad is dead.” You croak out, then a laugh escapes your lips. Your hand covers your mouth. Stan leads you to sit on the edge bottom bunk of the bed and covers you with a blanket. They sit on either side of you and hold their arms around you as you cry. Stan remembers how perfectly you fit next to him as your smaller frame shook. It would be another couple of years before Stan would see you cry again. You stood in the hospital hallway, clean dress, hair done, even a little makeup on. They had invited you to come meet their new baby brother. You entered the room with them and watched as the boys took turns holding their new brother. He squirmed and fussed, Ford held him for a few minutes before he passed him to Stan. Stan held him for probably less than a minute before passing him to you. He laid calmly in your arms. Stan watched as the baby yawned and closed his eyes. He could see your smile waver and you bit your lip. “He’s so beautiful.” You choked out as a tear ran down your cheek. His little hand held onto your finger. Stan watched as another tear slipped down your cheek before you passed the small bundle back to his mom. You quickly wiped the tears away with a tissue, smiling the whole time. The way the sun came through the blinds and landed on your smiling face wasn’t something Stan would ever forget. He knew then he was in love with you. Your friendship wasn’t something Stan was willing to mess up over confessing this love. He quickly began to distract himself with other girls, spending less time with you and Ford. Stan came home late one night, slightly intoxicated. Ford mentions you were over earlier, how you had said you missed him. Stan plays it off, before falling onto his bed. Stan can’t help but notice the next party he’s at, you’re there too. You don’t notice him at first, and he tries to not catch your attention. He keeps continuous eye contact with the girl he’s flirting with until she gets up to go to the restroom. He accidentally makes eye contact with you and you eagerly make you way over to him. His heart rate picks up and he looks away. “I know, you’re probably surprised I’m at a house party. My friend dragged me along with her.” You take a sip from the beer bottle in your hands, Stan’s gaze follows your lips. You wait a second for him to reply and he just nods and looks away. “Stanley, are you alright?” You try to make eye contact and he looks away. You scoff. “Are you really not talking to me?” He looks at you then looks away again, his face turns red. “Okay, alright.” You walk back over to where you were before, but Stan gets one last look at your face. He can see your whole face is red, the look on it is between anger and confusion. Stan doesn’t see you the rest of the night. “What did you do?” Ford asks, sliding into his desk next to Stan’s. “Huh, what?” Stan asks half asleep, a little hungover. Ford states the question again. “I don’t know what you did but she’s absolutely furious with you.” Stan catches you in the hallway between classes. He calls your name, but you ignore him and keep walking. He finally catches up to you. “Can we talk?” He asks. You stop dead in your tracks. “So now you’re not too cool to talk to me? Last night I guess you just forgot we’ve been friends for years, or did you remember that and decide it didn’t matter? Am I too embarrassing for you to be seen with me? Is that it?” Stan opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. “Well? Which is it, Pines?” You poke your finger into his chest. A few voices around you begin to ‘ooh’, but you pay them no mind. Stan’s whole face turns beat red, and his mouth hangs open, unsure of what to say. You turn to leave and he grabs your left arm. “Wait, I…” “Let go,” you state calmly. “Just let me,” he tried to say but is cut off when you whip around and land a punch square in his nose. You’re sitting a chair apart outside the principal's office. You’ve turned your head as far from Stan as you can. Stan has dried blood on his face and shirt. He sighs as you rufes to look at him. “Can I just,” He tries to say. “No.” Stan's head turns towards the office door as he hears the familiar click of heels and thump of his father’s footsteps. You look over as well when you hear the door opening. His parent’s open the door with a scowl, expecting to see both of their boys sitting there. You can tell by the surprised look on his mother’s face they don’t expect to see you. “Stanley, what kind of trouble did you drag her into?” She scolded and walked past her son to you. A moment later your mother arrives and you all go into the principal's office. The mother’s are sitting in the two chairs while Stan’s father stands by his mother. You stand next to your mother, Stan next to his father. “Would you two care to explain what happened in the hallway? I received word there was a fight?” The principal asks. You stare awkwardly at your shoes, you’d never been in trouble like this before and didn’t know what to do. “It’s my fault,” Stan admits. You look up at him and he’s looking at you. “She had nothing to do with it.” You weren’t about to let Stan take all the blame. “That’s not true! I…” All eyes are on you with your sudden outburst. “I started it, I punched Stan! He just wanted to talk and I was being dramatic, I’m sorry!” You take in a shaky breath holding back tears. You and Stan have a moment of eye contact before his dad steps into the way, grabbing Stan by the collar of his shirt. “What did you do to make her punch you?” Stan holds up his hands in defense and you're by his side a second later. You place a hand over his father’s. “Mr.Pines, please, Stanley really didn’t do anything, I just, I was angry is all. Really.” You look up at him with pleading eyes. Stan still remembers how your eyes twinkled with unshed tears. He grunts and let’s go of his shirt. The principal agrees you both have to have a three day suspension before you can come back to school. Stan’s mother lectures him about how he’s grounded and how she’s so disappointed he upset his friend. Stan looks over at you talking in hushed whispers with your mother. She has a sympathetic look on her face and she lays a hand on your shoulder, you look up at her a nod. Stan gives you a sympathetic look when your eyes meet. You walk over towards Stan and his family, his mom stops lecturing him for a second. Stan is surprised when you take one of his hands and hold it in yours. “Stanley,” You look up at him from under your lashes. “I’m really sorry I hurt you. Could you ever forgive me?” His stomach does a flip the way you look at him with your puppy dog eyes. He brings his free hand to the back of your neck and rubs it awkwardly. “Of course.” He mumbles. You apologizes to his parents as well for making them come all the way to the school, then you make your way home. A few nights later, despite being grounded, Stan sees you at another party. Instead of making your way over to talk to him, you give him a simple wave and Stan waves back. From across the room he admires how your clothes hug your body, and how the wetness from your drink leaves your lips looking glossy and kissable. His thoughts are pulled away from you as a hand lands on his shoulder and a girl starts talking to him. He busies himself talking to the random girl for a while. He doesn’t see when a boy comes over and starts talking to you. He hears you give a flirty laugh and he looks over to see you leaning against a wall with a boy towering over you. The girl Stan was talking to walked over to some friends and he’s left alone to watch you. The boy you’re with says something and you giggle and bite your lip. He says something else and Stan watches you nod, before he brings his hand to your chin and leans in to kiss you. To Stan’s dismay you kiss him back. Before he can stop himself Stan is storming over to your side and pushing the boy away. “What the hell, Stan!” You exclaim. Stan takes your wrist in his hands and starts dragging you away, and before you can think to protest, Stan is pulling you out of the party towards his car. “Stanley!” You yell but he doesn’t stop pulling you. “Stanley Pines!” He drops your hand when he reaches the side of his car, his back to you. You take a second to huff. “I don’t get it, Stan. You don’t even talk to me the other night, then tonight you get jealous and push away the guy I’m trying to get to know. What’s going on with you?” Stan turns around red in the face. “It looked like you were doing a little more than getting to know him. He practically had his tongue down your throat.” He shouts. “What do you care? You’ve been spending less time with me, and ignoring me, now you want to care about who I’m kissing? Well you don’t get to! You don’t get to treat me like garbage and still keep me as a friend, Stan. I thought,” your voice grows quiet. “I know people still talk bad about me, but I thought you didn’t care. I thought you cared more about me, Stan.” Which brings us to now. Stan freezes when he sees a tear run down your cheek. He knows he’s hurt you bad. “Please don’t cry,” he places his hand on your shoulders and you turn your head to look away from him. “I’m really sorry. I’m just…” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess I was jealous. I just always thought,” his voice is only a whisper now. “I just always thought I’d be your first kiss.” You look up at him now and wipe a tear away, then move your hands to lay on his chest. “Then shut up and kiss me.” Stan doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands move from your shoulders to your hip and waist as he pulls you flush against. He greedily kisses you, and to his surprise your kisses are just as impatient. The kiss is everything he wanted it to be, soft, warm, sweet, you. You kiss each other as long as you can before having to pull back for air. He rests his forehead against yours, and you both breath heavy. “You’re an idiot, Stanley Pines.” You whisper. His hand moves from your chin to cup the side of your face. “But that’s why you love me, right?” You kiss him again. “Absolutely.”

