#if i bought the print would i just be full of regret over not having the original?

[tafadhali]

Saw a piece of art today that I loved and it is POSSIBLE to get a print but the print is already more expensive than any of my other art, so kind of contemplating buying the far more expensive original just because

[shojizbae]

My Rave Babies

Spencer Reid x Reader

rave baby part two

For three weeks, your coworkers had been barraged nonstop about your scandalous habits. "So, listen to any good EDM?" or " Going to any parties?" had been ringing in my ears all week. The team had managed to sneak in puns during a case.

"Well, that sheriff was just raving, man." Derek leaned against the counter and brought a paper cup to his mouth

"Enough," I groan and toss my head back

"C'mon, you can't just tell us you used to go to raves and then not take us," Emily explains

"We are in the dead of the midwest. Will a serial rapist be on the loose, and you're thinking about going to a rave?" I fill up a paper cup with coffee

"Well, do you know of any back home?" JJ offers, sliding effortlessly into the conversation.

"JJ, you have kids," I whine

"Will can watch them for the night." She refutes

"I can't. I'm going back to the murder case before this town is traumatized further." It's a less effective duck-out, but it draws attention away. Hotch gives me a bit of a look as I rejoin a discussion with an exhausted look.

"I hope you didn't stay up all night partying." He teases

"No, I got a full night's rest. I'm ready to take this guy in." Deny. Deny. Deny.

The case came to a close two days later, with the man castrating himself and then slitting his throat. Unfortunately, the connection that all of the victims had was that they frequented the same club. An EDM / Rocker club with very Rave-like vibes. The jokes flew on the plane ride home.

"Alright, alright, fine. I'm going to call my old friend. She'll let me know what's going on in town."

"Really?" Morgan jumps at the statement

"Yeah, don't make me regret this."

~

It was four days later that a festival would be in town for the weekend. I informed the team that tickets needed to be bought. I also let them know they should be on high alert for roofies and perverts. Skimpy clothes and loud music were catalysts for freaks.

"So you're really knocking the dust off?" Morgan holds an FBI mug up to his lips. He's got an all too-full-of-himself grin on his smug little face.

"Yeah, you're coming too?"

"Yeah, so is Emily."

"And me!" JJ holds each of my shoulders, "I'm so excited, Will hasn't stopped ogling the outfit in my closet. He said he needed to borrow some floss and held it up on the hanger."

"Is anyone else coming?"

"Yeah, Penelope and Spencer," Emily says

"Reid?" I nearly snort my coffee out

"That's my name." He traipses into the kitchen and dumps half the can of sugar into his mug.

"I figured a rave would be a little out of your comfort zone. You're really coming?"

"I-i-It is. But I'm trying some exposure therapy."

"I thought that has been disproven." Emily counters

"Clinically, yes. But some of the results of those who have conquered fear through exposure therapy are too nice to pass up. You know, in recent studies-"

"Yeah, we get it you're going." Derek cuts him off

"So, have you picked out an outfit?"

"It's no Halloween, but I figured I should just wear what I always do."

"What?"

~

The night came faster than I had expected. One night, I was filling out a report on a serial arsonist; the next, I was tying myself into a bikini and zipping up giant platform boots. I put on a silky kimono to disguise the scandalous outfit. We all taxied to the nearby party meeting to get our tickets and a wristband checked. Emily and JJ looked phenomenal. Penelope was show-stopping, though. A galaxy-printed dress, giant boots, and fishnets, bejeweled with bracelets and a bucket hat.

Derek was primarily shirtless, though he found a neon fishnet shirt and tactical boots over some burning man cargo shorts. Finally, Reid was the last of the group. Surrounded by a thousand people in their skivvies, he stuck out like a sore thumb in gray slacks, a purple pinstripe button-down, and a sweater vest. The most crazy part of his outfit was his mismatched DC and Marvel socks.

"Wow, you look-"

"You look," I motion up and down at him. "You know, for the youngest on the team, you look like you're babysitting." He laughs, but it seems like he's shriveling on himself.

"Don't worry, you look great," I reassure and slide my hand up and down his bicep reassuringly. Even if I'm typically a touchy person that gesture might seem too forward for coworkers so I retract my arm awkwardly.

"Dang, (Y/n), where were you hiding that body?" Emily came and patted me on the ass and then slung her arm over my shoulder.

"Ok, tipsy, why don't we get you some water?" I unfurl her from me

"That sounds great," Reid clears his throat. "My throat is feeling a little dry." Emily wraps herself around me, and JJ slings an arm over Reid's shoulder. Morgan follows behind us, and we find some bottles of water that are way overpriced. Music begins to bump behind us, and I drag the group into the heart of the crowd. Morgan rears off when he finds some girls eyeballing him. Penelope follows Derek to a group of fun.

JJ and Emily stay close by but jump and sway with the thrumming music. Reid looks out of place like a black sheep.

"DOC!" I shout over the loud music

"Yeah!"

"You look stiff!" I jump around and scream at him.

"I'm not much of a dancer. Maybe I should just go home."

"What?" I stop jumping. C'mon, you've just got to feel the music." I take a step closer. Thanks to the giant shoes I wear, I'm much closer to his face than I usually am. I loop my fingers into the belt loops on his hips and take another step closer. "C'mon, man, you've just got to feel the rhythm." with my hands, I make him sway his hips to the beat. With a bit of encouragement, he starts to do so by himself.

"Ok, just jump around. Let yourself feel free." I twist and jump to the ear-splitting music. He raises his arms apprehensively, and I fling mine on top of him to show him it's fine. With my permission, he raises them and starts to flail freely.

"Alright, pretty boy, get into it." Derek teases

"Don't listen to him. You look great." I jump and swing my arms like a toddler. Lost in the moment, I spin around to show off my back and shake my hips. I lose my control and dance like a maniac. I back up onto Reid and sway with him. As I feel eyes on us, Reid jumps away from me.

"Are you two having fun?" JJ drawls

"Have you been drinking?" I shout

"A lot!" She responds

"I'm having so much fun. Why did you stop this?" Emily screams

"The hangover you'll have tomorrow? Yeah, have fun taking a jet ride with your ears trying to compress into your skull. And one time I caught a nasty STI from hooking up with someone in a port-a-potty."

"What ew," Emily fake retches.

"Don't worry, I took antibiotics." The music came thrumming through the speakers as a new DJ started their set. Immediately, I recognized her and started leaping like a manic shrimp. "Oh my god, I love this song!" I twisted around and grabbed each of Reid's wrists.

"C'mon, dance with me!" my mind disappeared in the bass. Nothing else mattered but the feeling of my feet pounding into the dirt and the occasional collision of Spencer's limbs. Slowly, the thrumming of the tempo migrated to my ankles.

"Alright, it has been a long time since I've danced like this. I need a break."

"Yeah, I don't think these are the best dance shoes either." there's sweat on his brow, but he holds up one of his feet to show off the brown loafers.

"Let's find the rest of the group," I whisper scream in his ear. In the proximity, I feel my torso press to his. I nearly roll my ankle and he catches me by my hip. He stands me back up and steadies my hips.

"Ok, let's get you to a cab," We find Derek quickly. He only has one girl who won't let go of his bicep tonight. Emily, JJ, and Penelope cling back to us, and we leave the grounds all slightly limping. We all file into a taxi and people filter out of the car slowly.

"I think I'm going to get out here and just take the metro home." JJ and I are the only two left in the vehicle as Penelope gets out of the car.

"What no, just stay in the car. I'll drive you home."

"No, that's far too much."

"I could drive you home." JJ offers as we turn down the corner of her street."

"No, you live further than her."

"Reid, I'll drive you home," I demand.

"Alright, you two have a good night." JJ slinks out of the cab, and we watch Will open the door, and she leaps into his arms.

'the kids are sleeping.' I read from his lips

"They're going to have a fun night." I snort. Reid shrinks on himself again. "C'mon, you've had to have some sort of fun like this."

"No,"

"No?" The cab takes us to my neighborhood, and we get out. Reid insists on paying the driver. I let him in and opened the front door. He takes the same space on my couch and groans from the pain. I bring two cans of lemon seltzer water and slump down with my legs across his lap on the couch. I crack the cans and hand one to him.

"Oh, thank you," he takes it, and I take a big slurp of mine. I extend a foot up and put my ankle near his face

"Could you unzip me?"

Uh, uh, sure." He holds my ankle and tugs the zipper down the inside of my calf. Once it's down, I use my other foot to push it off with my other foot. I hold up the second foot and he obeys, tugging off himself.

"Thank you, I roll, crack my ankles, and sigh in relief. "Whew, those were killing me." I start to roll down my thigh-high fishnets.

"Uh, would you like to go to the bedroom to get changed?"

"No, I'm fine like this." I pull the second sock off. I readjust the slipper kimono and tug one of my blankets up my shoulders. I twist around to lie on Reid's chest, straddling his leg.

"Uh, what are you,"

"I'm tired, Spencer." I dig into his chest with my own and loop my arms around his neck. I readjust myself even more around him. His tie stabbed me in my temple, and I tugged it off his chest.

"Uh (Y/n), what are you-"

"Calm down," I say, undoing his top buttons for the skin-to-skin contact my body craves. Your chest is warm." I cuddle into it and kiss his collar.

"I had a good night, Spencer," I sink further into his frame and pull the blanket on harder. I feel a hand thread its way into my hair but dreamland takes me away.

"I had a good night too."

[lostloveletters]

And I Lay Right Down in My Favorite Place (Bill "Hoosier" Smith x Reader)

Summary:  The Australian heat has nothing on how you feel when you finally get Hoosier to yourself.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. Title comes from the song I Wanna Be Your Dog. This is based on the fictionalized characters in the miniseries and not the real individuals. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Light period-typical misogyny. Obviously some historical inaccuracies. Sexually explicit content including oral sex (f. receiving) and some femdom elements. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Your shadow cast abnormally long over Hoosier, his eyes scrunched shut as he slept in the rapidly setting Australian sun, curled up on his cot like a cat on a windowsill. If he had actually moved from that spot in the past few days, you would have felt bad waking him up. Except he hadn’t unless absolutely necessary, and so you attempted to disguise your selfish request as simple altruism.

“Hoosier, c’mon, we’re in Melbourne—civilization! You can’t just sleep through it. At least spend one night out so you don’t regret it.” He was unresponsive. “Please, for me?”

He snickered. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I don’t have a pass.”

“I swiped an extra one. Look, everyone else ran off with some girl, and I have no one to go to bars with me tonight,” you said, stretching the truth a bit. Chuckler promised he’d look out for you in whatever little local dives you ended up in. For the most part, he had, but after a few drinks, he’d get distracted by a local girl, and you’d have to fend off equally drunk suitors without him as reliable backup.

“Fuck, alright,” he grumbled, pushing himself up from his cot, blanket still wrapped securely around his shoulders.

You shoved the dubiously acquired pass into his hand. “I just need to change, and—”

“Change?”

He stood up, the two of you staring each other down in an unspoken stand-off, waiting to see who would fold first.

“I bought a dress.”

“Don’t take too long or I’m going back to sleep.”

You ran to your cot, grabbing a paper shopping bag you’d shoved beneath it. A local boutique’s logo printed on the front, announcing your purchase of a flowing wrap dress that you couldn’t take your eyes off of in the shop. It didn’t take much convincing for you to buy it, and the unwavering confidence you felt while trying it on in the dressing room made a swift return when you ran into one of the locker rooms in the cricket stadium, changing in one of the stalls.

The plunging neckline had especially caught your attention, far from the conservative attire you’d usually wear as a Marine—though there had been strong opinions among some of the men toward your wearing pants, until Hoosier had asked them how the hell you were supposed to trek through the dense jungles in a skirt, which promptly shut most of them up. 

Still, you bought the dress knowing full well it was an impractical, expensive purchase that wouldn’t make it out of Australia with you. The slip that you wore beneath it was a buttery soft satin that you never wanted to take off, nothing short of heavenly against your skin. You didn’t have much in the way of makeup or perfume, so you’d chosen a dress and some heels that could do most of the heavy lifting for you.

Your name echoed through the empty locker room, Hoosier calling out for you as his boots smacked against the tile floor. “Hey, you in here?”

“In the stall!” you shouted back.

The tap ran along with the sound of water splashing. “You sure there’s no one else around to go with you?”

“Leckie’s playing house with some girl from the trolley the other night, Sid’s with his girl Gwen, Chuckler’s god knows where, and Runner’s got a date with the shop assistant at the boutique I bought this from, so no,” you said, securely tying the wrap dress in place. “Look, if it’s that much of a bother, you can stay.” You shuffled out of the stall, your uniform folded and shoved in the shopping bag the dress had been in. 

Hoosier whistled lowly when he saw you, quickly shaking his head. “Not while you’re wearing that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re showing about as much tit as the girls in those magazines.”

You straightened your back, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror above the sink. “That’s why I bought it.”

“It’s sure as hell working on me.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to him.

He folded his arms over his chest. “What made you think it wouldn’t?”

“You’ve seen me covered in mud and blood—I think I’ve even thrown up on you before.”

He grinned. “Gives you character.”

“So I spent my hard-earned money on this new dress for nothing?”

“Not for nothing. I wouldn't mind seeing how it looks coming off you.”

“Maybe somewhere nicer than a locker room?” you proposed.

“Now you’re gonna make me spend my hard-earned money just because you wanna fuck somewhere fancy?”

“I wanna fuck somewhere with a real bed, and privacy.”

“Sounds like you already have a place in mind.”

“I might," you said, taking his hand in your free one and leading him out of the cricket stadium.

Running down the streets of Melbourne with Hoosier sent a rush through you. Your dress flowing in the cool night breeze, the hem flirting around your thighs, each gust of wind threatening to give a peak of what lay beneath to passersby. For the first time in months, you felt like a woman, anticipation building in your gut as Hoosier kept his hand firmly around yours, bringing you closer to the night you’d been hoping for. The fact that it’d be with him was icing on the cake. Even though you were no longer relentlessly hounded for your answer of which member of H Company you would fuck if you absolutely had to—from day one, you’d pick Hoosier.

He really hadn’t been exaggerating about the dress, because when the two of you ran into Chuckler smoking outside of a bar, at least three whiskeys into his nightcap, he didn’t even recognize you. Instead, he shot a wink your way and congratulated Hoosier for ‘getting some.’ He had shouted something else your way when you and Hoosier were halfway up the street, nearing the hotel you’d seen on your shopping trip.

A tall, swanky building with valets outside, you tried not to gawk at the giant chandelier in the lobby, surely worth more than you’d make in your lifetime. You and Hoosier caught some odd glances from the people milling about, but some went out of their way to thank him. You bristled at the perceived slight until you remembered what you were wearing, your uniform hidden in the shopping bag in your hand.

A well-put together man stood behind the front desk, not bothering to pay either of you any mind until Hoosier cleared his throat.

“Good evening, sir. I’d like to book a room for one night for, uh, Lewis Juergens and guest.” 

You nudged Hoosier with your elbow.

The manager looked you and Hoosier over with his lips pursed, as if he were resisting the urge to sneer. “We don’t tend to allow unmarried couples to share a room.”

You put on a charming smile and the best imitation of an Australian accent you could muster. “Just married. We’re honeymooning while we can. Gotta keep this one in line before I hand him back to the Marines.”

“I see,” he said, neither fully convinced by your story nor concerned enough to argue. “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Juergens for one night, then?”

“That’s right,” Hoosier said. “Honey, why don’t you wait up for me?”

You kissed him, perhaps a bit more passionately than was acceptable in such an upscale establishment, but the desire in his eyes when you pulled away to wander over to the elevator was worth it.

He grinned as he walked over to you less than a minute later, holding up the room key. “Wait ‘til Chuckler finds out he’s married.”

“To a nice Australian girl to boot,” you said, pushing the elevator button.

“Nice girls don’t kiss like that.”

“Oops.”

When the doors opened, Hoosier told the operator to bring you to the seventh floor. You caught a glimpse of the room number engraved on the key’s tag. As soon as the doors opened, you rushed down the ornate hallway in search of the room. He seemed to take his sweet time walking over, amused by the scowl on your face.

"You know, I think I might've forgotten something downstairs—"

"Hoosier, I swear to god."

He snickered as he unlocked the door, ushering you inside.

You pushed Hoosier against the door when he locked it behind him, kissing him with a ferocity that shocked him for a moment before he came to his senses. The kiss was overtaken by the desperate clashing of teeth and tongue, a long repressed primal urge rearing its ugly head as you pressed yourself against him. Before that night, you’d considered the situation you found yourself in little more than a foolish yet pleasant fantasy, doubting he wanted you as much as you wanted him. His vulgar quips toward you had blended with the others you’d gotten used to, learned to take in stride. They were all talk, anyway. The way his hands kneaded your ass through the flimsy material of your dress proved otherwise.

“How much did you spend on this?” he asked, voice husky with desire.

You threw the shopping bag aside, paying no mind to how it fell over on its side. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Five bucks?”

“Higher.”

“Ten?”

“Higher.”

“Shit, I better make this worth your while, then.”

“You will,” you said, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it ever so slightly.

