#no signature. just a simple thank you note attached

[aforgottenballad]

I think if Yoite grew up and got a job and earned money. Well. I don't think he should have to participate in capitalism but IF he did I think he would always be buying people food and treats and gifts. Not because he was irresponsible or bad with money because he wouldn't be. But he wouldn't know how to spend money on himself and would want to show people he cared and provide something in return for their kindness

[stargirl-writes]

denial

pairing : force healer jedi! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 1.5k

masterlist

summary

anakin skywalker confessed his love for you. except, you turned him down, reminding yourself of your duty to the jedi. weeks would have passed and you're reaching a breaking point where you can no longer deny how you felt about him.

tags : angst, mutual pining, fluff towards the end,

warnings : pretty much just denial of how reader feels, and angst with a happy ending (!)

notes : hi lovely people! this is the first thing i'll post under this blog! thank u for taking interest in my little imagine, i hope you like it!

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated !

It has been a few weeks since Anakin Skywalker told you he loved you. For a moment, the cruelest thing to do seemed like the sweetest thing he could say.

For you both know that the Jedi Council will forbid you to delight in this feeling.

No attachments, live to serve the good, clear lines. No devotions.

You didn't understand how loving someone can be so corrupting, after all, the Jedi Code taught you compassion for all things. That in itself is an act of love. Living so detached from things just makes it all feel... meaningless.

Why hurt for love? Why hurt for not loving?

But now, ever since Anakin told you he wanted you, you are held by a ravenous grip that left you feeling breathless. Suffocated.

Because the truth was simple: You wanted to hoard Anakin in your heart and keep him there. You wanted Anakin.

Of course, you didn't mean it. Anakin Skywalker is the only one who truly knew you. He shredded down your walls to find you where you're most vulnerable and loved you anyway. He wasn't scared of the things about you he didn't understand. Things you, too, find difficult to accept.

But caught by the abruptness, you could only tell him "We can't" before storming out of the room that one night.

You were perplexed, because for the longest time you have resigned yourself to the idea that you were the only one feeling it.

And now he says he loves you. All along.

He loved you.

He loved you despite, despite, despite...

And you turned him down.

Because you can't....

You were bound by duty first. And your duty is to serve the Republic. You can't have Anakin, not if he is supposed to be the chosen one.

You still cried in your sleep; angry and tremendously sorry you turned the closest thing to love away.

You can't take the Republic's only chance of surviving this war. He was meant for something larger than you are. Larger than both of you. You understood this, but it didn't really make it hurt any less.

It fell into this odd... silence between both of you.

You'd catch yourself looking for him in every room you find yourself in. A force of habit. His force signature used to be a warm beacon of light to anchor you, now every time you sense Anakin, your heart aches.

Haunted by the images in your mind of what could be if you allowed him to love you. Terrified that you've allowed yourself to want to share a lifetime with him.

You can't. You wouldn't.

You shuffle in your bed, unable to find a spot so you can comfortably rest. You were becoming more frustrated, for your mind just won't turn itself off.

You grabbed your robe and pulled your hair away from your face, tying it back.

With a sigh, you sit up. It would be futile to attempt any sleep, dawn was already breaking from the windows of the Jedi Temple.

Force healing is something that not every Jedi practices, for it requires a deeper state of discipline and precision. Besides, there are medical droids that can take care of the wounded.

The council had briefed you on your mission for today, you're stationed at the med-bay to overlook the casualties after the recent attack on Kamino.

You valued healing; no matter how forgotten it may have been for the Jedi Order. So, this mission is equally important to you as fighting in the front lines.

The halls of the temple were still quiet, deep in sleep. You wander around, not really knowing where to head.

You hear a shuffle from behind, and instinctively, you turn.

You halt at a balcony— entranced by the rising sun. You breathed deep, wondering when all became so complicated.

A pair of blue eyes meet your doe-eyed gaze. You surveyed him, he looked like he just came from battle, his robes were covered in dust, and his eyes were glossy as if he had been awake for some time, too.

"Anakin" you breathed out, realizing it had been the first time you addressed him after the night he confessed.

"[Name]" He answers, sounding tired.

Your heart thumps, unsure, and half-terrified that if he calls your name again, you might fall to pieces.

"How did the mission on Kamino go?" You say, trying to find any topic other than—

Anakin steps forward, leaning against the balcony. You hold your breath. Being so close to him felt like all air vanishes.

"It went alright" Anakin answers, his gaze falling into the horizon.

Your eyes trail on his arm, noticing the dried blood, a gash maybe, you step forward, wanting to get a closer look, your healing instincts telling you something was off.

"You're hurt" You say, your hand carefully moving his robe.

Anakin sharply turns at your touch. Then his eyes bore into yours. You lifted your fingers, realizing you may have startled him.

Anakin always had you. Part of the reason you were persistent in learning healing. Because the anxiety of him hurting never settled, and you wanted to be equipped to take care of him.

"Let me do this, it won't take long" You insisted, because you knew Anakin too well, and he'd not get it checked until someone else forces him to sit down at the med-bay.

The wound started closing and after a moment, it was like it wasn't there in the first place.

Anakin nods, his eyes never leave yours.

You felt it, a ripple through the force. A very specific frequency. A jedi might mistake his hurt as that of a physical one. But you have memorized him too much to read through his pretenses.

The wounds hurt, yes. But he is carrying a lot more pain than he lets on.

So, you continued. Your fingers graze over his skin, channelling the force, willing it to heal the gash.

You withdrew your touch. The silence lingered. It's a silence that makes you feel mad, because it feels like this is how it'll always be for you and Anakin now. Delicately dancing around the elephant in the room.

The silence amplified the voice screaming in your heart.

You may as well just say it out loud because your force signature is latched with it. It involuntarily pours your heart out.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

"Anakin" you began, your lips opening and closing unable to find words to express how you felt.

He turns his head, standing straight, he had an expression you recognized. Some sort of braceness, like he was already anticipating for you to break his heart again.

"I'm sorry" was all you could say.

Even if you would've ran away with him if he asked you to.

Clear lines. No attachments. You'd cross them all if he asked you to.

This was the right thing to do, you think...

"Don't" Anakin shakes his head "Don't... I know you don't mean it" His eyes fall to his feet.

"No, I do" You answer swiftly— no longer able to deny how much it had hurted you too.

You felt tears threatening to cascade down your face. You've heard it said that love turns people soft, but you have never felt more broken now that you have loved something you can't have.

"Anakin, when I said we can't, it's because I can't take you for myself. You're meant for larger things. Only with the Jedi can you fulfill your destiny" You rambled, verbalizing the thoughts you convinced yourself to believe in at night.

Anakin's eyebrows furrowed, but you continued "It doesn't mean I didn't, that I don't—" You halted, your heart and mind tearing you apart.

"[Name]" he calls, "You are no small thing in my life" He tucks a loose strand of hair to your ear.

"I meant it when I told you I love you." His palm presses on your cheeks.

You thought you could crumble beneath his touch.

These weeks, the small amount of time you spent trying to convince yourself that his feelings will eventually pass, never faltered the way how you felt. His absence felt like half of you was missing. And now, he was here, insisting softly.

You can't hold it in anymore.

So, in the absence of words, you pressed your lips against his— slowly, gently, slipping into the intimacy you only ever shared with him.

I love you.

You say between the kisses, hoping it'd suffice for you can't quite bring yourself to say it just yet.

Nothing in the world belonged to you, just this love you were overpouring with. And this kiss— it felt like the beginning of something eternal.

Whatever that may be.

© to @cafekitsune the dividers!

[yuusishi]

Hi how’s it going? I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if I could request a headcannon of how Kaeya, Diluc, and Dainsleif react to reader saying “I can get it, just don’t ask how”? Can be either platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer. Thanks in advanced!

. . . SWEET SECRETS

pairings : Kaeya Alberich , Diluc Ragnvindr , Dainsleif x gn!reader

genre : fluff

cws/tws : implied violence but it’s rlly short

a/n : warning this is lowkey ass cuz I didn’t really know how to go about the whole plot so sorry if it’s messy 😭. I’ll be putting the headers later cuz I’m not on my pc rn and that’s where I make them !!

KAEYA ALBERICH !!

He thought you were just trying to lighten up the mood seeing his stressed expression upon walking in his office, but seeing your dead serious face he couldn't help but get curious about what your "way of finding the missing artifact" could be.

You weren't part of the knights, just a simple adventurer from the guild, and definitely not on par with the Traveler.

He mentally weighed his options until giving up and leaving it in your hands.

He really wasn't expecting much, possibly a lead or two, but the entire missing artifact that the knights were searching for for weeks showing up at his office definitely woke him up without any need for caffeine that morning. It was safely tucked in a basket too...

Letting out an amused chuckle, he walked towards the basket. The fragile artifact was encased in a bundle of blankets to prevent any breakage, as well as a note tucked in the corner.

“I spent all night getting this so you owe me! The map to the thieves’ den is on the back of this note” signed with your name, even then he could probably recognize your handwriting at a glance without the need for your signature.

Sure enough a shockingly detailed map was drawn at the back of the small note. That was the day Kaeya considered recommending you to Jean as the Knights’ private investigator.

DILUC RAGNVINDR !!

You need to have one hell of a way with words if you were to ask Diluc to even remotely involve you in his investigations. He’s well aware the dangers his nighttime escapades pose if he were to bring others with him, that’s the whole reason he works alone in the first place.

He had mentioned in passing that his messenger owl had gone missing for the past few days, no longer answering his calls or bringing back any letters, that’s when you had an amazing conversation with Dawn Winery’s owner.

“I can give you the lead but…” “But…?” “I want to go instead” “Not a chance” “Please!” “Then tell me how you’ll be doing it” “I can’t tell you” “Then it’s still a no” “I promise I can do it myself! The only thing you have to do is swear not to ask questions tomorrow morning”

A heavy sigh left Diluc’s lips as you wait expectantly for his answer, “Should you harm yourself in any way while you’re out, you’re getting banned from the tavern, alright?”

If he had to be honest, he stayed up later than usual that night (at least when he doesn’t need to be the darknight hero). He wished you would stroll up to Dawn Winery in the middle of the night and said that you gave up on the investigation, but you didn’t.

He had work the next morning, he went to sleep and hoped to the archons that putting faith in your abilities was a good idea. Sure enough, that very morning he found his owl on a bench outside Dawn Winery with a note attached to its foot.

“No questions, alright? Just get me something from Good Hunter as a thanks!” Usually he’d find your letters amusing, but he couldn’t help but let his heart drop ever so slightly upon seeing the speck of blood on the corner of the page.

DAINSLEIF !!

You had met Dainsleif enough times to be considered more than an acquaintance to him. As he travels across Teyvat, he still manages to frequent the tavern you work in. Every couple months you’d see the familiar tuft of blonde hair accompanying his eccentric appearance.

You were just an ordinary bartender, so Dainsleif wouldn’t dare try to involve you in his plans against the Abyss even if you held a vision. All of his plans managed to endanger even the Traveler after all.

He mentioned something about a precious item related to Khaenri’ah that he needed, and just his luck you knew a couple visitors to the tavern that could aid him. But they weren’t the most approachable people.

“I can get you a couple leads, only catch is that no questions will be asked, ‘kay?” A bad feeling buried itself in your stomach every time he mentioned something about the fallen kingdom, yet you still offered.

After giving the offer a moment’s thought, he agreed, warning you to be careful.

The next week he came back, but you weren’t there, instead Dainsleif was greeted by another bartender covering your shift. Curious, he asked what happened with you, the only answer he received was that you managed to overwork yourself and got sick. The bartender swiftly handed him a paper filled with leads for the item.

He swore to come back to properly repay you after he completes his investigation.

[weemsfreak]

We Fell In Love In October

This is late late, I have been working on it for so long but I have been busy. It is a fall/halloween story, sooo Happy Halloween!!

Larissa Weems x f!TeacherReader

Warnings: Mention of blood, fake weapon

Autumn held a special place in your heart. This time of year wasn't too chilly or overly warm, and you lived for fall fashion. Halloween, in your opinion, was the supreme holiday, and you'd fight anyone who said otherwise. You weren't particularly keen on horror or gruesome themes, as you were a bit of a pussy, but the mystery and dark undertones were totally your thing.

Donning your trusty combat boots and a burgundy sweater dress, you set out for the quad. The leaves descended gracefully from the trees, adorning both the ground and the sky with their vibrant hues of red, orange, and yellow. Lately, your thoughts have been preoccupied with Halloween costume ideas, an opportunity to indulge in your need to dress up, to temporarily adapt a different persona. You thought it was always interesting to not be yourself, or be a different version of yourself, even if it was just for a day. As you made your way down the path to the decorated school, you allowed the soothing sound of gravel and rustling leaves underfoot to envelop your senses. This morning  the students were having in a pumpkin carving contest, and you had a brilliant idea in mind for your class's entry.

"Chemistry!" you exclaimed, presenting your pumpkin idea to your class. Your students returned raised eyebrows and cheers, but it was fitting, you thought, considering you were the chemistry and potions teacher.

As the time for judging arrived, each class eagerly presented their carved pumpkins to the panel of judges, which comprised the school's secretary, the student council president, and Principal Weems. Your students had crafted their pumpkin to resemble a gory scene, complete with brain-like patterns painted on its top. It was an impressive sight, but there was a secret added touch.

When it was your class's turn to showcase their pumpkin, Wednesday and Enid took the lead. Wednesday had attached a small container filled with yeast and water, the vital catalyst, to the top interior of the pumpkin. All eyes in the quad were fixated on her as she raised a carving knife and plunged it downward, piercing the pumpkin's 'brain'. In one swift motion, the knife was withdrawn, taking with it the pumpkin's  brain matter. Thick, crimson fluid followed, erupting from the pumpkin's top like a gory volcanic display. The audience's reactions ranged from collective "ew" and "gross" exclamations to screams, but you took note that Principal Weems, in stark contrast to some others, appeared unfazed. Your heart raced with excitement when you noticed a hint of a smirk on Wednesday's face. The audacious display, which was not well-received by others, brought her a sliver of joy, which in turn made your day successful.

Enid then cleared her throat and proceeded to explain the concept behind the pumpkin's gruesome spectacle.

"We employed a simple experiment of 30% hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, and red food coloring. When Wednesday stabbed Mr. Gourd of Gore here, she introduced yeast into the mixture as a catalyst, which triggered the rapid and bloody reaction." Enid then went on about the scientific principles at play, and you reveled in the amused expressions of your students. While you loved artistic and engaging activities with your students, you believed that there were valuable lessons to be learned in every aspect of life.

The principal approached the lectern with her signature smile, and you felt butterflies invade your stomach as she spoke.

"This event has been an absolute delight, brimming with fantastic ideas! I want to thank everyone who took part." You watched in awe as her gaze wandered through the audience, ultimately landing on you. She sent a sly grin your way as she subtly fluttered her lashes, before lowering her head to open the piece of paper she was holding.

"The victor of this competition is none other than 'The Gourd of Gore!'" Your students erupted in  cheers and applause, and Enid enthusiastically drug Wednesday up to the lectern to receive their prize.

🎃

By day's end, you found yourself utterly drained. Your students had been unusually rowdy, likely due to the multiple anticipated fall-themed activities the principal had organized. The events that she was so enthused about included the harvest festival, a trip to a corn maze and pumpkin picking, and costume day. It hadn't escaped you, however, that Principal Weems had become noticeably less enthusiastic about these activities since the harvest festival.

As you descended the stairs toward the main entrance, your hand reached for the door handle. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the air, though it was far from pleasant. This was not the velvety tone or accent that pleased your ears, no. Instead, it was a voice of judgment, a gravely voice. You heard the words, a sentence that made your teeth clench in anger as you quickly travelled towards it.

"Boys, look at this lesbian."

Wide eyed you turned the corner and immediately spotted the source, Kyle, laughing with his friends. You glanced around to see who the target of his ridicule was, and your eyebrows knit in disbelief when you found her. She was stopped in her tracks, blinking, silent, inhibited. You, too, froze, trying to comprehend the situation until your anger took over.

"Slenderman, she's woman Slenderman!" Kyle hollered, pointing at her as he hunched over in hysterics. Principal Weems still stood, her mouth agape and her eyes wide, rendered silent. You watched the gears turning in her mind, knowing she should address the situation, but reluctant to respond to such insult, such an audacious comment from a man, a boy.

"Kyle!" you seethed, striding purposefully toward him, your fists clenched. Kyle turned to face you, his eyes widening. "You will never judge someone for things beyond their control, you will never judge a woman, full stop," you said, your anger evident.

"You will never understand what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes. Apologize to Principal Weems this instant."

Ironically, it seemed that Kyle was more frightened of you than he was of Principal Weems, as he would never dare say such derogatory remarks to you, or so you thought.

Kyle's smug expression transformed into a sly smile as he turned toward the principal. She had ventured closer now, and she met his gaze with her lips pursed.

"I want to hear it from her," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. He then pointed directly at you, "Or does a teacher need to stand up for the principal, huh? You're even more bitchy than her" he chuckled, smiling at you menacingly.

"Detention tomorrow at 4, Mr. Dunn." The principal spoke with force, her tone abrupt enough to make you flinch. She straightened to her full height as she stared down at Kyle with the heat of the sun. Leaning closer to him, she lightly pressed her finger to his chest. She spoke quietly, yet you could hear how the words hissed through her teeth.

"If you fail to attend, this 'lesbian Slenderman' will see to it that you are expelled."

🎃

You were not particularly hard on your students, but you weren't easy on them either. You had standards, you hated laziness, and you had no patience for any foolish behavior. Of course you were human too, you understood where the line was between slacking and being inhibited, between acting out and having fun. Larissa admired your character, you knew what you wanted and you weren't scared to voice it. Occasionally, she heard students whisper about how you were 'worse' than her, but she honestly got a kick out of it.

Lunch today was provided by the Weathervane, courtesy of Marilyn, who settled down with you at your desk.

"Okay,  I got three different sandwich's, so you can pick. I also got a hot chocolate, a matcha latte, and a chai tea!"

Marilyn went on to talk about the planned events, pulling both chuckles and eye rolls from you. She was delightful to talk to, but there was a point, the red head just had so much energy. The principal walked through your door suddenly and slowly made her way to your desk. Your head snapped to her as soon as you heard her enter and you offered her the biggest smile, joy filling your body and pouring out of the seams. Marilyn turned around to find the principal when she noticed your change in demeanour.

"Oh! Hi Principal Weems" she chirped.

"Marilyn, Y/N" the principal greeted smoothly. Marilyn faced you once again, her observation catching you off guard. "You know y/n, you're a lot like Wednesday" she commented.

Your smile faded as you looked at her, "What?"

 It wasn't exactly an insult, per se, but you had no clue where she was going with this.

"Well, you're usually pretty neutral, and you don't smile much or seem to express much enjoyment." You cut Marilyn off with a glare, unsure of what she was implying. "But, whenever you see something or someone that you really like, you light up!" Marilyn finished with a smile.

You blinked in surprise, not realizing you had such a noticeable reaction. You glanced at the principal, who was giving you a knowing smirk. Oh this was embarrassing, you didn't mean to do that, you didn't mean to be so obvious. Sure, when you looked at Larissa you got butterflies, you felt warm and fuzzy, and your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile so big that your eyes almost shut, but did you not smile otherwise? Were you really that unapproachable?

When you said nothing, the principal spoke up.

"I wanted to compliment you on your pumpkin idea from the other day, y/n."

Marilyn had finished eating and decided to excuse herself as she bid you both goodbye. Once she left, the tall woman took her seat. She agreed with Marilyn, you were a bit like Wednesday. She had taken notice of a change in your demeanour, from watching your reserved nature when around your students or others, to when you were around her. She found it incredibly endearing and cute, how she seemed to make you happy with her presence alone.

The principal batted her lashes at you, "I thought your classes pumpkin was quite intelligent. It was well executed, if you know what I mean."

 You giggled, "Thank you Larissa, I knew the students would like it."