[littlespaceporgs]

Omg some Rex fluff?? No 60 from prompt list one, “But I want to hear you sing.” Can you imagine Rex saying that?? So cute my heart 🥺🥺

A/N: Welp I had fun writing this, I’ve written it as a part ii to The Captain and The Medic - which if you click, it’ll take you to part i, but as I usually do, it can also be read independently!

The Captain and The Medic - Part ii

Word Count: 1.9k Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader Summary: You got reassigned as the new 212th medic, and during a new campaign, Rex gets injured. Chaos and stress ensues. Partly because of the 3 jedi who can’t seem to sit still.

Tags :DDD : @peacelandbread @valkyrieofthehighfae @mcu-padawan @catsnkooks @littlevodika @cherrykenobi @hounding-around @lesqui @captainrexstan

Medics were becoming few and far between as the war dragged out, even the Jedi healers were short-handed. It was for this reason that you were reassigned after a year and a half of serving with the 501st. Admittedly, you weren’t far, only going to the 212th.

You already knew a fair few members among the ranks, having to handle General Kenobi’s penchant for also never seeing a medic, something that the bastard well-respected Jedi Master had regretfully passed on down his lineage. You’d seen Waxer and Boil, when they returned with a secret small creature of some kind that needed medical attention, and you had a bone knitter on hand for Cody, who still had not shaken the habit of punching kriffing droids – which you had pleaded him to stop doing, if not for his own sake for yours, because using one of them was a rather tedious task.

It made for good entertainment, and it kept you busy, but it just didn’t compare to seeing Rex every day.

So when you were placed on the on the same campaign, excitement flooded through you, in the form of pure elation, drowning out the weariness of the amount of injuries that came with the news of a new campaign. That brings you to now, where you were waiting not so patiently with Cody and General Kenobi, expecting an arrival shortly from the 501st. Anakin Skywalker was the first off the ship immediately heading for Kenobi, with Ahsoka following half a step behind him. Ahsoka grinned widely and waved at you, and you let out a laugh at the girl’s antics. Giving a questioning glance to her Master, which he responded with a nod, she suddenly burst into a run, heading straight for you. You let out a low grunt when she smacked into you, and squeezed tightly. When Cody snickered, you silenced him with a quick glare.

“Hello, Commander Tano.”

“Hey Doc!”

General Skywalker nodded at you from where he stood with Kenobi, and pulling away from Ahsoka, you sent them both a curious glance.

“You lot haven’t been causing too much trouble for Kix while I’ve been gone?”

“Oh come on, Doc, we would never.” A new voice answered, unfiltered by the helmet he usually wore. You grinned and spun back around, to see your Captain stepping off the ramp, grinning all the while. You laughed and shot into his arms, smiling when he kissed your temple. Without hesitation, you took his face in your hands and kissed him hard. He grinned against your lips, technically neither of you were on duty yet. Your heart swelled in that moment, even seconds together – while not even close to being enough – after a few weeks made you almost blissful. He pulled away for a second, and tapped a finger on your wrist guard.

“Good to see you’ve replaced our stripes already.” He gestured to the newer, thick yellow line that was now painted next to the two blue, already starting to chip away after weeks of working.

“Oh please.” You rolled your eyes and gently slapped his arm, you wanted to catch up more, fill him in on the past few days, but Skywalker interrupted the two of you.

“Alright lovebirds, sorry doc, but I need to steal my Captain away, you can have him back when this is over and done with.” You laughed, but leant up and pressed a kiss on his cheek before he started in the same direction as the General’s and Commander’s.

“Just make sure you return him to me in one piece please? ” Cody had whacked him on the shoulder then, and you grinned harder. “Oh, and Cody?” The Commander spun and looked at you, and took in your folded arms and disgruntled expression. “Do not punch any droids today, otherwise I can and will amputate your arm.” The poor man looked thoroughly disturbed as Ahsoka broke out with a bright grin and elbowed them both, and Rex spun and gave you a thumbs up, mid-laugh. He mouthed an ‘I love you’ and begun to follow after Kenobi and Skywalker, Cody and Ahsoka still trying to tease him. You watched as he shoved them back, as they disappeared down a corridor and out of sight. Despite the light-hearted nature of the interaction, you couldn’t shake the feeling that today would go badly.

 Your heart was racing when he was brought in. There was blood spilling from a gash on his forehead, and you could see when his chest plate moved with his breathing, it wasn’t quite right, rising in two separate motions. It had stopped you from moving, eyes staring after him as Kix started his work. Your muscles were begging you to let you run to him, to help Kix in anyway you could, despite knowing that he was a very capable medic, and no further harm would come to him here.

Your patient, who when you turned around was giving you an almost amused smirk under all the dirt that was caked on him, cleared his throat.

“You know, you could just go and help him, I’ll be fine.” You made a noise half-way between a sigh and a groan, before shoving your anxieties away. He’ll be fine. You had worse problems to deal with, like preventing a dumbass wise Jedi that didn’t know what taking care of himself first was from escaping the medbay.

“And leave you to try and escape again? No chance, General.” He flinched gently as you prodded his ribs, which you determined were likely broken on account of Grievous hitting him with a well-aimed kick. Kenobi feigned a confused look.