Your hand half-wrapped around his neck, you pressed your thumb against the base of his throat while you sucked and bit on a patch of skin just beneath his collarbone. No one would notice unless they really looked for it, like you would over the next few days, your eyes inevitably drifting to where you staked your claim on him. 

He leaned against the door, breathing heavily while you left your mark on his skin, slightly tanned by days in the relentless tropical sun. Your hand drifted up to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing his lower lip. He took the digit in his mouth, and you gasped when he began sucking on it. 

“You’ve got everyone else fooled, you know that?” you murmured, softly kissing the corner of his lips. “Sleeping all day like you’re above it all, when you’re a bigger slut than the rest of them.” You palmed him through his pants, his hard cock straining against the fabric, earning a muffled moan from him. 

When he reached for your hips, you pulled your thumb from his mouth and grabbed his wrists just as quickly, pinning them on either side of him.

“If you want me, you gotta work for it.”

He groaned. “Jesus, you’re mean.”

“I know, but I think you like that,” you said. “Do you like that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered without hesitation.

You released his wrists from your grasp, kicking off your heels as you walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Then show me how much you want me.”

He sank to his knees before you without hesitation. He would have looked almost pious if his hands were clasped together instead of pulling your panties and stockings down to your ankles, his tongue darting out from between his lips as you spread your legs. He’d seen you before, though, not this intimately, but close enough. Privacy was a scarce resource, and so modesty packed its bags along with it. You’d conquered shame on those islands, perhaps the first woman to do so. Maybe that could be included in Lady Marines’ recruiting materials—put the church out of business, be naked and unashamed.

With a frustrated groan, you pulled off the wrap dress, hearing it tear as you were too impatient to untie it properly. The soft, patterned fabric pooled around Hoosier’s knees. He pushed your slip up around your hips, his calloused fingers drifting down between your opened legs. His rough touch electrified you, your legs seizing a bit when he started rubbing your clit with the pads of his fingers, watching intently as your face contorted in pleasure.

His hands gripped your thighs as he ducked his head between your legs, slowly dragging his tongue up your leaking slit until his lips reached your clit, sucking it while he slipped his fingers inside you. Leaning back on the bed, comforter balled up in your hands, your arms strained to support you as he ate you out, lust clouding your reason, your climax just achingly out of reach, like he was doing it on purpose.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you ordered through gritted teeth, your hand buried in his hair, keeping his face pressed against your pussy. His teeth grazed your clit, and your pussy clenched around his fingers when he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched, pleasure cracking down your spine like a whip as you came with a moan that echoed in your ears. “Hoosier—Bill—oh my god—” His tongue lapped up your wetness as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

He moved back from between your legs, hair unkempt and face flushed, his mouth and chin glistening in the low light.

“I wish I had a camera,” you sighed, affectionately running your fingers through his messy hair. “You look perfect.”

“Yeah?” he asked, almost dazed.

You nodded. “Like a wet dream.”

He moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

“Don’t,” you said, a little harsher than you intended. “I wanna see how I taste.”

When he stood up, you took his face in your hands, kissing him deeply, taking in the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips. The sensation sent an irrational, possessive urge through you, greedy for more of him, as much as he’d give you—and only you. 

“You got a condom?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth.

“If I don’t, I’m gonna kill somebody,” he grumbled, searching his pockets for one. 

Salvation in his front shirt pocket, he held one up triumphantly. 

With shaky hands, you unbuttoned his shirt, frustrated by how much he was wearing compared to you—for once. Usually you were the one overdressed, sneaking glances of envy and admiration whenever he was shirtless. He had never caught you, or at least he never let on that he had. You reveled at finally having your hands on him the way you wanted, the way that’d make you curl your hands into fists, digging your broken fingernails into your palms to distract from how frustratingly out of reach he was on those islands.

Your slip came off over your head much easier than the dress, and soon a pile of discarded clothes was kicked to the wayside as he joined you on the bed. 

You stroked his cock, his hips jerking at your touch. 

“It’s been a while,” he offered as an explanation for how his body reacted. As if he needed to, as if you weren’t on the verge of pouncing on him at that very moment.

“I don’t care. I want you inside me, Hoosier. I wanna feel you when you come.”

He groaned, chewing on his bottom lip. “Oh fuck.”

You kissed him, practically swallowing the groan that emerged from his throat when he plunged his cock inside you, your cunt clenching around him as he filled you. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, his gaze locked on your eyes as you struggled to keep them open with each thrust in your pliant pussy, taking him deeper with each stroke. 

“Fuck—I’m close,” he barely managed to force out, his cock twitching as he neared orgasm.

“I got you, baby,” you whispered, your lips soft against the shell of his ear as his thrusts slowed and became erratic as he bottomed out inside you. 

He gave you a sloppy kiss, taking a few moments to catch his breath before pulling out of you. “Fuck,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

You curled up beneath the covers as he got up to discard the used condom.

“Jesus Christ, they’re gonna think someone tried to decapitate me,” he said from the bathroom.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be. Maybe I can claim some rare jungle illness and get a few extra days off.”

You scoffed, smiling when he got into bed next to you, pulling you against him. “Yeah, you and every other Marine running around Melbourne.”

“Hotel room was a good call,” he said softly, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head. “Fuck, I’m gonna be dreaming about this on the next shithole island they dump us on.” He was quiet for a moment. “Never thought that’d get me going, you bossing me around and all.”

“Something about you brought that out,” you said. “I don’t know, I feel like I’d go crazy if another woman touched you.”

“I’ll make sure to warn ‘em.”

You barked out a laugh, hiding your face in the crook of his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. “How about you? Most guys think eating out is degrading.”

“Because they’re fucking idiots.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

The two of you talked well into the night before falling asleep, only to be awoken at ten in the morning by a phone call from the front desk, informing you that if you didn’t check out within the hour, you’d be charged extra.

“Can we put it on Chuckler’s tab?” Hoosier grumbled, reluctantly getting out of bed.

“I wish,” you said, hastily freshening up in the bathroom.

“What’re you gonna do with that dress?” he asked. “Can’t take it with you.”

You shrugged, glancing at the torn, wrinkled garment. “I guess I’ll just leave it here.”

And you did, leaving it behind as you slipped out of the hotel room first. Wearing your uniform, far less comfortable than what you’d been wearing the day before, would inevitably draw unwanted attention to you and Hoosier if you left together, especially if you were seen by any number of fellow Marines who were prone to running their mouths. That, or the same haughty manager could have been behind the front desk again.

By the time Hoosier caught up with you at the cricket stadium, Chuckler was already there, sitting on your cot with you as he told you all about his escapades the night before. His attention quickly shifted to Hoosier.

“Hey, who was that cute broad you were with the other night? The one in the slinky dress?” Chuckler asked as he pulled on his boots. “Was she any good?”

Hoosier glanced at you, a smile tugging on his lips. “She was a real nympho. Tore off her dress and everything.” Your eyes widened when he held up a scrap of fabric clearly ripped from your now discarded dress. Chuckler grabbed for it, but Hoosier kept it just out of reach. “Woulda thought she was in heat or something”

You kicked his boot. 

He snickered. 

Chuckler didn’t notice the silent exchange, instead huffing out, “Man, I gotta get me a girl like that.”

“Gonna have to look somewhere else,” Hoosier said, eyes on you as he pocketed the torn piece of your dress. “This one’s mine.”

[izloveshorses]

No More Pretend

(7k, canon compliant, missing scene)

(read on ao3)

“I just don’t understand why we can’t pretend we’re brother and sister, and you’re our father.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “You two look nothing alike, my boy, no one would believe it. And two strange men traveling with an unmarried woman would only raise suspicion. Now, here you go, darling.” 

Without much ceremony Anya found herself letting Vlad slip a band around her ring finger on her left hand. At least Dmitry had the decency to look just as uncomfortable by the idea as she felt. 

“Unless you want to spend another night in this rain,” Vlad continued, “this might be the only way we can afford a place to sleep.” 

As grim as a man at a funeral, Dmitry swallowed and offered his arm to her. He had once said only suckers paid full price for anything, but maybe now he was regretting being so bold.

Sure, they still had enough money leftover from Anya’s diamond. Tomorrow they would find a train to Berlin. But here, in this little tourist village in Poland, they needed to conserve whatever pennies they had or else they’d be scraping the bottom of the barrel once they reached Paris. That was how Vlad explained the budget, anyway. It made sense. 

But that did not change the fact that Anya hated this plan. 

“What’s our story?” Dmitry asked. They followed Vlad up the road. 

“You’re newlyweds, small dowry. And I’m Anya’s loveable uncle. We come from a factory family, humble city folk, that sort. Oh, and we’re from Lithuania, not Russia. Better not give them any reason to suspect we bring a trail of Bolsheviks behind us.”

At the door to the inn, Vlad gave them one last look over and sighed. Like he was already resigned to this plan falling apart. “Let me do the talking. You just stand there and… be pleasant. Please. I deserve a good bed.” 

They all did. It was the middle of the night, it had been pouring rain since they woke in the woods at dawn, and they hadn’t slept in a real bed since they left Russia. Anya was beyond exhausted. And all three of them looked it. Since they’d spent days without a moment’s break from each other, their nerves were brittle and prickly from the stress. 

Anya glanced up at Dmitry just once. His expression didn’t give much away, but his cheeks were pink, and his eyes were deliberately fixed on his shoes. She didn’t blame him. Everything that happened between them so far since they’d met had been… intense. Intense fear, intense anger, intense joy. Like jumping off of a moving train, for example. Or dancing like they were a young couple at a ball. There was never a time where they were just. Calm. Indifferent. It was exhausting. 

She supposed that wasn’t how either of them operated, anyway. 

As they entered the lobby of the inn, a doorbell chimed overhead, and Dmitry walked with stiff knees next to her. Anya felt like a million eyes were on her. Like the word ‘imposter’ was printed in big red letters on her forehead. 

They weren’t convincing. Like, at all. Even though they were just standing there silently as instructed while Vlad did all the talking no one bought it. The clerk kept narrowing his eyes at them over his spectacles, and the woman next to him didn’t even glance up from her book. Anya didn’t blame either of them. Dmitry clearly didn’t know how to be a gentleman, and Anya didn’t know how to be a wife, let alone a girl in love. The ring was too big. That much was obvious. It could slip right off her finger if she wasn’t careful. And it clearly wasn’t real gold to anyone looking close enough, not something a proper lady would ever wear or accept from a proposal, too tacky and false.

This whole ruse was tacky and false. 

“Unfortunately we only have one room left, but the executive suite will be far too high outside of your budget.” The clerk’s voice was nasally and tired and uninterested. And suspicious. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. 

Anya knew enough Polish to get by, and Vlad was proficient in the language, able to navigate the conversation easily. But Dmitry was practically in the dark next to her. 

Vlad, always persistent, gave it his all, weaving a tale of woe behind them. But he was running out of thread. One glance in Dmitry’s direction said it all. You’re up. 

Dmitry stepped forward, pulling Anya with him. “Forgive me, sir,” he started, halting and slow. He had his cap crumpled in his hands. The spitting image of a humble working boy. “My wife and I have come a long way, and she’s awful tired and needs her rest.” He was dropping consonants and stumbling over the words, but Dmitry was playing it as a sort of shyness instead of a language barrier. “I don’t think we can bear it if we have to move on tonight.” 

Vlad jumped in again, throwing more lines to his scene partner with an expertise that made Anya raise her eyebrows. They went back and forth a bit. Dmitry and Vlad had done this before— had made a livelihood out of improvising together. They came to their jobs prepared with premeditated characters, scene notes, and sometimes even costumes. She’d seen them in action a few times at the market. Next to them, Anya felt a little out of her depth. She couldn’t lie like that on the fly. Not even for a warm bed. She could play pretend, yeah, but she needed to warm up a bit first, not jump in cold like these two. Perhaps she should look at this as practice for her big moment with the dowager empress soon.

She snapped back into focus when Dmitry, instead of hooking his arm through hers like before, snaked his hand around her waist and tugged her flush against his side. She offered a smile, hoping she looked like a new wife who ran away from her disapproving father (?) to be with the man she loved, not just an orphan desperate to get off her feet. 

The clerk remained unimpressed with this charade. “Next town is a few kilometers south of here. Maybe you’ll have better luck there.” 

Vlad and Dmitry shared a knowing look. This might not be a round they would win. 

Thunder rattled the walls. Anya’s heart raced. They went through all this trouble for what, to be thrown out? After all of that? No. She wouldn’t allow it. Not even some bored and self-important clerk would take away her rare chance of rest and safety from whatever Cheka officers were on their trail. 

And Anya really, really didn’t want to sleep in the rain tonight. 

“Please, sir,” she said, her voice meek and wobbly. She hadn’t planned on speaking at all, both boys gave her surprised looks. “We’ve come a long way, we have nowhere else.” She didn’t know where the tears were coming from. Vlad was watching her with his mouth agape. “The last inn didn’t have beds available either, so we’ve had to walk ten more kilometers in search of room and board, and I haven’t eaten in a day—” she swallowed, “can you at least spare us a meal?”

The clerk was visibly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid the kitchen is closed, and only available to our guests…”

Anya nodded, smiling sadly. “I understand. You’re just doing your best.”

Dmitry’s grip on her waist tightened and he bent down, lips brushing her ear, “It’s okay, darling.” His hot breath startled her, but she willed herself to not show it. He was just playing the pity card. Nothing to get worked up over. “We’ll find a place in the next town, I promise.” 

The clerk was still just looking between them regretfully. It wasn’t working. 

Anya took a shaky breath. “It’s just,” she sniffed, lifting her hand to her stomach, “I’m eating for two now.”

The clerk’s eyes widened. Anya didn’t have to look up at Dmitry to know his neck was red, his sharp inhale only audible to her. Because the thought of him knocking her up was— well, not exactly something she even wanted to consider right now. 

“I— I’ve only just found out, you see, and I had hoped— it hasn’t been easy, you know, in these times—” her hand came up to cover her mouth, as if overcome with hopelessness, “but I hoped there would be good people out there who will give our child a good future…” she let herself dissolve into pitiful sniffles. 

“Uh,” the poor clerk’s upper lip was damp with perspiration, “well, miss, that still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have any rooms in your price range, and—”

“Oh good grief Julian,” the woman next to him finally spoke up, slamming her book shut. “Give the poor girl a bedroom!” 

“What?”

Annoyed, this woman— Anya’s new best friend— shoved him away from the guest book. “We can offer our nicest room with a garden view on the house. And while the cook has left we still have plenty of stew that can be warmed up. Supper tonight and breakfast tomorrow free of charge.”

Anya felt guilty right away. “Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“Nonsense!” She was already handing them a key. “Julian, their luggage. You just follow me dear.”

Anya wiped her cheeks, the satisfaction that they got what they wanted making it easy to stop crying. Dmitry was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t quite name. 

“Was that too far?” She asked under her breath when they were out of sight and earshot. 

Dmitry’s lips tugged at the corners, just a little. Like he was fighting it. “It was genius.” 

The three of them followed their savior up the squeaky steps while she chatted. Turned out the woman who helped them, Lena, was the owner of the entire establishment. They didn’t need to convince everyone of their ruse, just the right person, and they’d succeeded. Lena kept touching Anya’s shoulder, somewhat motherly, speaking so fast Anya wasn’t quite able to catch every word in the unfamiliar language, but she understood the sentiment all the same. Appreciated it. 

The room wasn’t all that grand, but it was warm and dry and had enough beds for them all to sleep. The woman promised dinner would be warmed up by the time they were settled and said to just head down when they were ready. And then they were alone. Anya felt tension in her shoulders drop. They could take a little intermission from their show. 

Vlad was laughing like a madman. “Anya, you beautiful, brilliant girl. You ought to be on the stage!”

Anya wiped one last false tear from her cheek and gave him a smile. “I don’t know how you boys made it this far without me.” 

“Neither do I!” 

She couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, his enthusiasm was always so contagious. Dmitry was still just. Staring. Pretending not to stare. 

Vlad poked around and complained about the room, how “that son of a bitch clerk didn’t need to be so uptight for something so goddamn mediocre. I mean, it’s just one full and one twin bed, for god’s sake! I paid for the executive suite, it should at least have some class.”

“You didn’t pay for anything,” Dmitry interjected. “None of us did.”

“Well, I negotiated for the executive suite.”

“Technically, Anya did the negotiating for us…”

Anya personally didn’t have anything to complain about. A bed was a bed. But she understood his sentiment, his impatience for reaching the promised land of a sort, of just wanting something nice and comfortable and safe. 

Anya sat at the corner of the twin bed, where she would sleep tonight, and removed her boots for just a few minutes, just to curl her toes and flex her aching feet, and then they all changed into dry clothes and she had to put her boots back on so they could go downstairs to eat. Her stomach was roaring at the prospect of getting a hot meal by the time they were in the dining area. For a second she was afraid her hunger was making her so dizzy she might stumble on the steps. The three found a table for four. Anya, all too aware of the pressure of the performance, pointedly waited to sit until Dmitry remembered to pull out the chair for her. Because. You know. They were supposed to be married and that was what married people did. At least she thought. 

