#i hope you enjoy these choices- they came to me relatively easy i should note haha

[bebemoon]

you always find the most amazing gifts and your gift game is such a unique presence on my dash! my favorite colors are lavender, dusty pink, off white, and black. sending you wishes for a very Merry Christmas! xx ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

harlot hands “spine sword” silver, steel and pearl choker necklace . dilara findikoglu “court” corset w/ raw hem in dusty pink/grey . vintage crucifix folding knife [“god protect” inscribed on reverse]

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“���”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

[sukumen]

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him. 

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.  

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next. 

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ] 

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you  and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ] 

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay. 

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him. 

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave.  With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be. 

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether. 

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone. 

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after. 

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus. 

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to. 

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak. 

[ ... ] 

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?” 

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.” 

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely. 

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him. 

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.” 

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed --  and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance. 

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers. 

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home. 

[illneverrecover]

the sweetest thing (M) | myg

➛pairing: Min Yoongi x reader ➛genre: florist!Yoongi, baker!Reader, florist AU, baker AU, enemies to lovers, humor, smut. ➛word count: 4799 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: not too many, this is pretty sweet & soft. Heavy petting, cursing, making out, neck kissing, biting/marking, icing used in a dirty manner, implied sex, mild dirty talk, bad puns, witty banter. ➛summary: Min Yoongi was sure you moved in next door to his floral shop just to ruin him and his business. But when he needs your help, he realizes that it’s much sweeter working together then apart. ➛notes: Hehehe. My sweet little angel bb Paril requested some florist shop Yoongi E2L with baker reader, and I just had to oblige. I love writing Yoongi, he truly just is perfect for me to channel sass and sarcasm and a bit of sweetness. Thank you for commissioning me @serensama​ (and the kind bank of @quinnkook​), I hope you enjoy this and that it’s what you were looking for! I love you tons and I’m proud to be your soulmate. 🖤 ➛song: People - AGUST D for the sweet fluff  & Poison - GOT7  for the dirty dirty.

“She’s doing this on purpose.”

“No she isn’t, hyung. That doesn’t make sense.” Namjoon picks up a rose, twirling it in inspection. “Does she even know you exist?”

Yoongi scoffs then, eyes darting from the arrangement in front of him to glare at Namjoon. “Of course she knows I exist. Our shops share a wall.”

Instead of replying, Namjoon rolls his eyes before refocusing, carefully watching the stem as his hand slides the knife down it to remove any thorns. Yoongi accepts his silence as defeat, puffing his chest. “So, like I was saying - she’s doing this on purpose, and she’s going to bleed me dry.”

The door swings open then, Hoseok and Jungkook both moving to the workstations with arms full of supplies, the latter’s eyes wide as he picks up on the conversation.

“Wait! Are you talking about Y/N noona?”

“Yes, and how she’s killing business-”

“Isn’t she just the coolest?!” Jungkook interrupts, beaming over at Yoongi. “Have you seen the designs for her flower cookies? And how she’s selling twelve of them in a pack and calling them ‘coo-quets’? Get it? Like instead of-”

“Bouquets, yes Jungkook, I get the pun.” Yoongi mutters dryly, setting the finished arrangement in it’s vase and sliding it to the side. Hoseok is laughing, so hard in fact that he misses Yoongi picking up a roll of tape until it beams him in the head.

“Hey! What was that for!” rubbing his crown, he glares at the florist before reluctantly picking up the tape, fixing the customer label to the side of the vase before moving it over to the fridge. “Don’t be violent with me just because you have the hots for the pretty baker next door.”

Yoongi sputters, hand slapping the top of the table. “I do not have the hots for-”

“Yeah yeah, we know, you definitely aren’t into Y/N, at all,” Namjoon deadpans, reaching into the box for his next rose to dethorn. “You don’t find her attractive, you didn’t stalk her and pretend to be a customer just so you could see inside her business, absolutely nothing to see here.”

“Your sarcasm is noted and also not appreciated,” Yoongi sniffs, before turning away from the taller man all together. “All I’m saying is, ever since she moved into that building, she’s caused issues. And now this is how she decides to promote for the Spring Blossom festival? It feels like an attack.”

“But hyung, it’s called the ‘Spring Blossom Festival’, I think leaning towards flowers would be kind of an obvious choice, right?” Jungkook prompts, head tilting in naive innocence. 

Yoongi sighs heavily, head dropping to his chest, and wonders not for the first time why he thought hiring his friends to work with him was a good idea. 

Maybe Jungkook had a point; maybe they all did. But that wasn’t enough to convince Yoongi that your motives were all sincere in nature. He was telling the truth when he said that ever since you had moved in next door, things had gone haywire for his small, locally loved floral shop. 

He had only been in the space for about a year, but the street it was on had picked up in popularity with a new pub and restaurant concept on the corner, and a local farmers market moving in on the weekends. Quickly, his little business grew, people coming to him when seeking unique arrangements that were both beautiful and affordable. As demand increased, so did the need to hire more hands, and his friends had been enthusiastic to join his payroll. 

For the most part, things had been smooth sailing.Training the others had been relatively easy, and what shortcomings they had, he was able to find a new strength they each brought to the business. He was comfortable, thriving, going to bed with a full belly and fat wallet, and it’s all he could ask for.

Until you.

Yoongi didn’t even see you until after you had already bought and renovated the building next door, the sign for your bakery going up and accenting the coral pink of the painted brick perfectly. He had thought it was cute; how bright and cheery your shop looked, how you were always dressed in flattering sundresses and heels, despite spending your days in a kitchen baking. He walked past your place daily to get to his own, and had found himself curious about what you were like, how good your food was, how successful you’d be.

He figured the aesthetic alone would bring in some customers, if not the increased foot traffic the farmers market brought in, and he wasn’t wrong. Your soft opening had gone well, a small line forming outside the building to Yoongi’s amusement. Word of mouth worked like a charm in your neighborhood, and a steady flow of regulars would greet him on his trek into work each morning at sunrise as they awaited their breakfast pastry and hot cup of coffee.

While this was great for you, it wasn’t so good for him. Your customers would always line up in the direction where they would block his window, meaning people walking by couldn’t get a glimpse at the creations he had displayed in the windows. Not to mention the littering - flurries of light brown napkins with your logo stamped in the middle usually lining the street in front of the shops, seemingly taunting him.

And then, the festival came. The Spring Blossom Festival, to be exact. 

It was clever, he’d admit that much. The word play of ‘cookie’ and ‘bouquet’, the different color options of the edible flowers painstakingly drawn onto perfectly baked sugar cookies. You had really put thought and effort into the design, and he wasn’t surprised that it seemed to be a hit, dominating the first several days of the festival.

But that didn’t mean he liked it.

He watched helplessly as his sales dipped, as customers that would’ve wanted the real thing instead switched it up for prettily decorated consumable flowers, all cooing and preening over the treats in their matching boxes.

Yoongi had to retaliate. What else was there for him to do?

After watching you hang neon pink flyers up around the street, he had made some as well, deciding he’d place them conveniently directly over your own. Matching the paper to yours had been Namjoon's suggestion, and Yoongi had thought it was genius. That seemed to bring in a few more customers, but the lull still remained, his till and bank account making it painfully apparent.

It had been Jungkook's idea to photo bomb some of your promotional pictures when he spotted you posing in front of the shop, pristine desserts in hand and a floral dress on to match. Yoongi had shook his head but ultimately agreed, handing him one of his best designed bouquets and nudging him towards your bakery. Trying to make it look natural, he strolled back and forth in the background, making sure the flowers in his hand were always towards the camera, that he looked as if he was enjoying the festival as a patron. After about the fifth pass through, the boxy lipped young man taking your pictures had scowled, shouting after him to get out of the way. You had laughed, invited Jungkook to talk with you, even posted one of the pictures with him in it on your Instagram like it hadn’t phased you at all.

Now, here he was with only two more days left of the festival - a time that he should be making double - and with nothing more to show for it. Pre-made and custom bouquets lined the shop windows, hoping to entice anyone passing by, but most remained untouched and without a home to go to.

He was desperate.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Hoseok interjects, an eyebrow raised. "Maybe you can explain what's happening, see if she'd be willing to help out or team up or something."

Scoffing loudly, Yoongi kicks at the ground. "Team up? You think I want to team up with her? This is a serious business I run here, you know."

Hoseok gives Namjoon a passing glance over the blonde's head, not that he notices, too stuck inside his thoughts. It's Jungkook's loud voice that breaks the silence once more.

"Y/N noona is really nice, you know. And her cookies are so yummy, I bet she would love to help us!"

"You've tried her cookies, Jungkook?!" Yoongi’s voice raises, incredulous. "This is a sudden yet inevitable betrayal, you know. It really be your own friends."

"Seriously, Yoongi. You think she's cute anyway. Might as well go over under the pretense of business and at least see if you can score her number." Namjoon deadpanned, dropping his knife and making sure to show him every ounce of pleading desperation on his face.

Yoongi ponders for a beat or two, pretending to mull it over all the while recognizing that it couldn't hurt anything to go chat with his new neighbor, introduce himself. Who knows, maybe there was a deal to be made?

You thought he was so cute, the grumpy little florist next door.

His mouth was perpetually in a pout, bottom lip upturned enough that it made him look like he was always inspecting, always exasperated. His eyes were sharp, but not in a judgmental way - more like in the way where you knew nothing went past his scrutinizing gaze, and they were offset by the soft white blonde of his hair, in the refined silver hoops that lined his ears. 

Your neighbor Yoongi was a walking contradiction, and you couldn’t help but to be charmed by him.

You had heard rumors about him, heard people's worries of you moving into the building next to his very popular floral shop, but you didn't pay them any mind. You had yet to meet someone that you couldn't make a friend, and if he was impervious to your charms, he definitely wouldn't be able to deny your best coworker, Taehyung, and his infectious personality.

But despite your attempts, you always seemed to miss him, unable to properly introduce yourself when he bustled by during the morning rush, or when you were cleaning up shop. It didn't stop you from observing, from watching the way he eyed your building, the way he'd upturn his lip at the line forming outside the door at daybreak.

He seemed so easily ruffled, so annoyed but in this endearing way, and you couldn't help but want to get to know him, to see if you could get him to open up.

Especially once he started his attempts at sabotage.

They had been subtle at first - the flyer trick something you wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for Jin, who made sure to check and replace any torn advertisements at the end of each day. The designs had looked so similar that you didn't even double take until the elder had pointed out the word change, how the name of Yoongi's business adorned the top of the page. Jin's eyes were ablaze, but you had just laughed, instructing him to leave the ones he found alone.

But it made you more curious, further intrigued by your flower selling neighbor who took such lengths to garner business, and you couldn't help but want to see what he did next.

It had been Taehyung that grumbled about some tall dark haired boy ruining all your promotional shots, though he had smirked the whole time he showed you the images you ended up with. You recognized that he was a worker at the florist next door almost immediately, the immaculate arrangement he carried carefully in his hands striking your intuition further.

Finally, Taehyung had shouted at him, and you called the boy over to introduce himself despite his red cheeks and ducking gaze. You learned his name was Jungkook and that he was indeed a coworker and friend of Yoongi’s, and that he was just trying to help, though he wouldn't go into much more detail after that. You had chatted with him briefly, offering him a cookie for his troubles, and promised him that you weren’t mad about his attempts at photobombing.

And you were telling the truth - you really couldn't be annoyed at these attempts to thwart your advertising, instead laughing at each new picture, making sure you picked one where the bouquet was clearly visible behind you as you held an open box of 'coo-quets'.

It isn't hatred, you don't think, that drives your neighbor to do this, but you aren't quite sure where to go from here. He still hadn't introduced himself, and with how busy things were during the festival, you hadn't found the time to do the same either, working long hours to keep afloat with your orders and walk-ins. You wanted to ask him why he was so annoyed with you, what he had against your little bakery, but you told yourself there would be time for that later when the heat died down.

Not to mention, Taehyung had been chomping at the bit for an excuse to go introduce himself.

"Y/N," he whined, dragging the last syllable of your name out into an obnoxious tune. "I just want to go make friends! Why won't you let me?"

"Because someone needs to run the register for these customers, Tae. Jin and I are elbow deep in cookie dough, and Jimin can't run both sides of the counter himself."

The tall man sulks, bottom lip jutting out as his caramel hair flops into his face. "You have a point, I guess. But once the festival is done, I'm going to go introduce myself and invite them over for coffee."

You smile at him then, eyeing him from the corner of your vision as your hands continue to delicately trace colored icing on the cookies in front of you. "That sounds like a deal, Tae."

"Oh! Me too though!" Jimin shouts, turning from the counter to glance into the kitchen of your shop. Normally you'd have the doors to the kitchen closed, but with the day about to start, it made it easier to prop them open while you ran back and forth between the two stations. "I want to go say hi too. They look like really cool guys!"

I'd have to agree, you thought to yourself, picturing the sharp eyed man in your mind, but you stay silent.

To say you were startled when you heard a knock at the back door would be an understatement, even more so when you saw who it was - Yoongi, the pouting florist, blonde hair flopped into his face. He was wearing a fluffy white sweater, a dark green apron tied around his neck and waist, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, like he had been prepping for hours - much like you.

With a single look, you shooed the other men out of the kitchen to the front, opening the door to your guest.

"Well hey! You must be Yoongi, I'm-"

"Y/N."

"Oh, I didn't know you knew who I was!" you smile warmly, gesturing for him to step into the kitchen.

"Well, I had seen you move in, of course. Plus, Jungkook hasn't shut up since he met you," he mutters, shaking his hair out of his face as he took several steps inside. "He's like a stray cat, you know. Once you feed him, he's your friend for life."

That made you laugh, a hand rising to cover your mouth, and you couldn’t help the smirk that follows. "Well, he was too cute not to feed. Is that why you're here? Are you another stray who would like to be fed?"

Yoongi’s cheeks flush then, a dusty red that you think would look perfect in the petals of a rose, and you promise yourself to try to recreate it in frosting later.

“Ha, that’s funny,” he clears his throat, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Actually, I was coming to talk to you to see if we could make an arrangement, you know - as one business owner to another.”

“Is that so?” you raise a brow, hands resting at your hips. “And what kind of deal would that be?”

You're surprised at how honest Yoongi is when he explains his situation, lays his hardships bare before you right there in the stuffy heat of your kitchen. He does manage to at least look a little embarrassed when he admits what he did in order to ramp up business, and you can’t stop your heart from softening as he finishes his request, wringing his hands as he looks at you expectantly. 

“So, what you’re saying is - you want to work together, make something that the festival goers will love but will help both of our shops - is that right?”

He stands tall then, shoulders rolling back as his gaze pierces through your own. “That’s right. Think of it as a ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ type of deal.”

“Is this another cat analogy?”

Yoongi groans, and you giggle at the roll of his eyes. 

“I already regret this.”

Stepping closer, you peer up at the florist, watching the way his eyes widen at your proximity. “No, you don’t. And technically I think I’m doing all the scratching here, but that’s okay. I think we could make a good team, Min Yoongi.”

The event is crowded, more so than Yoongi could have ever imagined.

The tables he and you had placed in front of both buildings were stuffed with goods, the heads of your coworkers ducking back inside each entrance to refill them when they got low. Customers were milling about; some taking in the offerings, others lining up in wait to purchase, and the sheer number of people had Yoongi grinning widely.

It was your idea, of course - to offer up a half dozen flowers with a half dozen of cookies, the perfect set. That isn’t to say Yoongi didn’t help; the concept of decorating the tables and dressing formally to stand out being his own, as well as offering to match the flowers and cookies to each other. The red roses and pair set cookies were flying off the shelves fast, but so were the purple calla lilies and pink tulips, which made him smile. 

You had been more enthusiastic with the plan, gladly altering the designs of your ‘coo-quets’ to match, and it was clearly a smash hit. Yoongi thought back to how easily it had been to talk to you, to be honest, to spill his guts - how quickly you were willing to help, how natural it had been to form a plan, to laugh with you, and he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Yoongi was thrilled with the sales and popularity, of course, but found himself distracted despite the success. He was happy to see his employees grinning and getting along with your own, glad to see the till fill knowing that he’d be able to pay everyone on time, but more than anything, he was ecstatic to see you smile, to see you shine in the sunset pink summer dress that was brushing the tops of your knees.

He himself had donned some light grey dress pants with a white button down, the sleeves carefully rolled to expose his forearms, jacket long forgotten in the heat of the outdoors. You had beamed at him when he first arrived, nodding approvingly at his attire, and he couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his heart at your approval.

And now as the day wore on, every time his elbow knocked into yours, your bodies stepping and swaying as you worked, Yoongi felt a heat build; a sizzling lick of electricity that was sparking between the two of you that he couldn’t ignore.

“You know,” he leans in, mouth inches from your ear as you grin widely at a customer. “I think we do make a pretty good team, Y/N.”

He relishes in the way your skin warms, in the way he watches your cheeks blush so prettily at his words, and feels hopefulness tighten his chest. 

“We do, Min Yoongi, especially now that you aren’t actively trying to ruin me.” You grit between frozen teeth, your smile unwavering until the patron is out of hearing range. 

“Hey, I didn’t try to ruin anything-”

“Okay, how about ‘mildly inconvenience’ then?”

Chuckling, he raises an arm to rub at the back of his neck, and you follow the lines in his arm as he does so, watching the rippling of muscles beneath the cuff of his rolled up sleeve with interest. 

“I guess that’s fair.”

It was amazing how well things turned out, how fast the day had blown by. Jin had slaved away in the kitchen making sure that there were enough baked goods for everyone, Jimin and Taehyung teaming up with Jungkook and Hoseok from the florist shop to run items back and forth and greet customers. 

But it was Yoongi who had stolen the air from your lungs and any sense you had left rattling in your head. 

You could see now why his business had flourished before you arrived, why the customers continued to return to him when they needed their next arrangement. He was such a good and intent listener, his eyes sharp and focused on whomever was speaking to him. Even in the case of the event, where the flowers were pre-arranged, he still listened, shook and held the hand of each buyer as they spoke, fawning over his flowers. 

It was evident he was passionate about his business, which made the fact that he had been willing to do whatever it took - including partnering up with you - even more admirable.

 The sun was going down by the time things seemed to slow, your hands aching from the intricate icing work and feet throbbing from running around in heels. It seemed that everyone had satisfied smiles of hard work etched on their faces, and pleasant adoration inflated your gut at the sight, especially when you landed on Yoongi. 

The edges of his mouth had finally relaxed, his eyes creasing into half moons more and more as he laughed, stress leaving his body. It was a beautiful sight, if you could admit such a thing.

When the final customer waved goodbye, heading down to the main street for the firework finale of the festival, you left the giddy boys out front to begin cleaning, bones aching at the prospect of all the dishes that needed to be done, but not wanting to drag out the pain any longer than necessary.

“Need some help?” Yoongi was posed in the doorway, arm pressing against the jam, one leg crossed over the other, as if it was normal for him to be effortlessly handsome in sweaty bakery kitchens.

“That would be great,” you smirk, tilting your head. “I wash, you dry?”