“I would nev-” You rolled your eyes before he cut himself off with a groan as you pressed against another rib.

“Yes, you would. You’re already going to be here for the night, don’t force me to make it two,” his smirk flattened as he gave you a blank look. “If I had half a mind, I would keep you here for a week, considering I’ve now had to deal with yours, your padawan’s and your padawan’s padawan bad habits of not coming to or just plain trying to escape the medbay!”

Hours later, once the sun had set, you’d finally gotten the stubborn Jedi to remain in place. Kix was around the medbay somewhere, and almost everyone in here was silent, in a dead sleep after a hard-fought battle. You’d started singing a lullaby in mando’a under your breath, hoping that actively thinking about the lyrics would keep you awake, even as your hands were trembling slightly and your feet ached. You wouldn’t have to stay in the medbay too much longer, Kix would wake up soon and take over the rest of the night shift, as all there is left to do in these hours is monitor heart rates and make sure those who were awake weren’t in pain.

You stopped by Rex’s side, looking up at the monitor, all the while you kept singing quietly. You looked down to your datapad to enter the reading, and noticed that the beeping of the machine had increased. Sure enough, when you looked again, his heart rate was much higher than what it had been earlier, on instinct you felt your own skyrocket at the thought of something being wrong.  You immediately stopped singing and turned to look at his face, where his nose was scrunched, and you could see the movements of his eye beneath his eyelids.

“Rex?”

And one of his eyes cracked open slightly, you sighed heavily in relief. He’s awake.

His mouth pulled into a soft smile to mirror your face, both of his eyes trying to blink the tiredness away. Your eyes began to water as you took a seat beside his bed, and took one of his hands in your own. Slowly, he squeezed back.

“Hey, cyar’ika.” His voice was gravelly and thick with sleep, but it was a good sign that he could recognise you and speak at all.

“Hello, my love,” You said, brushing your hand against his cheek, and letting out a quiet, airy laugh when he blinked slowly and leant heavily into your hand. He was quite possibly still feeling the effects of the pain medication he had been put on hours ago. You noticed his eyes started flicking around the medbay, darting from patient to patient. “Can you tell me what the date is and then what happened?”

Still blinking slowly, one hand rubbed his face, and the other squeezed yours again. He spoke the correct date and then began rattling off details about the mission, from Commander Tano running ahead and Skywalker nearly losing his mind at the teenager, all the way up until he very nearly got blown up. You took in a deep breath when he finished his recount, all his memories were intact.

You raised his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss across his knuckles. Tiredly smiling at you, he reached up and tucked a hair behind your ear. The relief you felt was palpable as he seemed to be mostly there. You stood from the chair, untangling his hands from your hair, and checking the box on the datapad, signifying no signs of serious damage. You stared at his face once more, eyeing the cut on his temple and just taking in all the details.

“Alright, Rex, get some more rest in please. You’re likely going to be cleared tomorrow, so you’re going to need to be in good shape.” He groaned and grabbed your hand again, moving his thumb in small circles. Okay, maybe he was still on too many meds.

“Riddur, you need sleep, and I have more patients to see.” In an unusual show of emotion, he pouted.

“But I just want to hear you sing?” You flushed, knowing that he had most definitely heard you when you first walked over. You laughed softly, and brushed his cheek again.

“Is that what it’ll take for you to go back to sleep?” He spent a second thinking on it, before he nodded once, barely perceptible if you weren’t standing beside his head. Definitely still feeling the after-effects of the meds. You leant down and kissed him gently, stepping back before murmuring the soothing words in mando’a. He sighed and his eyes slid shut, as you walked away, allowing him to drift off, listening to the soft-spoken voice that sounded like honey and reminded him of a home that he had with only one person.

BONUS:

“No, you are not cleared!”

“I feel fine-”

“That means the pain meds are working! General Kenobi, three of your ribs are broken, and literally every other rib is bruised!”

“Doc, I’m sure Obi-wan is-”

“No, Skywalker, he is not! My medbay, my rules! And my rule is that he stays until he’s healed!”

“We outrank you, you know that right?”

“Not here, you don’t!”

“But-”

“Don’t you start, I could confine you here as well! Don’t think I didn’t see you injure your shoulder!”

“Kark, nope, Ahsoka, let’s go.”

“Anakin!”

[lovingmyselfcore]

i can go anywhere i want just not home

A fic based on My Tears Ricochet!! Highly recommend listening to the song while reading. Very angsty, it's if something happened and Aelin was forced out of Terrasen and had to fake her death. So yeah. I'm working on my Illicit Affairs one so that should be soon? No promises

**Not beta-read or anything we die like men here and I think I'm allergic to editing after 8pm so I can't be blamed if it's really bad

“Do it,” She spat, staring up at him - at all of them. Rowan was the only one who met her eyes, he didn’t flinch away from her, he never flinched away from her. Until recently, at least. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that she was horrible enough that Rowan Whitethorn had finally flinched.

She felt that achingly familiar lick of flame, starting at the base of her spine slowly curling up, lighting the hollows in her spine and bones, in her soul.

Something must be smoldering in her eyes because Rowan shifted, almost imperceptibly. Only being his mate and carranam did she recognize it for what it was. He’d shifted enough to have placed himself between them. Between her, Chaol, and Dorian.

With a bitter laugh, she spat again, “It’s come to this? You’re protecting them from me!” Her voice got shrill.

“Fireheart,” Rowan started but she cut him off.

“No. No. Don’t. You. Dare. Call me that.” It took all her years of training in hiding herself, of becoming other people, that allowed her to keep her voice steady.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up in her massive bed, half sprawled against the comforting warmth of her husband, with Fleetfoot resting in her lap and a good book in one hand, the delicious chocolate hazelnut cake an elderly woman in town had learned to make just for her in the other. She wanted to go home.

But home was a long way from here.

Dorian shoved forward, elbowing past Rowan, ignoring Chaol’s muttered warning, and stopped once he and Aelin were nose-to-nose.

“We didn’t want to do this.”

She just hummed, not backing away from him.

Those flames still curled, ready for her to wield.

“This is better than the alternative,” Chaol spoke up and she and Dorian both moved to look at him.

She arched a brow and schooled her face into that indifferent arrogance she knew made nearly everyone see red. “The alternative? What was the alternative to forcing me to flee my kingdom I have fought so hard to keep and fake my own death with only,” She jabbed a finger at each of them, “You three knowing the details of what happened.”

“The alternative was taking away the fake part,” Dorian said, cold water to match her own burning flame.

She started, and against her better judgment, looked at Rowan. “You were going to,” She swallowed and tried very hard to ignore the agony in his gorgeous eyes. “Kill me?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anybody voted for that.” Dorian offered.

“Voted?” Her voice went shrill again and she saw Rowan twitch. “You all voted on what to do with me?”

