#the line delivery of ''I love the man beside me...we love the open road...'' IS AN ACTUAL HEX

[joni-witchell]

Does anyone hear the crickets chirping in tempo and then the opening chords of Night Ride Home and then the FEELINGS™️ start to come to you and you fully go insane...or is that just me?

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | epilogue

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue

word count: 4.4k

description: it’s been five years since the Miroh Heights murder cases came to a close — and five long, bittersweet years since you’d caught a glimpse of Han Jisung. Things in Miroh Heights have changed drastically since then — but when Felix sets you up on another blind date in an attempt to help you move on from the past, you realise that, once again, you’ve signed up for much more than you bargained for.

masterlist

recommended listening: stray kids - “sunshine”

epilogue.

“See ya, Miss l/n!”

You turned to wave back at the little girl who had called your name, her round eyes visibly bright from the waiting room of your clinic. Seven years old, front teeth just beginning to come in. One of her hands clutched a half-unwrapped lollipop as her mother held onto the other. 

The first time you had seen them, the child had been unwilling to speak — bullied relentlessly at school, her mother had informed you through a veil of desperate tears — but now, her laughter filled the warm air, traumas that had once been etched into a too-young face already beginning to heal and fade.

Evening sunshine warmed your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the building’s doors, a light breeze rustling the papers in your hand as you quickly tucked them into your bag. “Five years of graduate school hasn’t made you more organised,” Felix often teased you, and you would smack his shoulder in retaliation.

Five years hadn’t changed your friendship in the slightest, either—and you had to admit you were beyond grateful for that.

As always, the city around you was humming with life: evening rush hour, with people darting here and there, frantically flagging down taxis and catching their buses. Usually, on days like these, you should have been hopping into the first cab home and collapsing like a corpse as soon as you reached your apartment. But today, you remembered with a sigh, was not going to be one of those days. 

“Hey, Doctor l/n!”

You whipped your head towards the voice, a smile spreading across your tired features as you saw who it belonged to. In a slightly jaded Mini Cooper—second hand, of course, but worked just like new — Yang Jeongin waved at you from the driver’s seat.  

“I’m not a doctor, ‘innie,” you reminded him playfully as he unlocked the passenger door and let you climb in.

“Not a doctor yet,” he corrected you, grinning. “Besides, ‘child therapist’ doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, and waved at another one of your patients as Jeongin started the engine. “You really didn’t have to offer to drive me, you know — the streets are a nightmare during this hour.”

“It’s not that far,” Jeongin protested, “Plus, I barely get to see you now, you’re so busy.” You didn’t have the heart to argue. The kid loved being behind the wheel so much, he made it seem like you were doing him a favour.

You watched Jeongin turn onto the main road, squeezing the car in between a van and a motorcyclist. He really had grown up over the last few years — his hair was darker now, remarkably sharp cheekbones overtaking his once-rounded cherub cheeks — but in some ways, nothing had changed at all. He still had that natural knack of brightening whatever room he stepped in — the Yang Jeongin effect, Hyunjin called it. And his heart was still too big for his own good: you remembered how he had adamantly refused to take the money Jisung kept offering him after the case had finally closed, and when Hyunjin had asked him why, Jeongin had simply replied, “After everything that’s happened, it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who owes me.”

On the other hand, Jeongin had been more than happy to take Prosecutor Kang’s compensation money instead, and had finally visited a car dealership with you and Hyunjin. 

The moment he had seen the Mini-Cooper — a beat-up thing from the 90s that you were amazed was still running — the younger boy’s eyes had lit up. “It’s just...it looks like the one our family used to have, before...the incident,” he had explained sheepishly, making you and Hyunjin exchange a look. And so, after a fiery back-and-forth between you and the salesman—not to mention a few sleepless nights at the mechanic’s — the rest was history.

The light turned green, and you spotted a photograph wobbling on the dashboard — a laughing child you recognised immediately as Jeongin. Behind him, a woman with a familiar wide smile had her arms around a man with eyes resembling a fox’s, with none of the slyness. “How’s your dad these days?”

“Mostly stays at home taking care of my mum, but he swears he wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jeongin turned his head to you excitedly, as if a thought just hit him. “She got out of bed a couple days ago, you know? The first time ever since my dad left.”

Your mouth fell open in a surprised smile, and Jeongin continued, “He’s real excited he got to teach me how to drive, too. I think he feels like he missed out on a lot of things, like...walking me home from school. Teaching me how to ride a bike. Graduation.” He shrugged. His words might have sounded sad at first, but you could see the way the lines of Jeongin’s face were more relaxed now, at peace. 

“Mind if I make a quick stop?” Jeongin asked abruptly, and you checked your watch before shaking your head lightly.

“I’m still about twenty minutes early. We’ve got plenty of time.”

He turned onto a familiar street, and you rolled down the window as Glow Cafe slowly came into view. It was just as busy as it had ever been — even the cars were stalling by the curb — but Hwang Hyunjin spotted you almost immediately, waving through the glass window. Quickly hopping out, Jeongin popped the trunk open, and you watched him haul two crates of coffee beans into the bustling cafe. The once-famed “delivery boy” of Miroh Heights only really did deliveries for Glow Cafe now, after Hyunjin had offered Jeongin a position as a barista until he graduated—and although he wasn’t the best with his hands (or his memory, for that matter), Hyunjin didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Him being here is more than enough for business. You should see the students flock in here every morning just to catch a glimpse of him.” The former barista snorted. “What’d I tell you? They’re eating him right up.”

They waved at Jeongin now as he jogged obliviously out of the cafe, Hyunjin’s laughs muted by the glass as he threw you a knowing wink. He had graduated himself, two years ago, officially inheriting the business after his grandmother had passed away. Glow Cafe had since come a long way, with Hyunjin always at the forefront of new design ideas and enthusiastically telling you about his plans to expand even more in the future.           

“Get this: ‘CEO Hwang, the most eligible bachelor of Miroh Heights,’” Felix held up his hands as if picturing a giant headline, giving his signature wolf whistle as you burst into laughter and Hyunjin kicked the blond man in the shin. “Ow!”

“How did you even get into the press with those cheesy titles?” Hyunjin  groaned.

“Not just ‘get into the press’, ‘jinnie,” you reminded him, giggling, “he’s the head journalist now!”

It was true—with his impeccable wit and seamless way with words, it came to nobody’s surprise when Felix maneuvered his way to the top of the local press in a matter of years. The head of the press still loathed him with a biting passion— “I can feel her glares all the way from her office,” Felix retorted — and rumour had it that the two seemed to fire shots at each other all day long. The image of a powder-faced, middle-aged woman bickering with your notoriously insufferable best friend made you laugh, but you also knew deep down that Felix always took his job more seriously than he let on. His eloquent articles had gotten his name out across the city in no time,  and so you took comfort in knowing that — no matter how hard the head of the press bared her teeth—nobody could touch Lee Felix now. 

Five years, you thought to yourself wistfully, eyes catching a familiar detective’s office as Jeongin drove past. What a trip down memory lane. You’d seldom come by this part of town since then, and seeing the familiar buildings sent a flood of memories and mixed feelings stirring in your chest. 

The well-loved Detective Bang, much to the disappointment of adoring students and professors alike, had moved abroad to a bigger city—whether he had been taken by a new precinct, or a new big case, you couldn’t be sure. “Rumour has it he’s doing undercover work now,” Seungmin had mentioned to you once in passing, “We haven’t heard from him in a while, but he’s making a big name for himself out there, that’s for sure.”

The District Nine police station whizzed by you in a blur, and more of the prosecutor’s words rang through your head.

“Meanwhile, the chief of police keeps insisting he’s glad to be rid of him, but we all know he secretly misses Chan.” Seungmin had shaken his head, and you had smiled at the image of the stoic police captain—chief, now—grudgingly sulking over the loss of his best friend.   

Jeongin made one last turn, and the narrow buildings opened up into the heart of Miroh Heights—the oldest part of town, where the roller rink, record shop, and the diner were. The sight of Mia’s Diner made you sink down instinctively in the passenger seat, and you couldn’t keep the raw dread out of your voice as you let out a long sigh. 

Jeongin gave you sympathetic look. “For someone who’s going on a blind date, you don’t sound too happy.”

“That’s because I’m not, Jeongin. I don’t even know why Felix keeps insisting on these. The last time I agreed to one was—” you broke off before you could finish what you were saying, the unspoken words echoing in your mind. The last time I agreed to one was when I met Jisung.

That’s right—the last official blind date you had been on, you had met Han Jisung — and he had turned your entire world upside down. For years afterwards, you had told yourself that you wouldn’t take that day back for the entire world, but now...now, you weren’t so sure.

After all, how could you be sure of someone you hadn’t heard from in over five years?

The rehabilitation centre didn’t allow letters in or out— you had learned that the hard way after your first letters had been sent directly back to your doorstep. Usually, they had told you, if things went well, patients could start correspondence again after a year or so—but you had gotten absolutely nothing. Not a single word. 

Five years—he should have been out by now. He could have been anywhere, doing anything—but he certainly hadn’t remembered to write or even call you. 

Had he really forgotten about you?

“Five years is a long time, y/n,” Felix told you gently, after you had adamantly refused the blind date he kept insisting on. “People...change, and maybe he’s—moved on.”

Moved on. 

You didn’t know how to tell Felix how much the thought of that hurt more than you were willing to admit, how this was the sole reason why you hadn’t been able to go on a single date for the past five years. You didn’t know how to tell him that Jisung hadn’t left your mind since the moment he had disappeared from your sight, five years ago, in the corridor of that courthouse. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Jisung had said.  And yet he was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Felix wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You’re in your mid-twenties now, y/n. Loosen up a little, yeah? You’re allowed to go on dates, for goodness’ sake.”

“I’m hopeless, ‘lix. I’m pretty sure the stray dog on the street has a more interesting love life than me.”

“Maybe,” Felix mused, “I think I saw it running around with a litter of puppies the other da—ow!”

“You okay? You look kind of sick,” Jeongin remarked, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Got everything you need?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. If only Jeongin knew how you had prepared for this date—by mapping out all the ways you were going to end it as quickly as possible. Faking food poisoning? Check. Arrange a time for a friend to call you and pretend an emergency came up? Check— although Hyunjin had had a strange glint in his eyes when he had agreed to it. Worst comes to worst? Pepper spray, check. You let out a slow exhale. “Sure. All set.”

You thanked Jeongin with a hug and hopped out of the car. Just as you began walking towards the diner, you heard him call out behind you.

“Oh, yeah, Felix told me pass on a message — from him to you.” You turned back, and Jeongin gave a boyish grin that was half apologetic, half laughing. “‘Go get ‘em, tiger!’”

You gave an exasperated cry and yanked open the diner door.

━━━━━━━━

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, and tonight it truly was: booths packed with couples both old and new, laughter and the smell of food wafting through the warm air as friends and families celebrated the start of summer. The jukebox was on and playing an old disco song you liked but didn’t know the name of, the checkered floor tiles clicking with the sounds of brisk waitresses’ heels and dancing feet.

You didn’t know why Felix had insisted on coming here, of all places, what with the mixed emotions and memories you had tied to it, but you had to admit that the jovial atmosphere of Mia’s Diner on a Friday night never really disappointed. You found yourself relaxing slightly—just slightly, bobbing your head lightly to the music.

“Mia’s Diner?” You repeated incredulously. “Seriously, Felix, do you only know one date location? For the so-called ‘Matchmaker of Miroh Heights’, you’re sure lacking in the variety department.”

“Easy, tiger. Just trust me on this one, okay? You’re gonna owe me one.”

“I’m not—” you began indignantly, but Felix continued.

“Plus, the poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either. You both need this.”

“Years? Are you setting me up with a hermit?” 

“Oh, yeah. A big-time loser, seriously— but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”

And so, for the second time, Felix’s schemes and pleading puppy eyes had gotten you here—sitting at an empty booth, waiting for a blind date. He hadn’t even bothered to show you a picture of the man in question. You couldn’t help the smile from slowly slipping from your face as each minute passed, and you nibbled your lip anxiously.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

You peered out the window, at the lights of the town glowing a faint neon  against the clear evening skies. Each time a car filled in a parking space, you sat up, craning your neck to see if it was him—before slumping back down in disappointment. Five years, you thought to yourself glumly. Five years, and you still had no luck with dates. Maybe you just had no luck with love, you thought dryly. You imagined Felix laughing later when you told him about it and sighed, a twinge of worry replacing the dread in your gut.

Had something gone wrong?

After turning the waitress away for the eighth time, you fished out your phone from your pocket, tapping on the foreign number Felix had given you. Zero new messages, zero missed calls. At least I can tell Felix I tried, you thought glumly. Maybe I should just call Jeongin again, and ask him to pick me up. And then you could drop by Glow Cafe for a bit, before trudging back to your apartment like a fallen soldier.

Just as you were punching in Jeongin’s name, feeling a sense of guilty relief wash over you, you vaguely registered the diner door swinging open beneath the lively music, and a pair of footsteps trying to shuffle past the dancing couples.

For a split second, you thought you saw a pair of tattered black Converse—laces untied, soles worn—but the mirage disappeared, and was replaced by a pair of dress shoes that eventually came to a stop at your booth. You sighed, fighting back the tears that had suddenly threatened to well in your eyes. Shit. This is not the time to be thinking about him. Why were you still thinking about him? And why on earth had you agreed to this? 

You lifted your gaze, trying to muster up a smile, hoping your disappointment didn’t show on your face— 

And immediately froze.

“Hello.”

Standing before you, looking almost like an apparition — a golden silhouette against the backdrop of the dim diner — was Han Jisung.

You had to blink several times to realise you weren’t hallucinating again. He looked...different, and yet in some ways, he looked entirely the same: his hair was shorter, but tousled as it had always been, cheeks flushed and breathless as if—as if he’d been running through a storm.

You felt your body moving before any intelligible thoughts could form in your head, pulling you forwards like a magnet until you were standing face-to-face, your shaky eyes darting across his features, not daring to believe what you were seeing.

All of a sudden, the glint in Hyunjin and Jeongin’s eyes made sense, Felix’s words replaying in your head as overwhelmed tears began welling in your eyes without warning.

“The poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either.”

“A big-time loser, seriously — but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”  

“Y-you—are such a dork,” you stammered out, one hand weakly hitting Jisung’s chest as you felt the tears finally spill down your face. “Han Jisung, you are such a d—” 

Your words were cut off when Jisung pulled you into his arms, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. Your shoulders shook with muffled sobs as you buried your face in his chest, memorising everything about this feeling, not wanting to take a single second for granted, memorising everything about him. Jisung no longer carried with him that scent of gasoline and fire — instead, he smelled faintly of lemongrass, and a hint of warm, fresh laundry.

“I missed you,” you finally whispered hoarsely, “I just—missed you, so much.”

He chuckled in your ear, the low, familiar hum stirring faint, faraway memories in your head, and you gripped onto his shirt harder, as if he would disappear completely if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

Jisung had found you in the crowded diner before you had seen him — just like the first time he had met you. And just like the first time, he had felt his breath hitch in his throat, hands hesitating on the door, wondering if he should turn back instead. He had watched you bob your head gently to the music, a small, tentative smile on your face.

You looked good — no, amazing. Different, and yet entirely the same. Kind, worried eyes catching him completely off guard, like the flash of a camera.

Just as bright.

Just as brilliant.

The truth was, there hadn’t been a single day where he hadn’t thought of you — of your voice, your touch, your laugh. Jisung had asked Felix for help the moment he had gotten released, but what he hadn’t forseen was your reaction.

“She won’t go on a blind date, mate,” Felix had informed him exasperatedly, “Took weeks of convincing. Good news, though — she finally caved. You sneaky, hopeless romantic bastard.”

She might have forgotten me, Jisung had thought. And even if you hadn’t, you might not even welcome the sight of him—after all, he hadn’t been in touch since he had left, all those years ago. But in the end, the inexplicable pull in his chest had grown unbearable, and he found himself walking towards you, wading through the crowd, feeling the ache in his heart softening with each step he took. All the way back to you.

You pulled away slowly, vision blurry as Jisung lifted a hand to cup your face, never taking eyes off yours. He had grown in the time you had been apart—he was taller, his once-lean frame stronger—and, most of all, there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, and you laughed in disbelief, “I think you’re my blind date.” 