And so that’s how you find yourself alone with Yoongi, sweat dotting his hairline as he gives you side glances and small talk over drying mixing bowls. You talk about everything and nothing, conversation flowing freely, and you feel drunk on his proximity, on the way he talks with his hands, the way his voice pitches when he laughs. His white button down is transparent in the spots where water had hit, and even the hint of a peak of his skin made you feel a bit dizzy. 

“Thank you for helping me with all of this, by the way. It would have taken hours to do by myself.”

“It’s no big deal. Plus, I’m sure one of those guys out there would’ve came back if you batted your lashes,” he leers, nodding to indicate the young men of both businesses that were currently playing around out front. “Especially Jungkook. He’s been all ‘Y/N noona this, Y/N noona that’ ever since he met you.”

Handing him a dish, you look up at him through your lashes, blinking coquettishly. “Well, can you blame him? I mean, just look at me. All this and I can cook? I’m the full package.”

You were joking; a teasing lilt to your voice as you refocused on the task at hand, but you could feel the intensity of his stare heating you thoroughly, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. 

“You really are,” he murmurs, voice low but clear, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re funny and talented and so smart that it’s kind of intimidating,” he looks back at the pot in his hand, drying it thoroughly before setting it aside. “But you’re also kind hearted, and willing to listen and help those in need, even when you barely know them.”

He turns then, stepping closer until his breath is fanning across your cheek, his arms caging you to the sink as you turn to face him fully. 

“Not to mention, you’re more beautiful than any flower I’ve ever seen.”

Dropping your head to stifle the giggles, you hear him wince loudly.

“That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

Nodding, you meet his eyes once more. “It was, but I have a few baking puns that will make you cringe.”

“Hit me with one.” 

Raising on your toes, you lean into him, tentatively placing a palm on his chest. “Is that a baguette in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

His shoulders start shaking before he lets out a loud laugh, smile widening to show his teeth in a way that made your heart flip. Catching his breath, he sighs, leaning to rest his forehead against yours.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Wanna find out?”

Kissing Min Yoongi was a whirlwind, a focused intensity pressed in a powerful dance of his mouth on yours. Your lips answered in kind effortlessly, needing no prompting to follow his lead, to pull his bottom lip between your teeth. Electricity sparks at the base of your skull with each touch of his pout, each lick of his tongue into your mouth, and you feel your knees threaten to give out as he cradles your jaw in his hand, holding you in place.

You aren’t sure when your hands had tangled in his hair, or when he had lifted you to straddle his waist, but you found yourself moving, his body twisting to place you on the cool metal surface of your work space. Hissing as the chill bit into your bare legs, you seek the warmth of his mouth harder, legs wrapping around his form to tug him closer to you, to grind your center against him. 

He’s hard, impossibly hard, and he’s whispering all the things he wants to do to you in the shell of your ear, promising all the things he’ll make you feel with his tongue, his cock. You pull him back to your mouth, kissing him deeper, gasping when he dips his finger in the open icing container on the table, dragging it from the edge of your lips down to your chest.

He trails down your throat, sucking and nipping a marked path to your collarbone, licking the frosting off as he goes -  as if it was the sweetest thing - until he reaches your breasts, cupping them. As you pant out groans of his name, you can’t help but think you’re glad that it’s Yoongi who’s hiking your dress up around your waist, that he is the first man to help you defile your quaint bakery’s kitchen, filling it with moans.

It isn’t until you stumble out just shy of an hour later hand in hand with Yoongi, smelling of sex with mussed hair and lips swollen, that you remember your coworkers - and that little window that shows the spacious floor plan of said kitchen. 

Taehyung is shaking his head, tsking quietly with his arm draped around Jungkook. “Shame on you, Y/N. Poor Kookie here was just trying to bring the tables inside to be helpful, and instead he got traumatized.”

Namjoon scoffs then, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t realize ‘getting a boner’ was now considered trauma.”

“Hey!” Jungkook yells, eyes darting between you and Yoongi. “You said you wouldn’t tell!”

Cheeks flushing, you stifle a giggle once more, looking over to the blonde man whose fingers were still intertwined tightly with your own. Instead of embarrassment, or concern, you just feel a giddy flush of joy as you lean into him.

Yoongi sighs, exasperated, free palm rising to rub at the back of his neck. “Remind me again why I don’t fire them?”

“Because you love them. And, they work for cheap.”

Chuckling, he turns towards you, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I always knew I liked you.”

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene Vol.5 Sakamaki Laito [Track 3]

Original title: 鏡の中に映るのは

Source: Diabolik Lovers Para-Selene Vol. 5 Sakamaki Laito [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here (26:35~37:53)

Seiyuu: Hirakawa Daisuke

Translator’s note: Three tracks in and Laito is finally starting to show that perhaps he doesn’t enjoy this situation quite as much as he initially thought. I’m honestly surprised that the MC is staying relatively calm being around this guy with none of her memories intact. I feel like she was much more scared in some of the other CDs. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was suffering from amnesia, Laito would be the last person on my list to spend time with lol. Anyway, I feel like the next track will be an emotional one so we might be in for a wild ride guys.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 3: Reflected in the Mirror is...

*Rustle*

“...Bitch-chan~ ...Bitch-chanー Wake up...Wakeー upー...~”

You slowly stir awake.

“Are you still sleepy-sleepy? (1) Good morning, Bitch-chan~ I didn’t think you would just faint on me back then. Although I suppose I’m in no position to judge you. I was overcome by dizzy spells as well, and by the time I came back to my senses, I found myself here.”

You look around.

“Seems like a House of Mirrors. Come on, take a look. Your anxious expression is reflected both on the walls and the ceiling...Nfufu~ Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

You try to escape his grip. 

*Rustle rustle*

“Oh come on, don’t throw a fuss! I’m being so kind to hold you in my arms! You should be a little more happy about it!”

You protest.

“Hmー I wouldn’t mind letting you go buuut...~ Either way, there’s no way of escape~”

Your eyes widen in horror.

“Fufu~ Your face of sheer despair excites me as well. Say, Bitch-chan? We were teleported here as part of the illusions created through your Paraselene Syndrome. Doesn’t that mean that deep down, you want me to tend to you here?”

You shake your head.

“Is that so? In that case...Shall we put it to the test?”

He pins you down.

*Thud*

“Come on, take a glance in the mirror. There’s a girl who seems anxious, unsure what I’ll do to her now that she is pinned down, yet at the same time, looks awfully eager, don’t you think? In the end, she ends up yearning for the pleasure. That girl...is you.”

Laito bites you.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“...Aah~ No running~ You have to look closely, without averting your gaze.”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Nn...At yourself, as you drown into the pleasure given to you by my fangs.”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Mm...Ah~ ...Oh dear? You’ve calmed down quite a bit, considering how loud you were screaming earlier. I knew it...You do feel good. Fufufu~ You really are such an easy girl, aren’t you~?”

You deny it.

“Fufu~ I’m not wrong. You’re a ‘Bitch-chan’ who just loves anything which pleasures you after all.”

 You insist that is not the case.

“Hmー You’re still denying it? Darn...I’m kind of sick and tired of having this discussion, you see? So listen up...Just admit to it already.”

He continues sucking your bood.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Aah~”

*Gulp*

“Haah...Hah...Just focus on my fangs...As you relax your body...and take deep breaths...”

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“Hah...See? You already...can no longer fight back. Even without your memories, your body clearly remembers. This works in your favor, no? Look, you’ve already got that dreamy look in your eyes...”

You close your eyes.

“Oh come on, BItch-chan~ How could you close your eyes like that? Mmh...”

*Smooch*

“Nn...”

*Smooch*

“Come on, open your eyes. You’re making such a lovely expression right now. Look in the mirror. If not...I’ll thrust in my fangs somewhere much more...’risqué’~”

You open your eyes. 

“Nfu~ Mmh...~ Good girl. Come on, lift your face. Bitch-chan...What can you see reflected in your eyes?”

You flush a dark red. 

“Fufu~ You’re embarrassed? You love this sorta stuff too, right, Bitch-chan~? ...Fufu~ I’m having fun as well! It’s really funny. You’re giving me the exact same reactions as back then. Say? Try and enjoy it a little more. You just love this kind of thing, don’t you?”

You shake your head. 

“Haah...Bitch-chan...Didn’t I tell you I’ve seen enough of your innocent reactions? I think it’s about time you have some fun with me.”

You insist that you truly don’t like this.

“...Well, I guess that makes sense. Your past self would have obviously opposed to this. But you know, you can drop that attitude now. I’m already more than satisfied.”

*Rustle*

“Lately I had been feeling like our relationship was missing that ‘unf’, so I got excited by seeing you fight back for the first time in a while, but I’m honestly over it now. In the end, it has to be my usual Bitch-chan, or I can’t enjoy it from the bottom of my heart. I wonder how long this illusion will continue on for? Don’t you think it’s taking a little long?”

You ask if he is okay.

“...! Oh...Haah!?”

You explain.

“What has gotten into you all of a sudden? Why would I look sad?”

You frown.

“Haah...Don’t look at me like that. You’re usually so dense too, so why are you awfully sharp at times like these? ...Right. I’m probably...lonely. Because you’ve forgotten about me so easily. This isn’t like me but...I honestly don’t know what to do. If my past self was watching me right now, I’m sure he’d feel disappointed. ...Oh well, telling that to you in your current state doesn’t actually solve anything though.”

You comfort him.

“You finally called me ‘Laito-kun’...I’m happy...I guess we should quit the sentimental talk here? Your memories still won’t come back, so I guess we really have no other choice but to enjoy this situation. We will reinact impactful happenings within your memories. By doing so, these illusions will eventually come to an end. ーー In that case, I will just have to summon a vivid memory from within you. Where should I suck from next~? Say, which place would you prefer?”

You fail to reply.

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected a genuine response. In that case, I just have to make a real mess out of you until you feel like becoming a little more obedient~ Bitch-chan...You like it when I bite your ear, don’t you?”

Laito tries to bite you when the dizzy spells suddenly hit again.

*BZZZZZZZZ*

“Uu...Argh...Kuh...!! Ugh...Haah...Ah...Haah, haah...My head is...This...again...!? Almost as if...I’m being...mocked...Where will it...take us next...? I hope it’s...someplace a little more interesting...Uu...!”

*Woosh*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) おねむ or ‘onemu’ is baby/toddler talk in Japanese. You wouldn’t really use it to adults all that often. However, Laito likes to use these kind of ‘childish’ or ‘cutesy’ words a lot. For example, in a lot of early era drama CDs, he would refer to kissing as ‘chu-chu suru’. 

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  �� 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Continues

Prologue

Summary: Jensen and Y/n take the plunge into their forever.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 5.3K+

Warnings: Language, 

Author’s Note: Well, without further adieu, here she is! I’ve been so nervous to post this series because I wanted to make sure it lives up to all your expectations. Your feedback is gold, so please let me know what you think! xoxo Alex (Bold texts are Jensen, italicized are reader)

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The sunlight from the grand windows on the west wall of the hall was quickly being replaced by the soft glow of the lights above and the candles flickering on the table. Indistinct chatter filled the small space that the couple had reserved for their rehearsal dinner. The group’s bellies were full and the drinks were still flowing. 

“You’re looking a bit tired there,” Jensen’s hand landed on his fiancée’s thigh, squeezing gently to get her to look at him. 

“Mmm, I am, but I’m not ready to go,” she hummed, her eyes heavy with the events of the day. 

“Why’s that?” 

“It’s gonna be weird, you know, sleeping away from you. I just got used to you being home lately,” the woman shrugged, placing her hand on top of his. She traced a pattern with her finger over his knuckles, her gaze concentrated on her task. Their friends and family continued to chat excitedly around them as the two slipped away into their own world without ever leaving the table. 

“I know. I’m not used to having a whole bed to myself, or someone not stealing my covers in the night,” Y/n gasped low, looking up at Jensen to find him smirking at her, her favorite dimples on display on the corners of his lips. The woman scowled at him and his ability to be so freaking cute as a grown man. 

“You know,” a mischievous smile grew on her face as she turned his hand over and linked their fingers together. “We aren’t married yet, there is absolutely nothing stopping me from, I don’t know, just not showing up tomorrow.” 

Jensen hummed, “Happy wife, happy life.” receiving the exact reaction out his fiancée that he had hoped for; a sharp smack to his shoulder. 

“Ugh, you know how much I hate that saying.” Jensen couldn’t help but laugh at the way she rolled her eyes. His fiancée joined in on the laughter, only for it to be broken by a wide yawn. 

“Alright, that’s enough for you, honey. You need to sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Y/n frowned at his declaration but she knew there was no use in fighting him. She wasn’t lying when she said it would be weird to not have him in bed with her tonight. Her one hope was exhausting her body to the point of passing out the minute her head hit the pillow. So far, it was working, seeing as she wasn’t even sure that she could stand from her chair and make it up to her room. 

Y/n blinked slowly as Jensen stood from his chair, reaching out to help her to her feet. “Alright, I think it’s time I put this one to bed if I want her to get out of up tomorrow.” 

“Ah, such a kidder,” Y/n mocked as the crowd laughed and bid the couple goodnight. Jensen slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to his side as he took her to the elevator. The entrepreneur leaned into him as they rode up to her floor, her eyes fluttering closed as she basked in his scent while she still could. The steady drum of his heart lulled her into a place she so desperately wanted to be, but the shudder of the cart had her eyes flashing open too soon. 

“Alright, here we go,” Y/n handed over her keycard to Jensen and he pushed open the door. He let go of his grip on her and urged her in. 

“You coming in?” She turned once through the threshold, looking back at him still in the hall. 

“Nice try,” He smiled, the action softening his features. “One night, babe. We can make it through, then it’s you and me forever.” 

Her tongue rolled out over her lips as she leaned against the door. “Aw, that was an adorable thing to say, you know that?” 

“As long as you don’t tell Jared, then we are safe.” 

“Ahhh, I’ve heard the things he’s said to Gen so he really has no place to talk,” Y/n quirked an eyebrow, eliciting a similar response from the man standing outside her door. 

“Wait—”

“Goodnight Ackles,” her voice trailed off in a soft melody as she closed the door, his muttered ‘son of a bitch’ the last thing she heard before he was gone. 

She made quick work of her nightly routine before settling into the plush comforter of her hotel bed. Her body sank into the cool sheets, the exhaustion winning over her body easily. 

The only thing was it didn’t last for her. Y/n soon found herself tossing and turning under the plush covers. The bed was too large by herself, and every time her hand landed on an empty bed instead of her fiancé, she was jolted awake. She let out a huff as she stared up at the dark ceiling. A small sliver of light appeared suddenly and she turned over to grab her phone.

Hey baby, I hope you aren’t awake like I am, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you and I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow. 

Y/n smiled at the screen. Even after being together for almost two years, she kept finding more and more ways they were alike. What were the odds that both of them were lying awake in the middle of the night thinking of each other at the same time? 

You’re out of luck. This bed is too big without you.

She shot him back a quick text before locking her phone and holding it against her chest. His reply took no time at all. 

I know how you feel, believe me. Get some sleep, I’ll see you at the altar. 

Y/n had to chuckle to herself.

The only thing coming to my mind now is stupidly cheesy, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I’ll be the one in white. 

Hahaha, you’re right, that is cheesy. But I still love you.

You better.

Y/n put her phone back on the bedside table. Somehow, just talking to him and knowing he was up too made her feel better about sleeping alone. Maybe she should feel bad about smiling at him tossing and turning along without her, but right now she couldn’t care less because all it did was show her that she was making the right choice. 

Y/n was out again within minutes.

****

When they say your wedding day goes by in a flash, they truly aren’t kidding. Y/n woke up more refreshed than she expected when her alarm went off in the morning. She was also far less anxious than she expected as she went about her usual morning routine. Coffee and yogurt were sent up to her room with a note from Jensen telling her he knew she would forget to eat unless he got her something, which had made her chuckle because he was right. 

Her mother was there to pick her up and take her to the venue at noon. The older woman was quiet on the relatively short drive to the manor just outside Austin. Y/n knew it was only a matter of time until her mother was sobbing, so she was thankful for this time to relax and enjoy the sunshine. 

When they finally arrived at The Grand Lady, there were few cars in the parking lot, most of them belong to her bridal party. The guys lucked out with being able to go out for lunch seeing as they didn’t need hours in a hair and makeup chair, a fact which she and Jensen disagreed on. She had insisted that she could do her own makeup and save some money, but he would not hear of her quote, working, unquote on her wedding day, so she went along with him and hired people to make her shine.

Genevieve, Mackenzie, and her high school friends Stella, Delilah, and Grace were already in the bridal suite when Y/n and her mother arrived. The champagne bottle from the mimosa bar was popped before she even had a chance to set her bag down. The young entrepreneur had to remind herself to take the drinks slowly, seeing as she was getting married later that evening, not that her bridesmaids held that same regard. 

Before she knew it, it was nearing time to get into her dress. The photographer had already taken it from the bag earlier to photograph. Y/n stood staring up at the delicate material that glinted in the sunlight coming in the window. This was truly it. It was her wedding day, the day that she had given up on seeing a long time ago. If she thought about it too much, she was sure to ruin all the work that her crew had done on her face. 

“Y/n/n,” Gen called her from across the room. Y/n spun back to look at the ladies enjoying themselves. “I’ve been tasked with handing over something special to the bride.” 

Cheers came from the other women in the room, all eager to find out what exactly Jensen had decided to gift her with. Y/n watched as Gen pulled a decent-sized package out of the closet. It was wrapped in shining silver wrapping paper with a white bow wrapped around it. Her curiosity was piqued, seeing as the pair had not discussed a gift exchange, not that it had stopped her from purchasing a bespoke watch from a little shop in Detroit and having a message stitched into the leather strap. It was an easy choice seeing as her soon-to-be husband was obsessed with watches. The hard part was finding one he didn’t already own.

“This thing is huge,” she noted before quickly adding, “No one comment.” 

All the girls stifled their laughs, watching her as she tore into the paper without care. She tossed the paper to the side, taking in the black and white sound waves embossed on the white background. There was black script in the lower-left corner that read ‘in a world we could call our own’. 

“What’s the song?” Y/n didn’t recognize the lyric, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t heard the song before. 

“On the back,” Stella called from her seat across the room. Y/n flipped the frame over in her hands, noticing the small square taped to the back. Setting the frame on the chair next to her, she broke the seal on the paper envelope. Inside was a simple CD, but on the front was a short message in Jensen’s familiar script that read ‘and it all came down to you, can’t wait to see you at the altar - Jensen.’

“But I don’t—” Her words were hushed as Gen handed over a portable CD player with headphones attached. Y/n turned the gray plastic over in her hand, knowing it had to be Jensen’s idea for her to listen to the disk in this way. Frankly, she was shocked that he didn’t find a way to put in on an eight-track and have Gen hand over a Walkman. 

Y/n placed the disk in the player and put the headphones on before pressing play. The soft melody caught her attention immediately, her head bobbing gently along until Jensen’s voice filled her ears. 

Listened to yesterday

Long before the way it has become

And it all came down to you

I don't really know the way

Played out stranger than it seemed

But what went down came true

Like an all day dream

It seemed saving her makeup was now just a pipe dream. She could feel the tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes. Gen was quick to bring her a tissue and Y/n tried her best to blot up the wetness without ruining everything. 