They ate quietly and quickly, the sound of spoons scraping bowls. Anya hoped she looked like a lady who was just a little hungry and not the starving creature washed off the streets she actually was. 

Vlad, rightfully exhausted of their company, made himself comfortable at the bar, chatting up the barmaid as she closed. Anya figured she probably shouldn’t join him at the bar ‘in her condition.’ So that left her alone at the table with Dmitry. Her alleged husband. Even if it was just a ruse for the night, the title still made it hard for her to look at him.

Dmitry’s knee was bouncing under the table. Maybe he was just as anxious and uncomfortable by how this night had gone as Anya was. 

He picked through his meal, chewing slowly. Her bowl was empty, but she stared longingly at it, as if she could make more stew appear out of thin air. It would be fine. She’d survived on less. At this point she was just praying no one who worked at the inn would come and talk to her because she didn’t have the energy to keep up these pretenses much longer. 

Dmitry cleared his throat. “You still hungry?” he asked. 

“No,” Anya lied. She forgot to adjust her tone to that of a wife. From afar they probably looked as gloomy as two people who had to just dig a grave. But if she was honest she would tell him she forgot what it felt like to not be hungry. Her stomach had transformed into a bottomless void. 

“You can have mine.” 

“No,” she said again, meeting his eye for the first time since they got here. “You need the protein, too.” 

“I’m not really hungry.” He pushed his bowl towards her. “Seriously. Eat.”

Her stomach audibly growled again, betraying her morals. 

“You’re eating for two now, remember?” And then the corners of his mouth pulled into a grin that she couldn’t help but mirror. 

Dmitry’s smiles could completely transform his face. He usually smirked or scoffed meanly, but when he genuinely, truly smiled, it was beautiful. Even this little quiet one he was giving her now lifted ten years of sorrows off of him. 

Just to get him to smile at her like that again, Anya pulled his bowl closer to herself and started digging in. 

As she ate, they continued to sit in a not-so-uncomfortable silence. At the bar Vlad was talking louder and louder with each drink. Dmitry’s knee resumed bouncing. 

“You hear that?” he asked suddenly. “It stopped raining.”

She swallowed her bite and tilted her ear up. Indeed, the rain had stopped. “I guess we didn’t have to try so hard.” 

“No, this was worth it,” he insisted. Still fighting to keep his smile from widening to more than just a twitch of the corner of his mouth. “You about done? I don’t want them to come ask us any more questions.” 

“Me neither.” Her eyes went to the door, praying Lena wouldn’t come back and make herself comfortable at their table to grill her about the pregnancy, or their marriage, or their journey, or any other details about this little alternate timeline Anya didn’t want to write a script for. She scooped the last drop of broth onto her spoon, savored the taste. “Now I’m done.” Neither of them made a move to get up. Maybe they were tired enough to fall asleep at this table right here. But the nervous energy was making her heart race in her chest, maybe the same thing making his knee bounce, that the thought of going to bed made her feel all antsy and anxious all over again. “I don’t know if I can sleep,” she admitted. 

“Wanna go for a walk, then?”

The question surprised her. Dmitry’s expression was guarded, trying to look like he didn’t care. It had been a long day. The best thing to do would be to get to bed, head start on what little sleep she would get, to feel refreshed and ready to continue their journey in the morning. “Sure,” she answered. 

He nodded. “I’ll go get your coat.” 

Outside the rain had vanished, but the pavement was damp and shining with cold puddles, and even though they were well into March, there was a bite to the air. 

Dmitry shook water off of his boot, his nose scrunched in annoyance. “It almost makes me miss the snow.”

Anya shook her head. “I never want to be that cold again.”

“Fair.” 

He had left his hat in the room, she noticed. He pushed his hair away from his face, something she used to believe was a sign of his ever abundant vanity, something that would make her roll her eyes every time; but now she understood it was just a nervous tick that she was starting to find particularly endearing. Just a little. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, content with just breathing fresh air for a few minutes. It was refreshing, really. Not having to pretend or to live up to any impossible expectations for once. To get to experience what mundanity was like with Dmitry. Everything between them so far had been life or death, emotions at their peak intensity, but right now things were relatively mild. 

Until Dmitry’s hand found her wrist, his pace quickening. 

“What is it?” Anya asked. Maybe taking a walk when they were on the lamb like this was stupid. 

“There’s this guy with a hat— I’ve seen the same man at least three times,” he whispered in a tense and low voice. 

“Do you think he’s following us?”

“Don’t know. Better not lead him back to our lodging.” 

They continued meandering around the quiet streets while Anya’s mind raced. “What if— do you think someone followed from—”

“Don’t know,” was all he said. 

Their pursuer had caught up to them. Anya tried to pretend he wasn’t there, keeping her gaze fixed ahead, but now that he was closer she could tell he wasn’t wearing the crisp uniform of a Bolshevik or seemed to be attempting to stop them. Phew. Anya’s shoulders relaxed just a hair. 

Not a Bolshevik. But a creep. 

“Hey honey, what’s he paying you for the night?” 

Anger flared in her stomach. Anya was calculating the best way to tackle the offender, maybe tear at his eyes for good measure, when Dmitry’s hand came around her upper arm. Not holding her back, just pacifying her. Reminding her he was there. Angling himself between her and the stranger when he said, “Just leave her alone.” 

The man, still talking only to Anya, jeered, “What? He doesn’t like to share?”

Before Anya could even utter an appalled Excuse me? Dmitry had the man’s lapels in his fists. 

“Say that again,” he hissed, “and you’ll be choking on your teeth.” 

The man belched and laughed. He clearly posed no real threat. He wasn’t like other men she’d had encounters with. But adrenaline was still coursing through Anya’s veins, and she was struggling to fight the panic from rising. 

Dmitry threw him back and he stumbled to keep his balance. Anya pulled at her companion’s arm and shoulder to prevent him from pursuing further. “Dmitry, stop, it’s not worth it.” 

His nostrils flared as he met her eyes. “You would just let him talk to you like that?” 

“I had it under control!” The offender started stumbling away, having deemed the pair of them not worth the trouble, though neither minded him much attention. “You don’t—” she tried to calm her nerves, to keep the desperation from leaking into her voice, “you don’t have to do that for me.” 

Dmitry was frowning at her, more in pity than anger. That made her mad. 

“I can handle myself.” 

“I know,” he raised his hands in defense. “I know you’re strong. That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt.” 

She looked down at her hands, now trembling from the hysteria threatening to bubble over. She almost wished they were actually followed by a Bolshevik. That would’ve been simpler. Just a clean cut enemy that made sense, one they could confront, dangerous yet uncomplicated. But this cut a little deeper in a more embarrassing, personal way. An invisible fear she could not fight. And a lonely fear, too. 

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft, touching her elbow. Not grabbing, just. Touching. Offering. Leaving it up to her.

It took her aback, because, well. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone was looking out for her like that. Protecting her. Had anyone ever done that for her before, period? It wasn’t like she needed it. She could take care of herself. She’d proven so on the night those drunks had surrounded them, she protected them both, and the fighting was arguably worse than this. This particular situation hadn’t even escalated out of her control yet. 

And yet.

Man. It felt nice. To be seen as someone worth the effort. 

That someone like Dmitry Sudayev found her worth protecting.

The thought spooked her so much she had to step away. “I’m fine,” she said just to fill the silence, but it came out a little too curt, but it was too late to take it back. His hand dropped to his side. “Let’s just go back.” 

He still studied her, as if he was waiting for her to collapse or something. Reluctantly his eyes dropped. “Okay.” 

Too many embarrassing things happened tonight in a row. First the mortifying task of pretending to be a wife, then prompting the image that she was carrying his child, and now this. One at a time she could’ve handled these things, probably. But all within the span of a few hours? Who could?

Her chest was uncomfortably hot, like if somebody cut her sternum open a plume of steam would waft up. Her hands were still shaking so she balled her fists, and when that didn’t help she stuffed them in her pockets. Her breathing wasn’t quite right, either, but maybe walking would help in a few minutes, and she tried to avoid thinking about it too much because then she would forget to breathe altogether and then the whole mess would just get worse. Logically she knew she was safe. But her body always took too long to catch up. 

Dmitry just kept on watching her. Like she was an automobile accident he couldn’t look away from.

This kept happening. She kept falling apart in front of him and it was so goddamn embarrassing. Except she’d never really been embarrassed about this before, but there was something about Dmitry that just. She just didn’t want him to see her as a simpering mess all the time. She wanted him to respect her. So she clenched her fists, willing the cracks to stop spreading, physically keeping herself from shattering. Again. 

“Who… hurt you?” 

The question surprised her so much she halted in her tracks. “Who hurt me?” she asked, more angry than she meant. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I mean— I just know how you…” he clenched his jaw. “If you need anything—”

“Look, I’m fine, okay? Just stop.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“There’s nothing you can—” she exhaled, checking herself, then marched past him. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“You think I don’t know?” he snapped, that awful pity morphing into something angry. “You think I don’t understand?” 

She whirled on him, daring him to challenge her, matching his sudden anger. But it fizzled out on her tongue when she saw the real pain and hurt in his eyes. 

He blinked and looked away, exhaling through his nose, perhaps just as surprised she didn’t fight him right away as she was. Wordlessly he marched on. 

It felt good to be angry with Dmitry. It always did. Not because their fights were righteous or cathartic or anything— and they were, she didn’t have to hold back at all, she could tear into him and he could handle it. But it felt good to fight him because he didn’t just roll over onto his back in surrender, he gave as good as he got. He didn’t see her as some weak little frail thing yapping at him. He saw her as an equal. A worthy opponent. Worth the effort. 

But he didn’t fight her now, and her disappointment was heavy in her throat, following him back to the inn in bewildered silence. Coward, she wanted to yell. Fight me, dammit. Look at me.

She couldn’t figure out why she cared so much. About how he saw her. 

They didn’t say anything else until they arrived back at the inn. There they had no choice but to pretend to be chummy, since Lena literally met them at the door, chirping happily as ever. She said their uncle had a little too much to drink, but they took care of him, brought him up to bed. Anya thanked her thickly so she would just leave them alone. 

Upstairs in the hall, Dmitry’s mouth was pressed in a firm, grim line. “What’s wrong?” Anya whispered. 

“They put Vlad to bed,” he said again. 

“I know. Would you rather him sleep at the bar?” 

“They put him to bed,” he repeated. “Your ‘uncle.’” 

She still shook her head, lost. 

He was impatient, agitated. “So why would they assume I, your husband, would share a bed with your uncle?”

It clicked. Anya’s eyes widened, and somehow Dmitry’s lips got even thinner. Just then they reached the door, and Anya pushed her way inside, hoping that maybe they were jumping to conclusions, maybe Vlad had righted himself, maybe—

Vlad was passed out on the twin bed, dead to the world. The bed where Anya was supposed to sleep. 

That hot, itchy feeling expanded in her chest again, back in all its glory, making her need to remove her coat immediately. If it weren’t freezing out she would open the window.

“I’ll just take the floor,” Dmitry whispered. 

She whirled on him. “No,” she argued. Of course this would be an argument. Every fucking conversation they had was an argument. She was so tired. “I already ate your dinner.” 

“Only half.” He slipped his boots off. Looking everywhere but at her. 

“And now I’m only taking half of your bed.” She stood over him while he knelt and fumbled with his shoes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He looked grimly over at Vlad’s peaceful form. “Maybe we can wake him up.” 

Vlad let out a loud snore just then. How could they take him out of such a peaceful slumber? After all they’d put him through? She held up her hands, irritated. “You first.” 

Dmitry did not move to wake Vlad as he suggested. He wasn’t as cold hearted as he pretended to be. He scrubbed his face. “What do we do?” 

Anya let out a breath. “It’s only one night,” she heard herself whisper. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

Dmitry looked like he wanted to protest, but all the exhaustion from today was heavy on his face, and it looked like he didn’t have any fight left in him. Neither did she, admittedly. 

“I can still take the floor,” he protested meekly. Anya ignored him. 

She changed in the bathroom. Dmitry had given her an old pair of pajamas a while back, since the palace had been drafty and cold. “Don’t want you catching your death and we have to start all over again with someone else,” he’d explained when he had pressed the pile of flannel into her hands. They weren’t the nicest set, moth eaten and pilled, but they had kept her warm, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t wear them tonight. She had to roll up the cuffs of the trousers several times and the button up shirt hung much too loose on her frame, but they did the job. She let the ugly ring slip off her finger and she rubbed her knuckle. 

Anxiety flared in her gut again when she came back out into the bedroom. It wasn’t just the prospect of sleeping near Dmitry of all people that was making her nervous, it was the fact that she would be an absolute nightmare to share a room with, let alone a bed. Her dreams would feel so visceral and real she would thrash about with so much violence that whoever was in her path would take the brunt of it. And it would be so embarrassing for Dmitry, of all people, to see her like that. 

Again, why did she care? Why did his opinion of her matter so much? 

Dmitry was still fumbling with his bag, and even in the dark she could make out the way his henley stretched over his broad back. Another twist in her stomach. 

“Which side do you want?” he asked without looking at her. 

Did it matter? She pulled the hem of her sleep shirt down further. Perhaps the side closest to the door would be best. 

As she settled in under the comforter, Dmitry finally ran out of things to do to look busy, and inevitably crawled into bed next to her. The mattress squeaked and shifted with his weight. She could feel his warmth even from a few inches away. They both quietly stared up at the ceiling, and Anya thought this would be it. She would lay awake like this and pretend to be asleep until dawn. 

Vlad let out another loud snort, and maybe it was the exhaustion or the awkwardness, but for some reason Anya had to stifle a laugh. Dmitry grinned over at her. 

He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep from laughing, too. “This is so ridiculous,” he grumbled. 

Anya joked, just to keep him smiling, “I guess we really are committed to the whole husband and wife thing after all.”

His laugh was just a quiet huff of breath. “It seems so. I’m sorry about all of that, by the way.”

The apology surprised her. “No, it’s fine.” 

“You ought to be finding someone who really could put a ring on your finger, not just playing pretend.”

Anya scoffed. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with a man, let alone if I even want all of that.”

The silence was a little too long. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t think very many men would want to deal with a girl who can’t even sleep through the night without...” She didn’t need to finish. He heard her screaming in the night by now. Knew there was no use comforting her. 

“I bet there’s someone out there that’s up for the task.”

He would be sorry for saying that in the morning, after she inevitably kept him up all night with her thrashing and screaming. No one would have the patience for that when they were this exhausted. 

“Even if…” Dmitry was saying, “you don’t see that for yourself— getting married, settling down, I mean— you were pretty convincing tonight.”

She grinned. “I didn’t know I had that in me,” she admitted. “Or where the idea came from.” 

“Hunger, probably.” She could hear his smile. A breath. “Would you even want kids?”

Anya pondered it. “I don’t think I’ve even let myself humor the idea,” she answered. “Like, the thought is so far away. I’ve spent so much time worrying if I’m even going to get to eat today. A family feels completely out of the question.” 

Dmitry hummed. “But if you did find… peace, I guess. Like if all of your needs were taken care of.”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to fathom. “It depends. I suppose, if the right person came along, it might be a fun adventure.” 

“Ugh. You and I have very different definitions of ‘adventure’.”

She smiled. “No kids for you, then?”

“I dunno.” He paused. “I don’t think I’d make a very good dad.” 

“Why on earth do you think that?” 

He exhaled. “I don’t know. Kids are gross, I never really know what to say to them. And I just know I would fuck it up somehow.” He paused. “But I guess, like you said, if I met the right person… I’d consider it.” 

This surprised her. Dmitry was so independent, so ambitious, that she couldn’t picture him choosing to settle down somewhere with a family. The thought almost made her laugh. 

Just then Vlad shifted on the adjacent bed, startling them both silent. He was mumbling something in his sleep and Anya held her breath. The conversation paused to ensure Vlad was still sleeping, and when he resumed snoring, Anya exhaled. Dmitry did the same.

Her thoughts strayed to the false gold ring on the nightstand, to the ruse that got them this room. “What do married people even do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even quieter. “What even is that?” 

“I haven’t a clue.” 

She made a list in her head. All of this angst had to be for something, right? Maybe that something was having children, as it was for the two characters they were playing tonight, or maybe something even more simple than that. Like not feeling lost or hungry all the time. Knowing someone would be there to pick up the pieces when you fell apart. Not having to pretend. “Live happily ever after, I guess.”

He snorted. “Like that exists.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know. For you, maybe. But it didn’t save my father. And I doubt it’ll save someone like me.” 

He said it nonchalantly but Anya frowned up at the ceiling, her brow hardening. That thing he said earlier tonight— You think I don’t understand?— was still nagging her, but she had no clue how to bring it up without sounding invasive. 

“I guess the tax break would be my reason,” he went on, and she could hear his smirk. 

She was starting to understand these stupid smirks and irritating jokes only came up when he was hiding something. Hiding something painful. 

“Dmitry.” She could hear his smile slip away as the pause lengthened. “What did you mean earlier? When you said… you said you know what that” —she lifted her hands in a vague gesture, because how was she supposed to sum up her experience with men in one sentence?— “was like.”

It took him a minute to answer. “It’s not very honorable.”