“How—w-why—”

“I told you I wanted to do this all over again, didn’t I? And I promised that I would try to do it right this time.” Jisung smiled apologetically, wiping your tear stained cheeks with his thumb. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

You shook your head, eyes widening when you saw what he had been carefully clutching in his other hand: a small bouquet of sunflowers, their golden yellow petals as tousled as Jisung’s own blond locks. 

“Apparently they symbolise new beginnings,” Jisung said, pulling a stray petal from your hair and chuckling, “Keeping promises. Eternal happiness. That kind of thing.”

“Why didn’t you write?” You whispered, as Jisung tucked the bouquet into your hands. 

“I wanted to...to heal. In every sense of the word. I didn’t want to show you, until I...knew I was really better. Believe me, I wanted to.” Jisung’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he were fighting back tears. “I wanted to, so, so badly.”

You shook your head, mumbling something about how much of a stubborn idiot he was, and Jisung’s laugh made a hesitant smile tug at your lips. As if sensing the lightening atmosphere, the waitress had promptly appeared behind Jisung and meekly cleared her throat, setting down the menu. Jisung turned back to look at you, his grin growing playful.

“I hope you’re hungry?”

The diner seemed to come back to you all at once in a flood of senses, the music and murmur of restaurant goers sending a pleasant hum through your veins as you and Jisung sat down. The night went by in a warm blur, Jisung telling you about his life at the institute, the unlikely friends he had made, the dreams he hadn’t realised he had. 

“I’m going to go back to school,” he admitted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “I’ll be a bit behind, but...I want to study something I actually like this time.”

You had told him about how you had been working in a child therapy ward ever since you had graduated, about all the children you had met and loved and cared for. As you talked about them, you saw a wistful look in Jisung’s eyes, and a thought crossed your mind. “Have you heard anything from—from Minho?” 

He gave a small smile, but shook his head. “Rarely. It hasn’t been long since he was released, but he said he was planning on going abroad. Doing some travelling. I think...he’ll reach out when he’s ready.” He then added, as an afterthought, “And if he doesn’t, I wouldn’t blame him.”

The sad simplicity of Jisung’s words stirred a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place in your chest, and your mind flashed back to the cold-eyed coroner and his stiff smiles; then, to the raw pain that had cracked through his strained features the last time you had caught a glimpse of him. Maybe you would meet again one day, or maybe that truly would be the last you ever heard of him.

Healing of the mind, you knew, was a strange process—one that always took much longer than you would expect. There were always scars that reopened along the way, old hidden wounds that surfaced right when you least expected them. There would always be answers you might never find, you mused sadly, closure you might never get.

But sometimes, you thought as you listened to Jisung talk, memorizing the feeling of his fingers interlaced with yours, sometimes we can only hope to hold onto what we already have. 

The end of the night drew closer, and when Jisung and you had stepped outside the diner, the city was swimming in the dark ochre of the setting sun. Eventually, the two of you ended up back in the wide garden behind the hospital, your laughs and giddy conversation slowly hushing into softer murmurs. In the distance, the rush of cars on the main road grew sparser, the windows of the buildings around you flickering to life one by one like young stars. Here, though, as you rested your head on Jisung’s shoulder beneath a willow tree, the world seemed to stand still, and all was quiet.

You heard Jisung yelp suddenly and looked down to see a familiar dog pattering around your feet—a stray, with scraggly fur like an overgrown teddy bear that had been through the wash one too many times. It immediately pounced onto Jisung, beginning to lick your boyfriend’s face like no tomorrow.

“Oof! Hey there, old buddy.”

You laughed, scooping the dog off—only after it had gotten a few slobbery licks in—and shivered slightly as a cool night wind swept past you. Noticing, Jisung shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders as you raised a teasing eyebrow at the cliche move.

“It looks good on you,” Jisung insisted, and you laughed incredulously.

“Your jacket?” You asked, ruffling the dog’s ears as it curled up at your feet.

At that, Jisung looked back up at you—seeing the faint outline of your smile in the dark, your eyes sparkling as you looked back at him expectantly, obliviously—and in that moment, Jisung wondered what he had ever done to deserve someone as perfect as you. 

After a beat, he replied, “Happiness. Happy looks good on you, love.”

Your mouth parted in surprise—both at his words, and at the unexpected name—and Jisung took the chance to lean in and kiss you, pressing his soft lips to yours. Gently, at first — carefully, but as you began to kiss him back, you felt Jisung slowly relax. You kissed him the way you had wanted to for so long, feeling the years of distance, of heartache, of endless waiting finally unravel beneath your lips. His hands reached up to gingerly cup your face, pulling you closer into him as if he never intended to let go. 

Happy looks good on you, too, Han Jisung, you wanted to say once you pulled away, forehead still lightly pressed to his. And you deserve it, more than anything. You watched Jisung’s features come back into focus beneath the dim moonlight. His gaze was fixed on yours, filled with nothing but pure adoration, and you felt a sudden surge of warmth coursing through your chest. 

I love you, you wanted to tell him, more than you could ever know — but something in the warm yet playful look in Jisung’s eyes told you that he was already thinking the exact same thing.

So you just smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.

                                                YOUNG GOD | END

ryu says: to you — yes, you, who has reached the end of this series! this epilogue is my way of saying a big thank you to those who stayed along for the entire wild ride that was young god. thank you for loving the characters, the world of miroh heights, and of course, the story! there are easter eggs and full-circle moments all throughout this epilogue, so i hope you enjoy and have fun finding them all ^^

disclaimer: in my opinion, all epilogues are open to interpretation: i’ve left some characters’ stories untold, some loose ends untied for this exact reason. miroh heights’ story has finally come to a close here, but what happens to the characters from this moment on continues in the reader’s mind now. 

all that cheesy, pretentious stuff aside, i hope to see you in the next story!

[ikeromantic]

Mad Dogs

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction. This scene occurs at the start of Ch. 12 in the romantic route! Approx. 2600 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Keeping Secrets

Mitsuhide sat beside his little mouse, sharing space at the desk in their rooms. A packet of letters sat open in front of him, missives from Kyubei and his distant intelligence network. They were closing in on the shogun’s location. Ashikaga’s hiding spot was down to two holes he might have crawled into. Both had features to recommend them.

Nearness to reliable roads, distance from well-maintained lands. Space to accommodate his collected forces. Mitsuhide closed his eyes in thought.

“I’ll ask for some tea,” his little one said, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I thought I was the mindreader,” he smiled. 

She laughed softly. “Another skill I learned from you, hm?”

Mitsuhide felt a burst of warmth, and would have pulled her into his arms had he not caught the soft chime of bells on the stairs below. His smile turned sharp as he stood, placing himself between the door and his beloved.

“What -” she started to ask, interrupted by the door sliding open and the sound of a harsh, wild laugh.

“Motonari works fast,” Mitsuhide muttered. “This will be our next ally.” He hoped. This meeting was an even bigger risk than Mouri had been.

He heard her whisper under her breath. “I hope we get a cleric. Someone with a lawful alignment, at least.” It was an odd thing to say, but strangely accurate, considering.

“Special delivery,” Motonari called out as he entered the room and presented the figure behind him.

“I assume you’ve called me here to perform your last rites, Mitsuhide Akechi.” Kennyo’s voice was low and smooth. Like an underground river, steadily dissolving the stone. Unstoppable, unchanging. He was as solid as ever, his wide shoulders filled the doorway. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were twin fires, giving heat but no light.

Mitsuhide met his gaze, acknowledging the shared history of violence between them. “Welcome, Abbot. I have been looking forward to this meeting.”

The chatelaine’s eyes went from Kennyo to Motonari, clearly trying to weigh the greater threat. She lingered on the monk, her eyebrows rising with a flash of recognition.

Mitsuhide wondered what she was thinking. Was it only surprise at seeing the man in person after all the rumors and stories she’d heard about the Abbot? Or did she have yet another secret she hadn’t shared with him? The need to know was a dangerous distraction and he worked to force his attention back to the immediate problem. “My dear, you should wait next door.” 

She stubbornly shook her head. “I’m staying right here.”

He wanted to argue with her but Mouri dismissed the problem of her presence. “Forget the girl, kitsune. Let’s get to business, savvy?”

Kennyo’s glare rolled from Mitsuhide to Motonari. “I am not here for business.” He pulled his prayer staff apart, revealing the slim, sharp blade hidden within. 

Mitsuhide pulled his own sword the second he caught the reflected lamplight in its metallic sheen. It was a good thing he did as he only barely managed to block the Abbot’s strike. “What a very sensible weapon.” He gave the monk a tight smile.

“I am not here to listen to you talk,” Kennyo growled. “I am here to send you to hell where you belong!” His advance was like a boulder coming down the side of a mountain. Inexorable. 

The monk brought the blunt end of his staff up. Mitsuhide caught the blow on the flat of his blade, but the force of it shivered up his arm and left him open. Open to the glistening tip of Kennyo’s sword as it swept toward his throat.

The chatelaine lurched forward, her hands flying up as if to stop the monk’s sword. 

Mitsuhide moved back and the strike that would have killed him only left a small pearl of blood at his throat. His attention wasn’t on the wound or even his near-death blow. It was on his little one, who stood awkwardly in the midst of drawn blades, her hands still extended. “Get back, now,” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic held barely in check.

If she was hurt . . . if . . . he couldn’t finish the thought. His little mouse turned her head to look at him but didn’t follow his order. Mitsuhide grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him and into a corner. With a wall on two sides, leaving him a smaller area to guard.

Kennyo’s scar pulled at his face, twisting the grim smile he now wore. “You are afraid, Akechi. Good. May your death bring a measure of peace to your victims.” The Abbot prepared for another strike. 

Motonari’s shrill laugh split the tense air. “Come on! Yer not tryin’ ta leave me outta the fun, are ya?” He pulled his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other. His grin was manic and feral as he looked between possible targets.

Mitsuhide felt sick with anxiety. Against one madman, he was sure he could keep his little one safe. Against two? And one armed with a pistol? He would need to disarm or kill Mouri first. Kennyo was a deadly opponent, but predictable. The move would leave him open to the monk, but made it less likely that his beloved would be hurt. He shifted his stance, readying himself.

“Thanks fer gettin’ the party started.” Motonari laughed again. “I was feelin’ lonely over here.”

Mitsuhide leapt at Mouri, giving the pirate no time to move into a better position. But Kennyo wasn’t going to wait for his turn. 

The Abbot stepped between Motonari and Mitsuhide, shoving the kitsune warlord back. “I will not be cheated of your death!”

Mouri struck at the monk, forcing Kennyo to turn and block his blade. 

Mitsuhide took advantage of the distraction, knocking the pistol from Motonari’s grip. The sharp edge of his sword left the skin of Mouri’s hand split open and weeping redly. He chanced a look back at his beloved. She hadn’t budged from her spot in the corner. “Run!” Mitsuhide kicked Mouri’s pistol further from him. “Run while you can!”

The pirate laughed even louder, moving as quick as an eel to dodge Kennyo and turn his aggression toward Mitsuhide. 

The chatelaine shook herself from her shock and darted around the edge of the fray. Mitsuhide felt a spike of worry but in a moment she’d reach the door, and safety. But before she was out of danger, she stopped, turned.

Mitsuhide recognized the expression on her face. Naive resolve. That stubborn streak he loved and hated. 

Instead of running, she shoved herself into the middle of the combat. “STOP! Stop fighting this instant!”

Motonari’s cackle rose in volume and pitch as he laughed at her bold - and foolish - move. But Kennyo’s sword armed dropped. 

“That’s right! You heard me! Cut it out!” 

That was perhaps not the best choice of words, Mitsuhide thought. But it seemed to work. At least, it brought a moment of calm as the monk and the pirate watched her. He calculated his next move should they resume the attack. At this distance, he could easily get his little one out the door, though it would leave him painfully open. Worth it, but he’d take a wound or two. Probably not enough to kill him. Not quickly. Plenty of time to take them both down . . .

The chatelaine put her fists to her hips, staring them down. Even Mouri felt the weight of her disapproval. His laughter died off. “You. Are acting like children. I thought this was a meeting of men.” One hand rose, finger extended like a weapon toward the Abbot. “And you! Aren’t you a monk? Attacking your host?” Her voice was hot with outrage. “Where are your manners?”

Kennyo took a step back, his eyes wide. “Are you . . . rebuking me?”

Her lips were set in a firm line, cheeks red with anger. Hot eyes swept Mitsuhide and Mouri up together. “And you! Don’t think this doesn’t apply to you. Did you want help? Or not?”

Had they not had an audience - and a deadly one at that - Mitsuhide would have kissed her. Battle-lust still sang in his veins and all that energy needed an outlet. He could imagine crushing her against the wall, his lips taking hers while his hands tore open that kimono to . . . he coughed. His little one was . . . entirely . . . too distracting.

She seemed oblivious to his thoughts as she crossed her arms. “Well? You have about three seconds to put up your weapons and prove to me that you are men. Otherwise I’ll - I’ll turn this party right around!”

Motonari’s lips turned up in a muted smile, unusual for him. Mitsuhide did not like the light in Mouri’s eyes as he regarded the chatelain. After a long moment of silence, the pirate sheathed his sword and picked his pistol up. 

He put his own blade away and heard Kennyo do the same. He chuckled as she watched them obey her order. “To think, after everything it is you that now lectures me.” He bowed to her and then to his guests.

“Perfect,” she chirped, flashing the three men a tight smile. “I’ll get some tea.”

Mitsuhide could tell by the way she stepped toward the door that she was a breath away from falling over. Her firmness was an act. Convincing, but short-lived. He caught her by the elbow and helped her to the door. 

She leaned against him taking strength from his closeness.

He kissed her cheek and whispered. “I am sorry to put you in danger like that. It seems I - I lost my cool.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You never let anything disturb you before.” Her troubled expression broke his heart.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t want you to think about that. My actions are mine alone. Only I bear any blame.” He bit at his lip before continuing. “I couldn’t handle seeing someone pull a weapon so close to you.”

Behind them, Kennyo cleared his throat. “Who is this young girl, Akechi?”

Mitsuhide turned, his arm still around his little mouse. “She is a princess of the Oda, the chatelaine of Azuchi castle and my - my fiancee.”

“Your . . .” The Abbot’s expression was one of surprise. His hard eyes focused on the chatelaine. “Young lady. I have a question for you.”

Motonari leaned back on the wall, looking as if this had been the outcome he wanted all along. “Finally ready to talk, eh?”

“Quiet. I’m not speaking to you.” Kennyo’s gaze did not waver. “Why are you here, girl? With Mitsuhide Akechi on the dawn of his march against the shogun?”

With a deep breath, the chatelaine stood up straight, removing herself from the warmth and support Mitsuhide offered. She met the Abbot’s eyes without flinching. “Officially, I’m here to get in Mitsuhide’s way. To stop him from being reckless.” She smiled wistfully. “At least, that’s my job until the battle starts. But up to that moment, I plan to be by his side.”

“I see.” Kennyo’s gravelled voice sounded uncertain, a tone that rarely came from the demon-monk. 

“If you’re done talking to my lit - ah, my fiancee, I’d like to speak with you about my proposal,” Mitsuhide interrupted.

The Abbot’s expression hardened. “I have put down my weapon at the request of this young woman. Do not take that for interest in whatever game you play, kitsune.”

Mitsuhide glanced at Mouri in annoyance. “I had hoped your former ally would put a little more effort into persuading you.”

“Pfft. Be thankful I even brought ‘im,” Motonari snorted.

Kennyo’s squared his shoulders. “I am leaving. Be warned that when I see you again, I will not show mercy.”

“Please. A moment more, Abbot Kennyo.” Mitsuhide thought courtesy and respect would buy him just a little more time to soften the monk to his plot. “You have reason to disdain an alliance with me, but you share a need to see the shogun dead.”

The Abbot raised one eyebrow.

“Your follower, the one killed in the Azuchi dungeons?” Mitsuhide assumed Kennyo would remember the recent loss. He saw the Abbot give a slight nod. “He was murdered on Ashikaga’s orders. Yoshiaki used that death to try and make it seem that you and I were connected.”

Kennyo’s low growl sounded more demon than man. 

The chatelaine nodded agreement. “Yes, that’s right. He admitted it at Honno-ji.”

Mitsuhide watched the Abbot carefully. This was delicate work. “That death came after days of gruesome torture as he was forced to lie, and falsely confess we were allies.”

“Why . . . why are you telling me what I already know?” The words tore from the Abbot’s throat, a rumble of warning like the snarl of a rabid dog.