Everybody was looking at her as the song came to an end and she pulled the headphones off her head. “He uh, he wrote me a song,”  Y/n explained to her waiting friends. The room fell into collective awe. 

“Okay, okay! Enough with my cheesy brother. You need to get in your dress like now and fix your makeup.” Mackenzie was laughing as she spoke, but Y/n caught the hint of water in her eyes as well. She was right, her brother was more than cheesy. It was something that she used to turn her nose up at, but somehow, he found a way to make it work that never seemed to fail. 

“Right,” Y/n agreed, standing up from her seat and heading behind the partition to get into her dress. Her mother and Gen helped her into the heavy material and worked up the buttons along her back. She noticed her mother was tearing up again, much as she had on the day Y/n had said ‘yes to the dress.’

“Mom, come on now, Dad is gonna be in here any minute and I can’t have both of you in tears. I’ve already cried enough as it is.” Truth be told, she had been barely keeping it together since she received Jensen’s gift, and her family was not helping. She just had to keep it together until she was at the altar. Just half an hour longer. 

****

Jensen finished fastening the watch around his wrist before turning it over and inspecting it once again. His bride had chosen well. It was unlike any other he had in his collection, but it suited him well, and of course, it matched his suit to a ‘T.’ He double-checked that the hands on the face were where they needed to be, the realization of the time hitting him in the gut. 

“Hey, man. You good?” Jared’s voice broke him from his reverie. He tugged down the sleeves of his suit, fidgeting inside the snug outfit. 

“Uh, I’m not sure how to answer that.” A nervous chuckle forced its way up his throat. Jared nodded at his friend. 

“Been there, buddy.” Jared clapped his large hand on Jensen’s shoulder, squeezing his fingertips into the navy material. “But before I give you wise words of encouragement, I have to do my brotherly duty.” 

“Duty?” Jensen murmured to himself as Jared cleared his throat.

“If you ever hurt my sister again, I will not be as forgiving. You’re here today because I trust you with her life and her heart. Don’t make me regret that.” Jared again squeezed Jensen’s shoulder for emphasis. 

Jensen couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re funny, Jare.” But Jared’s expression had remained unchanged. “Oh, you’re serious… Dude, you’ve already punched me once. Trust me, I get the picture.” 

“Good, now that that’s settled, all you need to do is focus on Y/n. The rest of it will fall into place. You guys are crazy about each other, forget about all the rest.” Jared dropped his grip on his friend and straightened his boutonniere. 

“Thank you. I do love her, more than anything.” The groom smiled to himself as he watched the hands on the clock tick down. 

“Oh, and remember to take a second for just the two of you later. Go and experience things from afar.” 

Jensen nodded to himself, repeating Jared’s line back to himself. “Just the two of us.” 

“Alright, Jay. Shake it off, it’s time to go see your bride.” 

****

Gen was trying her best to keep Odette occupied as they waited to walk down the aisle. The group of bridesmaids, the bride and her father all were huddled in the corner of the wrap-around porch, waiting for the music to begin playing. 

Y/n had one arm already wrapped around her father’s, her bouquet in the other. Her lower lip was worried in her teeth as the music started from the band behind the altar. A jolt beside her had her snapping her head up to see her father smiling down at her. 

“How are you doing over there?” He asked as her bridesmaids began to disappear one by one. 

“I’ll be okay. Deep breaths, right?” 

“Deep breaths. Come on, someone is waiting for you.” Her dad tightened his grip on her as they began moving. The old wood of the manor creaked as they made their way across it and down the steps. Y/n refused to look up until her feet were on the fabric aisle put together by the wedding planners. When she did finally look up, her eyes cast over her friends and family standing to watch her, looking for the one pair of green eyes that could ground her. 

Jensen had to bite his tongue when his bride came around the corner, the lace she adorned more elegant than he had expected. Her hair fell in waves down her back and the light veil covered her face just enough to hide her blush from him, but it was when she looked up and lock eyes with him that everything else fell away. It was just like Jared had said, all that mattered at that moment was her and Jensen. Like that night back in Vancouver, when she smiled at him from her place in her father’s arms, his heart skipped a beat. It was that smile that did him in still to this day. 

Y/n watched as Jensen’s face broke out into the widest grin she’d ever seen. He clasped his hands together as he lost himself in her. His reaction had her feeling more light than she had ever felt. This was the moment people talk about twenty years down the road when they recount their wedding day. That ‘first look’ feeling was one she was going to remember for the rest of her life. 

“Gerald,” Jensen held out his hand to Y/n’s father, shaking it with a smile before Gerald turned back to his daughter and handed her over to her groom, but not before stealing a kiss to her cheek. 

Jensen slipped her arm under his and pulled her close to his side. “Wow, Y/n. Just… wow,” he whispered to her as their officiant began the ceremony. 

“You’re one to talk, handsome. That blue suit is killer,” she husked, faking a whistle below her breath. She paused for a second to glare at Jared clearing his throat when the crowd was asked if anyone objected to their marriage. She couldn’t be too mad at him though, considering the chuckles he got from the crowd. Jared was just being Jared. 

“So, in their decision to make my life a little easier, Jensen and Y/n have decided to write their own vows, which they will share with you now.” Their officiant waved her hand to them, the couple turning to now face each other. Y/n handed her bouquet off to her matron of honor, Gen, who exchanged it for her written vows, before turning back and taking Jensen’s free hand in her own. 

“Y/n, I don’t know if it’s stupid or cliche to start off with this, but I love you. I do, I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being. I had all but given up on my chance to find someone and have a family, and then you came crashing into my life. It all came down to you, my all-day dream come true.”

“Y/n/n, you are a strong, beautiful, and bullheaded woman. You frustrate me, you challenge me and you make me a better man. I promise to love you forever, to carry you through the bad times and laugh with you in the good times. I promise to keep you safe in my arms no matter what life throws our way and to cherish every moment we have together. I promise forever.”

Jensen shoved his vows into his pocket as he finished, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight as he smiled down at her. For a moment, she let herself get lost in them until their officiant cleared her throat. The crowd chuckled as Y/n mumbled to herself to get a grip. 

“I struggled a lot to put my feelings down into words. This damned piece of paper stared at me for weeks just mocking my brain for its lack of focus. But I soon realized it wasn’t because I couldn’t find the words, it was because there are no words. Jay, you are indescribable. You are everything I didn’t know that I needed before I met you. You always know how to make me laugh, what words to say when I don’t feel beautiful, and how to pick me up from the ground when I’ve fallen to my knees.” 

“I vow to you to always be there when you need to speak and to share the silence when words aren’t needed. I vow to make sure you always smile from all my smart ass comments and to make sure you know how handsome you are. Most importantly, I vow to love you more and more with every passing day.” 

Y/n was barely keeping it together as the two of them exchanged their rings and ‘I do’s’. She had fully expected the tears to be present ever since the pair had discussed writing their vows, but she never expected him to literally take her heart in his hands and squeeze it. Her heart had never been so full than at this moment.

“I think that about does it then, eh? By the power invested in me by the state of Texas and in front of God and all your loved ones, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Jensen,” The crowd laughed as their officiant tilted her head towards Y/n, raising her brow. The couple joined in as Jensen lifted her veil over her head and pulled her to his chest, her hands snaking around his waist and her fingers clutching onto his jacket. Their lips met in the middle, a grin on both their faces. After everything, they were finally here, right where they both wanted to be: with each other.

“Family and friends, I am delighted to present to you for the first time, as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen Ackles!” 

Jensen pulled away from his wife before pecking her nose one last time. He took her hand in his own as Gen handed her back her bouquet. The pair of them ran back down the aisle as the band played “You Make My Dreams Come True” and their families cheered. As they reached the porch around the manor once again, the event coordinator of the hall guided them back inside to the study where the boys had gotten ready for the ceremony. 

The room was mostly cleared of the groomsmen’s items when they entered. For now, it was their place to have a second alone before they needed to begin taking photographs. Y/n set her bouquet down on one of the tables, her other hand still in Jensen’s. He tugged her into his side again, smiling down at her, his lips turned up on one side. 

“Hi, wife.” 

“Hi, husband,” Y/n parroted his sentiment back to him, a chuckle on her tongue. “Are you gonna be disgustingly cheesy now?”

“It’s my wedding day, I think I’m entitled,” he nodded.

“Hmm, well good. I love it.” 

“I knew it!” Jensen bit his lip as he caressed his fingers along her jaw. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes examining the expanse of her face.

“Jay,” Jensen raised his brow at her, signaling her to continue. “I love you. Thank you for marrying me.”

“I love you too, pretty girl.” He promised, lowering his lips to her own in a quick caress. 

****

It didn’t take long for the photographs to be finished, though it was boring work. Y/n assumed she probably shouldn’t feel that way, but her face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much. In the midst of it all, they’d signed their marriage license, so she guessed that made it all worth it. 

The day was flying by quicker than either of them expected. When people told her to pause and take in everything, she’d thought she’d prepared herself, but before she knew what was happening, they were seated at the sweetheart table across from the stage as Jared took the microphone for their before dinner toasts. 

Feedback reverberated across the makeshift stage and about the yard that was set up for their reception. Jared winced before clearing his throat. 

“Good evening, everybody, I’m Jared for all of you who don’t know. That beautiful woman over there is my baby sister and the handsome troll sitting next to her just happens to be my best friend, my brother from another mother. The two of them have come a long way since their first meeting, a day not unlike today. When Gen and I got hitched, I think they exchanged a total of five words that day. They were ships passing in the night then. It wasn’t until Y/n/n came to work with us on set that a series of events was set in motion that none of us expected. I won’t lie and say I was too happy when I first found out about their relationship, sorry Jensen,” Jared paused as the room chuckled, though outside of their immediate families, no one knew what he was talking about. “I know it took me a while to come around to the idea, but now that I’ve been able to watch the two of you grow together, and laugh together, and love each other, I realize I was being selfish. Y/n, there is no other man that I would trust more with your life and with your heart. I know that he’s always gonna be there to treat you right and pick you up when you’re down. I know this because I will find him if he doesn’t.” Jared waved off more laughs before continuing. “Alright, but in all honesty, I couldn’t be happier for the two of you and I can’t wait to watch you grow old together. I love you guys. To the Ackles!” 

Jared held up the champagne flute into the air before the room took a drink. Gen followed Jared as matron of honor and Josh brought up the rear as best man. All three of them were skilled at pulling out laughs and tears. Dinner was served just after and once the plates were finally cleared, the sun was nearly fully set below the horizon. 

The manor worked on bringing out the dessert table, a wide array of miniature pies, snickerdoodles, banana bread, pumpkin and sugar donuts, scones, a coffee bar, and lastly the wedding favors for their guests, a build-your-own candy apple bar. It was the perfect fall scene for their mid-November wedding. 

Y/n and Jensen made their way through the crowd, hugging family and friends and thanking them for joining them on their special day. A good crowd had formed on the dance floor, and it seemed that everyone was enjoying themselves. 

Miriam, Y/n’s great aunt on her father’s side, had pulled her into a long-winded conversation at her table. Y/n was perched in a seat across from her aunt, trying to stay invested in the conversation. To be honest, the bride wasn’t even sure what she was talking about anymore.

“Hey, Miriam.” Jensen’s voice broke her out of the little trance she had slipped into. He had a wide smile on his face as he knelt beside her aunt. “I know you ladies are having girl talk, but I was wondering if I could steal my wife for a minute?” 

“Oh!” Miriam exclaimed, a delighted smile on her face. Y/n watched, a grin on her face as she watched her husband charm her away from that table. “Of course! Silly me. She’s yours now, to do anything with you please.”

“Okay, Aunt Miriam,” Y/n stood and went to kiss her aunt on the cheek. Jensen took her hand and began to guide her away.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Her aunt’s exclamation had a blush creeping up on her neck, and Y/n had to cover her eyes with her hand. The whole time Jensen was just laughing beside her. 

Y/n was distracted by the small cheers from the people who heard her aunt that she didn’t notice her husband sneak a champagne bottle and a glass from a waiter on their way up to the house. She simply let him guide her up on the porch and over to a dimly lit corner that gave them a view of the entirety of their reception. 

“What are we doing?” She asked him as he handed her the flute. 

“We are taking a minute to ourselves, just to step back and soak up all that’s happened today,” Jensen explained as he filled the glass. 

“Ah,” Y/n let out a breath as she took a sip from the glass. She handed it over to her husband who copied her action. “Isn’t that what our first dance was for?” 

“Eh, everyone had their eyes on us then. This way, it’s just the two of us. We get to be on the outside looking in.” Jensen moved behind her, snaking his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. His wife leaned into his embrace, enjoying the heat from his body as the night began to cool. 

The couple shared half a bottle of champagne as they watched their guests enjoy themselves. Most of the crowd was huddled on the dance floor, shaking away their worries for the time being. Those that were left were smuggling treats from the dessert table. 

It was an intriguing glimpse at a wedding from someone else’s perspective, and the couple was more than happy to just watch their loved ones enjoy themselves. After all, that’s what all a wedding was, a party, and people were supposed to have fun at parties; get rowdy and maybe a little drunk. The kids were carefree, shaking their butts to the melody that helped facilitate all the fun. 

Jensen glanced down at his watch to check the time before kissing the underside of her jaw. “We have to go get changed now,” he whispered to her. Y/n hummed in response, both of them not wanting to break the bubble that they had put themselves in on the porch, but alas, they had a plane to catch, and therefore needed to get out of their nice clothes.

The honeymoon suite that came with the rental of the manor was going to be used by Jared and Gen that night. Y/n and Jensen planned to leave her dress and his suit for them to take home. It worked best for them that they whisked away on their honeymoon right away. Overnight flights to Europe worked best when it came to kicking jet lag in the ass. 

So that was what they did. Jensen changed into jeans and a white tee and Y/n into leggings and a white tee. Out of all the stupid couple things people did on their wedding day, Y/n had opted for matching ‘going away’ outfits. 

The couple triple checked that they had everything they needed as Jared found his way to them. He helped Jensen pack the car with their belongings and before they knew it, they were being seen off by their loved ones, a whirlwind of sparklers lighting their path to the car. The couple hugged their parents goodbye before slipping into the black sedan.

As the car whizzed down the dirt path towards the airport, the crowd that was left meandered back to where the bartender was calling ‘last call.’ On the outskirts of the property, a figure stepped back into the tree line, the shadows hiding the stranger from view. The man dropped the butt of his cigarette into the pile building on the ground, crushing it into the leaves of the forest with the toe of his shoe before disappearing into the night. 

Part 1: The Conception

Forevers: @polina-93 @22sarah08 @callmekda @hobby27 @tranquility-or-chaos @dawnie1988 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan  @akshi8278 @superfanficnatural @malfoysqueen14 @deanwanddamons @waywardbeanie @emoryhemsworth @talesmaniac89 @winchest09 @katehuntington @flamencodiva @janicho88 @anathewierdo @ellewritesfix05 @mrsjenniferwinchester @jensengirl83 @lyarr24 @smol-and-grumpy

Continues: @traceyaudette @death-unbecomes-you @rebelemilu @colbyskoalas @ashleyrose0117 @zpandaqueen @stoneyggirl @parinarain @onethirstyunicorn @smoothdogsgirl @harryhook-lover @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @spnfamily-j2 

My Forever tags as well as for this series are open. Just shoot me an ask to be added. If your url is crossed out, tumblr would not let me tag you

[sheerfreesia007]

Scaredy Cats

Title: Scaredy Cats

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words: 1,974

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing (I checked it but I couldn’t find any but I’m exhausted right now so I’m just gonna put this here as a catch all. Y’all should know by now that I curse.)

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711​, @fioccodineveautunnale​, @phoenixhalliwell​, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​

Teen Wolf Tag List: @linkpk88​, @pure-ghost​, @awkwardnesshabitat​

Author Notes: This was super cute to write and I had originally planned it going a different way but alas, my mind has been uncooperative lately so it went a totally different way. But I love it! I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.

Gif Credit: Google

It was finally Halloween and you were excited for the Halloween party that Lydia was throwing for the pack. It was Friday night and you were excited to let loose with your friends. Beacon Hills had been relatively safe for the month of October and the pack had been able to relax a little bit, so of course Lydia had decided that a party was in store.

         You had volunteered to drive her up to the lake house ahead of everyone else to be able to help her set up for the party. On the way there the two of you had stopped at a store to pick up even more Halloween decorations than what she had at the lake house. That’s where the two of you were now roaming the aisles of the holiday section of the store as you peruse their selection of decorations.

         “So I’m thinking maybe these little ghost lights to hang in the front windows.” Lydia said as she picked up two boxes of ghost lights and set them in the cart that you were pushing around.

         “Oooohhh, I’ll get this and we can make that bubbling witches brew drink for the pack.” you said excitedly as you held up a black plastic cauldron meant to hold punch.

         “That’s a great idea!” Lydia said as she moved to walk next to you as the two of you continued to shop. “You think they’d all want to do party games or just hang out?” she asked curiously.

         “I think Isaac said that they were planning on bringing horror movies for us all to watch.” you said with a grimace on your face. Lydia looked over at you with a sympathetic look. You shrugged before continuing. “They did a vote and the majority was for the horror movies.” 

         “Well I voted no.” she said as she shook her head and you grinned over at her before leaning into her side.

         “I know you, me and Stiles voted no.” you said softly. “Though I’m surprised you voted no, you normally don’t have an issue with the horror movies.” you said as you looked over at her, her only response being a shrug of her shoulders. The two of you continued walking down the aisle and browsing whatever else decoration you could pick up for the lake house.

         “You know maybe we could use this to your advantage.” she said slyly as she held up a creepy old looking lantern before placing it back on the shelf. You tilted your head curiously as you placed a package of fake spider webs in the cart.

         “What do you mean?” you asked, distracted as you shopped. You didn’t see Lydia look over and smile widely at you.

         “I mean with your little crush.” she teased and you choked on air before turning around to glare at her. That’s why she voted no, she didn’t want to single you and Stiles out.

         “You said you wouldn’t talk about it.” you hissed quietly as your eyes darted around the aisle. Thankfully only the two of you were there.

         “I said I wouldn’t talk about it around any of the pack.” Lydia reminded you as she flung her arms out from her body to indicate there were no pack members around. You sighed softly and nodded at her to continue. “You should sit next to Stiles and whenever a scary part comes on you can inch closer and closer to him.” You laughed softly at her advice and shook your head.

         “Lyds, he doesn’t see me that way and he’d probably be just as scared as me during the movie. I’d have to protect him.” you said shaking your head. Lydia looked contemplative for a minute before nodding her head.

         “You’re right you’d be the knight in shining armor and he’d be the damsel.” she said giggling brightly. “That’d be a sight to see.” You both laughed happily imaging Stiles as a princess and you as a knight while you checked out at the register.