“You couldn’t stay in Terrasen anymore, not after what you did, so yes. We voted.”

“And you three are the lucky bastards who have to force me out.”

“Force is only needed if you decide to fight us, Aelin,” Chaol said.

She ignored how pointed the words were, how they angered those festering embers.

“So Lorcan didn’t volunteer? I was sure he’d be the first to want to force me out of my own home and fake my death.”

“Nobody volunteered, Aelin. Nobody wanted this to be the way it went.”

“Hmm, well it seems someone did. Since we’re here, and all.” Her voice dropped low and she was suddenly talking only to Rowan. “Was what I did so unforgivable that you don’t love me anymore?”

He couldn’t look at her, this man, who used to look at her like the stars were born in her eyes, now couldn’t look her in the face. “I’ll always love you, Fi-” He cleared his throat, “Aelin. Don’t ever think I stopped but-” He looked like words had become too hard and merely stared at whatever his eyes were fixed on, somewhere behind her left ear.

Chaol and Dorian were both looking anywhere but at the two of them.

Looking at him in the dying sunlight filtering through the web of branches formed from ancient oak trees, the way his eyes glittered, the hard lines of him all highlighted, and his hair ruffled from the autumn wind, her resolve broke. She took a step, then another, then she was running. He caught her, swept her up, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

It was oddly reminiscent of a time long ago, in Adarlan. That, however, was a reunion. This was a goodbye.

Tears streaked down her face and he held her closer; as if trying to further commit all of her to memory. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She whispered.

“I know. I am too.”

She pulled away first. He wiped her tears away with painstaking gentleness and kissed her forehead, “This may not be the end.” From his tone and the way he was looking at her, he believed it as much as she did. Which is to say, this is the end. “Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Take care of Terrasen for me. They need you.”

He nodded, his hands still resting on her face, making no move to leave. “Where will you go?”

She shrugged helplessly, “Maybe I’ll bring Lillian back. I don’t know. I’ll just stay in the shadows for a few centuries, try and build a life where nobody knows me, nobody knows Terrasen.”

He nodded again and slowly dragged his hands from her face. She was the one that was ‘dying’ but he looked ready to keel over himself. He took a few unsteady steps backward and stooped to pick up a backpack they’d brought. He tossed it to her and she caught it easily, slinging it along her back.

She turned and looked at Dorian and Chaol, biting her lip. She wanted them to hurt, she wanted them to feel the betrayal she felt. Not a sting, no, she felt like she’d been stabbed. And as someone who had been stabbed many times before, she felt confident in her analogy. But they were her friends, once.

Make them hurt a voice whispered deep from inside her. She clenched her fists and felt the flames bubbling up.

Aelin. Rowan. In her head.

She breathed in deeply and nodded to them once, they nodded back. She acknowledged the pain in their eyes with not a small amount of satisfaction.

She took off sprinting into the forest and didn’t look back.

~~~~~~

They were walking back to Terrasen, they’d let Aelin off at the border.

“Rowan,” Dorian laid a hand on his arm, “Are you-”

He shrugged the young king off and shifted, taking to the skies, as far from them, from anyone, as he could get.

“We made the right decision, right?” Dorian’s voice was so strained it cut at Chaol’s heart.

“Yeah, yes. This was the right choice. The only choice.”

He nodded, but Chaol could tell the doubts lingered. As long as Aelin was out there, on her own, free but never allowed to return home, the doubts would always linger.

~~~~~~

Her knees buckled not far from where she’d taken off running from the three of them. She flew forward, throwing her hands out and scraping her palms along the rocks as slid to a stop. She tried to breathe, ragged, shaking breaths, as she tried to calm her mind. The world blacked-out around the edges and a whimper fell from her mouth. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fucking do this.

A weak scream ripped from her throat and she dug her hands harder into the rocks, they sliced her palms open, warm blood trickling into the grass.

She tried to wrangle the fire, she tried to use the tactics Rowan had taught her what felt like lifetimes ago, but just like it had which led to her being here, she couldn’t control it.

It didn’t explode like she thought it would, it bubbled. Like lava in a volcano, it bubbled out of her, hot smoldering fire, trickling down her face like tears, tracing lines along her body like blood. It covered the grass around her and spread, her cry was futile. It burnt straight through some of the ancient oak trees, bringing them down and melting them entirely into the earth.

Despite the chaos around her, despite that first anguished cry, she knelt in the dirt. Wind ripped her hair away from her face as she burned the world around her, nobody could say Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius went out gracefully.

~~~~~~

Despite the initial burning at the border, no sign of Aelin had surfaced. He had to give her credit, the woman knew how to disappear. The thought sent an ache through him, intensifying what was already there.

He’d been like some kind of ghoul, Lorcan and Fenrys traded shifts watching over him, making sure he bathed and ate. Someone always sat at his bedside with him, waking him when the nightmares took him. Nightmares that Aelin was still held captive by Maeve. When they resurfaced, the first night his hand had shot out, seeking a warm body that wasn’t there. He’d flown into a fit of panic until someone had brought someone in. One of the women, Elide, maybe? They had calmed him enough to tell him Aelin wasn’t with Maeve. They weren’t in the war anymore. He remembered where Aelin was. That he didn’t know where Aelin was, only that he had sent her away. In some ways, that hurt worse.

Most of them had moved into the castle and would stay until most of Terrasen, until Rowan, settled enough to be left. Most of them were Lords and Ladies, however, so they alternated. One week Elide would stay at the castle, the next week Lorcan would. The same went for Aedion and Lysandra. He knew it hurt them, being separated like that, but they never once complained. Rowan hadn’t entirely been paying attention when they had decided how Aelin’s ‘death’ had happened, but they’d fabricated a story and spread it. Today was her funeral, nearly a month after she had left - since they’d made her leave - and Terrasen’s people had been in mourning ever since. They would be for a long while, but not nearly as long as Rowan would be.

He wasn’t sure what woke up, it wasn’t even dawn, but his eyes fluttered open. He oriented himself with what - who - surrounded him. Fleetfoot, that damned dog, was at his feet. She hadn’t taken Aelin’s spot, as if hoping she would be back. There was another animal asleep near the foot of the bed, on the floor, Lysandra or Fenrys, and he watched their chest slowly rise and fall and matched his own to it. His heart had been racing. Maybe that’s what woke him, an unseen nightmare.

He crept past the sleeping figure, probably Lysandra then, not as attuned to his every move like he knew Fenrys was.

He slipped out onto the balcony and was struck with the memory of the time Aelin had woken him and he had found her staring with tear-filled eyes at the Kingsflame blooming across those rolling hills.

He surveyed those same hills, the sleeping town below, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the railing until he was close to tumbling off the edge and stayed there in silence for a long while before speaking. “Damn it Aelin!” He was nearly sobbing, he had no idea when the tears had started. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight harder? Gods,” He broke off and slumped down, unable to speak thanks to the sobs wracking through him. “Please stay,” He nearly whimpered. “I know it’s too late but please, Fireheart, I need you. I need you.”

He fell asleep there, on the balcony, soothed by the beat of his heart. A beat that sounded suspiciously like an echo of Aelin’s fingers dancing along the pianoforte, drawing out a sound she commanded while quietly singing a lullaby she had told him her mother sang to her when she couldn’t sleep.

His eyes closed and he could’ve sworn her voice carried on the wind, that lullaby, followed by a nearly inaudible, “I love you, Rowan. I love you.”