This would either win him to their side or provoke a renewed attack. Mitsuhide took a small step forward, just to make sure he could easily push his little one out the door if it came to that. “What other agents of yours might the shogun already know about? Perhaps another spy in the Oda forces? One my informants tell me is currently pursuing the shogun as we speak?” The image of bright, troubled eyes and a sweet smile accompanied the words as Mitsuhide thought on the subject of their discussion. 

The Abbot’s expression shifted to one of surprise and barely suppressed rage.

Yes. Now they had him. Mitsuhide kept his expression neutral. “I am right, am I not? Your faithful pet, the one you snuck into Azuchi some time ago . . . he is the one you’ve set to hunt the shogun.”

Mouri chuckled. “Damn. You even know about the kid, huh?”

“You hellspawn,” Kennyo rumbled. He grabbed Mitsuhide by his clothes and lifted him up as if to shake him. 

Mitsuhide knew he’d won this round. “Perhaps? But as you may know, my memory is quite poor. I find myself often confused . . . forgetting all kinds of things . . .” The Abbot had only to accept his defeat now. “I suspect that as long as I have proper allies in my fight against the shogun, this little detail will have quite escaped me by the time I return to Azuchi.”

Kennyo did shake him then. Still refusing to see the inevitable conclusion of this meeting.

“Abbot . . . tell me, didn’t you come tonight because your own fight against Ashikaga was going harder than you expected? Didn’t you wish for some assistance? Be honest with yourself, if not with me.”

Motonari straightened. “Come on, Kennyo. It’s not like yer marryin’ the kitsune. This is all just temporary. We can kill Akechi the second we put the shogun down.”

“You are both vile men.” The Abbot lowered Mitsuhide to the ground and released his grip.

“An’ vicious, mad, bloodthirsty,” Mouri went on, his grin widening until his teeth shone.

Mitsuhide straightened his clothes. “Yes. We are all birds of a feather. And to kill a man who barely grants others their place as fellow humans, it falls to monsters like ourselves.”

 Kennyo’s nod of agreement was barely a tilt of his chin. “Do not expect camaraderie from me. The moment the shogun’s head leaves his neck, I will again seek Nobunaga’s life. And yours.” The twin fires of his eyes burned like banked coals.

“Your terms are accepted. Now. We have much planning to do.” At that, the three sat on the floor, together, but apart. Hands near weapons, tense shoulders, and terse words.

“I’ll ah, go get that tea then,” the chatelaine mumbled. 

Mitsuhide flashed her a small smile. He was so proud of her. And so troubled by her. How could one little mouse leave him such a mess?

Next: Unexpected Gifts

[moshymosh]

Remember me: A Night To Remember (2)

When the love of your life suffers from a disease that affects their memory of their life with you, what do you do? Will you spend your last days with them, trying to get them to remember you? The life you had, or would you give up and let them forget you?

Summary- Dr. Spencer Reid felt his whole life change when Agent Y/n L/n joined the BAU. She came in like a cool summer breeze changing everything Spencer knew about love and his capacity to care for someone so much. Y/n came to the BAU with a tragic past, her only goal was to save lives and make the world a safer place for everyone. She meets a skinny shaggy haired doctor, which causes her whole life to change, much like Spencer, will she fall in love or will her tragic past or even her job prevent her?

Pairings- Dr. Spencer Reid x f!reader.

A/N- This is a notebook inspired story, this story will be told and wrote like a chapter book. So some of the endings will not always make sense. Also I don't claim go own Criminal Minds or the Notebook, this is solely for entertainment purposes and for enjoyment. Some of the lines are from the notebook movie, again I don't claim to own either fandom/tv show/ movie. I try to make Y/n as vague as possible so shes more inclusive so if there is any descriptive things that don’t apply to you feel free to ignore them. Also just putting this out there as the story progresses Maeve is still alive and well, she is a good friend of Spencer and Y/n’s. There will be graphic content and sexual scenes in later chapters, warnings will be added as they go. Also if you want to be tagged send me an as or comment here, also send requests I'm down for making little fics.

Here is the board I've been using for inspo here

PS- Please don't post my fics anywhere without my documented consent, thanks -Karma (MoshyMosh)

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Spencer looked at his reflection in the mirror of the fitting room as he adjusted the sleeves of the suit jacket he was trying on, he sighed and stepped out of the small room into the sight of his coworkers.

“Do I look ok?” he asked his friends nervously

“Lose the gray shirt, go for white.” Derek said, looking up from his phone to Spencer. “Garcia just sent me a picture of the tie they got you that matches Y/n’s dress.” Derek said as he passed his phone to Rossi, sitting beside him.

“Yeah, white will look best.” The Italian agent said, looking up from the picture on Derek’s phone. “JJ has your tie, Spencer. She said she will bring it by later today, or in the morning it seems.” he said with a chuckle as he handed Derek his phone back.

“Looks like they're breaking out the wine.” Derek said, chucking at the picture of Penelope holding up two bottles of wine in Y/n’s living room.

“Good Italian wine they're having too.” Rossi remarked, smirking.

Derek looked back up at Spencer, “get the tux but with a white shirt.” he told him.

Spencer turned around to look at his reflection again and nodded his head in acceptance of the suit before he turned and told the employee nearby what he wanted. When the employee went to look for his shirt, Spencer went back inside the fitting room to change back.

Spencer handed the suit he neatly hung back on the hanger to the employee and followed his friends up to the registers to pay for his items. As he let Derek drive him back to his apartment he began to think about Y/n and if she really liked him or only saw him as a friend and coworker. Spencer then wondered if she was having fun with the girls.

“Why are you so quiet pretty boy?” Derek asked as he glanced from the road to Spencer then back to the road.

“Just thinking.” Spencer said looking from the window to Derek.

“About Y/n?” Derek asked softly, looking over to see Spencer nodding his head as he looked out the window again. Derek looked back to the road before he spoke. “Don't overthink your feelings or hers, it won't end well if you do.”

Spencer and Derek sat in silence the rest of the way to Spencer's apartment, once Spencer began to climb out of the car Derek spoke again.

“Keep giving her those gifts, let it come naturally.” Derek said as he watched Spencer grab his tux from the back of the car. Spencer walking into his apartment building, heading for his home as he kept repeating what Derek told him in his mind.

Y/n giggled as she sipped on her wine before she grabbed the box Emily was holding out to her. “What’s this?” she asked in confusion.

“Just open it.” Penelope said as she applied a face mask, looking into Y/n’s makeup mirror she set in Y/n’s coffee table.

Y/n shook her head with a laugh before she set her wine glass down and began to open the lid to the box. She let out a small gasp when she saw the necklace Emily showed her in the shop. “Emily... You didn’t have to do this.”

“Consider it my welcome to the team gift, that is several months overdue.” Emily said as best she could with the drying face mask on her face.

“Thank you, so much.” Y/n said before their laughter was interrupted by Y/n’s buzzer going off. “That must be the food.” Y/n said as she got up to buzz the delivery guy in. Y/n paid and brought their food back to be passed out to the girls. The rest of the night the girls laughed and cried together, just spending some time being friends.

Y/n walked into the bullpen with a groan as she felt the bright lights of the room hit her eyes. She walked over to her desk and plopped down on her chair, dropping her bag from her shoulder to the floor beside the chair.

Y/n spotted the coffee cup in her desk and grinned, looking over to Spencer. “Spencie, you are truly a Godsend.” she said as she saw him walk over to her desk, she stood and gave him a hug causing him to stand stiff.

“Uh, thank you.” Spencer said once she let him go and grabbed the coffee he got for her. She took a sip and sighed happily after.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hotch asked, walking into the bullpen in plain clothes as he looked around at the team that was in the room.

"What do you mean Hotch?" Derek asked him in confusion.

"We have the day off, I'm only here because security called me." Hotch said with a chuckle.

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, her hand reaching up to hold her head. "You're telling me I could've been at home sleeping off the wine headache?" She asked sarcastically as she reached down to pick up her bag. "Though if I did know I wouldn't have gotten my daily dose of Spencer coffee." She said as she grinned at JJ after seeing Spencer scratch the back of his neck in nervousness.

"Guys go home we have a ball tomorrow." Hotch said with a laugh, walking with everyone to the elevator. When they all began to load up in the elevator Y/n and Spencer slid to the back, standing behind everyone Y/n quietly switched the hand she was holding her coffee cup in and hooked her pinkie finger with Spencer's once she freed up her hand.

Y/n looked up at Spencer to see him smile before she leaned her head on his shoulder as they rode like the rest of the way down, only separating when the doors open to the elevator and everyone began to step out.

"Guys, let's have lunch at my place." Rossi said looking at his team. "I'll cook and from my profile of SSA L/n you seem like quite the cook."

Y/n chuckled nervously and shrugged bashfully. "I dabble but I'm down for some famous David Rossi cooking."

"Dabble? Bish please I've seen your kitchen." Penelope said, her arm hooked with Derek's as they stood around in the garage. "You're like a regular old Rachel Ray."

"That settles it. We're doing it. Everyone go home, change into more comfortable clothes and meet at my house after." Rossi called out as he walked to his car, his finger raised as he gestured to the team behind him.

Y/n watched everyone walk to their cars and begin to leave, she watched Spencer begin to walk to the exit of the garage to take public transportation back to his apartment. "Spencer!" Y/n called out to him causing him to stop and turn back around to look at her. "Let me give you a ride?" She asked him, holding her keys up.

"Uh-uh- yeah sure." Spencer said walking back over to him. "You don't have to stop at my apartment, all my clothes are like this."

Y/n smiled and nodded her head in thought. "Ok, it won't take me long to change." Y/n said as she unlocked her car and began to walk around to the driver's side door. "Come on, join me in my trusty steed." Y/n joked with a chuckle as she slid into her seat. Spencer laughed at her joke and slid into her passenger seat.

Y/n started her car and began to pull out of her parking spot then out of the fluorescent-lit garage. She started driving to her apartment, Spencer would steal glances at her as they drove, the soft sounds of Y/n singing to whatever song was on the radio, every time he looked at her a small smile would grace his lips.

"We're almost there, take a picture when you can." Y/n said with a smile, as she turned into her assigned parking space in the parking lot of her apartment complex.

"I have an eidetic memory, I physically can not forget things." Spencer said as he watched as she climbed out of her car.

Y/n laughed and leaned down to look at the man who was still sitting in the passenger seat of her car. "You coming smarty pants?" She stood up straight as she shut her door, moving to lean her hip again the hood as she waited for Spencer to get out. Y/n pressed the lock button on her key fob after he climbed out and began to walk up to her building complex.

Spencer looked around at the complex. "This is a very secure place." He noted when he looked back to watch her scan her keycard to enter into the gate that surrounded the living complexes and courtyard.

Y/n held the gate open for him and nodded as they began to walk to the building her apartment was in. "Yeah, safest one I could find when I moved here." She said softly as unlocked her door and stepped in letting him in behind.

"Why this place?" Spencer asked as he looked around at the organized chaos in her apartment. The chaos he knew from his own living space. Y/n sighed as she set her keys and bag down on the kitchen counter, Spencer looked into the kitchen and noted in his mind what Penelope was saying was true about Y/n's culinary expertise.

"I'll tell you someday." She said gesturing to her living room. "Please make yourself comfortable, I'll just be a minute." Spencer walked further into the living room as he heard her footsteps receding down the hallway to what he assumed was her bedroom.

After she changed and gather her things they were back on the road. heading to Rossi's house for the lunch he offered. The whole team had a great time at the Italian agent's house. Rossi true to his word roped Y/n into cooking with him. The time spent at his house was spent in laughter and fun. Lunch turned into dinner with Y/n being the sole cook this time and soon they were all heading home.

Spencer laid in his bed thinking about what Y/n might look like at the ball. No matter what she wore she would still look beautiful in his eyes. The night faded into the early morning dawn of the day of the ball.

The girls decided to all go to Emily's apartment to get ready for the ball. They did each other's hair and helped with their makeup. Y/n smiled at the girls as they fussed with their dresses. She looked out the window and smiled again at the soled of the setting sun. she looked back down at the mirror in front of the window and continued applying her light red lip stain.

Y/n finished her lipstick and stood, walking over her dressed that was hanging on the back of the door. "JJ help me get into this?" She asked the girl in question who was the first one dressed. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up where it belonged before she turned to let the blonde zip her up. "Girls the guys will be here any minute." She stated as she gathered her stuff.

Right as Y/n said that the doorbell to Emily's apartment buzzed signaling the rest of the team's arrival, causing Penelope and Emily to squeal in surprise. She rolled her eyes and laughed at the pair before she followed her female coworkers to the door to meet the guys downstairs to ride to the venue together.

Spencer stood outside one of the SUVs they were using for the night, watching each one of his coworkers exit the building. Spencer let out a quiet gasp when he saw Y/n, her being the last one to walk out. His eyes raked over her frame taking in every detail, knowing that it will be in his memory forever.

Y/n smiled as she stood in front of him. "Oh, I almost forgot." She said softly before she pulled out a yellow red-tipped rose that she had made into a boutonniere. "I uh- I got this for you." she said shyly as she gestured to the item in her hands.

"Thank you." Spencer said as he stepped closer to her.

"May I?" She asked as she looked up at the agent through her mascara-coated lashes.

"Uh, Yes please." Spencer said, feeling her skirt brush again his legs as she stepped closer to him. His hands instantly went to her hips, not knowing it was to keep her steady or for him to hide the shakiness of his hands. He committed the way the silky tule felt under his fingertips to his memory. Y/n focused on putting the flower in the buttonhole of his suit jacket and pinning it in place.

Spencer looked down at her hands as she straightened the accessory on his jacket. He had to suppress the whine when she stepped away, looking back to her face as it held a small smile directed at him, a blush coating her cheeks.

"Let's go love birds." Derek said with a chuckled as he and their teammates watched them. Soon everyone was loaded into the two SUVs and began driving to the location of the FBI ball.

Y/n and Spencer sat in the back seat of one of the vehicles, Spencer looked over at Y/n and watched the lights of the city flash across her face. Spencer's eyes looked down to his hand that was resting on the seat between them, her pinky finger was hooked onto his pinky and ring fingers. He smiled at the gesture and almost pouted when she pulled away as they arrived at the location.

"Let me get the door." Spencer told her as he got out of the car and rushed around to open her door. He helped her out of the car and smiled at her after he shut the door behind her. Y/n looked around before she linked her arm with his, as they began to walk up the walkway to the entrance.

The evening was spent in fun, dancing, and laughing after the awards were passed out and announcements of changes being made in the bureau were made. Soon the music slowed and Spencer asked Y/n to dance. She looked up and smiled, taking the hand he offered. He lead her to the dance floor and began to dance to the slow tune playing.

"Spencie?" Y/n asked softly, looking up from his shoulder that she was resting her head upon.

"Hmm?" He hummed out as he rested his head against hers.

"Those roses? The ones you gifted me, the coloring means friendships and or falling in love. You obviously knew that you know everything, mister four PhDs." She joked causing Spencer to chuckle and sigh in contentment. "What is your meaning behind them?" She asked softly.

"Well, we're already friends..." Spencer said softly. "Is it bad I meant them to be I am falling in love with you?"

Y/n smiled into his neck before she began to whisper. 'The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me. This poem dropping shy and unseen that I always carry. And that all men carry.' Y/n took a breath and pulled back to look at him.

'Love thoughts, love juice, love-odor, love yielding, love-climbers, and the climbing sap.' She continued only stopping when he started speaking.

'Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts of love, bellies pressed and glued together with love.' Spencer recited from memory.

'Earth of chase love, life that is only life after love.' She recited along with him. She stopped speaking thinking that they were going to stop, she let out a soft gasp when he continued.

'The body of my love, the body of the woman I love, the body of the man, the body of the earth.' Spencer finished, as he looked into her eyes deeply. "Spontaneous me. Walt Whitman." Spencer said as he smiled softly at her.

He began to lead Y/n to the open doors that lead out to a garden, as the song finished, the garden only held a handful of people that were talking and laughing softly amongst themselves. Y/n leaned against the railing of a small gazebo he brought her to.

"You read the book of poems I gave you." She stated softly with a smile.

"I've read it and re-read it several times." He said shyly, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "And that poem I've deduced is your favorite."

"Why do you think that?" She asked, tilting her head as she looked at him, her arms coming up to rub her bare shoulders.