           It was hours later when you and Lydia were just finishing up setting out the snacks for the halloween party. The pack was due to arrive soon and the two of you had managed to get up all the decorations that you bought to make the room look festive. You were standing in the large kitchen filling the cauldron with the smoky punch you had made when you heard the rest of the pack arrive. Looking up you smiled brightly when Kira squealed and rushed over to you giving you a warm tight hug. Malia was next as she sauntered into the room with a slight scowl on her face.

         “I don’t like halloween.” she said testily and you smiled as you wrapped your arms around her.

         “Well you’ll enjoy the horror movies at least. It’s all blood and gore and scary things.” you told her as you pulled away and saw her grin.

         “Yeah Isaac said that he picked out the really scary ones for us to watch.” she said happily. You laughed along with Kira as you shook your head. Your eyes darted over to the doorway when you heard a commotion and saw Stiles and Scott bringing in bags filled with the take out that you had all decided to order. 

         Scott sent you a grin and a nod while Stiles walked over to wrap you in a warm hug. You felt your body begin to melt against him as you returned the hug. It was always like this with Stiles, so easy and familiar. And he was always giving out hugs. You had once told Lydia that hugs from Stiles were the best because it seemed as if his whole body curved around you keeping you in a warm protective little bubble.

         “Wanna be my movie buddy tonight?” he asked softly into your ear making you shiver. You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, so that we can get through this together. You know everyone else is alright with the scary movies.” He tried to explain as you kept looking at him. A soft smile then fell onto your lips.

         “What about Lydia?” you asked him and he looked down at you confused.

         “What about her?” he asked in his confusion.

         “She voted no on the movies too. Why don’t you be her movie buddy?” you asked a little unsure of yourself. You wanted to be his movie buddy but he had had a crush on Lydia for years and you didn’t want to be his second choice if Lydia had already told him no.

         “Lydia only voted no because she didn’t want to go with the rest of the pack. You know she doesn't’ have a problem with scary movies.” he answered easily. “Besides she’d pick on me if I got scared next to her. You don’t make fun of me, at least not too much.” You laughed brightly at his words and smirked over at him.

         “I can’t help it when you make it too easy.” you teased him and he grinned down at you before nudging your hip with his.

         “Yeah well, what do you say? Suffer through the movies together with me?” he asked softly. You grinned up at him and nodded your head.

         “I’d be delighted to.” you answered. Neither one of you noticed the six pairs of eyes watching you both with a knowing look in them.

           You couldn’t see anything but you could hear all of it. All of the screaming and the squelching noises of death. The body that was tightly wrapped around you in fear kept jerking whenever a new sound would resonate from the speakers of the tv.

         “Don’t look, it sounds horrible.” Stiles muttered into your ear as he tugged you tighter against him while he buried his face in your neck and hair. The two of you had commandeered the love seat in the living room as your own stating that no one would want to sit with the two scaredy cats of the group anyway since there’d be a lot of flying limbs. Shifting against him you curled further into his chest as his longer legs lay on either side of you on the sofa. Stiles had his back to the armrest of the sofa and had easily placed you in between his open legs when he had sat down. You had at first been shocked and embarrassed but when Lydia, Kira and Malia had each sent you a knowing look you had known your face was heated for a completely different reason. Thankfully none of the boys had looked at you or you’d probably be even more embarrassed.

         “Geeze Stiles why don’t you let the poor girl breathe.” Liam said teasingly and you peeked over Stiles’ arm that was wrapped tightly around you. He was grinning over at the two of you from his spot on the floor next to Malia. 

         “Yeah it looks like you’re trying to smother her.” Malia said with a wink shot your way and you huffed softly at her. You felt Stiles’ arms loosen around you and you got a full look at the tv screen in front of you. Blood, gore and death was depicted as the killer came at one of the victims with a large blade.

         “Nope, nope, nope.” you said quickly and completely turned into Stiles’ body so that your face was now pressed into his neck so you didn’t have to watch the movie. Stiles chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around you again.

         “You okay?” he asked softly into your ear as you got situated comfortably against him.

         “Don’t listen to the newbs on the floor.” you said adamantly and felt Stiles’ chuckle vibrate against you.

         “Noted.” he responded and you easily fell into a lulled state of content as the movie continued playing.

           You slowly felt yourself coming up from your deep sleep when you heard whispered hurried voices around you.

         “You think we should wake them?” came a soft voice that you knew was Kira.

         “They look so cute together. You’d think he’d finally make a move on her.” Lydia said softly and you heard the shutter click of a photo being taken.

         “He doesn’t get it that she’s into him too.” Scott responded. “He’s cautious, doesn’t want to get his heart broken.”

         “Well then maybe I’ll make a move, I think she’s cute.” Liam said brightly and suddenly you felt Stiles move from underneath you. You had obviously fallen asleep on the boy and he hadn’t moved you an inch, probably too comfortable himself as body heat the two of you had created was quickly lulling you back into a sleepy daze.

         “You even try to and I’ll bury you in wolfbane where no one will find you.” Stiles threatened sleepily and you shifted against him when you heard the raspiness of his voice. The pack all waited as you pretended to fall back asleep on him before the pack laughed softly at his words.

         “You wanna head up to bed or stay here with her?” Scott asked Stiles softly.

         “Stay here. If she wakes up I’ll help her up to bed.” Stiles responded and you felt your heart begin to pick up in your chest. You heard the movements of the pack as they all left to head up to bed and you shifted against Stiles again. “How much of that did you hear?” he asked softly and you grinned as you nuzzled against his neck feeling him shiver against you.

         “Make a move on me Stilinski.” you whispered in his ear and heard his sharp intake of breath. When you pulled away to blink dreamily up him he cupped your face and pulled you into a soft sweet kiss.

         “Gladly.” he responded after pulling away.

[ravs6709]

Hidden Meanings- Sophiana

Alrighty! Here's my contribution to @sophiana-week-2021! This prompt is for Day 1- Flowers!

Alternate title is 'Five Times Sophie Received Flowers, And One Time She Gave Them'

Enjoy!

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie groaned, falling backwards on to the bed dramatically. Biana sat down next to her, but in a much more graceful way.

"At least you didn't get as injured compared to the last attack," Biana said.

"You know that doesn't help me at all, right? I finally managed to obtain a very very vague sleep schedule, and now it's gonna be broken again!"

"Braiding your hair was how you fell asleep in the past, right?" Biana asked.

Sophie turned to her. "You don't have to do that! I don't want you inconveniencing yourself!"

She got up and glared mockingly. "I've literally been waiting for the day. I am not being 'inconvenienced by you' so wait right there I'll be back!"

"Bia, I don't want a makeover!"

"I'm just braiding your hair, that's all."

With that, Biana went to a different part of the bedroom and came back a few minutes later, with a hair brush and some leaves. They looked like oak leaves actually, Sophie was surprised to recognize them, considering that the List Cities had so many unique flowers.

"Oak leaves?"

"Yeah." Biana sat down behind her. "Oak leaves. I'm gonna put them in your hair."

Sophie sat up, allowing for Biana to brush her hair. It was painful for the first few moments, but it was clear that Biana was really good at what she was doing, as the pain started to ease.

Warm fingers entered her hair, and the slight tug told her that the braiding had begun. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of Biana. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel when the leaves were entwined with her hair. But as the minutes passed by, she found it harder to concentrate.

The next thing she knew, she was asleep.

When Sophie looked in the mirror the next day, she smiled, despite her bedhead. The oak leaves were still there. When she went home, she gingerly took the leaves and put them in a place so they could preserve.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Bia," Sophie called. "I'm tired, but can't sleep."

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yeah, slept peacefully."

"Do you want me to do it again?"

Sophie recalled the night before, the warm feeling she had when her hair was being braided. "If you want." She didn't want to be a bother.

"I told you, I've been waiting for this day. Okay, I'll be back with more flowers."

A minute later, she was back with more flowers in hand. This time, the flowers were small and were a light purple.

"Lilacs," Biana stated, but didn't seem to feel the need to say more than that.

Sophie sat still and closed her eyes. Biana was humming quietly. She had a fantastic voice actually, and had a high vocal range, her voice hitting a large series of notes. She ended up being lulled to sleep.

Just like before, the flowers were still in her hair when she woke up. Just like before, she delicately put them in a place where they could preserve, and set the flowers next to the oak leaves.

•~•~•~•~•~•

This time, when Sophie asked for Biana to braid the flowers in her hair, it wasn't for sleep or anything like that. She just liked the feeling. Sitting there peacefully, Biana behind her, fingers delicately weaving sunflowers into her hair.

It was relatively quiet, but not the awkward kind, where it feels like there should be something to fill the silence. Neither of them felt obligated to talk, and Sophie was content with that. It was Biana who ended up talking, because after all, she enjoyed talking more out of the two of them.

"Hey Soph, did I ever tell you that you have wonderful hair?"

Sophie could feel herself flush red, and she just wanted to hide. Not only did Biana call her Soph- which was a cute nickname- but she also complimented her.

"I'm serious, you know."

"I know," Sophie squeaked. "Your hair's pretty too."

"You could braid mine someday," Biana offered.

"I'm not really good at braiding hair," she replied.

"Offer still stands though."

"Okay."

When Sophie got home later, the sunflowers were set beside the lilacs.

•~•~•~•~•~•

She was getting her hair braided again- this time with heliotropes- when she realized just how comfortable she felt in Biana's presence. If she was able to spend the afternoons in Everglen, just being there, she would consider that a good life.

Biana was just an easy person to be around. She smiled a lot and her enthusiasm and positivity was contagious. It was always the perfect thing to make Sophie's day even better. And well, she was also gorgeous.

Oh. I like her, don't I?

It wasn't so much of a question, more of a statement. She was surprised she hadn't realized it before, especially when Biana had called her Soph for the first time. That had continued, and it sent a warm feeling through her body every time.

When she went home to put the heliotropes away, she had a giddy smile on her face.

•~•~•~•~•~•

At this point, Biana braiding her hair became a normal occurence. After Foxfire, they'd head to Everglen, Biana would gather some flowers- each time they were different- and then she would start braiding.

Generally, there wasn't anything that would disrupt them. Alden and Della would be doing their work, and Fitz would either be studying or hanging out with a friend. So it was a surprise when Linh walked in the room.

"Oh, you're braiding flowers into her hair?" She asked. "That's pretty! Could you do mine next?"

As much as Sophie liked Linh, she couldn't help but feel a little irritated at the request. The flower thing was her thing with Biana, and honestly, she didn't want to share. But she wasn't going to complain, its not like Linh knew, she was just excited.

"Yeah, sure, I'm almost done here, I'll get to you after."

"Are those blue violets?"

"They are!"

Around a minute later, Biana was finished, and got herself some more flowers. Sophie was able to immediately recognize them as yellow roses.

There was an odd look on Linh's face, before she seemed to have had some sort of revelation. "They're pretty! Thank you."

Sophie watched as Biana started braiding Linh's hair, her fingers moving skillfully. The braid wasn't that fancy, but she had to admit, it looked good on Linh.

•~•~•~•~•~•

She was just relaxing in her room, when Linh walked in.

"Should I have told you before coming?" She asked.

"No, it's fine. What do you need?"

"Just came to visit, that's all." Her gaze swept across the room, and landed on her nightstand. "Ooh, are those the flowers that Biana put in your hair? I didn't know you kept them!"

Sophie smiled fondly at them. "They just feel... special."

"I think they are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... the flower choices."

What did Linh mean by that? She tried to remember what she knew about flowers, then vaguely remembered something about the languages.

"Do they mean something? Do you know what they mean?"

Linh nodded. "Oak leaves symbolize bravery."

Those were the flowers that I received after the Neverseen attack. Was it her way of saying that I was brave?

"Purple lilacs mean the first emotions of love."

Love..?

"Sunflowers mean adoration. Heliotrope for devotion. Blue violets for affection."

"Are they... is that actually true?"

"Do you want it to be true?"

Sophie didn't even need to consider it. "Yeah, I really want it to be true."

"Well, it is true."

"Then what did Biana put in your hair?"

What if Biana didn't realize what her flower choices actually meant? What if it was an accident? She didn't want to get her hopes up just yet.

"Friendship," Linh replied. "It's how I realized that the flower thing was meant for the two of you."

Friendship. There's no way that this is a coincidence now. Biana was showing her affection for me.

"Is there a flower for declaring love?"

Linh nodded. "Red tulips. Do you want some? I have some flowers at my place."

"Thank you. And uh... Linh?"

"Yes?"

"Can I practice braiding your hair?"

"Is that your way of confessing to her?"

"Yeah."

"Go ahead. I'll be back with some flowers. Also, don't tell Biana that I told you the flower meanings."

She laughed. "Okay."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie walked into Everglen, and honestly, she was a little bit nervous. She knew that there was nothing to be worried about, it was clear that Biana liked her. But confessing back? It was difficult.

But she kept going, and went into Biana's room.

"Hey Bi?"

"Yeah Soph?"

"Can I... can I braid your hair this time?" She asked, fiddling with one of the petals.

Biana smiled. "You want flowers?"

"I uh..." she took out the red tulips from behind her back. "I have them."

The smile on her face went from big and bright to smaller and fond. Sophie sat down, and took Biana's brown hair in her hands. It was incredibly soft, and a little more wavy then hers or Linh's.

She started braiding, and it was a slow process, and it was the most basic of braids, but eventually, she got it done. It wasn't particularly neat though, she only had a little bit of practice with Linh.

"You didn't have to, you know that, right?" Biana asked.

Sophie wrapped her arms around Biana's waist. "I know, but I wanted to. After all, I love you."

She leaned into the embrace. "I love you too, Soph."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Taglist- @linhamon-roll @my-swan-song @impostertamsong

Wanna be added/removed from the taglist? Just let me know!

[keijikunn]

Memories ─ part ii

── A @celestialarchiveshq collab “Connected by fate”

Pairing: Semi Eita x fem!reader Tags: college!au, kinda angst i guess, fluff, SLOW BURN, maybe strangers to lovers!au Summary: On the last day of the year, you dream of your soulmate’s most impactant memory that happened within the year. Each memory will be different each year. Word count: ~5.4k

Author’s note: Second part is up guys! Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you're thinking so far! Reblogs are appreciated <3

WARNINGS: insecurity, mention of injury (it’s a broken arm), self-esteem issues, let me know if I forgot anything

MEMORIES’ MASTERLIST

2005 (age of 11)

The gymnasium was filled with the sound of the sneakers against the hard wooden floor, constant screams of “left!”, “right!”, “block!” and occasional cheerings when someone scored a point. Your soulmate was excited for practice as usual, the love he felt towards volleyball was huge, and the bubbling sensation on his stomach gave away he was excited for something. 

“Boys, gather up!” The coach called the team near the benches, everyone sitting on the floor in front of the man. “It’s time to announce which positions you’ll play for the next season, and possibly for the rest of your middle school years.”

A list of names got called, the younger ones assigned to variate between a couple of positions; the older ones were mostly spikers or middle blockers. With naive eyes, being able to score points for the team was euphoric, as if the weight of the world was on their shoulders. Your soulmate waited restlessly, a part of his mind wandering on his arduous training, trying his best to achieve his dream position in the team.

He called his name, eyes quickly to find his coach’s face. “You’ll be the on the start lineup as setter.”

Your soulmate gasped, his lips quickly turning upwards as he smiled in ecstasy. His close friends lightly punched his back and arms, congratulating his hard work. All the boy could think was his father’s words about how your efforts are paid back, just like his guitar classes. He thought about the countless practices he tried his best to improve, asking tips to his coaches and seniors, tossing a ball against his bedroom wall - only to hear Aime complain about it during dinner. 

It felt good, amazing even. He understood the concept of working hard perfectly, after experiencing it twice. Something inside him made himself feel unstoppable, as long as he has his determination to do better, he could achieve every and anything he ever dreamed about. Your soulmate had never felt such proudness of himself before, and he had every reason to feel like it. 

2006 (age of 12)

Semi’s relationship with his relatives was good, all his uncles and aunts were nice to him, his older cousins never really bothered him and the younger ones were funny to play tag games. However, the boy wasn’t excused of having a certain degree of dislike towards his same-age cousin Touma. Being born in the same year was great when they were little, playdates worked well and they’d always make each other’s company during boring adults reunion. 

Things started to change once they got older and started elementary school. Touma was constantly praised in his school, claimed as the best student in his year, with almost perfect scores and impeccable participation in events. Semi used to be happy for his cousin, but the feeling changed once the other started to brag about himself, belittling Semi’s achievements and efforts. 

After that, their relationship was never the same, and both of them knew it. The thing was that their mothers weren’t aware of the sudden change of affection between them, resulting in regular Sunday lunches over their place. It was uncomfortable the silence between them, the pair sitting on opposite ends of the large sofa, doing their best to ignore the other’s presence. 

“Aunt!” Touma called Semi’s mother, a too innocent smile on his face. “Did mom tell you that I’m the best student in my school? And the teachers want to subscribe me in a Math competition?”

“That’s great to hear, Touma-kun! You’re really smart!” His mother cheered way too excited, Semi noted, and the boy tried to recall every time he had big news to tell if his mom praised him like she did with his cousin. 

“Even the director talked to me about changing a few classes, saying Touma is capable of attending advanced classes.” His aunt gushed with pride. “And he’s even the best player in the soccer team!”

“Wow, Touma, you’re really amazing!” Semi was undeniably jealous at how easily his mother complimented someone who wasn’t her own son. He was furious at her, at Touma, but especially at himself for not doing better to receive the same praises. 

“I’m naturally good, aunt! I don’t have to study or practice more to improve.” His cousin stated, sending Semi and side look in a provocative way, like inciting him to fight back. “And what about Eita-kun?”

“Eita always tries his best in volleyball and guitar practices,” his mom started, fidgeting with the cloth she used to dry the washed plates. “He’s a hardworking boy, right, Eita?”

“Yeah…” he muttered in response, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. Did his mother lie to him about working hard on what you love? To earn her compliments he should be a genius, be born good at that thing and that’s that? 

The rage inside him was replaced by disappointment, even sadness. His parents lied to him just to make him happy because he was their son, it was their obligation to hype their children even if they weren’t that happy. Semi wondered if his mother would’ve lied to Touma if he was her son - and the answer came quite easily: she wouldn’t, because she had no reason to do so. 

At that moment, everything he believed started to fall apart. His concept of being good, of worth of praise and recognition. Years of proudness were thrown away in mere seconds, a mentality Semi built to face every challenge destroyed in the worst way possible: by his own mother.

I bet mom wanted a son like Touma, she’d replace me easily. 

I’m not good enough, am I?

The following days after the first rehearsal you had with the band, you and Semi met up more often to talk about your project, what you have so far and what do you wanted from him. Although Semi didn’t spare snarky comments towards you, he was cooperative and even suggested a thing or two. 

“So, what’s the lyrics?” Semi asked, both of you were in a small café near the campus. His long and slim fingers tapped the wooden table, while his left - and injured - arm rested near his body. 

“Well,” you started, offering a sheepelesly smile. “It’s your story, you should write it.”

“It’s your project, Y/n.” He tried to correct you, closing tightly his jaw in annoyance. Overall it was quite easy to read the singer’s body language, it being more expressive than his words. 