Larissa smirked as she looked you up and down, her voice dropping an octave, "I was quite impressed."

A blush so deep formed on your cheeks that Larissa had to hold back a laugh. Attempting to avert her gaze, you noticed that Marilyn had left the third drink on your desk. You pushed it towards the woman, "Hot chocolate?"

Larissa accepted gladly, wondering if you knew of her love for hot chocolate. "Would you like to join me for a drink tonight? My office, 7pm?" Larissa watched you with hopeful eyes as she forced the question out of her mouth.

You were surprised, allowing your face to contort into one of confusion before you realized that you had.

"Oh, of- of course!" you stammered.

🎃

Nervously, you entered the Principal's office and sat down at her instruction. She smiled down at you as she neared the couch and offered you a glass of red. You two chatted about autumn and the Nevermore family for a while, but you couldn't help but notice Larissa shivering slightly. You realized that she had a blanket on her lap, and there was no fire lit as usual.

"Larissa are you cold? Why don't I light a fire for you?"

Larissa sighed and glanced at the fireplace, gesturing with her hand in dismissal. "I just haven't had the chance to get more wood. I'll be fine."

You smirked at her, "Nonsense, I got you." Standing up, you walked over to the fireplace and knelt down in front of it. Placing your hand on the cold stone floor, a warm fire appeared right before you. You returned to the couch, and Larissa blinked at you in amazement, a smile gracing her lips. You chuckled at the woman as you sent her a wink, "I'm magic."

"Thank you for standing up for me the other day."

Larissa spoke quietly as she looked into the crackling fire, breaking the silence. "I wasn't myself, I was caught up in my head, and when Kyle insulted me I- I just didn't know what to say because, well, he's right."

You set your eyes on golden hair and pale skin illuminated with an orange glow. You furrowed your brows at her, he was right?

"What? Kyle? He's not right. He's rude, judgemental, he doesn't care about anyone."

Larissa nodded her head in agreement as she hummed, "Yes, he definitely needs something, discipline of some sort." She looked over to you, her gaze boring into your own, and you suddenly understood what she meant. You took her hand in yours and leaned closer to the woman, "What was he right about, Larissa?"

The principal didn't pull way, but you cold tell by her body language that she was bracing herself for rejection.

"I am a lesbian, and I am as tall as slenderman" she chuckled, swallowing the lump in her throat. You let out a scoff that was followed by a laugh, and you gripped her hand tighter in reassurance. You smiled at her, "Well, if that's the case, you're the most beautiful lesbian slenderman that I've ever seen."

🎃

You were overly excited to visit the corn maze and pumpkin patch. You loved picking out pumpkins and gourds, white ones, black ones, painting them and decorating with them. You took in the crisp autumn day as the chatter of the students was heard in the background, it brought you peace.

As you helped organize the students at the start of the corn maze and settled yourself at the back of the group, Larissa made her way to your side. The woman in charge of the corn maze then asked for the students' attention. "Alright then, the pumpkin patch will be found at the end of the corn maze, enjoy!"

Just as the students began their journey through the maze, she added a "Oh I forgot to mention, there's a bit of mud in the maze, so hopefully you're all wearing boots!"

You immediately turned your attention to Larissa. You were dressed in cozy fall attire and your boots, but you knew that she was, in fact, not. Larissa, in her infinite wisdom, had chosen fashion over function by wearing high heels. A light blush graced her cheeks as she realized why you were looking at her. "Maybe I'll stay behind," she casually suggested. You knew how much Larissa had been looking forward to this event, listening to her talk about wanting to pick pumpkins from the patch. You were about to agree with her, offering to select pumpkins on her behalf, but a better idea popped into your mind.

"Well, let's see how muddy it is. Maybe you can get around it!" you said with a playful grin.

After a few turns of the maze, you realized that Larissa wouldn't simply be able to 'get around it.' "Shit," you muttered as you gazed at the muddy path ahead. Larissa sighed, "Well, I tried." Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at the woman, and you couldn't resist the chance to be her knight in shining armor, or whatever version of that you were.

"Principal Weems," you declared, playfully bowing to her, "It's clear you missed the memo about fall footwear, but fear not, for I shall carry you over the mud."

Larissa raised an eyebrow, her expression one of surprise and delight. "What?" she asked, shaking her head.

"I will carry you, if you wish," you replied, offering her your hand. Reluctantly, she looked between you, her heels, and the mud, before finally placing her hand in yours. You carefully lifted her into your arms bridal style, reveling in the delighted giggle she let out as you scooped her legs off the ground.

With each step through the mud, you tried to watch your footing, but your focus remained on her. She was so close to you, clinging to you tightly as you did her. A huge smile lit up her face as she took in the scenery, and your heart swelled at the thought of her enjoying herself with you.

As you carried Larissa through the maze, she pointed out various things to make the experience fun. The maze was not particularly long, so you arrived at the pumpkin patch before you knew it. As you gently set Larissa back on her feet, you realized that you hadn't noticed when the mud ended, and you had carried her the entire way. Maybe she hadn't seen the end of the mud either, or maybe she simply didn't want to mention it.

The pumpkin patch spread out before your eyes, an array of different shapes, sizes, and shades of orange, white, and dark green. You picked your way through the field, choosing a white pumpkin and two different-sized orange ones. You watched the principal as she carefully padded up the rows of pumpkins. You wanted to laugh, her hands clasped in front of her, posture straight as a board. She was observing the scenery before her, and so were you. Your attention was diverted to the students, who ran around in a competitive game to find the perfect pumpkin. You watched them for a while, reminiscing about the carefree days of your youth when you, too, could play and have fun.

Your gaze returned to Larissa, who was a few rows away from you, getting help with cutting a large white pumpkin from its vine. Despite getting lost in the fall endeavour, you remembered that you were, in fact, a teacher.

"Be careful please, I don't want anyone tripping over vines and getting hurt!"At the sound of your voice, the principal looked up at the students. They were still playing the game and having fun, but they were noticeably being careful. She then shifted her gaze in your direction and silently mouthed a thank-you, winking at you.

Exiting the maze was more challenging than entering it. You opted for a different route, hoping for less mud, but you soon discovered that it was no better. You and Principal Weems had been keeping up with the students until you noticed that she was no longer by your side. You halted when you felt the absence of her presence and looked down at the ground. It seemed you were standing in a sea of mud, and it extended as far as you could see.

"Crap," you muttered under your breath. You turned and walked back to Larissa, who was chucking at you profusely.

"What's wrong? Am I heavier than you had anticipated?" Your cheeks reddened as you looked up at the woman, she was actually lighter than you had expected, or perhaps you were just stronger.

"Of course not. I would carry you any day, my lady."

Making your way through the maze with Larissa in your arms was tough. You both got caught in a dead end a couple of times, Larissa's laugh when you did enlightening your heart immensely. You placed her down when there was no mud, as she insisted, but when the mud returned, you scooped her back up. Eventually you caught sight of the end of the mud and realized that the maze would soon be ending. You held in a laugh as you purposely took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead end again.

"Oh frig me and my horrible sense of direction" you said, smirking at the woman in your arms. Larissa let out a loud laugh and made your breath hitch as she pressed her cheek to yours, hugging you close. She knew what you were doing, and she thought you were adorable.

"You're a joy to be around, darling."

🎃

After the schools rendezvous, you ventured to the Weathervane. Standing in line, you were trying, and failing, to decide on a drink. Your attention was rather focused on something else, like a tall blonde standing a few people ahead of you. So lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when a student made his way to your side.

"Principal Weems and the mayor huh? Bet they're banging."

Kyle said it so nonchalantly that it took your brain a minute to register, it was so unhinged and random. You turned to him wide eyed, ready to knock him out, but as you shifted your gaze, he was beelining to the exit of the Weathervane. You stood with your mouth open in shock, unable to formulate a response or punishment for that statement. Leaning to the side, you glanced ahead and realized that Larissa was indeed in line with the mayor.

Larissa and the mayor, Larissa and the mayor. They worked together, they had a cooperation, but it wasn't like that, was it?

The more you thought about it, the more you rejected that theory. But the more you thought about it, the more bothered you got. You couldn't shake the growing jealousy.

Visions of them together invaded your thoughts, an ethereal frame against, well, a man. Large hands on soft thighs, plump red lips on rough ones, delicate pale skin against hairy skin, the sounds she would create, sounds you wanted to hear, sounds of - "No!"

You shook your head frustratedly, forgetting yourself. This kid made you angry, Larissa made you irrational, the thought of her with someone else made you insane. Up ahead, you noticed Larissa had directed her attention toward you and offered a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she waved. It was as if she knew you were thinking about her, although you hoped she didn't. You were far too flustered to even smile back, and you didn't have a clue of what to do about Kyle. So, you made the quick decision to take your leave, before you did or said something stupid.

🎃

Since Halloween was on a Saturday, Friday was costume day. You had thought hard about what or who you wanted to dress up as, and you finally settled on an idea. A rather clever idea, as you thought she would get a kick out of it. You handed treats to your students and complimented them on their costumes. Some students didn't dress up, and some dressed up just to spite others.

"Are you supposed to be Principal Weems?" Wednesday asked, looming over your table in the quad. You swallowed your lunch, nodding at the girl. "Uh yes, kind of" you chuckled. Wednesday looked you up and down, nodding in approval. "I like it" she said before walking away.

At days end you made your way through the halls. You were disappointed about your lack of Halloween plans, especially since your favorite holiday was on a Saturday. You were also extremely disappointed that you hadn't seen Principal Weems today, perhaps she was busy.

Taking the longer way to your quarters, you stopped as you approached the hallway which held the principals office. Your feet had involuntarily brought you this way, and now that you were here, they would walk you right past her door. As you entered the hallway, Kyle popped out of nowhere and scared the absolute crap out of you.

"Hi Ms" he said, standing directly in front of you as he gazed around frantically. Your face scrunched as you looked down at him in question, he was definitely up to something.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" Kyle turned to look at the large doors behind him before he turned his attention to you.

"I'm just uh, supervising the hallway. It's nice outside, go enjoy the day" he said, desperately trying to usher you away. "What do you mean supervising? Why are-" You were cut off by a horrified scream, a scream that sounded like it came from her office. Your head swivelled to the doors before your gaze locked on Kyle.

"What did you do!?" you growled at him. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't do anything!"

You scoffed and made your way frantically to the doors, but you were stopped by Kyle grabbing your hand and putting himself in your path. "Don’t go in there! Principal Weems said that she doesn't want to be bothered."

You shook your hand lose from his grip and stared down at him menacingly.

"Get out of here now, or you will be in so much trouble so help me god" you spat. You stepped around him without question and entered the principal's office, almost slamming the door behind you. You scanned the office quickly and found nothing out of the ordinary, except for a box on the desk. Walking towards it, sounds of sniffles and whimpers became louder until you found the principal. You hurried around the desk and almost fell to your knees at the sight of the woman sitting on the floor in tears. She covered her face with one hand, and held a photo in the other. Before you could ask her what was wrong, your eyes landed on the photo. Dark ink printed a picture of you, lying on the floor covered in blood. Confused, you scrambled to your feet and peered into the box on her desk.

Inside was a pint of blood labelled with your name and a letter on top.

 Dear Principal Weems,

I believe I have taken the life of one of your staff. My deepest apologies, but my thirst does not discriminate.

Happy Halloween,

your favourite Vampire

"What the hell" you whispered, staring down at the note. Just then, it all fell into place. Kyle must have figured out that you had a thing for the principal, as he has seen you two together recently, and he has been super annoying about it. It was sly for him to use Larissa's care for you against her, and it was believable, after all he was a vampire. But why would he do this to her? It was an unnecessary, lousy prank.

You settled down on the floor next to the woman and took her hand in yours, throwing the photo to the side.

"Larissa" you whispered, stroking her arm. She let out a sob as she ignored you, it was like she didn't realize anyone had entered her office.

"Larissa I'm not dead" you said a little louder. You reached up to pull her other hand away from her face and she flinched at the contact. Her head spun to meet you in a panic, wide eyed she let out a gasp.

"D-darling! You’re here?!" she questioned, bringing her hand to cup your face to make sure that you were real. You placed your hand on top of hers as you giggled, "Yes Rissa, I'm not a ghost."

The principal closed her eyes and focused on her breathing as you watched her. She was extremely frazzled, not that one wouldn't be if they had found out one of your staff members (and hopefully friend) was murdered.

"Come, lets move to the couch" you offered as you stood and helped her do the same.

You sat close to the woman and looked down at the photo. "Someone's good at photoshop" you murmured.

Larissa reached out and slowly took it from you. You watched as she stared down at the photo, small tears escaping her as she tried to compose herself.

"So it's, it's just a prank?" she asked through sniffles.

You scooted closer to her and rubbed at her back soothingly, "Yes Riss, it's just a stupid prank. That's not my blood in that jar, hopefully it's not anyone's." The principal eventually calmed thanks to your presence. You noticed her attempt to put on her personal or perhaps professional façade, but she gave up as her nerves were far too shot.

She whispered, "I thought I had lost another Nevermore family member. I've been so on edge lately, I thought it had to be true."

You stopped all movements and leaned closer to her, looking her in the eyes. She wouldn't look at you.

"What do you mean another Nevermore family member?"

Larissa's gaze slowly but surely met yours, and you watched as her lower lip quivered.

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you" she murmured.

As you stared into pools of blue, you could see that she was hurting, she was tired. So, you decided to let it go, for now. "It's alright Rissa. Let's just deal with Kyle, shall we?"

Larissa nodded her head before looking back down at the photo, not wanting to deal with it at all. The thought of you dead, not being here with her anymore, not taking care of the students any longer, not carrying her through corn mazes, and not looking at her with those adoring eyes, made her heart break. She could no longer wait.

"Would you like to come to my house tomorrow? Perhaps we can hand out candy and watch a movie?"

Larissa looked down at you with hope as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

A smile instantly lit up your face, maybe Halloween would be fun after all. You nodded enthusiastically, and you watched the woman's expression brighten.

Until her brows knit. She looked you up and down, taking note of your elegant updo, your red lip, your pearl earrings, your high collared knee length dress, and your heels. You looked like her, a rather dark mysterious version of her, like she was the white swan and you were the black.

"Are you dressed like me?" she asked with a bit of insecurity. Of course, you did look like her, but she never thought that you would purposely dress like her. She didn't think you'd adapt her style, didn't think that she was beautiful, not enough for someone to want to look like her on purpose.

You let out an embarrassed giggle and nodded in confirmation as you played with your hands. A huge grin grew on the older woman's face and she let out a loud laugh. You smiled at her mascara smudged skin as she leaned in and took your face in her hands. Her eyes scanned your face before she looked you in the eye, "You are absolutely precious."

🎃

Draping a long black hooded dress over your body, you applied some dark makeup. You adjusted your hood and added a tattoo to your forehead, finishing your look as one of the Dimitrescu daughters. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you noted that you were rather creepy looking, even sans blood. Your intention wasn't to scare the kids, you didn't want to scare them, or maybe you did. You shrugged as you grabbed your fake sickle, making sure your powers were in check before setting out for the night.

You made your way through the woods, a torch being the only source of light besides the moon. You finally stumbled onto the road and giddily set out for the principals house. You had wanted to be there before it fell dark, but you had a matter to attend to where the darkness was paramount. So, you skipped down the road with your sickle in hand, enjoying the rustling leaves in the breeze of the night.

When you arrived at the principals house, there was a small line of trick or treaters. You watched from afar as she handed out treat bags, big ones at that, and made conversation with all of the kids. She looked over the moon to be seeing them all, asking about their costumes and plans for the night. Her red lipped smile was the cutest thing you've seen in your entire life, and all you wanted in the world was to kiss it off of her. Your gaze moved around her house, and you wondered how you missed all of the decorations. The large windows at the front of her house were lit up by orange, purple, and green lights from the inside, contrasting brightly against the dark outside. There were a couple pumpkins on the step, and one of those huge skeletons in her yard, the 12 foot one that you've always wanted. You decided to pop in line behind the kids, and you squinted your eyes at the woman, as if that would help you see better. She definitely had a costume on, was she a devil? You squealed internally as you took in her red horns, choker, and black cape. This was the first time you've seen her in black, and damn did it look good on her.

You held your sickle over your shoulder as you waited for the kid in front of you to leave and for blue eyes to meet yours. When they did, her jaw dropped slightly and she paused, looking you up and down.

"Y/n?!" she squeaked, shaking her head at you.

You smiled, "Hi Rissa!"

The woman pulled you into a half hug before stepping to the side, "Why are you in line? Come in darling."

You stepped into her house and immediately went wide eyed at the sight of the elaborate design.

"I was waiting for candy" you chuckled.

You saw Larissa's side smirk as she continued to pass the treat bags out, and you barely caught a chocolate bar that she sent flying your way.

🎃

You were passing out treats when some students arrived at the doorstep.

"Oh! Hi girls, how's it going?" you greeted.

"Great!" Enid squealed, pulling at Wednesday's hand in excitement. As Larissa appeared behind you to greet the students, she placed her hands on your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine. "Ah, girls, do come in."

"So Principal Weems, you’re a devil?" Enid asked brightly.

"Sure am" Larissa replied, collecting some treats to give them.

Enid then looked at you, "And Ms., you're a…a"

"A Dimitrescu daughter, obviously" Yoko said.

You laughed and winked at Yoko, "Exactly."

Wednesday looked you up and down, her monotone never faltering, "Yesterday she was Weems, today she's a killer." Larissa returned to your side and handed them all treats. She then turned her attention to you, smirking down with dark eyes, "I appreciated her costume yesterday, it was very clever, and detailed" she breathed.

You flicked through the Halloween movies looking for something good to watch. Your favorites were along the lines of Beetlejuice, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Edward Scissorhands, but you've watched them SO many times already. Larissa placed a charcuterie board on the table and passed you a glass of wine, taking her cape off. As she sat next to you, you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down her figure. She was wearing black leather pants and a tight long sleeve shirt, you almost spit out your wine at the sight. Larissa never failed to notice your expressions or actions, no matter how subtle.

She scooted closer to you and batted her lashes, "I'm so glad you came over darling. I was worried I had made this food for nothing" she chuckled. Your lower lip quivered at the thought of someone standing her up. You were elated at the thought of her wanting to hangout with you, but putting this much effort in and being worried that you wouldn't show? She was too sweet for this world.

"I would never leave you hanging Rissa. I'm sorry I was late, I had to tend to…something first." Larissa tilted her head at you, wondering what on earth you were tending to.

She pursed her lips, "You know, we never did come up with a discipline for Kyle."

You snickered down at the floor, shaking your head amusedly. "I may have taken that into my own hands."

The woman's mouth opened in question before she closed it, grabbing her wine off of the table and settling beside you. She smiled and brought the glass to her lips, "Go on."

-A couple hours ago-

Just as it was getting dark out, you set out for the old Gates' mansion. You had left a note for Kyle and a few of his friends, anonymously, for them to meet up there. Of course you didn't know if they would actually show, but to your delight, they did. You hid behind a wall by the entrance of the house, watching as the group conversed. It was dark now, the only source of light being their flashlights.

"Why are we here dude?" one of his friends asked nervously.

"I don't know man! I got a note!" Kyle replied.

"Oh sorry, I didn't realize that you got a note!" his other friend said sarcastically.

It took everything in you to not laugh at their bickering, boys. Once you figured it was time, you made a loud noise to get their attention.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle questioned, fear evident in his voice.

Just then, you flicked your wrist, and in a second the house was illuminated by a ring of fire. You peeked out from behind the wall, seeing the boys staring at the flames in terror.

With a nod of your head, a message was burning on the front lawn.

'Kyle, we know what you did. We're coming for you'

The boys stepped away quickly when they felt the heat, and Kyle went wide eyed as he read the message.

"Shit boys! Let's get out of here!" he hollered.

You could hear the horror in his voice, but it only made you laugh menacingly. Once they had vanished, you cut the fire off, no trace of the event left.