Spencer watched her before he took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. "It was the fact the spine was worn and the edges of the pages were worn." He stated as he reached up to rub her arms in an effort to warm her up.

"Hey, love birds." Emily sing-songed, coming up to the pair, slightly tipsy. "Time to go or you'll be riding in a yellow chariot."

Spencer laughed and gestured for Y/n to lead the way, she smiled and began to follow the tipsy Emily to the SUVs. Y/n silently reached back for his hand, he saw this and reached for hers as well, smiling as she used one of her fingers to grip his. Spencer made a mental note to as her why she does this.

Spencer rode with her till she was dropped off at her apartment, even though it was in the opposite direction of his own. He walked her up to her door, making sure that she got home and inside safely before he let the driver take him back to his apartment. He saved the rose she gave him, much like she did with the ones he got her.

They both fell asleep in their beds, each of their thoughts thinking of the other as they drifted off.

[moonlit-jeno]

love sick (m.)

chapter 10

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

chapter warnings: angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral

words: 3.1k

summary: It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare

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This is by far the longest you’ve driven so far. You’re not sure whether you’ve actually been driving for a long time or if it just feels like you have been. Either way, it’s not fun.

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’ve realized that you’re never truly safe. Before, even if you didn’t think the houses were safe, you always had a plan B- get to the car as fast as possible. What could possibly be safer? It locks, it can move insanely fast, and it has heating. Perfect, right?

Except it clearly isn’t. Jisung had been ripped out of the car right in front of your eyes, shattering your perception of safety. That could have been any one of you guys. And it isn’t fair that it was Jisung. It isn’t fair that he got his life cut so short, and it makes you want to scream in frustration, but life has clearly shown that it doesn’t give a shit about what’s fair or not.

Every bump in the road has you jumping, every rock that hits the windshield has you holding your breath. It’s obvious that you’re not the only one feeling like this. 

And sure, the scene was horrific to watch, but you can’t even imagine how Chenle feels. Jisung was all he had for months, and to have him ripped away from him- you feel sick just thinking about it. He’s sobbing loudly, curled forward with his head pressed against the back of the seat in front of him. 

Jaemin’s doing pretty bad, too. Besides Chenle, he’d been the closest to Jisung. You’re sure he’s blaming himself right now, and you want to scream at him that it’s not his fault, but you know it won’t help. He won’t listen. And the silence in the car is suffocating- you’re sure Jeno would snap if you broke it.

He’s been driving with an iron grip on the wheel, his knuckles white from holding it too tightly. You pass countless houses, all of you too scared to stop at one of them in case you choose wrong. All of your previous choices have been good, but it only takes one wrong move to end it all. 

It’s unrealistic to believe that you can keep moving forever. Jeno’s eyelids are growing heavier by the second, and none of you know how to drive. There’s Jaemin, but he’s not exactly in the right headspace. The car slowly rolls to a stop outside of a massive gate. 

“Here?” You ask, craning your head to peer in. Jeno shrugs. “Why not?”

“How are we going to get in?” Donghyuck asks. “You’re insane if you think we can climb that.”

“There’s a call box. Maybe the house isn’t empty?” Jeno rolls down his window and reaches out to press the button. Led fills your stomach. It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare. There could be normal, human survivors in there willing to help you out. Or it could be filled with… not so human guests.

Jeno leaves his window down as he waits for someone to answer. Oxygen seems to escape you as you struggle to breathe, your chest tight with dread.

“Are you infected?” The voice is a little staticky, and your eyes widen as you realize what this means. There are people inside.

“No. We’re all healthy. We just need a place to stay for the night.” Jeno responds.

“How many of you are there?” 

Jeno pauses to count. “Five.”

There’s no response. Disheartened, Jeno reaches out to press the button again. You stop him with a hand on his forearm.

“Jen, look.” The gate is opening. Quickly, Jeno rolls up his window and takes his foot off the break, darting past the gate. You watch it close behind you .

You drive up the path slowly, keeping your eyes peeled for movement. A glance behind you reveals Donghyuck holding tightly onto Jaemin, his face buried in the younger boys neck. Jaemin stares blankly out the window with red-rimmed eyes.

The house- or really, mansion- sits at the end of the long driveway. Two guys come out of the door, both armed with guns. One of them holds his hand up.

Jeno slows to a stop and rolls his window back down. 

“Get out of the car.” They order. And while you’re not really in the position to argue, something doesn’t sit right with you.

“How do we know that you’re not infected?” You ask, making no move to leave the vehicle. Jeno already has his seatbelt off and he shoots you a look of what the fuck are you doing?

One of them is significantly taller than the other. He laughs. “We’re not infected. We’re not going to attack you, either, unless you give us a reason to.” It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s the best you’re going to get considering the circumstances. “Alright.” You all pile out of the car. Chenle still has tears streaming down his face but he holds his head as high as he can. Jeno throws an arm around the boy and squeezes his shoulder.

“I’m Lucas.” Says the tall one. He throws you a bright smile but keeps his gun trained on you. You smile back meekly. He nods at his friend. “That’s Winwin.” Winwin is considerably less friendly. He blinds you with a flashlight in each of your eyes and checks your wrists to make sure the veins aren’t black. When he’s satisfied, he pats you all down.

“Okay, they’re clean.” Winwin tells Lucas. To the rest of you, he says: “We still can’t let you guys in the main house, though. We have a side house where you can stay. Just until we’re positive you won’t kill us.”

You all exchange glances. It sounds pretty decent to you. They obviously have a pretty good protection system set up. Jeno looks to each of you before turning back to Winwin. “Okay.”

Their ‘side’ house is the same size as your actual house. If this is what they consider a side house, then you’re scared to see what they consider their main house.

It’s detached from the rest of the house, complete with its own kitchen. Winwin shows you around, before turning to leave. “We only keep non-perishables here. Lucas will come by a bit later and bring you, uh, fresher food.” Your jaw drops at the thought of fresh food, whatever that means. You’re assuming that he means fruits and vegetables, and the thought of a strawberry has your mouth watering. “Holy fuck.” Winwin laughs, and leaves with some final instructions to keep the windows and doors locked. Basic stuff. Chenle immediately heads for one of the bedrooms. You watch him go with a heavy heart, wishing you could do something to ease his pain. 

“Shit. I can’t believe they’re calling this a side house.” Donghyuck says. “What would they call my house- a closet?” You giggle, thankful that he’s trying to lighten the mood. Jeno snickers. “More like a pantry. Anyways, I’m wiped.” He turns to leave, giving you a tired smile. 

Donghyuck turns to follow him. “They probably have the thousand dollar mattresses. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.” 

That leaves you and Jaemin. Jaemin makes his way over to the living room, plopping down on the couch. You debate joining him, but you figure he needs his space. Those thousand dollar mattresses are calling your name.

It’s a few hours later, and you’re wide awake. You’d taken a nice nap- Donghyuck was right, the beds were nice- woken up by the delivery of fresh food. Lucas had laughed as you and Donghyuck salivated over the fruits and vegetables in the bag, along with- 

“Is that meat?” Donghyuck had looked up at the man with wide eyes. Lucas grinned.

“Yeah man, we raise chickens here. Enjoy.” He’d left with a wink. 

You, Jeno, and Donghyuck had torn through the food. Even Chenle had eaten a fair amount, smiling at the sight of green beans. Jaemin had eaten the small amount of food that Jeno had force fed him, and that was that.

Everyone went back to bed after dinner, leaving you alone and painfully awake. Jaemin’s still on the couch, staring off into space. You bite your lip before moving to join him.

“You alright?” Jaemin looks up when you sit down, offering you a tight smile. You hesitate for a moment before curling up against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds strained and your heart aches for him. You want to do something that can make him feel better, want to take his pain away, but you don’t know how.

You take his hand in your own, giving it what you hope is a reassuring squeeze. Jaemin’s eyes lock on the action before raising to your face and you meet his strong gaze. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

His lips are on yours in the next second. It startles you, but Jaemin doesn’t give you any time to recover. The kiss is rough, his lips insistent against yours. It takes you a moment to process what’s happening.

Jaemin groans deeply when you kiss back, tilting his head to the side in an effort to deepen it. One hand moves up to cup your jaw, sliding backwards into your hair. A moan leaves you when he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

He lets go of your hand in favor of sliding his hand up your thigh, grabbing at your ass in an effort to pull you closer. And he feels so good, you want to lose yourself to him so bad, but something’s off. His lips slide down to your neck and you gasp as his teeth scrape against you, open mouthed kisses pressed almost as an apology. “Jaemin,” You moan, arching against him. “Jaem, we shouldn’t.”

Your protests go unacknowledged, Jaemin continuing his attack on your neck. A part of you wants to give in, mind already clouding with lust, core throbbing with want. But there’s also guilt swimming in your gut and you reluctantly speak up again. “Jaemin, stop. It’s not right, you don’t- you don’t want this.”

His lips stop moving against your neck but he doesn’t move away from you, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. Jaemin doesn’t respond, just breathing heavily against you. You furrow your eyebrows until you realize that his shoulders are shaking, your skin damp. He’s crying.

“Oh, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back in what you hope is a soothing action. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Jaemin’s silent crying gives way to full on sobs and you hold him through it, tears filling your own eyes as you listen to him. He’s shaking against you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It’s a little hard to breathe but it’s okay, it’s what he needs right now.

He finally pulls away with a shuddering breath, looking up at you with pain in his glassy eyes. “Please,”

The word is whispered, but his voice holds so much pain and desperation in it that your heart breaks all over again. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, Jaem, and I’ll do it?”

“Distract me. Take the pain away, even if it’s only for a little bit. Just- please.” There are still tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice shaky and choked. It’s not until he slides his hand back down to your ass, to your thigh, that you realize what he’s asking.

“No, Jaem, that’s- you’re not in the right mindset right now. It’s not what you want.” His eyes hold so much emotion and you nearly cave, just wanting to bring the sparkle back into his dull eyes. But you can’t do that to him, you can’t take advantage of him like this.

“It is what I want, y/n, I swear. I’ve wanted you for so long, but I need you now. Just take the pain away.” His sentence ends in a sob. “Distract me.”

You grapple with yourself for a minute, mind running a million miles a second. “Are you sure?”

A nod. “Please.”

Hesitantly, you nod. You don’t move, don’t lean forward, don’t try to do anything. You give him the room to make the first move, to let him change his mind.

He doesn’t. It’s back to the same desperation as earlier as soon as his lips press to yours. He bites at your lip and sucks on your tongue, hand gripping at your shirt as if to rip it off of you.

You stop him before he can, moving his hand lower to rest on your thigh. He immediately grips at the flesh, tugging you on top of him.

The sex isn’t gentle. It’s Jaemin fucking into you at a brutal pace. It’s Jaemin groaning as you tug at his hair and leave scratch marks on his shoulders. It’s Jaemin slapping your ass and demanding you ride him harder, faster. It’s rough and it’s raw, you and Jaemin clinging to each other for dear life.

Jaemin pushes you off of him, jerking himself quickly until he comes onto his stomach. You watch, chest heaving, core aching for some sort of contact. You were so close, but now your orgasm draws further and further away.

“You didn’t come.” Jaemin says after a moment. You consider lying, but he’s already scooting off the couch and onto the floor between your legs.

“No, Jaemin, it’s okay. You don’t have to.” You protest, wanting him to go take a nap and rest. Maybe you could force him to eat more than the meager portion he had earlier.

He looks up at you with dark eyes, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want to. Please let me do this.”

It’s messy how he eats you out, fucking his tongue rapidly into your hole, pulling away to wrap his lips around your clit. Every tug of his hair earns you a moan, the vibrations delicious against your sensitive core. Jaemin looks up at you the whole time, but the situation reminds you so much of Renjun that you have to tear your gaze away and throw your head back to avoid thinking about it.

Jaemin rests his head against your thigh after you’ve come, sighing happily as you play with his hair. You tug on the strands to get his attention. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” He allows you to shovel fruits and vegetables down his throat, even manages to drain an entire Brita filter worth of water. You watch him fondly, tugging him upstairs to one of the bedrooms. You shove him onto the mattress. “Sleep.”

Jaemin pouts at you but acquiesces, pulling you down on top of him. He’s asleep in seconds.

You wake up the next morning before Jaemin, wiggling out of his hold when your bladder, stomach, and throat start screaming at you simultaneously

The bathroom is just as nice as the rest of the house, though you can tell it hasn’t been used in a while. There’s a thin layer of dust on the mirror and you wipe at it with your shirt sleeve, wincing at your reflection. Jaemin really didn’t mess around yesterday. Your neck is fucking purple.

Your stomach screams at you again and you shrug, deciding that you don’t care that much. Pancakes are much more important.

Jeno and Donghyuck are both sitting at the kitchen table when you walk in. Donghyuck holds up a teapot, eyebrows furrowed in question, and you nod gratefully.

He pours you a cup and then sits back in his seat, staring at you as you make your way around the kitchen. You raise your eyebrows at him. “What?”

“Just wondering when you got mauled.” Donghyuck shrugs, motioning to his neck. “Didn’t realize zombies could do that.”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Hilarious.”

He waits a moment to respond. “So you and Jaemin, huh? I guess you decided you could choose, after all.”

You freeze at his words, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It should be easy to say yes. He’s basically giving you an out, giving you a chance to say that you chose, giving you the chance to stop the emotional strain you’re putting on all of them. 

It’s not. “What? No, I didn’t choose anything. He needed comfort and I- I was there to give it to him.”

“I think we could all use some comfort right now.” Jeno shoots back. You look between the two boys with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t choose. So don’t. Have all three of us.” Jeno says. Like it’s that simple.

You gape at him. “No, I can’t- I can’t date all three of you. It’s selfish and-”

“It’s not, y/n. And don’t say that it’s weird, either, because we’re in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. That’s not exactly normal.” Donghyuck interrupts. He takes a deep breath, releasing it in a whoosh before continuing. “And I wasn’t exactly being fair to you before. I know I blamed you for using us to fill the gap left by your family, but I think we were all doing the same thing.”

“We lost our lives, too.” Jeno adds, smiling grimly. “Hyuck’s right. Nothing about this is normal. We don’t need labels or anything, it’s not like we need to worry about following the status quo.” He’s got a point. It’s hard to be judged by a society that no longer exists.

Donghyuck walks closer to you. He glances down at his feet for a moment before raising his gaze, taking your hands in his own. “I know I've been an asshole to you. But if you want all of us, then that’s fine. I’m happy with that.” Jeno chimes in with a “me too.”

You nod. “Wow. Okay. I need a minute. I’m gonna go and. Process that.” He lets go of your hands, letting you turn away to collect your thoughts.

“Y/n?” You poke your head back into the room at the sound of your name. “That wasn’t me apologizing, by the way. You definitely deserved some of it.”

A laugh leaves you. “Okay, Hyuck.”

[joe-mazzello-archive]

Party For One

A Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader fic

Word Count: 4k whoopsssss

Rating: PG

Warnings: language, drinking, angst for most of it, a teeny bit of fluff, joe is a bit of a shithead in this one, sorry gang

A/N: hey remember how i was supposed to be finishing doj part two and instead i word-vomited this out in five hours at work yesterday? anyway, enjoy.

He hasn’t changed a bit, you thought to yourself as you watched him, always the life of the party. He’d been that way all through high school, the summers you saw him between college semesters, and the few gatherings he made appearances at when he was home.

You’d always been right beside him, too. Pre-gaming at a friend’s house, sharing the mic during karaoke, rubbing his back as he leaned over the toilet, crashing on the couch or the floor or wherever you could find a spot.

But now you were out of your element. You were in his other world. You were surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, people you knew you had probably seen in a movie or a tv show but you couldn’t place them exactly. And there he was, across the room, animatedly entertaining a small group with some anecdote you’d probably heard before.

He was obviously the reason you were here. He had been begging you to come out to Los Angeles for years now. Years of you’d love it out here and you and I both know you’d take the industry by storm and I miss my best friend. Eventually, you relented. Mostly because your career in real estate was exhaustingly boring and you needed a change. Acting had always been something you enjoyed but never looked at as a career opportunity until now. But you had to admit, you missed your best friend too.

So you packed up everything, drove across the country, and settled into Joe’s guest room. You had a meeting with his agency on Monday, but of course Joe, always the party host, insisted that you needed a welcoming get-together upon arrival. Which soon turned into a complete blow-out. In fact, you were pretty sure most of the guests in attendance had no idea what the party’s true origin was, let alone who you were.