“My project is to produce a song - which I’ll do when you come up with the lyrics.” The man didn’t seem to be convinced, but either way let out a long sigh, bothered by the situation. “Whatever you want to tell the world, any suppressed feelings, I’m all ears to your ideas.”

Semi visibly was taken aback at your choice of wording, mouth slightly slacking and his brown pupils quivered as he lowered his gaze to the table. You knew it was rather dangerous to suggest something like that, giving the fact he resisted for a while before agreeing to help you. On the other hand, though, it was your only chance to get what you really wanted: a song filled with the deepest and rawest emotions. 

Much like your soulmate, the man in front of you closed himself from the others. The last 10 years, you dreamed about a very hard tempered, isolated and hurt boy and you didn’t truly understand those feelings. Semi, in your judgment (that you acknowledged could be completely wrong), gave off the impression he might understand him. Perhaps through Semi, you would be able to comfort your soulmate, because regardless of his belief or not in being destined together, you needed to do anything to sooth his doubts.

“Semi-san?” A male voice broke the silence you two fell into without noticing, lifting you head, you saw a rather tall guy standing by the side of your table. He sported a sharp and uneven haircut alongside with a tired expression, though his eyes were wide opened in surprise. 

“Oh, Shirabu.” Semi breathed out the name, also surprised by the sudden encounter. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” the awkwardness between them made you fidget in your seat, averting your eyes from them to look straight into your cup of coffee. “How- how are you doing?”

“Fine, actually- and you? Heard you were accepted in med school,” the singer commented. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” 

“Oh, uh- Y/n, this is Shirabu.” Semi introduced you two as you briefly exchanged a polite ‘hello’, a bit awkward by the situation. “We used to play in the same volleyball team during high school.”

“Oh, nice.” You reacted slightly rushed, the tension between the two previous teammates was growing as the seconds passed by. “Was Semi a good teammate? I’m playing support in his band and I can say he’s quite demanding.”

“Yes!” Shirabu exclaimed quickly, his nervousness showing off. “Semi-san was a good teammate and a respectful senpai.”

“Though you respected Wakatoshi the most, right?” Though you presumed Semi said that to joke around his underclassman, at some instance you felt bitterness hidden behind the playful comment. He laughed half-heartedly as Shirabu panicked to give him a proper answer. “I’m joking, relax.”

“I have to go, actually,” the younger man stated, offering the two of you an apologetic smile. “I have another period to attend… Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Semi-san, Y/n-san. Bye!”

“Take care!”

“Bye.” 

Semi relaxed his whole body after hearing the front door close, running his right hand through the ash locks of his hair. You observed him shift on the chair, too immersed inside his own thoughts to notice your analytical gaze on him. 

“Do you mind me asking why you look so shaken up?” Your voice was soft and lower, as if the choice of volume would prevent Semi from getting angry at you. 

“He used to play in the same position as me.” Based on the few knowledge you had about volleyball, you assumed it was possible for two players to share the same role in the team, so you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “We both were setters, he took my place on the start lineup.”

2011 (age of 17)

The third years arrived late at practice and the coach, even though knowing they had extra classes, screamed at them to change quickly. Unphased by the outburst, Ushijima, Tendou, Semi, Reon and Yamagata did as they were told so in order to start the warm ups. Each one of them took their position on the court, ready to practice their main abilities; however, Washijo called out Semi and Shirabu to the sidelines, a serious expression on the older’s face. 

“Semi, I’d like you to focus on your serves from now on.”

“What- why, coach?” Semi asked surprised, closing his hand into fists angrily. 

“Shirabu will be the main setter of the team.” Washijo stated, and for a moment the world has stopped moving in Semi’s perspective. “You’ll be the pinch server.”

“It’s not fair, coach! I’m-” the words died in the boy’s throat, giving up on arguing with him. Throughout the years he’s been trained by Washijo, Semi knew his decisions were made to improve the team’s strength and chances to win. Nothing would make the coach change his mind. “I understood.”

He bowed to Washijo and Shirabu before turning back to head to the end of the court, getting closer to those who were practicing their serves. Semi took a ball from the cart, smacking it to hit the floor a couple of times before tossing it into the air to serve. On the other side of the net, the ball landed near the fifth position, but the thought of scoring a service ace didn’t soothe the burning rage inside of him. 

Once again Semi was told right in front of him that he’s not good enough, he wasn’t needed on the court to articulate all the offensives against the opponent team. Of all people. He was subbed by an underclassmen. Semi Eita, a famous setter during middle school, who was accepted at Shiratorizawa through a sports scholarship. 

Angry tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them slip through his eyelids. No, Semi was too proud to let anyone see how frustrated he was; he wouldn’t give Shirabu the satisfaction to see him break down, even though his junior could not think like that. 

Years of hard working, training every single day to improve his tosses, every time he bent his fingers during practices. All for nothing. Semi felt stupid thinking that it would be enough, he should have learned years before with Touma. Efforts don’t take you anywhere if you’re not a genius. He should have known better. 

Serve after serve landed perfectly in spots other teams’ defense would break: between the first, sixth and fifth position; so close to the sidelines some players would think it would be out, just to be surprised by the referee pointing the flag to the ground. However, it wasn’t enough, not for Semi. At that moment, no service ace would make up the thrilling sensation of setting the perfect ball that leads the team one point closer to the victory. 

It was unfair how he was subbed during his third and last year in that team, after that season he would retire from the club’s activities and solely focus on university entrance exams. Washijo should know how he feels, especially because the coach himself couldn’t play because of his height. So why has he done that? 

His gaze unconsciously fell over the main court, where the spikers were practicing with Shirabu. Semi desperately searched for any fault in the setter’s tosses, in his posture and even in his movements around the other players, anything to point out to the coach as an excuse for him to change his mind about the situation. What angered the boy the most was the fact Shirabu had such clean moves and a great analytical vision - he was way more competent that Semi himself in the matter of technique.

What took the biggest toll on him, though, was seeing Ushijima and Reon hitting every toss with such ease and power. Their performance was better than when Semi was the official setter, he couldn’t recall any practice or game both spikers were surpassing their usually good performance. That made everything clear to Semi: he couldn’t bring the best of his teammates as a setter, he wasn’t skilled enough to help his team on every offensive. He had to accept it.

There will always be someone better than me, Semi thought to himself, panting from tiredness. I’ll never be the first option for anything, I should have known that.

You’re pathetic, Semi Eita.

End of October, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

To say you were nervous was a understandment, you’ve never performed in a live house before - and it definitely wasn’t like school presentations, as you tried to convince yourself. The fact that those people in front of the stage weren't there to actually see you helped a bit to calm down your nerves, though not enough to prevent your hands from shaking. 

“Don’t tell me you’re actually nervous, Y/n.” Semi teased you, earning a whine from you. The singer was relaxed - it would surprise you if he weren’t - with his arms crossed over his chest, carefully enough to put his right one over the other. He was looking good, you admitted to yourself, with black jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather black jacket. “You’re a music producer, you shouldn’t be afraid of the audience.”

“Firstly, I’m not a music producer,” you started angrily, narrowing your eyes at him. “And secondly, that’s why I chose to learn how to produce songs, because I won’t perform them.”

“You can either focus on a dot ahead of you, ignoring all eyes looking to the stage or,” he stepped closer to you, bending down a little so his mouth reached closer to your ear. “You can just look at me.”

You stepped back in surprise, feeling your cheeks heat with the exaggerated flow of blood through your veins. Semi laughed at your distressed expression, leaving you behind to search for his bandmates in order to prepare themselves to go on stage. You had no idea if the guy teased you on purpose or not, but it was effective: you were no longer anxious to be in front of people, but because you’d be next to Semi for at least 30 minutes. 

The moment you dreaded the most arrived sooner than you thought, a staff from the live-house ushered you four to the stage. Akihiko sat behind the set of drums, positioning himself comfortably to start; Takeshi plugged the bass on the amplifier, adjusting the volume as he strummed the cords. Semi stood in the middle of the stage, pulling the microphone stand in front of him up to get it closer to his mouth. Your hands worked quickly on setting up your guitar, earning you enough time to pay attention to the audience’s noise through the closed curtains. 

Before you could get lost in your own thoughts, a fixed and intense gaze on you pulled you out from overthinking. Semi’s brown eyes looked straight into yours, and somehow you felt a wave of calmness wash over you, deafening the sparse chattering around you. His lips formed a small smile, and differently from the sarcastic ones he usually offers you to mess around, it was genuine. 

“You can do it, relax.” He mouthed, you barely caught the words as the staff crew announced the band and the curtains opened. Returning the smile with a nod, eyes diverting its focus to Akihiko - who beat his drumsticks four times, starting the presentation. 

“Thank you so much for coming tonight!” Semi said on the microphone after the last song of the setlist, earning back a wave of screams and claps. “And special thanks to our support Y/n.”

The sudden attention you received startled you, but your response was to simply smile and bow to the public. You weren’t feeling shy at that moment, the adrenaline in your veins even made yourself enjoy the positive response from the public. As Akihiko came towards the stage and thanked everyone, the staff closed the curtains and Takeshi - who was closest to the exit - led the way out. 

“You did amazing, Y/n!” Akihiko beamed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. 

“I was so nervous, though!” You laughed with them at your answer. “But it was a good experience, I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Great, because you’re in the band for a couple more shows.” Semi announced with a smirk, only to that morph into a bigger smile. “I still have a few weeks with the cast and physiotherapy to attend… you better enjoy the spotlight, rockstar.”

All of you burst into laughter, heading to the backstage room you got ready before. The boys encountered their own friends in the process, and while you didn’t know any of them, you decided to organize your own stuff. Soon, your guitar was securely inside its case, a couple of makeup products were stored in the small bag you brought and your cellphone was stuffed in your backpocket. 

“Eita-nii!” A new, and loud, voice bursted into the room. The girl - who you presumed was Semi’s sister by the honorific she used - ran towards the singer, wrapping her arms around his body. The man himself reciprocates the gesture, although shyer than her. “You and the boys were great today! Oh- and who is that girl who played support? You’ve never told me it would be a girl! I thought you’d invited Kaito.”

“Hey,” Semi said louder, looking at you. The unsaid invite to come closer made you get up from your seat in the corner and walk towards them. “Aime, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is my annoying younger sister, Aime.”

“Nii-chan!” Aime whined, quickly dismissing her brother as her attention focused solely on you. “You did so good on the stage! Eita has never told me he was friends with anyone new, let out a girl. I thought he was that antisocial that had only Akihiko and Takeshi-kun as friends.”

“I mean,” you giggled at Aime’s rambling, she was the complete opposite from her brother, which was endearing to see. “I didn’t know Semi considered me as his friends, once he thought I was hooking up with Akihiko.”

“What the hell, Semi?” The drummer jumped in the conversation, a grimace on his face. “I’d never do anything with Y/n- gosh I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Should I say you’re the stalker who would leave me alone if I sang for your project, then? I can still change the status.” Semi teased you, in response, you lightly punched his left arm. “By the way, what are you doing here Aime? Don’t you have a curfew to follow? Does mom and dad know your whereabouts?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Eita!” She let out a huff in annoyance. “I’m twenty, remember that? A college student that has every right to enjoy herself on a Friday night after a tiring week.”

You let the two siblings bicker between them, taking in that new side of the singer you’ve never imagined he’d have. The usually cold, snarky boy also had a soft spot for his sister was also the common overprotective, caring older brother. You had to admit the duality in Semi’s personas suited him, and you felt like another side of his mysteries was presented to you. 

“Well, I have to get going…” you announced gathering your things up, hearing Takeshi and Akihiko’s protests. “I booked a studio early in the morning, I want to be productive, not a literal zombie going over a few samples. Not to mention the last bus will stop by soon. Thank you so much for your hard work, guys! And also, it was a pleasure to meet the better Semi, Aime.”

“I barely know you but I’m sure I’ll like you!” Aime hugged you, while Semi scoffed ironically. “Hope we meet again soon, Y/n!”

“Wait, let me grab my coat.” Semi stopped you from leaving the room after saying goodbye to both Takeshi and Akihiko. “I’ll take you to the bus stop. Who knows what could happen in the middle of the night?”

“And what will you do? Hit them with your cast?” You sassed, the man rolled his eyes, taking the small bag from your hands. 

The two of you left the live-house in silence, enjoying how the loudness gradually decreased and the city noises overtook your senses. You started to feel tired from the show just now, your eyelids were heavier than usual and your shoulder muscles ache due to the tension and nervousness you were feeling. Either way, you felt good, performing was nice - though if you had to choose, being inside a studio felt much more comfortable. 

“You did well today.” Semi spoke out of blue, with your peripheral vision you analysed him. His head was upwards looking to the sky, the corner of his mouth was tugged in a small smile and his posture gave off the feeling he was feeling satisfied. “You were so nervous before going on stage, but when we started, you looked like you’ve performed before. You have a talent.”

“It was the adrenaline.” Both of you laughed at your comment, silencing yourselves as you arrived at the bus stop. It was empty, which was expected given the fact it was almost one in the morning, so you took a seat next to each other. “I never imagined you were the protective older brother…”

“Trust me, you’re not the first one to tell me this,” he scoffed jokingly, a much softer expression adorned his face at the topic of his sister. “Aime is just… something else, you know? As her older brother, I think I have to shield her from being hurt - even if it means I get hurt”

“What, have you punched someone in the face because of her?” You joked, only to the laughter die on your throat at his positive response with a nod. “You’re kidding me, Semi!”

“I’m telling the truth!” He protested, a frown appearing on his face. “Some boy thought he could call my sister a bitch and leave unpunished. It was my very first fight, but as Aime’s brother, it was my job to teach that little shit a lesson.”

“Bet he punched you in the face, as well.”

“Yeah, but,” Semi stopped talking, inhaling deeply before turning to you. “You saw how she is, I- I can’t never let someone take it away from her. Nobody is allowed to hurt her like…”

“Like…” you tried to encourage him to speak after a few seconds, only for him to sigh tiredly and give you a meek smile. 

“Nothing… guess it’s just the cliché older brother talk,” the way he avoided finishing his original train of thought didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you let it go to not cause further embarrassment. As the two of you entered in a comfortable silence, you saw the bus turning into the main avenue. “The princess’ carriage has arrived, my lady.”

“Thank you very much for protecting me, my knight in shining… arm cast.” You giggled at your lame joke, taking the bag from his hands. “I’ll talk to you soon… regarding the project and stuff.”

“And don’t forget we have rehearsals.” Semi reminded you, getting up from his seat. The bus stopped in front of you, the two of you stared at each other not knowing what to do. Before you could turn and hop on the vehicle, the man ruffled your hair with a mischievous smile. “Good night.”

“Good night, Semi.”

1997 (age of 3)

The white corridors seemed to be longer in Semi’s perspective, his young perception didn’t allow him to estimate how long he'd been walking with his grandparents on that floor. What buzzed in his mind was the new piece of information grandma told him before leaving the house. 

“Let’s visit mommy and Aime-chan, Eita-kun.”

The boy was still confused why his mother had to go to a hospital to meet his younger sister - even though his parents had innumerous talks about this special day. Nevertheless, Semi was excited to see mom and dad after a whole day without them - and to finally see Aime. 

Grandad knocked on the door, gently pushing it open so Semi could walk in. The sight of strange wires and tubes on his mother’s skin scared him, bumping into the older’s legs. Sensing his distressed expression, his father came closer to him, scooping the little kid in his arms. Semi hid his face on the crook of his dad’s neck, avoiding eye contact with the starling objects near his beloved mom.

“Eita,” her smooth voice called him, he lifted slightly his head to meet her eyes, only to hide again. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Mommy is hurt…” he whispered, pointing to all the equipment near the bed. 

“No, buddy, mom is not hurt,” his dad denied, tapping lightly his back as an invitation for him to look around. “These things are making sure mommy is doing fine, she’s been pretty tired, remember we talked about it? How would Mommy feel tired after Aime left her tummy?”

An unknown whine filled the room, making Semi lift his head to search for the source of said sound. His eyes eventually fell on the tiny baby on his mother’s arms, opening and closing her mouth as little noises escaped through her thin lips. 

“Aime?” Semi pointed out, suddenly feeling curious. His father sat him down next to his mother, letting him have a better view of the baby. “Aime is small!”

“Yes, she is, sweetheart.” His mother agreed softly, pulling the blanket slightly downwards so her son could see Aime’s face. “But soon she’ll grow bigger, and you two can play together. Will you share your toys with her?”

“Only if she doesn’t drool on them!” His statement made everyone laugh, but Semi couldn’t care less, too entertained with his sister. “I love Aime.”

“You have to protect her as the older brother, Eita.” His father told him, coming closer to them. Semi nodded excitedly, lowering his head to leave a kiss on Aime’s forehead. 

2012 (age of 18)

All Semi could see was red as he approached Aime in front of a café. She was accompanied by her friends and some stranger boy, who was awfully close to his baby sister. The words a fellow classmate told him before they left the dorms for winter break rang through his head. 

“Hey, Semi, I heard a guy from another school has been hitting on your sister for a while. My friend told me she’s pretty bothered by him.”

“Aime!” He screamed, heavy footsteps marking his way over the thin layer of snow. The said girl turned around, a mixed expression between relief and fear on her face. Stopping in front of the boy, Semi opened a bit more his chest in order to look more intimidating. “What the fuck do you want with her?”

“None of your business, dude.” His voice was coated with anger, the short phrase said between gritted teeth. “I saw this beauty first, back off.”

“And I said I’m not interested!” Aime piped in with a squeak. 

“You heard her.” Semi stepped closer to him, locking eyes with the stranger. “Get lost.”

“This little slut is playing hard to get.” The world seemed to stop spinning, Semi took a second to process what that guy had the audacity to call his little sister. “I dare you to say this after I-”

He couldn’t finish his words as Semi threw the first punch right into his left cheek, knocking him to the floor. Kneeling next to him, the pinch server proceeded to get a firm grasp on the collar of his coat with the left hand, while his right one collided with the boy’s face repeatedly. Semi could hear at the back of his head people screaming at him, Aime calling out his name, but nothing would make him stop until that brat learned his lesson. 

The other boy managed to get a hold of himself, punching Semi on his sides - who lost his breath and received another hit on the face. On his tongue, he felt the taste of his own blood - and he wasn’t able to distinguish where it could be from: either from his lips or the inside of his cheeks. With his knee, Semi returned the blows on his ribs, quick to sit himself on the boy’s stomach. 

Every punch he gave seemed to increase its power, shifting between his nose, cheeks and mouth. Semi has never felt so enraged before, just remembering what he had called Aime made his body warm with adrenaline and wrath. 

“I dare you to call my sister,” Semi muttered between huffs of air, feeling difficulty to breathe in and out due to the intense body movement and the pain on his sides. “A slut again. I fucking dare you!”

Before he could do anything else, two men held him back, making sure to wrap their hands on his arms, and lifted him up. Semi, in his last act of anger, kicked the boy laying on the floor aimlessly. The other boy was aided by another man, refusing his care to get up and look straight into Semi’s eyes. 

“Watch out, asshole, I’m getting back to you.”

“Be ready to have a fucking broken nose.” Semi mocked him, and before he could continue his threats, Aime appeared in front of him with tears stained over his cheeks. “I was the one who got punched and you’re crying.”