"And then I came here" you smiled. Larissa's jaw was on the floor, staring at you in disbelief.

"Y/n I- I don't know what to say. Are you sure you weren't too hard on him?"

Despite Larissa's attempt to portray her usual headmistress demeanour, you could see her smirking.

You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, "Rissa, there are a couple things he's done that you actually don't know about. So, no, I don’t think I was too hard on him."

You paused, "Plus, I wanted to get revenge, for us" you winked.

🎃

You agreed on a horror movie, to your dismay. You didn't want to look like a wimp in front of Larissa, so you clicked on the conjuring as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You turned your focus to other things while the movie played, things like the interior design of the house, your costume (which you thought was fire), and Larissa herself, who was lost in the movie. You watched as she sipped her wine, plump lips resting on the rim of the glass. 'What a good distraction, just drink' you thought.

When you got tired of that, you turned to the movie, hoping you could stick it out. But as a particularly horrifying string of music played, you squealed and buried your head into the woman's shoulder. Larissa let out a soft laugh as she brought her hand to stroke at your hair.

"What's the matter love? You don't like scary movies?" You shook your head no, holding onto her arm.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" she asked quietly, to which you sat up and quickly said "No!"

You stuck it out for awhile, watching the movie while partially distracting yourself with snacks and wine. Some of it was hilarious to be honest, but certain parts you just couldn't do. Larissa noticed as you sat wide eyed, your breathing staggered as you attempted to calm yourself. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to her, which immediately brought you some peace. You smiled as you continued to watch the movie, but when a jump scare happened, you grabbed the woman tightly and buried your face in her neck. Your eyelashes brushed against her skin as you blinked, it was dark and you felt safe. She was so soft, her skin smelled of lavender, and she was so, so comfortable. When you felt her settle into your touch and pull you tighter, you closed your eyes and let your breath become even once again.

You didn't know how long it had been before the movie ended and Larissa turned her face toward yours, her chin resting lightly against your forehead. You lifted your head from her neck and peered up at her, the light burning your eyes. She smiled caringly down at you, and you both sat in silence as you scanned the lines on her soft skin.

"Would you like to take a walk, darling?" she whispered.

You sat up eagerly before looking out into the night and sighing sarcastically, "Sounds like something you'd say If you wanted to murder me." You then picked up your fake sickle, "Good thing I have this!"

🎃

Larissa led you through her backyard and into the woods. She had assembled a breathtaking light up trail around the perimeter of her yard, white lights hanging from the trees and leaves scattered along the dirt path. You sauntered through the woods as you took in the beauty of the trees, reveling in the colors one last time before fall would fade and winter would come. Larissa basked in the peace and in your presence, and you could tell that she appreciated nights like these, she needed more nights like these. You entwined your fingers with hers and stroked your thumb over the back of her hand gently as you walked side by side. You then snickered as you pointed to her shoes, she wasn't wearing heels this time.

"Someone didn't want me to carry them tonight, I see" you spoke sarcastically. Larissa looked down at her boots and quickly removed them, leaning on you for support.

"Oh no, now how will I walk through this path!?" she said, bringing her hands to her face in faux panic. You rolled your eyes at her and scooped her up, loving the giggle she let out.

At the end of the path there was a bench, a small spot decorated with pumpkins and gourds. You sat down on the bench and placed Larissa in your lap, holding her close with your arms around her waist. You wrapped a blanket around her, scared that she might be cold.

"Thank you, love" she whispered, resting her head on your shoulder.

You both basked in the calmness of the night, finding comfort and warmth in each others embrace.

Larissa looked up at the bright full moon, "It's such a gorgeous night."

She then turned to you, her face only inches away from yours. You watched as she spoke, watched her lips move in a taunting manner, a seducing manner.

She was beauty, grace, she was gentle and kind. She was pure, unique, she was stunning. The sweetest woman you've ever met was sitting in your lap, her melodic voice sounding for only you to hear.

Yet, you were unsure of what she was saying as you scanned your eyes over her delicate face. You brought your hand up and traced your finger over her smile lines.

"Y/n? Are you listening?"

Your gaze shifted from her lips to her eyes, bright and wide and questioning.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, stroking your thumb over her bottom lip lightly.

Larissa's eyebrows softened, her surprise evident. She didn't speak, so you took that as a no and removed your hand from her face. As you backed away and went to apologise, the woman pulled you against her, slamming her lips gently against yours.

You hummed into the kiss as she caught you off guard, threading your fingers through her light hair. The taste of red lipstick and wine overtook your senses, feeling her exhale against your skin made you shiver.

She pulled away, stroking your cheek with her thumb and resting her forehead against yours.

"I noticed how much you like Halloween, love. Would you like to carve pumpkins together? Maybe roast some pumpkin seeds?"

You squealed in excitement as you nodded your head, grabbing her face and pressing your lips against hers with need. You gave her light but meaningful pecks on the lips before moving to her cheeks and forehead.

You then tucked your head into her neck, "I wish this night didn't have to end."

Larissa lifted your head gently and pressed her cheek against yours, both of you gazing up at the moon.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, "When we're together, darling, every night is Halloween."

[she-is-juniper]

temptation greets you like your naughty friend (joel miller x reader) // chapter one

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader chapter title: the arrangement summary: joel miller likes to be made to feel in control; reader like to be made to feel helpless. thus, an arrangement is born, no strings attached. but there’s more than meets the eye to this gruff survivor.... This story takes place in the Boston QZ roughly 10 years after the outbreak begins, and Reader and Joel are business partners in the illegal smuggling trade. word count: 5K rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. minors DNI or you will be blocked. content/warnings: there’s a lot…. dom!Joel, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his late 40s), oral s*x (f receiving), squ*rting, some degradation/humiliation but in a lighthearted way, some begging, a splash of a “sir” kink, some angst and resolution, porn with a bit of a plot, spanking, power play (all of this is consensual). Also Tess exists but she and Joel are not together a/n: ah, yes, the fanfic to end a hiatus... ♡ I recommend reading this one before bed so you can, yknow, have nice wet dreams about it while you sleep. to my long time readers/fans: hiii i missed y'all! to my new readers/fans: enjoyyy and please reach out to introduce yourself! i’m always looking to make new friends ◡̈ ((I do not claim to own the last of us or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—it’s the only form of repayment i ask for!!! thank you in advance!))

———

A hardened man like Joel Miller has a lot to offer a woman like you. Particularly in the form of desperate, mind-numbing sex.

The kind of sex that makes you forget your own name. Makes you forget the sting of whatever injuries you’d suffered this week at the hands of thugs and hunters. Not to mention, makes you forget, even if just for an hour or two, the fact that you’re living in the aftermath of the apocalypse in a world savaged by infected monsters.

That’s the kind of sex you and Joel both crave. The kind that takes away the crushing weight of repressed memories and feelings. The kind of sex where there’s nothing left to think about but the way his cock fills you up and his lips steal the breath from your lungs. The kind of sex that, after a day’s worth of decision fatigue as Tess’s right-hand woman as a contraband smuggler in the Boston QZ, you finally don’t have to make a single decision for yourself, as your pleasure is entirely in Joel’s expert hands.

Just sex, nothing else. Plain and simple. That’s the arrangement as you know it. No cuddling in bed after, no exchanging tender kisses, no talking about your feelings or any bullshit like that. Just rough, dirty sex to get your minds off the shittiness of your lives.

No shame. Everyone who’s survived the pandemic thus far has found their own unique means of self-medication. For some, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or murder. For you and Joel, it’s fucking.

As for when the encounters would take place, it depends on the day or week. Today, after a particularly shitty week for the both of you, all it takes is a mutual look shared from across the room in the rations distribution center.

You’re near the front of the rations line when you spot him coming in toward the back. Joel surveys the crowded hall, the line of his brows furrowed into his signature harsh scowl. You meet the man’s gaze with glassy eyes of your own. In that moment you swear you notice his frown soften as he looks at you, although a tendon tightens on his temple. It’s a look that confirms he’s had just as god awful a week as you had, although there’s something more there today that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You look away and sigh, wincing a little at the pain from a bruised rib that’s only just started to heal. Your injury’s pretty mild, though, and nothing compared to the state you’d left the other guy in. Oh, well. At least you got a few extra ration cards out of it, which you now hand to the FEDRA officer in exchange for a box of supplies and provisions. Mostly non-perishable food, but there’s also some medicines, toiletries, socks, soap—thank fuck, more soap.

On your way out of the hall, you meet Joel’s gaze once more. Not a word is exchanged, but with an almost imperceptible nod of his chin, you know you’ll be hearing his knock at your door at 2300 sharp. God knows you need his specific methods of distraction right now.

– – –

Three raps of his knuckles against your apartment door at 2300 exactly, and Joel’s all over you.

It happens so fast. As soon as you open the door, Joel seizes you by the arms and spins your body with his, slamming your body to the door with his own momentum to close it shut. Your sore rib burns from the impact and you hiss, “Ouch, asshole.”

“Toughen up, princess,” he growls. There’s nothing endearing about the pet name, it’s not like that. In fact, he says it almost demeaningly, which is on par for your relationship with the smuggler. But there’s a primal sort of desperation in the tone of his voice, and your arousal at that prospect spreads over your whole body and finds a home right in between your legs.

Joel’s hands wrench your arms above your head and pin them there as his mouth attacks yours, effectively muffling the surprised squeal that emits from your throat. His mouth is hot, his grown-out stubble scratching the delicate skin of your face in a delicious contrast, his breath faintly spiced from whiskey. You melt into him, arching your body into his, and a surly grunt resonates from his throat. He gathers your wrists in one hand pinned to the door and brings his free hand down to the nape of your neck, not so gently pulling at the base of your hair. He pulls away from the kiss and regards your exposed neck, where you swear he can see your pulse thumping in your throat. You wish he would kiss you there, but he holds back.

“Still on the mend?” he asks, bringing his hand down to your ribcage and barely brushing against the bruise. 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Tell me if you want me to be gentler,” he says.

You almost scoff. The name “Joel Miller” and the word “gentle” don’t go together. Nothing about that man is gentle. And nothing about what you and he do together behind closed doors has ever been or will ever be gentle. Part of you wonders if Joel would rather go on home than fuck you gently.

Besides, you don’t want it to be gentle. Not one bit.

You slip one of your arms out from where he’s pinning them against the door. You grab his hand and slide it from your rib under your shirt to your breast, squeezing yourself with his palm. “I’m tougher than you think, Miller,” you purr.

It’s your way of giving him permission to do with you what he wants.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. He takes your initiative and runs with it, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, just a little at first, and then much harder. You gasp, heat flooding your lower stomach. “You think you can handle me tonight, huh, darlin’?”

You reach for his crotch, feeling the erection you know he’s probably had all night, and smile at the strained breath he releases. “Should be asking you the same question, don’t you think?” you say. 

It’s a thoroughly bratty response, not to mention completely loaded, and you and Joel both seem to know it. Joel calls the shots in these encounters, not you. Which is exactly how you both like it.

Joel hitches your leg up and situates his hips in between your legs. You can feel his dick pressed against your inner thigh now. He tangles his hands in your hair and kisses you fiercely again. The only time Joel ever kisses you is before he fucks you. Never after. You’re sure that somewhere, buried deep down inside you, you secretly wish Joel would kiss you after sex, too. But that simply isn’t what this arrangement is about. 

You hang onto the moment as long as possible, lacing your fingers behind his neck and pulling him even closer. His once neatly slicked back hair now mussed from your fingers, and his skin smells like firewood and soap.

Outside, the female military voice recording announcing the strict enforcement of curfew echoes through the QZ, but you and Joel barely notice. You’re lost in him, the feel of his body, the touch of his rough hands, and allow yourself to fall into the mindless, primal motions of sex.

You and Joel have done this many times over the past few months. Sometimes, when all was quiet and going relatively well in the QZ, you didn’t feel the need to visit him quite as often. But your need to see each other only increasing in frequency when things seemed to get worse… and things surely have gotten a lot fucking worse lately. FEDRA cracking down on everyday civilian freedoms. Rising animosity between the factions of smugglers within the QZ, causing many of Tess’s deals for ammo and pills going south more often than not. Firefly attacks within the city walls with no regard for innocent lives. Oh, and not to mention the ever-present problem of the growing number of infected just outside the city… 

All of which to say, you and Joel have been seeing a lot of each other as of late. 

Clothes fall to the floor. Joel’s new shirt that must have come with his set of provisions today, your favorite holey sweater you can’t bear to toss, his pants, your pants, shoes and socks. The next thing you know, you’re flat on your bed beneath him. 

In your past life, would you have been with someone like Joel if you knew of all the bad things he’s done? Would it have overpowered the intense attraction you felt toward him, causing you to be repulsed by him? Probably then.

But not now. You don’t care what he’s done in the name of survival. You both have committed your fair share of inhumanities. But this is just how your lives turned out. Neither you nor Joel had chosen the life of smugglers, but the perseverance to survive takes over one way or another. 

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is the need to eliminate any space and barrier between your hot, needy body and his. 

He’s a menacing sight with his intimidatingly large muscles, the result of nearly five decades worth of manual labor, and the numerous scars peppered over his skin from countless tussles. He looms above you like a thundercloud, like a predatory cat prowling for its meal. You think to yourself how lucky you are to be on his side as an ally in your nefarious affairs—and not just an ally, but a business partner of all things. Because someone like Joel Miller would be a scary as fuck to have as an enemy.

Joel hooks his thumbs under the hems of your underwear and wastes no time to yank them down and off your legs. He pries your legs apart as far as you’ll let him, nearly drooling at the sight of you completely naked for him. You almost feel self-conscious, but you know if you try to shy away or close your legs now, it would do absolutely no good. Joel’s a very single-minded man. When he puts his mind to something, there’s absolutely no stopping him.

It always takes you aback when Joel doesn’t immediately penetrate you, especially with that glint in his eyes like the one he has now. But he never rushes that part, not even when you really wish he would. Instead, as per usual, he dips down and buries his face in your pussy.

“Joel,” you whine out his name, your body lurching—away from him? Closer toward him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that his mouth on your pussy like this feels so intense that it would be impossible not to squirm. You wonder if he does this for himself or for you. “You really don’t have to,” you manage to get out.

The look of sheer wrath he gives you…it’s as if you’d just told him you’d given away all the contraband he’d smuggled to FEDRA. “You think I only do this for you?” he rasps.

“I don’t know," you squeak out with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know you do it every time, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated—”

“Obligated?” Joel barks a laugh. “Don’t be so naive. You think I would eat your pussy if I didn’t want to?” 

Wetness pooled at your core. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I wanna make you squirm first,” he growls. “Wanna make you so needy and wet for me that you don’t think about anything else.” His breath fanned out over your pussy, and you shivered, your thighs squeezing together. He pries them apart again. “You say some bullshit like that again, I’ll tie your ankles to the goddamn bedposts so you can’t even think about closing your legs. You hear me?”

Your eyes widen and your stomach flutters. Does he not know how much the idea of that turns you on? “Yes,” you croak.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t need to tie your ankles to the bedposts when he’s got the leverage of his body weight to press your legs apart. His mouth is on you again in an instant and you gasp embarrassingly loudly, falling flat against the mattress.

He eats you out with the fervor and desperation of a parched man finding water, pressing his entire face into you as though he couldn’t possibly get close enough. Joel’s lips trap your clit in a tight suction, his tongue swirling in practiced circles in a way that makes your hairline break out in a sweat. You moan too loudly again, reaching for the nearest pillow to stifle the sound for the sake of your poor neighbors. 

Just when he’s gotten into a groove, Joel releases the suction of his mouth with a pop and buries his whole face even lower, his tongue drawing a lavish line up your entrance before moving inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you have no semblance of control left in your body. Your legs jolt, and he presses them even further apart in response. The sparks at the pit of your stomach bloom and bloom.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he moans into you. You moan in response, tangling your hands in his silvering hair. Baby, that one is new. Baby’s almost too sweet coming from a man like Joel’s lips. A little red flag goes up in your mind but you quickly forget all about it as he continues to lap at you.

Joel breaks away only to wet his finger with his saliva and you watch in awe as he pushes it into you. You see stars as he curls his adept middle finger up toward your belly button. You dig your nails into his arms and keen his name again.

The waves of pleasure grow and grow, like a tsunami on the horizon approaching fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Joel is relentless, tireless, his lips finding your clit again, and it’s as if he knows he’s found the sweet spot, knows the exact speed and intensity to stay at to push you over the edge. His eyes close as if in total bliss, seemingly motionless, and only you as the recipient of this unholy worship could ever know just how expertly fast his tongue is moving against your clit. The combination of that with his digit curling up into you over and over breaks you of any resolve you might have had left.

You should warn him you're going to come. You have before. But you know how well he knows you now. He knows you're right on the edge. So he presses his palm to the soft part of your stomach, just below your belly button, and that does it. He knows me so goddamn well.

You come completely undone, the waves of your orgasm furiously overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Joel’s finger, unable to keep from writhing in pleasure, unable to hold back the choked moans from your throat.

“That’s right, ride it out, darlin’,” Joel praises you. “Love feeling you squeeze my finger so tight. Good girl.” He sits up and watches your body come down from the high, gently coaxing about what’s left of your convulsions with his finger. But even once they subside, he doesn’t pull it out, instead continuing to curling it into you again over and over. You weren’t expecting a break—Joel never needs one, never gives one unless you ask—but you wonder how on earth you’re going to survive this. With a desperate, pleading sound, you peer up at him in disbelief.

“It’s too much,” you whimper. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head furiously. Joel almost smiles at that, almost as though he knew your response already. He repositions himself so he’s propped up on his elbow beside your body, his other hand still at your slippery entrance. His finger slides in and out with each movement, the pad of his finger gliding against precisely the right place inside you. It’s a sensation only another person could satisfy in you, and you find yourself silently thanking your lucky stars that Joel knows how to do it so well. He knows your body so well after just a few months, knows exactly what you need is a break from the clitoral stimulation, yet added stimulation elsewhere. 

Pressure builds in your pelvis, a different kind of pressure than before. Your jaw falls open when his tempo picks up. Joel presses his forehead to yours, sharing your breaths, before he moves to your ear and starts whispering.

“Takin’ my finger so well,” he breathes, and goosebumps erupt across your whole body. “Wanna see if you can handle another one?”

You nod breathlessly and he slides his ring finger in with the middle finger. A jolt of energy overtakes your body. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. The last time he fingered you like this, you had completely soaked the mattress. You had luckily remembered to lay a couple of towels down under the sheets this time, just in case, but still. You’d been humiliated. You hadn’t said anything about it last time, but you knew what had happened, and you knew that he knew.

And now he’s going to make you squirt again. Which means that he likes it. 

Joel sets into a relentless pace and the dreaded pressure grows and grows. “That’s my good little slut,” he growls. “Want you to let go for me, make my fingers wet.”

You can’t help it. The pressure in your core explodes. A slick wetness seeps all over Joel’s fingers and into the sheets around your hips. Joel moans into your neck. You feel yourself turning so hot you break a sweat.

“Oh god,” you moan, suddenly lightheaded, and you cover your face. You feel him wrench your hands away and he stares at you in astonishment.

“Are you…embarrassed?” he gapes.

“Yes,” you respond, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His face shifts slightly from disbelief into an almost sinister expression. “Look at you. All humiliated at the mess I made you make for me.”

The fact that he takes pleasure in your humiliation turns you on more than you’re willing to admit. “Fuck you, Joel,” you bark back, but there’s no energy left in your voice for malice.

Joel grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t call the shots here. If I want you to make a fuckin’ mess for me, then you will.”

If he hadn’t been manhandling you before, he’s manhandling you now, pulling your limp body into the exact position he wants: on your stomach, your thighs pressed together, your ass pointed up at him perfectly.

You realize then that he’s been touching himself for quite some time through his boxers, only now he’s sliding them off his body, revealing his dick, weeping and swollen and angry red. If you had any ounce of energy left in your body, you’d flip yourself over so you were on top and wrap your mouth around it. But he’s faster than you can replenish your energy, and in one feverish motion, he’s mounting you from behind, his dick pressed against the base of your ass.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you raw into these sheets.”