So there you were, only hours since you had arrived, left to nurse your beer off in the corner. Part of you wished you and Joe could have had a quiet night in, catching up over pizza and a comedy special. But you knew deep down that would have just exacerbated the situation you found yourself in. Seeing Joe in the flesh once again had caused some...feelings to resurface. Feelings that you had worked for years to suppress, and had been hoping were completely gone by now.

All it took was him opening his front door and pulling you into a tight hug for all of those feelings to come rushing right back.

Sometimes he did things that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he felt the same. Like the way he used to wrap a protective arm around you when the two of you walked around Brooklyn at night. The way he could sense when you were having a rough day just through your texts, and suddenly a delivery of Insomnia Cookies would arrive at your apartment door. The way every hello and goodbye hug lasted just a moment longer than was probably appropriate for two friends. But surely you were reading into it.

You knew he wasn’t avoiding you. No, he couldn’t be. Sure, the second other guests had started to arrive, his focus turned from you to them. And sure, he hadn’t given you the time of day since. But he wasn’t avoiding you, no. He was just a popular guy, he always had been.

You pushed those negative thoughts away, not willing to accept them.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” sounded a familiar voice with a British lilt from behind you. You turned and were met with ocean blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones.

“Gwil,” you breathed out, almost in relief. Someone you knew. The tall man pulled you in for a bear hug, immediately putting you at ease. You appreciated the gesture considering you and Gwil weren’t even that close, only meeting each other a few times back when the Borhap cast was briefly in New York.

“Did that asshole leave you here alone at a party full of people you don’t know?” Gwil asked as he pulled away. You chuckled at his frankness.

“You know how he is,” you mused, offering a smile and a shrug. “He’s gotta entertain everybody.”

“Now did I hear correctly that you’re moving out here?” Gwil questioned, casually leaning a shoulder against the wall next to you.

“Got here a few hours ago, in fact,” you explained. “I’ll be occupying the guest room until I find my own place.” Gwil chuckled at that.

“You quite literally just got here and he’s off chatting with people he sees all the time?” Gwil clarified, earning an exasperated nod from you. “I’m going to go ahead and apologize on behalf of that bastard.” You let out a genuine laugh at that, clearly pleasing Gwil if his smile was any indication. “So how was the trip out here?”

And that’s how you found yourself tucked into the hallway of Joe’s apartment, just exchanging stories with Gwil. You welcomed the change in subject, not wanting to harp on the whole Joe situation. You told him about the weird truck stop in Ohio, the delicious pizza you devoured in Chicago, the loud hotel neighbors you encountered in Colorado, and your brief stint in Las Vegas. Gwil offered his own road trip tales before the conversation shifted, and eventually he was regaling stories about various sets he’d worked on, actors he’d worked with, and general knowledge of the business. He even offered some much needed advice, melting away some of your initial anxieties about your career change. All feelings of loneliness and inklings of frustration at Joe were long gone, and you mentally thanked Joe for inviting at least one person you knew.

“Can I ask you something?” Gwil inquired after a little while, the two of you finding yourselves settled out in chairs on Joe’s balcony, enjoying the night air of LA.

“Fire away.”

“Did you and Joe ever date or anything?”

You burst out laughing at the question, shaking your head.

“No, no, definitely not,” you replied before taking a sip of your beer. You chanced a look at Gwil, finding him eyeing you warily.

“That’s surprising,” he admitted before pursing his lips and gently caressing his own beard, a gesture you noticed he did often.

“Why is that surprising?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Just the way he talks about you…” Gwil trailed off, his gaze focusing on the city lights before him. Your heart slammed against your chest at his words. You tried to keep your face neutral, not wanting to let Gwil know just how important what he was saying was to you.

“How...how does he talk about me?” you followed up, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice. Gwil immediately turned back to face you, his eyes glinting mischievously. His lips curved into a soft smile before he said your name gently.

“He...he’s in awe of you,” Gwil confessed. “I swear he talked about you constantly while we were shooting the film. ‘She’d be a great actress if she wanted to be. She’s funny, she’s charming, and she’s got the looks and talent.’ Everything reminded him of a funny story involving you. We practically knew you before we even met you.” Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as Gwil spoke. Sure, Joe had complimented you before. But something about the fact that he had practically bragged about you to people who didn’t even know you made your stomach flutter.

You realized Gwil had stopped talking and you met his gaze, finding his eyes narrowed at you.

“You should tell him,” he finally said after a few moments.

“Tell him what?” you asked, playing dumb. You knew exactly what he was referring to. The man had seen right through you. He smiled, this time seeing right through your act of denial.

“How you feel.”

You ran your hands over your face and let out a groan.

“I literally just moved in, Gwil,” you reasoned. “I don’t want to make him feel awkward about me staying here by telling him about the feelings he very clearly doesn’t reciprocate.” You gestured inside the apartment, where Joe was still talking it up with a few guys you recognized from Undrafted.

Gwil leaned forward, shuffling closer to you and placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“I know his actions tonight make it seem like he couldn’t care less. But I promise you, he’s so happy to have you here. He adores you. More than you even realize.”

You chewed on Gwil’s words, your mind swimming. You believed him; he had no reason to lie to you. But you just wished what Gwil told you lined up with how Joe had been behaving all night.

Eventually the two of you made your way back inside, to find the party had somewhat died down. Joe had shifted into clean up mode while the last small group was starting to make their exit. You instinctively began to straighten up, grabbing beer bottles and paper plates and disposing of them while Joe worked on packing up the leftover food.

You were tying up a full trash bag when Joe brushed past you, not even acknowledging your presence. Your heart sunk, knowing full well you couldn’t use the excuse that Joe was just distracted by others this time.

He was actually ignoring you.

As you opened a new trash bag, you began to wrack your brain for what you could have done already to piss him off. Gwil pulled you from your thoughts, pulling you in for a goodbye hug and a peck on the cheek. When he pulled away, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” It was amazing how quickly Gwil learned how to read you. Or maybe you were just that bad at masking your emotions.

Your lip trembled as you tried to prevent the tears from falling.

“He’s ignoring me now,” you revealed, earning a sympathetic look from Gwil.

“I’m sorry, love,” he offered quietly. “He’ll figure his shit out eventually.” Another hug, this one a bit longer as he held you against his chest. “I’ll text you next time I’m in town, we’ll all grab lunch.” You nodded with a soft smile before pulling away, turning your attention back to your cleaning.

Another minute passed, the last of the voices faded away, and the door clicked closed, leaving a silent apartment. You let out a sigh as you tossed the last of the plates you had found in the new trash bag. Pulling another beer out of the fridge, you ventured into the living room where you found Joe pushing the coffee table back to its original position. You awkwardly leaned against the arm of the loveseat as you waited for him to say something.

But he didn’t. After finishing rearranging, he passed by you once again, not even sparing you a glance, before heading back into the kitchen. You let out another sigh, following after him.

“Okay, can you please tell me what I did so I can fix it?” you pleaded, completely at a loss. Joe silently pulled a bottle of disinfectant and a rag out from under the sink and breezed past you another time, heading back into the living room. You scoffed at his actions, your sadness being replaced with anger at his immature way of handling himself.

You placed your beer down on the counter and trudged back into the living room, stopping in front of where Joe was wiping down the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Joe? Are you going to talk to me or continue to ignore me like a fucking child?”

He froze, dropping the bottle and the rag on the table before finally, finally looking at you for the first time in hours.

“You’ve been here for what, five minutes? And you’re already trying to fuck my friends?”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Gwil seemed awfully cozy,” Joe replied before picking up the rag and continuing to wipe down the coffee table. You grabbed the rag from his hand, earning a sharp glare. “Hey--”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you roared, your blood boiling. “I hang out with the one fucking person I knew at my supposed ‘welcoming party’ besides you and suddenly I’m trying to fuck them?” You were shell-shocked at the accusation. Joe simply shrugged.

“The two of you were inseparable all night, what was I supposed to think?” he reasoned as he began to walk back into the kitchen. You scoffed again, tossing the rag onto the table in frustration at his nonchalant tone.

“How about the fact that you left me alone at a party full of strangers so I spent time with Gwil since you were busy with your other friends?” you fired back as you stomped into the kitchen. Joe began to wash his hands, still ignoring your piercing stare. “Like, holy shit, Joe. I know your world does not revolve around me, but the least you could do was acknowledge my existence. It’s my first night here, for fuck’s sake.”

That made him pause. He stared at the counter and you could practically hear how hard he was thinking. Suddenly, he met your gaze once again, a brazen look on his face.

“You could have come up to talk to me. I shouldn’t have to babysit you.”

His words were like a sword through your chest. Your jaw practically hit the floor this time.

“Fuck. You.” You turned on your heels and headed for the guest bedroom, angry hot tears escaping down your cheeks. You thanked your past self for barely unpacking anything before the party as you began to scoop up your toiletries and few pieces of clothing laying out on the bed and threw them back into your suitcase. 

You felt ashamed and so so stupid for thinking that this had been a good idea. And the worst feeling of all was the embarrassment at thinking that there was ever a chance of Joe reciprocating any feelings for you. You were nothing but a burden to him. Someone he felt like he would have to “babysit.” You didn’t fit in in his world and you were foolish to think you could.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped at the sound of Joe’s voice behind you; you hadn’t even heard him approach. You swiped at a stray tear and finished zipping up your bag before lugging it onto the floor and pulling up the handle.

“I’m going to check into a hotel,” you explained as you pushed your way past him, luggage dragging behind you. “I don’t feel welcome here.” You began to make your way towards the front door, already feeling overwhelmed by anxiety. You had no idea what your next move was going to be. Stay in LA and try to figure things out? Go back home to two parents who would chant “we told you so” until they were blue in the face?

Joe’s hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please don’t do that,” he pleaded, his tone from earlier completely gone and replaced with a much softer and more desperate one. “I’m sorry. Please stay.” You whipped around to face him.

“Which part are you sorry for?” you asked sharply. “The part where you ignored me? Or where you accused me of trying to sleep with your friend? Or maybe it’s the part where you said you shouldn’t have to ‘babysit me’?”

“All of it,” Joe replied. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I’m just--” he trailed off as he turned away, almost bashfully. “I can’t help but feel protective of you.”

You furrowed your brows. It didn’t make sense. He felt protective of you but didn’t want to have to ‘babysit you’? He felt protective of you but he got mad at you for talking to Gwil? You stuttered as you tried to put the pieces together, coming up empty.

“I don’t…” your voice petered out. You were completely flabbergasted. “What do you want from me, Joe?”

Joe’s eyes met yours once again, and you could see the conflict written on his face. He was struggling with something. It was almost as if he--

“I want…” he began, before taking a deep breath. “I want you to stay here tonight.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. For some reason, a part of you was hopeful he would say something else. The two of you stared at each other for a few more moments, giving him the chance to say more. But it never came. So with a soft nod, you reached for your suitcase again, pulling it behind you as you walked back into the guest room, closing the door behind you.

✧✧✧

You awoke to the smell of bacon wafting into your room. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up and headed toward the bathroom.

The sight of your face in the mirror made you cringe. You hadn’t taken off your makeup before crying yourself to sleep the night before, leaving black streaks of mascara across your cheeks. You washed your face before running a comb through your hair. You knew you looked awful, but you didn’t care. Joe had seen you worse, and honestly, his opinion of you was not high on your priority list after his hissy fit last night.

You sauntered into the kitchen with a bit of hesitation, unsure what you’d be walking into. You found Joe, furiously whisking some pancake batter.

“Hey.”

He practically jumped out of his own skin, clumsily dropping the bowl of batter to the counter, luckily with little to no mess.

“Hey,” he replied, running a hand over the back of his neck. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright,” you lied. You had agonized over every detail of the evening until practically three in the morning. But you didn’t want Joe to know that. If he knew, he didn’t let on, instead offering you a small smile.

“I made bacon and I’m about to make pancakes,” he stated, gesturing towards the stove behind him. You nodded simply and took a seat at his kitchen island.

Things were awkward. You didn’t even know where to begin. Part of you wanted to tell him to forget everything and start fresh. It would make things easier. But part of you wanted to stand strong, make sure you held him accountable for how he’d hurt you.

You mulled over everything, idly chewing on a piece of bacon as Joe worked at the stove, mumbling under his breath about the pancakes cooking inconsistently or something. After a few minutes, you were pulled from your thoughts by a plate of pancakes being placed in front of you. You glanced up to see Joe eyeing you, an uncertain look on his face.

“I’m a huge asshole,” he admitted. You opened your mouth to agree with him but he kept going. “You were right. I was avoiding you during the party. It was easier for me to convince myself that you were having a good time than to check up on you myself. I thought I…” he trailed off, losing momentum. He shook his head and began again. “I assured myself that I could handle being around you again. That enough time had passed and I could be your best friend again without a second thought. But then you walked through my front door and it all came rushing back and I panicked.”  You shook your head, trying to keep up with what Joe was trying to tell you.

“I don’t understand--”

“I’m in love with you.”

For the third time in less than twenty-four hours, your jaw dropped.

“I honestly think I’ve been in love with you since high school, but it took me well into my late twenties for me to actually realize it. And I got so caught up on this fantasy of you and I being this acting dream team, showing this fucking town who’s boss, together. And then you were here and you had spent the last week road-tripping across the country yet somehow you looked so fucking beautiful? And I just...couldn’t handle it. I invited practically everyone in my contacts to come over right away because I needed a buffer. I turned my focus to everyone else at the party because it was familiar and certain. With you there was so much uncertainty.”

He paused for a moment and collected his thoughts once again.

“And then I saw you with Gwil. I knew it wasn’t anything. But you were smiling and laughing with him and I just couldn’t help but wish you were spending your time with me. I know that doesn’t make sense. But I just got so caught up in my own head so when you finally confronted me, I panicked again. I threw everything back at you because I was afraid and embarrassed.”

You watched him as he plopped down on the stool next to you with a sigh.

“I wish I could do it all over again. There wouldn’t be a party. Just you and me like it used to be,” he continued. He turned to you, eyes sad with regret. “I am so so so sorry. You were right about everything. Except one thing. My world does revolve around you. The day you told me you were coming out here was the happiest day I’ve had in awhile. I’ve thought about nothing else since. But I completely understand if you want to leave. Hell, I’ll pay for your hotel and help you figure out what you want to do. But I also understand if you want me to just leave you alone.”

To say you were stunned would be an understatement. Your heart was pounding out of your chest at Joe’s confession. You didn’t even know what to say. There was so much that needed to be said, but you were frozen in place.

So you didn’t speak. You just moved.

You gripped the sides of Joe’s head and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. He let out a small noise in surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss, his own hands reaching for you and landing on your hips. You kissed him hard, pouring every emotion you felt into it. Every past pang of your heart when Joe had gone out of his way to do something for you. Every past flutter of your stomach when he had wrapped his arms around you. Every ounce of frustration and hurt that flooded your heart last night. He kissed you back just as eagerly, pulling you off the stool and closer to him, your chests pressing together.

You finally pulled away to gasp for breath, your forehead still pressed against Joe’s.

“I love you too, you asshole,” you breathed out, earning a chuckle from Joe. He pulled back to look at you, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You think I’d uproot my entire life and move across the country if I wasn’t completely in love with you?”

Joe’s face lit up before he dove in for another kiss.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, running his hands up and down your sides. You pursed your lips as you thought it over.

“I’ll only forgive you if you help me finish unpacking,” you reasoned, a smirk playing at your lips. Joe beamed, pulling you closer to him so you were practically in his lap.

“So you’re gonna stay?”

“Of course I’m staying. Why stay in a hotel when I can stay with my former best friend?” Joe’s brows furrowed.

“Former?”

“I guess I just figured ‘love of my life’ was a better title for you,” you revealed with a smile, running your fingers through his auburn locks. Joe pulled you in for another searing kiss, standing up and pressing you against the island, earning a squeal from you. After a moment, he pulled away, grabbing your hand and practically running down the hall towards the guest room, pancakes long forgotten.

✧✧✧

Permanent Taglist (crossed out names won’t let me tag): @queenlover05​, @mrhoemazzello​, @madamsledge​, @sadhwstudent​, @johndeaconshands​, @puffnstuff08

[blueflamedemon]

BlueSky { Dabi x OC }

Chapter Five - Dirty Little Secret

*Chapter Summary - Sora joins the league on a quick mission to capture Overhaul and steal his Quirk-killing drugs.