“We’re well past that,” she said, fighting a sudden, absurd laugh. 

She could hear his swallow. “So, back in Petersburg, I had to… do some things to survive.”

His gravity and vagueness were making her playfully impatient. “Conning wealthy women with your seductive ways?”

He sighed. “It was more like… the other way around.”

Anya didn’t know what to say. “Oh.” Dmitry didn’t offer much more. 

The humor and light energy was sucked clean out of the room. She felt terrible for bringing this up. But he was talking, and nothing about him sounded angry or upset or bitter. Just a little sad. But open. Which made her feel safe enough to ask, “Did you at least get some decent money out of it?” 

“Sometimes money. Most of the time it was just… a place to sleep.” 

She understood that kind of desperation. To do anything not to sleep under a bridge for just one night. 

“I was only a teenager when my father died,” he went on. Not defensively, not accusatory. Just. Telling a story. “I didn’t know how to keep up with the rent. When I lost the apartment, I knew going to an orphanage wasn’t an option, and I was still too young for factory work, so roughing it for a couple years was the only way to stay afloat.” He shifted. “There was decent money in street boxing. But I didn’t… have that in me.” No. He did, but he was a very rare man in the sense that he saw no point in smashing in someone else’s face, unless the situation called for it. Like tonight for example. He had a fighter’s heart, but no taste for violence. She couldn’t picture him in those bloody fights without wincing. “And, I mean, I pickpocketed some, stole food when I could. Lasted a couple years like that. But. It was inevitable.” 

Dmitry talked about the men and women alike who found him appealing enough to share a bed with for a night. It wasn’t boxing, but. A different sort of violence. A beating of the spirit. He didn’t go into detail. Didn’t need to. And Anya listened. Did Vlad know? Life hasn’t been easy for my young friend. Did he see a boy in need of saving? 

That small part of her wondered if Dmitry was just saying all of this to make her feel bad for him, the same way they played that clerk downstairs, but… something about this made her believe every word. And so much about him suddenly made more sense. She got the feeling he didn’t pull back the curtain often, or long enough for anyone to get a good peek, so she figured this was one of very few chances she would get to find more clues to solve the mystery that was Dmitry Sudayev. The ever perplexing man wasn’t so perplexing anymore. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” he was saying. “Really. There are worse ways to survive. And I know it’s— it’s not the same as what you’ve been through.”

I know you’re strong, she wanted to say, to echo back to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. But she didn’t interrupt. 

“But it was never regular. And I only ever did it when I had a bad month, or when a con fell through, stuff like that.” His swallow was thick. “The women and men I was with never hurt me, or anything like that. But…”

She felt an ache in her chest for him. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” 

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just it shouldn’t have come to that. Someone should’ve saved him. 

“I know what you mean,” she said in the dark. “Not that— I’m not saying I lived through that, exactly, but…”

“I know what you mean,” Dmitry repeated. Soft. Everything about him was soft right now. “It’s taken me a long time to… find my way back.” 

“But you’re so…” Anya didn’t know what to call it. Sure of himself? Comfortable in who he was? Confident? Proud? “You… know who you are.”

He loosed a slow breath. “You’re not the only one who’s lost, Anya.”

Her head tilted towards him, just able to make out the outline of his profile in the dark. And then he twitched in her direction and she felt him watching her, too. She looked back up at the ceiling. “The nurses that found me, they called all unknowns— girls who washed up with no past, no parents, and probably no future, I mean— they called all of us the same name. Anya. For documentation purposes.”

“The same way investigators use the name Jane Doe.”

“Right.” She pulled the blankets up to her chin. “But I can’t think of myself with any other name. I don’t remember what it feels like to not be lost.”

Dmitry was quiet, taking that in. “Me too,” he rasped. “Just a couple of strays, you and I.” 

The sentiment stirred up an emotion that made her chest ache. Not in a bad way, like her hunger or her loneliness, but… a different ache. A longing of some kind. She didn’t know how to voice this so she just said, “I hope you don’t have fleas.”

His laugh was a surprise, too loud in the dark. They hushed and waited to see if Vlad would wake. He kept snoring. Dmitry sighed through his nose. “I hope you don’t have fleas.” 

Anya grinned. There was no malice in the exchange for once, no undertone of something meaner or something with a bite. They were teasing. Something lighthearted. Even though neither of their hearts were light. 

It felt good to be angry with Dmitry, to fight him about something. But this, whatever this was, felt better. Like something clicking into place. Something permanent. 

Maybe… maybe she didn’t have to be so alone. Maybe neither of them did. Maybe Anya could let him help her when he offered instead of picking herself up. No, Dmitry couldn’t protect her from the nightmares, or the fear that was her oldest companion, but… he could keep her company. He could talk her through a problem. He was doing that now, logicing his way through something abstract and scary with her. Not because he thought she was weak or he pitied her, or because they had to in order to survive, but because he wanted to. 

Maybe she could do the same for him. 

Dmitry was saying, “I hope Paris lets us in.” 

“What, you think they’ll lock the gates or something? Because two orphans are too dirty and smelly for their clean city?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m picturing. Drawbridges and two sentries with menacing swords and everything.” 

She bit her lip, fighting a laugh. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“You’ve never been. You don’t know what it could look like.” 

“I think they’re beyond the Middle Ages.” 

“We’ll see. I won’t hold my breath.” 

Anya rolled her eyes. When he was committed to a joke, he committed all the way, that was for sure. Maybe that was the little gift of the night. Peeling back the layers of how unforgiving his life had been. Showing her the person someone once called Dima, who had hopes and dreams like anyone else. Making her believe that boy was still somewhere inside him. 

She let out a breath. “I’m sorry for prying.” 

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “I haven’t talked about this with anyone before.” 

There was a long pause. “We’re pretty good at keeping secrets for each other,” she finally said, voice soft. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “It feels nice.” 

“It does.” She swallowed. It did. It felt really, really nice. 

“We’d better get some sleep,” Dmitry said.

“Right,” she whispered. She tucked her arms under the blankets and he rolled onto his stomach, the mattress shifting with him. “Goodnight, Dmitry.” 

“Goodnight, Anya.” 

Somehow, without her noticing, the anxiety plaguing her had simmered away at some point, leaving only a pleasant hum of nerves. A prickle of sleepy contentment. Instead of worrying about whatever horrors lay ahead in her dreams, or mulling over the uncomfortable events of the night, Anya just focused on the soft sound of his breathing, the comfort of the soft down pillow, the heaviness in her eyelids, and she was able to peacefully fall asleep. 

When the inevitable nightmares came, they didn’t last long. In her dream someone was shushing her, telling her she was okay, grounding her. And there was a hand emerging from the dark and pulling at her waist. 

When she woke, her face was pressed against warm fabric, something alive and breathing, a heavy arm draped over her side, fingers brushing her back, soft puffs of air in her hair. So. That part of the dream was real, at least. Not the blood or the screams or the voices or the smoke, but this. Dmitry had pulled her close in the night. She felt a flicker of embarrassment that she had thrashed so much and woken him up and hadn’t even remembered it, but then she just. Let herself live in this for a second. The fact that he’d comforted her without complaint or question or impatience. Had managed to gently coax her out of her nightmare. 

I bet there’s someone out there that’s up for the task, he had said last night. 

Hmm. 

Without thinking too deeply into it, Anya nuzzled herself into his chest again, letting the gentle hum of his heart lull her back to sleep. 

[feyspeaker]

Picked up two prints! (And a sticker!)

Just so you know, I would legit pay for, like, a collection of your prints in a size somewhere between the mini and 11x14.

Like, I just want to put a *bunch* of them in a binder and just look at it sometimes lol

thank you so so much!!!! ;A; I have considered other sizes, but I live in a tiny place and my printing room is already full of too many sizes of paper/mailers/tubes/etc for what I do offer. I will keep it in mind but the sizes I have now are probably going to be pretty set for now.

About to go off on a tangent, so apologies for hijacking your sweet ask.

honestly this is still so crazy to me, thank you. I have been illustrating for years and years now, but really only found proper footing this year after taking a huge break from commissions and just hammering in what I really want to do with my life.

I've always preferred rendered painting but I felt like the market was so saturated and that I'd never be able to make a living doing it. Many of my older followers will know that for a couple of years I was really on this digital watercolor kick, doing more stylized work. It was extremely grueling despite being faster, bc I forced myself to work entirely on 1 layer with no eraser. It was faster for me to do and felt more "lucrative" as far as timeliness, but I was not very happy doing it, and did a lot of rendered painting studies in my free time, it was basically my "fun time" where I was doing one style for work and a totally different one for private pieces. Literally, I would be painting realistic block of cheese as my downtime.

I was so convinced that stylized stuff was what people wanted, and I have had boxes and boxes of prints I've bought and thrown away because they didn't sell.

Now that I am doing the kind of art my heart wants to do, I am so much happier and completely overwhelmed by how there are actually people who want to art I make for myself on their walls.

This is probably coming off so random but I've been thinking about it a lot, it really is true that you HAVE to paint what makes you happy. If you try to box yourself in to what seems the more "marketable" I promise you are going to be miserable. (Never stop challenging yourself, though. seriously.)

I have never been happier about the art I have created in the last 6 or so years of doing this professionally than I am now that I just said "fuck it, I am tired of painting anime-ish stylized stuff because that's what's in." It's like I've been forcing myself to jam a square block into a circle shaped hole for years. Not to mention that doing line art on literally over a thousand pieces (yes, I've counted, absolutely insane; comic artists please take care of yourselves) for years has well and truly fucked my hand up permanently, I fear.

Other artists, please listen to that little creature in your brain that's telling you it doesn't like painting anime girls or cats or thick chunky line art because that's what you think is popular. If painting nothing but hyperrealistic swords is where you heart is happiest, just do it and stop forcing yourself because I promise there are thousands of people out there who want to see your swords. Just make sure to throw in some jewels or filigree or whatever every once in a while to keep yourself challenged.

Sorry again for hijacking your message, I just am regularly blown away that somehow people actually like my art now that I like it. (Not that my older pieces are regrets btw, I think every single thing you paint no matter the style is worth its figurative weight in gold)

[noxexistant]

I DONT REMEMBER IF I ACTUALLY ASKED YOU FOR FEEL GOOD DELANCEY AND TWIN THINGS (AND MY TRACK RECORD ISNT GOOD) SO JUST IN CASE

P L E A S E

order up! 🫡

feel-good morris n oscar + mike n ike interaction, on a bed of modern au (aka medda fostering au)

—

Mike’s been watching Morris colouring for half an hour.

At first, Ike’d been worrying it was because Morris was colouring in one of Mike’s colouring books - Medda had asked first, of course, before she gave it to Morris, and Mike had immediately eagerly said it was fine, but maybe he was regretting his decision. Realised somewhere down the line that it was upsetting him more than he thought it would. So Ike’d asked, but Mike’d shaken his head and said honestly that he really didn’t mind. Even though it was one of Mike’s new colouring books that he hasn’t touched yet, one brighter and more childish - full of space and astronauts and planets and aliens - than his usual tastes.

“You’re still starin’,” Ike tells him softly, bumping their shoulders. “It’s okay if you don’t wan’ him to use your book. Medda can print him somethin’ else to colour.”

Mike shakes his head again. “That one’s for him.”

Ike…blinks, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

“That one’s his,” Mike repeats, like it’s obvious. “I picked it special for him, last time Medda took me to buy me colourin’ stuff. ‘Cause Morris don’t have any and Medda don’t buy any for him.”

“‘Cause Oscar don’t like Medda buyin’ ‘em stuff,” Ike explains, worried that Mike thinks Medda’s just neglecting Morris or something. Mike’s face shows that he don’t think that, at least not really, but he still clearly just doesn’t really understand.

“Why?” Mike asks, not for the first time. Ike takes a guess again, just like he had the last time Mike asked.

“Same reason Finch don’t, prob’ly. Think bein’ bought stuff means they owe somethin’ in return.”

“But Medda ain’t like that.”

Ike shrugs. “Oscar don’t trust that. Y’know how sometimes it’s hard for people to trust, if…people’a done stuff in the past.”

Mike pouts. “S’jus’ not fair that Morris don’t get stuff like I got. Even Oscar don’t get him stuff like you get me stuff. Colourin’ books an’ fidgets an’…an’ toys.”

Oscar looks up sharply from where he’s sat behind Morris, on the couch on his phone while Morris is on the floor colouring, having apparently heard Mike say his name. He’s louder than Ike is. Ike offers him a brief smile to hopefully assure him that everything’s fine, hoping Oscar won’t immediately assume offense like he tends to when it’s anyone else talking about him.

“Oscar’s doin’ his best,” he says quietly, leaning in closer to Mike so Oscar won’t hear any more. Morris had had a colouring book one of the last time he’d been over, but it was well-worn and he’d finished it, filled up every page, and Oscar’s apparently been forgetting to buy him a new one since, having to keep telling Morris every time he asks to colour that he don’t have a colouring book and he can maybe ask Medda to print him something. “Things’a just been bad for the both of them. They’re both doin’ their best.”

“There a problem?” Oscar asks, loud and edged enough for Morris to flinch. He looks up and back at his brother immediately, concerned gaze then falling to Mike and Ike. He falters when he sees Mike staring back at him, shuffling backwards towards Oscar.

“No, no,” Ike quickly assures. Oscar ignores him, looking at Mike instead.

“You been starin’ at Mo for ‘bout an hour. You got a problem?”

Ike swallows hard. Mostly because he doesn’t know if Mike does, but if that answer’s yes, then Mike’s all too likely to just say it outright, and there’s a good chance that’ll set Oscar off. Maybe set Morris off too, if he’s interrupted from his current task, torn away from where he’s settled colouring. Ike opens his mouth, hoping to speak first, do some damage control before any more damage can be done, but Mike beats him to it.

“I wanna colour.”

Morris takes a second to process the statement, then scrambles immediately to his feet like Mike’d given some sort of command. He leaves the crayons - also Mike’s brand new ones - where he’d poured them out and then meticulously organised them in rainbow order beside their box, and the colouring book, open to a page of a UFO half-filled with chaotic, colourful scribbles, and flees to Oscar’s side. Oscar catches him, wrapping an arm around Morris’ shoulders to pull him close.

Mike looks at the brothers, confused.

“No,” he protests, a little too loudly, frustrated that things apparently hadn’t gone how he’d wanted. Morris makes a soft sound, hiding against Oscar, so Ike nudges his twin.

“Gentle,” he reminds him softly. “Think you’re scarin’ Morris a bit. Try an’ talk softer, and explain what you’re thinkin’, okay?”

Mike nods seriously, and takes a few seconds of silence to try and organise his thoughts into words. “I wanna colour,” he repeats, pointing at the book on the ground.

“He’s lettin’ you,” Oscar snaps, defensive. “All yours, see?”

“No!” Mike shakes his head. “Both of us!”

Ike deflates a little with relief, finally understanding.

“He wants to colour with Morris,” he explains to Oscar. He then turns his attention to Morris, leaning to the side to try and see him, and turns his voice gentler at the same time. “He’s askin’ to play with you, not instead of you, Morris. D’you wanna colour together, with Mike?”

Morris peeks out from where he’s hiding half-behind Oscar. He looks sincerely confused and maybe a little overwhelmed, and Ike immediately understands it’s most likely that nobody’s ever asked to play with Morris before. At least not recently, not here. One-on-one might be a little overwhelming too, Morris clearly has a hard time trusting people.

“Can I join in too?” Ike asks. “Me and Mike colour together a lot. Maybe all three of us can colour together. That sounds fun.”

Mike makes an excited noise. Eager, he gets up and runs to the shelving unit where a lot of the toys and activities are kept for the living room, and pulls out a couple more of his colouring books and a pack of coloured pencils. One of them’s the colouring book he chose for Ike, a Star Wars one for adults, and the other’s one of Mike’s for himself, one of his mandala type ones.

“Make sure you give Morris some space,” Ike reminds him gently as he scurries to get them situated on the floor beside where Morris was set up. Mike does so, gives Morris a safe distance to return to his colouring without being too close to Mike, and then upends the box of coloured pencils to pour them out haphazardly between his and Ike’s stations. It’s how they always do it, just picking out the pencils they need from the mess as they go. Mike says it’s like another little game, finding the one they need.

Morris looks…perturbed by the system, but doesn’t say anything. And looks slightly less scared now too, openly peeking out from Oscar’s side as Mike and Ike both get settled. Mike picks a page at random, while Ike flicks through the book to find one he likes. He settles on a page of Padme - the Prequels have always been his favourites.

“Are you gonna join in?” Mike asks Morris, eyes big and eager. He then deflates a little, seeing Morris’ unreadable expression and Oscar’s open protective suspicion. “You don’ have to. If you don’ want to. Or if Oscar don’ want you to. But I want you to.”

Oscar glances away and swallows. “Look,” he says reluctantly, eyeing Morris and apparently reading something in his face that Ike can’t, “So long as you don’t hurt him—“

“He won’t,” Ike assures Oscar quickly. “He’s really tryin’ to be friends. He might…be a little overeager, but he won’t be mean. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em, I swear, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah? I will too,” Oscar says sharply. “Sure as hell ain’t leavin’ you with ‘im.”