You know Joel, know what he’s doing. He’s playing up the moment, building the anticipation, but he’s also gauging your consent. He’s asking your permission.

“Please,” you mewl. “Please fuck me, sir. I want you so bad.”

“Good,” he responds. “Good girl.” And then he’s plowing his dick into you.

Holy fuck. The momentum of his first thrust pushes you several inches up the bed and you cry out, inviting the mix of pain and pleasure with eagerness. He’s so much fucking bigger than his fingers, even though his fingers are nothing short of girthy themselves.

He pulls out unbearably slow, almost all the way out, until just the ridge of his head remains inside you, before he grips your hips with a fervor and thrusts back into you with a grunt. And again, and again. A rush of emotions floods through you at the feeling…among them, a sense of security, a total trust in him, the reassurance at the knowledge that Joel would stop if you told him you wanted to. 

God, you don’t want him to stop.

“Mine,” he growls, gathering your arms behind your back, and your muscles burn. “You hear me? Your pussy’s fucking mine, sweetheart.”

You have no coherent response, only his name.

Joel uses your bended arms locked behind you as leverage, gripping them with desperation as he rams into you over and over again, taking what’s his. His dick feels unreal inside you, slipping in and out like it’s made for you. The position of your arms plays tricks on your mind, makes you feel trapped in the best way possible, like there’s no escape from this. Which, of course, there is an escape—the simple phrase stop, something you and Joel had agreed upon weeks prior—and yet, the false sense of helplessness is exactly what you’re going for. 

And what is it for Joel that gets him going about this, you wonder briefly? Is it the false sense of control, something he’s felt devoid of in real life for years now? Is it the fact that for just one night, everything that happens will have been something that Joel had direct influence over? Did he need that catharsis of complete control as much as you needed the catharsis of being out of control? You wonder if maybe you and Joel were made to find each other in these awful, bleak times, if maybe though you fight day in and day out about business, if you were made for each other in this way.

A strange sensation along the spine of your back. It’s Joel’s lips, soft and wet along with the scratch of his beard. Juxtaposed with the unforgiving force of his hips crashing into your ass, you melt into him. He's never done that while he fucks you before. Joel releases your arms and kisses your back again, seeming to soak in the feel of your skin on his lips. He moves up to your neck, still mounted on top of you, still sliding in and out of you with a vigor, but his mouth comes to rest by your ear.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Oh, god. That was tender. You didn’t hate it, but talk about uncharacteristic for Joel Miller. Red flag goes up again. You squash it down, not wanting to kill the moment. You reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair. “Joel, oh my god, Joel.”

Maybe it’s as if he realized he’d breached some unspoken protocol with that lapse in his tough-guy persona, but Joel seems to snap to reality. With a new intensity, he pulls out of you to draw your hips up, propping you up on your knees and elbows. A much less tender, much more primal position. He kneels behind you and brings your hips back to meet his dick again, bottoming out in one motion.

You cry out and arch your back. This new angle is intense. Tender Joel Miller is gone, at least for now. He seals that notion with a hard slap of his palm on your ass.

He fucks you hard and fast and it’s precisely what you want. Waves of desire start to ebb and flow in your pelvis once again. You wince in surprise as you feel Joel bring his head down to bite your shoulder lightly. Nope, nothing tender about this.

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m— you’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” Joel demands. “Make you come again, pretty girl?”

You can’t make another sound; you feel so fucked out you could only nod as he brought you closer and closer. But Joel wanted more.

“You heard me, tell me how good I make you feel,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder harder this time. “Tell me you’re gonna come all over my dick.”

Telling Joel anything would be a little hard to do considering he’s fucking you so hard you could hardly breathe let alone speak, but Joel was now hell bent on hearing you. He slaps your ass again, even harder, and your knees nearly buckle. But you manage to locate your voice.

“You feel so good,” you sob out, falling forward onto your elbows while Joel keeps a tight grip on your hips. “I'm gonna come again.”

“You want that?” Joel says in almost a sneer from behind you. “You wanna come for me again, my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice hitching each time he rams into you, “please, please.”

“Love it when you beg like that for me. So desperate, it’s pitiful. Fuck,” he groans, seeming to somehow swell inside of you even more. Droplets of wetness roll down your thighs, your pleasure mixed with his precum. “You better not come until I say so.”

His request may or may not be plausible, given how fast approaching your orgasm was coming over you. You had no choice but to take him how he wanted you to and try to hold off your orgasm as long as you could. Joel keeps a firm grip on your sides as he snaps his hips, and the explicit slapping sounds of skin on skin fill your bedroom.

“Oh-oh-my-g-god,” you gasp out, moaning with each perfectly angled thrust, nearly in tears from how deep he is. You’re teetering right on the edge, dangerously close to the edge, but you realize then, so is he, if his heavy breathing and moaning is any indication.

“Come on, Joel, baby, cum deep in my pussy, make me yours…” The pet name had just slipped out of your mouth again. Reservations be fucked. If you wanted to be tender and intimate right now, so fucking be it.

Sure enough, Joel gasps and grunts with more bravado than you’d ever heard from him before, as if hearing you call him baby had made him come on command. You feel a flood of warmth gush inside you, filling you up as he stills and drops his head to your shoulder. The final bucking of his hips and the visceral, shuddering whimper that comes from his throat set you off as well. You can’t hold back the cry that comes from somewhere deep in your body. “I’m coming, Joel, I can’t help it—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me now. I got you. It’s okay.”

You come hard and keep coming for longer than you thought was possible. Explosions of pleasure wrack your body and were it not for Joel holding you up, you’d have collapsed into the mattress. You’re clenching so hard around Joel’s dick that you wonder if it might hurt him, but he doesn’t protest, just moans right along with you.

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks as Joel pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest and you both take a moment to catch your breath. Joel cups your breasts and kneads them in his hands as he comes down from his high, and in your daze you were dimly aware that he’s peppering several soft kisses along your shoulder blades, humming against your skin.

Again with the intimacy. What is going on?

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you...dying or something?”

“What?”

“Or, like, secretly infected or some shit you don’t wanna tell me?”

He huffs, peeling himself off of you. You ignore the feeling of his cum dribbling out of you and turn to look at him. He’s scowling now, to no one’s surprise. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. Aggravated, yet again. Oh, well, it's not like you were going to get any aftercare from him anyway—not part of the arrangement.

But nor was all that other shit he'd done.

“You’re acting…weird,” you accuse, your heart still pounding from before. 

“I’m not acting weird,” he snaps back, defensive.

“You’re not acting like yourself, is all I mean,” you respond, crossing your arms and legs.

He watches you, that same tendon in his temple tensing up. “I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking away.

“You have no idea what—” you repeat, shaking your head before explaining, “Joel, that was different.”

“What was different?” he asks, his voice gruff. 

“That! The whole…” you say uselessly, gesturing between you and him.

He just stares at you. If he’s catching your drift, he must just be playing dumb now. “I’m gonna go,” he grumbles, standing to slip back on his boxers. “Come find me again when you start makin’ sense and stop drabblin’ on about nonsense.”

“Wait, stop, stop. Stop it, Joel,” you say, gripping his arm. “Jesus, will you let me talk? Why are you trying to run away?”

He glares down at you, his jaw rigid. A few tense seconds pass. “Go ahead,” he says at last, in response to the first question. As for the second question, you figure he’s trying to work that one out himself.

Now that you have his attention, you’re stunned. What exactly was the issue you were trying to bring up? He was being too sweet to you? 

As if you can feel your own defenses coming up around you, you look around for your sweater and underwear, not wanting to be the only one unclothed here. Joel watches you wordlessly as you pull on your clothes, and your resolve grows stronger. 

“That felt different,” you repeat, looking into his eyes for some sign that he agrees with you. “Didn’t it?”

Joel says nothing. In the silent space, your words come spilling out.

“Like… I don’t know, I just feel like something changed tonight. You felt different this time.”

Joel frowns in confusion and looks down at his crotch.

“No, not like that.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “It’s the things you…did. And said. It just felt different to me.”

“Like what?” Joel said, still playing dumb. You sigh again in exasperation. Is he really going to make you bring up specific examples?

“I mean, like…the kisses. And…and why’d you call me beautiful?” you insist.

He glowers. “What, so I can’t call you beautiful?”

“No, I—I mean, you can, I just… You’ve never said anything like that to me before,” you respond. He truly hasn't. He's called you sexy, called your pussy pretty, things like that. But he's never leaned down to whisper in your ear that he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world while railing the fuck out of you.

"Well, I did now. But I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were gonna get all weird about it.”

Jesus, he could be so fucking immature for a man in his late 40s. “It just took me off guard, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all, I don’t understand what’s the big problem.”

Why isn’t he understanding? You can’t help it, you explode. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Joel,” you say, your voice more insistent.

“What isn’t?”

“The...kissing, and the calling each other pet names, and the exchanging niceties,” you say emphatically. “Shit like that. That’s not what this arrangement is supposed to be about.” You started this with Joel to avoid your feelings…

Not to catch them for each other.

Joel leans down closer to you, cynicism in his voice as he says, “And what is it that this arrangement’s supposed to be about, then?”

“Sex!” you shout, raising your arms in exasperation. “Just sex!”

Right?

Joel says nothing. He stands and silently puts on the rest of his clothes before giving you the hardest stare you’ve ever seen from him since you met him half a year ago.

“Maybe for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. But before you can think of a response, Joel slips his shoes on and mutters. “I’m gonna go. Don’t come after me tonight.” Without another word, he leaves your dingy apartment, leaving you alone with your jaw on the floor. And in that moment, you realize, you had Joel Miller all wrong.

———

a/n: …i’m kind of embarrassed to put this on the internet but hey at least no one i know follows me so!!! hopefully at least! hahahahah 😭

Thank you so much for reading! I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome! 

For real though. Leaving feedback is just the common courtesy thing to do when you consume free, unpaid creative works online. Like I promise i do write for myself hehe but it really helps give me momentum to keep writing when i know that people genuinely liked my work!

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[featherby]

Be My Valentine? (Toad x Reader)

You are a teacher at the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning, and Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. While your students are busy preparing for the dance, you have something else on your mind—the flowers left on your desk with no name attached. Will you figure out who left them before Valentine’s Day, or will you be chaperoning alone?

Read on AO3

You walked down the hallway of the mansion to your classroom, dodging the dangling pink and red paper hearts that hung from the ceiling. Valentine’s Day was coming soon, and the students had planned a party. Decorations were plastered on every wall, surrounding bright pink flyers announcing the time and place: 7 PM, the dining hall. For the night, the tables would be shoved to the side and stacked with snacks and drinks, the rest of the room filled with confetti, streamers, and balloons, lights dimmed and music blaring while they celebrated.

You would probably be chaperoning, camped out by the wall, making sure no one spiked the punch.

It would be nice to have someone to spend the day with, you thought. Spending it alone wasn’t anything new, and therefore wasn’t especially painful, but it would be nice. Different. A little less lonely.

It was…fine. You had time, the whole rest of your life, to find a partner. And even if you didn’t, it wasn’t that big a deal. You functioned just fine on your own. But you had to admit it would be nice.

Valentine’s Day was a reminder of that.

You stepped into your classroom and flipped the lights on. A burst of color that wasn’t usually there caught your eye as the room brightened.

There, on the desk, was a bouquet of flowers. Red carnations, purple asters, tiny white flowers sprinkled in between, all arranged in a vase. You stooped to smell them, their sweet perfume making you smile. Beside them, you noticed a blank red envelope. You picked it up and slid the card out—a simple one, a red heart with Be my Valentine? in gold on the front.

Inside, in small, crooked handwriting, it read:

I wasn’t sure if I should do this or not, but I decided I might as well try. I think you're great. You smile at me whenever you pass me in the hall, and it makes my day every time. (You probably smile at everyone, but I still like it.) I hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day.

You smiled as you read it. Such a sweet note.

With no name on it.

You checked over the rest of the card for a signature, the back the front, the envelope, inside and out. You looked the bouquet over for a card tucked between the flowers. Nothing.

You sighed. That was just your luck, wasn’t it?

The door opened, and you looked up. The janitor, Toad, walked in, a stern look on his face that grew sterner when he saw you at the desk.

You smiled. “Morning.”

He nodded, hovering in the doorway a moment, before grabbing the trash can from beside your desk.

You looked at the flowers again while he emptied it, turning the vase, hoping to find something hidden between the petals, if not a name, then a clue of some kind.

Toad replaced the can and made his way back toward the door, head low.

“Wait,” you said, before he could leave.

He turned around, hand on the doorknob. “Hmm?”

“Did you see anyone come in here this morning?” you asked. “Someone left me these flowers, but they didn’t put their name on the card.”

He frowned, a deep crevice forming between his eyebrows. “I didn’t. Too busy running back and forth cleaning up everyone’s messes to see anything,” he grumbled.

Your heart fell. “Oh. Thanks.” You sat, head propped on your hand, gazing at the bouquet as he let himself out.

Toad shut the door with a huff and put a hand to his forehead. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit! He knew you got to your classroom early, but he though he still had a little time. As soon as he’d left the room that morning, he’d changed his mind about leaving the flowers and the note. It could only go badly. At best, you’d never find out it was from him. At best, you’d be disappointed. At best, you’d be disgusted.

But it was too late to trash the whole idea now.

No one had seen him leave them. No one knew he was planning to. There was a chance you might not figure it out.

He’d just have to hope you stayed in the dark.

Inside, you looked at the flowers and smiled. Things were looking up, at least. You moved them to the corner of your desk by the wall where they wouldn’t be knocked in the floor and turned on your computer. Right now, you had a class to teach.

The mystery could wait for the afternoon.

***

No one had any idea who left you the flowers. No one had seen anyone in the hall that morning. No one had seen anyone coming or going with them through the front door. No one knew anything.

You carried the vase back to your room on campus, placing it on a table near the door. It had been silly to get your hopes up, hadn't it? Anyone could have left them, and the odds of you figuring out who were slim to none.

It didn’t really matter, you supposed. But the upcoming holiday had swayed you. Valentine’s day was made for this, making people want romance any way they could get it. For a minute, you thought you could be one of those people, happily in a relationship on Valentine’s Day, all those hearts and roses and candies feeling like they were made for you. It was embarrassing to admit, even to yourself, that you had been a little more than excited to see those flowers on your desk. Maybe hopeful, maybe something more.

You picked up the card and reread it for the dozenth time. You smile at me whenever you pass me in the hall. They were right—that could be anyone. You passed by just about everyone each day, on the way to your classroom, the cafeteria, the dorms. It makes my day every time.

Well, maybe if you’d signed your note, I could make your day again. You sighed and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Alright, let’s narrow this down.

It wasn’t handwriting you recognized, so it wasn’t a coworker you were close to. It was probably a man, but you couldn’t be sure about that based on handwriting alone.

Then it hit you: The bulletin board.

You could check there. Of course. Months’ worth of notes were pinned up there from the faculty, sign-up sheets, questions, requests, announcements, most of them written by hand, and most with names attached.

You picked up the card and set off.

Most of the pages on top were about the dance—sign-up sheets for chaperones, shopping lists, another flyer like the ones in the hallway. None of the writing on top matched your card. All too thin, too neat, too curly, too stiff. You lifted the top pages to search underneath, scanning over the tapestry of old notes.

A few letters caught your eye.

The paper had been covered by others; now only the very end peeked out. You tugged it free from the pin holding it in place and slid it out.

I don’t suppose we could just give them water this time instead of punch? Or anything that isn’t sticky? After the last party, it took me three days to get the floor clean.

—Toad

And that was it. Same crooked letters, same wide e’s, same smudged ink.

You’d found your man.

You let the papers fall back into place on the board and tucked the note you’d pulled from the bulletin into the card. As you turned to head back to your room, a half-smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Toad. You were a little surprised. He didn’t seem to like… well, anyone. He kept to himself, glared at everyone, including you, and acted like everyone around him was nothing but the source of a mess he’d have to clean up later. You did your best to be nice to him, but it never seemed to make a difference.

Until now, of course.

He’d said his piece. Now it was your turn.

You walked back to your room on autopilot, the familiar halls nothing but a blur hidden behind your thoughts. What to do… The Valentine’s dance was the next night—the students and faculty alike would be preoccupied. Not much time to plan anything, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.

As you got ready for bed, a plan took shape in your mind. It might be a happy Valentine’s Day after all.

***

You picked up the bag from the counter and slung it over your shoulder. A glance at the clock told you the dance was set to start in an hour—plenty of time to spare.

You walked down the hall, scanning for Toad’s whereabouts. Students dashed back and forth, showing off their dresses, looking for their friends. You smiled. They deserved a good time. It’s a hard life being different—any joy is worth savoring.

You rounded the corner and spotted Toad’s janitor’s cart parked outside a classroom door, stacked with buckets and bottles.  Inside, he stood near the back of the class between the empty desks, sweeping tiny specks of confetti into a pile.

You knocked on the door. “Are you busy?”

He grumbled something you couldn’t hear, then crouched to hold the dustpan in place while he swept the little paper hearts into it. “I am actually, so whatever’s been spilled or broken, I’ll get to it when I—” He looked back over his shoulder, the sour frown on his face vanishing to surprise when he saw you. “—get to it. Er. Hello.” He stood and shuffled around you to the trash can, dumping the confetti inside. “I didn’t realize it was…” He loaded the broom back onto his cart. He took a moment to think, fiddling with the bottles on the cart, then looked back at you. “What did you need cleaned up?”

You shook your head. “Oh, I didn’t need anything cleaned up. I just wanted to know if you were busy.”

He stared at you, unblinking. “Nothing that can't wait, I suppose. What do you need?” He clutched the edge of the cart in his hands to keep from fidgeting.

“Well, I really liked the flowers you got me,” you said, noting the slight change in his facial expression at the words—his eyes grew wider, his jaw tensed. “And I thought your note was sweet. So I was wondering if you might like to have a picnic with me on the grounds. While everyone is busy won't bother us, you know.”

He blinked, expression measured and unchanging. “How did you figure they were from me?”

“You have distinctive handwriting.” You smiled. “So. Picnic?”

“I, um, I mean, I would—” He swallowed and started again. “I’d love to. Yes.” He grinned. It was the first time you’d seen him smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Great. I’m ready whenever you are, but I figure you need some time to finish up here.”

He glanced down at the cart and his grimy uniform. “Give me just a few minutes. Please. I promise I won't take long, I just—”

“That’s fine. Take your time. I’ll wait for you by the front door.”

He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe. “Right. I’ll meet you there. I won't be long, promise.”

“I wasn’t worried about it.” You laughed and waved as the two of you parted ways. A few steps down the hall, you glanced back over your shoulder to see him jogging along with the cart, keys jingling on his belt. You smiled and headed for the front door.

You hovered there, watching the students congregate, laughing with each other, twirling their skirts, fixing each other’s makeup. They all looked so happy, so excited—and for the first time in a long time, you felt the same.

***

Across the school, Toad panicked.

He scrubbed the grime from his arms and face in the bathroom sink. He ran his fingers through his hair, willing it to look something like presentable. Dis he have any clothes for this? Could he find some on such short notice? Christ, why did I agree to this? He shook his head to dislodge that particular thought. Because I bloody want to do it, that’s why! He turned off the tap and looked at himself in the mirror. This would be fine. it would be great. At the very least, it wouldn’t be awful. Unless you decided that you hated him, but what were the chances of that?

He decided not to answer that particular question.

Forget it. Just get changed and go find her.

***

You glanced at the clock on the far wall. He would be here any minute. Unless he had decided not to come, of course, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on the possibility. The students had disappeared into the dance, the music faintly thrumming through the doors, the pink and red lights reflecting through the windows.

