#the entire work is several pairings so I am going to tag them

[highvern]

Patterns II

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play

Length: ~9.9k

Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives. 

But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.

“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.

Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.

“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?” 

Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.

Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?

Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project

Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies

Y/N: and joy

Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.” 

“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.

Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”

“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.

“And?”

The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.

Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary. 

Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA

Y/N: Your honor free her!!!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand 

Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :) 

Y/N: whore

But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…

Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.

Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?

Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.

—

The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.

As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s. 

The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.

The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.

A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.

“Okay, I need to go home.” 

Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.

“Why?” You ask skeptically. 

Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.

“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”

“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”

“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”

Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”

He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.

Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.

“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.

Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?” 

“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.

You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.

When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time. 

Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.

“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.” 

Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.

Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.

“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.

Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”

“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?” 

“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.

“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.” 

You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”

“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.

“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?” 

“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.

“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again. 

Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect. 

“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything

Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.

Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite

Y/N: im not spooked so easily

Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.

The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company. 

Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.

A trio of voices echo down the hallway.

“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.” 

The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them. 

You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.

Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter. 

Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.

“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.

You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television. 

Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.

Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body. 

Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.

You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.

“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.

You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.

Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.

You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation. 

But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again. 

You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel. 

The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.

He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between.. 

In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.

The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.

Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.

Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.

Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.

Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.

Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.

The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.

Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.

What is he waiting for? You think.

Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.

But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm. 

Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure. 

Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in. 

Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.

He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.

Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.

But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it. 

Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge. 

When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your  underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again. 

But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.

Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.

Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.

She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.

Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover. 

The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered. 

Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough. 

He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.

The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.

“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.

In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence. 

The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.

Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.

With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine. 

Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.

You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut. 

He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.

On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts burned into his skull.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

Wonwoo: Next time?

Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait

The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.

On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing. 

More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?

But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.

Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight. 

Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing. 

His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.

When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day. 

Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.

When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door. 

Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live. 

Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.

Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.

The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat. 

A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.

MISSED CALL: Wonwoo

A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.

“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.

He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.

“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.

“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”

“Why?”

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.

“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”

“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.

“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”

“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.

Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.

“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”

“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.

You wince, “Sorry.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”

“Your landlord can’t let you in?”

“Not answering his phone.”

“And Mingyu?”

“Also not answering.”

After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.

Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”

Silence.

“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.” 

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”

Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.

“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.

“Wai—”

Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior  drowsiness transforms into irritation. 

Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.

 It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”

The pause on the other end of the line is heavy. 

“I was being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.

“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”

Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man. 

“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.

“…Thanks.” 

The call ends.

Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.

If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.

“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.

“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”

Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.

“Wait, let me get some towels.” 

Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra. 

It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.

Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head. 

“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”

Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came. 

Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.

Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”

“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.

The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.

You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.

Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.

You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.

While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.

Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair. 

“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”

“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago. 

Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.

Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”

“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”

“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”

In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway. 

How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet. 

More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.

“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”

Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently. 

Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”

“You’re right.” 

“What?” You choke.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes. 

You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy. 

“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”

Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.

“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.

He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch. 

“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”

“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up. 

You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you. 

Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.” 

Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. 

“I’m a really, really good actress.”

A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath. 

Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones. 

A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.

Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.

Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.

He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”

Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.

Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back. 

“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt. 

A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.

Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.

Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.

Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.

Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want. 

“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.

You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place. 

“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”

Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action. 

Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start. 

Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.

Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.

“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.

You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.

Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.

Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.

You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate. 

Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls. 

Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.

“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?” 

The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples. 

“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”

The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue. 

Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.

You snap. “What the fuck?”

He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.

Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.

Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.

Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own. 

The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”

His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half. 

If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.

Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper. 

One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.

“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.

Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance. 

Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.

You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.

“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught. 

“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.”

The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.

You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.

Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.

“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.

Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again. 

It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you. 

And you take it.

“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”

Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips. 

“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.

The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.

“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?” 

His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.

Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing. 

Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.” 

Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy. 

He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole. 

“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”

Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.

“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant. 

He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.

With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.

Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care. 

You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.

You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[the-kingshound]

Warning inane ramble incoming, it’ll probably be annoying I apologize. (*_ _)人 I spent the last several days reading every post here. I managed to convince myself to start liking some (sorry about that I’m sure it was annoying to get all those notifications) I have this weird thing where I get nervous about liking older posts cuz I mean it’s been a long time and it’s unprompted so that’s weird right? It feels weird like I’m doing something wrong or I’m being annoying, I considered reblogging too but somehow that felt worse? Sorry I am not good with social rules they confuse me both on and offline Idk my brain is wrong and I’m just a nervous socially anxious snail. (＞﹏＜)

Anyways just wanted to gush about how much I love it here and I’m never leaving (´꒳`) ♡ First and foremost Yniol has a special place in my heart they will forever be my favorite bestie (*＾ω＾)人(＾ω＾*), yes I am biased as my partner is grey and though they don’t play IFs they were thrilled to learn about your character! Also your writing is just phenomenal, your fans are fun and creative, your characters give such warm and positive energy I love them so much they’re perfect, the inclusivity is such chefs kiss ( ´ з `) 🤌🏻✨, the angst is delicious, the fluff is so sweet and comforting, the spice is ... very blush-worthy (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄). This has been a journey I laughed, I cried, I giggled, and I blushed and I have enjoyed every bit of it from pasta discourse to Moldien cult wars to Arthur bunnies, I’ve had the most wonderful time. Now my mind is gonna be filled with Arthurian stuff for months my maladaptive daydreaming is having the time of its life I have a road trip next week and I’m so looking forward to just staring out a window for 6+hours while my Hound's just alternating daydream adventures with the cast o(≧▽≦)o. Also speaking of your amazingly wonderful, sweet, and supportive cast I have decided my (though I love them all) favorite poly pairings are Arthur/Morien and whole crew polycule I’d sell my soul for those but I 100% understand why you can’t really do that. I don’t think I have the endurance in me to code a single poly no matter how much I wish it so the fact you’re doing any let alone several is just god tier you are awe inspiring.

Alas I have rambled far far to much I wish I could be more eloquent in expressing just how much I enjoyed experiencing all of this but for now this is the best I can do (╥ω╥). Thank you for sharing your wonderful work it’s truly a gift to experience. ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧ I wish you wealth, health, and all the best in all your creative endeavors. -🐌

No, please please do not apologize. You made my entire week <3 This ask is straight up going into the folder where i keep my motivation to write and to be just a little proud of my work, thank you so so much for sending it.

For anyone having the same thoughts about liking or reblogging old posts: please do it. When I see the notifications, get very giddy and pleased, and I hope you are enjoying the food. Liking, and especially reblogging things, even more so if you add tags and reactons, not only fills me with glee but it also reminds me of old asks that I want to reblog again for new followers. So yeah, I love it, please feel free to go on a liking/reblogging spree!

You are so relatable for the maladaptive daydreaming (this game was absolutely born out of my own mental movies), I wish I could speed up the writing and editing for the next update so you can read it while you travel but I'm afraid it's a lost cause (I have been working on things, even now, but I am currently rewriting like half of it and while it is way better it takes sooo much time and energy). Knowing my characters and story are in someone's thoughts it the best kind of reward I need. I will never likely monetise this game, so this is the thing I wish to leave people with, and I hope the characters can be comforting and keep you company <3

You have no idea how much I would love to write the full polycule... maybe one day :,) But don't lose hope for the Arthur/Morien poly yet, as I decided to cancel the Gwyar/Morien poly and now I have a potentially free slot. In any case, awww, please know that this ask made me so happy today and will be in my thoughts as tkh is in yours.

Please have a lovely day and a lovely week and also a very lovely trip! Thank you again so so much!!

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Afewproblems! @afewproblems has 17 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 16 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @afewproblems:

The World is Upside Down (The King has Lost his Crown)

You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget

A Quiet Confession

Essential Songs to Woo a Metal Head

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

"I love Linz and her writing. Even though she's not as active as she once was, I think she should still be celebrated. As a fandom, we tend stop interacting with authors when they aren't actively making fic, and that's disheartening." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @afewproblems answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I love the ship! I think it’s mostly to do with the characters and the romantic archetypes they represent. You have two people from different worlds, different social stratas, and completely different personalities that still find common ground in one another. It’s Grease, Wuthering Heights, Titanic -these characters not only balance one another out, but they challenge one another to rethink their preconceived notions about the other. Plus, for that one forrest scene in the Upsidedown to have inspired an entire ship and fanon about these two - chefs kiss, 10/10.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Oh there are so many! For Steddie specifically though, I really like reading stories that explore the fanon around Steve’s not so great childhood. I process a lot of my own stuff through fan works so reading about Steve going through the same thing and managing to create his own found family and finding love hits hard in the best way.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Hmm I don't know if it's so much a trope as it would be considered a genre for fan fiction but I love to write hurt/comfort and angst -angst is my bread and butter! Nothing better than putting your blorbo in an emotionally fraught state and then having someone hold them for a little while.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I could be honest, I could be human by GerryStAmour. The angst, top notch, the descriptions are so well done! The writing is so great, please check Gerry out as a writer, his works are incredible! I also really love the Cousin!AU by @strangersteddierthings her work is absolutely incredible, please check her stuff out!!

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Hmm Possibly soulmates I think or soulmarks would be very cool!

What is your writing process like?

So i’ll normally get an idea and kind of turn it around in my head over and over until I can't stop thinking about it and have to get it on the page. Then the snippet or scene will begin to grow and take on more of a life of its own, it's like ‘okay this scene is great, but how did we get here’ kind of thing, that makes me want to flesh out the idea which in turn makes the story and characters expand and grow. I never plot out the whole story before starting, I let it grow from a starting point and let the story kind of take the direction that it needs to go in.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I typically write with Steve as the main character going through as much pain as possible!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I try to get a few chapters written out before I post my fic, I find it a bit easier to keep myself motivated that way. I don't think I'd be able to keep up with a schedule.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I'm definitely proud of all of them but I think the first Steddie fic that I spent several months on, Warm My Cold and Tired Heart, is still one that I am incredibly proud of and really happy with how it turned out. It was my big jumping off point for the rest of my fics and love for the pairing - which is another point in it's favour!

How did you get the idea for You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget?

It was inspired by a blend of two prompts in an ask from the awesome @zerokrox-blog “Things you forgot to say and things you were forced to say”. The prompt was a challenge to mix but I wanted to have one prompt reflect Eddie and the other reflect Steve. Eddie forgot to tell Steve the truth and Steve was forced to simply react. The story completely took on a life of its own after that though and quickly snowballed!

When writing You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget, what was something you didn’t expect?

The table! It was a bit of a throwaway line about the Hellfire club noticing the crack and worrying that they damaged the table, only for it to culminate in Eddie’s apology and confession to Steve when he fixed it. Probably one of the best little ‘Setup’ and ‘Payoff’ moments I’ve ever attempted.

What inspired A Quiet Confession?

This was also inspired by a ask prompt that came in from an anonymous user, ‘You weren't supposed to hear that’. i loved the angst potential of someone saying just how much you love someone, while worrying they don't feel the same for you. Juxtaposing that with the intimacy that normally comes with napping with you partner and you have A Quiet Confession.

What was your favorite part to write from A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue?

Definitely the confession scene. The whole fic was based on the episode from New Girl where Jess and Nick kiss for the very first time and I loved writing down the garbled speech that Nick says when he stumbles over his words. I just had to give that to Eddie - it fit way too well!

How do/did you feel writing Essential Songs to Woo a Metal Head?

I was excited to explore the idea of Eddie completely distrusting Steve and his intentions, which would be fair for the 80s ya know? Why would Eddie believe that a jock and former prom king was being sincere with him, but having Eddie make this mistake and having to turn to the classic 80s rom-com trope of the grand gesture -I loved it! Having Eddie use music the same way that Steve did to confess his feelings originally? I was super happy that it came back around, full circle. (I also worked pretty hard on the music choices for Steve's mixtape so I am so happy people liked this one!)

What was the most difficult part of writing The World is Upside Down (The King has Lost his Crown)?

There were several difficult parts with writing this story, one was figuring out which scenes from the show should be included or left out for the story to make sense and still flow nicely. I didn’t want to spend too much time rewriting scenes to fit the canon divergence but at the same time there were several important scenes that needed to remain in the story for Eddie to specifically react to. Handling Nancy’s character was also difficult but very rewarding. I don’t hate Nancy as a character but I do find her challenging to write. I didn’t want to paint her as a villain either, she cares for Steve greatly but they couldn’t be what the other needed. It was hard to do her character justice but it was really rewarding to get her right - in my opinion.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I think the scene where Steve smashes the plate in You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget is up there for me in terms of one of my favourite scenes. Having Steve just completely breakdown, feeling like he's not in control of himself and how frightening that is. It was cool to explore these incredibly intense emotions and having both Robin and Eddie be there to help him process these feelings without looking at him any differently was so so important. It showcased how Robin and Eddie are the two people that Steve could trust with his darkest moments and still love him. Ugh! Still love it so much!

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Oh! I do have a new project that I am working on, I shared a small snippet a few weeks ago but I will be very excited to share the first part soon. It is a Season Three AU exploring what might have happened if Steve and Eddie met in Starcourt mall that fateful summer of 1985. I’ve also been doing some writing for the Psych fandom to get back into writing after a long dry spell, it’s been pretty fun to explore those characters as well!

Thank you to our author, @afewproblems, and our anonymous nominator! See more of Afewproblems's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, Chapter 2

Pairing: Platonic Steven Grant x Reader (for now)

Rating: T

Word count: ~2800

Story Summary: Steven meets a beautiful woman in the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum...

...Too bad she's his new boss.

Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent since Steven still works for the British Museum post-canon, No Jake Lockley, developing friendship

A/N: Here we are with chapter 2!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this (or any of my other writing), please let me know!

Title from the song of the same name by The Police.

“...Also, leave room for questions in between exhibits instead of just powering on through -- oh, who am I bloody kidding,” Steven said to himself as he went over his notes in the men’s room before his meetings with Dr. Y/L/N on Friday morning. “I can't do this. I can't. I never should have accepted this position. Is it too late to tell Dr. Y/L/N that I've changed my mind?”

“Hey, no, none of that,” Marc replied in his head. “You're gonna be great.”

Steven caught Marc’s reflection in the mirror. “You really think so?”

Marc nodded. “Your ideas are good. Besides, Dr. Y/L/N wouldn't have given you the job had she not believed you could do it.”

Steven took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Clearly she saw something in me, right?”

“Exactly. Now, go get ‘em.”

Steven squared his shoulders. “Okay, off I go.”

He exited the restroom and headed upstairs to the meeting room, knocking lightly on the door before entering.

He froze as he saw Dr. Y/L/N and the entire Curatorial team already seated. Oh, bollocks. Way to make a first impression. “Sorry, am I late?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up at him and smiled. “Ah, Steven! No, you're not late at all. Have a seat, I'm glad you could join us.”

Steven sat in an empty seat across from her.

Dr. Y/L/N shuffled some papers in front of her. “Okay, let's get started. First, I'd like to thank you all for making me feel so welcome during my first week as museum director. I know I have some big shoes to fill, but I truly think we have a wonderful team here and I'm looking forward to working with all of you to make the museum's collection the best it possibly can be.

“Second, I'm assuming you all know Steven Grant, who is currently one of our gift shop employees but as of this coming Monday will be our Visitor Engagement Specialist.”

Steven gave a small wave as six pairs of eyes turned towards him. “Er, hello.”

“Steven’s first task as our new VES will be to update the guided tours,” Dr. Y/L/N explained, “so I asked him to sit in on today's meeting so he can include our new artifacts in his planning. Christina, why don't you go ahead and tell us about them.”

Christina, the head of the Curatorial department, cleared her throat. “Yes, well, the Cairo Museum has very generously loaned us the coffin of Akhenaten as well as a rather extensive collection of funerary masks from various ancient Egyptian kings and queens. Steven, I can email the list of who they were made for to you this afternoon.”

Steven nodded. “That sounds brilliant, thanks.”

“We'll have to pull a couple of display cases from the basement to house the masks, but we should be able to fit everything with the rest of the Ancient Egyptian artifacts on the 3rd floor without having to take anything out or move too much around, so that area should only be closed for a few days while we get the new display set up.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Y/L/N made a few notes. “Is there anything else that we would want to add or rearrange in any of the other areas while we're at it, to sort of refresh the rest of the collection?”

“Actually, a member just donated their private collection of first-edition classic British novels,” James, another member of the Curatorial staff, said. “There’s several Dickens, a couple of Austens, and even copies of Dracula and Wuthering Heights .”

Dr. Y/L/N’s eyebrows raised. “Have they been authenticated?”

James shook his head. “Not all of them. We're working on getting that done now.”

“Please let me know as soon as you do. I'd like to have those out on display as soon as possible as well. Anything else?”

Steven cleared his throat. “Er, actually, if I may…”

Dr. Y/L/N turned to him. “Yes, Steven?”

“If I remember correctly, a few years ago there was a lovely collection of Grecian pottery on display, but it was removed and I believe put in storage in order to make room for a statue of Zeus.”

“Oh, I think I know which collection you mean,” Christina replied. “The one that included a scene of Hercules fighting the Nemean lion?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, that's the one. Do we still have that?”

Christina nodded as well. “Yeah, we still have them.”

“Perhaps we could put those back out?” Steven faltered when there was no immediate response. “Or not, I just thought…”

Christina shook her head. “No… no, you're right. We have the space for them, so there's no point in leaving them in storage.”

“Wonderful idea, Steven,” Dr. Y/L/N added. “Thank you. Any others?”

When no one else offered up any other ideas, she nodded. “Okay then, thank you everyone. I know sometimes things come to people after the fact or they don't feel comfortable sharing in a group setting, so if anyone has any other questions or ideas for sprucing up the displays my door is always open -- unless I'm in a meeting, of course, but in that case feel free to email me.”

As everyone began to stand and file out of the room, she looked over at Steven. “And speaking of meetings, instead of taking up the meeting room with just the two of us, how about you and I meet in my office instead, in say, 5 minutes or so? I need to stop off for some coffee first.”

Steven nodded, starting to get nervous again. Maybe I should brew myself a cup of tea while I'm at it. “Yes, ma’am.”

He headed downstairs to the staff kitchen, where Donna was sitting at a table eating a sandwich.

She glowered at him, but said nothing.

Steven caught Marc's reflection in the microwave. She doesn't look too pleased, Marc said with a smirk.

Steven bit back a smile as he filled the electric kettle with water then turned it on. Yeah, she's barely said two words to me ever since she had to apologize to me on Monday.

God, I wish I had been a fly on the wall for that meeting.

Steven grabbed a to-go cup and chose a tea bag before opening it and setting it in the cup. Me too, actually. It'd have been nice to see Donna get put in her place for once.

I just wish I'd have seen the look on her face when she found out that you were getting promoted to Visitor Engagement Specialist. I'm surprised she didn't quit in protest, especially since it meant she'd actually have to do inventory herself next week instead of pawning it off on you like she always did.

Steven shrugged slightly. I actually didn't really mind doing inventory. The stockroom was always quiet and it made the time pass by.