Oscar’s whole demeanour is still…unkind, but Ike wasn’t really expecting anything else. He feels bad, wondering exactly what sort of stuff must’ve happened to make both Oscar and Morris like this, but he understands that it’s a step. For Oscar to squeeze Morris briefly in what Ike recognises as encouragement, however reluctant, and for Morris to crawl slowly from his brother’s arms back to his spot on the floor, eyeing the twins cautiously as he goes.

Slowly - sort of like he’s thinking it might be a trick, like he thinks Mike might explode on him as soon as he touches anything, Ike thinks - Morris reaches out and picks up the aqua blue crayon he’d been using. Mike beams at him.

“D’you like the crayons?” he asks eagerly. “An’ the book! Picked ‘em special for you. They’s yours.”

Morris blinks. “…mine?”

“Yeah! Got you crayons ‘cause Medda said pencils like this’d be too small an’ sharp for you. An’ I picked the book myself, for you. Space an’ aliens an’ stuff, ‘cause of your shirt you’re always wearin’. The alien one.”

This time, both of the brothers look a little overwhelmed when Ike looks between them. Morris is staring with wide-eyed wonder at the gifts, and Oscar looks…Ike doesn’t know. Oscar just looks like a lot, like he’s overwhelmed by someone other than him paying attention to his brother and wanting to get him things that are safe and appropriate, and wanting to play with him. Getting him a space colouring book ‘cause he likes aliens.

“An’,” Mike adds, grinning at Oscar with just an edge of mischief, “It don’t count as Medda buyin’ you stuff. ‘Cause she bought it for me, I just gave it to you. Jus’ a present.”

Oscar looks sincerely taken aback for a second. Then huffs a sound like a laugh, a slight smile tugging at his cheek.

“What do you say, Mo?” he prompts gently. Morris doesn’t look up, but he’s smiling down at his book, eyes sparkling.

“Thank’ou,” he says automatically, but utterly sincerely.

Mike beams again, bouncing his legs excitedly against the floor, looking incredibly proud of himself.

Ike’s proud of him too.

It’s silent once they start colouring, Morris retreating back into his own little world and not answering any of the few questions Mike tries to ask him, and Oscar’ll only look at Ike every so often to offer him a glance with a subtle warning held inside of it, but Ike doesn’t mind one bit. Mike clearly doesn’t either. It’s a step - a big one.

Maybe they can make friends out of the Delancey brothers yet.

[tipsy-scales]

I fell asleep last night writing a more contemplative version of this, but today I actually bought the items, so lemme go over how I want to do my next gallery wall which I’m calling “The 2B 9S wall” (though it’s not limited to them. There’s just a huge a$$ picture of them on that wall)

Here is is now. We wallpapered here as a feature wall, so I always intended to leave it blank, but It started feeling bare to me and as I ran out of space elsewhere, I began to regret giving up a whole wall. Recently though I saw a room with similar floral patterned paper that had frames on it and I loved how full and formal it looked. The final thing convincing me was realizing I COULD hang up my giant 2B 9S poster. Every other wall didn’t have space for it, and considering its size, I wasn’t sure if I could get away with using it in any other room until I have my own place…

Anyway here are my other walls

If it wasn’t clear before, I’m a maximalist LOL. It’s supposed to look FULL but hopefully not cluttered. And if it is cluttered, it should be so in an artistic way. (Hopefully).

My guideline for keeping things uniform is similar frames ofc but also using prints with minimal colors. This is a case of my aesthetic lining up well with my collection. I started with some of the Hanako kun coasters and the Homunculi placemat and realized they go together, then I filled out my collection with more pieces I genuinely like that match.

Getting my room how I wanted it was a big project the last year and a half. When I’m putting things together, it’s kind of stressful because I want it to be done, so I keep thinking about what to add next and looking for the right pieces. Once it’s all done though, I stop thinking about it and it’s nice.

What makes the 2B 9S wall different is the wallpaper, so instead of having the frames and prints be busy, I want the prints to be a visual break from the craziness of the wall. This is once again kind of a coincidence as after hanging up the big a$$ poster, I liked the negative space and B&W palette a lot. I also bought a simple black frame because it was cheap, but I think I’ll stick with simpler black frames on this wall.

So that’s the plan for prints on this wall. Images with a B&W palette and simple black frames.

I thought about things I’ve been wanting to add to the collection and got these two clear files

The TBHK one is an illustration I LOOOOVE. I’ve been meaning to buy the clear file forever but never could justify it. It has more colors than the poster but is still very stark in its values, so I thought it could work. It would also make it clear this is NOT a 2B 9S exclusive wall. There’s just a huge a$$ poster of them on it.

The second one…is 2B and 9S. I fully admit I threw this one in last minute, but I love this illustration as well AND it fits my limited palette. Both have a smoky dreamy quality to them. I hope they pair well.

The other thing I’ve struggled with is fillers. On my other walls, I found myself going to “small round thing” a lot to add variety. I guess it makes a nice mirror since the walls are facing, but I don’t want to keep doing it.

My solution was one of my forgotten dreams: having an acrylic stand collection.

I freed this shelf up recently and planned to make a 9Shrine here for some stands I bought, but instead I think it’ll be better to display stands on the wall! This way they’ll all stay together and be united by being stands not by being all the same character. That is important to me because I’ve realized if I make a committed shrine or even collection for a character, I tend to get out of hand and start buying things I don’t even like just because the character is on them.

This freed me up to buy more Hanako kun stuff I wanted which I’ll happily do because TBHK has such beautiful art. I buy the Nier stuff because I love the characters, but the art doesn’t always do it for me the same way TBHK does.

Anyway, here’s the Nier stands I have otw

These are my absolute favorite Nier stands. I love the t shirts and they both look really cute in the first ones. Then the second…9S is so…they rlly did good there. They made that for me.

and here’s the TBHK ones I bought

They’re more colorful but I think it’ll tie in well to the one tbhk clear file I’ll have up.

For hanging these up, I’m planning on a combination of floating wall shelves and gaudy sconces

So that’s the plan!! Next paycheck I’ll go after the shelves because whoo. I also better not start hanging things up until I’ve got it all. I’m sure I’ll add more things to this wall, but this is enough to get it feeling complete enough that I won’t go crazy having a half finished wall.

Thanks for reading! I’m excited to get everything in.

[withacapitalp]

For the send me a character thing: Steve Harrington of course :3

favorite thing about them

OH MY GOD THIS BOYS CAPACITY TO LOVE. Like Steve's ability to open up his heart and the way he cares SO FUCKING MUCH. Like he stays in the hospital in s1 after the house scene, he loves Nancy enough to absolve her of guilt before she even has any, S3 he sacrifices himself so easily s4??? I'm just so. He really just opens up to everyone and isn't afraid to be open, which in a show full of repressed nerds is so refreshing. Steve has so many emotions!!!! (That's why he and Eddie work together lol)

ALSO THE NAIL BAT AND THE WAY HE RUNS BACK IN SEASON ONE STEVE DEFENDERS RISE THIS BOY WAS ALWAYS GOOD HE JSUT TRIED TO HIDE THAT GOLD HEART BUT ONCE HE WAS DONE HIDING IT IT WAS ALL OVER

least favorite thing about them

Steve's a liiiiittle bit of a pushover (okay a lotta bit) I think that after all of the things he's been through the fact that he still kind of stays pushovery and still thinks he needs to want to achieve normal....baby c'mon!!!! You can let yourself continue to grow!! The crazy thing is he wants to grow, but he holds himself back

favorite line

" I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter."

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THEY MADE HIM HATE BEING THE BABYSITTER IN SEASON FOUR It makes no sense!!!! Steve loves his kids and MAX WAS CURSED AT THIS POINT like it was so out of character. Anyway Not only did those kids packbond to him, but he packbonded to them immediately too. They're his family, they're his, and having him not want to protect them was confusing.

brOTP

Steve and Robin OBVI They're literally soulmates but!!! I also really love Stonathan as besties. I think that they have a ton that they could sympathize/empathize with and I will never forgive the duffers for stealing Monster Hunting Trio from us!!!!!

OTP

Steddie obvi, but I also really love stoncy? I think individually none of them work, but all three together they have this special thing that just hits so riiiiight. Also Stargyle is my crack OTP they would be SO CUTE and the hair in that relationship.......chefs kiss

nOTP

Steve and Tammy Thompson LMAO

Harringrove tho haha not my thing (even tho I have them being toxic af exes in one of my fic series)

random headcanon

Steve's Italian heritage!!!! Steve's Nonna helped to raise him (part of why he's such an absolute sweetheart) and she taught him all her recipes! He still has her recipe book with her hard to read cursive. He can't really read it (because dyslexia makes it hard enough to read regular print) but Eddie knows about it and he reads the recipes out loud for Steve

unpopular opinion

I think that Steve in season one was not that bad. People treat him live he was like the devil and he said some really unforgivable things but he also immediately regretted it and bought Jonathan a new camera and did so much to try and make up for the things he did that he knew were wrong!!! Eh I just season one Steve was not a villain he was just a guy!!!

song i associate with them

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac This is the Steve SONG like please guys listen to this song and think about Steve it is PAINFUL. Matilda by Harry Styles is another good Steve Song and Desperado by the Eagles

favorite picture of them

0-0......O-O HES SO P R E T T Y

[zaksdolls]

Día de los Muertos Barbie 2021

So even though I was fine not having bought Día de los Muertos Barbie 2021 last year I still kept searching for it on eBay and other sites just to see how much she was going for. I was always surprised just how many sellers there were with dozens of dolls for sale. I remember one seller supposedly had over 128 available.

A few weeks ago, I saw a listing with multiples for a decent price. They even had "Best Offer" available. Felt a bit cheeky and sent them an offer. I was absolutely certain they would reject me as always.

Well, they accepted my offer and I had to pay for it. 🙃

Doll finally came in and remember when I complained about Mattel's packaging for Día de los Muertos Ken? How putting the doll package in a cardboard box without extra protection seemed irresponsible? Yeah. That's nothing compared to this:

Thankfully, aside from smooshed corners, everything was a-okay!

And here she is. She's prettier in person and I don't regret my foolishness as much anymore.

Call me silly, but I was honestly a little skeptical that this was an actual Mattel collector Barbie. I saw so so many sellers with so so many available dolls for months and months that I had it in the back of my head that these weren't authentic and could maybe possibly be knock offs? But she's the real deal as far as I can tell.

Anywho, a closer look! Her hair is nice and soft, but a mess. I love the chest painting and wished it would extend a bit further. The dress and embroidered fabric are all cotton. Because of the interfacing, and embroidery itself, the top is a bit stiff.

A closer look at the embroidery, printed design, her awesome skull bracelet (I'd like one in human size please), and earrings.

She's very colorful and I love it. The thing I hate most is the overlock stitched hems. It just looks so cheap to me! I also wish she came with an underskirt or crinoline to give her dress shape. I guess I'll have to do that myself.

After a wash and some ironing to flatten down the top ruffle, here she is:

She is quite pretty and while I do regret paying for her, I don't regret getting her, if that makes sense.*

I am genuinely content with her which is a shock. I guess it's because I didn't pay full price.

*I'm cheap is what I'm saying

[pansyslut]

daddy’s little model

draco x reader

summary: draco asks to take spicey pictures together and things get heated (bye i suck at summary’s leave me alone)

warnings: daddy kink, blindfolding, praise, nude photos, spanking, penetration, a little degrading if you squint, masturbating, lots of pet names, dom/sub roles

pictures: they sadly do not belong to me :/

“go on, baby. model for daddy,” draco purred in your ear. as of late, he’s begun to have an obsession of taking photos of you. his reasoning was having pictures to go back to when you were apart. sometimes you would go weeks at a time not seeing him because of his work but when you were together of course you did all you could to pleasure him.

he started taking pictures of you sometimes casually throughout the day, doing mundane things, sometimes when you weren’t looking, and most recently in bed.

you had just got back from him taking you out to a fancy restaurant and the entire night you had been teasing him. it started off by wearing his favorite dress and his lingerie he bought you, to caressing his lap underneath the table.

he had snapped at you multiple times throughout the night and you could tell you were winding him up. you knew you had a night ahead of you with how fed up with you he was. so now you lay in front of your large mirror as he guided you into positions. you laid on the floor as he sat on the bed with your arms draped in his lap. his hands were around your breasts as you snapped a few pictures. he slowly moved them up to your neck and wrapped his hands around your throat, making you pause.

all you could think about was your growing arousal and his hands traveling around your body wasn’t helping one bit. he squeezing your throat slightly and you realized you were lost in thought. snapping the picture, you look up at him to see him smirking down at you.

he pulled you up to where you stand in front of him and grabbed the camera out of your hand. yanking your dress down, you stand in front of him only your heels and his laced lingerie he bought you recently.

he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you in his lap. he laid down and stared up at you as you straddled his lap. after snapping a few photos, he sets it down and pulled you to lay atop of him.

connecting your lips, you hum in satisfaction. as he cups your ass, he moves you to grind on his growing bulge. his lips leave yours briefly as he flips you around so lay underneath him. trailing his tongue down, he meets your center. pressing delicate kisses to your clothes pussy, “you’re soaked, baby.”

he pulls off his tie and wraps it around your eyes. you feel him move away briefly before hearing faint clicks of the camera. whining, “dray i need your mouth.”

you hear his deep chuckle, “you should’ve thought about that before you teased me all night. now your gonna be daddy’s little model, isn’t that right?” he said. you quickly nodded your head. you hoped that if you were good, he would help you.

“that’s my good girl,” he teased with a taunting voice.

feeling his fingers wrap around your ankle, he yanks you to the end of the bed. flipping you around, your ass was now pressed against his cock while only your upper half on the bed.

you feel has hand slap your ass roughly and you let out a whine in pain and eagerness. sending another slap, you cover your behind with your hands, “do i need to get another tie to keep your hands together or are you gonna be a good slut?”

you reluctantly move your hands and shake your head, “no i’ll be good daddy,” you say softly. he slaps your ass a few more times and you hear him grunt in satisfaction.

“look at my pretty model, with her ass on display for me, such a good girl,” he cooed as his finger traces your spine. hearing the camera click again, you arch your back and press up against him, rubbing your center against his.

he yanks down your panties and plunged inside of you. you whine, caught of guard by his sudden movements. setting a fast pace, the room is filled with sounds of his thighs slapping your ass. “look at my whore bent over for me. go on then, cum for daddy,” he orders while his thrusts loose its pace.

he pulled out of you quickly and came all over your ass. “look at daddy’s pretty model, all covered in my cum,” he says as you assume he’s taking more pictures.

you feel his tongue gliding across your back and feel him pause. he runs two fingers over your spine and sense his hands in front of your face. “open,” he says sternly. opening your mouth, you lap in fingers, sucking and licking them clean.

you hear a faint, “good girl” and sense that he’s walked away. with your blindfold on and your ass quite literally in the air, you let out a whine, “daddyyy” you call out. you don’t hear a response for a few moments but hear the click of his work shoes coming closer. “not daddy, it’s dray. i’ll clean you up, doll.”

he takes his time washing you off in the shower and savoring every moment. you both knew it wasn’t going to last and in a few hours he’d be miles away on a plane leading to his next client.

waking up, you feel the sun shining through the window. moving your hand to the other side of the bed, you feel draco’s cold sheets indicating he’s been gone for a while.

you sit up slowly and set your feet on the ground, accidentally stepping on something. looking down, you see his camera you had used the previous night. grinning, you skip to your walk in closet and open your drawer full of lingerie draco has bought you over the last few years.

grabbing dracos favorite robe (holy fuck i’ve always wanted one of these if anyone ever got me one i would give them hundreds of orgasms) and matching lace bra and thong. rummaging through your things, you find a pair of bunny ears you remember him liking. putting them on quickly, you stand in front of your body mirror and grab his camera. you stand in sexy poses as you seductively move the robe slightly more open with each picture.

sitting down, you spread your legs open to give him a view of your clothed pussy. after snapping a few pictures, you push your hand into your panties and start to rub your clit. you imagine dracos hand as you moan his name and take more pictures. moving your hand back up, you suck of your fingers suggestively and start kneeding your breasts.

setting the camera down, you let yourself reach your climax and slump next to the bed for a few moments. after catching your breath, you go to his home office and start printing out some of your favorite pictures. you look at a few taken from the night before and frown, already missing his touch.

in some pictures, you sit there in his arms with his hands roaming your body, some show your ass in the air showing off his red hands marks, some show his hands wrapped around your throat as you smile up at him. finally, you put in a few of the pictures you took earlier. before sealing the envelope, you decide to write him a note.

dear dray,

i miss you deeply. please come back to me soon. we both know you won’t regret it :)

xo,

bunny

a few days later you hear clicks at your window. you turn to see your owl with a new letter strapped against it.

hi pretty girl,

you have no idea how much i miss you. you were right about me never regretting it because those pictures of us had me starring longer than i’d like to admit. you have no idea how many times i’ve looked back at those pictures. you look so beautiful dressed up all pretty for me like a little model. i love you so much bunny. i��ll be home soon.

yours,

draco

[rodeoxqueen]

Keeping Up With A Himbo: V (I)- Melatonin? Melanin? 