Overhaul was on the move. Tomura called it, telling them that they had to carry out the plan now or not at all. Minus Twice and Himiko, he quickly gave everyone a quick recap of this idea to steal the bullets. They would wait until Overhaul was caught by the police and then attack.

"Spinner, you go out and get the truck ready. I knew there was a reason we kept it." Tomura was saying, pacing around in a circle with his hands behind his back. "Compress, Dabi, you two will be in the back with me."

"Wait..." Sora sucked her lip between her teeth and looked around the room. "What am I supposed to do? I don't have full power yet..."

"That's alright, dear." Compress walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort. "We'll cover you. You are great with combat, we've noticed."

"Better than Dabi, for sure." Spinner snickered as he followed Tomura out one of the warehouse doors.

"Watch it, Lizard." Dabi hissed, walking out behind Spinner. "Don't get your tail into a twist."

"Don't call me lizard!" Spinner shouted.

Sora followed Compress out, letting Spinner and Dabi hash it out before they started climbing into the delivery truck. "Compress, I noticed you have acquired a limb."

"Ah, yes! Isn't it beautiful? Looks just like the old one!" Compress gleamed, holding up the new arm. "It's not much, but Giran did his absolute best. It's a great illusion!"

Sora giggled. "Leave it to you to find this amusing."

"What can I say, child?" Compress smiled. "The show must go on."

"What are you two talking about? How to chop a woman in half?" Dabi showed up beside Sora, sliding his fingers through her beltloops behind her.

"Someone is jealous." Compress chimed.

"Don't listen to him. He's just upset that he didn't get a cool arm." Sora smirked at the boy behind her. "Don't worry, we'll find something cool for you, too."

"No thanks." Dabi mumbled, clearly annoyed with the both of them. He let go of Sora and walked over to the truck, which Spinner had pulled forward so the others could jump in back.

"The three of you, come on!" Tomura huffed impatiently as he climbed into the box.

"We're still waiting on Toga's call." Compress stated, though he followed his boss in climbing into the bed, too.

Dabi placed both of his hands on the floor and jumped in easily, spinning around to sit down and let his feet dangle off the edge. He extended his arm to Sora, expecting her to take it so he could help her up.

She ignored his hand and copied him, placing her hands on the floor of the bed and hopping inside, though she sat with her legs crossed, a little scared to have her legs dangling out.

Dabi huffed beside her.

"I don't need help with everything." She giggled.

He rolled his eyes and hit the side of the truck a few times, letting Spinner know that everybody had climbed inside and they were ready to go.

Spinner took off, taking the directions that Tomura had given him previously, and told Dabi to close the doors before they were a little closer, just so they wouldn't get caught.

Fussing under his breath, Dabi closed the doors and got to his feet, leaning against the wall and pressing his forehead to the cool metal.

Find Overhaul, that was the first plan. He had the bullets that contained the Quirk ending drug, possibly the same drug that Sora was given. Though that was not confirmed, Sora still hoped. If there was a bullet full of those drugs, Overhaul was sure to have a cure for emergencies, right? As long as she took that, she might get her Quirk going in no time, so long as she could get over the withdrawals.

They drove around the city for a bit before Compress' phone finally rang with Toga on the other line, letting them know that Overhaul had been arrested and taken, and that she and Twice had gotten away long before anyone could catch them.

"I think they actually found us." Dabi stated, cracking open the door as he peered out and saw a couple of vans just behind them, both belonging to the police force.

Tomura grew impatient and kicked open both of the doors, somehow hoisting himself to the top of the truck, where he disappeared in a matter of seconds. Sora shook her head and blinked, making sure that she hadn't just been daydreaming.

"Wait a minute, I didn't sign up for this!" Spinner called from the front seat. "I can only drive for so long with this tank!"

"Just shut up and try to keep this damn truck straight. I'm getting nauseous back here!" Dabi complained. He was holding his stomach with one hand and the wall with his other.

Sora sat on the floor, looking right at the police in the truck. She hadn't thought to grab her wig or hoodie, she simply threw on a dress with biker shorts underneath. It was obvious when the guy saw her that he knew exactly who she was. Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach and she copied Dabi, holding onto her tummy after feeling queasy.

Compress hung up his phone and stood at the doorway alongside Dabi, tipping his hat out of respect.

"I think they spotted me." Sora stated, unsure what to do now.

Dabi glanced down at her, his eyes wide. "Well, time to go." He looked up at the van and raised his hand, a ball of fire appearing in his palm. "Sora, stay down." He commanded, shooting his ball of flames at the van that they were sure Overhaul was strapped up in.

Sora watched, waiting on the van to flip over, blow up in flames, something. Instead, it seemed as if Dabi's flames were being sucked up by something, which was near impossible. His flames were some of the hottest flames in a Quirk that anybody had ever seen, for something to absorb them....

Dabi clearly saw the flaw here as well, so he dropped his hand and his flames evaporated into thin air. "The fuck..." he mumbled.

In front of the large police van, there was now a smaller cop car, a man hanging out of the window. At first, Sora wasn't sure what she was looking at, but then she noticed it as the Pro Hero, Snatch. His Quirk was sand, which was known to stop fires.

Snatch seemed to notice Sora, which made him hesitate using his sand for a moment too long, long enough for Tomura to jump down from the stop of the truck and land on the hood of the cop car. Yet again, Sora felt unmatched, useless. If only she could use her Quirk, she might've been able to help, seeing as Dabi's flames and Tomura's decaying Quirk wouldn't be much again sand.

"Dabi, he noticed me, too." Sora pulled on the tail of his coat. "That hero. He knows who I am, very well."

Dabi and Compress exchanged looks before coming to a quick, mental agreement together. Compress brought out one of his magical orbs and threw it at the police car, saying something clever that completely went over Sora's head as she watched Dabi jump out as if Spinner wasn't speeding away from two police cars.

"W-wait!" Sora got on her hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the truck.

"Stay with Spinner, my dear. We can't afford you to get hurt." Compress stated, jumping out just behind Dabi.

"Wait!" Sora watched, wide eyed, as Tomura, Compress, and Dabi stopped the cars with very little effort.

Spinner slowed down to a stop, the tires skidding across the pavement. "Stay in here, little lady!" Spinner called. "Don't jump out!"

"Spin! We have to help them! Before Snatch--"

The truck spun around, facing the scene of the crime. Sora could no longer see what was happening, so she grabbed onto the door with one hand, stepping on a lever with her foot, and peered around the box to see a burst of flames that had to be Dabi, and then nothing.

When Spinner made it back to the others, he stopped the truck, remaining in the drivers seat incase they needed a quick getaway. He wasn't much on being the center of attention, Sora always noticed how he stayed back and let the others deal with things, almost as if he were hesitating.

Sora jumped off the truck and hurried over to Compress and Dabi, who were just standing in the middle of the road, beside a burning vehicle.

"I told you to stay in the truck." Compress sighed. "Don't you ever listen?"

"She doesn't." Dabi commented, dusting his shirt off. "Go back to the truck so you don't get hurt."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much." Sora crossed her arms, only then realizing that she no longer saw the hero. "Where's Snatch?"

"Who?" Dabi blinked.

"The hero."

Compress walked over to Tomura, who was standing over Overhaul. They were both talking to him, taking out their revenge. Dabi and Sora stood back, letting them have it. After all, he was the one who took Compress' arm.

"Gone. He won't be telling anybody about our little secret."

Sora looked up at him. "What if that cop paged it in before we could get to him? I think he saw me, too."

"I'll handle them." Dabi grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him. A small gasp left her lips. "Just like I did this hero. And I'll continue to do so until we can figure out what's wrong with you so we can defeat Endeavor together."

Sora met his gaze. She loved how bright his eyes were, how unbelievably blue they were. Butterflies fluttered around her stomach, in a good way this time around. Gently, she pressed her hands against his chest, unsure what else to do with them. The smell of burning flesh pinched her nose and stung her eyes, but she was starting to grow used to it. "I would say you're my hero, but I don't like them."

A smirk cracked his lips.

Spinner honked the horn of the truck, calling for them to get back inside before any more cops showed up.

"I got them, Sora. Come on," Tomura walked passed them, oblivious to the two tangled together.

Compress took a final bow before he started walking back to the truck, pulling his mask to the side so he would wink in Sora's direction, which obviously made Dabi uncomfortable. He held her just a little tighter and kept his arm around her, leading her back.

Inside the truck, everyone was a bit quiet. Dabi sat against the wall, hugging his knees close to his chest. Sora wondered if he ever replayed his crimes in his head, and if this is what it looked like, or if he thought about it when he was alone.

Then she recalled him telling her that he could not cry. It struck her as an odd thing to say, though at the time, she hadn't thought much about it. Why had he told her? If he could, would he be crying more? Did he regret the choices he made?

Sora glanced up at Tomura, who was hugging the case he stole from Overhaul. "Did you kill him?" She asked, realizing she heard the man scream, but never saw the body.

"I did something much worse," Tomura muttered, staring off into space. "took his arms from him."

"As a little payback." Compress tipped his hat.

"Good." Sora nodded. "I hope this is the cure..." she breathed, looking down at her feet, feeling more useless by the minute.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Epilogue

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Epilogue: What Alfie wrote

          Dear Teddy,

           Your mother named you just a few moments after you were born. We gave you a Hebrew name as well to please everyone in Camden Town. Tovi means my good. You are my good. Sometimes I cannot believe that you are actually my son. You have been blessed with your mother’s patience and intelligence.

           You have great potential and I hope that you fulfill everything you desire. When I was your age, I was running the streets of Camden. I did not think I would ever have a family.

           When I met your mother, I realized I could. She gave me everything including you. I doubted I would ever be enough for you. I thought I would fail as a father, especially since I knew I would not see you grow into the adult you are now.

           Truth be told, I never anticipate seeing you to your first birthday. I expected you to never have a memory of me. I thought that would be best. I did not want to disappoint you. I figured your mother could tell you everything you wanted to know. She could always paint me in a better light.

           Then you said your first word. It was dad. I was your first word. Then you learned how to say ‘I love you’. You kept saying it to your mother. Repeating ‘I love you’ all day. Then when I tucked you into bed, you said it to me. Teddy, I cannot tell you the joy it is to hear your child say such words. I can only hope one day you experience the same joy.

           I am sorry I cannot be there for you the way a father should be. There will be many things I miss. I can only dream of the things you will accomplish. But being there in your first years of life was truly a gift. A fitting send-off. I can go peacefully knowing I have experienced true happiness and love.

           Know that I will always be there with you in spirit; no matter what path you choose to walk. I trust you will take good care of your mother. I love you both more than I could possibly put into words. I hope this letter is enough, I hope I was enough. Because you both were my entire world.

           I promise I will not make this letter into a novel. But I wanted to tell you a few of my favorite memories, tell you a few things you might never have heard.