Once the kettle started boiling Steven poured the water for his tea into his cup and popped a lid on it. Alright, here I go.

He headed back upstairs to Dr. Y/L/N’s office and knocked on the open door. “Dr. Y/L/N?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Hi. Come on in.”

She stood and walked behind Steven as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Have a seat.”

Steven sat in the same chair he had sat in on Monday when Dr. Y/L/N had offered him the VES position.

Dr. Y/L/N sat across from him and reached for a folder. “Alright, before we get started, I have the HR paperwork officially instating you into your new position ready for you to sign.”

She slid it over to him. “You can wait until Monday, of course, but I figured if you signed it today that'd be one less thing you'll have to worry about.”

“Oh, erm…” Steven opened the folder and quickly scanned the documents, still marveling at the massive (to him, anyway) raise that he would be receiving. “I can sign it today. That's not a problem.”

“Fantastic. Here you go then.” Dr. Y/L/N grabbed a pen and handed it to him. “By the way, I've scheduled a meeting with the rest of the Programming staff for first thing Monday morning to formally introduce you as the Visitor Engagement Specialist and to let them know that we'll be modifying the tours.”

Steven nodded and set his cup of tea down before signing the paperwork. “Oh, brilliant. Thanks.” 

“By the way, it was really a great idea to add that pottery collection back to the Ancient Greece display. Your clear knowledge and enthusiasm for history and your attention to details like that is why I know I made the right decision in offering you the Visitor Engagement Specialist position.”

Steven flushed at the praise. “I, er, I took a bit of a wander through each area while I was making notes for our meeting and since I always liked that collection I thought it might bring some fun and excitement to the tours to be able to kind of tell the story depicted on each piece.”

He bit his lip. “I hope I didn't step on any toes by suggesting that though. I know that I was mostly just there to observe.”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, I want to see collaboration between departments, especially between Programming and Curatorial. We're all part of the same team and are working together towards the same goal, so don't ever be afraid to make a suggestion.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Now, what else do you have in mind to improve the tours?”

“Well…” Steven pulled his notebook and a map of the museum out of his messenger bag. “First off, I think we're going about the tours themselves the wrong way.”

He pointed at the map. “Currently, we're starting on the ground floor and working our way up to the fifth, which means when visitors make their way back down after the tour is over they mostly tend to just leave rather than stopping by the gift shop or the bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “So what do you think we should do?”

Steven moved his finger to the group entrance. “What I suggest is that we have tours meet on level 1 at the group entrance and head up to level 5 whilst whoever is leading the tour gives a general overview of the museum, then we work our way through the collection back down to level 0 and end our tour there with a gentle reminder to check out our gift shop and bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Steven was encouraged by Dr. Y/L/N’s positive reception. “Also, I believe we're spending too much time on certain exhibits and not enough time on others. There needs to be a better balance so we're not rushing through the last few exhibits trying to squeeze everything in because we've spent 20 minutes lecturing on the Siege of Lachish.”

Dr. Y/L/N huffed out a laugh. “I agree. I noticed that as well.”

She made a few notes. “Anything else?”

“Just that I also think we should allow time for a few questions about the collection while we're in each area rather than wait until the end of the tour. Again, we frequently run out of time so there's usually not even a chance for visitors to ask questions anyway, or if there is time we've thrown so much information at them that they've likely forgotten what it is they wanted to ask.”

Dr. Y/L/N made another note. “Absolutely. These are all really great ideas, Steven. Think you can implement them into a sample tour for me?”

Steven nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I can have  something put together by Monday if you'd like. It won't include the new exhibits, of course, but it'll at least give you an idea of the direction I want to take the tours and give me a chance to retool them if necessary.”

“That would be wonderful.” Dr. Y/L/N reached for her coffee and took a sip. “By the way, how are things downstairs? Donna isn't still speaking disrespectfully to you, is she?”

Steven shook his head. “No, ma'am. Actually, she hasn't said much of anything at all to me since Monday.”

Dr. Y/L/N sighed. “Okay. I'll talk to her again.”

“No!” Steven cleared his throat. “Er, no. No, that's quite alright. I’d actually prefer it that way. Besides, it's not like I'll have to deal with her on a daily basis after today anyway, innit?”

Dr. Y/L/N took a sip of her coffee. “Regardless, I really am sorry that you’ve had to endure such treatment, especially for so long. No one should ever be spoken to with such blatant disrespect, especially by their supervisor.” 

Steven nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“If Donna does ever speak to you like that again, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven bit his lip. “If there's nothing else, I er, I should probably get back to the gift shop. Technically I'm still a clerk until Sunday.”

Dr. Y/L/N looked chagrined. “Oh my goodness, you're absolutely right. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn't have asked you to do anything pertaining to your new position just yet since you haven't officially started.”

Oh, bollocks, Steven thought. She thinks I'm complaining. “It's nothing like that, ma'am, it's just that I'm sure you're busy and I don't want to bother you by hovering, that's all.”

“Oh.” Dr. Y/L/N shook her head with a smile. “No, you're not bothering me at all. Most of what I've been doing all week is reading over museum policies and procedures and meeting with the board of trustees and various benefactors, so it's actually been nice to get a little break from that and talk to someone who actually works here.”

Ask her how she likes being here so far, Marc said in Steven's head.

Steven cleared his throat. “How has your first week as Director been otherwise?”

“It's been good. A lot to jump into, of course, but you and the rest of the staff have been incredibly kind and welcoming.” Dr. Y/L/N paused. “I wasn't quite sure how the staff would react to me, especially with me not being British.”

Steven shrugged. “Well, it's like you said, we're a team, right? That includes our team leader, no matter where you're from. Your qualifications speak for themselves.”

Dr. Y/L/N shot him a small smile. “I really appreciate that, thank you.”

Her office phone rang. “Sorry, one second.”

Steven waited as she pressed a button on the phone. “Yes?”

“Dr. Y/L/N, the Chairman from the Board of Trustees is on hold for you,” Helen, Dr. Y/L/N’s executive assistant, said through the speaker.

“Okay, one minute. I'm wrapping up a meeting.” Dr. Y/L/N sighed and picked up the receiver before covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “I'm sorry, Steven, I have to take this. If you happen to think of anything else you want to add to the tours or if you have any other questions or concerns, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven put his notebook and map of the museum back in his messenger bag and stood. 

He picked up his cup of tea. “Want me to close your door on my way out?”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, you can leave it open. Thank you.”

Steven stood and started to walk towards the door.

“Oh, Steven?” Dr. Y/L/N called out. “One more thing.”

Steven stopped and turned back around. “Yes, ma'am?”

“If I don't see you again before you leave today… have a nice weekend.”

Steven smiled. “You too, ma'am. See you on Monday.”

I told you she'd like your ideas, Marc said as Steven headed out of Dr. Y/L/N’s office. 

I really think I'm going to enjoy working with her, Steven replied. She seems really open to collaboration. 

Yeah, she seems great. 

Steven arrived at the elevator and pressed the button to go down. Maybe we can come back on Sunday when I'm off and do a trial run of the tour so I can double-check the timing. I want to be as prepared as I possibly can be.

I'm sure you'll impress the hell out of her.  

Steven waited for the elevator to arrive, then stepped on and pressed the button for level 0 . He had to admit that he not only wanted to impress Dr. Y/L/N professionally, but he also wanted to impress her personally as well. I certainly hope so.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 11

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/149422321

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat, PTSD

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I am a Hunter, and I'm straight as an arrow. But, even I break the rules at times. I had certainly saved plenty of people in Linkon in my time fighting Wanderers, so it's no surprise that I have quite a few individuals that 'owe me one'. As I prepare for meeting Malakai, I remember a certain shop keep that operates a semi-illegal arms pawn and trade shop known as the "Crate" in the Auric Sector. My guns might not be enough to give me an edge against Malakai, so I decide to pay the "Crate" a visit. 

A few stops on the bullet train takes me there in less than thirty minutes. When I walk in, his son gives me a glare that could melt rock. I hold my head high, unfazed. I'm used to confrontations like this. Though most people are usually glad to see Hunters about, not all citizens are happy to have us interfere in their business. As though nothing is amiss, I walk up to the counter and lean against it. Around me, the walls and displays are lined with all kinds of weapons and ammo. Guns, blasters, spears, wands, and even swords. Some are innovative models, others are off-brand Hunter copies.

"Fireborne," the man across from me sneers. He's short with sideburns that are too long and greasy hair that could have used a wash last month. "Thought you were on suspension."

I give him a winning smile. "Maybe I should tag a couple of fines to your books this month and see if they'll end my medical leave early as a reward." We stare each other down until he reaches for a gun that's strapped to his hip. I keep my cool. Even an idiot like this wouldn't dare to attack a Hunter out in broad daylight. 

"Get away from her, Gary," an old grizzled voice shouts from the back room. A wrinkled man with tanned skin and a head of white hair limps out, leaning heavily on a long black cane.

"Alren," I nod respectfully.

"Ellara, what brings you to my neck of the armory?" the store owner asks. As he approaches, his son, Gary, slinks away. Alren's eyes fall on Mephisto who's calmly perched on my shoulder. "And what's with the bird?"

"New pet I picked up," I explain, ignoring Mephisto's frustrated grunt. I point to the display case I'm leaning on. "Listen, I'm going to a meet up tonight and things are probably going to get hairy. I need something small but potent. Something I could hide in a skirt."

Alren gives me a one over and crosses his arms over his chest. "You're on suspension, so I assume you can't pay for this trinket you're needing?"

"Right as usual," I nod sheepishly.

"I do owe you my life, Ell." He lets out a long sigh and scratches the back of his head. "Let me see what I can do."

He takes me through several display cases and shows me quite a few different gadgets on his walls. None of them really strike me as what I would need. After nearly an hour, we make it to one of the front-most display cases. The 'real expensive stuff' as Alren puts it.

"Grenades?" I frown. "The place I'm going to is public. I don't want collateral damage."

Alren pulls out a box about five inches in width. He pops open the lid to reveal a thin narrow cylindrical object. It's silvery. Curious, I reach for it, but Alren gives me a warning glare.

"See that ridge at the top? That's the pin. Pop it off with your nail and you'll make us both deaf."

"A stun grenade?"

Alren nods. "But localized. Smaller. More temporary effects. Good for sticky situations and undetectable to scanners."

I'm instantly in love. "How much?"

"Too much for a Hunter salary," he chortles. With another sigh, he pats my back. "It's on the house. After this consider us even."

It doesn't fit in my skirt, but I do manage to hide it inside the inner pocket of my chest piece. After leaving the "Crate", I make my way back to the Destiny Café. Unfortunately, my trip there doesn't yield anything useful. As expected, there is no information on any reservations for private rooms at 9 PM tonight. I end up touring a few of the rooms then heading back out to grab a bite to eat and to try to text Xavier again.

The day passes in the blink of an eye, and the time for the meetup arrives too swiftly. My messages to Xavier hang as "delivered" but still unread. At some point, Mephisto flies off somewhere, and no more texts or calls come through on my phone. Just as I suspected earlier, I'm alone in this.

As my watch signals 8:59 PM, I have no choice but to proceed inside.

After eight o'clock, the Destiny Café transitions to its nighttime décor. The bright daylight bulbs are dimmed and warm orange-tinted lights give the place a cozy firelight feel. The area for the internet café comes alive with multicolored LED signs and patterns. The computers there glow and pulse in a row of rainbow keyboards and mice. The coffee bar is still going strong, serving those who are more active during the dark hours of the clock.

It's a fairly busy night, and the rooms and seats are mostly all occupied. As I enter through the door, a pleasant chime calls the waiters' attention to my presence. I leave my winter coat at their valet check-in, and the servers wave and ask if there's anything I need. I'm about to have a seat in one of the chairs when my phone goes off with the same eerie melody from earlier.

"Ask for the Red Room."

I'm not surprised that Malakai already knows I'm here. My belly churns with a burst of adrenaline as I go up to the customer service desk. Am I ready for this? Probably not. Even with a trick like the grenade up my sleeve, I won't be able to do much if this is an ambush with a group of trained fighters. This is especially true now that I don't have my Evol to help me.

I take a deep breath.

Well, here goes nothing.

"Hello," I greet the young woman at the counter. "I have a reservation for the Red Room."

The girl looks confused, and while she's checking her tablet for something, a man approaches us in uniform from the coffee bar. He has an athletic build, and his appearance is well-kempt. I can't tell his age, though he seems to be older than I am. Xavier's age, maybe.

"I'll handle this, Lara," he tells the girl then turns to me. "This way please, miss."

I follow him down the hall, but he doesn't take us to any of the private rooms. Instead, he pauses at a narrow door labeled "Staff Only". With a flick of his wrist, he scans his bracelet against the keypad. The light on it turns green, and I hear the sound of a lock opening. The man gestures for me to go inside and hands me an earpiece.

"Thank you, um..." I didn't get his name, so I flounder.

"Isaiah," he says with a polite smile then turns on his heel and walks away. As he does, I press my lips together, pop in the earpiece, and tug open the door. As I do, I pull out one of my guns and unlock the safety. I don't care if I look paranoid. If this really is an ambush, I'll only get one chance to defend myself.

As soon I'm inside, the door locks into place behind me.

Well, shit.

When someone tries to capture you, you break their neck. Not their leg.

Sylus's voice echoes in my mind as I examine the room. It's empty, and there's not much to see. As I might have expected, the room itself doesn't have a touch of red in it. The name is simply code. Other than the odd entrance, though, it looks just like every other private room in the Café. Well, maybe not every room. Embedded in the back wall right next to the stylish arrangement of table and chairs is a large fish tank. It's illuminated and gives the room a pleasant cozy feel.

I walk up to the tank. It's taller than I am, taking up almost half of the entire wall. Strangely, it's empty, as though the owner hasn't finished setting it up yet. I try to see the other side of it, but there's too many plants and decorations to get a clear view. Still, I get the feeling that there's something behind it.

My heart is pounding, and I can't focus. Antsy, I check my watch.

9:10 PM

I start when static hisses across my earpiece for a moment before a familiar voice resounds within.

"You've come armed to a business meeting?"

Malakai.

I'd forgotten how much he reminds me of my dead brother.

I steel myself against those thoughts in particular. There's no room for my trauma to rear its head tonight. I need to stay focused.

"I still have no idea who you really are or what you want," I tell him calmly. "You text me out of the blue on an unregistered phone and invite me to meet you alone. And, what? You expect me to come in here and offer myself on a silver platter?"

A huffing sound. "I suppose I should start with an introduction, then."

"Seems right since you apparently know everything about me," I snap.

"Indeed. Since you came all this way, and since we'll be seeing more of each other from now on, 'guess there's no harm in it." A beat, then -- "I'm Malakai Noxis."

My hands tighten on my weapon and my blood runs cold.

Noxis?

Like the organization we've been hunting for months?

The implications cut me to the quick.

"I see I've struck you speechless."

"You're not just a buyer..."

He makes a sound of amusement. "How in the world did I leave that impression?"

So, the masked man I'd met at the Mythe was the leader of Noxis? He was responsible for its creation and all of the terrible ripples it had caused among society? All those deaths. All that suffering. And now, even my own condition. He was to blame for all of it?

"That changes things," I frown, resetting my grip on my gun.

"For you, maybe. But you haven't even heard what I've come to offer."

I bite my lip, keeping my simmering anger at bay. "Didn't think I was dealing with a coward who wanted to talk over an earpiece. Why'd you even invite me here if you weren't going to come in person?"

"Last time we met, you couldn't stop staring at me like I was a ghost. It wasn't pleasant. I wonder, do I look so much like someone you regret losing?"

"Don't change the topic."

"I wasn't. Or did you think only certain organizations could afford to buy explosives?"

I waver on my feet, leaning against the tank in front of me. "What did you say?"

"You're a smart girl. I don't think I need to repeat myself."

My mind goes blank as I try to wrap my head around what he's telling me. He mentioned explosives and losing people important to me. He could have looked up my history; he likely did already. Is he messing with my head? Or, is he taking responsibility for Caleb and Grandma's deaths? Is he admitting that it wasn't Onychinus, but Noxis that blew a crater in my life less than a year ago?

No.

Not just Noxis.

The man I'm speaking with right now.

I shudder. My hands lower even further. As I start to breathe faster in panic, I try to yank myself back into focus. There's no proof. Bring me proof. Otherwise, he could just be toying with me to throw me off kilter.

"Lies," I rasp. "You're lying."

"You think so?"

"What reason do I have to believe you?"

"Open the drawer to your left."

I look in that direction and step over to a short table with a ceramic blue vase on top of it. It has a single drawer, and with a shaking hand I reach out and open it. My heart nearly stops as I pull out a broken pair of glasses that I recognize too well. It's Grandma's. There's a piece of a charm chain hanging from the side. A Christmas gift from me. The metal is burned, and one of the lenses is missing. The lens that remains has a drop of dried and crusted blood smeared on its surface. I can't help it. I drop them to the floor and reel back.

"Judging by your reaction, I assume you recognize them."

It can't be.

"You...you...killed them..." But, why? Why tell me all this? Why bring me here? Surely he knows that the moment I see him, I'm going to break every single bone in his body. His face first. Just like I've always imagined doing to my family's killer.

I'll punch him again and again.

Then shoot him until he's full of holes and bleeding out at my feet.

"I like this look on your face," Malakai says. "The setup was worth it."

I look up and around the room, but I don't see any cameras. Where is he watching me from? Nausea claws at my gut, and I push it down. Bastard is watching me from somewhere. Watching and laughing at my pain and my sorrow. Well, I won't have it. I'm not his mobile entertainment, and I'm certainly not here to play around. Glancing at the tank, I suddenly get an idea. If I'm wrong, I'm about to get in a lot of trouble.

But, at this point -- fuck it all.

I raise my gun and point it at the fish tank. No hesitation. No doubt. No stops.

I pull the trigger.

It's reinforced, but not against my caliber of bullet. The cracks creep up the sides of the tank.

Pop

Pop

Crackle

Pop

Bang!

The glass shatters, and a wave after wave of water pours and guzzles out of the tank.

Beyond, I see a shadow of a man standing in the darkness.

"I think it's time we stopped playing games," Malakai growls in my earpiece.

He raises his hand, and an invisible force wraps around my whole body. I gasp in shock and panic as that same something moves me by force and presses me flush against the opposite wall. It's a sickening feeling, cold and vile. Even when Sylus had once used his Evol against me, it didn't feel like this. Sylus always controlled his strength, always avoided hurting me. No such mercy here; I'm struggling to breathe; my bones are about to break, my entire body on the verge of being crushed.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out.

I can't see anything past the wall in front of me.

Sounds around me.

Crunching glass and sloshing water.

Footsteps behind.

"Drop the gun," Malakai commands, his voice real now, not part of a transmission. The Evol presses harder against my hands, and I hang onto my weapon with everything I have. It hurts, but I refuse to let him have what he wants so easily. My skin breaks out in cold sweat. The footsteps come closer and closer. My heart lurches in panic when a pair of large hands settles over mine.