You swayed to the music, eyes glued to the clock, lost in thought. This would be fun, right? A nice change of pace for both of you? You didn’t know Toad very well, but no one here really did. He seemed antisocial, like he’d be happier if everyone at the school disappeared or dropped dead and left him alone. But no one really wanted to be all alone, did they? They just wanted someone who treated them well, the way they wanted to be treated.

You sighed. You needed this date. And maybe Toad did too.

Beside you, someone cleared their throat.

Your eyes broke away from the clock, and you looked over to see Toad standing beside you. He held his hands, clutched together, in front of him, shuffling where he stood. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You smiled and straightened up. “Sorry, just thinking.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I took so long, I just wasn’t…” He didn’t know how to finish. He’d been trying to make himself look presentable, or at least as presentable as he was capable of looking. Someone you wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with. But, he thought, failing that, this would do. He wore a light blue button-up shirt with a red bowtie and suspenders. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it—they made him stand out too much, more than he already did.

“Don’t worry about it. You look great.”

His heart skipped a beat. “No, you look great,” he blurted. “You always look great.”

You smiled as his cheeks went red. “Thank you. Ready to go?”

He nodded stiffly. “Yes. I’ll follow you.”

You held the door open, and he kicked himself for not opening it for you. The two of you walked in silence across the grounds, a comfortable silence for you, a madly uncomfortable silence for Toad. Should he say something? What? What would you want him to say? He couldn’t decide, so he made up his mind to wait until you said something—no sense in making a nuisance of himself right away.

Across the yard, the star-speckled sky spread out above you, the moon’s glow shining on the path. You stopped at a spot between two trees, their branches reaching out for each other above you.

“Is here okay?” you asked.

“It’s fine with me,” Toad said a little too quickly, cringing at himself.

You sat your bag against one of the trees and unrolled the blanket, spreading it out over the grass. You sat and pulled containers of food, drinks, and utensils out.

Toad stood, staring down at you, shifting back and forth.

You looked up and saw his uneasy squirming. You felt the same, as much as you hated to admit it—a little nervous, a little unsure. It was nice to know you weren’t alone in it.

“Sit,” you said, smiling and patting a spot on the blanket beside you.

Your voice startled him out of his stupor. “Right. Sorry.” He sat, careful to leave a gap between your leg and his.

You finished pulling the boxes out of your bag and sat it aside. “I didn’t make anything very fancy,” you said, popping the lid off a box of small triangle-cut sandwiches. “But I wanted to make it nice, you know?”

He nodded. “I wish I’d known about this sooner. I’d have—” He frowned. “I don’t know what I’d have done, but I would’ve done something.”

You laughed. “You could have known about it earlier, if you’d put your name on your card.” You nudged him, and he flinched away. Not the reaction you wanted. “And you did do something. You got me flowers.”

He tilted his head. “I dunno if that counts quite the same. Flowers versus making a whole meal for two.”

“It’s not a competition, first off. And I happen to love those flowers, and that note, so don’t talk bad about them.” You gave a fake scowl, then laughed. “And if you really need to even the score or whatever, I’m sure you can think of something.”

“Suppose so.” Toad fell quiet and stared down at his lap.

You nudged him again. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sat up and looked you in the eye, but in a split second, he broke your gaze and looked back down. “I’m just…”

“What?” you said softly.

“I’m sorry it was me and not… somebody better.” He shrank into himself. “You're probably disappointed. I can't blame you if you are.”

You frowned and turned so you were seated facing him. “I am not disappointed. And I'm not sorry it was you. If I had been, I would have just acted like I never figured out who that note was from.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

He glanced up through the hair hanging in front of his face, wide dark eyes reflecting back the moonlight. “You don’t have to say that, you know. It’s fine.”

You huffed. “I am not just saying it, I mean it. Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth.” You looked him up and down. “And I don’t care what I have to do to prove it.”

He gave a short laugh, still looking down, not meeting your eye. “You know, I almost believed that. Easier to believe it when it comes from you, I suppose. Probably nicer to me than the rest of this school combined, if I'm honest.”

“That’s their loss.” You shuffled a little closer to him and rested your hand under his chin. He flinched, locking his wide eyes with yours. You smiled. “I didn’t mean for this to make you upset. Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”

He blushed and sputtered out a few syllables, none of which managed to form words.

You traced your thumb along his jaw. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.”

The words came fast and clear, and Toad cringed at the desperation in his voice. But before he could apologize or even linger too long on the thought, he found your lips pressed to his, soft and warm and sweet, everything he had hoped for, but a hundred times better. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he felt nothing but you against him.

You pulled back, hand still resting on Toad’s face, to look at him. Relaxed, eyes closed, lips parted, a trace of a smile on them.

His eyes snapped open and his mouth shut. “Um. Was that…? Did you…?” He couldn’t find the words to finish his questions.

“It was, and I did.” You pressed another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Did you?”

“Yes. Very much.”

You smiled. “Good. Because there’s plenty more where that came from. Hungry?”

You opened the rest of the boxes and the two of you ate, little sandwiches, fruit, crackers and cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries. You told him about your life, about your hobbies, about the multitude of awful and hilarious things your students had done since you started work at the institute. He told you horror stories from his time as the janitor, things he’d seen in the Brotherhood, his interests and ideas for the future.

Eventually the food ran out and your glasses went empty, but you didn’t feel like leaving just yet. You leaned in beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, fingers intertwined with his. He leaned his head on top of yours and squeezed your hand.

“So, when can we do this again?” you asked, closing your eyes and sighing happily.

“Whenever you want.”

You laughed. “No, not whenever I want. You're busy. And you said you wanted some advance warning next time. So I’m leaving it up to you.”

“You might not want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“If it’s up to me, it’ll be tomorrow.”

You let go of his hand and wrapped your arm around his waist. “Works for me.”

He looked surprised. “Does it?”

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled into his side. “When and where?”

He paused, hand resting on your back. “…Can I be absolutely absurd here?”

“Of course.”

“What time do you eat breakfast?”

You smiled and laughed. “Around seven.”

“Meet me in the kitchen then. I’ll have something ready.”

“Don’t overextend yourself, okay?” You squeezed him and looked up to meet his eye. “I know tomorrow’s going to be busy for you, cleaning up after the dance and all.”

“Don’t worry, that can wait until after breakfast.”

You frowned and nudged him. “I’m being serious.”

He nodded. “Alright, I won't lose sleep over it or anything. But I am gonna do something.”

“I’ll allow it.” You nestled back into his side and closed your eyes, then felt his arm creep around you, his hand finding a place to rest on your hip.

The chill of the February air crept over you, and you knew you shouldn’t stay out here much longer. But for a few more moments, you could enjoy this.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whispered, holding Toad a little closer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[mer-birdman]

Unusual Muse Associations

Tagged by the lovely @quilleth !!!!

Tagging @kinetic-empathy @sunneinsplendor @bibliomatsuri and anyone else who wants to!!

Since Quill answered for Vanora, I’ll go ahead and answer them all for Raven, my sweet bby mapmaker in the same campaign! (If anyone wants to ask about other characters just lmk of course!)

SEASONING: Smoky/umami! Not necessarily a flavor Raven herself gravitates towards, but she’s always been associated with fire and that feels appropriate for her. (She does, however, enjoy a spicy hot chocolate).

WEATHER: Sunny, light breeze! Raven naturally has a very low body heat and gets cold pretty easily, so being out in the sun is always preferred.

COLOR: Blues, especially a very clear sapphire-blue. In recent incarnations, she’s also added gold to her palette — but blue has been her color since version 1.

SKY: A clear night sky, the kind where you can see a million stars.

MAGICAL POWER: Putting aside her sorcerer powers, I’d (jokingly) say her forgetfulness? Her memory is a swiss cheese to an impressive degree. But also yeah she’s got spooky shadow magic and sometimes sets things on fire.

HOUSE PLANT: Having never lived in a set place before, Raven knows nothing about house plants and gardening. While I’d love to say jasmine for the vibes, she should probably start off with something like a snake plant that’s hard to kill.

WEAPON: Daggers. There are Things happening with them, thanks @timelord-in-hogwarts !

SUBJECT: History/anthropology! Raven loves learning about old civilizations. Comes from having a mentor in his fourth century who knows a lot of stories.

SOCIAL MEDIA: Oh jeez, we discussed this as a party once. I think she’d have a travel blog as her main thing, with maybe youtube and/or instagram attached?

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Fun fact, several past iterations of Raven had very distinctive black eyeliner and eyeshadow! Now, though, I’d say maybe a subtle gold shimmer dust.

CANDY: Hm… something really sour, perhaps?

FEAR: Being trapped. Doors and windows must be left open just a crack, no matter where she is.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: Why would Raven ever want to use ice cubes? (Probably the standard very small square ones, simple and no fuss).

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Walking :) (Maybe hitchhiking in a modern AU)

ART STYLE: John Tenniel, Kamome Shirahama, etc… she’s a mapmaker, so her style would be very centered on the use of black ink and lines. Not much by way of color. (Should note that she’s not great at drawing outside of her maps, at least not yet anyways)

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Hmm… it’s not mythological, but perhaps the Hell Butterflies from Bleach?

PIECE OF STATIONARY: A wax seal-stamp or artist signature stamp. Something that sees repeated professional use. (I wonder if the guild badge serves as this…)

THREE EMOJIS: 🦋🔥💀

CELESTIAL BODY: The stars!! And/or Pluto.

Blanks under the cut!

SEASONING

WEATHER

COLOR

SKY

MAGICAL POWER

HOUSE PLANT

WEAPON

SUBJECT

SOCIAL MEDIA

MAKEUP PRODUCT

CANDY

FEAR

ICE CUBE SHAPE

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL

ART STYLE

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE

PIECE OF STATIONARY

THREE EMOJIS

CELESTIAL BODY

[ofchrysoprase]

you find a plastic takeaway container, decorated in sweet little holiday themed doodles done in permanent marker. inside are home-made shortbread cookies, shaped like stars, snowmen and christmas trees, all decorated appropriately with sprinkles and edible glitter. attached is a hand-written note, on special winter-themed paper bought from cupid’s, written in blue sparkly gel pen:

“ dear aurora/dante/eisa/eun jae/cindy/hoseok/aaron, this year, just like the last, has been incredibly tough on us all. i hope that despite this, you find a little bit of happiness in the holiday season. here are some cookies i made all by myself ! i hope you like them and that they lift your spirits a little bit. 楽しい休日, happy holidays, xo momoko noguchi ! ”

Aurora had a feeling she recognized the handwriting as soon as she opened the note, but she couldn't help but smile widely when the signature at the bottom confirmed her suspicions. She honestly felt blessed to have a friend like Momo in her life, as spending time with her made the chaos around her slow down to a more bearable speed.

It wasn't that it was rare to make friends in a small town like Shrike Heights, but ever since becoming a parent, she rarely had time to go out and meet new people, making her cherish the friends she had all the more.

The smile remained on her face as she carefully opened the container and selected a cookie to try. Everything about the gift was very Momoko and it warmed her heart, knowing that they had probably poured their heart and soul into baking the cookies. Taking a bite, she was already on her way to the phone to try and see if her friend was home, so she could properly thank her for lighting up her holidays.

The gift had been fully unexpected, especially for someone like Dante, who didn't feel like anyone took him for the type of person who cared about Christmas. He may not have lived in Shrike Heights for that long, but his disinterest in any type of holidays was usually quite obvious. Then again, he couldn't even quite remember who this Momoko person was. Shit, had he been on one of his ultra awkward dates with them? He really hoped not. Regardless, he caught the corners of his lips pulling up in just the tiniest smile, just for a moment. Even if he had zero holiday spirit in his body, it was nice to know that someone had made an attempt to make him feel better during a time where he felt the most lonely.

Eun Jae's initial reaction to the gift was one of excitement. He was in fact so thrilled about receiving something, accompanied by such a sweet little note, that he didn't immediately register exactly what was sitting right in front of him. He carefully folded the note back up into its previous state and then hesitantly opened the container.

He felt so stupid for how much he was freaking out about the prospect of cookies, since he worked in a freaking bakery, but at work he could easily mentally disconnect himself from the food surrounding him. However, these were made for him; they weren't something he could just put down for someone else to enjoy.

The cookies looked beautiful and adorable, covered with sprinkles and glitter. His slender fingers trembled as he hesitantly reached out into the container and picked up a star shaped cookie, his heartbeat quickening and his brain trying to focus on anything but the buttery crumbs sticking to his fingertips. Jae closed his eyes and reluctantly brought the cookie to his mouth.

It was just an innocent little star. It wouldn't hurt him.

Aaron had actually opened the container before reaching for the note, just to see who had sent them this cute surprise. He devoured two cookies whilst reading, glad he had something to do while he focused hard on the words on the paper. Reading was something he was still a bit slow at, especially longer words, but the note was simple enough for them to gather the gist of the message.

A genuine smile spread across their face as they reached for their glass of wine to wash some of the cookies down, quietly chuckling to himself when noticing the glitter now stuck to his fingers. If there was one thing he could appreciate the most about the holidays, it was all the decorations. The lights, the glitter, the shiny bulbs. It gave the dark days a magical feel that they were sure going to miss once the world went back to being dreary and cold.

[talesofarcadia78]

Our Time || One shot

Summary: Douxie’s remembering the good old times. 

Warnings: angst, mention of character death, that's it I think?

Word count: 1,735

Everything was set. The lanterns were hung up on the trees nearby, providing light to Douxie for the night. The campfire was crackling just a couple of feet away from the round dining table and chairs that Douxie had set up not too long ago. The plates were also ready on the table, waiting to be filled with food.

Douxie magicked up a bouquet of roses, and placed them in the vase that was in the middle of the table.

Suddenly, he heard a twig snap behind him. He quickly spun around, staff and bracelet ready, only to see Archie looking up at him in his cat form.

"You seriously thought that I was danger?" Archie questioned with an eyebrow raised.

Douxie magicked his staff away and deactivated his bracelet, "Hehe… yes."

Archie rolled his eyes at his familiar's response, "Do you not remember that you put a ward around this whole area?"

Douxie just shrugged and went back to doing last minute preparations.

After a few minutes of silence, Archie cleared his throat to gain Douxie's attention.

"Yes, Arch?" Douxie asked, turning his gaze to the cat.

Archie pointed to the two figures in the distance heading towards them.

Douxie's eyes widened at how time flew by quickly. He didn't even have time to get changed!

He quickly got behind a tree and used a spell he had recently learned, and changed into a black dress shirt (sleeves rolled up of course), black pants and shoes, keeping his signature skull necklace.

He stepped out from the tree to see Archie fly away. His eyes wandered around until they landed on both you and Jim getting closer. You were wearing a stunning black A-line lace dress that went down to your knees with half laced sleeves and beige heels.

You were blindfolded as Douxie had requested Jim to do to you so you had a surprise.

Douxie could hear you complain to Jim how you didn't like being blindfolded. Jim just rolled his eyes at your antics and told you that all would be revealed in a matter of moments.

Douxie walked up to you two siblings and took you from Jim.

"Thank you, Jim. I'll take her from here," Douxie smiled and took your shoulders.

"No problem, Doux! Tell me the end result!" Jim waved and walked off.

"Douxie, where in the world am I?" you asked.

"Shhh. Be patient, love. All will be revealed," Douxie reassured.

After a few moments, the blindfold on your eyes was taken off.

You took in your surroundings. The trees were decorated with lanterns, a dining table was set and a campfire was already lit. Everything was beautiful.

You spun around to see Douxie holding out a rose for you to take, which you, without a doubt, accepted.

"Shall we, m'lady?" Douxie inquired, holding his arm out.

You nodded and you let him take you to the table.

~~~~~

Douxie had prepared f/f for dinner, and for dessert, an apple pie.

Now, the two of you were quietly sitting on a blanket at the campfire, leaning on each other.

"Love?" Douxie asked.

You hummed in response, letting him know he had your attention.

"Remember the first time we met? I had spilled a drink on the ground in the cafe and you rushed to help," Douxie remembered.

"Yeah," you nodded, memories flooding back.

~~~~~

You anxiously tapped your feet on the ground, waiting for your order to arrive.

You were in a big rush.

Mom had called to tell you that Jim was in the hospital. You knew that he was the Trollhunter, so he had gotten a lot of injuries, though, he didn't need to go to the hospital to get them treated, so you knew that this was serious.

Abruptly, you heard a crash from behind you. You turned around to see a drink had spilled all over the floor. The waiter was already on his knees, trying to clean it up.

You got up from your seat and ran over to help him. You kneeled in front of the guy to hear him faintly say, "Fuzzbuckets". You saw a faint sky blue spark come from his hand.

A wizard.

You placed a hand on his arm, making him look up into your e/c eyes. You mouthed ‘no’ and shook your head, telling him not to perform the spell. He stopped and sighed before cleaning up the mess the old fashioned way with your help.

After helping him, you returned to your seat.

Just when you were about to leave, getting fed up of the wait, the same waiter you had helped rushed up to you, order in hand.

"Hey! You were the one who helped me with the spill a couple of minutes ago, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded and then added quietly, "And the one who stopped you from using magic as a shortcut."

You smiled and took your order from him. You headed out but got stopped by the same guy.

"Hey, I never got your name. I'm Hisirdoux Casperan, but you can call me Douxie," Douxie winked and held out his hand for a handshake.

"Y/n, Y/n Lake," you replied, shaking his hand. "I'm really sorry, but I really need to go."

He nodded understandingly and waved goodbye.

As you walked to the hospital, you opened the bag that had your food in it, as well as a note. You took it out and read it:

Hey, stranger, who I probably got the name of!

I was wondering if you would grab a bite with me tomorrow at the cafe. 4 pm sharp.

Don't be late.

Yours truly,

Hisirdoux Casperan.

You smiled. You had finally found a fellow magic wielder.

~~~~~

"Then, the time when Jim got a bit overprotective of you when you were at the bookstore."

"A bit?"

"Okay, extremely overprotective of you."

~~~~~

The sun was shining high in the sky, your hair moving along with the gentle breeze, and a nice cup of coffee in your hands while you and Jim made your way to GDT Arcane Books.

Jim opened the door to reveal Archie, Douxie's familiar lying on the ground near the fireplace.

"Hey, Archie!" you greeted.

"Hello," Archie called.

You turned your attention away from the cat and to Jim, who was looking around in suspicion.

"Jim, what is it now?" you asked, placing your hand on your brother's shoulder.

"It's just… why does this store seem so… magical?" Jim inquired.

"Because a magical being owns the bookstore," you replied.

Jim nodded in response.

"Hello!" a new voice spoke.

You turned around to see Douxie coming out of the back. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jim's gaze harden at the sight of the wizard. He pulled you a bit closer to him.

Overprotective brother mode switched on.

"Hey, Doux. Did you call us in for some help?" you inquired.

"Yep! There's only so much a 900 year old wizard can do by himself," Douxie nodded.

Douxie told you and Jim what he needed help with.

Jim was sent off to get some supplies from around town, to his dismay. He wanted to keep an eye on you and Douxie, but alas, he had to go shopping.

Before Jim had left, you heard him send a death threat to Douxie.

"Don't do anything funny with my sister, Casperan. I won't hesitate to slice your head off with Daylight."

Your eyes widened. You knew Jim didn't like Douxie, but you didn't know that he hated him so much to actually threatened him.

Geez. He's way too overprotective.

You made your way over to Douxie as soon as Jim left the store.

"Don't mind him. He's just overprotective," you told Douxie.