Series Summary: A series of domestically fluffy snippets where the s/o of a Sparda learns just how much of a himbo their lover is.

Work Summary: A riveting tale in which V gives you serotonin by confusing melatonin for melanin. 

Tags/Warnings: Gender-Neutral! S/O, Medical Inaccuracies, V Is Stupid Too, Maybe Rodeo Made Him Too Stupid, Heatwaves, Domestic Fluff, Comedy, Grocery Store Runs

V was not great with excess sunshine and heat. However, it was the summer and that was all there was. Strolls became unbearable as he would rather sleep in with you and wound up waking at the most sweltering temperature. 

You were fine with it, opting to wear things that left more skin showing. Tantalizing as it was, it was harder to appreciate when he himself practically boiled in the leather he was used to wearing. He sadly gave up his usual garb for shorts and tank tops, his favorite sandals replaced as well. 

It was the end of the week, meaning you would have to restock your shared apartment’s rations of food and supplies. You grabbed your wallet and keys, sliding on a pair of shoes. Sunglasses in hand, you called out for your boyfriend. 

“V, if you don’t want to go, I can go myself.” He sighed, grabbing his cane and walking out the door with you.

“You know that won’t do.” 

Redgrave was beautiful during the summer. With the clear sky and warm weather, it was as if this place didn’t actually crawl with demons. 

While you basked in the sun, feeling the heat seep into your skin and radiate outwards, V wished for an iceberg to fall on him. 

It was HOT. He insisted on wearing black and he paid for it every time. It was as if the sun had parked herself right on top of him and he already knew he was turning pink. 

Tousling his hair, he groaned at how hot the top of his head was. The two of you had just started on your walk and the concrete had been waiting, heatwaves practically jumping off the surface. At least you were happy. 

“V? V? Are you okay?” He snapped out of his stupor, tilting his head to greet your inquiry. 

“Yes? Forgive me, it’s a bit warm.” You laughed at your grumpy poet. 

“Yeah, a little. I’ll be sure to get some sunscreen for you.” 

“Please do. I’d hate to repeat last time.” 

“Oh yeah, I remember! You burned so bad at the beach.” V shivered despite the weather. He had decided to partake of the beach with the rest of the devil hunters and Nico. Your bathing suit was so enticing on your frame yet he could never forget how his skin peeled off from the unforgiving sun. 

“Maybe you don’t produce a lot of melanin. Y’know, the stuff in your skin that absorbs the sun’s rays.” You explained, finally stepping foot into an air-conditioned grocery store. 

V sighed, pink skin cooled before he could burn anymore. 

“Perhaps.” A grocery cart in hand, you trekked about the store with V. 

Through the produce section, V grabbed a few apples while you inspected a head of lettuce. V noted you bought materials for hamburgers, his favorite. 

You went to grab some sunscreen afterward, knowing you’re going to need a lot for V. 

Meanwhile, V thought about what you said earlier. He stood next to you in the aisles, the shelf behind him full of multivitamins. A certain bottle caught his attention. 

What was it that protected human skin from the sun? It started with an M. Careful hands plucked the bottle from its place. Colorful with a picture of the moon and sun, he decided that these gummies were what he was looking for. 

“This might do.” He threw it in the cart with the sunscreen you found. 

V was putting the groceries on the conveyer belt when you decided you wanted ice cream and ran to the freezers. 

Luckily you returned quickly. The previous time you did a last-minute run, you were gone for too long and V had to stand there awkwardly in the perception of many pissed customers. 

In your hands, you held the cold delicacies that V predicted you would consume all of them in an hour and regret it. 

White grocery bags in hand, V walked right back outside. You had already gotten started on a popsicle, offering V several licks. 

When you got back home, V put the bags on the counter to find the sunscreen and medicated gummies. He swiftly placed them in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. 

Looking into the mirror, he mussed up his hair again. You had a spare hair tie on the sink which he used to tie his hair back. 

After dinner, V decided to eat some of the gummies. He took a generous amount. They were rather sweet with a slightly gritty texture. He wondered how long they would take to work, never wanting to sunburn ever again. 

Laying on the couch half an hour later, he found himself tired. Almost aggressively tired. He wasn’t even outside for that long, so he marked heatstroke off his list of what could have made him so exhausted. The book in his hands became the book on his face and he fell fast asleep. 

When he woke up, he felt groggy, his head weighted by wet cement. His back hurt with the precarious way he laid on the couch. 

You heard the sound of him waking up, a raspy groan leaving him while he stretched. 

“Good morning. I hope you weren’t too lonely without me last night.” He said. You looked over the kitchen counter with a grin. He coughed, his throat dry. 

“More like overmorrow.” He got up lazily, confused. He looked at his skin, noting no difference. Did the supplements work? 

“V...you slept for an entire day and a half. I didn’t want to bother you but I did have to check your pulse a few times. Had to make sure that you were still alive.” V walked into the bathroom, seeing a couch imprint on his face, half of his hair completely flat to his face. 

“Perhaps it’s just a side effect of those melanin supplements I got.” You snapped your head around from making breakfast, confused. 

“What.” He made his way into the kitchen. V ruffled his bed head, handing you the bottle. The cupboard was opened and closed, V chugging a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, he watched you examine the bottle in disbelief. 

“Sweetie-” You pointed to the melatonin medication. A rising sun with a cartoony smile and a sleeping moon was printed on the plastic surface. 

“Why did you take these?” 

“To have more melanin.” You turned around, and V found you with an expression that said “I want to scream like a pterodactyl for a moment.” 

“V, melanin is a pigment. Melatonin is a sleep medication. This is melatonin. Baby, you just ate half a jar of sleep gummies.” You emphasized the pronunciation of melanin and melatonin. 

V’s eyes went blank, just realizing his mistake. 

“Oh.” 

You didn’t stop laughing for an hour. He never heard the end of it. 

[1ddotdhq]

🎊 Wed 13 Jan ‘21 👾

Zayn had a party (in a storage unit?), Liam has a podcast, Niall still likes golf, and Louis is calling out shitty politicians! Meanwhile, Jason Sdksksks is trying his damndest to win back his lady love from the nefarious Mr. Styles’ wiley ways. Yes, yes, it’s all very dramatic, so let’s get started!

Alright, clearly Zayn had the zarty of the YEAR last night as we got oodles and oodles of pictures of, uh, Zayn-themed party decorations that would be very on brand for any twelve year old stan but honestly I CANNOT imagine him wearing party hats with...his face on them cut out Mishapocalypse-style. I mean, he would still look like a ting, of course, but a very odd ting, especially when mixed with his own personalized Bode jacket that matches Harry’s personalized Bode Vogue pants, with their own twist: the Nobody Is Listening cover art, weed, Star Wars, 993, and some others! We know it was at Gigi's apartment building thanks to the many pap pics of the games and balloons being brought around (trust Zayn to find every way to get papped other than his actual face) but wow does it look like the whole thing was set up in some kind of....industrial storage unit? Odd, but points for social distancing, I guess? The party mastermind, Gigi, bought him a FIFA-inspired birthday cake (more on FIFA later), and they played retro video games that I haven’t seen since *I* was twelve, and drank orange juice looking cocktails. She also posted a picture of herself and Zayn all dressed up as some video game characters, captioned, “Team No Sleep! Happiest of birthdays to our Zaddy baba. So special. Love you long time, and thank you for making me a mama to the best girl ever”. Well, it looks to me like they’ve been getting plenty of sleep - they look bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for a playground party. Honestly, thinking about it, maybe the theme *was* “twelve year old who likes zayn and video games”....And there’s still MORE news, party people! Apparently, ZAYN is taking on the role of host for three virtual album listening parties. There’s no zoom, and no video, but on Jan 15, 19, and 21, we can all sit in a chat room and listen to the album together. It’s free for everyone, and hopefully he shows up, so see y’all there!

So onto the FIFA section of the update, of which I know nothing about, but give me a few months and Liam will teach me all about it in his NEW FIFA PODCAST! What??? What happened to that Sabbatical Leeeyummm???? Clearly, it’s gonna have to wait for a bit because for the months of January and February, he’s going to be hosting an eight episode podcast (co-hosted by SkyHost sports broadcaster Jaydee Dyer and in collaboration with Universal Music Group), which premiered TODAY! Surprise!! Someone get *this* man a FIFA cake! The podcast will pair star players and musicians and aims to “make football truly global, accessible and inclusive”, which to me just means we’re gonna get a bunch of fun bts stories from Liam and other artists like we did today! He tells us some pre-show 1D rituals (‘making Harry say funny shit in silly voices’ and ‘throwing gummy bears in each others mouths’) and about his own relationship with music (“amazing how music can lift your mood out of anything”) and songwriting (“it can come many ways”). Also, he has a huge crush on Tom Hardy, but that’s not special, I, too, watched Venom and fell head over heels for that Man!

Another man I’m head over heels for: Louis! He showed up on twitter INCENSED about the Health Secretary of Britain and his evasive tactics on the question of free school meals. Piers Morgan (ugh) took on the Health Secretary (UGH) and asked if he regretted voting against the extension of free school meals in Britain, noting that, had it not been for Marcus Rashford’s excellent campaign, this would have gone unresolved and children would have gone hungry. The Health secretary, gusano ligoso that he is, just said, “I’m really glad the situation has been resolved”. Louis clearly feels the same way I do about that cockroach that is unfit to call himself a man, and said, “This is disgusting. What an evasive coward! Hold your hands up and take responsibility!” Louis then retweeted Marcus Rashford’s tweet calling for a full review of a Free School Meal system across the UK. One more FIFA cake for these two, please!

And the Fauxlivia saga continues (sans astrologers today, sorry!) Elle magazine printed that Jason Sudeikis (Sdksksks from here on out) is “desperate to win Olivia back to repair their family” and is “hoping that...Harry will get bored and move on before too long”. Mhmmm, well, don’t worry, darling! The stars say that you’ll have your family back by June (apparently! but COVID related delays may apply) so just hold on for a bit! Harry, meanwhile, is...MIA but liking Arlo Park’s cover of Watermelon Sugar, which was, frankly, captivating and gorgeous, and Lizzo’s gorgeous post captioned, “the bar is high when you’re the reference”. And, discourse would like you to know she made a mistake yesterday, Jeff's quote about how soothing someone's presence was was about Kid Harpoon, not Harry, though we’re sure H has a soothing presence, too! I mean, just look at the power his text messages hold!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

When the cat is away, the mice dance on the table

All the pretty girls like Bucky - Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Continuation of All the pretty girls like Bucky. It wasn’t just Steve who enjoyed having Y/n around. She was a lover to Steve and a sister to Bucky. A friend you don’t forget.

Pairing: 40s Skinny Steve x Fem!Reader

Word count: 928

Pictures upon pictures of Y/n with different artworks lay on the table. Wanda looks at all of them and told Bucky she recognizes a few of them. ‘So she became a famous painter?’ ‘Art collector. She got a fair amount of money when her parents died and build a nice legacy for herself,’ Bucky explains. He gives her a fairly new flyer of a museum downtown. ‘She bought things for very small amounts back then but she had an eye for valuables.’ Wanda stifles a laugh. ‘So that’s why she liked Steve.’ Bucky smiles and hands her a picture of Y/n and Steve at an art exhibit. ‘I guess so.’ Wanda looks at the artwork in the background and recognizes it as a print that Steve has in his apartment. He has it framed and all but the real thing hangs in a national museum. ‘Wait, but-’ ‘Yeah,’ Bucky says, knowing what she’s about to ask, ‘she bought that because Steve told her he liked it. The original artwork is stored away somewhere but Steve has always had a print of it anywhere he went.’ ‘He loved her a lot,’ Wanda says with a breathy laugh as she hands Bucky the picture back. He puts it back into the photo album carefully, next to the pictures Steve had glued down of her with his parents and camping trips they took together. In some compacity, Bucky regrets never settling down. In each picture, he has a different girl on his arm but Steve and Y/n look so much happier. ‘We both did,’ Bucky clarifies, ‘she was the kind of friend you can never forget.’

.

.

.

.

.

There’s a desperate knocking on your and Steve’s apartment. You’re not quite sure who would come here at this hour but you’re sure it’s important. You open the door to see a soaked, broken Bucky at your doorstep. ‘Jesus, what happened to you? Come inside, quickly,’ you usher him in. ‘I’ll get you some clean clothes.’ You’re fairly certain Bucky broke up with another girlfriend but you’re not one to judge. Some get long-time relationships, others get a lot of short ones. Bucky gets neither. He gets girls who see him as a ride. As a pleasurable night or a few free dates. He never gets what Steve got with you and he hates it. As charming as he might be, as easy he might be in flirting, he still wants something that lasts. He sits down with you after he’s changed into some clothes he left here a week or so prior. He does that more often. After all, he’s the third wheel in this relationship. He’s a plus one, just like Steve is a plus one in any friendship or relationship Bucky gets into. Now, that situation extends to you. And you don’t mind at all. ‘So what happened?’ ‘Remember Jessy?’ You nod. ‘Pretty blond thing with the red brooch?’ ‘Yeah, she dumped me. Well, not really. Apparently, she is engaged.’ You sink into the couch next to him and pull him against you in a comforting hug. ‘That’s horrible. You deserve so much more than that Bucky.’ He wraps his arms around you and takes in your scent. Like Steve, your presence grounds him. It’s nice to be around you and he understands why Steve took to liking you so quickly after meeting you. You’re wonderful. ‘Hey, Bucky?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Wanna go have a drink?’ ‘What about Steve?’ ‘Staying over at his mom’s place to help her with the garden.’ He looks at you and spots the mischief in your eyes quickly. When the cat is away, the mice dance on the table. ‘Let’s go.’

.

.

.

Though you have always been satisfied with Steve, everyone knows he’s got two left feet. Bucky, however, is an amazing dancer. So every once in a while, you and Bucky go out dancing. It never fails to bring a smile to your faces and it quickly became the “rebound ritual” for Bucky. Neither of you drinks. You don’t need to. You get high of each other’s energy and the darkness of the night.  And when the night gets to an end, Bucky walks you home with his jacket over your shoulders. The night is dark but the moon is bright. You can see whole galaxies in the sky. You love the stars so you walk with your eyes on the specks above you as you hold Bucky’s arm to keep you from tripping. ‘Thank you,’ he says. You look down from the stars, up at Bucky’s face. ‘Don’t thank me. I’ll take any excuse to go dancing with you,’ you tease to keep the mood of the night up as you gently squeeze his arm and push yourself closer to him. He smiles in the dim moonlight and nods. ‘I know. But thanks anyway.’ And then the end of the night comes into view much sooner than you wanted it to. You’re already home. You stop in front of the door to your apartment complex and hand Bucky’s jacket back to him. ‘No problem. I’m just glad you don’t bury your feelings.’ ‘You’d get it out of me anyway. I’d rather beat you to it,’ he jokes. You smile and hold out your arms. He takes the hint and engulfs you in a warm hug. He loves your hugs. You always rub your hand over his back and it soothes him. It’s gentle and loving. ‘We’re family, Bucky. You, me, and Steve. No matter what happens,’ you promise him, ‘I’ll always be there for you.’

[sevlgi]

not-so-sweet secret

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: jennie x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

contents: school!au, rich girl!jennie, secret relationship

warnings: none

synopsis: What you had with Jennie Kim used to be your sweet little secret. But recently, as Jennie starts publicly dating someone else, it doesn’t seem so sweet anymore.

a/n: yes you can! I love this prompt, thanks so much for requesting! also thank you all so much for 700 followers 😭 you guys have questionable taste but I love you all

word count: 2.6k

You always knew that what you had with Jennie Kim would have to stay a secret.

To be honest, you had no idea how she had even developed feelings for you. While she as the queen of the school, you were a nobody, just another wallflower who admired her. Somehow, she liked you enough to ask you out, and everything began from there.

At first, the idea of a clandestine relationship exhilarated you. The thought of sneaked kisses behind closed doors, of weekend dates in places no one would recognize you, managed to make your heart beat faster.

And that’s exactly how it was at first. You stayed late after school so that Jennie could drive you home in a car that smelled like her perfume, and you sneaked out at night for the first time to see the stars with her. She stared at you in your shared classes, and you slipped notes into each others’ lockers, each one of hers signed with a kiss printed in lipstick.

It was all you could have ever asked for, even if both of you pretended the other didn’t exist in the presence of other people. Sure, it wasn’t ideal that you couldn’t sit together at lunch and share food like other couples, or that Jennie could barely give you a passing glance in the hallways, but it was enough to know how she genuinely laughed, how she liked to hug the people she really loved.

You wanted to be with her publicly, but you also wanted to give Jennie time. You didn’t want to rush her into doing anything she wasn’t ready to do, even if it meant you had to suffer in silence because of it.

In private, she was the sweetest girlfriend you could have ever asked for. She visited your house almost every afternoon and brought you fresh-baked sweets, and she cooked dinner for both of you whenever your parents weren’t home. Jennie stayed over so often that you kept a special blanket and pillow for her right next to yours.