~~~~~~

Half the time she slept in the forest like some kind of wild animal, the other half of the time she disguised herself and found some disgusting tavern to sleep in. She had no idea where she was anymore, she was just wandering aimlessly. She was currently sitting on the roof of one of said taverns. It reminded her painfully of her days as an assassin. She stared up at the stars, unblinking, the night wind was cold and stung her face but she was past caring. Up here, she took off the glamour, becoming Aelin again.

“Do you miss me, buzzard?” She asked the stars. “I hope you miss me as much as I miss you.” She shook her head and laughed angrily. “You became everything you didn’t want to, didn’t you? You bastard.” Her voice was getting louder with each word. “To whatever end? Right.” Angry tears streaked her face for what was definitely not the first time. “I’ve listened around enough that I learned my funeral is tomorrow.” She didn’t even know what she was doing anymore, besides pacing on a roof and shrieking at the sky. “Maybe I’ll stop in, I’ve always wanted to see my own funeral.” She jabbed an angry finger at a star she had deemed was Rowan’s stand-in. “I hope you make it worthy of me, you bastard. Gods, I hope you know me enough to make it as me as you can.” She blew a kiss at that star and something in her cracked, “I love you, Rowan Whitethorn. I shouldn’t, not anymore, but I do.”

She pulled her glamor back on and jumped down from the roof, landing on her feet with practiced ease. “Let’s see if I can make my own funeral, hmm?”

~~~~~~

It was as outrageous as Aelin would have wanted. Everyone was miserable, even those within the inner circle who knew what had really happened. Most everyone was here, except for all the royals within Erilea, and every other land Aelin had touched.

Music flourished from every corner, musicians from all over had come to play pieces for her, in honor of her. It was like some kind of twisted wedding, the way everyone turned when the royals entered. The leaders that Aelin had not known as personally entered first, stopping individually to give impersonal speeches about her. Then Galan entered. He knelt before the basically-shrine honoring her. “You were one of the greatest Queens this world has ever seen, cousin.” He cleared his throat, “You were so much more than all your titles give you credit for, and that’s saying a lot. You were so full of life and energy and,” A broken laugh. “Fire. You burned bright, Aelin. And now that you’re ash, we’re ash too.” He cleared his throat again and stayed kneeling next to the other leaders, murmuring words meant only for him and his cousin.

Manon entered next, she knew the truth but despite that, her eyes were rimmed an angry red. She stood next to Galan, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.” She went silent for a moment before sinking to her knees. Everyone gasped. Family knelt, but other than that no leader, especially not a witch, knelt. “You-” She broke off and bowed her head, curling her hands into fists at her side.

When it was clear Manon wasn’t going to finish, Dorian entered. He knelt beside Manon (cue another gasp) his mouth moved, but it was only for him and Aelin. The goodbye he hadn’t had the chance to say in that forest.

Nesryn and Sartaq strode in, Sartaq didn’t speak, but Nesryn did. Her voice carried, unwavering. “No King or Queen is perfect, but Aelin was pretty damn close. She and I were never the closest but,” She hesitated and Sartaq reached for her hand, “She believed in me. She never looked down on me because I was human, and wasn’t in any huge position of power, and that faith in me never changed even when I became,” She gestured at her and Sartaq, at her dress, “Aelin mattered in a way that not many people have ever mattered. She will be remembered, for her fire and power, for what she’s done, but also how she has a soft spot for dogs and chocolate,” A few wet laughs, “How she loves music and theater, how kind she is to everyone.” The crowd nodded their agreement, there wasn’t a soul that wasn’t crying. “You did it. You made your mark.” She bowed her head and it was clear she was done.

Rowan was last, Goldryn in his hands. He laid in with pain-staking gentleness at her shrine. He stepped back and opened his mouth as if about to speak. His fingers fiddled with the ring on one finger. The ring Aelin had given him that he hadn’t taken off. That he would never take off. “Damn you,” He said finally. “Damn you, Aelin.” He bowed his head to hide from the crowd and someone moved, Elide. She came up to him, murmured a few quiet words, and led him to kneel next to Sartaq. She waited a few moments before returning to her spot.

The music rose as everyone knelt, heads bowed, before their dead Queen. It was ghostly, the way they knelt in total silence, besides their tears. Aelin was going to haunt everyone, for a very, very long time.

If anyone had been looking, they would have seen a female figure in the trees, slipping away as quietly and quickly as she could, tears flowing freely at the love everyone held for her.

“Goodbye,” She whispered. Well, looks like she could make a graceful disappearance after all.

[slasherholic]

Synopsis: When you get kidnapped by another murderer, Michael shows up to reclaim what is his.

Territorial | Part One | Michael Myers x Reader

“Three teens found dismembered, decapitated,” states the impassive newspaper headline in bold, black lettering. Your eyes flash with unease as you lean in closer to the kitchen counter to devour the article. You grip the hot mug in your hands tighter.

“Authorities discovered the remains of three seperate bodies on Tuesday afternoon after local residents called in complaints about a ‘rancid smell coming from the woods’.”

Atop the counter, your coffee maker sputters and whirrs suddenly. You startle. The hot tea in your mug sloshes out onto the granite and a sudden tightness blossoms in your gut. 

At one point in your life you may have ignored the feeling of eyes on the back of your head—cold, observant eyes, watching from some unseen place with the patience of a hungry animal—but you are not so foolish anymore.

You bite your lip as you peer over your shoulder. As your eyes dart across the kitchen, you see...

Nothing. You are alone. 

Michael couldn’t have gone far, though. After all, the coffee you’re making is not for yourself.

The coffee maker gives another, deeper whine, and dark liquid jets out, steam rising and dancing as it fills the cup beneath. As you skim the gory details of the article you take a long sip of your own drink. Its warmth sits like a rock in your stomach and a pang of nausea threatens to bring it back up.

You know what Michael is—you know what he is capable of. You do not for a second doubt that he is capable of this; but acceptance of that fact does little to lift the clammy feeling from your skin.

You are only half paying attention as you reach for the creamer and begin to pour it into the coffee cup, your eyes still glued to the paper.

You set the creamer down. And a large hand comes down around your wrist. 

The gasp that leaves your throat is almost a scream. You jerk violently away from the counter, grazing the cup with your elbow, nearly sending it toppling—but you don’t get any further than that. Michael’s body looms behind you, solid as a brick wall. With a step forward he traps you against the counter. His pelvis brushes against your stomach—Too close. 

You gawk up at his face. He stares right back. The stark dissatisfaction in his eyes is as clear as day.