"Uh-huh," Douxie nodded slowly.

~~~~~

"We know each other so well, made so many wonderful memories, we've spent so much time together," Douxie sighed. "And I want to spend more time with you."

You turned your head towards him, silently asking him to elaborate.

Douxie moved away and got up. He lent you his hand, which you accepted and followed suit. He took a deep breath and got down on one knee.

"Y/n, love, we've been through so much together. Good and bad. Sad and happy. And I'll continue to. You made me the most happiest man when you became my girlfriend and I thought I couldn't be any happier. But today may prove me wrong," Douxie expressed.

You gasped and clasped your hand over your mouth as Douxie took out a golden ring with embroidery and held it out.

"Y/n Lake… make me the happiest man in the world. Will you marry me?"

You had tears in your eyes at this point. Douxie looked at you with hope, love, admiration, and so much more as he waited for your answer.

"Yes."

Douxie's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and quickly got up. He grabbed your waist and brought you close. He leaned down and softly kissed you as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

~~~~~

Douxie stared at the photo of you two on your wedding day. You were wearing a short lace white dress and beige ankle strap heels and Douxie was wearing a white dress shirt, black tuxedo, black tie, black pants and a rose attached on the left as you two stood in front of each other, hand in hand while Douxie was kissing your forehead.

Douxie placed the photo back and glanced down at his wedding ring. It was simple, a silver band with swirl embroidery as you had the same, but gold. He remembered the feeling of your hand in his. Your giggling. Everything. But alas, ever since you had passed in battle, he couldn't seem to bring any of those memories back.

Tears formed in Douxie's eyes as he remembered the good times.

Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Jim and Claire.

"Hey, Teach. What were you--" Claire started before she noticed the tears streaming down his face.

Douxie wasn't going to cry but as soon as he saw the wedded couple, he couldn't help himself.

Jim and Claire rushed over to Douxie and enveloped the wizard in a hug, attempting to comfort him. He sobbed into Jim's chest as Jim ran his hand through his hair and Claire rubbing Douxie's back.

Nothing was going to be the same without you.

[swbumblebee]

He wasn’t hiding. Jedi Masters don’t hide. Mace Windu doesn’t hide. He just so happened to be in the furthest, quietest part of the archives where it was unlikely anybody would run into him.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the silence as he progressed. This period in time was turning out to be much more taxing than it had been the first time around. Then again, last time he wasn’t trying to formulate a plan to assassinate the Chancellor and decide the fate of a few million potential clones, at the same time as running the order and keeping an eye on two of the most unpredictable boys he had ever met.

Well, a boy and a young man.

Another reason for his journey. He could sense young Anakin’s blindingly strong presence and Obi-Wan’s steady, shielded light, getting closer and closer as he journeyed through the stacks.

What in the galaxy were they doing here?

A high-pitched giggle stopped him in his tracks.

“No Master! It’s Goodd`e da Lodia, otherwise it doesn’t make sense!”

“Alright alright, how’s this? Goodde da Loddia”

“Gooddè”

“Don’t just repeat it Padawan. Sound it out for me, like we do with Basic”

“OK, Goo-dd-è”

“Goodde”

Mace cleared his throat.

“Good day”

Both young Jedi started, Obi-Wan nearly dropped the mug of tea that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand these days.

“Master Mace!” ten year old Anakin cried happily, pushing pleasure into the Force with enthusiasm, to a wince from his Master, who was exuding just the right amount of polite welcome from behind his shields.

“Hello Master Windu” Obi-Wan nodded at him with a somewhat tired smile. He made to get up from the dusty little table squeezed into the alcove and tucked into the wall, but the Master of the Order waved a hand.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eying the various pads and pieces of flimsi littering the table and the floor.

Instead of the usual bouncy response there was an unexpected, rather pregnant, silence and young Anakin gave his teacher a (not terribly subtle) worried look.

“Anakin is teaching me Huttese” Obi-Wan answered smoothly. The boy in question nodded vigorously, and Mace watched with a small amount of amusement as he ever so slightly kicked a piece of flimsy further under the table.

“How…interesting”

“Yes, as you probably heard, it’s not going terribly well” Obi-Wan gave him a self-deprecating smile, no doubt taking note of Mace’s incredulity. He turned to his Padawan.

“Anakin, could you make sure Madam Nu doesn’t close up this section yet, and let her know we won’t be long.”

The boy looked at his Master, and they gave each other a tiny understanding nod. Anakin’s Force signature flared ever so slightly with…fear? before it was quickly soothed by Obi-Wan, Mace assumed.

“Sure Master, be right back” The child took off among the stacks with a smile at Mace.

“Walk please, don’t run!” the young Master called after him, shaking his head.

Mace took the empty seat at the table, taking in the mess once more.

“So…Huttese?” he asked mildly, looking at a nearby pad “and…The Bantha who came for Life day?” he raised his eyebrows at the simple children’s story in Basic.

“Ahh, yes.” The young man chewed on his lip a little as he gathered his thoughts. Mace waited patiently, eyeing a nearby piece of flimsi with the Galactic Basic alphabet written out half a dozen times in shaky writing.

“Anakin is a bright boy” Obi-Wan began slowly. “He has an incredible knowledge of mechanics and electronics, and mathematics comes very easily to him.” He said, unable to keep a proud smile off his face, until he turned serious eyes on Mace again. “There are some areas, however, where he has a lot of catching up to do. He isn’t quite at his age level yet with his literacy.”

Mace frowned.

“Not quite at his age level?” he clarified, with a sinking feeling.

“Ah, no.” Obi-Wan paused again. “Obviously there wasn’t much cause for reading and writing in his previous…position” Both of them scowled at the euphemism “and whilst he can obviously speak it fluently” Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin never learned to read and write in Basic.” he finished, rather apprehensively.

Mace blinked.

“He…can’t read or write?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He crossed his arms in front of himself, wrists aligning with elbows. Mace recognised the nervous tick even if it was usually under his robe sleeves.  

“He is getting there though” the young man implored “we’re working on it, and he’s a fast learner. I assure you he’ll be up to standard in the next few months.”

Mace breathed out, shaking his head. He could’ve kicked himself.

One more way they had all let Anakin Skywalker down. Of course he wouldn’t be able to study at the level of core-educated temple younglings. He was a slave, the very idea was preposterous.

“But…how has he got on with his classes so far? He’s been here nine months already” Mace asked, deliberately keeping his voice light. He wasn’t going to admonish the only being in the temple who had actually been helping the boy. And it looked like, spending all his free time doing it.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“We work on assignments together, Anakin records his comprehension and writing class and we go through it afterwards.”

Mace took a moment to marvel at the kindness of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan” he said gently. “You have your own teaching and advanced training to work on, not to mention the Master level courses.”

He instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing when fierce blue eyes turned on him and the younger Jedi straightened his posture.  

“I am perfectly capable of teaching him Master, he is my Padawan.” He paused, looking down at the table “I won’t put him in a class with the younglings. I won’t allow him to feel like he is less than the other Padawans, like he’s unintelligent.” He said firmly.

For a moment Mace was transported to council meetings with his friend, Master Kenobi arguing his point with words as strong as durasteel and a determination that could move planets. He felt a sudden pang of loss, looking at his friend’s twenty-two-year-old face.

“Of course not” Mace assured, pushing apology into the Force around them. He looked at the table. “But this isn’t sustainable Obi-Wan. You don’t need to do this alone.” He said quietly

The Knight blinked in surprise. Mace nearly rolled his eyes. Had asking for help really never crossed his mind? He made a mental note to focus more of his and Plo’s energy on Kenobi Support Duty.

“Yes.” He repeated firmly. “I will take him for an hour a week” he winced inwardly when he thought of his already busting schedule. Save Skywalker, save the Galaxy he reminded himself. “As, I’m sure, will Master Plo.”

Obi-Wan was giving him a look that was very difficult to decipher, halfway between wary and relieved.

“I…thank you Master” he bowed a little in his seat “that’s very kind of you and I…appreciate it.”

Mace smiled again, satisfied. He couldn’t sense the ball of energy that was Anakin Skywalker yet, obviously still on his quest.

“So you’re teaching Anakin Basic, and he’s teaching you Huttese…?” Mace raised his eyebrows in question again.

Obi-Wan’s ears started to turn ever so slightly pink.

“Ah yes” he cleared his throat. “I just thought…if Anakin considers the way a language is formed and taught, it might help with his own practice. And this way we’re learning together; it might boost his self-esteem a little.” The young Knight paused thoughtfully. “I want to emphasise that learning happens at any age and stage” He explained slowly, and then gave a sheepish smile. “And it’s quite fun” he admitted shyly.

Mace regarded the wise young man across from him. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been wasted in a war, in that other time.

Nerd. He thought fondly.

As Anakin practically skipped back over to them, attempting to sit on his Master in lieu of a third chair, he observed the two Jedi (bickering happily) who could have existed that first time around, if only they’d had more than each other.

Well, this time they had Mace, and Plo. And they’d be dammed if either of their boys ended up carrying the weight of the Galaxy, this time around.

[lovelytaes-blog]

Happily - jjk

pairings: dad!jk x mom!oc

summary: you and your husband finally decide to have a baby, and nothing ever felt more complete than this. 

warning(s): fluff!!! kook jokes about taking long to knock you up, but other than that, nothing but cuteness and domestic shit. there’s definitely a make out sess in this, but that should be the most sexual thing??? please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!! 

word count: ~1.5k - i know, it’s short, it’s just supposed to be cute and fluffy!!

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notes: this is actually a part of my ‘euphoria’ drabble, which consists of one more part (the other part is like a prequal, if you can even call it that lol). honestly, bts as father’s is just sooo wholesome, that I had to write one about kook. I wanted to thank @xpeachesncream for reading my stuff and giving me the confidence to post. She’s the sweetest soul ever, so please read her stories, they’ll take you on a magnificent journey. 

this is also my very first post, so please be nice ((: 

The soft snores from your husband filled the room as you lay beside him. His hair tussled perfectly against his face while the moon’s light kissed his skin. You resist the urge to brush your fingers along his sculpted jawline, hesitantly hovering your fingers over his face. You quietly smiled at him with adoration. How could you have gotten so lucky?

It was late and you knew it, you should be catching up on sleep just like your husband, however, you couldn’t find it in you to shut your eyes. You couldn’t be happier, tired nonetheless, but you were—are—happy.

You heard rustling in the crib beside you, and quiet sniffles causes you to turn around gently to peer into the baby bed beside you. You were greeted with wide eyes that twinkled in the moonlight and a small baby smile appeared on your precious baby’s face, causing you to coo at her. She returned it, excitedly flailing around in her little bed making grab hands for you. Shifting your eyes to the clock, 1:24 am, you shuffled in your bed to pick her up.

This wasn’t abnormal for her to wake up at this time. You had put her down at around 7pm, but tonight she had slept for 6 hours straight before waking up. You were lucky, your baby rarely cried when she wakes up, of course, unless she’s hungry. However, all in all, she wasn’t one to cry and you were so thankful for that. She never wailed like one of your best friends, Jin’s wife, had warned you that might happen.

“Let’s let your Daddy sleep, yeah?” You whispered to Ailiseu as you carried her out the door, shutting it quietly. Her big doe eyes—which she inherited from her father—twinkled up at you; bending forward, your baby gave you an open mouth kiss, slobbering all over your cheeks causing you to giggle softly. Descending down the stairs of your home, you plop yourself down on the couch, propping Ailiseu on your lap.

You loved having mommy time with your little girl, her little laughs could easily brighten your day, even if you were exhausted. You’ve been sleeping well, Aili even let you nap for 2 hours today, which probably explains your lack of tiredness. While playing peek-a-boo for what seemed like hours, you started to notice Ailiseu’s change in attitude. Her lips started to tremble and her eyes began to water.

“Oh, baby,” You whispered as she started to sob quietly. You quickly put her in position to feed, and to your relief, she began immediately. Rocking back and forth while she fed, you heard the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs.

“Jagiya?”

You peered behind you to see your husband scratching his head with droopy eyes. His eyes squinted to find yours and he walked towards you with a tired smile. Rounding the couch, he sat beside you, placing a lingering kiss on the side of your head, before he gently placed his large hand on Aili’s head, who immediately detached herself from you and peered up to her father with a baby pout, almost resembling one of your scowls.

“Kook, you know she hates when you interrupt her feeding.” You giggled as she nudged his hand away to continue. Jungkook sighed withdrawing his hand from her head to place it around you instead.

“She’s only been alive for 6 months and she’s already picked up her mommy’s hangry attitude.” He moaned throwing his head back against the couch. Silently laughing to yourself as Ailiseu quickly finished up. Jungkook quickly took her from you and placed her on his shoulder to burp her. He softly patted her back as you leaned in closer to him.

“Good girl, Aili,” He praised when your baby burped, “you’re so cute.” He placed a kiss on her head, and soon enough, your quiet living room filled with gentle snores from the little girl resting on your husband’s shoulder.

“How come you left bed?” Jungkook questioned.

“Hmm,” You hummed, “took a long nap today, couldn’t sleep.” You stared at the pictures on the walls of your home.

Jungkook at the age of 16 and you at 15. You were dating back in high school, but this was the first picture of you two that you took together. You remembered that night so well. Kook and you had been friends forever, it was about time the two of you started to like each other way more than just friends. Everyone called it from the start that the two of you were meant to be together. The night that the picture was taken, was the first time you two officially became a couple. He had taken you to the skating rink, something you two loved to do, but it felt different. He wasn’t just skating beside you; he finally held your hand. Not in a friendly way either like you normally did, no, he interlaced his fingers between yours. You had felt butterflies erupt in your stomach as he squeezed them while the two of you made rounds and rounds around the rink. It was a blissful first date.

Smiling you gazed at another picture of you and Kook. It was your graduation picture. Jungkook had his hair in a small man bun and curls littering his forehead. He had one arm wrapped around your waist and the other on your cap, his signature bunny smile present on his face while looking down at you. You were in the middle of laughing up at him with your degree in your hand and a bouquet of hydrangeas, the other gripping his waist. Your smile widened when you caught a glimpse of your engagement ring sitting comfortably on your left hand, the simple, yet beautiful rock glimmering in the picture.

The next photo of the two of you was a collage of your wedding day. The middle picture, of course, was of you and Kook looking at each other with giddy smiles, foreheads touching, and your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist pulling you in. All across the picture were snapshots of your entourage. Your bridesmaids and you in your room before you had to walk down the aisle. You were clinking glasses together with big smiles all around. Jungkook’s entourage consisted of the boys all fist bumping or patting the maknae’s back with large smiles. Next set of pictures within the collage, were pictures with your parents and Kook’s family, your mother and Kook’s mother were kissing both of your faces, while both your father’s made silly faces in the back. Lastly, the last picture of your collage was a picture of you and Kook with your hands intertwined and raised above your heads as a married couple. It was a beautiful shot that the photographer got; it was close up, but you could still see the blurred background of your entourages smiling with joy, the flower petals that were falling, and the beautiful sight of wind catching in your veil.

You peered up at Kook who, too, was smiling at the pictures all around.

“We’ve been together for a while, huh?” You heard your husband chuckle while he cradled Ailiseu. You nodded with a grin.

“7 years, baby.” Jungkook hummed.

“Married for 2 years,” He smiled at you, “with the cutest baby girl, I could ever ask for.” He nuzzled his nose into Aili’s cheeks, causing her to stir with furrowed eyebrows.

 “Crazy, right?” You giggled while reaching over and stroking her head full of hair.

“Crazy that it had taken me this long to knock you up.” He teased.

“Kook!” You groaned slapping his tattooed arm. His deep chuckle filled your ears like music.

“I’m only teasing, jagi,” He smirked, “come on, let’s head up.” He stood up slowly making sure your baby girl doesn’t wake up as he gently takes your hand and leads you up the stairs. Once in your room, he placed Aili in her bed and tugged you to your shared one.

“I love you.” He whispered before pressing his lips to yours. Melting into the kiss, your hands reaching up to his dyed blonde hair, allowing your fingers to play with it gently. It was a sweet kiss full of love. The kind of kiss that you both have shared for years, the kiss that never fails to erupt your stomach with the same butterflies that you have felt all those years ago, and the kiss that makes you fall more in love with him every day.

Clutching your sides, Jungkook tugs you on top of him, lips still attached. You could feel him smiling into the kiss before he pulled away to gaze up at you. His doe eyes that you have always loved stared at you with a cheeky grin before he pecked your lips a couple more times.

“I love you more, Kook.” You whispered as you two held each other close before drifting off to sleep.

[silkenstarlight]

a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. 

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong  jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories. 

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat. 

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do. 

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them. 

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed. 

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that. 

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly. 

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.” 

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more. 

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky.  Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge. 

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing. 

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices. 

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

 He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?” 

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

                                                             ✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back. 

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

[anagentinwriting]

Lifeline - Part 11

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 2500+

Warnings: Heart attack, fluff, angst, language

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

It was a slow day at the call center, which was a good thing, and you couldn’t help but wonder what Steve was planning. Earlier, he texted you, asking if you wanted to get lunch together, and you accepted. It’s been a couple of weeks since you hung out and had a movie night, but since then, you’ve hung out a few other times at your house watching movies and talking. It was innocent fun, nothing serious, two friends enjoying each other’s company. But, you did fall asleep on him one night after a late shift, but luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. Neither of you labeled them as dates because neither of you were looking for a relationship. You both joked about them being dates though, but they never blossomed into anything, even though one night you hoped they would. 

Your phone line ringing pulled you from your daydream. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“Um...my daddy can hardly breathe?”

“Okay, hold on for a second, sweetie.” The address popped right up since she was calling from a landline and you dispatched an ambulance to their location. It was much easier to send help when they called from landlines; cell phones were tricky because you needed to go through the carrier if you needed to get their exact location. “The ambulance is on their way.”

“Good...they need to get here real fast,” the little girl said in a calm voice.

“Okay, sweetie, what’s your name?

“Duranna Dey. My daddy’s name is Rhomann Dey.”

“Okay. How old are you, Duranna?

“I am five years old.” 

“Okay, Duranna, I need to know if your father is still awake?”

“Yeah. He called 911-- then couldn’t really talk--he gave me the phone then.”

“Your dad is a smart man. Duranna, is your front door unlocked?”

“Uh…is our front door unlocked, Daddy? Uh, no.”

“Okay, Duranna, can you go and unlock the front door for me?”

“Sure…okay, I am going to go. Don’t worry, Daddy!” You heard shuffling over the line. “Front door  unlocked.”

“That’s good, Duranna. Now can you go ask your dad if this has ever happened to him before?”

“Yeah,” she said as you heard shuffling through the phone. “Dad, has this ever happened before? He says no, and he is still awake.”

“Good. Can you ask him if he has any kind of chest pain?”

“Do you have chest pain? Yes, yes, he does.”

“Okay, hold on for a second, okay, Duranna.”

“Okay,” she replied.

You radioed the paramedics over your headset and told them the situation so they would know what they were walking into upon their arrival.

“I’m back, Duranna. Is he still awake?”

“Yeah, we’re in our jammies. Is that going to be okay, or should we get changed?”

“No, that will be fine,” you smiled at her question. “I need you to stay with your dad to make sure he stays awake.”

“Okay. I got it. Stay calm, Dad.” You could hear sirens coming over the line. “They are here now; should I hang up?”

“Yes, Duranna, you can hang up.”

“Okay, thank you, bye.”

The line went dead, and you couldn’t help but smile. Duranna was one strong, calm, brave little girl in her given situation, where some adults wouldn’t be. It was surprising, and you couldn’t help but praise her parents. You sighed, taking off your headset and setting it on the table as you went on your lunch break. 

When you walked out of your building, you saw Steve standing outside holding onto a leash with a beautiful golden retriever attached to it. You smiled, walking right up to them and crouched down to pet him. 

“Awww, you must be Cosmo,” you cooed, scrunching up his face in your hands, and quickly licked your cheek. “You’re so cute, yes you are.”

“He wanted to meet you. Wouldn’t shut up about it all morning,” Steve grinned under his baseball cap. 

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, too,” You added, bopping him on the nose. You stood up, smiling at Steve. “What are we doing for lunch?”

“Since I brought Cosmo, I thought we could take a stroll through the park. I know there are a few food trucks in the area we could check out.”

“Sounds fun,” you smirked, walking next to Steve with Cosmo out in front. “How has Cosmo been adjusting?”

“He’s doing better. He’s a little off at certain times during the day, but the vet says it’s pretty normal, and it’s all a part of the process.”