But in public, she was always a whole other person. Whenever you went on dates outside, even if the two of you were in a different town, Jennie hesitated to even stand to closely to you, to smile that cute gummy smile specially reserved for you.

Especially at school, Jennie hung out with her popular friends, those crazily beautiful and rich kids who never looked your way. When she was with them, she was no better, fake-laughing at insensitive jokes and burning money on designer clothes.

That was the price. To be the butt of those insensitive jokes, to be on the receiving end of falsely sweet smiles and to be unable to love Jennie as much as you wanted. But you were sure it would all be worth it in the long term, as long as you kept your sweet little secret tucked close to your heart.

“Hey, jagi,” you smiled, getting into the car and tossing your bag at your feet. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Jennie gave you her customary gummy smile, eyes turning into pretty crescent moons. “Hi, baby. You look really pretty today, you know? I wanted to tell you in math, but Eunchae kept talking about her new Mercedes.”

You blushed lightly, kissing her on the cheek as she started the car. “Really, another one? Didn’t she crash the last one while drunk?”

“High,” your girlfriend corrected. “Remember, there was that huge party at Jackson’s place? He got drugs somehow, and Eunhae got so high that she backed her car into a wall.”

Rolling your eyes lightly at the mention of the party, you reminded Jennie, “I wasn’t there, remember? Nobody in their right mind would invite me to a party. Pretty sure they don’t even know my name.”

“Well, they should. You’re the greatest,” Jennie cooed, giving you a big smile. “Although, you don’t like those parties anyway, right?”

“Nah,” you shrugged, looking out the window at all the passing houses. Unsurprisingly, Jennie lived in a different neighborhood than you, hers with a gate for every house and at least 4 expensive cars parked in every driveway. Despite that, she drove you to and from school every day. “Although, your daily recap of who started dating who is pretty funny.”

Jennie laughed lightly, and you could hear your heart beating faster just at the sound of her. You had been dating for so long, but just the tiniest action of hers still managed to make you flustered like crazy. “I know you don’t enjoy it that much, you just like to let me talk.”

“Maybe,” you joked, getting out of the car when it parked at the curb of your house. “Do you wanna come in? I bought the ice cream you like so much, milk flavor.”

She pouted at that, not getting out of the car, which was enough of an answer. “No, sorry, Junsoo made me promise to tutor him in math today. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” you answered, waving as she pulled the car away. You did your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, like a huge stone had been dropped there. It was hard not to get jealous when Jennie routinely hung out with people way better than you, but you always reminded yourself that your girlfriend loved you and would never cheat on you.

Right?

“Good morning,” Wheein greeted you, sliding into the seat right next to you. You smiled in greeting, still copying the notes down from the board. The girl had been your assigned Chemistry partner for a few months now, and you could maybe call her a friend. 

“Hi, Wheein.”

“You won’t believe what happened today,” the girl started saying. She was a bit gossipy at times, but she was still considerably kind to you, so you always let it slide. “Junsoo started dating Jennie!”

Your head snapped up, your hand slipping and drawing a huge mark over your notes. Wheein winced at the huge black arc on your paper, passing you an eraser. “What? Jennie? Like Jennie Kim?”

“Well, what other Jennies are in this school?” Wheein giggled, cocking her head at you. “Why?”

Jennie. Your girlfriend, Jennie, was dating Im Junsoo, quite possibly the biggest asshole in the entire school. You knew she would do a lot to hide your relationship, but you didn’t think she would go that far. “No reason,” you mumbled, starting to scrub at your paper.

That sweet secret that you kept close to your heart started to feel not so sweet anymore.

You didn’t want to believe what Wheein said, and that was the only reason you took the long way to lunch and headed by the cluster of benches where Junsoo held court during lunch. At first, you couldn’t see him or Jennie, a group of other popular kids creating a barrier between you and them.

But you heard her voice, that gorgeous voice that only called you ‘jagi’, flirting shamelessly with Junsoo. You wanted to leave, to pretend like you didn’t hear anything, but the crowd shifted just enough for you to see the happy couple, Jennie practically sitting on Junsoo’s stupid lap.

She was definitely flirting with him, practically giving him bedroom eyes in the middle of the cafeteria. Her friends cooed over them, only fueling the stupid smug expression on Junsoo’s stupid face.

Jennie caught a glance of you when she looked up, and you knew that all she could see was betrayal. And that was exactly what you felt as you turned on your heel and walked away.

You didn’t wait in the parking lot for Jennie that day. Instead, you hitched your bag up on your shoulder and walked home yourself, ignoring your phone when it started buzzing in your pocket halfway.

You didn’t pick up when she called you, and you didn’t read any of the texts she sent. Instead, you spent your time in the garage fixing up your old bike so you could start getting to school easier.

Maybe it was just a rumor, but you had a bad feeling, one that told you something had gone incredibly wrong. You ate dinner with your parents for once instead of going up to your room and video-calling Jennie.

It all felt wrong, but you weren’t ready to talk to her yet. Once you picked up on one of her calls, you knew the truth was going to come out, and you weren’t ready to hear it just yet.

You managed to avoid Jennie for a full 3 days. To be honest, it wasn’t that hard; you didn’t have many classes together, and there was no way she could get alone enough to approach you.

Saturday was the day you were dreading, because you knew Jennie would show up. That was the day she usually came over, because neither of your parents would be home and neither of hers would be watching her. She didn’t need to be let in, since you had given her a spare key, and she had her own car.

It was only a matter of time before she confronted you, and you were not looking forward to it.

Unsurprisingly, you heard the front door unlocking at exactly 9:33 in the morning on Saturday. Luckily, you were already awake, cooking breakfast in the kitchen a few steps away. “Let yourself in, why don’t you,” you called out sarcastically.

“Y/N?” Jennie answered, setting her keys down on the counter and closing the door behind her. “Have you been ignoring me?”

Blunt as always. You turned around with an eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of her. She looked unfairly good, glowing as always, as if she wasn’t worried at all about the fact that you hadn’t talked to her in days.

Under usual circumstances, you would have immediately rushed to her, kissing her and running your hands through her immaculately curled hair, but instead, you stood there, holding the plate of food. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

It came out more spiteful than you had intended, but it did the trick; your girlfriend flinched, regret settling into the brown eyes you loved so much. “Y/N...”

“Jennie,” you deadpanned, staring right at her. “Go ahead, explain if you can.”

“It’s not real,” she implored, stepping closer to you. “I don’t like Junsoo, not at all! He’s just a friend, please, Y/N.”

“Then why did Wheein tell me the big, amazing news that he’s dating you this morning?” you demanded, not caring about the fact that you sounded like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. 

At the sound of your deskmate’s name, Jennie’s expression changed. Instead of the desperate scrunch of her eyebrows, a jealous twist of her lip brought spite to her eyes. “Wheein? I don’t like that you talk to her so often.”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” you exclaimed, your voice echoing off the walls of your kitchen. “Are you serious? Wheein’s my friend, not anything like your official boyfriend Junsoo. We’re talking about you right now!”

Jennie’s expression changed again, into a slightly pained one as her hands scrunched into the fabric of your shirt. “Y/N, you know I’m not ready to come out yet. I don’t know how people will react, much less my parents.”

“Yeah, I know, and I understand that! But dating someone else right in front of my face? What the hell, Jen?” you challenged her, anger furrowing your brow. 

She chewed on her lower lip and looked down at the floor. “I… I think it’s best if I leave right now. You’re obviously angry, and I get it. I don’t want to fight.”

“Okay, then leave,” you scowled, turning back to your food. You could feel a sour pang in your chest as you heard the door close softly behind your girlfriend, but you ignored it. You had a right to be angry when your girlfriend started publicly dating someone else, but was it worth it to hurt each other like that?

A week or so passed without you or Jennie speaking a single word to one another. That was one of the things that made the two of you not such a great match; both of you were incredibly stubborn, and neither of you would give up without a fight.

It hurt, of course, but you wanted her to approach you first. After all, it wasn’t your fault that she started dating someone else and ruined your relationship.

Stumbling in on Jennie kissing Junsoo in an empty classroom was the last straw.

“Excuse me, who are you?” the boy demanded, scrambling to stand in the empty classroom. Behind him, Jennie stared at you in horror, lipstick slightly smeared and her blouse just a little bit wrinkled.

You couldn’t help the horror on your face, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to expose Jennie. It was stupid, maybe, wanting to protect her after all the heartbreak she brought to you, but instead of saying anything, you mumbled a hurried “Sorry” and darted right out of the door.

You didn’t expect her to run after you, and you definitely weren’t expecting the hurried clack of heels behind you and the feeling of her warm hand clasped on your wrist. “Y/N, please wait.”

“What…?” you stared at your wrist and then at Jennie’s pleading eyes, begging you to stay. “Um, Jennie?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I’m really, really sorry. I never should have acted like I was ashamed of you, I never was! You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Dumbly, you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish. Whispers sounded around the two of you, dozens of eyes glued to the two of you as you stood in the middle of the hallway. All you manage to say is “I think we should talk about that” as you pulled Jennie out of the school.

Neither of you talked until you were far enough out of the campus that nobody you recognized was there. “What’s going on? Aren’t you happy with your popular, rich boyfriend?”

Jennie winced, shaking her head pleadingly. “Please, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve it, but I really love you. I want another chance, and I promise I’ll never keep you a secret again. I’ll come out to my parents, and I’ll announce our relationship--”

“I never wanted to force you to come out,” you sighed, stepping closer. You knew that what she did wasn’t right, but you didn’t exactly handle it well either. “I just didn’t want you to date someone just to cover us up. I felt like you were ashamed of me.”

“I promise I’m not. Please, I’ll treat you right this time,” Jennie promised, still holding on to your wrist.

Biting your lip, you looked at the ground. Obviously, you loved Jennie; she was the best person in the world to you, despite what she did, and you didn’t want to let her go. “One more chance,” you suggested, looking back up to her again. “We’re starting over, we’re not continuing our old relationship.”

Jennie nodded fervently, giving you the familiar gummy smile you were so familiar with. “Okay. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, and I’ll treat you so well. I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around her in a hug and inhaling the familiar sweet scent of her perfume once again.

You felt sweet. Not sweet in the way that your old relationship was, not the kind of sweet that still had a bitter aftertaste. No, you were on cloud nine, and you could stay there forever if you just had Jennie.

[lalainajanes]

For “neighborhood block party” on my bingo card! This one takes place in the same universe as Sweet As (quirky supernatural small town fic in which Caroline’s a dryad who owns a bakery and Klaus is the leader of the local werewolf pack and mates are a thing ;) ) though it’s more of a prequel.

The Fall Festival

Before he’d met Caroline, Klaus’ mornings had fallen into a predictable pattern.

He would wake up at the same time, wander into his kitchen to find a full pot of coffee and a pack member or two. Occasionally, there was an emergency. Sometimes there was an issue where his opinion was wanted. Most often, his visitors would come with a problem that could have been solved without Klaus’ input, though he’d never complained.

Klaus had been an outsider once, had become pack leader when the father he’d never known had died, and Marcel had shown up at his door in Chicago. At the time, Klaus had resented the disruption to his life.

Now, he doesn’t understand how he’d survived so long, locking himself in a cage every month.

His mother had explained his parentage when he’d turned twelve, and it had been revelatory, explained why he’d always struggled to wield even a hint of the power that came naturally to his siblings. Esther had told him what to expect, that he’d be dangerous, but she’d refused to tell Klaus anything about the man who’d passed him the werewolf genes, hadn’t even supplied a name.

The rift in their relationship had begun there, had only widened since. When Klaus had chosen to accept his birthright, he’d ensured he’d never be welcome in the home he’d grown up in. He’d never regretted it.

Most of his siblings happily defy their parents to visit, and the pack had become another sort of family.

Three months after Caroline had opened her shop, Klaus had trekked out into the forest to deal with one of the rare emergencies. A scent had been picked up on a security run two days prior, of a young, unfamiliar wolf.

A wolf who proved to have a gift for hiding.

Klaus and his inner circle had been trying to track the interloper, had to find them before the next full moon. His pack had long-standing agreements with the humans and the various local supernatural sects. A young wolf could have jeopardized the easy peace the town enjoyed without meaning to. Klaus and his pack would have had to pay the price.

Young wolves could not always assert human will over animal instincts, which could be deadly if any prey crossed their paths.

And to a werewolf, just about anyone can be prey.

That morning Klaus had decided to head west to an area of that woods that was dense with trees and wildlife. His pack usually leaves it be, understanding that there would be objections if they were to start messing with the local ecosystems. Besides, it offers little opportunity to run, something a werewolf is always eager to do when given a chance.

He’d been moving slowly and silently, examining the ground for prints that looked similar to the ones they believe belong to the young wolf. He’d frequently paused to see if he could pick up a scent, but he’d grown distracted.

Klaus had come across a grove of trees emanating a strange warmth. Curious, he’d rested his hand on the trunk of one.

Only to have the rough bark shiver under his touch and melt away, growing soft and smooth and scented of cherries and spice rather than earth.

He’d snatched his hand back and turned away as soon as he’d realized what was happening, had awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, and wondered if it would be cowardly to flee. He’d heard rustling, soft footsteps, the glide of fabric over skin. Then a woman’s voice, dripping with amusement, “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”

Klaus had turned slowly. “My apologies. I was unaware I was trespassing.” He’d averted his eyes, realizing that “dressed” wasn’t entirely accurate. The woman had only slipped on a robe, a pale green confection of a garment made from silk and lace, loosely belted and short. He’d looked closely enough to realize she was gorgeous, with a riotous mess of blonde curls framing a flushed face and friendly, curious blue eyes.

His body had reacted, and Klaus had forced himself to begin breathing through his mouth. Her scent had clouded his thoughts, tempted him to step closer.

He hadn’t understood what was happening, why he was reacting so strongly to a stranger.

Klaus might have grown particular about who he invited into his bed, but he was hardly inexperienced or prone to awkwardness in the presence of beautiful women.

He’d gone a little wild when he’d become pack leader five years ago, had freely partaken in pleasure just about any time it was offered. Offers were still coming, but Klaus had largely lost interest, leery of complications that could occur with attachments. At the time, he’d only occasionally indulged when an alluring visitor caught his eyes.

Which hadn’t happened in months.

Why was this woman, not even a wolf, so very compelling?

When he’d clasped his hands behind his back and carefully fixed his attention to just above her forehead, she’d made a noise, an aborted laugh. “Wow, never met a shy werewolf before. You guys are usually super quick to get naked.”

Klaus’ eyes had swung to hers, shocked and a touch suspicious, “How do you know I’m a werewolf?”

Her head had tilted towards the trees, “It’s hard to explain. When I’m in that form, connected to the ground, there’s a heightened amount of intuition. Most supernatural beings pull power from some variety of natural elements, and I can usually tell which one, feel the energy.”

“You’re a dryad,” he’d said slowly. He’d remembered reading about them as a child, in one of his mother’s books. An old, thick tome, with tiny print, that detailed the origin stories of all the known species that walked the earth. He hadn’t recalled much more than the basics, had made a mental note to check if the library in his home had a similar volume.

“Guilty,” she’d chirped. She’d held out her hand, “Caroline Forbes. I bought the bakery in town a couple of months ago. You should stop by sometime.”

He’d shaken her hand, that contact enough to ensure Caroline would never stray from Klaus’ thoughts for long.

That brief brush of her skin on his had spurred a change in Klaus’ morning pattern.

He’d visited Caroline’s bakery the next day. Had rolled out of bed, earlier than he had since he’d been obligated to attend morning meetings, and driven to town. Caroline’s business had been easy to spot, featuring a cheerful striped awning in the same shade of green of the robe Klaus had spent far too many minutes contemplating.

He’d slid into a booth shortly after Caroline had opened up. She’d noticed him, appeared pleased to see him and wiggled her fingers in greeting.

And thus began a new routine.

* * * * *

Caroline smiles at Klaus as soon as he arrives. His face immediately grows suspicious.

Oops. She might have overdone it. Klaus is weirdly adept at spotting ulterior motives, and Caroline needs a teeny, tiny favor.

Which is not to say that she doesn’t look forward to his morning visits. More often than not, they’re the highlight of her day. She happens to have gotten a delivery late yesterday afternoon, one that’s essential to pulling off something she’s been working on for ages, so she’s particularly excited about it. She needs to borrow Klaus’ artistic skills to realize her vision.

That she’ll get to spend a little extra time with him is just a bonus.

He walks up to the counter and leans against it. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

She tilts her head to the side, uses her sweetest tone, “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be accusing me of such a thing?”

She spots the twitch at the corner of his mouth though he maintains an impressively deadpan expression. “Honestly, I suspect you’re usually plotting something.”

Caroline had to give him that one, “Okay, true. I might need a hand from someone who’s more artistically inclined than I am. AKA you.”

“What can I do for you?”

She smiles again, kind of glad that there’s a counter between them because Klaus’ lack of hesitation has her feeling all sorts of fuzzy things, and she very well might have thrown herself at him.

Which is not a thing that they do, though she’s hoping that changes at some point.

“I bought some lights and paint for the window. I splurged on it because it’s supposed to be really pretty, kind of sheer, and shimmery. I was hoping to paint some leaves and vines around the borders of the window, but my test runs were… subpar.”