His second arm comes down to rest atop the smooth countertop, boxing you in, cutting off any possibility of escape.

Not enough. Says Michael’s glare, transcending words. More.

More creamer, you know he means. Michael wants more creamer in his coffee.

Your brow furrows in a pout, but wisely, you obey him. Michael’s grip on your wrist doesn’t ease up even as you lift the carton again, and you pour, and you pour... until the liquid threatens to spill over the lip of the mug.

At last the adamant fingers around your arm go slack, the hot hand retreating. Michael is satisfied. 

But his invasion of your personal space continues. 

Still you are pinned between his body and the kitchen counter, his arms on either side of you, caging you. You pout expectantly up at him.

“Are you going to let me go or not?”

But Michael isn’t even looking at you anymore. Instead his watchful stare is fixated on the granite countertop—on the newspaper. You study his eyes as they flit back and forth across the page. 

Oh, you realize. He’s reading.

You’ve always liked to watch Michael read. Reading falls under that category of mundane activities which you find all-too amusing to catch him in the act of—much like sleeping, or eating, or drinking coffee with too much creamer. In any other circumstance you would have stuck around to watch.

But as you stand peering up at his face, what you see flashing in Michael’s pale eyes makes your stomach churn. 

It is subtle. Even so, you cannot miss it; you see the same look on his face each and every time he finds a new way to make you squirm. 

Intrigue. Curiosity. Gruesome fascination.

You draw a deep, slow breath, one that doesn’t quite reach your lungs. Michael’s body is pressing in too close. You’re suffocating. 

You duck beneath his arm. To your immense relief he makes no move to stop you—and you flee the kitchen with your mug gripped tightly in your hands, more than happy to surrender the newspaper if it will keep Michael’s attention off of you for awhile. 

For the present moment, you can’t stomach the sight of that ice-cold gaze any longer.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. You catch no further sign of Michael’s presence, save for the discovery of his empty coffee mug, which you find perched haphazardly on the bottom step of your staircase. As you draw your bath and sink down into the heated water you consider the likelihood that the cup was placed there for you to trip over. 

It’s a possibility you aren’t ruling out.

From beyond the sloshing of the running faucet you recognize the distinct, shrill whine of your front door creeping open. Michael. You always leave the door unlocked for him—a locked door would just be borrowing trouble. He’d find a way in anyway, and then there’d be hell to pay. Not worth it.

The breath that tumbles from your mouth is long and weary. You squeeze your eyes shut tight and try to savor the gentle pull of the bathwater at your skin while you still can.

At the steady approach of Michael’s boots climbing the stairs, an uncomfortable heat wells between your legs like clockwork. Your body is well accustomed to Michael’s routine. You know what he wants—you know not to fight him. 

You tilt your head back until it rests against smooth tile and you imagine how he’ll take you tonight. He’ll probably do it right here. He’ll probably shove you face-first into the towel you’ve set out on the floor. Or bend you over the sink. Or seize your body up against the wall.

However it happens, you know one thing for certain; you’ll need another bath when Michael is through with you.

You hear the squeak of his footsteps stop at the edge of hallway where hard-wood meets tile. He lingers at the entrance to the bathroom. You open your eyes and look up at him. 

Your stomach nearly leaps out of your chest.

It’s not Michael.

The masked man staring back at you from the hallway is not Michael.

Oh my god, it’s not Michael.

For a moment you think your heart stops beating. Your body is frozen. You can do nothing but gape across the room at the man who stands staring at your naked body from behind a shoddy resin mask, yellow and entirely featureless, save for the eyeholes. A hacksaw hangs from the man’s belt. A rivulet of blood trickles down its jagged edges. You watch it drip and drop all the way down to the white bathroom tile.

When your heart starts again, panic sears through your veins like fire.

You understand. You understand why Michael had been so intrigued by the newspaper article. 

He had not been admiring his own work—no.

Merely studying up on the competition.

~

The bathroom. The girl is in the bathroom. He stands at the bottom of the stairs and he hears the faucet running and sees the yellow light flooding the top of the steps. 

His hot breath curls past his lips and beats against the inside of the mask. The burn at his groin pulses; a festering ache. Ignored; until now.

 He takes the steps slowly. He knows which steps creak. He skips them. The girl will be listening for him. She will be alert. And it will not be enough. She hears only what he allows her to hear. Tonight he has allowed no warning.

He approaches the bathroom. The door is open. His knife catches the light and its metal gleams sharply and wetly. The blood on his hands has made the handle slippery. His fingers curl and grip it tighter. Tighter. Until his knuckles turn white.

He steps into the light and stands in the doorway and looks. He looks at the empty tub. At the running faucet. He breathes. 

There is no girl here.

The bath water is overflowing. It cascades down the edge of the tub and races towards his boots. He tilts his head downward and looks at the floor. There are splotches of red staining the tile. Blood. From his knife.

No; not from his knife. The blood is not fresh. It has begun to cake around the edges.

He stares at the tile and the words from the newspaper play in the faintest whisper through his mind. He turns and leaves the bathroom.

He searches the house. He searches every room. He does not find the girl.

Downstairs, he notices the back door. It is wide open. In the backyard, he sees the heavy footprints in the mud. Footprints leading into the woods. They were not made by the girl. They are large. Large enough to be his own.

...But they are not his own.

He lifts his head and stares out into the treeline. Out into the darkness.

His strong heart dances in his chest. He starts for the woods and his fingers curl around the slippery handle of his blade in ravenous anticipation. 

What is his has been stolen. He will get it back. He will have one more kill tonight.

~

The coldness prodding at your dripping, naked body is the type that penetrates through flesh and muscle and bone. You throw your head back and you scream again. The screams rip through your throat one after the next and the dark woods looming around you swallow them like a hungry beast. The trees are sneering, jesting figures. They look on in taunting silence as grubby hands shove you down into a bed of damp soil. Clumps of dirt tangle in your hair and get in your eyes and in your mouth, and you can taste the bitter earth on your tongue as you thrash and claw, your tied wrists flailing, nails seeking any inch of your attacker’s flesh.

This man is a different breed of monster than Michael is. It is a fact you discovered as soon as he had managed to wrestle your flailing body from the tub and drag you from the bathroom, down the stairs, and out the back door. 