“Are you insane!?” She asked distressingly, knocking on his chest - which made him lose his breath. “Why would you do that?” 

“Isn't it obvious?” He asked, gently freeing himself from the men’s grasp. “I’m your older brother.”

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[iwillgoon]

Table 4

Chapter one - Handsome Devil

Paring - Negan x black!reader

Summary - Reader decides to give up on finding love, and claims that it doesn’t exist. But what happens when the reader runs into a handsome man who challenges those customs?

Warnings - Slight flirting, Nervousness, Overcrowded restaurant, AU

Word count : 1217

Note: This is my first ever fanfic, so please go easy on me. I am relatively new to the Negan world of fics, which is what made me write this because there’s isn’t enough Negan x black! reader out there, and I plan on changing that.

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

You hated night shifts especially when you have class in the ass crack of dawn. Your co-worker Amber called, begging you to cover for her saying that it was an emergency, so you agreed even though every bone in your body wanted you to say no. So here you were on a Friday night scrambling around the diner going table to table waiting as many as you can.

“I can’t do it.” A voice trembled from behind you. Turning around towards the source of the voice, you frowned, “What do you mean Sherry? You okay?”

Seeing your best friend shaken up wasn’t a normal occurrence for you, it was a drastic change from her normal confident, bubbly self. What the fuck, happened? You thought, grabbing her arm pulling her into a secluded area of the overcrowded restaurant. Securing her arms around her chest around her chest, Sherry let out a deep sign, “Dwight’s at table 4, I thought I was over him, but I can’t face him now. I-I just can’t, I’m not ready for that.”

Slowly turning glancing towards table 4, lo and behold there was Dwight sitting there with two other males seated at the table along with him. The man seated adjacent to Dwight was spotting a very impressive mustache that looked like something from a dirty porno with a balding hairline that he strangely seemed to work. Now the handsome man sitting across from Dwight caught your eye, he really had you in a daze. He is tall and lean with a salt and pepper beard, dressed in a black leather jacket and loose dark gray pants. The middle aged man has jet black hair slicked back perfectly. I never saw him around, is he taken? I hope not.

Frowning towards the table you shake your head, trying not to develop a crush on somebody you’ve never even met, “What a fucking asshole, coming up in here like he doesn’t know you work here. Listen, how about you take a break, sher. I’ll handle the table okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you y/n I owe you. I’m sorry for being so weak. I know it’s only been a month, but I’m still not over it.” She rambled, looking towards the ground in shame, running her fingers through her hair frowning at the group of men at table 4 as their laughter grew louder. Placing your hand on her face gently turning her gaze on you, “You are not weak okay. You are the strongest person I know, and just because you don’t wanna see him doesn’t mean anything. Go take your break, I’ll finish up, and then we can both head home okay?”

“Okay, love you. Thanks.” Shooting you a weak smile she pulled you into a warm hug, Mumbling the three words back, you take a deep breath grabbing your notepad, and pen heading towards table 4. You put on your best smile, walking towards the table, “Welcome to golden shack, If you are ready, you can give your order.”

“ Oh hey, y/n I thought sherry was working tonight.” Dwight questioned, roaming his eyes around the diner trying to spot the girl who drove him there. Yep that’s why he came, trying to win her back. Not on my watch. Firmly shaking your head towards the blonde, you frowned, “Nope. Haven’t seen her all night.”

The other two guys snorted at your reply, Dwight threw you a nod, shoulders slumped frowning at his two friends who found his misfortune funny. The handsome man gazed up at you smirking at your obvious discomfort, “Sorry about all of that beautiful, I’m fucking famished. I’ll get the spaghetti,and meatballs with garlic bread. ”

Beautiful? Wow hearing that coming out of his mouth definitely did something to you, yea a few creepy consumers would shoot you compliments a few times, but this one was different he was different. You never really had a serious relationship, your last one was basically one-sided, and didn’t end good at all. But this handsome devil sitting in front of you staring into your soul made you feel some type of way. You never had dated outside of your race not because you had any personal vendetta against that, but because you never really been attracted to any white guys before, well not until now you were. I need a cold shower, and therapy. You practically sprinted towards the kitchen as soon as you got the rest of their orders trying to erase the sinful thoughts of the handsome man at table 4.

Bringing the trio their long awaited food gently placing each of their plates in front of them, trying not to fuck up and make a fool out of yourself. The handsome devil never taking his eyes off you, ”Well this looks fucking delicious sweetheart, looks almost as good as my homemade spaghetti.”

Shuffling the food tray under your arm you nodded, “Well you should be thanking the chief. I’m just the one delivering it.” His hazel eyes widen a little in surprise at your sassy remark, a slight chuckle leaving his beautiful lips, “Well still, I’m thankful for the lovely service.”

Both Dwight, and Mustache full attention now on the two of you, watching the scene unfold in amusement. You shy away, dropping your head and tucking some of your loose curls behind your ear. “Glad to hear it Sir. Well enjoy, if you need anything just wave me over.”

“It’s Negan.” His smile grows at you, his eyes move around your face and down your neck before he breaks the contact to take another taste of his beer. Halting your steps you look up in confusion, “What?”

Negan? The heck kinda name is that? What a weird name so weird that it actually suits him. Full body now turned towards you he grins, “My name… is Negan. Sir makes me sound like a fucking prune.”

”Oh…. okay. Sorry?” You replied unsure of what to say, his choice of words, and boldness throwing you off. Shrugging his shoulders, Negan waved it off, “Don’t worry about it. And what’s yours?”

A warm feeling spread throughout your body at his interest in you, sending a million butterflies in your stomach causing you to release a shuddering breath, “It’s y/n.”

“What a beautiful name for a very fucking beautiful dime.”

Throwing him a nervous smile you nod, “Um thanks, well I-I have to go… Umm enjoy your meal Negan.”

Rushing towards the workers room you release an anxious breath as you sit on the bench, stomach circling around in tight knots. What the fuck was that? You never got nervous around guys in your whole entire life before, usually you’d be the confident one making them fall to their knees. Well now it was you, boy how the tables have turned. Walking towards the mirror you frowned at the sight, ripping off a piece of paper towel wiping the sweat dripping down off your face. Damn I hope I wasn’t sweating this bad in front of him, damn I am a mess. Get it together girl. Fixing yourself up the best you could you walked back towards the dining hall chin lifted, shoulders confidently raised you intended to get through this night in one piece.

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

This is Ch.1 of my  creepypasta story.

Note: I manly post this on wattpad thought i will also be posting the chapters on here so i hope you enjoy. The explanation of what its about is in my blog lol and enjoy.

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There was a nice cold breeze that blew through the night sky. That cold breeze was uniquely nurturing for the masked man standing in front of his next victim's home, waiting for his comrades to arrive (even though he only saw them as pests). They seemed to be taking their sweet time. "Figures they'd be late," he said to himself while snarling. Now he acknowledged that what he was doing was wrong, camping in front of strangers homes, merely to ruin their whole life. And he wasn't inherently cold-hearted about it too, still feeling pity for the men and women that got terrorised and killed. It's not like he had a choice in the matter either, no. A man's got to make a living somehow, and if it meant he had to hurt others to get it, then so be it. But what was done was done, and he shouldn't dwell on it for now, definitely not when his partners were still running late "Where are those idiots?" He said to himself again and then, in the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows of, what he assumed, were the men in question. He turned his back to them in displeasure.

"Where were you three? I was waiting for ten minutes now." He turned around and looked at them but quickly noticed that someone was missing "And where the hell is Ben?" He yelled in a hushed whisper, not wanting any of the neighbours to hear him. A very tall looking man wearing a navy blue jumper and mask looked at the frustrated man giving him a bored expression, even though knowing he couldn't see it.

"Calm down we had to make a pit stop so we can get the key for the cabin. Someone forgot to bring it," The tall man said in a monotone voice while pointing to a brown-haired boy a little shorter than him, wearing a dirty grey jumper, with a blue hood, a striped grey fabric mask, and orange-tinted goggles, standing behind him. The shorter boy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. The tall man continued "And as for Ben I'm not sure either, he told us he'd be waiting for us while we headed back and got the key, and when we returned he wasn't there anymore." The tall man sighed while gazing to the side.

"Dammit, where could he be? The boss is going to be furious," The masked man said in an infuriated sigh while putting his hand on his masked covered temples. And as if on cue, a short blonde haired boy dressed in a green tunic with pitch-black eyes, walked out of the forest. "Sorry I'm late," He said in a relaxed tone.

"Ben, why weren't you waiting for us?" The tall man crossed his arms and looked at the blond boy, towering over him "Where did you go?" He asked while directly looking into the boys' eyes. "Oh yeah, bout that, I got tired waiting for you guys, so I thought why not just go by myself, but I got confused and then lost." He responded in a carefree manner. The man in blue seemed a little agitated from the blonds behaviour and as he was about to say something he got interrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore, we all know that the boss will have our heads if we delayed this any further," The masked man said in annoyance to the three others. "Let's get the girl and leave." The others looked at each other and then nodded in agreement. They slowly crept up next to the house being very careful not to make a sound. "Ben go look through the upstairs windows and check if anyone else is home while I check the downstairs windows. You two stay here and wait till we're finished." The masked man said to the group. Ben nodded hovering up to the windows on the second floor and checked each thoroughly. While checking, he looked though one that seemed to be the target's bedroom. A girl was laying in her bed in a piece-full slumber. Looking at her, he checked if she was truly asleep and then went to report to the others.

"The coast is clear, and the girl is in her room," Ben said softly, "Yeah same for the downstairs area, she seems to be alone," The masked man responded. He then sighed "Well, this should be understandably easy. We'll go through the back door, so no one notices were here. We both will get her," He stated while pointing to the man in blue, "You two will be the lookout." As they went to the back door, Ben accidentally bumped into a flower pot, making it fall and break. The impact caused by the flower pot hitting the ground produced a loud boom. All of the men looked at the source of the sound, hoping it didn't wake up the girl. "Be VERY fucking careful of where u go, god-dammit, we don't want to wake the girl." The masked man said in a bitter whisper while glaring at the men trailing behind him and continued on his way. But little did he know it was too late.

The girl was only half-asleep, and the loud impact woke her from her lousy attempt at slumber. Recently she was barely able to get even a little shut-eye, always having that nagging feeling of uneasiness and dread while she was in her room at night, it felt like she had been watched. It got to the point where she had to take pills to get even a few hours of sleep. A heavy groan escaped her lips while she sat up from her bed, frowning and putting her face in her hands. "I should check out where that sound came from," She said to herself while getting up and tried to turn on the light to her room but it didn't seem to work.

'Did the power go off?' Thinking to herself while sighing and turning around stumbling to her bedroom window. Looking out of it she stood in her tracks still half asleep and wide-eyed she thought it was a dream. There were four strange men outside in her back yard trying to open her back door. Stood there shocked not knowing what to do but then speedily regained her composure and ran downstairs, ran to the back door and promptly jammed a chair in the door handle. That seemed to catch the men's attention. They immediately stopped what they were doing, realising that the girl knew of their existence. Noticing that the door stopped rattling there was an ear-piercing silence, and then out the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Out the window, right across from her, she saw the silhouette of a tall blue looking man with what she could only assume was a small sharp knife held in his right hand. She didn't want to make a sound afraid that the man would see her, but it was too late, he was looking at her with his navy blue mask, tar-black eyes almost piercing through her. She was looking right at him, with a fear-stricken look on her face.

Thinking only of the worst outcomes of her situations, she immediately ran to the kitchen and pulled out a large knife and ran upstairs. 'If all the four of them are downstairs, then I could go to my room, lock it and jump out the window escaping in the forest.' She thought to herself clenching the knife she took to her chest and sprinting to her room. Swinging the door open, she stood in horror.

Right in the middle of her room was a relatively tall man wearing a white feminine looking mask on his face, he had messy dark brown hair and was wearing a worn-out dirty light brown jacket and baggy torn trousers, he looked to be around twenty and equitably fit. As soon as she saw him, she tried to close the door to his face and blot to a different room, but the man was remarkably swift and provided to tackle her to the ground making her drop the knife once firmly in her grasp. But she wasn't going out without a fight and proceeded to try and push the man off but was failing miserably, so she went to plan B.

Right when the opportunity opened itself up, she quickly shoved her foot in the middle of his legs making the man loosen his grip on her, giving her the chance to push him off of her and grab the knife. Standing up, she noticed that the man was quick to recover from her harsh blow, trying to attack her again this time even more aggressively than before. But she was ready for it and barely dogged. 'This guy is fast I need to get him off my ass,' The girl thought to herself while trying to attack him with the knife, but he dogged and in a swift motion kicked her side making her wince in pain, following it up with a punch to the stomach made the girl fall on her side.

He tried to kick her again while she was on the ground, but the girl caught his leg and pushed the back of it, yanked him down with her. The man fell with a loud thud and grunted not seeming amused by her actions. He tried to get up and take care of her but was promptly stopped by the sharp pain he felt on his leg. The girl had stabbed him with her knife. A scream escaped from the man's lips. She immediately got up and tried to leave, but unknown to her, the tall man she saw out the window was waiting for her. As she ran downstairs to get to the front door, the tall man shoved her to the ground and knocked her out.

Taking her in his hands, he went upstairs and looked at his ally sprawled on the ground and snickered. "A little girl was able to knock you down, how sad." The tall man's usual monotone voice was laced in amusement. The masked man was unimaginably irate.

"Help me up and let's just go, we don't want the cops finding out," He said in anger "As you say, Boss." The tall man said mockingly while helping him up.

"Just shut up and help me already, Jack."

[takingcourage]

Color and Light

Characters: Thomas Mendez, MC (Allison), and MC’s daughter (Kira) 

Word Count: 2,400

Summary: With Luz away and Allison occupied for the morning, Thomas has a special strategy to pass the time with Kira. 

Note: I’ve been wanting to write a story about Thomas and MC’s daughter for ages. The lack of scenes between them is one of the very few complaints I have about MotY, so I thought I’d fill in a little bit of that gap with this fic. It was originally intended to fulfill a Choices August Challenge (kaleidoscope), but life got hectic in August and it this story was pushed to the back burner. All of that to say, the summer setting and inspiration for this story aren’t quite as random as they may seem. 

I hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for reading. : ) 

Crick. 

Crack. 

Thomas's stride broke as he became aware of the noise. Brow furrowing as he continued toward the kitchen, he mentally filtered through the possible causes: pipes, dishwasher, trash compactor... He was relatively certain that he hadn’t left anything running after making Allison’s coffee a half hour before. Whatever was happening in the kitchen must be taking place without his influence. 

Bracing himself, he rounded the corner. 

Though the room had no windows, the morning light still made its way into the space, relieving his fears before he'd even had a chance to flip the switch back on. 

Nothing.

There was no burst pipe, no invading animal waiting to jump out at him from the countertops, nothing at all out of the ordinary.

It was the ice maker, he realized in relief.

Thomas couldn’t recall the last time the house had been quiet enough for him to make out the background noises. With Luz around, there was always music or the television or the steady thud of soccer drills against the outside wall...With a quick shake of his head, he padded to the other end of the silent kitchen to brew a second carafe of coffee.

The air conditioner was working; he could hear the distinct hum from the upstairs unit keeping the house a pleasant 74 degrees. Soledad had chosen the best. Almost fifteen years in this house, and it had never needed more than routine maintenance to keep things perfectly cool. 

And yet, there was no mistaking the sheen breaking out on the back of his neck.

Stress had been mounting for the past twenty minutes -- ever since Allison had kissed him and slipped through the front door. Ordinarily, he'd be lacing his running shoes by now, determined to master the involuntary responses that his body was lapsing into. Today, he needed to work through it in another way.

Thomas glanced at the microwave clock, performing the calculations as he opened the refrigerator door to retrieve milk and a pair of eggs. Kira had gone to bed around 9:00 the night before. Based on the many nights she'd stayed over at the house since the start of summer, she’d wake up to join him any minute. Hot sweat returned with the confirmation.

This was hardly the first day he’d spent alone with a ten year old. It certainly wasn’t the only time he’d been with Kira without Allison there. But it was the first morning he’d spent without Luz serving as a buffer. Somehow, ten years of experience with one child hadn’t left him feeling prepared to take on the other. 

He was a lawyer and a recovering workaholic, for goodness sake -- hardly the sort of person a preteen girl wanted to spend the day with. 

Lowering the lid on the waffle maker, his eyes glazed over as the steam rose from between the metal plates. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, finally glancing away when the indicator light flickered on.

A creak sounded from the bottom of the stairs, and his heart flew into his throat. He cast a quick glance around the room before peering across the counter to the house’s other occupant. 

“Morning, Kira,” he greeted, voice sounding mostly normal. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Fine. That bunk bed is really comfortable."

“Great!” His response was a little too hasty. Pulling himself back, he topped off his mug of coffee, blew, and watched the wave ripple over the glassy surface. “I took a gamble and made some waffles for breakfast. Does that sound okay to you?”

Kira looked at the metal contraption with a curious half-smile. “It sounds delicious!”

“With orange juice?”

“Mmhmm, thank you,” she confirmed, already climbing onto a barstool. “Did my mom leave for class?”

Thomas snagged a plate from the overhead cabinet and used a pair of tongs to extract a perfectly golden-brown waffle from the mold. “She headed out about half an hour ago,” he answered before sliding her breakfast across the countertop.

Kira’s face puckered with disappointment. “She doesn’t usually leave so early; I thought I’d be up in time to see her.”

“She had to run an errand on the way," he explained. "Do you need to talk to her? You can borrow my phone if you want.”

Food forgotten, she set the syrup upright, its contents slowly oozing back down toward the bottom of the bottle. “That would be great! I wanted to wish her luck on her test.”

Passing her the device, he turned to give her some privacy. By the time he’d rinsed the mixing bowl and unplugged the waffle maker, Kira had composed the message. 

“Keep in in case she texts back,” he suggested, reaching for his coffee again.

“Thanks.” She went back to pouring syrup, alternating squares in the waffle until she’d achieved a checkerboard effect.

Concealing his raised brow, Thomas took another sip of his drink. The two girls could not be more different. With Luz, it was always a challenge to keep her from using half the bottle. Kira’s measured approach was far less troubling by comparison. If the girls already fought like real sisters, they complemented one another perfectly as well. He’d lost track of the number of times that one girl’s vice had been counteracted by the other’s virtue. 

Yet another sign that this is meant to be. 

The phone screen came to life before their eyes, and Kira tapped to view her mother’s message. “She got it in time.” With a grin, she handed it back to Thomas. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Based on the angle, there was no way for him to take it without casting an eye over the messages.

Good luck, mom! You’ve got this!⚡️

Thanks! Love you, kiddo. ⚡️

Something within him melted on reading the exchange, though the sensation was quickly replaced by something far less pleasant: fear.

Allison knew Kira so well. It was one of the things that had stood out to them when they’d first met, and it had only become more abundantly clear in the months that had followed. And while Guy didn’t take much of an interest in his daughter’s life, Kira still seemed to thrive on the time they spent together. In short, she already had two parents. Where did that leave him?