"I'd hate to break these pretty little fingers," Malakai drawls right beside me.

"F...uck...you..." I manage to get out past his restraints.

A pause, then laughter. He's laughing, and it's horrible because it sounds just like Caleb. But, not. Not like him after all. This laugh is full of hate. It's bitter and toxic.

"Should you speak that way to the man who's come to save you?"

"Let...go....we'll see who's...laughing then..."

He makes a sarcastic sound of dismissal. But, I must have distracted him because the force on my body weakens somewhat. I'm not about to waste this opportunity. This man murdered my family. I don't have time for mind games or whatever it is he wants to play. I'm sick of being tossed around like a rag doll, both by my enemies and by fate. I'm sick of being a weakling, and I'm sick of needing to rely on someone else.

I'm done. I'm over it!

I feel the Evol around my body, can almost see it. If only I could Resonate. If only I could mimic this frequency. I want to throw it back at him. I want him to feel what it's like to be a breath away from your lungs being torn apart. My whole body hurts; my eyes sting in response to the lack of oxygen. But, if he thinks he's going to make me black out and take me somewhere, he's wrong. I'll be damned if I let him capture me. I'll be damned if I have to feel weak ever again!

"Do as you're told. If you want to live, it won't be the last time you'll have to listen to what I say."

I see red.

My heart pounds in my ears.

I drop my gun, simultaneously using the chance to lift my bound wrists to rest against my chest. I struggle. I put everything I have into reaching for the grenade hidden in my shirt.

Malakai shifts behind me. "That's more like it. Ready to talk now?" he asks, his voice edged and gruff.

"Let...go...first..."

"No, I think we'll do it this way."

The force around my neck backs off somewhat, and I rush to take in a deeper breath. With the pressure gone, I cough. I'm dizzy, but not so much that I can't think straight. I just need to reach my inner pocket. Just a few inches. If only I could move my hand a little.

His palm appears in my line of vision. He's holding a tiny red vial no bigger than my thumb. There's a clear liquid inside. As though baiting me, he shakes it.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks. "I'm sure you do. It's what you came for." He pulls back his hand, and I hear him tucking the vial into his clothes. "One dose is all you need to detox."

I can speak normally now, and I use it to my advantage. "You're not just selling the LUMINIS. You're selling the antidote, too."

"Not yet. This vial is a single prototype. First you breed a dependent market. Then you hold the cure hostage. Isn't that just good business?"

"So many people have died..."

"I call it a learning curve..."

"You despicable bastard." I wiggle my fingers. Just a little more. I can feel the edge of the grenade with the pad of my index finger. Come on. I can do this. Keep him talking.

He chuckles. "Don't be so harsh. Or so quick to judge."

"So what do you want with me?"

A pause as he considers it. "Your heart, of course. The Aether Core. I'd think you'd know that by now."

"Why don't you just kill me and take it then?" My index finger snags the grenade.

"That would be a waste," he sighs. "I think you'll be more useful alive."

"So you want to use me for your science experiments?" My middle finger wraps around the metal. "How does that make you any different from Onychinus?"

The atmosphere around us changes. The air grows colder somehow. As I manage to get a third finger around the grenade, his footsteps come closer. I hiss as he grabs my hair and roughly pulls my head back.

"Don't compare me to those fools," he growls. The force around me weakens just a little more. It's marginal, but it's enough. My thumb makes contact with the weapon, and I can move my wrist.

"Is that your offer, then? You give me the antidote and I become your lab rat?"

He starts to say something, but I don't wait for him to finish. I use the nail of my thumb to pop out the cap on the grenade and flick my wrist to send it falling to the ground.

Ping ping ping splash!

It makes a quiet sound as it falls into the water. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. Beside me, I hear Malakai gasp.

The grenade goes off, but I don't register the sound. In a split second, I can't hear anything except my own breathing. I'm pushed even farther against the wall. The force around my body fades away, and I'm thrown sideways. Without missing a beat, I drop to the ground and feel around for my gun. The frigid water from the broken tank saturates my clothes. There's about an inch of it on the ground at my feet.

Blinking open my eyes, I ignore the bright splotches of light in them as I scramble to find Malakai. He's a few feet away, laying on his back. There's blood at his temple, and he groans in pain. I've stunned him. Bless you, Alren. You've probably saved my skin.

My world tilts and dips as I force myself to get to my feet. The grenade managed to affect me too, but it's not nearly as severe as Malakai. Stumbling over to him, I drop on top of him and point the gun barrel to his forehead. My breaths come in short staccato bursts, my hands shaking. I can't focus on anything except my fury now.

Murderer. Murderer! Pull the trigger. Pull it. My family will be avenged! The antidote is on him. I just have to take it. Then everything will be fine again. I can go back to being a Hunter. I can get my life back. Everything can go back to normal again. He's insane. He's responsible for so many deaths. He wants to capture me and dissect me. If I don't kill him now --

"You've gotten stronger, pip-squeak," Malakai groans softly beneath me.

My tunnel vision widens from the spot on his forehead where I'm pressing the gun. Black hair swims into my line of sight. Violet eyes next. Deep and sorrowful. No longer a stranger's eyes; no longer a stranger's voice. Blood surrounds us in the water. Not mine. The face looking up at me is mine though. My brother. The brother that I'd buried and mourned and missed.

Slowly, the pieces come together, and suddenly I can't breathe again. I start to pull back, but Malakai's Evol clamps around me and holds me still.

"No. Keep the gun right there," he says. His Evol tightens around me until it hurts. I grit my teeth and shift my fingers back to the trigger. "That's it. The second you move that away from me," his eyes darken. "Well, you'll definitely regret it."

"C-Caleb...Caleb..." It takes me a minute to realize I'm repeating his name like a broken record under my breath. "No...no...no...it's impossible...impossible..."

"Why?" he asks. "You buried an empty casket. You never looked for me."

"D-dead...you're..."

Droplets of water fall down and land on his cheeks.

Tears?

My tears?

But, I'm so numb. I can't feel anything.

"I'm right here," he smiles, and it's a mockery. All of it. A damn joke. A prank. It has to be.

"Caleb...Caleb..."

More droplets falling to his cheeks.

For a moment, his eyes soften. He reaches up and strokes the side of my face.

And then something rips a hole in the wall behind us. With a new path created for its passage, the excess water flushes out of the room through the void. Someone steps inside, stride by powerful stride.

Silver hair.

Red eyes.

Furious, blazing, glowing red.

"Sylus," Caleb's smile turns venomous. "At last you arrive. I did expect you to show up earlier."

Despite the storm in his gaze, Sylus's expression is mildly amused. He moves to stand a few feet from us. I know that stance. I know the meaning of the arrogant tilt to his chin and the thrill to the curve of his mouth. In this moment, he's come to claim a life. For a minute, he just stands and stares down at us, though he doesn't acknowledge me at all.

"Not going to say anything?" Caleb challenges.

Sylus's smirk widens. "I don't deal with dead men."

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm throwing my arms out to the sides and trying to block my brother with my body.

"No," I whimper. "Please, no. You can't. He's...he's..."

Sylus takes a few more steps towards us.

One.

Then another.

I shake my head, tears flowing freely down my face.

"No...no...no...you can't...you can't! I won't let you!"

Standing directly above us now, Sylus looks displeased. His eyes rove over me. There is no mercy in them. No empathy.

"Don't force me to make you move aside," he warns, his tone steady and calm.

I shake my head. "Please...please...don't..."

"Now that you're here, let's get the show on the road," behind me, Caleb shifts. I hear him mumble something else, but I can't make it out. He reaches for something in his pocket.

Sylus's hand flies out. He pulls me against him then turns us as though shielding me.

My mind catches up. Caleb's words finally register.

An eye for an eye.

Just as I feel Sylus's Evol wrap around us, an inferno swallows us whole. The explosion is deafening, and I can do nothing but scream and press my hands over my ears. The roar of the flames envelops us like a monstrous tidal wave. The heat scorches at my back and shoulders. We're going to burn alive at this rate, and there's absolutely nothing I can do. My surroundings bend, shift, and blur together.

Then, silence.

Silence and distorted sound.

Clean, crisp winter air nips at my exposed arms and legs.

We've Jumped.

I blink open my eyes and see that we're outside in the snow. Still reeling, I hear screams and clamoring. People are running down the street. Emergency sirens are wailing. Someone's tripped the PA system to call for Hunters and Fire Marshall support. Black thick smoke billows upwards into the night sky. As my thoughts sharpen, I recognize the blazing building.

It's the Destiny Café.

How odd. I don't remember coming here. The last thing I recall was sitting in my apartment and reading a book.

I smell rusted metal.

I look down at my hands.

They're covered in red. Deep, dark, red that looks almost black in the moonlight.

At last, I look up at the person I'm embracing and meet equally crimson eyes. My heart melts at the sight of his face. I'm relieved. My arms are wrapped around Sylus, and he's warm and sturdy and real. So much time has passed since we spoke. I was starting to fear that he'd forgotten me.

My relief is short lived as I see that his back is coated in blood. That's what's all over my palms. His jacket is gone, and his shirt is torn. His lips are moving, but I can't hear what he's saying.

That seems to upset him.

"Ellara," he calls my name.

I hear him this time.

"Sylus...you've come..."

He shakes my shoulder and holds something in front of my face. A small red vial no bigger than my thumb. Clear liquid moves inside. Something about that vial spears me through the heart as soon as I see it. But, I don't want to think about that right now. There's no reason to; not now.

My cheeks feel cold.

"Drink it," he says to me. "Now."

"What is it?"

"Drink," he says again in a rough impatient tone. "Don't make me tell you again."

I take the vial, and he helps me tip it into my mouth. It's tasteless and odorless.

Strange. Why are my hands shaking?

And then the blood catches my attention again. "Are you hurt?"

He smiles and strokes the top of my head. "It's not my blood," he says as always. He's lying, but I don't want to think about that either. As he reassures me, the fluid on my hands glows red and turns to ash.

I touch my face, wiping away tears.

Sylus stands up and offers me a hand. I take it, letting him help me to my feet.

"Looks like there's been a fire," I say, feeling strangely sleepy all of a sudden.

Sylus makes a sound of agreement.

"How come you're here?" I ask.

"Do you not remember calling for me?" he tilts his head. His expression is still steady, controlled. But his eyes give him away. There's concern there, deep within.

"Ah..." I rub my temple. "Sorry, I'm a bit tired. I guess I haven't been sleeping well."

"If you're tired, you can rest in my arms," he says, holding them out. I step into them, pressing my cheek against his chest. He feels warm and safe, as always.

"Will you take me home?"

He nods. "If that's where you wish to go."

I close my eyes. "Please don't leave me alone again."

His arms tighten around me. "I won't," he promises, and I pray that this time he's telling me the truth.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 22. Lights And Strings [C7]

Pairing: Turpin x Fem!Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Turpin’s house

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Sharing, 6. Out Of Care, 13. Shimmering Icicles, 15. Cards And Coals, 17. Bells Of Christmas & 18. Blankets And Snuggles

A/N: It’s the last part of the Turpin serial for this Rickmas, darlings! 🥰👏 It’s currently 07:58 over here when I finish writing this and I’m going to be publishing it right away - it does take some time getting it up on AO3 and Tumblr but I have a packed day so figured I’d kick it off on the right foot while my husband drops off our daughter for her last day at preschool for the year 🥰

This is shorter, like I said yesterday I won’t have the time to write long fics for the last three prompts unless I turn manic and stay up until like 2 am 😂 I hope you’ll like this sweet ending though. After all, HEA was promised and now we are also at the end of Rickmas so these last three need to represent having reached our destination and survived another year I guess 😅👍

Tags/TW’s: Kissing, Embracing, Love, Care, Adoration, Possessive Feelings, Honesty, Changing for SO, Mentions Rough Smut And Proper Aftercare, All The Giddy Feels, Being Self-aware

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 1.2k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

It had been four days since that faithful day of cataclysmic change between you and your husband — your caring, sweet, depraved man of a husband. Waking up alone felt strange, he usually woke you up for a kiss before work nowadays but today you woke up alone.

Stretching in bed, you yawned and felt some kinks straighten out in your back from last night’s odd position. He’d had you bent backwards over the edge of the bed while he delighted in eating you out for several long moments before he decided to claim you while groaning depravities for all in the house to hear. I cannot believe I enjoy such things being said to me— No, no it’s only when he says such things. All other men can go to hell for saying such things to women. Double standard or not, I won’t stand for men treating women like that without their consent.

You giggled at yourself, and your strange thoughts, and kicked your legs under the cover while thinking of all the sweetness he poured over you after everything was said and done. Each time, and he never left you alone in bed afterward either. He always cuddled and held you close, you absolutely loved it — the contrast between the rough lovemaking and the soft aftercare he lavished upon you. You¨d picked up his teaching swiftly, after all, it wasn’t a difficult thing to do when he was such a good leader. You didn’t have to think, only feel.

“Where are you now?” You asked aloud while throwing on your robe and slipping your feet into some warm slippers. “Guess I shall go for a little hunt of my own,” you said with a smile and left the bedroom to find your husband. What you found when you reached the stairs was something else entirely though.

The railing was dressed in garlands and red strings of silk, every surface you could see while you walked downstairs was covered in decorations. Everything you had put up and then taken down was back — not where you’d put them of course, but they were back. There was Christmas everywhere you looked, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air along with sulphur and you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading your lips.

You rushed the rest of the way down, nearly bolting toward the office while you tried to take in the fact your home was covered in holiday cheer. You threw open the door, “Richard—” But he wasn’t there. “Where are you?” you asked yourself before turning back, heading toward the parlour. Perhaps you’d find him lounging with a book there.

You found him standing before the roaring fire, a cup of coffee in his large hand and his body dressed in all red. Wine red to be precise, with black detailing and silken details — like his ascot pinned with a gleaming jade pin. He was an absolute vision, yet his eyes were fixed firmly on you while they came to live as swirling grey storms.

“Love,” he said darkly, his eyes travelling along your entire form before reaching your eyes once more. You felt incredibly underdressed compared to him. “Richard,” you replied and walked toward him with fluttering butterflies in your stomach. “What is all this?” you asked while he sat his cup down and reached out to embrace you. “Merry Christmas, love,” he said and kissed the top of your head before tugging you even closer and kissing you deeply for a few seconds before he straightened. “M-Merry Christmas,” you replied and felt no shame about inhaling his scent as if you were dependent on it. His deep chuckle warmed your very bones while he gave you a squeeze before letting you go — only holding your hands.

“You hate Christmas,” you whispered while your eyes travelled all around. The many candles lit, the garlands and silken strings, and the holly and little porcelain decorations all craved your attention. “But I love you,” he replied while grasping your chin to turn your attention back to him. “So I shall endure and make sure that smile of yours keeps shining, love.” “Oh, Richard, sweet husband of mine,” you said gently, appreciation evident in your voice. He chuckled. “Sweet, hm? For you, only.” “Just how I want it,” you confessed. You were too possessive of the man not to feel giddy about being his one and only, his exception, his little wife whom he called all things between a filthy whore and his sweet wife.

Richard led you through the house, showing all the decorations and little details, he appeared nearly proud of his work but if you were correct he was really proud about satisfying you. It was a strange sensation, that lights and strings could make a man such as he puff out his chest with pride while intensely gauging your reactions. You, who were nothing as extraordinary as he, were the most important person to him and only your opinion and feelings mattered to the great judge of London whom all feared.

You were not nothing, of course. You were a Lady, born and raised in a grand family with teachers and instructors, you were a capable woman within the field of being a Lady but that was nothing compared to being a judge by societal standards. So, for all intents and purposes, you were nothing in comparison. To know that little you were of such great importance to a man like your husband had your stomach turning with glee and joy. It wasn’t a feeling you had liked at first, it was selfish, or perhaps self-righteous, but now you adored it. With Richard you were safe to feel however you felt, there was no shaming between the two of you and you absolutely loved that.

Richard led you into the dining room where a grand breakfast was laid out on the table, no servant in sight. “My sweet wife,” Richard said and pulled out your chair before scooting you in. “Thank you.” He sat down beside you, which was odd as he always sat opposite you. But, as soon as he had poured himself a fresh cup of coffee it became apparent why. His hand landed atop your thigh, only separated from your skin by your night dress and robe. You loved having him so close, loved having him touch you, loved feeling his warmth and strength so you only looked up at him with warm eyes while he gave you a half smile before sipping his coffee.

You ate breakfast in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t until you had both finished that he leaned closer, whispering in your ear about how he wanted to take you to his office and use the silky red strings from the decorations to tie you over his desk. You had shot up from the chair so fast it would have toppled if Richard hadn’t caught it when it tipped backward. The smirk he wore told you all you needed to know, he’d make good on the promise and you had never imagined Christmas decorations would ever be part of lovemaking — you would soon find out just how wonderful silken strings could feel around one’s wrists. Perhaps you and your husband would create new Christmas traditions, ones he could love and enjoy too…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh how I hope this little ending warmed you right up darling - it's short but so so so sweet and I really just allowed the words to flow this morning. I do love how this shows the HEA they will forever have and the freedom they have with each other. Gosh, it's just so sweet 😍👏 AND IT'S ALMSOT CHRISTMAS DARLINGS!!!!

Q: Have you ever gone skiing? Can you ski? A: I have gone skiing, both distance and downhill (no idea what it's called) but I'm afraid of heights so I stick to distance if I gotta go 😂😂😂

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @elizabeth-baelish @all-art-is-quite-useless @severuslovebot @yellowbadgermole @impulse-anchor @writewithmarites @yan-senna @writewithmarites @lokisbjchnl @ladykardasi @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[rxqueenotd]

The Girl Next Door part V

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: sexual content, age gap, affairs, unhealthy relationships, dubious morality, my improper use of commas, pure angst, mention of politics.

A/N: For the four people that read this, thank you so much. I almost scrapped this fic earlier this week (the full moon really had me in a full blown tizzy) but this chapter poured out of me at six AM this morning. (Y’all want me to make a tag list? Would that make life easier?)

WC: 1811

“You’re twenty-two?” He hung over my shoulder, watching with darting eyes as I filled out each line of the necessary paperwork for employment through the university.

“I feel like that should’ve been a prerequisite question, don’t you?” I looked back at him and shrugged with an alarmed look on my face.

“Is it my turn to ask if you’re legal?” I joked, watching as he crossed the kitchen and made his way over to the refrigerator.

“To be fair, I estimated you were around that age.” He grabbed the carton of orange juice and turned around towards the drying rack, plucking two wine glasses out, filling them with orange juice.

“Estimations aren’t exact.” I grabbed the glad he slid in my direction and lowered my eyes, “Not very careful of you.”

“They ID’d you at the restaurant, genius,” he shot back at me, “I’m observant.”

I slid the finished paper over to him. He picked it up, skimming the details as he sipped his orange juice.

“Luciano?” He glanced down at the paper and back at me, “That’s your last name?”

I shrugged, “What about it?”

“You’re one bad joke away from joining the mafia.”