“Well, he looks happy.” You let out a soft chuckle, watching Cosmo look around with his tongue hanging out. “And he is so cute.”

“Thanks for the compliment. You know dogs do take after their owners,” he winked, forcing you to roll your eyes.

“Okay, wise guy,” you scoffed, nudging him in his side. “How’s Station 107?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Your brother gave me permission to ask you out a while ago, and he keeps reminding me about it.”

You chuckled. “Did he? Clearly, he doesn’t know how much of a guy you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You come off all innocent, but let’s be real, you’re a real troublemaker.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that information,” he chuckled, waving it off as you shake your head at him.

“It’s crazy how he gave you permission, yet you haven’t done anything about it?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. “And here's Cosmo, who by the way I just met, and he has already gotten further with me than you have.”

“That hurts.” Steve feigned a pained look, holding his hand over his heart. “In my defense, I didn’t want you to feel pressured or pushed into something you weren’t ready for.”

“You never did, and that’s what makes you a good man, Steve,” you confessed, seeing his signature smirk spread across his face.  “But, my life is enough of a mess as it is, and I wouldn’t expect you or anyone else to try and take that on.”

“That’s not it at all. I’m not worried about what happened in your past. I mean, I hate what you had to go through, but it’s never going to scare me off.”

You had no words. No comeback. All you could do was smile. You reached over and grabbed a hold of his hand. “Friends, hold hands, right?”

“Yeah, last time I checked,” he grinned, squeezing your hand. You felt your face heat up under his gaze as you looked away. You tried to weld your lips together, but it was no use. You had a feeling a smile would be plastered on your face all through lunch.

You and Steve settle on getting Mexican at Wade’s Chimichangas truck when you noticed the other truck was an ice cream truck. You stood in line and noticed the guy taking orders was very chatty and looked oddly similar to Ryan Reynolds. 

“Next, oh, and what a cute couple you two are,” the Ryan Reynolds look-alike said. “I’m Wade, owner of Wade’s Chimichangas. Oh, and this sugar bear with the mustache behind me is Peter W. He saw my want ad in the paper, and he was an instant hire.” He smiled, but then it quickly turned into a frown. “This is actually the second time I hired him, the first time is when I hired him to be a part of X-force, and he died early on. Then, I time-traveled back in time after stealing this special watch from your universe's Thanos and brought Peter back to life at the end. Oops, spoiler alert,” he shrugged, staring at the empty space beside you. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to gauge the situation.

“Sorry,” he smiled. “This--” he twirled his finger in the air “--this is the wrong universe. Well, that universe technically doesn’t exist anymore since Mickey Mouse bought out Fox, and I’m not talking about the cute fox from Fox and the Hound either. No siree, this Fox was more expensive than my favorite shoe company’s net worth.” He shook his head back and forth, chuckling. “It’s going to be crazy fun! My place is safe and secure, but can’t say the same for that Australian Showman.” He nodded but stopped when a realization dawned on him. “Oh wait, dammit, he got out a few years too early. What a shame, he’s gonna miss out on some really big paychecks, but who cares about that guy anyway,” he signed. “Anyways, what can I get you two?”

“I’ll take the Almost Famous Chimichanga with rice,” Steve ordered. 

“Oh, being safe and not going with beans, smart move, Captain,” Wade replied with a wink. “And for the lady and canine?” You gave Wade your order and ordered Cosmo a simple taco.

“Cosmo doesn’t need a taco,” Steve added, shaking his head. 

“So, no taco for the canine? I am taking copious notes here.” You looked to Wade to see him licking his lips with a pen and small notebook pad in his hand. 

“Yes, taco,” you answered, and Cosmo barked.

“Majority wins. Fire up the stove, Peter. It will be a couple of minutes, folks,” Wade announced. “If only there was a superpower to make food. I mean, he or she, I’m not sexist, could solve world hunger with just a flick of their wrist or magic wand.”

“Wow, that guy must be going through something,” Steve uttered loud enough for you to hear as you both moved down the side of the truck to the pickup area. 

“Captain, you have no idea,” Wade looked over his shoulder and shot you both a tight smile. “Am I right, Peter?”

“He is,” Peter nodded, placing an order on the serving counter. “Order for the lovely couple and a taco for the gorgeous golden retriever. 

“Thanks, Peter.” You pulled your wallet from your purse, but when you looked up, Steve was already handing Peter some cash.

“My treat,” he replied, answering your silent question. 

“Next time, it’s on me.” 

“Deal,” Steve smirked, getting his change back from Peter.

“Is he a Purebred?” Peter asked, looking down at Cosmo with a smile.

“I’m not sure I rescued him.”

“That’s incredible. My wife, Susan, and I thought about adopting, but she’s been training hard with her personal trainer, Gus, a few times a week, so we weren’t sure if we were ready for a dog. I mean, some of the workouts can last like four hours, but it is doing wonders for her, and it shows.” 

“Well, when you both feel ready, give adoption a chance.” 

“I will. I’m sorry to keep you from your date with all the questions.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve waved it off. “That’s how you keep customers coming back, right?”

“That’s right,” Peter chuckled. “Thanks for choosing Wade’s Chimichangas. Have a good afternoon, folks.”

You grabbed your’s and Cosmo’s baskets, and Steve grabbed his, making your way over to the open benches near the sidewalk. You plopped down with Steve taking the spot next to you, and Cosmo sat right in front of you, wagging his tail and waiting for his taco.  You smirked at him, tearing off a piece and giving it to him.

“Are you getting the feeling that Susan is cheating on Peter, too?” Steve asked, taking a bite of his chimichanga. 

“Yes, I thought I was the only one thinking that,” you answered, shaking your head. “Poor guy, he seems like a good one, too.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you ate. It was tasty, better than you expected it would be; you weren’t sure if it was the seasoning or sauce, but you would be a returning customer. Cosmo whined, staring into your eyes as you tore off another piece and gave it to him. 

Steve smirked. “You’re gonna teach him to be a beggar.”

“Don’t listen to your dad. If you want to be a beggar, you be a beggar.” You patted him on the head, and he licked your hand. 

“Wow,” Steve mouthed, making you hit him on the arm. He cracked a contagious smile, leaning into you, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you pushed him off you. 

“You’re such as ass sometimes.”

“I am one of LA’s finest asses according to Sam,” he replied, forcing you to scoff.

_______

Taking the last bite of your lunch, you glanced at Steve, finishing off his chimichanga. He wiped his lips with his napkin and winked at you. You rolled your eyes, leaning forward and rubbing Cosmo on the head. You didn’t want to go back to work. All you wanted to do was hang out with Steve and Cosmo for the rest of the day. You sighed, looking down at your watch.

“Should we start heading back?” Steve inquired, placing a hand on your forearm. You looked at his hand, a shy smile appearing on your face. 

“Uh yeah, we probably should.” 

He stood up, offering his hand, which you took without hesitation. He squeezed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, sending a warm, comforting sensation flow through your body.  You could feel your face grow warm as you stared at Cosmo walking in front of you. You bit your lip, peeking over at Steve, not missing the smirk you were beginning to love appear across his lips. 

________

He pulled you to stop in front of your building, letting go of your hand, and you turned to face him. “Thanks for getting lunch with me and for bringing Cosmo. It was nice to meet him.” You smiled down at the dog, wagging his tail with his tongue hanging out. 

“I think he enjoyed meeting you, too,” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard about this yet, but there is this first responders charity grill out slash softball tournament this weekend. I was wondering if...”

“Yeah,” you interrupted him. “Thor already invited me, and I was planning on going.”

“Cool.” He nodded, clenching his jaw. “But, I was curious if you wanted to be my date?”

You rubbed your lips together, a smile itching its way across your lips.  “Did you finally have the nerve to ask me out?” You nudged him with your elbow repeatedly until he cracked a smile. 

“Like I said, I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.” He sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised you’re already planning a second date, and we aren’t even done with the first one yet.”

His jaw dropped open as quickly as he snapped it shut. If you weren’t watching him, you would have missed it. “I never said this was a date.” 

“Yeah, but Cosmo told me it was, so who do you think I’m gonna believe. The guy I have been hanging out with or a dog willing to share all your secrets with me.”  You shrugged with both hands in front of you, trying to weigh out your best option.

“Cosmo,” Steve looked down at his dog, shaking his head. “You can’t be telling YN all my secrets.”

“He’s a talker. Aren’t you Cosmo?” You cooed, making him bark in agreement. You smiled, reaching out to scratch his head one last time. You peeked up at Steve, not missing the gentle smile fading from his lips.

“How about it, YN? Do you want to go out on another date with me?”

“Yeah,” you grinned, nodding your head. “I’d like that.”

______

AN: Thanks for reading Part 11! We are over halfway through this story and there is so much more to come! And I am excited to share it with you all! The call about the daughter and father actually was something that happened and became national news a long time ago. I came across it while I was trying to find some 911 type calls/scenarios, and figured Rhomann and Duranna Dey would be a good fit for it. And she finally got to meet Cosmo! He is actually the dog from Guardians of the Galaxy! It is just a small cameo in that movie, but I love throwing in those easter eggs if you haven’t figured that out yet, haha! Did you like the Wade Wilson and Peter W cameo?! I thought it would be an entertaining addition and Wade breaking that fourth wall is always a fun time! The slow burn may finally be coming to an end. Let's just hope this charity softball tournament/grill-out date turns into a success! As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget comments are always welcome! 

[illneverrecover]

trust my love | pjy

➛pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader ➛genre: librarian!reader, non idol!AU, Slice of Life!AU, fluff, humor  ➛word count: 2,343 ➛rating: E ➛warnings: I know we are shocked, but since this isn’t smut there isn’t many! Kissing, Making out in a library, Persistent Jinyoung. This is just softsoftcute. ➛summary: Jinyoung frequents the library in hopes of convincing you to go on a date on with him, but you’re not so easy to win over. Luckily, he’s not easily deterred. ➛notes: This is my piece for the Secret Admirer’s Project 2021 for @ksmutclub​! I’m a little nervous to post this because it’s the first time I’ve written about GOT7, however it was an honor to do so for @birbdae​. Thank you for playing along with my asks, Dae! It was fun to get to know you and I hope you like this! 🍒 Also shout out to my sweet sugar bb @taetaesbaebaepsae​ for beta reading and hyping me up, ily. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. ➛song: Trust My Love - GOT7 |  Love You Better - GOT7

“He’s here again."

Sighing heavily, you spin around, running your hands through your hair. Not that you cared what it looked like, of course. Why would you?  

“Is he headed this way?”

“No, it looks like he’s headed towards fiction, turning down..” Ara pauses, eyes scanning the room, “the literature aisle - classics, to be specific.” 

“Great.” 

Ara keeps her gaze trained on her mark, angling her body towards you. “What do you think he’ll bring you today?”

“As if I care,” you scoff, moving over to the restock cart and busying yourself by grabbing a stack of books to plop down next to your computer. You had already organized and prepped most of these already, but no one else knows that. “Believe it or not, my work day does not evolve around what’s-his-face showing up unannounced-”

“-his name is Jinyoung, and you know that-”

“-and I have important things to attend to. He’s just another customer, nothing else.”

You can feel her glare boring into your skull, but you refuse to give in to meet it. If you do, you’ll see the disbelief and frustration in her eyes, which will be an open invitation for Ara to give you yet another one of her famous ‘You Need To Live Your Life’ speeches, which you have no patience for today. 

She finally shrugs her shoulders, turning to grab the empty cart. “Whatever you say, dear. I’m off to get the books from the front drop off,” she glides away, the cart squeaking at her increased pace, “have fun with Jinyoung!” 

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, wondering how long it’ll be before the man in question comes striding up to your desk, a book tucked under his arm and a disarming smile in tow.

He had been coming into your library now for what felt like years, but in reality was only a few weeks. You aren’t sure what started his interest in you - his first day in your check out line had been a brief and altogether forgettable encounter - but since that day, he has come in three times a week like clock work. He always returns a book, spends anywhere between fifteen and twenty minutes pursuing the stacks, fingers dragging against the spines, seemingly searching for something. And then he finds you, regardless of what floor you are working and what your current task is, and chats you up while you scan his library card, shuffling him out the door as quickly as you can.

Conversation started off innocent at first, usually small talk about whatever read he had just finished and dropped off in the return box. You pride yourself on being polite and professional, even if it was clear he had other intentions. But it was when he began asking more about you, inquiring about your days off  that you felt your hackles raise. The next time he returned a book, he skipped the pleasantries, instead leaving you with a wink and a slip of paper with his phone number inside the pages, right next to the author note. 

‘Go on a date with me?’

Such a simple phrase shouldn’t have caused such havoc in your life, and yet here you were.

Your traitorous co-workers all though it was so sweet, so romantic how he pursued you. Nevermind that he had the face of the type of man who has done this before, who likely has a contact list a mile long of names attached to pretty women that would all fawn over him at a moment’s notice. Or the fact that he clearly came from money; his designer peacoats and dress shirts always crisp, clean, and the complete opposite of anything you owned. 

No, this wasn’t a budding romance - if anything, it was a classic case of a man who liked the chase, even if you refused to run. 

The clearing of a throat pulls you from your thoughts, eyes snapping to address the intruder. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Hi, yes you can. I’d like to check out this book, please.” Jinyoung smiles brightly, eyes dancing with mirth. He’s dressed in a warm khaki color sweater today, the tips of a white collar peeking out of the neckline and tucked into his perfect pressed slacks. He’s handsome, and you both know it. 

Seemingly catching you staring, he raises a brow in question, one that you promptly ignore. Instead, you hold out your hand impatiently, waiting for him to share which novel he’s going to try to use to impress you with today. When you glance down at the title, your eyebrow raises. 

“The Ghost Bride, hmm? Doesn’t really seem like your type,” you mutter, taking the book and flipping it to scan it. His library card awaits beside it, the elegant script of his signature seemingly taunting you. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to pick up something else? I can show you where the picture books are-”

“Nope, this was the right one. I’m just following your recommendations, you know. This was your pick of the week.” 

You scowl, swiping his card under the scanner before grabbing the automatically printed receipt, sliding his items back towards him across the counter. You had forgotten about the ‘See What Our Librarians Recommend!’ board that Mark had put up earlier in the week in an attempt to engage more with the customers. There hadn’t been much thought behind your pick other than it was one you enjoyed; getting immersed into other cultures and their traditions one of the easiest ways to relax your mind. But now you felt self conscious, like he was peering into your head. 

You shake the thought away, turning back to your screen. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Well, have a nice day, I gotta get back to work.” 

“Have you thought about the answer to my question?”

Jinyoung is still waiting at the counter, a small but earnest smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on to yours. If you didn’t know any better, you would think his curiosity was genuine with how he stared, how kind he was. 

But you knew better. 

“Yes, and the answer is no. I’m not looking to date right now,” you huff, breaking his gaze once more. There was something intense about how he looked at you, and it made your nerves dance under your skin. 

“May I ask why?”

Sighing, you close your eyes, counting the breath as you pull it into your lungs. What a loaded question. There were thousands of answers, a multitude of reasons why it was a bad idea to accept a date from the handsome stranger that frequents your library. Which would be acceptable to share; that you’ve had your heart broken more times than you care to admit, and don’t want to be hurt again? That you’re too immersed in your work and your goals that you don’t have time for a relationship? Or that you spend your days lost between the pages of books, delving into new worlds and reading about loves so pure and avowed that you know anything you come across in real life will be a disappointment?

Instead of those truths, you give him a tight smile. “Because I don’t know you, and you haven’t earned one yet.” 

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, but you didn’t care. You knew that Jinyoung with his pretty face and captivating charm would give up soon, and when that time came, you’d breathe a sigh of relief and continue about your life just as it was before he came in it. 

“I get it, you don’t trust me,” he looks down at his shoes, inhaling deeply before returning his amber eyes to you. “But I’m serious. I’ll prove it to you.” 

He stands there a beat more, as if he wanted to be sure you understood his promise before turning and walking away, giving a final grin over his shoulder. 

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

The harsh refusal of his proposal didn’t deter Jinyoung in the least, if anything, it renewed his commitment. He continued his visits to the library, this time determined to speak with you more, get to know you better. He had befriended Mark shortly into his endeavors and your traitorous coworker had told him everything he knew about you - favorite foods, your favorite color, sweets you indulged on when the mood was right. And Jinyoung had weaponized this information, bringing you Peruvian lilies  in the palest of lilacs, leaving tiny boxes of nougat de montelimar on your cart on top of the books for you to find. 

Each time he came to your check out line, he was prepared with a new book and more questions, always briefly discussing his thoughts on the novel before peppering you with inquiries about anything from mundane preferences to how your parents were doing. 

The most infuriating part was it was working. The once practiced guard you had built around yourself slowly coming undone piece by piece, day by day as Jinyoung gave you patient smiles and cheeky winks. Your heart was softening to his antics, and soon you caught yourself thinking about what a date with him would be like, how being the sole object of his affections somewhere that isn’t covered in a fine line of dust and doesn’t smell like old books would make you feel.

It’s this train of thought you’re lost in when he strides up to your counter, another book in his arms, face lighting up once he sees you. 

“Hi, beautiful. Just this for me today,” he murmurs, placing the book he selected directly into your hands instead of on the counter as usual. 

You didn’t have to look at the cover to know which novel he’d handed you, the story itself being so familiar that you could recognize it by the weight of it in your hands alone. “You’re telling me you haven’t read The Great Gatsby before?”

He chuckles then, head ducking down sheepishly. “Ah, it was one of those we had to read in school ages ago, but I don’t really remember it. I wasn’t as into books back then.” 

You nod, remembering how your peers didn’t seem to be as obsessed with reading as you had been. “That’s fair. This is one of those that the meaning tends to be lost on a bunch of teenagers, anyway.” Scanning the book and his card, you place it back in his open palm, feeling like you were giving him a tiny piece of your heart.

“I decided to give it another shot - since it's your favorite, and all.” 

Warmth spreads in your cheeks and you wonder briefly if he notices the way you fight a smile. It had been a passing comment, something said while he watched you restock the non fiction section one afternoon, but the fact he remembered caused something in your chest to ache. 

“Well, let me know what you think. I mean, if you’re able to follow along, that is.” 

His slow smirk transforms into a beaming smile, his face softening as he tucks the novel under his arm. “I think I’ll manage. I’ve been able to keep up so far,” his gaze drops to drag over your form before meeting your eyes. “And I’ve been loving every minute.”

He wasn’t talking about books, and the thought had you floating on air for the rest of your shift. 

That night, when you’re safely tucked into bed and far away from the library, you grab the wrinkled slip of paper and type Jinyoung’s number into your phone.

The metal of the old bookcase was ice against your bare skin, back arching up as you lick into Jinyoung’s mouth. What started off as a gentle press of lips in the back stacks of the reference section quickly intensified when his tongue sought yours, the kiss hungry and dripping of pent up desire. 

You hadn’t planned on anything happening, only wanting the abandoned aisles so that you could accept his date offering without your coworkers lurking, not wanting to do it over text. However you didn’t account for Jinyoung’s excitement, the way he looked like he won the lottery when you told him before swiftly backing you into the shelves in a heated kiss - not that you’re complaining. 

His body is firm as he presses into you, hands cupping your cheeks in a gentle way that offset his fervent exploration of your mouth. You melt under his touch, body seeking him like a moth to flame, unwilling to leave his warmth.

“Jinyoung,” you breathe, pushing him away from your lips. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

He chuckles, a hand snaking around your waist to tug you close once more. “Probably not. But you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do that.” 

“Do what? Fondle me in a dusty library?”

He shakes his head lightly before leaning in, his mouth inches from your own, the look in his eyes seizing the air in your lungs. “He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.”

Swallowing thickly, you ignore the painful gallop of your pulse, the way your defenses seem to crumble each time you’re in his presence. You don’t tell him how much it means to you that he didn’t give up, that he did all of these things just to earn your trust. That he put in so much effort to learn everything about you, took time to memorize the lines from your favorite novel just to make you smile.