Sighing as he slide the phone back into his pocket, he walked around to the other side of the kitchen so he could join her at the counter.

“Thanks for making breakfast,” she acknowledged as he sat down. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to. It’s not often that the two of us get to have time together.”

Kira met his eyes with an amused smile. "True, but Luz is going to be jealous when she finds out we had waffles.”

“We’ll make them again when she gets back,” he promised, feeling the anxiety stir his stomach again. Breakfast was easy. If the rest of the morning ran as smoothly, it would be a miracle.

Kira cut another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "You're really good at it. The machine my mom has always burns the middles. Yours are better,” she whispered, green eyes narrowing with the conspiratorial whisper.

“Maybe we should buy her a new machine one of these days.”

Swallowing her bite, Kira regarded him with a creased brow. “But she can just use yours -- we’re over all the time! And it would be silly to buy another one when you’re just going to get married.”

Thomas could only hope that the girl wasn't perceptive enough to notice the way his cheeks darkened at the suggestion. He forced a sip of coffee down and tried to counteract his mortification. “What makes you think we’re getting married?”

“Luz told me she found a ri--” her face froze. “Nevermind. I don’t know anything. Forget I said that.”

Sensing an opportunity, Thomas pressed her further. “Do you want us to get married?”

"Yeah." The corner of her mouth lifted as her eyes crinkled. “Mom’s really happy when she’s with you, and Luz and I would get to be sisters for real! It would be perfect.”

He smiled in agreement before deciding it would be prudent to change the subject. “How should we spend the rest of our morning?” 

Inadvertently, the question came just as she’d placed another forkful of waffle into her mouth. Thomas offered a repentant chuckle as she worked over the bite of food, though she didn’t seem to hold it against him.

“I brought a book,” she informed him after swallowing. “I can be super quiet while you’re working. Oh! Or do you have a case I can help with? I could read tracking numbers to you again if you want.”

“Actually,” he began, growing almost shy with the suggestion, “I was hoping you might be up for a science project today -- whatever you like.” He set his near-empty cup on the marble surface, hoping he hadn’t misstepped.  

“Really?” Her eyes flashed to life again, scrunching up at the corners in exactly the same way Allison’s did when she was passionate about something. Even if he’d never met her mother, the girl’s expression would have been impossible to resist. 

“Really. It would be fun to make something we can show your mom when she gets back this afternoon.”

“And Luz, when she gets back from soccer camp!”

“And Luz,” he added with a grin. He wondered vaguely if the two girls would be so eager to see each other once they were living under the same roof all of the time. “I’ll let you decide on a project while I clean up from breakfast. Doesn’t matter what it is.”

“Okay!” she took a pensive bite while he walked back around to the kitchen. “You’re sure it can be anything?”

“Uhhh,” he wavered, remembering too well the sorts of things that ten-year-old girls were capable of when there were no boundaries. It’s Kira, he had to remind himself. At worst, we’re looking at a bunsen-burner fire or some kind of mild chemical reaction. “Anything,” he confirmed after a pause. 

“Okay, I figured it out,” she announced moments later as he was wiping down the countertops.

“And...?”

“I wanna make a kaleidoscope!”

“Sounds perfect, though I think we’ll need to go on a supply run. Can you make a list?”

She held out one hand to begin ticking items on her fingers. “Well, I’ve already got confetti for the bottom. Faye gave me a bunch from one of her promo boxes and told me to use it for something cool. If we can run by our apartment, I know exactly where it is. After that, we’ll need some PVC pipe, mirrors, a glass cutter, a petri dish....” Still bending her fingers, she paused for further consideration. 

“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?” 

“I’ve wanted to make one for forever!” Catching herself, she backpedaled a bit. “If you’re sure it’s okay...”

“I have one condition...” Squeezing the excess water from the towel, he draped it over the faucet to dry. Kira’s eyes were glued to him when he turned, her brows slanted with something approaching consternation. “You have to explain what you’re doing each step of the way so I know how it works.”

Her mouth fell open for a beat before snapping shut again. “Sure!”

This time, the smile that came to Thomas’s face was a little more confident. So far, so good.  

_____

For the next several hours, all worries were in vain. There were no awkward silences or stumbling uncertainties. Each minute was consumed with questions and explanations, safety tutorials for cutting glass, excited strategizing, and careful construction. They’d just started clearing up their lunch dishes when Allison’s key clicked in the lock. 

“Mom!” Kira rushed to finish loading her plate in the dishwasher. “How was your test?” Her whole face was lifted in anticipation. 

“I passed with a 96%.”

“You’re so smart, mom!”

Retrieving the elastic band from her wrist, Allison swept her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. “And you’re so sweet. Thanks for the energy zap this morning.”

“Welcome! Do you wanna see what Thomas and I made?”

At Allison’s eager nod, Kira led her to the den. Thomas stayed behind until the rest of the dishes were in the machine, content to hear their lively chatter a couple of rooms away. 

When he joined them, Allison was waiting by the arched doorway. “Kira’s never going to forget this. I can’t thank you enough.”

"The pleasure was mine. And I have to admit, it was a very educational day for me. I didn’t realize how rusty I’d gotten in geometry and physics.”

“She’ll keep your mind sharp, that one.”

“One of the many perks to having the two of you around.”

“Ooh! Look at this!” Kira called out in the closest thing to a shriek that he’d ever heard from her. “The pattern is sooo cool. It looks like a gamma-ray burst!”

Taking the proffered object, he held it to his eye and squinted until he had a proper view. Between the mirrors and the lights, Faye’s bits of paper had taken on new life in a pattern that was at once both uniform and wild. And though he had only the faintest idea what a gamma-ray burst looked like, satisfaction took hold of him as he gazed through the tiny opening.

Since her birth, Luz had been his light. She’d carried him through on the days when he hadn’t even been certain he wanted to go on. For a time, that light had been all he’d needed. But Allison and Kira had brought more to the equation: a beauty, a vibrance, a curiosity and passion for life that he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. Together, the three of them made for a fuller world than he had ever thought possible. 

“Did you know they’re the brightest explosions in the universe?”

“I didn’t,” he whispered, careful not to shift the design as he passed the cylinder back to Kira. 

Thomas settled next to Allison, her shoulder a comfortable weight against his while they listened to the enthusiastic science lesson that followed. As her fingers sought his, Thomas’s thoughts drifted (ever so slightly) to the ring Luz had found a few days before. If all went the way he was hoping, his home -- and his life -- would never be colorless again. 

[royalcordelia]

Summary:  After returning home from medical school, Gilbert discovers that the neighbor girl, Anne, has gone missing. He won't rest until he's found her, even if it means taking a leap of faith and venturing into his father's old wardrobe. (A Narnia!AU).

Notes: Merry Christmas @londonsboy​!! I was your secret santa this year and I was delighted to get to know you! Talking to you made me remember how wonderful Narnia is, and I realized that Anne of Green Gables and Narnia both have that same whimsical charm about them. I hope your holiday was cozy and lovely!  

*

1: A Child’s Lore

Gilbert remembers the Storygirl. He remembers the red twists of hair braided down her thin shoulders, each tied with bowed ribbons. He remembers the monarch butterflies balancing gingerly on her freckled fingers and the dimples haloing each half of her smile. He remembers cloaking himself away under the shadows of the treeline and watching the girl move slowly through the tall grass. With care and ease, she urged the butterflies to amble onto a nearby flower. 

“Would you care for a story?” she asked them. Gilbert remembers straining his ears to pick up any trace of her voice, tender and easy on his senses. “I won’t fault you if you fly away, but if you have a few moments to spare, I have such wonderful tales.” The butterflies remained in place, fluttering their wings slowly in the warm sunlight. 

“Very well, a story you shall have!” continued the Storygirl. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Cordelia. Oh, but she didn’t start out that way. You see, for most of her life, Cordelia suffered the great calamities that all poor orphan girls do…” 

Gilbert’s back slid down against the tree, somehow too captivated to tear his eyes away. He settled on the ground, pushing aside verdant brush to keep his sights on her. Never before had he taken himself as a fellow who enjoyed fairytales, yet something about this tale and her voice left him no choice but to listen. So he listened. He listened and listened until she whispered, “The end!” The blues of her eyes turned toward the trees straight at him as if she’d known he was there all along. And then, she ran off, disappearing into the heart of the valley forever.

He was only thirteen then, but he remembers. 

Now, he keeps the memory of the Storygirl in the same place he stores the memory of his father’s wardrobe—deep in the parts of his mind full of things he’d seen as a child, but could never prove the existence of as an adult. Myths, legends, and fancies of a child’s imagination. There lives the memory of the Storygirl and the days of yore when his father’s wardrobe held clothes, evergreen trees, and sweet breezes. 

Gilbert knows they’re not real. But sometimes he wishes they were.

2: A Silhouette

Avonlea is uncertain and strange when Gilbert finally returns home. As his carriage carries him through town, the heavy feeling sinks deeper into his chest. Where has that ethereal beauty of the island gone? It used to seep out of the red soil like petrichor, but now the air has lost its fragrant charm. Gilbert can’t help but feel as if maybe the magic PEI days of his youth had been but a childish whimsy, stripped away by inevitable adulthood. 

Then, the hazy memory of the Storygirl returns and for a brief moment. Uninvited, but not unwelcome. Gilbert closes his eyes and lets himself recall the details of her face. There’s comfort in his own childhood myths, as if he is not so far gone, after all.  And when he opens his eyes, he’s home. 

From the doorway, it looks like a portrait—Sebastian frozen on the parlor sofa with low hung shoulders, Mary holding his head to her middle and caressing his bushy silk hair. Gilbert emerges from the blue shadows of the entryway. 

He should announce himself properly. Perhaps attempt reentering with a wide smile and some kind of good news to brighten the mood. Instead, he hears himself say, “Who died?”

Mary tears away from Bash with a gasp, soaring over to the door to pull Gilbert’s face into the crook of her neck. 

“Gilbert! Were you due home so soon?” she says after drawing a watery breath. “I think we’ve lost track of the days!” 

“Yes. I’m on time down to the minute,” Gilbert replies with a smile. “Are you...going to answer my question?” 

Mary’s brows knit together in confusion as she pulls away to examine the state of his face. Her fingers smooth over the frown lines at the corners of his own eyes, but it’s Bash who answers. 

“No one died. At least, we really hope not,” he explains, distracting Gilbert from his vague answer by pulling Gilbert close for a hug of his own.  “None of that for now. Take your coat and shoes off before someone starts to believe that this isn’t your own home.” 

For the rest of the day, Gilbert tries to whittle out the truth from Bash at any opportunity he gets. At the lunch table, after recounting tales from college and his boring graduation ceremony. At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in sudsy water. At the foot of the garden, pulling weeds and sprinkling water onto thirsty soil. He tries again and again, but Bash does not budge. 

When evening rolls around, it’s pull has already lulled Gilbert to sleep on the parlor sofa. Across from him, Mary stitches together a small hole in one of his old shirts until her own exhaustion makes her prick her finger. 

“Can’t keep my eyes open a second longer,” she yawns. Depositing a kiss on Bash’s head, then Gilbert’s, she murmurs, “Don’t stay up too long. I want to keep looking in the morning.” 

Bash lets a moment pass when he hears their door shut, waits a few seconds more, then crosses the room to where Gilbert is sprawled out on the sofa. The newly minted doctor stirs at the feeling of his brother shaking him awake. 

“Mary’s gone to sleep. We can talk now.” 

Gilbert’s eyelashes are heavy, but he pries them open at the stony tone of his brother’s voice and pushes himself to an upright position. 

“So...What have you been hiding from me all day?” 

Bash’s lips press together. 

“Did you know the Cuthberts adopted a daughter?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Gilbert replies, confused why it matters. 

“They adopted her just before your father passed away, I heard. You went away to our steamer, then straight to college, so you never had a chance to meet her. But when you sent me and Mary to this house, she was here waiting for us. Someone had told her that she’d be getting new neighbors, neighbors that might face the same sort of hardships she did when she first arrived. She showed us around Avonlea, helped Mary clean the house after being empty so long. Her name is Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” 

“Did something...happen to her? Do you need me to see her?” 

“You can’t,” Bash spits bitterly. Then, remembering himself, he says, “She’s not sick.” 

“I don’t understand, then.” 

Bash sighs, balling his fists in his lap. 

“Mary and I went to visit her son in Charlottetown for an afternoon last week. Anne offered to come and give everything a good cleaning while we were gone, as a neighborly gift or something. We tried to tell her that it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. She’s not one to lose battles. She arrived a few hours past dawn, but when we came back, she was gone. Then we found out she never went home to Green Gables. No one in Avonlea has seen her in over a week.”

Suddenly, it makes sense to Gilbert why the house is weighty with the feeling of loss . It has lost something. Gilbert doesn’t know this Anne, but whoever she is, she took the island’s light with her.

“What do you think happened?” Gilbert asks, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes.

“Someone broke in. Found a woman all by herself with no one around for miles. You can imagine the rest.” Bash holds his fist with his other hand, as if he might hit something if he lets go. “Anne is...a unique woman. Kind and brave. But to Avonlea she is strange and of varlet stock, and with the way they see Mary and I… Only a few families have been willing to help us look for her. Would you? In the morning? You know Avonlea better than us.” 

Gilbert doesn’t hesitate. 

“I will.” 

3: A Recollection

It just doesn’t add up, Gilbert thinks bitterly, splashing cold water on his tired cheeks. His reflection stares back at him, looking just as dejected as he feels. But what else could there be? I’ve already scoured the house. No signs of a struggle. Nothing broken or stolen. Guess I’ll just have to look just as hard in town. See if anyone knows anything. He scoffs. It sounds like something out of a children’s book. A fair maiden walks into a house that swallows her up whole. Too bad I’m a doctor and not a knight. He means it only in jest, but it sparks the flame of an idea in the farthest corner of his mind—the corner containing his childhood and its fanciful inventions. 

And then, there it is. A memory, a reminiscence of sorts. 

One wardrobe. 

One door drawn open.

One small Gilbert Blythe crawling into it. 

He couldn’t have been more than six or seven when it’d happened, nor can he remember why he’d even ventured into the wardrobe in the first place. Perhaps it had been a particularly clever hideaway in a game of hide-and-go-seek. Or maybe his father had sent him in search of his coat and something had tipped him off that there was more. 

The memory itself is relatively uneventful. Little Gilbert opened the wardrobe door, crawled in, and somehow, miraculously tripped into a bank of snow. The bank of snow was only a mere plot of land in a world Little Gilbert was not brave enough to explore. He’d scurried back to the door, but left it cracked open for just a moment longer to memorize the world he’d found. It left an image in his mind that he carried with him forever, a memory just as fond as that of the Storygirl—a patch of evergreen trees, sweet air, and an impossible winter magic. 

Let’s pretend for a moment this memory is actually a memory and not just a childish imagination, Gilbert ponders. If Anne came to clean the house, maybe she opened the wardrobe to clean it and organize it. Could she have fallen in? Maybe she’s lost! Maybe she has no way home and—

Dr. Blythe, get a hold of yourself. Exhaustion has made you mad. 

You’ll assist Bash in the morning, you’ll question the town’s people, you’ll come to the bottom of this. But you won’t be able to find her by courting such preposterous ideas.

4: An Act of Trust

His resolve lasts an entire hour.

Then it dissolves hopelessly and gives way to the memory of the Wardrobe-world.  Pacing in front of his father’s bed, Gilbert weighs whether or not he should indulge his childhood suspicions. It plays over and over in his mind, a frustrating possibility.

At first, he fights it.

If Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is really as headstrong as the Bash has described her to be, then perhaps she left on her volition, tired of small-island life. It can’t be that hard to believe that a woman could abandon a monotonous past in favor of whatever this young century has to offer her. Gilbert’s very last suspicion should be that Anne somehow found a magical world inside a wardrobe and never returned. Yet, here he is, nudging his foot along the carved trim of the wardrobe with an itching to open it . 

Damn it all. What is there to lose?  

Then he does open it. The hinges of the doors screech after being left to sleep, untouched for a decade. At first, it smells of mothballs and the stale smell of his father’s clothes. But seconds later, there’s a hint of sweet—

Gilbert slams the door shut. Absolutely not, he scolds himself. You’re hallucinating. You want this woman to return so badly that you’ll pretend she’s anywhere but dead in a ditch. But then again … Gilbert turns back to the door, placing his hand on the newly dusted wood. Who would know if he indulged in this wild feeling? Shouldn’t he, a trained doctor and an intelligent man, listen to his own gut? 

Alright , he decides. If he’s going to do this, he isn’t going to do it halfway. 

With a short breath, he draws the door open and closes his eyes shut. Then, he’s crawling in, a grown man squeezed into the tight confines of a wooden closet. It’s difficult to breathe above the heavy smell of age and wool, but just like before, it slips away into an unexpected sweetness. Gilbert crawls closer to it, hands and knees finding new space with every pace forward. Behind him, the wardrobe door is abandoned and opened, but Gilbert doesn’t come back out. 

Instead, his fingers find tall, soft grass and his intuition cries in victory.

5: A Twinless Shoe

Gilbert allows himself exactly ten seconds to sit and stare at the pleasant forest clearing before doing what any logical doctor might do in his situation—secede to the visual proof of a magical world and promptly begin observations.

On a first glance, the impossible world-inside-the-wardrobe doesn’t seem all too different than his Avonlea. There are clusters of trees surrounding the clearing, each crowned with vibrant shades of green, moreso than those of home. A mystical softness teems in the air like a breeze, loitering along his skin until he is a mess of goosebumps. A single lamppost towers over him catching sunlight, unlit but clean of moss or dirt. At its base, a leather boot, dainty and slim. 

Something clears its throat, propelling Gilbert’s soul from his body at the shock of it. He whirls around, grass stains on the knees of his trousers. Before him, sits a trio of white-tailed foxes, peering at him with more expression than should be allowed for such creatures. Gilbert tries to steady his pulse but finds the effort unsuccessful. 

“They’re only foxes,” he reasons with himself. “They make all sorts of strange noises. No cause for alarm.”

“That’s a foolish delusion,” the largest of the foxes answers. 

Gilbert blinks. The fox quirks an invisible brow.

“I beg your pardon?” Gilbert stammers. 

The fox stretches, equal parts annoyed and bored.

“With the types of humans that are supposed to stumble out of that door, you think you’d have a firmer head on your shoulders. Wonder what Aslan chose you for?” 

“I dunno, Rambleleaf. Maybe he’s here for entertainment?” the second fox pipes in. Turning her sunbright amber eyes to him, she asks, “Do you sing? Dance? Tell stories?” 

“That is what he brought Anne for,” the third fox adds. “Maybe one storyteller wasn’t enough.”

“I have a hard time believing that this schmuck could tell stories as well as Anne could,” Rambleleaf counters.  

“Anne’s here ?” Gilbert spits out, desperate. The conversation between the foxes dies out as quickly as it started, replaced by a stunned silence. They exchange a glance, as if deciding whether or not to indulge this fumbling fool in Anne’s whereabouts, but Gilbert is desperate. “Is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert here? I’m told she has red hair and freckles.” 