“You’re one more insult away from waking up with a severed horse head in your bed.” I countered as I poured the remaining orange juice into the sink and rinsed out the glass.

He narrowed his eyes at me, following my eyeline as I idled about the kitchen, pretending I was focused on anything but him.

“Godfather one or two?” He asked.

“You hardly know me well enough to ask those types of questions.” It was easy to feign innocence when I wasn’t directly looking at him.

“HA!” He bellowed, “That’s rich considering the events of last night,” He laughed again, “You’re funny.”

“Now you’re turning pink.” He cocked his head to the side and lowered his eyes, “Don’t get all shy on me now, Livvy.”

“I’m not shy,” even with my proclamation, I still couldn’t look him in the eye, “I’m still processing it.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” he mocked with an eye roll,“Should we call a priest? Your therapist?”

“We could call your wife.”

That garnered the reaction I so desperately craved. A little hint of something boiling under the surface threatened to spill over and I waited with baited breath for him to tear into me. In a sick way, I anticipated it. Any crack in the surface to reveal his true nature, or anything of the sort. Something real, something I could latch onto. My own personal souvenir to remind myself that, like me, he was actually human. For a while, he had been a caricature to me. A walking trope actualized in the way he bantered with me, stared at me through his long eyelashes, existed within the confines of my home, my job, my dock. The only thing I knew about him was that he was a reckless driver, previously taught at a high school in Roslyn, liked two lemons in his ice water, and that he had an entire wife and a life so far removed from mine that he may as well have lived on Mars.

I itched for him to ask me my LSAT score, my favorite color, what fucked up series of events had led me to seek sexual gratification from my married neighbor with whom I shared a twenty year age difference.

It was at this very moment, I realized I was never built to be regarded as casual. In other words, being someone’s dirty secret only took care of the gap between my legs, my heart and ego bearing the brunt of his casual coolness.

I grabbed the form from his grip and held it closely to my chest.

“If there’s going to be an issue with us working so closely, I don’t want this job. I’m still technically employed at The Marina.”

He was quick to grab it back from me. A look of disapproval flashed across his face.

“We’re good, Olive.” He moved closer to me, patting me reassuringly on the shoulder.

I nodded, listening as his footfalls echoed from the entryway as he made his way to the front door.

I wish I had the restraint to walk away from him as easily as he walked away from me.

_________________________________________

A day later, we made the trip to the university together. A bad choice on my part, I know, but I genuinely enjoyed his company.

He didn’t seem to mind my company, nor did he seem to mind my stealing the occasional glance at him. A look of approval colored his features as he looked over at me while waiting at a stoplight.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m just looking at you, Olive.”

“Well, don’t.”

That earned me a chuckle as the light turned green.

Getting approval from the university was child’s play. My fingerprints were clean, my background untarnished, my last name garnering enough attention from the hiring office that the job was offered to me on the spot. Turns out I didn’t need his help after all. Though I’d never admit it aloud, I appreciated his offer, flattering myself despite the obvious manipulative undertones both of us were well aware of when the job was offered, considered, and taken.

“You could have told me your grandfather is the district attorney for Manhattan, for Christ’s sake.” He spoke lowly as we walked back to his car.

He opened the door for me and I slid into the passenger's seat, watching as he skulked to the driver’s side and climbed in.

“Is there anything else I should know?” He asked, eyebrows piqued.

“Part two,” I said, and he looked at me confusedly, “The Godfather.”

“Right.” he chuckled, “Are we friends now, Livvy?”

“No, actually,” I rolled the window down, tipping my hand in the wind.

“We’re colleagues.”

_________________________________________

The second mistake I made that day was going over to his house to discuss lesson plans as well as his teaching preferences.

“No fancy transitions, no bubbly text, no stupid pictures,” he told me as he clicked through an example of one of his PowerPoint presentations.

“These are college students, not kindergarteners.”

‘Poli Sci 408- The American Presidency,’ his syllabus read, with a brief introductory statement framing the coursework: This subject describes the types, functions and roles of the Chief Executive, personal administration, administrative corruption, financial administration and administrative improvement.

“No fun in Professor Mencken’s class,” I mockingly saluted him, “I got it.”

Only later would I realize how ironic it had been to stand in the future president’s kitchen discussing the details of his class, which included administrative corruption, given the nature of our relationship.

When he left me alone at his laptop to click through his lesson plans, I did anything but that. I glanced around the kitchen and adjoining living room, my curious feet carrying me to the entryway. No colors, no personal style, no signs of life in the living space. The style screamed avoidant. Like he could pick up his stuff in one go and run out the door at any given moment.

What caught my eye the most, though, was the photo on the fireplace’s mantle. A wedding photo of him and his wife framed in plated gold with the words ‘From This Moment On’ etched into the bottom of the frame in flowing cursive.

I picked it up, my fingertips gliding gently across the glass as I inspected the photo. The refined ball gown she wore with its basque bodice dripping onto the tulle skirt met with a shirred waistline, all made of matte satin throughout. The delicate V back coming to a halt with a simple bow, the chapel length train trailing behind her as they gazed adoringly at one another. He could have been standing there completely naked in the photo and I still would have only noticed how her delicate collarbones peaked through from under the high scoop neckline. Her face, her timeless American beauty. Brunette hair down to her chin, curled under at the ends, framed neatly with a headpiece at the crown of her head. Her veil flowing gently in, what I imagined to be, the summer breeze.

Suddenly I was a little girl again, gazing through the storefront window on Madison Avenue as an elated bride-to-be twirled around in front of the floor length mirror, surrounded by her friends.

Mrs. Mencken was now as real to me as that woman had been. My guilt now had a face.

I slid the frame back onto the mantle and turned around, smacking right into Jeryd’s chest.

“Do you still want to call her?”

I shook my head vehemently, swallowing audibly as I looked up at him.

His face remained calm as he blinked down at me expectantly, his eyebrow sloping at the arch.

He fucked me hard against the wall after that. My legs wrapped around his waist like a noose when he hoisted me up and took me right there in his living room. A reward, I guessed, for not spilling my guts on his carpet or to his wife. In all reality, I had wanted him to fuck me. To break the code of professionalism that we had agreed on previously. I had dressed for the occasion, silently pretending a skirt with no panties was an innocent choice when he pulled it up to rest on my hips. The entire time, my head rested in the crook of his neck, my eyes burning holes through the photo that rested innocently in its rightful place on their mantle. I held onto him for dear life as he fucked into me, slowly coming to a halt as he pulled back to look into my eyes.

“Don’t do that.” He said, lowly chastising my wandering mind. “Don’t make it personal.”

I wanted to ask him what the fuck life is if it’s not personal but I stayed silent.

He brought his left hand to rest on my cheek as he balanced our weight against the wall. The coldness of his wedding band felt like something akin to holy water on the flesh of the possessed.

“Take it off,” I pleaded with him. He was confused by my outburst, his eyes narrowing down at me.

When I slid his finger into my mouth, the cold metal gripped between my teeth, he got the message. It pooled under my tongue briefly before I spit it onto the floor. The ring landed with a soft thud right in front of the rug on the fireplace.

He didn’t look away from me when he resumed his pace. Each time I tried to avert my gaze, he quite literally jerked my chin back to look directly at him.

I wanted to ask him if that was his idea of not making it personal.

But I didn’t.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! I'm pretty shy when it comes to asks but I love your writing and I was wondering if you'd be able to write a fluff piece for Atin Skirata with the prompt "i know you can't believe it yet, but i promise you can trust me. whenever you're ready to rely on me, i'll be here for you. i swear it." With him saying it?

Hihi! And I'm happy to write this request for you!

Trust Me

Summary: Atin Skirata wants to earn your trust, more than anything.

Pairing: Atin Skirata x Reader

Word Count: 998

Warnings: Badly depicted mentions of a panic attack

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: So, while I have had panic attacks before, I realized today that I can't quite put into words what I feel, so I am sorry if this doesn't feel quite right. Also, I'm sorry if this isn't quite what you wanted.

Divider by Saradika

War sucks. You know this. You’ve known this since you were a child trying to survive a civil war on your home planet. You’ve known this since you were forced into military service when you were a teenager.

You thought- hoped- that when you finally escaped your home planet that you would never have to deal with another war ever again.

And then an intergalactic war broke out that encompassed the entire galaxy.

It was like the gods or the force or whatever divine entity ruled the galaxy took one look at you, and said “fuck you in particular”.

At least you weren’t fighting in this war. No one was pressuring you into joining the military and fighting for the cause. Because, yeah, no. Not happening.

The downside, of course, is that the planet you now call home is home to a military garrison. A military garrison home to hundreds of soldiers, or more. And it’s not like you can just leave and find a planet without a military presence. Because apparently it doesn’t exist.

And it’s not like you hate the clones. Because you don’t. You don’t even hate soldiers.

It’s just that seeing men in armor carrying weapons sends a stab of panic through your very being, and you know that this is a trauma response to being a child soldier, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re absolutely terrified of the Republic Army.

Or, well, their armor?

You glance up when the bell hanging on the door to the shop chimes, and you grimace when you see several men in armor enter the shop. You send a mental curse to whichever deity hates you so much, and then you duck your head so you don’t have to look at them.

If you can’t see the armor, you probably won’t freak out. Maybe.

“Ah, there you are mesh’la,” You mentally release another curse as one of the clones steps over to you. There’s only one person who calls you that, and that’s only because you’ve been adamant about not telling him your name.

“I’m working,” You say to Atin bluntly.

“I can see that.” He sounds amused, “You’re not even going to look at me when I make today’s guess about your name?”

“Unless you have my datapad taped to your face, I really don’t see any reason to look up.” You reply.

“Wow, that must be some interesting work you’ve got there,” Atin jokes quietly.

“It’s work, it keeps me fed and a roof over my head.” You say lightly. It’s not so bad, talking to him when you can’t see his armor. Too bad he’s always wearing his armor.

And then there’s a crash from the back of the store and your head snaps up. A child in the back of the store bumped into an empty rack and knocked it over, but that’s not what caught your attention.

Your gaze is locked on the black armor standing right in front of you. Your ears are ringing. Your vision starts going gray around the edges as it becomes hard to breathe-

You stumble back away from the counter, “Have to go,” you gasp out to no one, or maybe to Atin, you’re not sure, and you stumble out the side door and into the alleyway, where you lean your head against the cool concrete. 

The sound of blaster fire and explosives echo faintly in your ears, and your hands curl into fists as you try to ground yourself by dragging your knuckles against the bricks.

“Mesh’la?” A gloved hand sets on your back, between your shoulder blades, and you jerk in surprise and alarm.

You see black armor and several ugly curses fall from your lips as the panic increases to the point where you fear that you’re going to just stop breathing. You press your hand against the chest plate and push, and you’re momentarily surprised when the plate actually moves away.

You spin back against the wall, dragging your knuckles even more roughly down the bricks. The pain wasn’t grounding you like it normally did.

“Mesh’la?”

“Not helping,” You manage to ground out.

“How can I help?” Atin asks.

“Away. Just…Go.”

You’re vaguely aware of him moving away, but then you’re too focused on keeping yourself on your feet, and breathing, and not throwing up.

And then something warm presses against the back of your neck and something cold presses against your lips, “Open.”

An order, easy to follow, and you part your lips for the cold thing. 

And then you realize that there’s ice in your mouth, the biting cold snapping you back to yourself faster than anything ever before. Atin is standing next to you, his hand on the back of your neck, and he’s…not wearing his armor?

You shoot him a puzzled look, and a wry smile crosses his face, “I realized that my armor was making things worse, mesh’la. So I took off the chest plate.”

You eye him suspiciously for a moment. You don’t hate him, but you also don’t trust him. 

And Atin’s smile becomes even more wry, as he pulls his hand away from your neck and presses a cup full of ice into your hands, “I know you can't believe it yet, but I promise you can trust me. Whenever you're ready to rely on me, I'll be here for you. I swear it.”

“Why?” You ask, bewildered.

Atin shrugs, “Under all that armor, I’m just a guy, mesh’la. Is it so weird that I want you to look at me?”

You look even more puzzled, and he smiles at you, “You should go back inside, I pulled my brothers out. No one will go inside in armor anymore, I promise.”

“Oh…thank you.”

“I want you to like me, love. If that means making all of my brothers' lives a little more complicated…well, I’m happy to do it.” Atin smiles and guides you back to the door, “I’ll come and see you later.”

[steviewashere]

So, way back earlier this year, I made the initiative to try and set-up a mailing list for all things Steddie/Stranger Things related that I do. This was a back-up in case KOSA was passed in the United States. And I had received several responses to who I'd be mailing out fics and such to.

However, I'm going to completely reconstruct that. And do something that's more accessible and easier for me to manage.

By November 5th, which is Election Day here in the U.S., I want to have an entire Google Drive set up with my fics. It'll basically be folders full of folders, full of folders. But...

It would be something such as:

Pairing —> Rating —> Content Warning Tags —> Trope (maybe)

This way, everything is right where it needs to be and is accessible to anybody who wants to read them. Also, it would give you all a chance before inauguration day, to download good hard copies of my fics. I'll probably take the PDF versions of my fics from AO3, separate them into the folders, and you can choose what to read or what to download from there.

This is just in case our government flips completely conservative. I want to make sure my fics are accessible to my American audience in the foreseeable future. It is a way to archive my already archived works.

The only exception to this is that I would not include explicit works in these folders. I've said it before, I'll say it again, it would basically be distribution of pornography. And with the way our government and our country is going, they're looking to ban access to pornographic content.

I'm not sure how I'll share those works, but if I can't, I highly recommend you download those from AO3 now. This way, you won't lose them forever. (Again, just in case America's government goes completely red).

In fact, I highly recommend you go through and download works that you know you'll read again; not just from my Ao3, but from other authors that you enjoy.

So, to recap, I'm abandoning my initial idea of the mailing list, but I am looking into a way more organized and accessible way to send out my fics to all of you.

When this is set up, I'll make sure to share the Google Drive link and let you loose to it. In the meantime, hang tight. And apologies that I have to change-up what I'm doing now.

[up-in-space-reading]

Average Weekly Screentime - Chap 3: Walks in the Cold

pairing: Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago

word count: 3648

warnings/tags: college au, texting, drunk texting, text fic (mostly, there's prose a few chaps in), bets, bisexual!jake peralta, jake peralta has adhd, parties, drinking and alcohol, sexual references, implied sexual content (nothing explicit, just suggested its going to happen/has happened), friends to lovers, swearing, mentions of cannibalism, lighthearted threats of violence (typical rosa stuff yk), fluff

read on ao3

Average Weekly Screentime masterlist

Story Summary: texting fic college AU with the squad! It's the beginning of the school year and while everyone else thinks it'll be the same as the previous year, Gina has a feeling things are going to be different and wagers a bet with Rosa and Charles. Told through all the various group chats everyone is in.

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | Chap 6 | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10

authors note: I'm sorry this chapter is entirely based around a party but SPOILER there's non-text writing!!! so get excited babes, its heating up now.

Jimmy Jabbers

[02:29pm, Tuesday]

Pineapples: how do they dig graves?? Pineapples: at this point in time they cant use shovels anymore thats insane Pineapples: but a whole excavator in a graveyard seems risky bc what if they hit a headstone

RoRo: they get like 10 dogs in

Queen G: what if they still use shovels tho?

Four Eyes: They do get excavators in; it does look a little bit weird but there’s not really any other efficient way to dig a grave Four Eyes: 1 image attachment

Pineapples: if anyone sees me laughing at the grave digger machine no u don’t

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[11:32pm, Wednesday]

Ferris: amy r u awake?

Cameron: Yeah, why?

Ferris: idk im just worried

Cameron: About what?

Ferris: what if i dont finish all the assignments in time for break Ferris: i dont wanna be kicked out

Cameron: Firstly, they don’t kick you out. You just don’t pass those classes and have to retake them (or drop out, of your own free will) Cameron: Secondly, we’re going to get them finished. You’ve been working hard and I am sure they’ll all be done in time for winter break

Ferris: but what if they arent???

Cameron: What if we put some stakes on it?

Ferris: theres already stakes

Cameron: Stakes that you’ll enjoy a lot more than an existential crisis

Ferris: im listening

Cameron: If you finish all of the assignments in time for winter break I will go to Terry’s annual New Years party AND match you drink for drink. If you don’t finish them, you have to jump in the fountain in the courtyard

Ferris: ur literally a genius Ferris: i do not want to jump in that fountain and i absolutely want you to go to that party

Cameron: I’ve not been to his New Years parties and for good reason

Ferris: you better start dress shopping then ames because this is ur year

Cameron: Part of me hopes so

Ferris: ill let u sleep now Ferris: gn

Cameron: Goodnight, Jake

-

Jimmy Jabbers

[4:30pm, Thursday]

Pineapples: amy and i are in the library if anyone wants to join

RoRo: what are u doing in the library?

Pineapples: studying duh

Mr Grapes: on my way now!

Pineapples: see u!

Queen G: our school has a library??

RoRo: why wouldn’t it??

Queen G: because theyre boring

Four Eyes: I take offense to that

Queen G: of course u do

-

Dance Squad

[4:40pm, Thursday]

Scary: so charles, now that you’re in the presence of them Scary: how close are you to winning this bet because by my calculations you’ve got about three days

G-Hive: oh damn! rosa coming in hot with the trash talk

Charlese: I will not give up hope yet, three more days is enough

Scary: with the way they are now three days is nowhere near enough Scary: gina how are you feeling?

G-Hive: as confident as ever <3

Scary: i admire that

-

[11:59pm, Sunday]

G-Hive: and its a tough loss for charles on this fine evening

Scary: knew it

Charlese: alright alright I get it Charlese: severe underestimation but in my defence they should’ve gotten together over a year ago

G-Hive: no they shouldnt have

Scary: so g, its just you and me left

G-Hive: if we’re being fair then charles does have a grace period before its closer to your guess than his but my calculations dont swing in charles favour

Scary: tough break charles Scary: maybe next time

Charlese: crying my self to sleep tonight Charlese: gonna start bugging Jake about his feelings for Amy

G-Hive: violation of the rules!!! G-Hive: no meddling G-Hive: ur such a meddler

Scary: no interference or else

Charlese: got it got it, no interference

-

Sexy Bitches

[10:34am, Tuesday]

Ter Bear: Hey Gina, just giving you a heads up that Liam is having a thing for his birthday at his place this Saturday

Sexy: seriously?! Sexy: thank u for the heads up

Ter Bear: And don’t tell them I told you but if you cozy up enough to him, he might let you DJ Ter Bear: He’s seen the playlist and didn’t mind it

Sexy: I LOVE U TERRY Sexy: i owe you big time

Ter Bear: You always owe me, I’m good to you guys

Sexy: you really are

-

Jimmy Jabbers

[10:39am, Tuesday]

Queen G: i have just received some amazing news!

Pineapples: can i guess! terry is having a party

Queen G: yes!

Pineapples: well technically its his friend liam Pineapples: its his bday Pineapples: terry text me too lol

Queen G: but i bet he didnt mention that im gonna DJ!!