You knew, as he dragged you deep into the trees, as he took his hand away from your mouth when your screams were out of earshot from the surrounding suburbs, as he recovered a stash of rope from beneath a log and lashed your hands and feet together and you could see the corners of his lips peeking out from behind his mask, raised in a grin, you knew without a shred of doubt—this man is not looking for a quick kill to satiate his appetite.

Sentences from the newspaper article sear through your mind; Victims found dismembered. Decapitated.

A conflicting mixture of relief and despair floods your heaving chest—you don’t know whether to lament or rejoice that your death won’t be by Michael’s hand.

The man kneels down to join you in the dirt. He digs his knee hard into your stomach to stop your flailing. You scream at him like a wild animal. His hand reaches toward your face. He presses a hot, grimy finger to your lips. From behind his mask comes a shushing sound.

You lurch forward and your teeth sink deep into his hand.

The beefy figure reels back with a startled grunt—the sound is beyond satisfying. You pay for it the very next second. His curled fist sails through the air and connects with your jaw and your head snaps backward and your vision floods with stars.

The hacksaw hangs on the man’s belt. The serrated edge flashes in the silvery moonlight when he unclips it. Your head is still ringing when you feel the cold metal sear into the skin of your bare chest, just above your breasts. The pain is white-hot. You can feel the blood boiling up in the blade’s wake, a molten scarlet stream that tickles as it rolls down your sides.

The serrated edge is introduced to the flesh of your arms. You writhe. But the weight of the knee on your stomach keeps you pinned. The saw meets your thighs. Everywhere it falls it draws blood. Not enough to bleed you out. But enough that you can smell it. It is thick and coppery and sickly sweet.

 Like an architect fussing over his blueprints, the man is mapping out where he intends to mangle you.

“You’re making the worst mistake of your life.” You spit, and though your voice is trembling your words are sharp and furious. 

“The last mistake you’ll ever make. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

You don’t intend to change the outcome of this encounter—you just want him to know. To know what’s coming, and to dread it.

“You have no idea.” You repeat, and grit your teeth. “No idea.”

You are more than a little shocked when the man freezes above you, saw raised threateningly over your ankle in preparation for the next cut. He stills like a snapshot picture. Drops of cooling blood roll off the dingy red saw and plink against your skin. Some of it is yours. Some of it is not.

“Tell me then.” The man whispers. 

You glare up at him through your furious tears. A predator, you want to tell him. The purest predator. The hungriest predator. The predator that lives to kill, and not the other way around. The predator that most likely already has your scent. 

Your eyes harden perilously.

“You can ask him yourself when he gets here.” 

The man throws his head back and laughs. It is a snorting, sneering, mocking chortle. It sounds like an out of breath jogger gasping for air. It makes you see red. You can’t bear to look at him for another second.

You look past him. Out at the trees. 

And there, in the thicket and tangle—

—a shape.

You could be imagining it. Your woozy, panic-stricken brain could be inventing boogeymen in the dark. You wrinkle your eyes and squint into the wall of blackness.

You think at first that it is a stag. No, too large. The dark shape is monumental. It glides like a phantom between the low-hanging branches. It makes no sound. Gives no sign that it is drawing nearer, unseen, sweeping forward as surely as a surging tide. Its approach is inevitable. It will not be stopped. It cannot be stopped.

You marvel in wide-eyed wonder at the unseen predator stalking nearer. The stark white of the mask appears like a shark from the blackness—the pale face of death itself.

Michael’s approach is perfectly silent. The deadened leaves beneath his feet do not crunch and crackle. The hunt is his art and he has perfected it. You have been on the receiving end of the hunt countless times; and now, to witness its motions as a passive observer is the rarest privilege of all. 

There is an astonishing grace in the way that Michael raises his knife high into the air. An elegant beauty in the way it cuts a clean arch downward and soars eagerly toward its prey.

The man above you laughs, oblivious. 

And Michael’s knife plunges through his throat. Clean through one side and right out the other. 

A fine red mist sprays against your face. The man’s chortling laugh becomes a wet gurgle, the gargling of a drain. Your eyes are glued to the scene in morbid fascination. You don’t want to look away.

Michael’s deadly hands seize the back of the man’s head. The crack of skull hitting the wood of the nearest tree is sickening. The resin mask on the man’s face shatters in half down the middle, the pieces toppling to the dirt.

You catch the man’s eyes. They are bulbous and frantic and wild. He is clueless as to what horrible beast has pounced and sunk its claws in deep. The only certainty is his death. The monster is going to devour him whole.

See? Your own glare sneers at him. Didn’t I tell you?

Michael is relentless. The man’s skull meets wood again. And again. And again. Until bone shatters. Until the tree trunk is stained dark. Until there is no more sickening crack—just a squelch.

You scramble out of the way as Michael lets the man’s body crumple to the soil. He leans down and reaches for his knife, his fingers furling around the handle. The blade is still buried in flesh and muscle and bone and the ripping sound as he tears it free makes your stomach flip-flop. A fountain of scarlet jets up from the ruined corpse and paints Michael’s fingers with a fresh coat of blood.

Michael straightens up. He seems to stare down at the body in the dirt and at the soil muddying into a rust-red color beneath it. He stares for what feels like an eternity. You watch him and you wonder how many seconds are left on the ticking clock of your status as a passive observer, counting down to the moment that his attention shifts, and you yourself become the prey.

Your clock runs out. Michael’s head turns, slowly. He looks down at you.

His mask is sheet-white in the silvery moonlight. Your shuddering breaths rush in and out of your nostrils and you remember that you are naked and wet and freezing. The mask’s empty stare is bitterly cold. You scour the black pits of its eyeholes and find only more blackness. It is shockingly easy to forget that there is a face beneath it.

A thought occurs to you—one that you are quick to shove deep down each and every time it surfaces because you do not care to give it a voice.

The mask is Michael’s true face. And his facade of humanity beneath it, the costume.

You want nothing more than to curl up in a ball and hide the fresh markings on your skin from his scrutinizing glare. He is examining you. You can feel his penetrating eyes on the screaming, stinging cuts on your shoulders and on your thighs, can feel it lingering on your bare breasts. Michael sees it all. Every mark on your body. Marks that are not his own. 

 A horrible realization rattles through your mind. Bile threatens the back of your ravaged throat.

You are tainted meat. Michael will not want you after this.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight and draw a shuddering gasp. The gasp turns into a sob. You turn your face so he cannot see you and you cry into the damp soil and it is more than crying—it leaves you barren and desolate and empty. It is heartbreak. And it is colder than death.