           I met your mother in Camden Town. She was applying for the position as my secretary. Clever as a whip, negotiated an extra pound for her salary. Knocked the wind right out of me. Could never take my eyes off of her…

~~~~~~~~~~

           Teddy’s eighteenth birthday was as festive of an occasion as Louise could make it. She threw him an extravagant party at Inglewood, letting him invite whoever he wanted. He and his best mates spent the day fox hunting. Teddy proudly showing off, Henry, one of his birthday presents. A strong thoroughbred draft cross gelding. Afterward, there was a party for Louise’s beloved son. Inviting everyone she considered both friends and family from Surrey all the way to Camden Town.

           When the party eventually died down, Louise found her son looking at pictures of Alfie in the study.

           “One more gift.” She said gently and touched his shoulder.

           The young man smiled and took the envelope and small box from her. “Think you’ve spoiled me enough, mum.” He chuckled and opened the box.

           “That was your father’s.” She explained, her lower lip already trembling.

           Teddy set the envelope aside to hold up the pocket watch. His father’s initials were carved into the back of the gold surface. With a bit of polishing and a tune-up, it was in fairly good shape considering how old it was. “I uh…” He wasn’t sure what to saw as he caught his reflection in the watch’s face. His mother always said how much he looked like his father. Teddy could see the resemblance, even if he didn’t sport the same beard Alfie did.

           He imagined his father’s reflection and wished he could be there.

           Louise picked up the envelope off the desk and handed it to him. “Take your time.” She said softly, her hazel eyes welling up with tears. “If you want to wait, you can. Read it when you’re ready.”

           Teddy read the front of the envelope even though he already knew what it said.

           To Theodore Tovi Solomons. To be read on his eighteenth birthday, September 16th, 1944.

           He had sat there, watched his father write the words he had been waiting for. Back then; he didn’t know Alfie was even sick.

           Teddy swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, mum.” He whispered and wandered out of the study, slipping the pocket watch into his coat. He walked out to the patio, still illuminated with lanterns from the party. Finding a seat, he flipped the envelope over. His hand shook while he slowly tore at the flap, slipping out the pages Alfie had written just for him.

           With a deep breath, Teddy unfolded the pages and began to read.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Girls!” Louise whistled out to the field. “C’mon, then!”

           Tommy chuckled as he walked over to the fence. “Look at that, three generations.”

           Paris’s daughter, Lille had recently become a grandmother. The Friesian mare had passed a few years earlier from old age. But her line with Burr continued creating British racing legends all named after French cities. Lille had come in second at Epsom, her filly, Marseille, won it. Now Marseille had produced a long-legged colt that looked like a winner even at just a few days old.

           Toulouse, black as night, walked on shaky legs. Snorting out little bursts of high pitched sounds, unsure of the brand new world around him. His mother nudged him assuredly, following Lille to the fence.

           “He’s healthy as can be.” Louise smiled warmly at the foal. “The delivery went so smoothly, Mar was such a trooper through it. Should’ve seen him, energetic the second he was born. Got up on his feet much sooner than I expected.

           “Can’t imagine how fast he’ll be, looks like he’ll be able to outrun his mum in just a few weeks.” Tommy agreed and rested his forearms on the fence. “Won’t be too big by the looks of it, but he’ll be a stunner, aye?”

           Lille nosed at the Brummie’s arm, recognizing his scent from her days at Charlie’s yard and on the track.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Louise had invested herself in the horses. She was extremely close to May Carleton and the two worked together many times before. Both widows were eager to give their horses the best while producing a few racehorses who were hard to beat. They often had horses going head to head at derbies, but there was no malice. Whoever’s horse one would simply buy drinks when they celebrated afterward.

           It had been nearly sixteen years since Louise lost Alfie. He hung on much longer than any doctor expected and saw Teddy to his sixth birthday. It was a difficult road and in the end, it was painful to watch Alfie suffer so badly. And sometimes Louise felt guilty. He had finally confided in her about his plan to die via Tommy Shelby a few years after the fact. She was horrified but came to understand his process of thinking. She was just glad Tommy had refused. Still, she wondered if she should’ve let Alfie go much earlier. He wouldn’t have suffered as much as he did. Maybe she was being selfish for continuing to encourage him to keep fighting.

           One night a few months after Teddy’s sixth birthday, he was incoherent. He’d been in rough shape the entire week and requested to go to Margate, aware of his declining health and wanting to be where he planned to die. It was winter and the wind on the beach was brutal. By Friday, he could hardly stand on his own, had no appetite, and was sleeping often.

           Teddy kissed his father goodnight, oblivious to anything going wrong. Alfie smiled and said he loved him more than the world itself. Louise put Teddy to bed and returned to find her husband staring up at the ceiling. He was slowly fading away right in front of her.

           “Not going make it tonight, Lou.” He wheezed quietly.

           Tears filled her eyes and she curled up beside him. “I know.” She whispered and held him close.

           He smiled and shakily wrapped an arm around her. “Really thought Tommy would end me. He had so many fucking chances, didn’t he?”

           Louise wanted to laugh with him but she was so terrified to lose her best friend. There was no way to prepare herself for living without him. “Wait for me, Alfie.”

           He chuckled with a wince. It was too painful to even breathe. “Love, we ain’t going to the same place.” It didn’t matter what he believed in, heaven or hell or nothing. If there were such places then he was certain his wife would be up on high while he’d be paying for his sins down below.

           “Yes, we are.” She insisted. “And you wait there for me. Wait for me.”

           He heard the tears in her voice so he nodded and kissed her hair. “Sure, love. I’ll wait.”

           She stayed up with him as he slipped away. He became delirious, just mumbling incoherent words while she listened to every agonizing breath he took, prolonging the time he had left with her.

           Around midnight, he closed his eyes but continued to keep breathing. He wouldn’t go without her permission.

           Louise pressed her tear-stained face to his shoulder. “It’s okay.” She said. “You can let go, love. You’ve fought so long. You can rest now. We’ll be okay and we’ll always love you. Let go, Alfie.”

           Seconds later, his chest stilled after one final breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

           “I’ve got another foal as well.” Louise pointed out a mare sniffed a foal that was lying in the grass. “Only born yesterday. Sired by one of May’s, that big chestnut with the blaze? Strong stallion with a smooth gait.

           “Ah, yes.” Tommy nodded when he spotted the foal. He stroked Lille’s cheek, absent-mindedly smoothing his palm over her black coat. “Handsome, what’s his name?”

           “Haven’t named him yet.” She admitted, leaning against the fence. “Usually leave it to Teddy but he’s been busy lately.”

           “How ‘bout Solomons’s Secret?” He smiled slightly with a shrug. “Call me uncreative.”

           Louise laughed softly and nodded. “I do like that. I think Teddy will love it.”

           “Teddy’ll love what?” At twenty, Teddy Solomons was tall, just like his grandfather whom he’d never met but was familiar with his portrait that still hung in the foyer. He was a few inches taller than Alfie was but greatly resembled his father. His striking blue-green eyes and wavy brown hair were uncannily Alfie.

           “There he is.” Tommy turned to see Alfie’s only child. It spooked him sometimes to see how much the teenager looked like the late gangster. But he’d taken on his mother’s manner. He was clever as a whip just like his father but tended to be on the quieter side.

           “Mr. Shelby.” Teddy smiled and shook hands with the older man. “Pleasure to see you again.”

           “Must’ve grown a foot since I’ve seen you last.” Tommy chuckled. “My daughter’s come along if you’d like to meet her.” He glanced over to the Bentley parked in the gravel drive. “She’ll probably be reading in the car, always got her nose in a book. Let me fetch her.”

           Louise smiled at her son. “What do you think of Solomons’ Secret as a name for the new colt?” She asked in Tommy’s absence.

           Teddy’s blue eyes looked over the pasture to find the reddish-colored foal. “Yeah, I like that.” He agreed and shoved a hand in his pocket. He’d been born into the luxury that Alfie left behind to his family. Educated and kept safely away from the way his father had been raised. It was everything Alfie wanted for him.

           But when he was thirteen, Europe erupted into chaos. A second world war took hold and Louise was terrified of losing her son. She held her breath when he turned eighteen and the war was still raging on. He was drafted, despite her attempts to forge medical paperwork and get him exempt. Anything to keep her son away from the front lines.

           Teddy insisted he served, just as his father had. Only six months in the British armed forces and he suffered an accident that had him discharged. A grenade had nearly torn off his leg, but he was returned to his mother with all four limbs, a massive scar that traveled from his thigh to his knee, and a chronic limp that he tried to conceal.

           Louise knew it was Alfie’s spirit keeping his son alive.

           The young man suffered through PTSD, much like many men who served, but he found his footing and was off to university in the fall. It was much easier sending him off to London than it was letting him leave for war. But Louise was still having a hard time with it.

           His mother sighed and touched his cheek. “What’ll I do with Henry when you’re off to university?” She pouted.

           The young man chuckled and shrugged. He’d be off to London soon. “I suppose you could ride him instead. Besides, I’ll be back, mum, not leaving for good. I’ve got a car as well.”

           She smiled sadly. “I know, but I’ll miss you. So you better visit often or I’ll ring you every day until you do.”

           “I know…” Teddy glanced past Louise and his voice faded off. His face began to redden and he cleared his throat.

           His mother looked confused until she heard Tommy approaching with his daughter.

           Ruby Shelby was a sight to behold and everyone around her knew it. She’d inherited Tommy’s stunning blue eyes and dark brown hair. She emulated Lizzie in her slim, tall frame and sharp features. But she had a soft look to her behind the fierce reputation of being a Shelby girl.

           “This is my daughter, Ruby. Ruby, you must remember Mrs. Solomons. This is her son, Teddy.” Tommy introduced.

           “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Solomons,” Ruby spoke in the same Birmingham accent of her parents but had been raised held in higher regard than either of them was. Daughter of a former prostitute and a notorious gangster, but she was well educated and respected in the community. Mostly because of Tommy’s political status in London. “How'd you do, Teddy?” She smiled shyly. It was hard to hide her blush with her fair complexion. Apparently, she’d been taken by the handsome features of a long passed gangster mixed with the gentle upbringing of the heir to Inglewood.

           “Well…good, yeah.” Teddy rattled off, stumbling over his words and practically sweating in front of her. Attending an all-boys school for years, he had little experience with the opposite sex. Even though he tended to attract the attention of shop girls in Surrey and London, he was minorly paralyzed when met with a beautiful face.

           “You two’ll be ‘bout the same age, aye?” Tommy noted. He and Louise shared an amused glance because of their teenagers’ antics. “Ruby turned twenty in December.”

           “Yes, sir.” Teddy nodded and tried to casually wipe his sweaty palms on the front of his slacks. It was tough trying to remain polite and cordial in front of Tommy Shelby while internally fawning after his daughter. “I’ll be twenty-one in September.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the Shelby girl no matter how many times he tried.

           “Teddy, why don’t you show Ruby the horses?” Louise offered and reached into her pocket to pull out a few sugar cubes to hand to him. “Mind the foals, I’m not sure their mothers are ready to let us too close. The dogs are loose as well, just so you know.”

           The young man nodded and took the treats in his hand. “We’ve got foxhounds that just had pups.” He explained and started to walk towards the stables with Ruby, trying his best to hide his prominent limp. "Mastiffs too."

           "Those massive dogs?" Ruby gasped softly. "I love big dogs, they're so gentle."

           And that was it, Teddy was completely smitten. Just as his father had been when Louise complimented Cyril in front of the bakery, all those years before.

           Tommy smiled and leaned against the fence, reaching for a cigarette. He offered one to Louise who obliged.

           “I miss him, Tommy.” She said quietly. “He’s missed so much of Teddy’s life.”

           The man nodded. “I miss him too.” He admitted.

           Louise raised an eyebrow and smiled in surprise. “Really? If only he knew. He’d never let you hear the end of that.”

           He laughed and shook his head. “I know he took care of you and Teddy. He wasn't a bad man. Misunderstood, but aren’t we all?”

           She nodded and contemplated his philosophy. “He was a good man. I always knew he was.”

           The two widows stood in silence for a moment, watching the horses grazing across the field. Solomons’ Secret tried standing up, his mother guiding him along with a helpful nudge of her nose.

           “It doesn’t get easier does it?” Louise asked. Of course, she knew it didn’t. Over a decade later and it still hurt. It still hurt to go to bed and wake up alone. Sometimes she still expected Alfie to be occupying the space next to her.

           Tommy shook his head slowly. “No, it doesn’t.” He’d been two decades without Grace and he still always felt like he was missing something. It was worse when his kids were old enough to have lives of their own. Charlie hardly remembering his mother. Sometimes asking about her.

           “I figured as much.” She sighed and brushed a loose piece of hair out of her face. She exhaled a breath of smoke and bit her lip. “I suppose we were lucky to have them for the time we did.”

           “It’s better to focus on the good.” He agreed.

           The foal took a few wobbling steps, his lanky legs wide apart to keep from falling over. His mother nickered softly and ran her muzzle over his short mane as if congratulating him.

           “Just can’t wait to see him again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Louise went another fifty-four years without Alfie. She passed at the age of ninety in 1986. She never remarried, devoting her life to her horses, her son, and eventually her grandchildren. She’d lived through two world wars and a Depression. But God blessed her with a beautiful daughter-in-law who just happened to be a Shelby as well and five grandchildren. The eldest was named after the grandfather he never knew. Alfie Solomons’ name lived on just as he always wanted.

           When she woke, she found herself in the hallway of Inglewood. She didn’t remember traveling there but her memory had been going for a couple of years. Sometimes she mistook Teddy for Alfie, and frequently called her mastiffs, Cyril.

           But Teddy and Ruby owned the manor now, had for some time. Louise had permanently taken residence at Margate, it always made her feel closer to Alfie where he and Cyril were buried. Inglewood was too big for just Louise anyway, it was much more suited for Teddy and Ruby's children. 

           So it was strange that she had woken up there without any recollection of traveling to Surery. Frowning in puzzlement, she looked down and saw the wrinkles in her hands had smoothed away. Her hair was bobbed again instead of the long gray braid she usually wore.

           Her body felt so much lighter. No longer did she feel the painful arthritis in her hands or the chronic ache in her hip. Startled, Louise carefully walked forward. It had been years since she had been able to walk unaided. But now she felt like she could walk for miles or run or dance even.

           She began walking towards the master bedroom, opening the door cautiously. Such a strangely real dream. Every surface felt so real and just as she remembered it. The room was warm and a few lamps laminated the space. Sitting beside the bed was the husband her heart had ached over for decades.

           “Alfie.” She gasped softly.

           He looked up and smiled warmly. The features of his face the same as they had always been before the cancer took him. “Sh, sh, he’s sleeping, love.” He murmured and looked down at the bundle in his arms.

           Louise walked over with tears in her eyes. She saw her son just a few hours old, resting in his father’s arms. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. It was pristinely kept as it had been in 1926. Not a thing looked moved or dusty. Even Cyril was contently sleeping in the corner, the large dog snoring peacefully.

           “Alfie…is this…” Her eyes searched his face.

           He nodded serenely. “Yeah, Lou, I told you I’d wait. Waited a fucking long time, didn’t I?”

The End

~~~~~~

Honestly I had such a hard time letting go of Alfie and Louise. I made myself cry writing this so just know I suffered too. 

Thank you to everyone who read through and left me lovely messages along the way. And a special thank you to my tags! 

@papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @deaflikehawkeye​

@vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Just so you’re all aware I’m currently writing/posting works of mine that are also on wattpad and AO3. They’re listed in my Peaky masterlist linked below. Two of which are Alfiexoc. I also have another Tommyxoc that I’ve been posting on AO3 for quite some time but might bring it over to tumblr if there’s some interest. 

ALSO I have a couple one-shots I wrote for Burned because I refused to let go of it right away. I’ll be posting those soon so if you’d like to be tagged in them, let me know. 

Masterpost

PB Masterlist 

[butterflydreaming-writes-fic]

“And the One Time They Did”

“And the One Time They Did“ by Looks-Clear (that’s me, yo!)

Word Count: about 3,400     Rating: Gen

@sweetness47​, here is my gift to you for the Profound Bond Discord gift exchange! I hope you actually find it amusing. This is a “five times plus one time” fic, and since that’s such a well-used trope, I thought it would be funny to title each of the sections with an AO3 tag.

-o-

1. “that trope where it's a relationship told from an outsider's point of view”

The money is good, but the competition for gigs means that you take that delivery order even though it’s to a house way outside of town. Houses are good, though. Around here, that means honeymoon tourists and vacation renters, which might mean a better tip. “J. Page” is waiting for his order from Great Greens, so you pick up the bags from Yolanda’s new salad cafe and head out in your Jeep onto the river road.

The house is secluded on the less popular side of the river, off the narrow road that splits from the main. You don’t even see the black Chevy Impala parked along the side of the house until you’ve driven to the end of the tree-lined driveway. The two-story house is the kind of place you would love to live in if you wanted a lot of privacy. It’s well cared for to attract the short-term renters your town gets all summer. The house has a good roof, freshly painted siding, and healthy potted plants around the door you’re knocking on.

An upstairs window slides open with a thunk. Taking a step away from the door, you look up. 

“Oh, hey.” The man leaning out the window has a smile that immediately puts you at ease. The frame catches at his flannel shirt, exposing a flash of skin above his faded jeans. He’s tall, with long hair, and the breadth of his shoulders make you glad you took the delivery job. “Would you mind… there’s a kitchen door at the back of the house. I’ll be down in a sec.” He pulls back in before you can respond.

You hesitate, thinking about the seclusion of the house and potential danger, but your gut tells you it’s OK. Nothing about the house or the classic car gives you that red flag feeling. The sun isn’t down yet. Plus, your holding an order of salads and cheesy rolls, Yolanda knows you’re delivering them and to where, and you can’t imagine it’s the dinner order of a creeper.

Things are a little unexpected when you get to the back door, though. The tall man — and he really is tall, six-four you guess — is pulling the curtain away from the window beside the kitchen door, but the door remains closed. “I have your Great Greens,” you say, lifting your two hands. You glance at the receipt and tell him the total. The food was paid with a credit card. You’re starting to despair about your tip, the line left blank to fill in.

“Great! Thanks. We really appreciate it,” he says, from the other side of the window glass.

There’s a dog door in the house door. The man disappears from the window and the door flap lift up. An envelope flips out. The man appears at the window again.

“If you could, um, put the order through the flap?” he asks.

“You don’t want to open the door?” Gingerly, you poke the dog door inward and push the bags through one at a time. The envelope turns out to have a few bills in it, a nice cash tip. You straighten up again and dust your hands off on your jeans after folding the envelope and tucking it into your pocket.

He laughs. It’s a breathy laugh, embarrassed. He ducks his head. “Can’t,” he says. “We’re, uh, sort of under quarantine.”

A surprised “Oh!” comes out of you before you can stop yourself. You wonder who else is with him in the house.

He’s quick to reassure you. “It’s not contagious. We just can’t leave the house yet.” He gives you one of those quick smiles again. The effective is magnified from being eye level and within three feet of him. You're a little glad there’s a window between you for protection.

“Thanks again,” he says.

“No problem,” you answer. With a small wave, you start back around to the front of the house, and your Jeep, only glancing back for a moment. The tall man is turning toward others entering the kitchen.

Before the curtain closes, you glimpse two other adults. You can hear them plainly through the window. A deep voice is at first excited about the meals. But then, suddenly:

“Sonoffabitch! SAM! What is this? Salad? Where’s the real food!?”

Back at your Jeep, just as a precaution, you rub your hands with the lavender scented hand sanitizer you keep in the glove box.

2. “(in my head the reader is a female but i didnt specify ir anywhere so ye)”

It’s Friday and a busy night, but when you see the delivery request come up for that same address, you take it. This time it’s for burgers from Jen’s Magnificent, which is locally famous for the MegaBurger, a four-patty monster with the works. You’re not surprised when the bags are heavy with three megas, fries and onion rings. What else would anyone order from Jen’s? The name on the credit card slip is “S. Denny.” You are wondering if the hot tall guy knows he’s not getting any veggies that aren’t deep fried.

Of course, you can guess what happened, and when it’s a different man at the front picture window asking you to go around to the back of the house, your guess is confirmed. The one with the deep voice is tall too, not as tall and not as lean, but still with nice muscle structure and also in a flannel shirt. Brothers, probably. You can see some familial resemblance.

As with the first delivery, you meet him at the back window. It’s earlier than last time and still full light out. He’s pretty anxious for the food, bouncing a little on his feet as he waits for you to slide the burger bags through the dog door.

You can’t help yourself. “Where’s the other guy?"

"Which?"

You pass the food through, straighten up and assess him. The cute one. Your brother?”

The man is already into one of the burgers. He shoves it in his face — you can’t take a bite out of a mega, you pretty much have to smash it into your mouth — and the moan he produces is, frankly, pornographic. This is a man who loves juicy meat.

You kind of want to leave him alone to it.

“The cute one," he repeats with a snort. He wipes a napkin across his mouth. "Researching,” he answers you, chewing on a mouthful. “This burger is awesome. Have you had these?”

“Actually, yeah. She makes good shakes, too.”

“This is going on my list of best burger towns,” he states. The burger disappears and when his hands are free, he wipes them on a fresh napkin. “You a local?”

You nod. He asks you a few odd questions about the town, a little bit about the history, and some information about how often tourists come through. You end up talking about your Jeep Renegade and auto maintenance, which helpfully gives you some points to go over with Roxy at the garage.

You’re back an hour later with another delivery from Great Greens, a single kale salad. You’re not surprised. The cute one is happy to see you. That's nice.

3. “Spells in general. Just spells and spells and spells”

You’ve come to think of yourself as their personal delivery person, to be honest, and it’s not only because J. Page aka Sam is a bright spot any time day or night. Feeling bold one evening, you scribble your phone number on the receipt and tell Sam, “If you guys need anything like from the grocery store or whatever, just call me. Anytime is fine.”