Pineapples: NO HE DIDN’T

Four Eyes: That’s great news, Gina, congrats. I’ll be there to listen to your amazing playlist

RoRo: me too

Mr Grapes: finally someone who will listen to my requests!

Queen G: if ur request is not from a musical and from the last 2 years then i might consider it

Mr Grapes: best party ever already

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[10:45am, Tuesday]

Ferris: u gonna be alright with a party?

Cameron: Yeah of course, as long as I get at least three drinks in me haha

Ferris: thats the spirit ames!

-

Sleuth Sisters

[10:47am, Tuesday]

Amy: Does Jake have a nickname for you?

Rosa: no

-

Girls, Girls, Girls

[02:16pm, Saturday]

Gina: when r u guys gonna be at mine?

Rosa: closer to when we have to leave

Amy: I’ve got some work I need to finish up, lets say around 7-7:30?

Gina: it doesnt even surprise me that u guys dont take more than 2 hours to get ready Gina: we’re leaving at 9 and u guys are getting here at 5 at the LATEST

Rosa: only if I can pregame

Gina: of course u can

Amy: Yeah sure, I’ll be there at 5

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[02:19pm, Saturday]

Cameron: Has Gina always taken multiple hours to get ready to go out or is it just a development in college?

Ferris: hahahaha oh no Ferris: shes always been like that Ferris: ever since she discovered makeup and curling irons

Cameron: That makes sense haha Cameron: She’s making Rosa and I be at hers at 5pm at the latest to start getting ready for tonight

Ferris: arent we leaving at 9??

Cameron: Yep!

Ferris: oh amy… Ferris: hahaha Ferris: itll be fun tho

Cameron: Yeah it will be

-

[07:18pm, Saturday]

Cameron: She has a curling iron so close to my scalp right now, help me

Ferris: hahahaha sorry ames ur on ur own

Cameron: You’re the worst!

Ferris: if i had to get my hair braided when i was 11 then u have to get ur hair curled now

Cameron: That is an amazing piece of information that you have willingly given up, thank you so much

Ferris: amy no Ferris: what r u doing Ferris: ur not telling rosa right?? Ferris: amy please Ferris: i thought we were friends

-

Bi Besties

[07:23pm, Saturday]

Dagger: HAHAHAHAHAHA

El Baboso: shut up

Dagger: I bet you looked so cute with your braids too

El Baboso: of course i did!

Dagger: HAHAHAHAHAAKAJDJKSD

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[07:24pm, Saturday]

Ferris: youll pay for this

Cameron: Uh huh, sure I will haha

-

[09:12pm, Saturday]

Cameron: Gina is finally ready, how are you and Charles going?

Ferris: charles and i are on our way to the party already.. Ferris: sorry

Cameron: That’s okay! We’ll meet you there

Ferris: see you there!!!!

-

The walk to Terry’s was cold but the bottle of gin that the three of them were passing between each other helped warm Amy’s insides. She was feeling angry that Gina had talked her into wearing a dress and envious of Rosa’s warm and comfortable looking leather pants.

“Longest 10-minute walk of my life” Rosa said grumpily, arms crossed in front of her.

“Two more minutes and we’re there” Amy reassured Rosa (and herself).

“Its cold but its also party time! Let’s get excited ladies, we look hot and I’m DJ-ing, the night is young and I have a good feeling” Gina proclaimed into the night, making Amy laugh.

“You’re right, its gonna be a good night” Amy agreed, and she even saw Rosa crack a smile out of the corner of her eye.

Finally, they arrived at Terry’s and the place was already pumping, the music loud and coloured lights glowing in the windows. The first thing Amy registered upon entering the house was the amount of people moving around; walking from somewhere to get somewhere else, dancing to the music, or talking loudly to each other. If it weren’t for the gin on the journey over she’d be overwhelmed immediately, but her senses were dulled and the warmth promised by the alcohol was finally blossoming in her stomach.

She was feeling good as the three of them made their way through the house to the kitchen where they found Jake and Charles laughing about something. Charles lit up upon seeing them and it made Jake turn around, he looked happy to see them before his eyes landed on Amy. He froze, quickly looking her up and down before continuing with a loud greeting and offer of drinks.

Gina took a few swigs of the remaining gin and said she was going to find the speaker system and get the music really going.

“There’s four of us left!” Jake yelled over the music, Amy gave him a confused stare in response, “Its time for beer pong!”

Amy was immediately on board, as was Rosa. Charles needed some convincing, and after a hype speech from Jake and gathering all the cups they could find they were setting up beer pong on the dining table. A small crowd had begun to gather as they were setting up, raising the pressure to a level Amy thrived on.

The four of them gathered next to the table to discuss the terms; losing team gives $40 to the winning team.

“Looking forward to my $20, lunch is on me next Tuesday” Amy teased Jake as he always asked to get lunch during their study sessions.

“It will be on you, because you’ll be giving me $20” He responded smugly.

“In your dreams” Amy scoffed before they made their way to their assigned sides of the table.

Amy and Rosa were given first throw, a decision Jake and Charles would quickly grow to regret. The game was full of trash talking and celebration dances. Charles gagged on the cup Rosa secretly filled with vodka which made even Jake laugh despite the loss of a cup.

After intense back and forth, and the crowd growing increasingly invested in the outcome of the game, both teams were down to one cup each. But after the number of drinks, it was difficult for both teams to aim properly.

It was Charles and Jake’s turn, Amy was nervous and watching Jake intently, hoping to psych him out. Just as he was leaning his arm back to throw, Amy tossed some of her hair over her shoulder. The small action was enough to make Jake falter for a moment and his throw was off, Amy and Rosa (and the half of the crowd rooting for them) cheered.

Finally, it was their turn again, Amy volunteered to go first. She took a deep breath as she bent her arm back and lined up her throw, everyone waited with bated breath to see if this was the one. The pressure and tension gave her an odd sense of calm, she threw the ball as calm as ever and it landed right in the cup. The crowd erupted into cheers as Amy and Rosa celebrated with cheers of their own as well as high fives and fist bumps.

Jake and Charles hung their heads, Jake volunteered to take the last cup for Charles who looked grateful. After their celebrations had finished Amy revelled in Jake chugging the last cup and trudging over her to give her the money owed. She heard Charles say something about paying Rosa tomorrow and Rosa threatening that she’ll remember.

“Here you go, Ames, a well deserved twenty bucks” He handed a $20 note over to her.

Amy took it happily and tucked it into her bra, Jakes eyes followed her hands the whole time.

“Thank you very much”

Jake nodded to signify a ‘you’re welcome’ before Amy continued.

“I’m gonna ask Gina to put on a victory song!” She laughed, and Jake laughed with her.

“I’ll come with!” He yelled over the music which suddenly got louder.

They both journeyed through the house to find where the music system was. Gina was standing behind a table with who Amy assumed was an actual DJ, they were both bopping their heads along to the music and pointing to something on Gina’s phone.

Amy pushed her way through the crowd with Jake in tow in the direction of the table. Once there Jake gestured for Gina to lean in close, and so she moved so that she was leaning across the table with her face close to Amy and Jake’s.

“Rosa and I won beer pong, we need a victory song!” Amy yelled, hoping Gina could hear her.

Based on the satisfied smile that graced Gina’s face she did hear.

“I told you tonight was gonna be good!” She stood back up properly and began looking through her phone once again with the DJ.

Amy couldn’t help but smile because Gina was right. Jake then jerked his head towards the makeshift dance floor and Amy nodded in response. The two of them moved away from the table a little bit and began moving to the music.

The song changed to what Amy assumed was the victory song and it got her blood pumping, she wasn’t thinking about how she was dancing she was just moving the way she felt like it. Jake seemed to be doing the same thing, taking the loss incredibly well.

The lights got dimmer, the various colours now being the primary light source in the room. Someone bumped into Amy, she stumbled into Jake who caught her and held onto her arms. He gave her a look that asked if she was okay and she nodded in response before continuing to dance, now closer to Jake.

He kept one hand on her arm before sliding it down to hold her hand, he lifted their arms up in the air for her to spin under. Amy spun around while giggling, once she was done he let go and a part of her was disappointed.

They continued to dance for so long Amy lost track of time and how many songs they had danced to, Jake knowing every word to all of them and her knowing some. The dance floor had become more crowded as the night went on, her and Jake had been slowly bumped closer to one another, now standing just inches apart.

Amy’s brain was foggy but she managed to hold onto various thoughts of how nice Jake’s arms looked in his shirt, and how thirsty she was getting after all the singing and dancing. She leaned close to Jake’s ear.

“I’m gonna get a drink!” She told him.

He nodded in confirmation and mouthed what Amy assumed was ‘I’ll come too’. Amy turned around and started shoving through the crowd, wondering if it was Jake who had his hand on the small of her back or some creep. A quick look behind her showed that her intuition was correct, Jake following closely behind with a hand on her back sending a tingling feeling up and down her spine.

These were all feelings Amy decided to unpack tomorrow, or the day after, or never.

Once they were in the kitchen Amy raided the fridge and found some bottles of water, handing one to Jake. He opened his and chugged half of it in one go while she wrestled with the lid of hers still.

“Can you open it for me, please?” She held out her bottle of water, looking slightly defeated.

“Sure” He smiled and grabbed the bottle off her.

He opened it with ease and Amy’s eyes widened slightly, she hoped Jake didn’t notice as she quickly took the bottle back from him and took a few mouthfuls. It cooled her down and she was finally able to think properly, asking Jake what the time was.

At almost 1 in the morning, she was debating on going home or staying for a bit longer, voicing this debate to Jake standing across from her, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You can’t walk home by yourself Ames” He countered.

“I can’t force Gina and Rosa to leave, I actually think Gina is gonna be here forever” She joked, Jake laughed with her.

“How about, three more songs and then I’ll walk you home” He offered, and Amy had to admit it wasn’t a bad deal. She was concerned about walking home alone.

“You’re sure you want to leave?” She asked, not wanting to inconvenience him.

“Yeah. Charles is off with a girl – texted me like 20 minutes ago – and like you said, Rosa and Gina are gonna be here forever. I’m almost ready for bed” He reasoned, and Amy couldn’t say no.

“Alright then, three more songs” She agreed with a smile, having another mouthful of water and turning to make her way back to the dance floor.

Jake once again followed close behind, not touching her this time Amy noted. They found a small empty spot on the dance floor and resumed their dancing as if the small break hadn’t happened. The two of them were once again just inches apart and Amy took note of it immediately this time.

She felt heat in her cheeks at this note and thought about it the whole time they danced to the first song, then the second song came on and Amy couldn’t ignore an ABBA remix. Both her and Jake sang every word loudly with wide smiles on their faces, gesturing and throwing their hands in the air when they felt appropriate.

If someone were to ask Amy she’d say it was the most fun she’s had at a party in a long time.

Finally, as the third song faded out and a new one began, Jake gestured his head towards the front door and Amy nodded in agreement. She quickly got her small bag from where she’d safely stashed it near Gina and followed Jake out of the house.

-

Jimmy Jabbers

[01:07am, Sunday]

Pineapples: amy and i leaving Pineapples: have fun party animals

-

The cool air and quietness of being out of the house was almost jarring to Amy’s senses. They walked for a few minutes in comfortable silence, but it wasn’t long until the cold got to Amy and she began shivering, arms wrapped around herself.

“You look cold, here” Jake stopped to take his leather jacket off.

“You don’t have to-“ Amy began before being cut off by him.

“I do, what are friends for”

She let out a small laugh and looked at the ground for a moment, trying to hide the heat spreading in her cheeks despite the cold. He held the jacket out for her and she accepted it happily, putting it on and crossing her arms in front of her to keep the front closed.

“Thanks” She said quietly.

“That’s okay”

They continued the walk this time talking about the party, specifically the beer pong match, recounting the highlights and lowlights of the game with a lot of laughter in between. Amy found herself not wanting the walk to end, despite how cold, tired and tipsy she was.

Finally, they reached a divergence in the path and Amy expected Jake to go the opposite direction to her towards his dorm but he continued walking by her side.

“Isn’t your dorm that way?” She interrupted his sentence and pointed to the left.

“I said I’d walk you home, I’m a man of my word Ames”

“Oh.. okay then” She accepted without argument and continued walking to her dorm with Jake by her side.

It was only when they were right outside the building doors did Jake feel comfortable leaving her, confident she could get to her dorm by herself, a comment he said which made her laugh. They said a quick goodbye and Amy watched Jake walk away for a moment before turning and entering the doors of the building.

She took the elevator up to her floor, only realising when the doors closed and she saw a blur of her reflection that she was still wearing Jake’s jacket. It was too late to go after him now, she’ll probably see him tomorrow and if not tomorrow then Monday at the latest to give it back to him.

Once in her dorm she sighed heavily, ready to take her makeup off and put on comfy pyjamas as the exhaustion began to weigh down on her. She got unready as quick as she could, hanging Jake’s jacket over the back of her desk chair, and climbed into bed.

When she was comfy she got her phone off the bedside table to check her messages one last time before what she predicted would be at least a 10 hour sleep.

-

Jimmy Jabbers

[01:28am, Sunday]

Queen G: ugh some guys started to yell at each other Queen G: rosa and i made a quick getaway

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[01:32am, Sunday]

Cameron: I assume you made it back to your dorm alright?

Ferris: i was brutally murdered as soon as u went into ur building actually

Cameron: Damn… Cameron: Now who will I annihilate at beer pong..

Ferris: IM DEAD AND UR WORRIED ABOUT THAT???

Cameron: Hahahaha Cameron: Goodnight, jake

Ferris: gn ames

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | Chap 6 | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10

authors note: EEEK!! I am excited on their behalf because w h a t will amy be thinking tomorrow???? i sure hope these dummies start to figure it out soon mwahaha

Thanks as always for reading, next chap will be out whenever I can get it out <3

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 8

halcyonic mirage

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 4,436 summary: there is far more to the soulmate spell than your family has ever told you in this chapter: the rest of the conflagration finally appears on page, more series lore, brief/non-descriptive discussion of blood magic and curses, Odin appearing briefly on page in the beginning, this chapter earns more points for the "idiots in love" tag, and so much hand-holding author notes: hi! hello! how are all of my readers? no this fic is not dead, nor am i. it's just been slowly roasting in the oven the last several months. i finished the first drafts of ch9 to ch22 back in November as part of NaNoWriMo, and have been slowly working my way through editing, rewriting, and finishing the rest of the fic since December. i picked up working on a few other wips along the way too, hence the long silence. my bad. the good news: a few chapters are basically ready to go! i just have to finish working on some stuff with edits and rewrites for this, but for the most part a lot of this fic is written now.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

The feast is loud. Cheers, jeers, and the sounds of tankards being tossed to the floor ring across the entire Great Hall as Álfablót truly gets underway this evening.

You’re at a long table with friends and friendly faces, not far from where (hours ago now) the royal family sat to welcome the emissaries from Álfheimr. Now you’re sitting on top of the table, legs tossed over Loki’s lap as she traces shapeless lines on the palm of your hand she holds. You switch between jesting with the others in this mixed company, joking and telling tales with a few of your friends, and speaking quietly with only Loki.

As loud and exuberant as your friends are, and as boastful of their past and future deeds as Baldr and his friends are, you love this. You’re drunk on the bright atmosphere of celebration as you lay your head on Loki’s shoulder, and she continues to trace senseless patterns on your palm while the table laughs.

Somewhere out in the hall, your conflagration wanders and mingles with others. With Álfheimr’s emissaries, with visitors and ambassadors from various other realms, and with Æsir from all across this realm. The most glaring absence for visitors or ambassadors is the lack of Drekasál from Eldgard, Gymirsgard, or any other realm. There are only twelve dragons on Asgard, just as there’s been for as long as you can remember.

Near the head of the room, where the royal family sat, your father and uncle stand with the All-Father and the ambassador of Lakonía, one of the distant realms of Yggdrasil allied with Asgard. You have no idea what the four of them are discussing, nor do you care all that much. It’s likely politics or warfare related, knowing your father. You would rather focus on the revelry around you. On this celebration of Asgard’s peace treaty and alliance with Álfheimr.

That is, until you hear it.

There’s a sudden low hush that washes across the room in a quick wave. All the sounds of the feast suddenly drop in pitch. You hear the sudden drop-off of the skalds music, and that’s when your table finally turns its attention to the rest of the hall.

She strides through the hall without even a glance at those she passes. Like a goddess on a warpath. Dark in colour, the brightest points on her are the shining beads adorning her half-dozen braids and the bits of shining metal over dark leather. All eyes in the hall are on the stranger as she aims straight for the All-Father.

All three royal children rise slowly, Loki’s boots thudding softly on the bench seat as she drops your hand. The rest of your table tenses, readying for whatever signal they might give next. Your eyes flick quickly from Loki back to the woman, watching for whatever action your best friend chooses to take.

And then the stranger breaks free from the crowds, allowing you your first genuine look at her.

You notice the braids adorned in beads and the flashes of silver metal that protect her as she passes through the crowd. The combination isn’t remarkable. Most of the people here wear something similar, but then you spot the insignia emblazoned across her breastplate.

A down-pointed sword with the silhouette of two dragon-form Drekasál wrapped around the blade. An insignia that declares her to be a full-fledged himingarpr.

It says to you — and to others who know what it means for a Drekasál to become a himingarpr — this drekakona has a deep sense of loyalty to the Burning Crown, that she upholds the will of the Voiceless One, and that she has the desire to protect the lives of other Drekasál.

She is a dragon you can trust without reservation, just as you trust the himingarpar in your conflagration.

Even knowing what the insignia means, the sight of a new dragon in Asgard this evening shocks you. You can’t help but to reach out with your dragon-sense, checking what you’re already so sure of. Even from across the hall, you can feel that faint impression of her dragon. That distinct, irreplicable feeling you feel from every Drekasál in your conflagration. In your family.

Seeing the insignia and feeling her dragon, you relax. You take Loki’s hand, tugging lightly to catch her attention. When she looks down, you say loud enough that your entire table can hear, “She’s a himingarpr. She has the insignia, and I can tell from here she’s a Drekasál.”

At your words, the entire table relaxes, though they’re all still wary. It makes sense they are. For you, the drekakona’s arrival is little more than a curiosity; for them, she’s an unknown, even if she’s not a threat. She’s likely a last-minute ambassador from Eldgard, though you have no idea who she is. Asgard hasn’t seen a visiting Drekasál since the war between Asgard and Jǫtunheimr, so the arrival of an Eldgardian ambassador this year is a surprise.

When the drekakona stops several feet shy of the All-Father, he turns his lone eye on her, his horn of ale raised as if he was about to take a drink. Placing her left fist over her heart and lowering her head, she speaks loudly and clearly enough for her voice to be carried across the Great Hall.

“Hávi, it is an honour to stand before you. I am Helga, daughter of Tryggvi, who is the son of Thýri. I come to your realm this evening to continue my search for my soulmate. With your leave, I would like to begin my search in this hall before searching the city and then the rest of your realm in my quest to find them.”