“Still a bit upset about the Summer Solstice party then?”

Caroline glares without any real ire, “Shh. You know that’s a sore subject!”

She’d been woefully unprepared for just how serious the town took its celebrations. The Summer Solstice had been her first one. She’d nailed the food, had baked up tiny, fluffy meringues, served them with a vanilla peach compote, topped with fresh whipped cream and toasted almonds. Everyone had raved about them. But a few people – mostly the members of the town council who are generally unpleasant and excessively gossipy, in Caroline’s not at all biased opinion – had made snide remarks about her lack of decorations.

She’d been mortified even though it totally hadn’t been her fault. She’d miscalculated, not yet grasping just freaking slow the mail was. She’d had a ton of fresh flowers, but the paper lanterns and candy-colored trays and linens she’d ordered had arrived two days too late.

Caroline’s determined to do better this time and prove that party planning is her super-power, damn it.

Klaus is shrugging out of his jacket, “Show me to the supplies, love.”

“You’re the best!” she exclaims, reaching over to flip up the top of the counter. “Come on, it’s all in my office. Along with my very bad diagrams but feel free only to use them as a guideline. Far be it for little ‘ol me to tell a professional artiste what to paint.”

“Willing to cede control?” he teases. “Shocking.”

Caroline shrugs, “Guess I must trust you.”

Whoops. Caroline means it, but it’s a weighty thing to say.

Klaus has stepped passed the counter, bent to stash his jacket underneath. He freezes, head bowing before he up back at her. “I’m pleased to hear that,” he replies.

Caroline’s teeth sink into her lower lip, and she glances around. A few people are watching her curiously and, though she hates it, she knows now is not the time to dig into anything serious.

Though she’s not sure how much longer she’ll be able to resist.

Caroline clears her throat, heading to her office. She unlocks the door, stepping back to gesture Klaus go in first. She turns around to check that April’s come out from the kitchen, motions that she’ll be back out in ten, and then she joins Klaus.

He’s eyeing the sofa, “How often do you sleep here, sweetheart?”

“How do you… oh, right. Werewolf.”

Caroline’s pretty careful not to think about Klaus’ senses. Intellectually she knows he can probably sniff out all sorts of secrets, that the way she reacts to him is entirely unsubtle. She lives in purposeful denial to avoid melting into a puddle of mortification.

“Rarely. I did it a lot when I was scrambling to get this place opened. Now it’s pretty much just the night of the full moon, or the odd day when there’s a big complicated order.”

“Why the full moon?”

Caroline snorts, “Has it escaped your notice that you guys pack away a ton of food after the full moon? It’s my most profitable day of the month.”

She leans down and hefts the box of paint. Klaus steps forward, “Here, let me.”

Caroline lets him take it off her hands, “You know I’m probably at least as strong as you are, right?”

“I had read that, yes.” His eyes flit over her speculatively, and not for the first time in his presence, she thinks about how nice it would be if telepathy were in her bag of tricks. She knows what she hopes he’s thinking. Caroline’s been spinning fantasies that run the gamut from sweet and sensual to hot and frantic since Klaus first wandered into her grove. She’s pretty confident her interest is reciprocated, but he gives her mixed signals.

Caroline’s naturally tactile. She tends to crank that up when she’s in flirt mode. Klaus is careful to stay at a polite distance. He doesn’t cringe when she touches him, but he doesn’t touch her back either.

It’s confusing.

Caroline had gotten tipsy and whiny about the situation last weekend at the bar. Bonnie had been sympathetic and knowing, refused to spill what she clearly knew. Bonnie had only said, in that infuriatingly cryptic way witches have, that Caroline would figure it out when the time was right.

She and Bonnie haven’t known each other long, but Caroline had sensed she wouldn’t budge. She’d pouted until Enzo had arrived with shots.

Things had gotten a little hazy after that.

“Ah, so you’re just gentlemanly?” Caroline teases, watching as Klaus sets the box on her desk. He’s focused on it, so she takes the opportunity to ogle a little. His grey t-shirt is thin and snug. She’s going to be thinking about the way his muscles shift underneath it when she’s alone.

“Something like that.”

“Well, never let it be said that Caroline Forbes doesn’t pay her debts. I’ll save you a bunch of the desserts I’m making for the festival. I’ve perfected them over the last few days – pumpkin with pecan crumble, a delicious marriage of the best fall pies.”

He shakes his head, a laugh rumbling from low in his throat. “Sounds delicious. Perhaps you’ll save me a dance? There’s always a bonfire once the shops close down.”

Huh. That seems like an unmistakable signal. One Caroline hadn’t expected.

She swallows her initial instinct, the urge to joke about how Klaus must have decided she doesn’t have cooties after all. Caroline licks her lips, wonders if he can hear that her heartbeat has quickened. “I’ll make sure my dance card has a spot for you.”

* * * * *

Klaus finds Marcel in the living room when he comes downstairs on the night of the fall festival. He stops short, dread growing in his stomach. He’d spoken to Marcel earlier, and he hadn’t mentioned stopping by. “What happened?”

Marcel’s eyes narrow, “Is that a new sweater?”

Klaus doesn’t understand how that’s relevant to Marcel’s presence in his home.

He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Marcel grins, “Alright, not in a talkative mood. Heard. No disaster, don’t worry. I added an extra few cases of wine to the regular order last month, remember? Just here to grab them for the festival.”

Right. The pack operates several businesses but nothing with a storefront in town. On festival nights, the shops on Main Street decorate and offer free food or small gifts to anyone who wanders in. The town council covers the food available in the square, and Klaus’ pack supplies a significant portion of the booze (only fair since Klaus is quite sure they partake more than most). For this one, if he remembers correctly, they’re providing mulled wine and spiked hot chocolate while Enzo’s bar will set up kegs.

Klaus nods, relaxing. He glances at the clock on the wall. “I trust you can handle the delivery yourself?”

“Why, got a hot date? I don’t remember you ever doing much more than making an appearance at one of these things. This eagerness to arrive early is interesting.”

Marcel sounds far too knowing. To an extent, as the pack’s second in command, it’s his job to know Klaus’ business. He suspects what Caroline means to Klaus, that his wolf has chosen her, but Klaus has never confirmed it.

He’s been resisting the pull, exerting iron control over his instincts, maintaining a careful amount of distance even when he ached to return her affectionate overtures. And it’s not because he doesn’t want her, but because the bond is permanent. Unbreakable, once it’s solidified.

Klaus’ path is set. Caroline’s not bound by the same magic, not unless she wants to be.

“Obviously, you have this under control,” Klaus says, spinning on his heel. “Lock the door when you leave.”

Marcel’s laughter follows him out of the house.

* * * * *

Caroline’s nervous. More nervous than she’s ever been before a date, and it’s not even a date. She’d selected her outfit carefully. Her cream sweater dress has a wide neckline that’s prone to slipping off her shoulders. She’d selected dark tights for underneath and thigh-high boots, which are saved from being too risqué for a family-friendly event by their minimal heel.

She’s been getting compliments all evening, had smiled politely. She’d picked the outfit with one person in mind.

At nine, Caroline locks up, rushing into her office to let her hair down and touch up her makeup. A tap on the window comes at 9:06. She tucks a curl behind her ear, takes a deep breath, “You are not fifteen. Get it together,” she mutters to herself before she flicks off the lights.

She waves at Klaus through the window, grabs the small box where she’d packed up the portion of tartlets she’d saved for him and her keys.

Main Street is brighter than usual, street lamps lit and wrapped with strands of tiny white lights. Caroline steps outside, her eyes running over Klaus. He’s changed since this morning into darker jeans and a navy sweater. Is it a date outfit? She kinda thinks so.

“Hi,” Caroline says, impressed it’s not a squeak. She doesn’t trust herself to open with a compliment about how he looks – her brain-to-mouth filter is unreliable even when she’s calm, cool, and collected. Instead, she gestures to the windows, “Your paintings were a hit.”

Klaus doesn’t seem to hear her. He swallows heavily. “You look…” he trails off, but Caroline’s not an idiot. She knows exactly what the tiny ring of gold around his irises means.

Caroline’s grateful for the confirmation that her attraction isn’t at all one-sided. Her cheeks heat, “What, this old thing?”

He reaches for her, and Caroline’s heart stutters, mouth going dry. It’s the first time Klaus has made any sort of move, and it feels like the start of something she’ll want to remember.

Though she’s not capable of explaining that certainty at the moment. Caroline can’t claim to have a quiet mind, she’s capable of laser focus, but there’s usually a whole list of thoughts and questions in the background, each clamoring for attention.

Right now, there’s only Klaus and the shrinking distance between their bodies.

His palm lands on her upper arm, warm even through her sweater. His fingers tighten, skimming down, lingering when they meet the bare skin of her wrist before his palm meets hers.

She exhales shakily, returning the pressure. Caroline sways forward until her knees brush Klaus’, and his free hand clasps hers. He leans forward, and the hint of stubble on his face rasps against her cheek. “You are overwhelmingly lovely,” he murmurs, mouth brushing her temple.

Caroline’s lips part, and she’s seconds away from turning her head and rising to her toes when Klaus takes a half step away. He pivots until they stand shoulder to shoulder. He keeps one of her hands, and Caroline follows his lead when he begins to walk towards the town’s center.

She barely registers her surroundings, couldn’t name any of the people they pass or describe the decorations. She only feels Klaus’ hand, the solid strength of him next to her, is only aware of the addictive mix of comfort and anticipation fizzing through her veins.

He pulls her into his arms when they reach the makeshift dancefloor next to the bonfire.

It doesn’t feel like a first dance.

There’s no awkward shuffling or hesitant hand placement. Klaus’ grip on her changes, fingers threading between hers, and he wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline’s body melts into Klaus’, her hand rising to rest against his chest. She shivers when his head dips, his breath skimming across her bare shoulder.

There’s music, but it’s not important. She and Klaus move together seamlessly, closer than they probably should be in public, lost in their own world.

No one dares to disturb them.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when another man catches your eye

This work, 当你沉迷小哥哥, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it!

[ VICTOR ]

LFG is full of talented individuals and a sizeable number of handsome men. But you, as an obedient wife with an unwavering love for Victor, will definitely not spare a glance at other men...?

“Goldman. In one minute, I want you to give me all the information you have on that man!”

When you arrived at LFG to give Victor a report, you were notified that he was currently in a meeting. As such, you’re currently standing outside the office, having a chat with Goldman. When the door finally opened, you never expected to see an incredibly handsome man!

Goldman looks at you from the side, objecting. “Just forget it. If I give you his information, I might lose my bonus for next year.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, infuriated. “You’ve really disappointed me! Have you forgotten how I usually rescue you? Passionate members of the working-class should band together and defeat this capitalist fat lion!”

“Defeat who?”

Immersed in your dramatic world, you fail to realise that the voice sounds slightly off. “Victor, of course!”

Goldman’s face has gone pale.

“...”

Finally reacting, you hold onto his arm, behaving coquettishly. “Victor, when did you come out?” You hope he didn’t hear your brave and visionary words from earlier.

Victor has his arms crossed as he stands at the doorway. Expressionless, he shatters your hopes. “Ever since you wanted the information.”

“...”

You wonder if it’s too late to retreat.

“Submit a thousand word reflection tonight.” He leads your dazed self into the office.

Seeing the two of you enter, Goldman feels as though he’s been relieved from a burden.

“Goldman, your monthly bonus has been cut by half from idling around during working hours.”

Goldman: Ack.

[ GAVIN ]

To select guests for an upcoming program, you and the planning team in the company have been collecting information on up-and-rising celebrities, which have been printed onto booklets for your perusal.

While having a video call with Kiki, you flip through the pages, the topic gradually digressing to a discussion on who the most handsome person in the booklet is. 

“I think he’s more handsome. I watched a drama he was featured in. The moment he removed his clothes, those muscles...”

The moment Gavin returns, he sees his girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in a discussion over the phone. Documents are messily sprawled on the coffee table. Upon a closer look, he realises that they are pages of information, each one with a picture of a man attached.

Hearing the door open, you turn your head. “Gavin, you’re back~”

He walks over, hugging you from behind. His chin rests on the top of your head, giving it a gentle nuzzle. “Mm. What are up to?”

You point at the materials on the table. “Selecting guests.”

At this inopportune time, a voice drifts from the phone. “Officer Gavin, I wish to report that Boss has been looking at the abdominal muscles of other men!” 

“Kiki, you betrayed me!” You exclaim accusatorially, gritting your teeth. She knows fully well how prone to jealousy your Officer Gavin is.

As expected, Gavin knits his brows. Lifting the bottom of his shirt, he takes your hand and plants it onto his torso. His tone sounds as though he has been treated unfairly. “I have abs too. Touch mine, and don’t look at others.”

Kiki: Sorry for interrupting. Remember to hang up before doing other deeds :)

[ LUCIEN ]

This new drama is far too addictive. The men in it all suit your tastes. As such, you would sit before the television every Friday evening, unmoving.

He initially thought it was just a temporal spark of interest. That is, until you changed the background of your phone to those men. After sending him a link to a voting campaign, Professor Lucien finally realised the severity of this issue.

On Friday, you sit on the sofa as usual, turning the television on.

Seeing this, Lucien quietly washes the cherries from the fridge and places them in front of you. Occasionally, he would shift the chess pieces on the coffee table, or walk in front of the television cabinet to rifle through the CDs. He even waters the plants on top of the stereo.

Your eyes are sparkling as you watch the television, not noticing Lucien’s actions. It’s only when the number of times he blocks the screen increases that he catches your attention. “Lucien, what are you doing?”

He sets down the watering can in his hand, lowering his eyes. “My Little Butterfly is only focused on watching the television, so I have no choice but to engage in my own pastimes.” After saying this, he even injects a sigh.

You snort with laughter. “Is Professor Lucien jealous, and blaming me for not giving him attention?”

“Yes.” His response is quick and firm, as though you’ve truly caused him to suffer.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, you outstretch your arms. “In that case, would this man like an exclusive hug?”

[ KIRO ]

People on-site can sense that Kiro is a little different from his usual self. Usually, Kiro would be amiable, grinning widely as he interacts with others. Although he still treats people the same way, his behaviour towards the second male lead has been peculiar.

“Kiro, is something up with you today? Did someone make you angry?” Mummy Savin is the first person to notice that Kiro is slightly off, patting his shoulder in concern.

“Savin, you have no idea how MC went overboard last night! She said the second male lead was very handsome, and questioned why the ending was so tragic. And that if she were the female lead, she definitely wouldn’t go for the main male lead, but would prefer the second lead!” Little Kiro makes a complaint about your actions to Savin. 

“...” Not knowing what to say, Savin casts him a glance before whipping out his phone to give you a call. “Come over to the film site.Your Kiro is throwing a tantrum again.”

You hang up with a frown. Even though Savin didn’t mention the reason for it, you can guess what exactly is going on. Bringing along the pork floss rolls you just bought, and after ordering two cups of 50% sugar milk tea, you rush over to the film site.

“Kiro~” You greet him once you enter the venue. With a ‘hmph’, he twists his head to the side. Clearly, he doesn’t want to bother with you right now.

You smile in resignation, pretending to be filled with regret. “Since Kiro is ignoring me, I have no choice but to give these small cakes and milk tea to Savin. Sigh, what a shame.”

Hearing that there are snacks, Kiro immediately lunges over. “No way, no way. Miss Chips bought them for me, so they can’t be given to Savin!”

Stuffing himself with the cake, you give his puffy cheeks a poke. “You aren’t angry anymore?”

Kiro takes a sip of the milk tea, his response muffled. “On account of the these snacks, I’ll make up with you for two hours. We’ll talk about the rest at home!”

[ SHAW ]

“What are you watching?” Shaw rushes into the kitchen once he reaches home. Taking out your matcha ice-cream from the fridge, he digs a big scoop, eating it in front of you.

You’ve already gotten used to how thick-skinned this person can be. Casting a glance at the mustard bottle in the bin, you kick the bin further away quietly, praying that he’d quickly reach the bottom of the tub.

“All of them resemble weak chickens. None of them know how to fight.” Shaw comments, biting the spoon.

???

Based on such logic, isn’t he saying that someone who resembles King Kong would immediately be good in fighting?

“Stinky Brother. Take a good look - the men are so handsome. And then look at yourself. Can you even compare with them?”

Shaw’s face darkens. He sets the ice-cream down, pressing the pause button of the remote control. He walks in front of the television, pointing at the large face on the screen, before pointing to himself. “Hey! Take a proper look. How is this pretty boy more handsome than I am? Need me to get you a pair of glasses to fix your vision?!”

You click your tongue. “They can dance. Can you?”

“I can.”

“They have abs!”

“I do too.”

“They can even act!”

“If I didn’t know how to act, how would I have won you over?”

“...” He’s truly unbeatable at this.

Shaw cages you between himself and the sofa, his palms sinking into the fabric. “Do you pick him or me?”

Instead of saying anything, you give him a kiss. After all, this is the best answer.

In the end, he didn’t eat the mustard.

–

More translated and original works: here

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[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the author