“You...you speak as if you don’t know her?” Rambleleaf queries, eyes narrow. 

“Not personally,” stammers Gilbert. He clambers to his feet and rushes to the foxes, who jolt but don’t shy away. It seems as if he has surprised them, as if they’ve never had a human kneel so desperately before them. “We’ve been looking everywhere for her, trying not to fear the worst. Her parents are friends of mine. They’re worried sick because one day she left to visit my family’s home and never returned. Please , will you take me to her. I need to make sure she’s okay.” 

“How did you know to look here?” Rambleleaf states, unconvinced. Gilbert can give them no answer, but the truth. 

“A feeling. I once came once here as a boy and remembered it, though I can’t say I know where here is.” 

Rambleleaf ponders this, his tail coming up to the underside of his chin, like a hand scratching at whiskers. His eyes trail to the boot underneath the lamppost, then fall undecidedly on the poor fellow before him. 

When finally he says something, it’s—“Who are you?” 

“Me? Oh, um, I’m Dr. Gilbert Blythe.” 

“Well, Dr. Gilbert sir, I’m Rambleleaf, or just Ramble if you’re nice about it. Welcome to Narnia.” The name Narnia sends a warm thrill down Gilbert’s spine to finally hear it. The existence of it is already enough cause for hope. Rambleleaf nudges Gilbert’s hand with a clawless paw and points over to the single boot laying sideways in the grass. “You’re in luck. We’re good friends of Anne’s. She sent us back to find the shoe she left behind, so if you want to see her, you can follow us back to the Larsack village. It’s not far from here. Just a bit north on the west border of the Western Woods.”  

“I’ll follow you,” Gilbert decides resolutely. 

“Good. Then grab that boot and we’ll be on our way.” 

Gilbert does as he’s told, pushing aside the frustration of being told what to do by a fox. With the shoe in his possession, he curses that he didn’t think to bring any sort of satchel or carrier case. Then again, he isn’t supposed to be here long. Just long enough to find Anne and bring her home. 

Then, without wasting another moment, the foxes disappear in the wood, leaving Gilbert to follow. 

And he does, the door to his father’s wardrobe entirely, completely forgotten.  

6: A Duet

They trek through the thicket of the forest until the soles of Gilbert’s feet have grown sore at the unfamiliar terrain beneath them. Having left his pocket watch sitting on his desk back home, Gilbert can’t be sure of how much time has passed—enough certainly for the foxes to have eased their snide opinion of him. He finds they like to listen, asking Gilbert all sorts of questions but offering no answers of their own. 

As it turns out, Gilbert is not so bad a storyteller, after all. 

“—but children believe in magic the way adults in my world don’t. So I told the little girl that the cure for her stomachache was a feather on the underside of her toes and all her laughter made her forget that she had eaten too many biscuits. Sometimes I think medicine has more possibilities than we can know. Certainly being here has…”

Gilbert slows to a stop and turns his ear to the sky. He draws in a quick breath of hope at the faint lilt of laughter, music, and one rich voice towering above it all. 

He takes off running, hopping over Rambleleaf and sprinting down the path. A crowd’s cheers and the minstrel songs grow closer and louder with each wide stride. He all but crashes into someone at the back of the crowd, scanning the clearing for a head of red hair and a face of sandy freckles. There are a few tents set up along the circle of the crowd, and in between them must be a hundred people sitting and standing, all with their attention locked on one person. From the back, Gilbert finds his view obstructed by some particularly tall Narnians. Just as he begins to plan a route through the mass of people, a soft paw nudges his ankle. 

“You’re just in time to hear her speak,” Rambleleaf says at his feet. “Can you lift me up so I don’t get stepped on? I want to see this too.” Gilbert kneels, allowing Ramble to hop onto his shoulder before embarking into the crowd, drawing closer and closer to the makeshift stage. 

And then he sees her and all the pieces of his mangled heart slant together, restoring it in one, breathless moment.

“The Storygirl, ” Gilbert heaves quietly. 

“That’s what we’ve taken to calling her here, too,” Ramble says. 

His Storygirl hasn’t changed a bit. There are still halos crowning her smile and kingdoms of possibilities in her eyes. But the young dreamer and commander of words Gilbert had seen in the fields all those years had grown so tall and beautiful that he had no words left for himself—only a fiery warmth and an insatiable desire to talk to her.  

“That’s Anne there?” Gilbert whispers to Ramble. 

“Unmistakable, right?” Ramble murmurs back.

“I’m going to get closer.”

“Oh, good! I can’t hear from all the way over here,” Rambleleaf agrees, nudging Gilbert with his nose. 

Gilbert collides with a few shoulders and elbows as he passes through, but only because he cannot tear his eyes away from her. He feels like the thirteen-year-old lad with weak knees and a pining heart all over again. When they’ve reached the makeshift stage, Ramble waves his tale to the Storygirl. The flash of white catches her attention and through the next words of her tale, she gives a dimpled smile and nod. 

Then her eyes fall on Gilbert and her tongue stumbles. He watches her gaze travel from his heart-struck eyes, to his Avonlea clothes, to her boot in his hand. Anne chuckled and extended her bootless foot. Gilbert blinked down at it, the “Doctor” part of his mind wondering if she wanted him to examine it. 

“The boot, Gilbert,” Ramble hisses in his ear. 

“Oh! ” 

Anne continues to keep the crowd enraptured in her tale even as Gilbert slides the boot over her lacy stockings and ties the laces. When he’s finished, she bends low to him and whispers, “Care to help me with my story?” 

“Me ?” Gilbert chokes. 

“Yes, Gilbert Blythe. You .” 

A shiver shoots like a flash of summer lightning down his back. How does she know my name? Gilbert’s mind wonders on repeat. He feels himself nod, only to be swept up onto the stage with her strong hands a second later. She offers Ramble a hand down, pressing a kiss to the top of his fur, then turns back to Gilbert. 

“Play along!” she murmurs quietly. 

Gilbert nods once more, turning nervous eyes to the crowd of onlookers. Beside him, Anne shoots back into her carefully woven tale. 

“It would’ve been easy for Cordelia to resign herself to the fate everyone wanted for her. But could she submit herself to everyday mundanities? Milking cows and pulling weeds? She could see the honor in these tasks, but somehow knew that her destiny laid elsewhere. She turned to a neighboring lad and asked him his thoughts.” 

Anne grabs Gilbert’s fingers and poses her body as if engaged in a conversation with him. Her tongue stills, and she urges Gilbert to take the next few lines. 

“Well, er…” Get it together, Blythe. He takes a deep breath. “The neighbor lad assured her that she bore enough heart and talent to succeed at any task she put her mind to. That it wasn’t a matter of finding her destiny, but...creating it? For herself.”

Anne smiles. Gilbert feels it thrum pleasantly behind his ribs. 

“Cordelia asked the neighbor lad if he would help her find the better feelings of her heart, the truth behind her soul and desires.” 

“He agreed,” Gilbert says resolutely. “Because the lad had already traveled across the world to find her. What was another journey?” 

7. A Pair at Tea

“You must tell me how you managed to find me!” Anne exclaims, pouring sweet tea into two small stone goblets. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, and Gilbert wonders if it’s the reason for the raspberry, rose smell of her.

Gilbert hasn’t quite shaken the timid nervousness. This is how he imagines he might feel if he were engaged in conversation with the King of England—only Anne is much more beautiful, even if she is just as intimidating. His eyes follow her hands as she hands him his tea, and he accepts the offering as something to occupy himself with.

He ignores her question. For now, at least.

“How...how do you know my name?” 

Anne smiles into her goblet.

“I’ve dusted your photograph hundreds of times helping Mary clean your home. You’re often all she can talk about when we’re polishing the silver or scrubbing windows.” 

“Really?” 

“Indeed. I know plenty about you, Dr. Blythe.” 

“Just Gilbert is fine,” he hums, cheeks warm. Then his eyes dim and he stares at his own reflection in his tea. “What sorts of things do you know?” 

Anne ponders this for a moment. Her fingers twist strands of hair into a gentle braid as she speaks, “I know that we just missed each other when we were children. That you left the island the same winter I arrived. I know that you’re the golden boy of Avonlea, and that all the mothers have been counting down the days until your return to marry their daughters to you. I know you won a prestigious scholarship that allowed you an excellent medical education. Congratulations by the way. I know—”

“ Alright !” Gilbert coughed. “I almost feel ashamed that I know barely anything about you. Only that you’re selflessly kind, a legendary master of storytelling, and that you’re unearthly beautiful.” 

Roses flourish her cheeks in lovely shades of red. Gilbert bites his lip to keep from smiling. 

“Anything you’d want to know, you only need ask. I’m an open book.”

“Then may I ask what it is you’re doing here?” Gilbert begins carefully. “The Cuthberts are worried sick. Bash and Mary, too. We all thought something terrible had happened to you.” 

“Terrible? Why? I’ve only been gone nearly a day. I’ve disappeared for longer periods of time into Charlottetown to visit friends.” 

Gilbert blinks.

“Anne, you’ve been missing for over a week. You came over to help clean the house a whole week ago.” 

Her face shoots up to him. 

“You must be mistaken. This isn’t my first time visiting Narnia. Time travels more quickly here than it does in Avonlea. That’s the way it’s always been.” 

“All I know is what I’ve been told.”

Anne rises from the table, a hand over her mouth. 

“A week? But...but how did you know where to find me?” 

It’s Gilbert’s turn to blush, but he answers honestly. 

“I think I accidentally stumbled upon Narnia as a boy, but always thought it was a dream or an imagination. When you went missing at my house, I just had this...feeling I couldn’t shake. I’m still having a hard time believing it, to be honest.” 

“For a man of science, I think you are doing admirably,” Anne says warmly. “I admit, I stumbled here in a similar way. I was going to wash your fathers old things because they’d grown so dusty, but I tripped into the wardrobe.” 

“That’s kind of you. To take care of my father’s things, I mean. Especially when you weren’t acquainted with him.” 

“Mary told me he meant a lot to you,” Anne answers easily. “Besides, you’re a man now. I thought you might like to wear some of his things to help keep his memory closer by. I know I wish I could. Wear my mother’s dresses, that is.” 

“Oh,” Gilbert frowns. “I apologize. I’d forgotten you’d lost your family too.” 

“An unhappy sort of thing to have in common with someone, I’ll admit,” Anne replies, a sad smile on her lips. “But you and I both have our makeshift families now. And this new little friendship of ours. That brings me to this question, though, Gilbert. How long do you plan on staying?” 

“How long do you plan to stay?” Gilbert replies, heart catching speed in his chest. 

“For the duration of the match,” Anne replies, as if it were obvious. 

“The...match?” 

“Ramble didn’t tell you? There’s a Storytelling Match that’s taking place right now. Whomever can spin the best tale will get to tell a story to Aslan, the King of Narnia.”

“Ramble did say something about Aslan bringing you here for entertainment.” 

“That’s only a guess,” Anne corrects warmly. “I’d like to win the match and meet Aslan, and then I plan to return home.”  

Gilbert isn’t sure what to say next. The right thing to do is return home and explain as best he can the truth behind Anne’s disappearance. At the very least, fabricate some lie that assures everyone of her safety and inevitable return home. 

But to his surprise, he finds he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to witness this storytelling match, support Anne and witness her victory. Maybe what Anne said about time in Narnia is right, after all. If they stay in Narnia for a while longer, perhaps it will be like no time has passed at all. 

“Will you stay, Gilbert?” Anne asks quietly. “I know you’ve just met me and that we’re barely acquaintances. I won’t fault you if you return back home to your patients and to our families. But…” 

“But?” Gilbert whispers hopefully. 

“But if you’d like to stay for a while and explore Narnia with me, I would welcome the company. In fact, I’d be glad for it.” 

“I’m so newly home that I don’t quite have patients yet,” Gilbert says offhandedly, mulling the idea over in his mind. “And there’s no guarantee that if I leave that I’ll ever be able to come back and see you. To make sure you’re alright.” 

“There’s not,” Anne agrees, eyes glimmering with warm light. 

He surprises himself with what he says next. 

“Then I’ll stay.” 

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Chp. III: The Second Letter

When the morning post came around, the clicking sound of a typewriter being used at an almost inhuman speed filled Angelina's home. Outside the world was wide-awake, and the concentrated writer let the bustling sounds of the street lul her into a world of her own. 

Maybe that was why she didn't hear the knock at her door. No matter the reason, the thick, cream coloured envelope that dumbed down into the light grey letterbasket on the inside of the door went unnoticed for several hours. 

Around noon she rose to her feet and stretched as far as she could reach. Her neck cracked and there came a popping sound from her right shoulder. 

"I think it is just about time for lunch," she mumbled to herself as she looked at the pile of papers that lay neatly stacked next to her typewriter. "This is as good a time as any and let's face it, you are not going to run off in my absence."

Had anyone been around to hear her, they might have found it rather odd that she talked to no one in particular - and even more odd that she sometimes led entire conversations with her characters or herself. But no one was around to listen and as long as she did not expect an answer, Angelina really didn't have any concerns about her sanity. 

Trudging over to the corner that substituted for the kitchen, she found a plate and placed half the pie Amanda had insisted she bring home back in the bag. She would eat half a pie now and half a pie at dinner, and then she would buy groceries on her way back from the newspaper tomorrow. There was, afterall, a pile of letters with her name on it, and she had a week's worth of columns she had to turn in. 

With the plate in one hand and a fork with bent teeth in the other, she turned around to walk back to the table. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something laying in her letter basket, and then she bent over slightly to place the plate next to the half finished first draft of her newest novel. Grabbing the chair, she was about to move it half a foot to the right so she wouldn't risk spilling pie on the pages– and then she froze. 

Turning her head her eyes landed on the cream coloured envelope that awaited her attention. Her blood ran cold at the sight of it. As she walked over and lifted it from the basket, she debated what she dreaded most: A threat of ruining her career, or the possibility that he would stick to insulting her in the privacy of their correspondence. 

How many letters did it even take for one to call it a correspondence? This was the second letter she received and counting her own reply that made up a correspondence of three letters. 

Whatever the Duke had written to tell her, the sheer thickness of the envelope told her it would not be a short letter. It was almost as thick as her pinky, but if he wrote on the same paper he had used the last time, it was probably only half the pages it would have taken her to get the same volume. 

She carefully slid the letter open. She flipped through the pages before she started to read. 

"How many pages does one need?" she murmured as she leaned back on the chair and stretched her feet out in front of her. "He might as well have sent me a novel. Now let's see– where to start…"

She found the first page and began reading. 

Dear Miss Ravenloft, 

Let me begin by putting your mind at ease. Your letter was as delicately formulated as your novels, and I dare say that only a brute would be offended by what you wrote on those pages. Hopefully this short paragraph has given you one less burden to bear, and I hope that by the end of this letter you will let me lift more than this one burden from your shoulders. 

Reading over your reply I realise, my first letter must have been unclear on several accounts. Please forgive me, Miss Ravenloft, for the misunderstanding and the confusion my first letter created. I will take it as a testimony to why you are the writer and I, a mere admirer of your work!

On the following pages I will try to clear up any misunderstandings created by my last letter, and then I will try to calm your mind on the matter of the not entirely unrelated business you mentioned in your reply to my aforementioned letter. 

You wrote that you do not feel deserving of the support I offered you — and I want to empathize that the support I'm offering is in no way restricted to financial aid — if all I got out of it was the measly pages of your books. 

This is not true. Your books are by no known standard measly, as you like to call them. I enjoy your writings to such an extent that I have copies of them in my library both at my land estate, my champers at Hemwick University, and in my London residence. 

Angelina stopped reading to do the math. If he had bought three copies of her previous publications that would mean he was responsible for– that couldn't be right! She did the math over in her head, but she did not get a different number. 

"I'm just going to ignore how much of my revenue that adds up to," she mumbled. Before she picked up the letter once more, she stuck a piece of pie in her mouth and started chewing. 

If my word is not enough to convince you that I would be satisfied to support you knowing that it would help you continue to write then this story must surely convince you. If you are still hesitant to accept my offer without doing anything in return, I will make you a second proposal: Continue to write your stories and let me read the novels when they are published. Apart from this I will ask you to spend a week with me in London in the summer, and a week at my land estate in the winter. On top of this you will agree to meet with me when I stay at Hemwick University. All of this will naturally take place under the supervision of a chaperone of your own choosing– it could be a lady friend of yours, one of your relatives, or maybe a young woman from my household staff. 

I think we can agree that this arrangement will solve the problem of you not working hard enough to earn your keep. If there is something about my proposal, you find unsuitable or that you fear will reflect badly on your reputation, please let me know in your reply so that we can change the offending detail to your liking. 

I will — in one of my coming letters — attach a list of possible dates for your first visit at my London estate. I know there is a little more than four months until the start of the season, but I will need to inform my staff that two extra rooms will have to be prepared for your arrival. 

Now, before you start arguing about the amount I offered in my first letter, I will not budge. Before reaching out to you, I consulted my sources — in whom I have the greatest trust — who let me know how much a respectable pensionate costs nowadays. I know the amount I offered is somewhat higher than this amount, but I doubt you are able to live off of your words alone and surely you need money to spend on both paper and ink to create your stories. 

If you have any concerns about whether or not the agreed amount will be enough to cover your expenses, you should write to me immediately. The same should be the case if you find yourself in need of covering unplanned expenses. I will set up a bank account in a bank of your liking once I receive your reply to this letter. If you have no preferred bank, I will set up an account for you in my preferred branch. 

This part of the letter took far longer to write than anticipated so I shall try and make the following as short as possible. 

I have reached out to some associates of mine who know the industry. They have let me know that there is a pall of scepticism when it comes to your work, but they do not see it as an impossible task to get your next novel published through a “publisher in the Empire” as you formulated it in your letter. It might take some convincing, but my associates assure me that it is nothing a well formulated letter will not fix. My associates have collected a list of publishers they feel would be possible to persuade. I considered sending it along, but I feel it is better we discuss it face to face so that you can have some influence on the discussion with a publisher of your choice. 

I hope this letter has put your mind to ease and answered some of the misunderstandings and uncertainties left behind by my first letter to you. Please take your time to consider these new additions to our agreement and if necessary write for clarification. 

I will be awaiting your reply, 

Northern Hemwick

As she reached the end of the letter, Angelina resorted to stare blankly out the window. It wasn’t much she could see, but the soot covered, yellow bricks of the opposing building, and her eyes registered even less. She had been convinced, her letter had been easy enough to understand, but the rejection of the Duke’s offer to become her patron had apparently gone unnoticed– or at the least ignored. 

“No, I can not handle this today,” she said as she stood. “I will send a note to Jean and get his opinion on the matter.” 

She placed her empty plate and the fork on the stove. Still standing she grabbed a pen and scribbled a short note on a discarded piece of paper that she promptly stuck into an envelope. The door smacked close behind her as she went out to find someone who could deliver her message to Jean. 

“If things continue like this, I won’t have to worry about a publisher; I will never get the chance to finish writing my story!” 

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did. Please let me know by leaving a note, a like, or by reblogging this chapter - I'm grateful for all appreciation that comes my way

The entire story can be found on Wattpad or by following the links in this master post