Curiosity and excitement spark through you at her words. She’s not an ambassador, but (in your opinion) the truth of why she’s here is far more exciting.

Helga Tryggvadóttir has come to Asgard on her Soul Quest, a quest all Drekasál go upon to find their soulmate once they’ve come of age. It could take hours, or it could take centuries. Some might even put the quest on pause for other events in their life, but no dragon truly stops searching until they’ve found their soulmate.

Lady Tryggvadóttir looks up, dropping her hand back to her side. Her words were blunt, carrying all the grace of a dragon on the hunt. You wonder if you will be like that in a decade, when you are wandering Yggdrasil in search of your soulmate.

The silence that grabbed hold of the hall continues to ring through the air, and it feels as if it grows heavier the longer it goes on. You can’t remember a time when any feast has ever been this quiet for quite this long. A few seconds when something interesting catches the attention of the entire hall, but never longer than that.

You hear a goblet being dropped deep from the other side of the Great Hall. Then, finally, the All-Father dips his head at the drekakona and holds his hand out to her.

“Welcome to Asgard, Lady Tryggvadóttir. May your search in my realm be a short but fruitful one,” he says. Lady Tryggvadóttir places her hand in the old god’s, allowing him to give it a partial lift before the touch is broken. When he introduces her to your father, your uncle, and then to the Lakonían ambassador, you know that he’s not the soulmate she’s seeking. Such an occurrence would be subject to far more fanfare, especially considering who he is.

A quick touch of palms quickly establishes that neither your father nor the Lakonían ambassador is her soulmate, and after a few brief minutes of conversation, she excuses herself and slips back into the crowds to continue her search. The sounds of the feast had picked up after the initial introduction, but the volume level rises farther now that she’s slipped away from the spotlight.

Loki sits back down, her hand tucked between yours once more as the conversation at your table picks back up. You find yourself distracted, unable to keep your attention on the conversations around you. Your gaze keeps floating back out to the hall, continuously searching for glimpses of the drekakona as she weaves her way around groups. You watch as, time and again, Lady Tryggvadóttir stops to introduce herself and speak to various beings. She never lingers for more than a few minutes once she’s sure none of them is the soulmate she is seeking.

It fascinates you how so many watch her, even after she excuses herself from their presence. You wish she would drift closer to your table, so you might meet her, but you watch how steadfastly she moves in the opposite direction. She’d locked eyes with you just minutes ago, and you’d straightened up, hoping she would come over so you might meet her. Instead, she had excused herself from the noblewoman she spoke with to move away from your table.

Some part of you wonders if she’s avoiding you, though you can’t fathom why she might. You only want to meet her, to learn about her.

Lady Tryggvadóttir fascinates you in a way no other Drekasál has before. Daughter to a dragon you don’t know the name of, a himingarpr of no renown, and seemingly with no other purpose in visiting the Realm Eternal than to seek out her soulmate. The combination is what fascinates you about her. If she had come from a dragon of great renown or had made a name for herself, you would be far less interested in her. Yet here she is, an unknown dragon wandering the hall and conversing with so many who already have made a name for themselves.

In truth, it’s not her lack of prestige that fascinates you, but why she is here. She’s looking for her soulmate. Most of the Drekasál on Asgard don’t have a soulmate, but none of them ever leave to search for theirs either. They won’t tell you why, and you’d hoped maybe this new dragon would maybe be able to answer you since your conflagration refuses to.

Perhaps after tonight’s feast, you’ll be able to track her down and speak with her before she leaves the city. You have so many other questions for her as well. Your conflagration has lived in Asgard for so long now. What are the other realms like now compared to what your conflagration remembers?

Eventually, you lose sight of her as she wanders farther and farther from your table. You let yourself get lost in the conversations, trying not to dwell on the visiting drekakona. At least, not for the evening. You’ll enlist whoever you can to help find her tomorrow.

You’re finishing off another goblet of the sweet berry juice you’re so fond of when Loki tugs your hand to get your attention. When you look away from Gauti, and one of the young Einherjar trainees you’ve forgotten the name of, she’s looking at you with wide, gentle eyes, and a soft smile.

“Come dance with me?” Loki asks, tilting her head towards where other feast-goers have started line dancing.

The music has changed from general revelry to songs for dancing. Now that you’re paying attention to the melody, you can feel the urge to clap and dance with those already dancing. And yet, when Loki stands up and holds a hand out to you, you hesitate, goblet at your lips as you stare at her.

That half-second hesitation seems to be a bit much for Thor.

"Go dance with my sister, Firefly!" Thor says, gently — but with plenty of force — pushing against your back. That large, exuberant smile he's known for is on his face, encouraging you on. Gauti and the Einherjar trainees are quick to encourage you to leave and dance with Loki too. You can feel warmth blazing across your face, surprised at the sudden insistence from everyone that you dance with your best friend.

At the other end of the table, Baldr lifts his goblet into the air.

"Here here! Go dance, little dragon! Show my sister what a great dancer you are!" Baldr cheers. Baldr’s friends are quick to joining the cheer.

You laugh, a bit nervous from suddenly having the entire table cheering you on. Still, after a few more moments you place your hand in Loki's and stand from your seat atop the table. A roar of cheers from the table go up, and several tankards and goblets are tossed to the floor. You can't help but smile a bit sheepishly as Loki helps you down.

Your goblet clatters onto the table as Loki pulls you away from it, leading you towards the group of people dancing.

The line dance is one you both know well, so it’s easy for both of you to slip in at the end and join them. With every turn, every clap, every jump, it seems like the world grows brighter. Loki’s face is lit up with a wide grin as the two of you mirror the other dancers. Her joy is contagious as she takes your hands, twirling you around her as she leads the both of you through the steps. So much so that it envelopes your heart, making the room shine ever brighter. Soon enough, you’re laughing too as she spins you away from her, hopping into the air as you twirl around before returning to her side.

In perfect harmony with Loki and the other dancers, you step, twirl, and clap in time to the music. The more the tempo picks up, the more it all blends together. The movements, the sights, the sounds. It’s a moment of freedom, of sheer joy as you dance with Loki, never wanting to look away or let your hands leave hers even when they have to.

There is a sudden jump in noise from the crowd, one that you don’t pay attention to. You’ve been to enough of these feasts that you’ve learnt something will always cause a scandal, and you’d rather enjoy this dance than pay attention to whatever the cause of gossip is tonight. You’ll hear about it tomorrow, you always do.

It’s only when the music slows — and then stops mid-dance — that you take a moment to listen, and realise what everyone is talking about.

Lady Tryggvadóttir has found her soulmate.

Her soulmate is Lord Ivarr, Lady Katla’s heartmate.

You dart off into the crowd without waiting to hear more, pushing your way past and dashing between groups to where you know the conflagration usually gathers during these events. A flurry of words dances in and out of your ears from every group you pass, none of them sticking long enough for you to understand what’s being said. When you finally reach where their table is, you stop.

Lady Katla is sitting alone, looking lost in thought as she stares towards the far doors that lead out of the hall. While Lord Tórbjǫrn stands only a few feet away, he’s speaking with Lady Ásta, though his eyes keep darting back to his sister as he does. Lord Hákon is sitting on the table, much as you were earlier, while your mother, uncle, and Lady Brynja form a half-circle around him. Lord Félagi is nowhere to be seen (though this doesn’t surprise you too much, considering what you know about the drekamaðr). Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir are also absent, which both confuses and surprises you.

Gauti comes from your right, moving right past you and heading towards his mother, Lady Ásta. Loki appears on your left, stopping beside you.

“Where are they?” She asks in a whisper. Like you, she’s looking around, trying to see if she can spot the newly bonded pair.

You can’t help but wonder if you would care as much about who Lady Tryggvadóttir bonded to if it hadn’t been Lord Ivarr. If her soulmate wasn't a beloved part of your family.

“I don’t know. They weren’t here.”

You take Loki’s hand, the two of you closing in the half-circle around Lord Hákon. The four dragons look at Loki, assessing her in a way that (for reasons you can’t put a name to, but that you can feel) annoys you. You glare at them, though Lord Hákon lets out a brief chuckle at your glare.

“Suppose you’re wondering where they are, little dragon?” Lord Hákon asks with a smile.

“We heard, well, everyone talking about it,” you tell him, glare disappearing. You’re wondering if you misunderstood their looks at Loki because of the drekamaðr’s rather relaxed attitude when he speaks.

“Firefly wanted to meet Lady Tryggvadóttir, so we came over to see her now that she’s bonded to Lord Gunnarsson. Where have they gone?” Loki’s voice is firm, with not an ounce of give in her words as she looks around. You can’t help but look at her with a bit of awe at how she stares four dragons down with steel in her spine. Even Thor and Baldr give a little when the conflagration turns their eyes to them, but Loki doesn’t seem bothered at all by having so many dragons staring at her.

“Gone, for the evening at the least,” Lord Hákon tells her with a shrug of his shoulder. “We won’t see them until they’re ready. Could be tomorrow. Could be a week from tonight. All up to them.”

You turn to your mother and uncle, the question on the tip of your tongue. Your mother answers it before you’ve even said a word.

“Newly bonded pairs spend time alone until they’re both ready to be seen together again. This is normal, little starlight.”

“How long was it before you and Uncle Sveinn were seen again?”

“Three and a half days. That’s close to average. Part of the time is spent learning about each other, especially if you don’t know each other before the bond shows itself.” She places a gentle hand on your cheek, smiling at you. “You’ll see, some day.”

You frown, disappointed that you won’t see either dragon for several days at least. Still, if no one else is concerned…

Your eyes look past the other dragons, to Lady Katla. She’s still sitting there, alone and looking almost like she’s longing to be anywhere else but this hall. Is she concerned? Is she worried about Lord Ivarr? He’s one of her heartmates after all; you can’t imagine Lady Katla not being worried for him with all that Lord Ivarr means to her.

Letting go of Loki’s hand, you walk away from the others to where Lady Katla sits. When you stop next to her, she looks up at you, blinking almost like she’s in a mild daze. Something inside you softens, saddens. You sit down next to her, neither of you speaking for several long moments.

“You just looked lonely,” you tell her, softly enough so only she can hear you. “I thought you might want a friend.”

Her eyes widen, and she blinks a few times before she gives a slight smile.

“You are an odd drekabarn, little firefly.”

You can’t help the smile you give her as you say, “I know, Lady Katla.”

“Katla,” she says as she looks away once more. “Just Katla.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

“… and that is how the High Lady Auðhild discovered that, in certain cases, blood magic can be used to craft a tracking spell,” Frigga concludes, shutting the tome in her lap. “Are there any questions?”

You look up from your holotablet, where you’ve been taking notes and doodling along the way. You’re relaxed against a few of the myriad of pillows decorating the almost black-looking divan. There’s a thick chill in the air on this early winter morning, even with the warming spell that Frigga has placed on the room for the duration of winter. The cold makes itself at home in the room as the three of you finish up your last blood magic lesson. A large, warm blanket lays across your lap, stretched across the length of the divan to cover Loki as well. Loki’s legs are intertwined with yours at an angle, their weight warm and comforting.

You shake your head, shutting off the screen of your holotablet as you lay it in your lap. The lesson itself had been rather straightforward in how limited tracking spells with blood magic are, even if they’re the most accurate of any tracking spell branch. Item-essence tracking spells (tracking spells used on items owned by a person long enough that they’ve left an imprint on the item) are far more common for a reason, despite having a lower location accuracy and less reliability.

“I have a question,” Loki says, leaning forward and tossing her holotablet next to her legs. When Frigga looks over at her daughter, Loki says, “The Drekasál call it a soulmate spell, but that doesn't quite make sense when looking at it as a whole. So I wondered, is it actually a blood curse?”

You whip your head to your left to look at your friend, eyes widening at her question. A blood curse? Does Loki truly think that the soulmate spell might be a blood curse? On an entire species?

You can barely comprehend how many components a spell like that would need. You only know a fraction of what comes with the soulmate spell. The bits and pieces that you’ve seen or been told about. There are parts that you don’t know anything about, parts that you barely know anything about from the others who have brushed over them when speaking of their bond. The recent bonding of Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir has reminded you of how much you still have to learn before you come of age.

The true breadth and complexity that the soulmate spell might encapsulate begins to overwhelm you as you remember all that you know of it already. You feel a little light-headed the more you think about it.

Frigga is quiet as she rubs her thumb against the palm of her other hand. You know that gesture well. It’s a nervous, anxious gesture Frigga makes sometimes, one that Loki has picked up from her mother. Frigga is collecting the words necessary to answer Loki’s question. The sight of the gesture makes you uneasy because it means that Loki is on the right track. Loki has put together pieces you hadn’t thought of, hadn’t even seen until she pointed it out.

“The true origin of the soulmate spell is as shrouded today as it was the day it was cast. Both of you know this. Even I am in the dark about its truth,” Frigga confesses. You know that she has some capacity for clairvoyance, but it also doesn’t surprise you that the seiðkona doesn’t know the spell’s origin.

Whoever cast the spell, they cast it long before Frigga was born. The spell was studied intensely in the first decades after it was cast, and then practically discarded after a few centuries passed with no genuine answer as to its cause. Even with her ability, Frigga wouldn’t have been able to see who had cast it or why.

Frigga tilts her head, folding her hands in her lap as she casts her eyes towards her garden. “From what I know about the spell, it’s known that blood magic was a component of the larger spell that was cast. Whether that component was a blood curse or a blood spell is harder to determine.”

“What do you know about it?” you ask. “About its origin and how it works?”

“I know a little more about the spell’s origin than our scholars and archivists, and only because I understand seiðr and magic in a way most do not,” Frigga begins. She gets more comfortable on her divan by tucking her feet in and readjusting her blanket. It’s a signal to both of you that she expects this to be a longer discussion, and to get more comfortable if you’re not already.

You sit up, tucking your legs close so that they face away from Loki. You tuck the blanket around your shoulders, laying your hands across your lap beneath the blanket to keep them warm. Loki stretches her legs over the divan’s edge, legs tangled up in the blanket while she leans against you. Once the three of you are situated and comfortable, Frigga continues speaking.

“I’ve taught you that mixing the different branches of magic can be difficult, if not dangerous. Few branches mix well with others,” she says. Her words are measured and careful, emphasising a lesson that she’s repeated time and again over your training. Never mix magic branches unless you know they’re compatible, or risk the high probability of weaving together a hazardous spell. “We don’t know the origin of the spell, and we only have guesses on many of the components used to cast such a massive spell. But anyone well-trained in seiðr and magic can tell you this: the spell was cast combining blood magic and soul magic.”

An uneasy, almost fearful feeling skitters down your spine, raising the hairs on your neck and leaving goosebumps down your arms.

Blood and soul. Two branches of magic that mesh so well but whose mixtures can result in the most horrific of outcomes if done wrong. Your mind begs you to wonder if what happened to your people was an accident, or if it was the desired outcome. Both are possibilities, and both are equally chilling.

“Only Drekasál were affected by the spell. No other group was. Like they were the only ones the caster targeted,” Loki says softly. You can practically see her mind running the combinations and probabilities as she tries to shred apart the facts in her mind in search of the truth. “It affected all of them. Young and old, born and unborn, full-blooded dragon or not. Every Drekasál in Yggdrasil and beyond was affected. Even now, everyone with Drekasál blood is cursed.”

Cursed.

Before today, you’d never heard the word be applied to the spell that leaves your world in monochrome. It fits perfectly, though, for it to be called a curse instead of a spell. To be cursed is to be afflicted by something; monochromacy afflicts all Drekasál until they’ve reached maturity and touched the skin of their soulmate.

Your view of the universe shifts ever so slightly as you realise this. Even this slight shift is nothing short of violent and jarring. Your people — you yourself — were not simply bespelled accidentally by some ancient magic that was cast.

All of you were cursed.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr

Find the lore notes for this chapter here!

Join the taglist for this series (and other works) here!

[starlitangels]

WIP Wednesday!

@romirola put out an open tag for WIP Wednesday so I'm going to participate

I'm continuing the Open Tag! If you wanna do it, go for it! Show me what you got! But I will prod at @zozo-01 @gingerbreadmonsters and @pinksparkl to see if they have anything they're working on and might be willing to share? (No pressure, friends!)

Y'all remember my "(Still) Not a Tank" pair of one-shots (the race/role swap AU)? Yeah... I'm trying to finish Part 3! Have a taste!

—

Sam stared for just a moment. “Didn’t think you’d just… be on my kitchen counter, darlin’,” he said.

They chuckled, kicking their boots slightly where they dangled. “Thought it’d be better than just lingering on the porch for your Neighborhood Watch to call the unempowered cops on me. Dunno if you’ve noticed this, but I like dark clothes. People tend to think that’s… suspicious.”

“How long you been waitin’ here?”

“Since right after sundown.”

Sam blinked several times. “That was near two hours ago.”

They shrugged. “Didn’t know when you’d get back. Figured I’d get over here as soon as I could.”

“... Why?”

They stared at him, their silver eyes reflecting like a cat’s off the half-light peeking through the shutters from outside. “You… you said you wanted to see me again.”

“I did say that. I did—do—want to see you again.”

That earned a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not used to… people… wanting to see me. I’m used to being… tolerated.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better… I’m not used to… someone else bein’ so… eager to visit me.”

They looked away, turning their eyes down onto the hardwood floor. Biting their lower lip like they were trying to force down a smile. Sam caught the points of their fangs digging deeper than the rest of their teeth. He heard them say something, but didn’t catch any words.

“What was that?” he asked. Am I already that old that my hearin’s goin’? Or are they just that quiet?

They cleared their throat. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” They kept not meeting his gaze. “Anyway. What did you want to see me for? Just a social visit? Or am I due for a one-day follow up?”

Sam snorted. “Smartass,” he said.

They smirked—and it grew broader the second Sam’s heart kicked faster in response. “Is that why you wanted to see me? Get your blood racing a little faster?” They finally met his gaze and bit their tongue between their fangs on one side.

“You’re a nightmare.”

“Your heart’s still racing.”

“Even if—” Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re too young for me.”

“Like, five years max is not ‘too young,’ cowboy,” they remarked, leaning back on their hands on the counter. Entire body on display. Sam forced himself to only hold focus on their eyes, not drink in the rest of the sight. The tank top showing off scarred, muscled arms, jeans too tight to comfortably run in—Stop, Collins.

“Two,” he corrected.

They smiled. “Even better.”

“No—dar—Tank—”

Their eyebrow raised. “‘Tank’?” they quoted. “Thought you figured that nickname was stupid or something.”

“Look. You’re in your mid-twenties.”

“No, I’m not.” Their fangs slid out defensively. A growl was low in their throat. “I’m tired of people treating me like a child because I was turned in my mid-twenties!”

“I’m not tryna—”

“Then let’s be honest with each other. We’re adults. No dancing around like idiot teenagers.”

He had to admire how bold and blunt they were, if nothing else.

He took a deep breath. “Alright.”