Instead, you look up at him through heavy lashes, an easy grin on your lips.  “Did you just quote ‘The Great Gatsby’ at me?” Giggling, you swat his arm. “That was a little cheesy.” 

Jinyoung just meets your gaze, says everything with how he peers into your eyes without saying anything at all. “It only gets better from here, trust me.” 

[koutarouthighs]

『 orange slices 』

S U M M A R Y ― orange slices are usually eaten during or after sports events to replenish hydration, vitamins, and antioxidants; these characters can be forgetful, so what will you do to help them remember that sometimes it’s important to take care of themselves even though all they want to do is get lost in the game of volleyball?

post type ➺ headcanons fandom  ➺ haikyuu!! characters  ➺ daichi ⧾ bokuto ⧾ kuroo genre ➺ fluff tags ➺ college!au; established relationship;  word count ➺ 2k+ request ➺ [YES/NO]      ↳ request here!

⤭ people always tease you and daichi, calling you mom and dad, or playing around and saying, “oh, it’s like you two are already married!” and you suppose, most of the time, they’re right. you two just click. ⤭ you try to make it to as many of daichi’s intramural games as possible, given your busy school and work schedule. and every time, without fail, whenever he spots you on the green chatting with another one of the player’s girlfriends, that signature little bento box is seated safely beside you. ⤭ after the game is over, he snags one last refill of water from the team jug before jogging over to you, standing in the way of the sun so you’re not blinded when you look up at him. although, he shines brightly enough all on his own that it’s still tough not to narrow your eyes even just a little. ⤭ he makes small talk with the girls around you, their boyfriends slowly trickling in as they wrap up from their games. daichi sits next to you, hand on your knee, careful never to interrupt or overstep, always aware of you in every capacity. there is laughter as you all share stories about your least favorite professors and that one assignment you just can’t shake. ⤭ daichi waits until his stomach growls to make a move for the bento, knowing that the box is big enough for the both of you. you unravel it carefully, putting the cloth wrapping to the side before allowing him to unlock the lid.

more below the cut ↴

daichi’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head as the steam from the still-warm meat and rice wafts upward to his face. he sighs and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek before taking the set of chopsticks and digging into the food.

everyone else is watching you two, in awe or disgust at the natural ease of your relationship. you two sit closely, read one another’s minds as you get him a napkin when you see sauce drip from his chin, and he passes you the thermos filled with some sort of tea when he notices you trying to stifle a cough.

“thanks, honey,” daichi wipes his face clean before kissing your temple this time, one hand on the back of your head to steady you as he leans forward. he tucks his tissue into the empty box and nuzzles your cheek with his nose, “you always make such good lunch.”

it’s a simple recipe, one even tanaka couldn’t screw up, but the affectionate words are not lost on you. your face still heats, your eyes still avert his saccharine gaze, and your skin still buzzes at the sound of him. you thank him in that small voice you get when you feel self-conscious, and daichi wraps you up in his arms, pulling you tightly against his still-damp chest, mouth against the shell of your ear, “i’m so lucky to have you, y’know? always looking out for me.”

“daichi,” you groan, your skin burning as he kisses your cheek relentlessly, uttering little sweet nothings against your face like stardust. you wrinkle your nose and shove at him, but it has no intent. you curl your fingers around his jersey, “we look after each other, you silly goose. no need to thank me.”

daichi huffs and you look up at him, noting the wrinkle in his brow. just as you go to ask him what’s wrong, if you’ve said something that’s hurt him, his lips part, “i will never stop thanking you for being the wonderful person that you are. if i do, then i’m taking you for granted and that’s not fair.”

you know that he’s being overly dramatic, but you don’t have the heart to refute him. rather, you press your palm to his cheek and tilt your head upward to meet him halfway, a warm kiss passed from you to him. daichi’s hands seize around your waist, an anchor holding you to the grassy lawn you’ve been camped out on since early this morning. he sighs as you pull away, utterly enraptured by your graceful nature, “you deserve the whole world, darling. i just hope that what i can give you comes close enough.”

and you know that it will be. daichi was always more than enough.

⤭ bokuto always forgets his water bottle, no matter how many little notes you leave around the apartment as a reminder for him to pick it up, or how often you place it in the most easy-to-find and obvious places, he still manages to forget it entirely ⤭ even though he’s too focused on the intramural game to text you and ask you to bring it, you always show up after you’ve done your morning study routine with his huge water canister filled to the brim with ice cold h2o ⤭ after the first set, when he gets a five minute break before they start up again, bokuto spots you with that signature black water bottle hooked by the key chain attached to it’s lid looped around your finger, swaying it back and forth in midair, a little smirk-turned-smile on your pretty lips ⤭ bokuto has no bashfulness when it comes to your relationship. he loves you, is totally smitten, and wants everyone to know it. so he has no qualms with running across the green to pick you up around the waist and hoist you into the air, twirling you as he blabbers a dozen different thank you’s ⤭ he’s always so appreciative of the way you never get upset that he’s forgotten something yet again. rather, you pick up his slack, helping out where he lacks. today this trait shows by you bringing by his water bottle [and a little bento box filled with his favorite food for after the game is over]

﹢

"i left it on the front doorstep, bo,” you chastise him just before he manages to plant a kiss on your lips, effectively cutting short your admonishments. he chuckles, the sound reverberating his chest and yours, before settling you down on the ground so you can get your bearings straight before he kisses the breath out of you all over again, “yeah, but then i wouldn’t have had an excuse to come over here and kiss you.”

your whole body goes hot, from ears to toes, and you look down at his sneaker-clad feet so you don’t have to stare up into his shimmering golden irises. but bokuto, ever the steady-hand, notches his knuckle under your chin to tilt your head upward, “thank you, baby. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“dehydrate,” you deadpan, trying your hardest to keep from turning to a molten pit of lava right here on the campus green, “starve.”

“you little...” a mirthful smirk tugs on his lips and then he’s devouring you all over again, grabbing you around the waist and invading your space as he leans forward to kiss you square on the mouth.

“bokuto! time to start the next set!”

reluctantly, and with a low growl, he departs from you, raising a pale brow as he nudges your nose with his, planting one last chaste kiss to your mouth, “gonna watch the rest of the game, babe?”

you nod, smiling as he pulls away, “of course, bo. i always watch your games.”

“just checking,” bokuto pinches your hips before finally unraveling from you, “can’t wait to show you my new power serve i’ve been working on! you better watch me!”

pushing him away, you lick your lips and grin uncontrollably, his energy infectious as he bounces on his heels at the sight of you and the thought of playing another set of volleyball. you take a breath before nodding up at him, “i can’t wait to see it, kou. you’re always amazing.”

he can’t help but to kiss your cheek one last time before jogging back towards the volleyball court, his water bottle still hooked around your finger, forgotten once again.

⤭ kuroo is not forgetful of his things like jerseys, water bottles, etc. but he can lose track of time. usually he’ll have played so many games without eating that you have to interrupt him after a few games too many and only then does he realize how lightheaded he is. ⤭ you press your palms to his heated, sweaty face and force him to focus on you, reminding him that he needs to take a break every now and then. his eyes will flit around for a moment before he finally zeroes in on your features. ⤭ one of his classmates who has been taking a break on the bench tells kuroo that he’s going to sub in for him, he wants to try blocking against the other team for a while. you know it’s just the classmate trying to help you out, so you give him a small nod over kuroo’s shoulder and then turn back to your boyfriend. ⤭ you force kuroo to sit down on the grass underneath a big tree, the shade already cooling him down as he guzzles water from his bottle for a few moments without speaking. you simply sit next to him, keeping your distance because you can tell by his posture and the flush of his skin that he’s overheated, and you don’t want to contribute to his warmth by touching him with your palm to his knee. ⤭ finally, after a few minutes, he looks across at you with a genuine grin on his lips, his eyes practically lighting up at the sight of you now that he can see you in your entirety. he reaches towards you to press a palm to your cheek, tilting his head before kissing you slowly.

﹢

"you worry me, tetsu,” you whisper as he pulls away, your fingers clutching at his jersey.

kuroo kisses the tip of your nose and then your forehead, smoothing your hair away from your face before sitting back on his thighs, still towering over you even as you sit close together. his free hand drifts to your knee, drawing little swirling motions along your skin, warmed from the sunshine beating down through the sparse leaves of the tree, “i know, sweetheart. i just get lost in the game sometimes, i forget how long i’ve been playing. i promise i’ll be better.”

the same promises every time, but you know that he misses playing with nekoma. he misses being a captain. he misses the camaraderie. and who are you to tell him that he can’t have that any longer? who are you to rob him of his sidelined dreams that are played out now in the form of recreational volleyball?

instead of arguing, you purse your lips, silently asking him for another bout of affection. kuroo chuckles before obliging, rather enthusiastically, tackling you down into the grass. he loiters over you, lanky and long and bulking as always, broad shoulders down to a trim waist, knees caging you in on either side of your hips.

“thank you,” he murmurs as he pulls away, translucent lids still partially hiding his amber irises from your view, “i don’t know where i’d be without you to bring me back down to earth.”

“you’d manage,” you whisper, tracing his jawline with your thumb, “but i like to think i make your life a little easier.”

a slow blink and the gentle tilt of his head has you completely enraptured in the beauty of his eyes coupled with his smile. every time you see him, you’re completely blindsided by his mere presence, and he never ceases to amaze you, no matter how many days you spend together. your fingers slot into his hair at the nape of his neck, thumbs brushing along his throat, like this is what you were built to do, easy and smooth.

kuroo kisses your lower lip and then your top lip, paying closest attention to every part of you, “i don’t think you know how much you mean to me, baby. guess i’ll just have to remind you.”

if you two get lost in each other against the tree trunk, the sun setting and bringing about a newfound chill in the air, nobody seemed to notice. almost as if you two were in your own world, completely lost, unable to know where one of you ends and the other begin. eventually you have to go home, but for now you’re going to bask in one another’s presence.

[pocketfulofrogers]

Love Me Anyways

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: What is there to say? You’re a dark and twisty assassin and Steve Rogers is definitely... not that. When you get an opportunity to run, will you take it?

Notes: Tiny bit of smut and angst with a happy ending. If you feel like you’ve seen/read this before, you may have. I’m reorganizing and this was previously part 1 of Haunted Woman, Broken Lover. When I originally wrote this, it was meant to be a one off, but sad endings don’t always feel right. I then struggled to turn it into a series, so here is HWBL reimagined with a different ending as a one shot. The series will still be a thing, but now I actually feel good about it!

They call you a ghost. It isn’t for the way you seem to slip through walls or the way you look at death as a reflection. It’s the hollowness of your eyes that earns you the nickname. Hazed over orbs coated in grey.

Clint asks you if they’ve always been that color, you tell him you can’t remember anymore.

Fury lets you run your own thing after you agree to attach yourself to the badge. He’d rather not know how exactly you get the job done, so long as you’re on their side.

You’re solo most of the time, it’s better that way.

They learn quickly how deadly you are, leaving your enemies questioning the validity of your existence and holding the same vacant stare as you. It wasn’t just physical injuries you specialized in.

The first time you met Steve Rogers was an accident. You had a rogue Armenian scientist tied up in his basement. He had been about to run when you appeared at his kitchen table, and, for a moment, you thought a heart attack might get him before you could.

You were sat before him, leaned forward with your tools on a bench beside you. A small blade aching to break skin sat hot between your fingers, but so far, your words had been enough. Steve opened the door, barreled down the steps, and stopped in his tracks. You locked eyes with him and, in a flash, you saw something hauntingly familiar within the blue.

That’s when something inside you shifted.

He took one look at the scene before him and shut it down immediately. You slipped away when he called it in and left no trace of your existence except for a long thin line gushing red from the scientist’s throat.

Steve find’s the plans for a chemical attack on his desk that night and where to find each accomplice wrapped in a pretty bow of nylon. Alive, your note assures him.

“She’s like a cat. Brings home dead things to show her affection.” Clint says one day. You promptly shove an elbow in his gut.

He learns how to spot your work past blubbering grown men and catatonic stares. Natasha tells him you hold your liquor well, Clint comments on your gambling abilities. He asks if your eyes are naturally that color, they tell him you don’t like to answer that question.

Later he asks Fury how they found you. He’s not sure how you became what you are today, but he knows this world has not treated you well, yet here you are, working to protect it regardless of what had been done to you. That’s the only reason he didn’t order Clint to take you out.

“So, she’s good?” Steve asks.

Fury pauses for a moment. “For our sake, I hope so.”

The next time you see Steve Rogers, you’re slinking through the Triskelion halls trying to stick your nose somewhere it probably doesn’t belong. He bumps into you, grabs your arm and your side to steady you. You know he can feel the scars beneath the thin material of your shirt and jump from his touch.

He shakes it off. “Tell me,” He starts. “Do you have an actual name or are you really just a ghost.”

You think for a moment. “Y/N.” He raises a brow, both your voice and an answer surprising him. “What, were you expecting a cryptic answer on the relativity of life and death or something?”

He chuckles. “Guess not.”

A moment later, he gets distracted, turns a way for a split second and then you’re gone.

“Yeah, she does that.” An agent passing by comments.

You continue on your path, leave him the gift of a solved problem on his desk sometimes. He sets up cameras and lasers, trying to catch you just once. It takes him a few months to realize the janitor drops the files and notes for him. You and Natasha laugh at his expense.

He starts to leave files in various places he knows only you could find. The worst of the worst. Men and women he thinks you’d be happy to cross off. You can’t tell if he leaves them for you, or because they’re just terrible people. Either way, the change in narrative surprises you, but you never bring it up. You’re the last person that would ever judge someone.

Natasha taunts him over it.

“It’s a modern-day love story with an assassin twist.”

“Why not that one?” “She doesn’t like Oklahoma.” “How do you know that?”

“She sent booze as thanks for your last tip. Are your cheeks seriously red right now, Rogers?”

Eventually, you concede and stop leaving him only the locations of gift-wrapped bodies with detailed lists of committed crimes. Complete with proof, of course, you weren’t lazy. You start to send him alive leads, people that can be questioned. Sometimes they’re unharmed, usually they’re mostly coherent. He’s surprised by the change in narrative, but he never brings it up. Sometimes people change, but that was none of his business.

Natasha is sure to point it out, though, consistently.

“You see him more than anyone else.” “That’s not true!” “…” “He’s here more than you, so it’s only by default.”

“Wait, you left that guy alive?” “Steve needs to question him.” “What about that one guy I needed answers from?” “You didn’t say please.”

“I’ve known you longer.” “He leaves me sex traffickers.”

When a body comes up dead that shouldn’t have, your signatures blatantly displayed, they send him to bring you in. He doesn’t believe for a second you could kill a kid, but he’s the only one who can get close enough. Fury’s only half sure you won’t kill him.

You battle with the idea of running, knowing they’ll never find you if you don’t want them to. You saw the evidence; you knew you were screwed. Fury told you from the very beginning that if he ever sensed you had turned, he’d take you out. No warning, no questions. Still, you wait patiently in your living room.

The window by the fire escape opens and Steve slides through, tip toes his way in and around the corner only to find you sitting there, an amused smirk tugging your lips.

“What calf exercises do you do? They look fantastic.”

He rolls his eyes and catches site of the artwork around him, the soft whites and greys of your walls and furniture giving spotlight to their colors. He never even considered you could have a home. You follow his gaze and shrug. Assassins can have taste too.

“The diplomat’s son, did you kill him?” He asks. You watch him silently. “Fury thinks you did.”

You walk slowly towards him, watch him curiously and tilt your head. “And if I did?” You prompt.

“I have orders to bring you in.”

You’re a breath away now, gliding your fingers along the Kevlar of his arm and trailing your way to his jaw. You trace his collar with a fingertip, watch as the pulse of his jugular quickens. You look up at him and he swallows thickly.

“And if I don’t want to?” You graze tentative fingers along the edge of his jawline. “Tell me, Captain, would you kill me?”

He hopes the eagerness in your voice is misplaced, the envy misinterpreted. Or perhaps the girl who surrounds herself with death does it with the idea that it may one day take her.

You don’t give him the opportunity to dive into that rabbit hole.

When you place your lips on his, soft and remnant of something sweet, he can only taste the brilliance of life. He wraps himself around you, slips in his tongue when you’re startled by his sudden switch. You thought you’d leave him shaken enough to slip away, disappear with the rising sun.

But now? Now you’re just as hungry for him.

He carries you, lays you across your bed. He runs the pad of his thumb along every scar left behind by a blade, places a kiss on each one from a bullet. You knot you fingers in his hair as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh, scream his name when he brings you higher than you’ve ever been before.

When he slides into you and stretches you deliciously so, you allow yourself to feel just this once. He catches the shift in your eyes, convinces himself his mind is playing tricks on him when the grey haze appears to fade.

He moves slow before he finds his pace. You dig fingernails into his back and trail them down hard enough to make him hiss. He nips you from shoulder to jaw, hips rocking into you, and you swear nothing has ever felt this good.

You lay there in silence, sweat coated limbs still entangled. He sighs heavily and you just know he’s about to ruin the moment.

“Stay.” You whisper. He looks down at you wrapped around him. “I’ll go with you in the morning, just stay tonight.”

He tightens his grip on your bicep and nods. “Ok.”

You’re still awake when dawn breaks, you had gotten lost in the simple rhythm of his heartbeat. A dream that one day life could be even just an imitation of normal. The thought makes you sad more than anything else.

You slip from his arms, grab a bag, and pack the essentials. Watching him sleep, he seems so peaceful, so good. You ache to wake him and stick around long enough to fix this mess. He deserves that.

Could you do it? Forget your past and pretend to be anything other than the hollow shell those before carved you into?

Ah, but this was your MO. Slip away in the dark when things took a turn either way. ‘Flight risk’ has always been written on the back of your eyelids. You weren’t quite sure why you felt you owed Steve more, but you did.

He awakes to a bright sun and a cold spot beside him. There’s a torn piece of paper where your head should’ve been. He brushes his thumb over his name and opens it. It states your innocence and exactly who he should be looking for, where to find them. At the bottom is a separate line.

‘Careful, Captain, or I just might be your future.’

Three years later.

You grab the tiny umbrella in your drink to twirl the ice around again. Undoubtedly a nervous habit you picked up in response to the very crowded beach bar you’re currently sitting at.

It was an alert you received in the middle of the night notifying you of your cleared name a year ago. You can’t be sure how whoever it was reached you, but the screenname ‘Tiny Dancer’ gave you a few ideas.

In that moment, reading those last two words you’re free, something changed. Perhaps it was months of being on the run from people who you allowed to know you well enough to track you that left you felling so drained. 

Of course, you thought about the beautiful man you left behind first, knowing that there was no one in this world who would fight harder for your freedom. You wanted to go find him, you really did, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you felt different this time. Like maybe this was your chance to start over. A chance to live a life that had been stolen from you so long ago. 

The bartender, a lovely middle aged man who strictly wore floral button ups, watches you down the rest of your drink and is quick with the refill. You try to thank him, but he waves you off.

“Anything for my favorite customer.” 

You push your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Are we not friends by now?”

He barks out a laugh and leans forward against the bar in front of you. “Friends get invited to drink with me, which you do almost everyday. Family gets invited to the cookout. Which is Sunday, by the way. Show up early and bring an appetite.” He shoots you a playful wink before pushing off to help another customer. 

You lean your head back slightly to feel the warmth of the sun and tune into the sound of the crashing waves. It’s the lightest you think you may have ever felt with the sand sticking to your bare legs and salt water in your hair.

Nothing could interrupt this perfectly blissful moment. 

Well, almost nothing.

“Sand looks good on you.” A deep voice says beside you and you smile, face still tilted towards the sun.

“Took you longer than I thought.” You turn to Steve still smiling. “How long can you stay?”

He moves his sunglasses from his eyes to the top of his head and looks around for a moment taking in the view. When he turns back to you, the smile that breaks across his face almost stops your heart.

“As long as you’ll let me.”