The sudden burn of Michael’s hot, wet fingers on your skin is almost too much to bear. A solid arm slips beneath your back—another one gathers up your legs. You shiver fiercely. Dozens of goosebumps spring to life on your clammy skin. You wait to be slung over his shoulder like an object. 

Instead, when Michael stands and plucks you from the damp dirt, the strong arms cradling your body pull you snug and tight into the core of his burning chest. And you are an object, yes, but in this moment you are not just any object.

You are Michael’s prized possession. 

You bury your face deep into his shoulder and your tears are no longer heartbreak. You wish he had cut the bindings on your wrists so that you could throw your arms around his neck and hug his body closer. Instead, your quivering fingers find the flared collar of his coveralls. You grip the fabric tightly, as tightly as a frightened child clutching a blanket, and the crisp night air sweeps around you as Michael carries you through the woods, and it is cold, but Michael’s body burns hotter.

[toastedqueso]

Mocha Madness

Pairing: Jaemin x Original Female Character | Reader

Other Characters: Renjun, Jeno

Genre: Coffee Shop AU, Fluff

Warnings: Slight swearing

Word Count: 1k

Summary: The cute barista with the pastel pink hair catches Sophie’s eye. Unfortunately for her taste buds, he keeps making her the wrong drink.

Random Word Generator Prompt:

Must be about Jaemin

Must contain these words: Organ, Main, Mutual

Word limit: 1000 words (it’s slightly longer)

A/N: This is part of the Random Word Generator Challenge with a friend. It’s slightly over the word limit, but if you round down, it’s 1k. Oops.

“What the hell? This is NOT my drink!” Sophie slams her coffee back on the counter. She doesn’t have time for this today. Midterms are coming up and she needs her fix of caffeine immediately so that she can be on her way to academic hell. Dream Cafe is her favorite campus coffee shop and to her dismay her study session hell was beginning even before she opened a book. 

The pastel pink haired barista casually walks over to the counter. JAEMIN, his name tag states, picks up her cup and reads the label on the cup.

“Hmm it says ‘Sophie’. You’re Sophie, right?” Jaemin raises his eyebrow at Sophie. 

“Yes, I’m Sophie, but that’s not the mocha I ordered,” Sophie huffs, folding her arms across her chest. She isn’t going to back down just because he’s a cute barista. 

Jaemin takes off the lid and takes a sip of her offensive drink. He smiles and says, “Oh you’re right, it’s not a mocha.”

“You can’t just take a sip of a customer’s drink!” Sophie complains. There had to be hygiene guidelines that forbid this, she thinks. “And how the hell are you even drinking that dirt water?” 

“It’s delicious dirt water. It’s definitely perfect for cleansing your organs from free radicals,” Jaemin defends before he chugs the whole drink.

“What’s going on here?” The cashier walks over to the commotion before Sophie can continue her fight with Jaemin.

“Your buddy here made me the wrong drink then chugged it,” Sophie complains, hoping Renjun can remedy the situation quickly.

“Hey! I didn’t want this perfectly good coffee I made to go to waste!” Jaemin defends his actions.

Renjun, the cashier, sighs and shoves Jaemin back towards the espresso machine.

“Sorry about that. You must have fallen prey to his experimental drinks. He’ll make your drink right this time. I’ll give you some pastries on the house to make up for this.”

Renjun packs a few croissants and a slice of red velvet cake then hands them to Sophie. Even if this is cutting into her studying time, Sophie can’t complain about free pastries. She nibbles on a croissant while she cautiously watches Jaemin make her a new drink. He looks focused while making her mocha, which makes her heart flutter. Jaemin looks cute when he scrunches his nose while pouring in the steamed milk and his pastel pink hair brushes his eyelashes when he blinks. If she had met him under different circumstances, she maybe would have wanted to get to know him better. While she’s daydreaming of possible alternate meetings with Jaemin, he places the newly brewed cup in front of Sophie.

“Here you go!” Jaemin announces.

Sophie cautiously takes a sip and nods - her drink tastes like a mocha. A few moments later, however, she’s hit with a burning aftertaste.

“What the hell is that? It burns!” Sophie gags and shoves a few napkins in her mouth to wipe out the burning sensation. Her reaction sends Jaemin into a laughing fit.

“Ah yes! I was wondering when you’d taste the main ingredient! Tabasco!” Jaemin claps.

“What the hell? Are you a fucking demon?” Sophie takes the napkins out of her mouth and takes a sip of water. She might think he’s cute, but he was definitely a demon.

“OH MY GOD JAEMIN! YOU HAD ONE JOB!” Renjun grabs Jaemin’s arm and shoves him back to the espresso machine.

“Jeno, watch Jaemin. We can’t lose our regular customers,” Renjun shouts over to Jeno, forcing him to cut his break short.

Sophie keeps her eyes glued on Jaemin this time. Even if Jeno is watching over Jaemin, he could be his sidekick in this torture scheme. Fortunately, this time he seems to be taking all the right steps with the necessary ingredients only - chocolate syrup, espresso and steamed milk. Jaemin places a lid on the mocha and smiles at Sophie.

“Here you go! A mocha fit for a queen,” Jaemin carefully places the newly brewed cup in front of Sophie before he bows.

Sophie eyes her drink carefully before taking a sip. This time it tastes like a mocha, probably one of the best mochas she’s ever had, but she wasn’t about to let this demonic barista know that.

“Thanks,” Sophie curtly replies.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Jaemin bows again. 

“May I make a peace offering for your troubles?”

“‘Troubles’ is an understatement. Besides, I think you’ve made me enough things,” Sophie argues, causing Jaemin to laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make anything. My hands will be nowhere near it!” Jaemin raises his hands.

“Fine, what is it?” Sophie takes another sip of her mocha. Yes, this is definitely the best mocha she’s ever had.

“How about I treat you to dinner?” Jaemin puts on his most innocent pleading face.

Sophie’s eyes widen before she schools her face. She hadn’t expected this to be some elaborate, but twisted, plan for her to notice him.

“Fine. But I get to pick the place. Take me to the new Udon restaurant downtown.”

“Perfect! Friday at 7? It’s a date.” Jaemin winks.

Sophie hands Jaemin her phone and he types his number in and saves his contact under “Nananana Jaeminniiiiie 🐰 🥰  ”. She raises her eyebrow when she sees his contact name.

I’ll ask him later, she thinks to herself. If his drinks were anything to go by, she was sure there was a chaotic explanation for the contact name.

“Stop flirting and make these drinks!” Renjun shouts at Jaemin from the cash register. The people in line give them a mix of bemused and annoyed looks. Jaemin laughs and sends Sophie a flying kiss.

“By the way, if you weren’t such a demon, I’d tell you I like your hair,” Sophie says as Jaemin takes a step towards the espresso machine.

“I know. It’s irresistible,” Jaemin turns to Sophie and dramatically combs his fingers through his hair.

Sophie rolls her eyes and heads to an empty table to finally start studying. She looks up to see Renjun scolding Jaemin while he’s cackling. Who knew the cute weirdo with the pastel pink hair had mutual feelings for her, even if he had a funny way of showing it.