[taomyou]

The Romance of Reimbursements - Chapter 1

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Status: COMPLETED Summary: There’s a guy you see every Friday on bus 143, and you think he’s pretty hot. It wouldn't hurt to tell your best friend about him, would it? or, you and Levi take the same bus home from work every Friday, and you fall in love slowly, clumsily, and with all the time in the world to fold as many paper stars as your heart desires. Word Count: 5.3k Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, modern au, office au, fluff, romance, meet-cute, matchmaking

(A/N: this fic is already completed and entirely available on ao3 here if you would like to read it. i am currently in the process of crossposting everything to tumblr, so please be patient!)

Chapter Navigation Accompanying Playlist

a bird keychain

“Thank you for helping me today! Have a good weekend,” Armin beams at you, sending you off with a wave.

You shoot him a small smile and a wave back before turning on your heel to go for the door. On the way out, you keep your briefcase tucked under your left arm as you wave with both hands to the rest of the people still on the floor.

Once the door behind you is shut and you’re out of your coworkers’ view, you let a smaller, more bashful smile break out on your face as you make your way over to the elevator. Your shoulders loosen up, and you find yourself taking lighter steps. Your arms are swinging freely, not paying any mind to how idiotic you might look. Ordinarily, you'd be walking normally when you clock out, so what has you acting so different today?

Well, it’s Friday, and Friday is when that guy on your bus is there.

✰

You first saw him in September, right around when Armin, Eren, and Mikasa started at your firm.

You remember Erwin begging you to give up your parking spot for Armin; it wasn’t hard to forget when the tall, usually levelheaded man got on his literal knees to ask you to find a different ride to the firm. You worked at a fairly busy downtown building with its own parking structure, but it wasn’t big enough to hold both client and employee cars.

Erwin was only able to negotiate a number of spots for your department, and, even then, most of them were reserved for clients. Erwin reasoned that Armin drove Eren and Mikasa to work, so it would be more logical for a spot to be given to them instead of having you, who drove only yourself, own it.

At the time, you didn’t know them all that well yet. They were freshly hired interns, the lot of them, and you had only worked with Mikasa so far. You were inclined to refuse Erwin, but seeing him on his knees was so… pathetic, and so you found yourself giving him a polite smile and saying you'd try to figure out a new ride.

Part of you also felt bad because Armin had already gotten ticketed 5 times by city security for parking at a client parking spot, and Mikasa had already asked you on several occasions where Armin could park without getting fined (to which you told her, "I don't know any better than you do. Before I got my parking space, I got so many parking tickets that I just stopped counting them.")

You and Erwin weren’t super close. Friends, sure, but you never interacted much outside of work. He was your work superior, and even if he was kind and cordial with you, he was like that with everyone. Perhaps he was more so with you because you were an intern around the same time he was starting out after coming from a different firm.

As the two “newbies,” the two of you would eat lunch together in the breakroom when the other coworkers got into heated arguments about workplace politics on the main floor. You'd eat in silence for a bit to ease out the stress from work, but you’d both talk about random things you did over the weekend when you had extra time before you had to go back to your desks.

You didn’t really peg him as the sort of guy to be into Gundam building, but most of the stories he told you from these small lunch breaks were about what figures he had in progress at home or how hard it was to find a certain model he wanted. You usually talked about the new recipe you tried that weekend or what you had planned for the next week, and he seemed as interested as he could for a guy who knew next to nothing about baking.

Back then, you always brought food from the family-owned Chinese takeout place across the street because... well, you were a struggling grad student without enough time to make lunch for yourself to bring. You'd make little paper stars for Erwin with the chopstick wrappers you got there whenever you saw him after lunch (even when you didn't eat together).

He found it odd at first, but you explained that they were good luck charms (and that you had a habit of folding them for people any time you got your hands on a long strip of paper).

It was a peaceful thing—what you two had going on.

Just two coworkers who ate lunch and talked to each other sometimes. That went on for a long time until those others coworkers went on to other departments or other firms, and the two of you were promoted into your respective positions now and got too busy to have lunch anywhere besides your desks.

Well, more like he got promoted and you were hired full-time after graduation.

And even though there was less time for the two of you to talk like before, when he first showed you his new office, you didn't miss the small jar of white-with-red-lettering paper stars sitting at the edge of his work desk.

Either way, no matter how tight you were with Erwin, you were left without a parking spot now.

He practically leapt to his feet in joy when you said you’d at least try to find a way around it, and he apologized profusely for asking you to give up your spot. He knew you lived relatively far since you had to drive 30 minutes to get to work everyday, so he promised to get you an unlimited-use pass for the bus if you weren’t able to find a ride at the firm, which you took him up on, not wanting to bother your other coworkers with the inconvenience of picking you up from a neighborhood far from the building.

He also promised to give you a spot as soon as he was able to negotiate another one for the department, and you forced him to link pinkies with you to seal the deal.

Now, you weren’t inexperienced taking the bus.

You took it every day in university, only getting a car the summer before your first year in law school. Even if it had been 5 years since then, you figured it wouldn’t be any different. Erwin did promise he’d get you a spot again soon, and you knew him to be a man of his word.

Besides, gas prices were crazy—maybe you’d be better off giving your wallet a break for a while.

The day you first took bus 143, you were wearing an outfit you wouldn’t normally wear to work.

Erwin was the only superior working in the office that day, seeing as the others were off at some conference in the next town over, and he was fine with you wearing whatever you wanted to—within reason, of course. You had on a nice pink two piece blazer and skirt, as well as a white blouse underneath it.

You also remember your outfit because Petra, another one of your coworkers, complimented your outfit and asked if the two of you could go clothes shopping together sometime. You promised to invite her the next time you went out shopping, remembering that she was nearing her first anniversary with her boyfriend Oluo (who worked on the floor above you), and that she’d maybe want your help choosing an outfit.

On the walk to the bus stop, you weren’t nervous at all.

You already looked over the bus route several times at work during your breaks. It was quite the convenient route—you only needed to take one bus, and your apartment was only a 5 minute walk from the stop after the 45-minute ride.

You spent the earlier parts of the week at another office in a different building (with actual parking) because Erwin had sent you to handle some business there, so that explained why you didn’t have to take the bus until the tail end of the week. You had breakfast with Hange that Friday, so you didn’t have to figure out the logistics of actually getting to work since they dropped you off, but you’d figure it out next week.

"Get home safe! Text me when you're home!" They yelled for you through their rolled-down window. 

It was good that you waited until Friday to try the bus anyway. You got out early on Fridays, so if you took the wrong bus or got off at the wrong stop, there would still be time to figure out the right way to get home. You were hardly worried about it, but it was nice to know that the sun would still be out if you ended up stranded.

You checked the time on your phone; 3:02 PM. You heard the screech of the tires seconds later, and you went to scan the card Erwin gave you earlier that week.

Well, curse you for thinking the ride would be normal.

It wasn’t until you actually got on the bus that you felt nervous.

After you settled into your seat and put your briefcase on your lap, you saw an admittedly really hot guy sitting right across from you.

He was clad in a neat suit, not unlike the ones the men at your work wore. He had a neat pair of cuff links pinned on his dress shirt and what looked like a watch peeked out from under his sleeve. His hair was trimmed neatly in an undercut, and it looked so impossibly soft and shiny. And even though he was looking down at his phone, you could still see his face quite well. His lips were downturned, his features were sharp and strong, and, worst of all...

His eyes were gorgeous.

They looked to be some shade of blue. Maybe even grey? Silver? You hadn’t even seen them fully yet, and your heart was already starting to race.

You didn’t even want to imagine how you would feel if you made eye contact with him.

You didn’t need to be knocked out of your staring. You knew it would be weird to stare any longer than you already had been, so you busied yourself on your phone while fighting off the blush you felt blooming on your face.

You occasionally stole glances at him throughout the ride, pretending that you were looking out the window he sat in front of, but your eyes never lingered on him for fear of getting caught. He never seemed to look back up at you though, so maybe he didn’t care that you were even there in front of him.

You were grateful for your choice in outfit, since you felt quite pretty in it—you wouldn't want such a handsome stranger to think you had poor fashion taste. Not that he probably cared. He didn't seem to look in your direction at all.

You were grateful he didn't look at you. Well... some part of you was grateful he didn't.

You had gotten bored of switching between the random games you had on your phone, so you took note of his bag. You were so entranced by his face that you hadn't even taken a look at his backpack yet, almost 30 minutes after you got on the bus in the first place.

It wasn't unlike the one you used in university and grad school—simple, black, practical.

What caught your eye, however, was a bird keychain looped onto the outermost zipper. It looked like some sort of white dove, but you didn't know anything about birds, really, so you couldn't guess what kind it was.

It was... cute. It didn't seem to really match him, but you suppose it added to the mystery of him. Maybe his girlfriend gave it to him? It seemed like it could be part of a matching set.

Before your brain could even wrap itself around the idea that this stranger could've been already taken, the bus stopped at 3:40 PM, and he got up from his seat, and left the bus without so much as a sound.

The rest of the ride was a bit of a haze.

You remember you got off the bus 2 stops later, walked the short route to your apartment, and put down your briefcase at your dining table after opening the door. You walked over to your cupboard and grabbed a mug, then you moved over to the fridge to take out a chilled pitcher of water you had in there. As you filled the mug, you felt a quiet bloom in your chest.

In the privacy of your own home, you finally let the blush you’ve been fighting finally reach your face in full, and it seemed that even your cold water couldn’t cool you off. After taking off your heels, you went over to the bathroom to start taking off your makeup.

The first time you looked in the mirror after taking bus 143, your face was alarmingly red.

What was up with you? You saw attractive men all the time, and you'd never been this flustered before. It had to be the mystery of a stranger, right? You splashed water onto your face, trying to calm down your burning cheeks. Hell, even your ears were red. 

After you removed your makeup and got dressed in some home clothes, you plopped yourself down on your couch and groaned. This wasn’t you. You weren’t one to even care for looks all that much in partners, and you were all hot for a guy you didn’t even get to make eye contact with.

You decided then that the stranger on bus 143 would be someone you didn't think of outside of the 40 minute-ish ride you just shared. You’d probably never even see him again anyway.

And you were right. You didn’t see him that following Monday. Not on the ride to work, not on the ride home.

When you didn’t see him on Tuesday, you figured he would just be gone forever, and he could stay someone you could form an answer around if someone asked what your type was.

Truth be told, you probably didn’t even have a type. Your university days were filled with LSAT cramming and trying to figure out where you wanted your life to go, and when you got into law school, the academic rigor was too much for you to even consider having a crush on someone. Now, as a practicing attorney, you were able to relax a tiny bit, and you certainly had more time than when you were a student, but you didn’t have any particular interest in dating. People were attractive, sure, but that had more to do with their charms than it did their appearance.

The week continued as normal, with Erwin popping by your desk more than usual to ask about how it’s been taking the bus. He sounded just about ready to give up his own spot given how guilty he sounded, but you reassured him that he was probably the only person in the department that absolutely needed to have his car on him.

Armin, Eren, and Mikasa offered to grab lunch for you (seeing as you didn’t have a car to go out for food anymore), and you spent that entire week eating with them in your office.

You were glad that they were able to explore the city a bit more now that they didn’t have to worry about parking, and it was nice to be able to have lunch with someone else. You hadn't had lunch with anyone since Petra started going to the upper floor to have lunch with Olou. The three of them seemed to really appreciate you giving them their spot too, even going as far as to try and pay for your lunches that week, but you just waved them off and explained you had more than enough money. They weren’t too much younger than you—just 3 years younger—but you knew better than to let them waste even more of their money on downtown food that was already overpriced.

By the time Friday came around, you had completely forgotten about the man on the bus, and your days were filled with paperwork, meeting with clients, and having lunch with your new favorite interns.

Imagine your surprise when, a whole week later, you saw him again, sitting at the exact same spot as last time.

You guess you didn't consider he only takes the bus on Fridays. Or maybe just at a different time, since you got off of work at 5 on other days of the week. Either way, you avoided looking at him altogether to save face, but you still felt a bit of heat reach your face at just the thought of him being there.

When you got home, you went through the same motions as last Friday.

Splashing your face with water, looking at yourself red as a tomato, and groaning into your couch cushions to curse the universe for making such a perfect looking man.

After the fourth Friday you see him, you accept that this is just how your weekly encounters with the devilishly handsome stranger will go.

You don't even get to decide whether or not the stranger on bus 143 ends up becoming someone you think about every week.

✰

You sigh as you step into your apartment, letting your blush settle just as it does every Friday.

The air has gotten colder now that it's January, and you're grateful you wore a scarf today to both shield you from the cold and hide your blush. After hanging your scarf over one of the chairs in the dining room, you head immediately into the bathroom to get a quick check at your reflection, not even bothering to try to get the red to go away. You just empty out your pockets on the countertop, not wanting to deal with the discomfort of your items pushing into your skin in a few seconds.

You know all too well that you need to go take a breather on your couch to cool your face, so you just head over and throw yourself into your cushions, groaning and kicking your legs. In your anguish, you hear the faint ringing of your phone from the bathroom. You barely register it as your phone, but once you do, you bolt up off the couch and rush to the sound and pick up without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" You say into your mic, bringing your phone up to your ear and trying to sound as neutral as possible.

"Hi! Can I come over?" You immediately recognize the voice as Hange's, so you relax into yourself again.

Before you even try thinking of an answer, you go back to your couch and flop onto it again. You move one of the pillows under your chin and shift around so you're lying on your stomach. Your phone's on the couch itself, and your hands keep your face propped up.

"Huh? Why? Aren't you at work?"

"Do I need a reason to see you? I miss you, and I got out early today!"

You shake your head with a small smile. Leave it up to Hange to joke with you.

"Hange, you live 2 doors down from me, I see you every morning. I got breakfast with you yesterday too!"

You can almost see them nervously smiling and scratching the back of their neck at your comment.

"Still! Can I come hang out? I've been craving some of your cookies, and you haven't made them in so long!"

"What cookies are you talking about this time?"

"I'm feeling like snickerdoodle today."

You roll your eyes, starting to get up. "Yeah. Yeah, you can come. If you're already at my door, it's unlocked."

There's a beep from your phone, indicating that the call's over.

Sure enough, Hange comes through your door in record time and saunters across the entryway and living room to give you a hug.

"Hange! Shoes!" You chastise. You return their hug, nonetheless, and they just laugh wholeheartedly.

They pull away from you before taking off their shoes and walking over to the shoe rack to drop them off. "Sorry! I got too excited thinking about the cookies. Besides, it's been forever since we hung out on a Friday!"

Lately, they've been staying late at their lab on Fridays. Something about some new scientific discovery and wanting the lab to themselves to research.

Oh well, such is the life of a scientist.

"How'd you even finish so early? You're usually at work until night on Fridays."

They laugh and motion for you to move over to the kitchen. They rest their face in their hands at the countertop, and you go to a cupboard to start grabbing ingredients and tools for the cookies they wanted. "Some other guys are staying late to work on a project, so I figured I'd head home after lunch. I got a snickerdoodle ad when I was—wait! Why's your face all red? Are you sick?"

At the mention of your apparently still-present blush, you look up at Hange to see them lean even closer to you.

"What? No, I'm not sick."

"Are you sure? You look really red, even your ears are pink."

You turn away from Hange as quickly as you can to avoid their gaze, opting to go to the fridge and get the rest of the things you need for the cookies. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

And just like that, you can almost hear the smile break out on their face.

"Holy shit! Do you like someone?"

You stop moving, milk carton in hand. You quietly shift to put it on the counter before turning back to get the eggs.

Your silence is probably more than enough to get Hange to keep going.

"So you do like someone! Who is it? Who!?"

Your face heats up at Hange's comment, and even though you have all the ingredients out and ready to go, you suddenly feel too shy to start. "I don't like anyone. You're making things up. Seeing things, too."

To that, they just straight up laugh in your face.

"You got even redder! Of course you like someone! Who is it? Is it one of those interns at your firm? Nothing's hotter than an office romance!"

You make a face of disgust at them and decide to start weighing out what you need. "God, no! They're all so young!"

"Well, they're the only people you talk about nowadays, I figured it'd be one of them. It's not your senior at work, is it?"

"No, it's not him. I barely even talk about him, I think I only brought him up when I was talking about how I had to give up my parking spot a couple months ago."

"Well, who is it? Is it me? I can keep a secret," they tease, continuing to badger you.

You roll your eyes at that and sigh.

It wouldn't be so bad to tell Hange about him, would it?

Besides, there's no way you actually like him. No, you don't even know him. You just... think he's pretty hot.

That's all.

Maybe they'd drop it if you explained it was just a stranger you saw every week. Maybe actually telling someone about it would help you not feel as anxious having to see him every week. It wasn't like you actually liked fussing over a man you didn't know.

You've been mindlessly mixing the ingredients together, now switching over from a whisk to a spatula to get the wet and dry parts combined. 

You know Hange's gonna get you talking at some point, so probably better to just rip the band-aid off now.

"There's this guy on the bus. I think he's attractive, that's all," you mutter. Hange seems to light up at the information, and the excited cheer from them tells you that you maybe didn't make the greatest choice telling them about your bus guy.

"Well, tell me about him! What's he like? Have you talked to him? What's his name?" You nervously laugh at their questions and sort of bitterly continue mixing the dough.

"I've got no idea. He just sits there, looks pretty, and gets off, like, two stops before the one I do."

They whistle, not seeming to care that you knew nothing about him. "He's gotta be a real looker if he's got your attention with just that! You're gorgeous, your kids together would be beautiful! Describe him to me, maybe I know him!"

You scoff at that, reaching over the counter to give them a playful punch to the shoulder. "No fucking way, Hange. There's no way you know him."

"If you're so sure of that, then tell me!"

You dramatically groan, wanting to play up your frustration, but it's nice that Hange's so invested in this to keep asking questions.

The two of you met 5 years ago, about a month before your first year of law school started.

You struggled to get your couch up the stairs, and they laughed at you for a good minute or two before helping you up.

Turns out, they only lived 2 doors down and were excited to get a new neighbor their age because, quote, "all the people on this floor are old and grumpy!" It worked out that they wanted to hang out so often because you didn't know anyone in the area yet, and you probably would've become a hermit without them to drag you around.

Hange was doing their master's program, though, so it's not like you went out all the time.

On nights where they had too much on their plate, you'd come over with a batch of cookies and your textbooks so they wouldn't feel so lonely working alone. When you were crammed, they'd come over with some poorly brewed coffee and their laptop so the two of you could watch a bad movie when you were done studying. When you both graduated, you shifted to doing more homely activities, like doing laundry together or meeting up to buy furniture, but the two of you still met regularly outside of when you'd bump into each other in the morning on the way to work.

It was nice to have a friend who accepted you as you were. You knew too that they had a larger friend group that met every so often, but Hange never forced you to join them on their nights out. They'd ask, you'd decline, and they'd happily come back sometime later, usually the next day, and talk all about all the fun things they did. It wasn't that you didn't want other friends.. It was just daunting to try and become apart of a group of friends who've known each other for what seemed like forever.

You made other friends in grad school and later at work, but having Hange at your side throughout all the changes of the past couple years was greatly comforting, even if the two of you didn't really know each other's friends beyond quick descriptions and stories.

To hell with it, there's no way Hange knows this guy. They're right, it wouldn't matter if you told them what he looked like.

You grab some plastic wrap from the far side of the counter and start transferring your dough onto it.

"Alright. Let me put this in to chill first, and we can gossip on the couch."

They almost look surprised, but they get over it pretty quickly and rush over to the couch, making a big show out of getting comfortable. You roll your eyes yet again and close up the plastic wrap around the dough, turning to open the fridge and chuck it in.

"Hurry up! I wanna hear all about him!"

You walk over to them with a shy smile, and when you sit down, you wrap the blanket around yourself before turning to face them.

"Well, what do you wanna know?"

"Everything! But let's start with appearance! What color's his hair? What does he wear when you see him?" Your face starts to burn up yet again at the image of him in your head, but you figure you can bear with it while you talk to Hange.

"His hair's black. It's styled in an undercut. He's usually wearing a suit, but he's probably just coming home from work or something."

Hange seems to be a bit surprised again, but instead of lingering on it, they move on quickly to the next question. "And his face?"

"I've never really gotten a good look at it since he's always looking down, but his eyes are this really pretty grey. I.. don't really know how to describe faces without sounding stupid."

Hange's just eating this up, aren't they? They look like they're racking their brain for other questions, so you figure you could tell them about his keychain to give them some more time to think about what to ask next.

"He has a bird keychain on his backpack, it's pretty cute! It's white, and-"

"Did you just say bird keychain?" Hange interrupts, eyes seemingly boring into your soul. You nod slowly.

"Yeah? Does that mean something to you?"

Instead of answering, Hange goes to their back pocket to take out their phone. After some swiping and tapping, they hand you their phone. On the screen is a picture of... a bird keychain? It's pretty blurry, but it looks just like the one that guy on the bus had.

"Hange, you're messing with me. You just googled a picture of a white bird keychain and got lucky, right?"

You see them shake their head, and it takes you a second to process what that could mean.

"Please tell me you're fucking with me. Please tell me you have no idea who I'm talking about." You stare at them intensely, waiting for an answer from them.

"You take the 143, right?"

You nod slowly.

Instead of asking another question, they break out into a huge smile and tackle you into a hug, squealing excitedly. "I totally know who you're crushing on! Oh gosh, I gotta introduce you to each other immediately! You two would be so good together!"

Well, at least you know now he's single.

"I told you, I don't like him! He's just someone I see on the bus!"

They let go of you but keep their hands on your shoulders, that shit-eating grin still on their face.

"Darling, I'm not letting you get out of this one! Oh, this is perfect! We're having dinner on Sunday, you have to come!"

Before you can even protest, Hange starts rambling on about the details (most of which fly over your head) while animatedly moving their hands.

You knew how hard Hange went when it came to things they wanted. They worked relentlessly in their master's program, they were in charge of setting up plans for their friend group, and they even got your landlord to lower the rent a couple years back.

There was no way you could stop them from dragging you to this dinner. You knew that you really weren't going to "get out of this one," whatever that meant.

Better to accept your fate than fight it, you guess.

But... even though you know you'll be embarrassed to death and you'll probably have to figure out a new bus route to completely avoid this guy after whatever shenanigans Hange's bound to pull, you somehow don't regret telling them about him. They look so happy just thinking about you coming to dinner with them (who even is them?), and you don't have the heart to refuse them and break that joy. They'd never pressured you before into hanging out with their other friends before, so... maybe this could make up for you never taking up their offer to go out with the group.

Or maybe you could figure out how to change your identity and move continents by Sunday.

Yeah, maybe you could do that instead.

But first, you'll have to finish baking those stupid snickerdoodle cookies for Hange.

✰

Next Chapter

[hhoneyglasss]

coke zero

notes: hello ! it's been a bit, but here's my first take on lovely ! i've nvr written for them before, so pls be patient w me lolol. i'm also trying out third person perspective, since i think that's what ppl tend to prefer in terms of listener characters (plus i've nvr written it before). i actually kinda like it, so i'll def be writing it more.

also, i actually began writing this awhile ago (like two or three weeks now) before i knew abt vincent and lovely's new BA, so i added a different ending to this so it would go a bit better with it (said ending had me adding 700 words to this fic, but that's oki !) also, ig this would take place before said new audio, although i'm not sure it matters. figure i'd mention it anyways tho.

and no, i am not sponsored by coke zero !! i just thought it would be smth lovely would like (don't ask, bcuz idk either)

hope u enjoy !!!

pov: lovely — third person limited

pairings: lovely/vincent, lovely/coke zero (jkjk)

word count: 1.7k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46691254

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! slight angst, but nothing too severe. lovely gets a little emo in this one, basically.

reblogs r v much appreciated !! thank u !! <33

It’s a nice night tonight–the moon is round and full, a pale, milky glow overlaying everything in view. The stars seem to glitter even though they’re lightyears and lightyears away, almost as if they’re calling to Lovely, who's sitting on the railing of their balcony. 

Vincent’s out tonight–some business to attend to with William about a new property they’re buying. He asked if they wanted to tag along, but they declined, so a chaste kiss was left on their cheek before he hurried out the door, only the scent of peppermint and diesel left behind. 

A Coke Zero’s in their left hand, though they don’t know why. They didn’t even realize they were buying it until they felt the weight of an 8-pack in their hands, the store receipt crumpled in their back pocket. 

They can’t remember the last time they drank it, but they do know one thing–it doesn’t taste the same as it used to. 

Gone is the taste of humid summer nights and anxious all-nighters before an exam. Gone is the taste of embarrassment because they blew out yet another lightbulb. Gone is the taste of seawater underneath the warmth of the day’s sun. 

Each time they take a sip, it’s sweet, sour, then bitter, yet they keep drinking–and they know they’ll keep drinking until the entire bottle’s gone, until the entire pack is gone. They’ll keep going until nothing’s left but eight empty glass bottles and memories still so vivid they’re painful. 

How do you manage when you’re stuck between two worlds yet forever bound to one? You could say it’s funny, but Lovely thinks it’s sad–although there’s a part of them that can appreciate the humor and irony of it. 

How can one claim to still be human when their heart doesn’t even beat? How can they call themselves ‘human’ when their blood is forever frozen? How can they still feel human when they run so fast that death can’t even catch up? 

When they look around them and can see the smallest fibers of dust floating through the night air, they know they couldn’t before. When they pick up the scent of squirrels asleep in their nest half a mile away, they know any other human can’t. 

But isn’t this what they chose? Isn’t this what they wanted? 

It’s been over a year, yet they’ve still got one foot in the human door and a hand in the vampires’. They look in the mirror and see silver and red eyes staring back, yet they swear they can still feel the pulse of electricity in their veins. Their core is nothing but a solid sphere of marble, yet they can still feel their face heat up whenever Vincent kisses them. 

What’s the point of being able to run faster than wind if they can’t outrun this? They seem to have escaped everything else, outran everything else, but somehow the human part of them is able to stay up to speed? Why? 

These are the answers they’re searching for as they stare up at the moon, a celestial oculus penetrating the black of the night. They think about how this is the same moon they’ll see for the rest of eternity.

Eternity. The thought of being alive that long makes them laugh so hard some of the Coke Zero spills over the side of the bottle, and it slides down their hand. They laugh and laugh and laugh until it turns to tears, and the tears mix with the Coke Zero and the sound of it fizzing makes them wish they could go back to who they were before. 

They watch as it drips down their hand and onto the wood of the railing before it soaks into the cracks of the splinters, and it‘s gone. 

Earlier today, they had cut their palm on the edge of a paper they were cleaning from off the kitchen counter. One drop of blood had dripped before magic flowed to their hand, and the cut was gone. They felt the tears worsen when the expected burn of soda in a half-healed paper cut never came, and they tilt their head back. 

Isn’t it backwards to wish for the delicate vulnerability that comes with being human? They miss the cheap latex bandaids, the pain of isopropyl alcohol, the countless bruises that appeared on their skin even though they hadn’t a clue where they came from. They miss being reckless—they miss doing stupid shit and having to face the consequences of it. 

And maybe this was why they fell off that mountain. Maybe it wasn’t just an accident—maybe it was their attempt to feel that human fragility again that they took for granted. They got so close, too—until they fed and the wounds healed and not a scar was left in the wake. 

Maybe that’s why they gun it 80 down 45 mile an hour roads. Pedal pressed down to the ground as far as it will go, wheels squealing against the asphalt as they chase that mortal thrill of being careless and impulsive. Yet each time the crash is incoming, they catch themself, and the danger of it all disappears. The high remains out of reach, forever a forbidden finish line. 

It seems they’re too fast and too slow at the same time, how sad is that? A dichotomy that lives and breathes inside Lovely, someone who’s torn between two halves of themself. 

Will these feelings change? Will they ever not feel like a stain on the Solaire name? Will there be a time where they look in the mirror and see those silver eyes and come to accept them? Will they ever feel like themself again? 

Lovely takes another swig of Coke Zero and looks up at the sky. They can’t answer their own questions, so why should the stars be able to? All they do is twinkle millions of miles away–Lovely supposes they’re chasing their own questions too. 

They hear Vincent at the front door, but before they’re able to react, the whoosh of the balcony doors can be heard behind them. They turn to see him standing there, his hands still holding onto the knobs. He catches the reflection of the moonlight on their tear stained cheeks, and he’s holding them before they even had the chance to set down their bottle. 

He asks them what’s wrong, but they don’t answer. Sobs hold back their voice, and they stay quiet as they lean into him. He doesn’t press his questions, but instead continues holding them, his hands running up and down their back as they rest their head in the crook of his shoulder. 

The minutes continue to tick by until Lovely pulls away, the heel of their palm wiping away the new tears they had shed. They look up at him, a shy smile tugging at their features when they ask if they can go on a run together. Vincent nods, smiles back, and holds their hand anyway as he leads them down to the ground floor of the house. 

Before he can ask them where they’d like to go, they’ve broken into a sprint through the underbrush, and he’s quick to follow soon behind them. Their laughter up ahead fades into the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves, and he can’t help but to laugh too. The brambles catching and tugging into their jacket have yet to faze Lovely as they keep running, the wind warm on their face as it dries the rest of their tears. They don’t know where they’re going, but they don’t quite care either, so they just keep running until they find out. 

They finally see a break in the forest’s artillery of trees and they emerge through it, a welcomed burn pulsing through their legs and their breath heavy as they walk onto new ground. Vincent’s close behind them, and Lovely giggles as he combs the gumballs and twigs out of his hair. 

They turn away from him and look around. They’re at a cliff–or more specifically, a waterfall, as they can hear the sloshing and rushing of water to their right. The ground is soft and doughy beneath them, the marsh plush as they walk towards the edge of the cliff. They sit down on it, their legs dangling over the black, jagged rock as they gaze down at the pool of black water down below. They run their fingertips along the edges of the cliff’s precipice, the texture rough and gritty, but cool from the waterfall’s mist.

Lovely stands up again and begins to take off their shirt and shorts, to which Vincent chuckles and asks what they’re doing. They point down at the pool, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of their lips. Vincent sighs before pulling off his own shirt and pants, and he moves to stand beside them. 

Lovely grabs his hand and smiles at him, and he swears the sight coaxes the air out of his lungs. He’s breathless as he looks away, and Lovely counts down from three before they finally jump off, their hands still intertwined. 

On the way down, Lovely yells, a wondrous sound filled with so much joy it has Vincent yelling too. It turns into loud laughter as the intense rush of wind grows cooler and the water comes closer. They finally splash down and Lovely relishes in the feeling of water wrapping around their skin and Vincent’s hand still in theirs. 

When they finally reach the surface and their eyes meet his, they swear they’ve never felt more free. 

They both cliff dive for hours, jump after jump yet the excitement of it never fades away. The night passes before they finally shrug back on their clothes and sit on the cliff again, the black sky fading as the dawn begins. The sun still has yet to rise when Vincent hands Lovely a bottle of Coke Zero–they smile and let out a small chuckle. He’s got a bottle for himself too and he pops it open with his teeth before wrapping his arm around their shoulder. They lean into him, and a sigh leaves them as they take that first drink. They both sit there as they watch the sunrise, the only sounds that can be heard being the rushing of water beneath them and the swishing of Coke Zero in glass bottles.

[bomberqueen17]

stuff

well, covid is thusfar just a mild sore throat. i would not have tested except that i had been so uncomfortable in that crowded bar with no masks anywhere on saturday night. to be perfectly clear, i was not wearing a mask either. i was drinking a beer and i was tired and i realized that i'd be stuck there so long that taking the mask off to drink and putting it back on again would be pointless, going without a drink would make the entire experience miserable, and if i wanted to talk to my companion, he'd need to read my lips because it was loud in there, and i just thought, well, this is it. and i was right; that's how i got covid. so if you can keep your masks on like i had been doing for the previous almost three years, you might just make it, though i'm hearing from other people that they're finally getting it now too, it's just too omnipresent.

however, it does also seem to have become less severe. so far, for me, it is, anyway. i genuinely would not have bothered with testing, over this; my temperature is stubbornly 97.5 degrees, normal for me, and i have no other symptoms. which is awesome i am not complaining. i'm just worried that the mild throat congestion will do what colds like this always used to do to me, and go down into my chest and become bronchitis. i really really don't need covid bronchitis thanks. so i'm taking dextromethorphan and guaifenisin and drinking hot tea and taking vitamins and i do plan to try to rest, i just haven't so far.

anyway.

i'm occupying myself in textile projects, as one does. pictures behind cut. yes sorry i know dreamwidth, the cuts don't work. i'm also told the polls come through looking absolutely bonkers, so congrats and i hope you enjoy the aesthetic of it. i would like to come up with a good way to make it more obvious what's an original post by me and what's a reblog but the tags don't consistently work and i can't think of any other way to do it, but i mean, this has been a years-long project, so. sorry.

anyway pictures:

firstly, i inkle-wove a hatband of Dude's own design for a hat he bought in Cartagena. He plans to secure it with an amber brooch. He has great taste. He needs to wear hats more.

[image description: an inkle-woven band in progress, warped on an inkle loom; it's about 1.75" wide, and is a gradient of stripes in red, burgundy, and orange.]

I got a book about inkle pattern drafts and such so he studied that and came up with this, which is an objectively cool design I fully intend to copy in blues and greens next. I also should do it in pink, purple, and blue because of my next project.

I continue to enjoy the Cashmerette pattern club, and the latest design was a puffer vest. I remembered that I have a garbage bag full of wool garments, unpicked-- someone painstakingly unpicked a bunch of really nice wool ladies' garments (I'm assuming, from the size and colors), laundered and ironed the fabric, and then it got donated to the quilting club Dude's mom is in, and she was like we... don't... quilt in wool, and gave them to me and I've sat on them for years trying to think of The Perfect Thing and lo, it's this. A puffer vest? Of nice formalwear wool? Heck yes. And by coincidence, the center front fit on a pair of unpicked vivid-navy trousers, and then the side seams with the big princess shoulder scoops fit on a deep purple former skirt, and then the back fit nicely with some sort of off-center but straight at least seams onto a large magenta skirt, so I have an accidental bi pride vest. And I'm going to stuff it with some carded wool, from the fleece I roadside-scavenged in 2017 or whenever that was; I have a bunch scoured but it's not ideal for a beginner to hand-spin, and now i have a whole new fleece to hand-spin, so i might as well card this into batts?

Anyway here's the experimental section I'm doing, which I plan to launder to see whether I get bearding or felting. (I backed the wool with some thin silk habotai, to prevent the carded wool from poking through.) I wasn't sure what to make with the finished item but Chita has claimed it, so I'll see if she wants it as a bed.

[image dscription: a gray cat sits on a square of pieced wool fabric in shades of purple, pink, and blue, with safety pins holding it together; one corner shows fluffy undyed wool fibers poking out where I haven't quilted it down yet.]

Not the finest quilting work but it's a rough draft and anyway it's got charm.

i'm hand-quilting most of it but i do intend to do the binding by machine and also do a little bit of machine quilting because i need to determine whether i can machine-quilt this vest or if i want to do it by hand. my hand quilting is sorrrrt of terrible, is the thing, but then so is my machine quilting, and this is going to be janky anyway, so i have to figure out if i lean into that or if i try to do better. It's an artistic process, y'know??

[scary-grace]

fic writer tag game

I got tagged by @mirkwood-hr-department for this game several days ago and at long last I have time to sit down and do it, so --

How many works do you have on Ao3?

Sixty as of Halloween night!

What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,958,061. And we're not even halfway through Kairos. Yikes.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Tolkienverse (namely the Hobbit) and My Hero Academia.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i ain't changed, but i know i ain't the same -- bnha erasermic hanahaki fic

seeking a friend for the end of the world -- barduil zombie apocalypse au

Kairos -- barduil SLOW burn historical haunted house romance set in 1977

Show Me My Silver Lining -- bagginshield band AU (my first grown-up fanfiction)

more than words can wield the matter -- after the Elves return to their forest at the conclusion of the Battle of the Five Armies, a certain elf starts writing Bard some very questionable letters

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually don't respond to them in thread, but I thank everyone for them in the author's note of the next chapter, and I respond to specific questions there or on Tumblr!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Undoubtedly i'll follow you into the dark. For now.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Show Me My Silver Lining. For now.

Do you get hate on fics?

I used to get it, back when I was writing on fanfic.net. I get the odd inexplicable comment these days, but so far I've been lucky on Ao3.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I write smut. I think. Mostly it's the nonexplicit variety, but I recently started using the three Cs when needed, so maybe it's explicit now?

Do you write crossovers?

I do not! The closest I've ever come to a crossover is naming all the non-canon background OCs in my BNHA fics after characters from a certain other manga. Nobody's guessed what it is yet.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No to that as well!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! My collaborators include incredible writers like @lonelyheartsmotel, @dogblessyoutascha, and @corndog-patrol!

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Barduil, no contest. The sheer number of words I've put into that pairing is unreal. The fact that I even have another ship is thanks to the sheer power of @corndog-patrol and e-girl!Mic.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I intend to finish them all, and am trying to finish at least two this week. But as for unpublished stuff, probably the barduil 'a quiet place' AU. I didn't make it too far, and I definitely lost motivation.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty solid at writing plot. Nothing makes me happier than leaving foreshadowing lying around and seeing if readers catch it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

As evidenced by my Ao3 word count, I'm not very concise.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't think I've ever tried it. I usually indicate dialogue that's supposed to be in another language with italics.

First fandom you wrote for?

Marvel. On fanfic.net. Dark times.

Favorite fic you've written?

Mm, I think Kairos is still my crowning achievement. But I have to say that I'm really proud of Love Like Ghosts, the first fic I ever wrote entirely in the Notes app on my phone and the first fic where I avoided ever using the main character's name.

I'll go ahead and tag @dogblessyoutascha @phantombstone @sophsiaaa and @melkors-defense-attorney!