You’re snuggled on your couch watching Netflix when you actually get a late night call from Sam. He sounds apologetic and, weirdly, a little drunk. “Hi… Hi!” he greets a little breathlessly. “This might be a lot to ask but if you meant it about the help, I… we need someone on the outside to get these things. They’re going to sound strange, but I can’t explain what they’re for. Is that OK?”

“Does it,” you ask, “have to be right now?”

“Please, yes,” he says, words breathed out like an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know if I can take close quarters with these two past another moon cycle.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, uh. It has to be tonight because of the first quarter.” He names off some flowers, and then tells you the last one has to be picked after midnight and before dawn.

You actually have some of the list in your kitchen, dried, though it's not fresh. “The rest I can get, but I don’t know where to find that,” you tell him.

“Come to the house. It’s in the garden.”

And that’s how you end up picking lemon verbena by flashlight, in a hoodie and pajama pants, while Sam watches you from the kitchen window and points out the plants he needs. He’s glossy-eyed in the way of someone who’s had more booze than a few drinks at dinner, and pushing himself to act sober like someone who was drinking for a reason.

When you hand over the jasmine and vervain, he’s sitting on the floor at the other side of the door. You catch the dog flap on the backswing and hold it open. “Is that enough? I can get the other stuff fresh from Dara’s tea store tomorrow.”

He leans down to see you better through the opening and keeps going until he’s lying sideways on the floor. He seems vaguely surprised that the world has gone horizontal. “This is what I need to get started,” he pronounces carefully. He seems to consider getting upright. Instead, he rolls over onto his back. His hair, long and silky, flops beside his head, except for an errant lock that lays across his forehead. His beard is growing in, and the mountain man thing really works for him. He looks like he might nod off right there, lying on the floor.

“So… what are you doing, casting a love spell or something?” 

He groans. “Those idiots activated one. I’m trying to…” he lifts a hand and makes a serpentine gesture in the air with his finger, “wiggle open a loophole. So we can leave. And Dean can stop punching holes in the walls looking for hex bags.” He wakes up more fully and sits up suddenly. Running a hand through his hair, he laughs. There’s a tint of panic to it.

You can see that he’s about to dissemble about what he said, so you cut him off with a change of topic. “I knew the lady that used to live here. When I was a kid, we called it the witch’s house. She had, uh, twenty cats.”

“This is a dog door,” he points out.

“I know, right?” You smirk. “Do you like dogs?”

“I do,” he says without elaboration. “Can you tell me anything else about this house? Past owners?”

He’s sobering up. You answer with a shrug. “I mean. It’s a rental now. As you know, obviously.”

“A lot of strangers come through town? Have you noticed anyone that stands out? People you know, acting out of character? Has anyone been sick with an unexplainable illness?”

“We get summer tourists, mostly.”

“Anyone weird?”

“We are the weirdos, mister.” You ease the door flap closed. “I’ll bring the rest of your list when you guys order dinner tomorrow,” you say. It’s late, and you need to go home.

4. “Destiel are lowkey pining in the background”

Mylene adds in a cellophane bag of shortbread with the pie order. The scents in the bakery make you wish you were taking pie home for yourself, but no, this French Apple, ordered by “John Paul Jones,” is heading to the house you’ve been delivering to all week. On the nights when you don’t have an order, they order pizza delivery, it turns out. Pia, who owns Ristorante Raduno, mentioned it when you were fulfilling your craving for her incredible lasagna. Piggybacking on the pie order is a double side of bacon that you pick up from Dee's diner.

You honk when you pull up to the house, knock at the front door, then walk to the back yard per the usual. The Impala has enough dust on it to dull the black finish, and that strikes you as evidence that they really aren’t leaving the house. It was clear when you where conversing with him that burger guy loves his “Baby”. He wouldn’t let that car languish, getting covered in tree leaves and windblown dirt.

“You must be Mr. Jones,” you say to the new face at the kitchen window. “Are there any more of you in there or is three your crowd?”

“You’ve met the other two,” he says. He doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes are kind, deep blue and full of unspoken thoughts. He has a voice like someone after a night of loud singing and drinking. It doesn’t match his appearance. Not with the suit ensemble including the trench coat he is inexplicably wearing indoors.

“I guess pie and bacon is your thing?” you ask, covering a laugh, and pop the bakery box through the dog door. He takes the box once it has passed the threshold. "Whatever makes you happy." You hear his “thank you” before the dog door swings closed. 

“The pie is for —” he catches himself. “Sandy.” He was about to say a name that started with D, you’re sure of it. Dean, you recall, from Sam’s slip up. “He likes pie. And bacon.” He stares at the pie as if it is about to impart hidden wisdom. "It makes him happy."

Your tip was included when the bakery was paid, so you don’t have a reason to linger, but you do anyway, curious. “This lockdown is hitting him hard, isn’t it? Not being able to take his car out for a drive?”

He gives a helpless little micro-shrug, but concern shows on his face. You think you see some guilt there, too. What had Sam said about it, that “those idiots” had activated the spell? 

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but…” you hesitate, just for a minute. “Pie is good and all, and that pie is really good, but words are good, too?” His piercing attention actually makes you take a step back. You break eye contact, kicking the brick paving at your feet with the toe of your shoe. “Saying your feelings instead of, um, eating them?” You’ve probably blown it, so you scram without a backward look.

5. “Pray for Sam”

You glare at your phone until you wake up enough to recognize the text as Sam’s. Then you stare at it, trying to make sense of what it says. Meet him? The coffee hut he’s talking about is at the edge of town. It’s the one thing open at this time of day, since Tena is one of those disgusting morning people.

When you get there, you see that Sam is one of those disgusting morning people, too. His hair may have been tied back during his run, but now it’s loose. The sweaty and wild thing works for him even better than the mountain man look. He’s shaved the beard. You hop out of the Jeep and stroll up to where he is doing some stretches. He straightens up and shakes the hair out of his face.

“You’re out of quarantine,” you say. 

He answers your smile with his own. His eyebrows go up when he smiles. “You helped. With those herbs you picked, and everything else. I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you formally reply. “I notice you got out of that house as early as possible this morning.”

When he rolls his eyes, you have your confirmation. “Ha ha, yeah,” he answers. “Gotta, you know, have some space. From the lovebirds,” he adds with a sound that is part relief and part exasperation.

“Are you getting coffee?”

“I’m picking some up to take back,” he says. “No rush on that.”

“Tena makes a mean superfood smoothie.” You gesture at the espresso hut. “Would you like to get smoothies, go sit by the river, and watch the ducks? Until you’re ready to head back to the house?”

6. “If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you”

You figure, that’s it, good-bye, they’re gone, the three that were trapped by the spell on the house. Either Sam figured out how to loosen the spell long enough for them to exit, or burger guy and pie guy hooked up and completed the spell’s requirement. You couldn’t exactly talk about it with Sam, while you sat by the water and drank your breakfast smoothies. You’re pretty sure that he knows you were giving them hints, really vague hints but still hints, but it’s not like you could ask if he knows, even now that the spell is broken. 

They’re not gone yet, as you find out when Kitty from the General Store asks you to run a delivery out to the house. You stop by the General Store to pick up the bag. It’s heavy with an assortment of stuff indicating wall repair: sandpaper, drywall patch kits, a paint tray and paint roller. They’ve paid with a credit card again, a tip included.

You text Sam to let him know you’re the one bringing their supplies, and ask if they need anything else, which is how you end picking up another pie and a trio of sandwiches. When you get to the house, you see that all the windows and doors are open. Sam is sitting in the Impala with his long legs sprawling out of the open car door. He puts down a book when he sees you get out of your Jeep. 

“Let me get that. Must be heavy, sorry,” he says.

“Could be worse. Megaburgers, or cans of paint.”

His hair slides over his ears as he shakes his head. “My brother found paint in the attic, at least.”

“I’m glad this is ending with some DIY, instead of you burning the place down or something,” you say without thinking. “It’s usually newlyweds that stay here. We’re a quiet community.”

He gives you an assessing look.

You hand him the bag from the hardware store. You hand him the food, too, before he steps into the house. You hate to see him go, but watching him walk away? That’s worth the price of admission.

He yells up the stairs that food has arrived. In a minute, the other two guys come down, both suspiciously dusty on their backsides and elbows, both looking stupidly happy. Dean puts his arm around his sweetheart’s waist. Pie guy leans in and blesses Dean with a soft kiss. Pie guy must be Castiel, the angel.

The infamous Winchesters. As hunters go, they don’t seem all that bad.

Like every other kid that grew up in your town, you know how the house spell works. The couples that honeymoon here don’t even notice when they get locked in, and they usually break the spell within minutes with their easy “I love you”s. Castiel and Dean were in love but must not have said the words to each other, yet, when they entered the house, and Sam was caught as a bystander.

You slip away before they catch you watching, get in your Renegade, and head out to the main road. At first, it had seemed like everyone’s bad luck, that some travel blogger had written about the weird little house in an idyllic riverside tourist town, and that particular trio had come to check it out. Your town has been a quiet haven for witches since before you were born.

In the end, it turned out OK. Better than OK. Who doesn’t like a happily ever after?

-o-

[mercurygray]

Merc, I need the morning after WW1 Nix and Dick's enlightening trip to Lulu's! 😏😄🤭

Two coupes of our finest Alternate Universe, madame. The 1918 was a good year.

(You can read the beginning of this adventure here)

Dick awoke to sunshine on his face, a certain lightness in his limbs, and a strangely repetitive pounding in his head that, on further review, turned out to be Lewis, pounding on the doorframe. "Morning, tiger," his friend said with his trademark shit-eating grin, already dressed. "Sleep okay?"

Dick sat up and screwed his hands into his eyes, his head swimming a little, trying to remember the night before. Lulu's. Champagne. Leonie. Leonie.   Lew grinned as he watched Dick run through just exactly what had transpired, knowing full well that sleeping had...not entered into it much.  “I suspect you may become a popular guy around here,” he added, as his friend tried to square up his memories. “Leonie looked pretty pleased with herself on the stairs just now.”

Dick blushed, his French just good enough to keep up with some of last night’s commentary as her voice had brushed against his ears, his collarbones, his chest, his - 

His blood surged. He needed a cold bath, he needed his clothes, he needed church, or a beating, or both, and he needed to be gone from here, which was why, despite the pounding in his head, he surged forward, blearily stumbling towards the chair over which she’d hung his uniform jacket, now only sightly rumpled. “Easy does it, man, we’ve got time,” Lewis said with a grin. “Grab a croissant and some coffee, head back. It’s a 24 hour pass.” He followed Dick’s agitated dressing with a smile, amusement quickly turning to concern as he realized what was going on. ‘Hey - hey!” Lewis grabbed his shoulder. “Look, Dick, if you didn’t like it...”

Dick turned to look at his friend, shirt half-buttoned, suspenders around his hips. “No, that’s not - it’s that I did.” It would be a lie to say that his body had not enjoyed the night before - she was a professional, and good at her trade. But he’d wanted to wake up with her beside him, to...to speak poetry into her ears. He wanted something predictable, and routine, a Sunday through Saturday kind of love. This was not the place for that. Tonight Leonie would put on another face for another man and play whatever role he required of her - kitten or vixen, pursuer or pursued. He wanted a woman who said what she meant.

Desire looked, in Lewis’s mind, to be the exact opposite of a problem - but at least he was no longer laughing. “You’re not a statue, Dick. And no one needs you to be one, either. I’ve settled the bill. It’s fine. We’ll - we’ll go as soon as you’re dressed.”

It did not quiet his unrest, but it helped - he finished dressing quietly and followed Nix downstairs, the rest of the house just beginning to stir, a maid flitting around the front room collecting glasses and misplaced handkerchiefs. It looked strange, in the light of day - like a stage set without its actors. The light was wrong, with the sun up and the windows open - the artifice was exposed, the shabby paint one could not see when the gasoliers were lit, and the tatters in the velvet drapes that champagne fuddled eyes would not note. It was a dream - it wasn’t real. He wanted something real.

It was early still, but not early enough - in the streets around them, the town had woken up, and the regular business of a Saturday morning was in full swing - the vendors with their pushcarts, shopboys with their deliveries, the occasional governess with a pram, out for their morning stroll.

There was a wolf whistle from out in the street, and the two turned, trying to see from whence it had come - a long, lean figure across the road, walking up from the farther side of town. “Have a nice time last night, Captain Nixon?”

It wasn’t often that one saw this particular woman on her own - usually hiding in her uncle’s shadow, she was something of an enigma, a woman who wore a lieutenant’s bars as a matter of courtesy, of the Army but not officially in it, a creature apart. They said she was her uncle’s ADC, but who knew what role she really played - driver, courier, secretary - spy? There seemed nothing she did not do on behalf of the General, and the air in which she moved was rife with rumor -  that she was secretly married to a French officer, that she spoke fluent German and had once been sent to dine with Bismarck, that several of the other ADCs had once cut cards for her, that she’d ridden a horse naked down Pennsylvania Avenue for a bet. (The last one was mostly true, Nixon had revealed one night over bourbon and poker; It wasn’t for a bet, but a suffrage parade - she had been Victory, and she’d been wearing a corset and classical drape and not much more. Blanche had been there, he’d explained - she’d helped pin the laurel crown in her hair. “She looked like a goddess,” his sister had said afterwards. “I saw her and I believed in Amazons.”)

Well, if she’d been Victory then, Joan Warren looked like Justice now - a woman in uniform jacket and riding trousers, garrison cap cocked low over her face, ready to pronounce judgement on the guilty. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell two fine upstanding officers such as yourselves that there’s a prohibition in this army against visiting brothels.”

“But not bars,” Nixon said with a smile. As the intelligence officer, he was more often in the places of power she frequented, and his sister had flown in the same society circles. They were known to each other, knew the same people, attended the same parties, played by the same rules, and it showed in their demeanor, the almost playful way that Nixon found and reported his loopholes. But Dick had only observed her from a distance, content to listen to his friends’ reports. (And now, in close quarters engagement, he was finding that the intelligence reports were not exaggerated.)  “We stopped for a drink and lost track of the hour and - you know men, when we get a little bit of liquor in us…” He shrugged expansively. “Fell asleep in our chairs. Terrible, but what’s to be done?”

She nodded, smiling in a way that pronounced her utterly unimpressed, but amused by the effort.  “Do the women in your life usually believe you when you lie, Captain Nixon?”

“Usually,” Nix offered, his bluff well and truly called. “Can we...make it worth your while?”

Her smile was slim. “You don’t have anything I want. You’ll just have to owe me.”

“And how do we know we can trust you?” The words were out of Richard’s mouth before he’d even had a chance to think, and before he could regret it, she had turned and smiled at him, looking him over with an assessor’s eye. He felt much the same way he had the night before, when Lulu’s girls had stood in the parlor in their underthings winking and grinning. Joan Warren was the picture of a parade review and under her gaze he felt undone, and for half a fitful, filthy moment, he wanted her to do the things that Leonie had done to him last night.

“I grant I am a woman, but withall, a woman that lord Brutus took to wife. Think you I can bear that with patience, and not my husband’s secrets?”

The Shakespeare hung between them like a sword, waiting to see who broke first. But neither gave way.

“Fair enough,” Nixon cut in, following the invisible line between the two of them with an intelligence officer’s interest. “We’ll owe you.” He held out his hand, and they shook on it, the shared language of the gentleman’s agreement, and she touched her cap and went on her way, back in the direction of Pershing’s headquarters, not even bothering to glance behind.

“Christ, that’s a woman,” Nix said with bald appreciation, watching her go. “I’d stab Caesar for a piece of that.”

And, already feeling damned and guilty in so many ways, Dick followed her footsteps with his eyes and silently agreed.

-

Unlike the rest of the Allied Nations, the AEF did not sanction official brothels during their time in France, a move that stunned their European colleagues, since this was a fairly standard public health move from an army standpoint. Pershing had brought a morally clean army to France and he was going to try damn hard to bring one home.

He did not succeed. If you’re wondering why condoms were official army issue by World War Two, this policy is probably part of why. 

The Shakespeare that Joan (mis) quotes is Julius Caesar’s Portia.

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 05 - Hands

Chapter 01 - Chapter 04

Nose scrunching up to combat the savory scent of freshly baked bread tickling her nostrils, Marinette groaned and burrowed deeper under her blanket, blocking out the bright rays of sunlight streaming through the skylight above her bed. Desperately clinging to her slumber, she rolled over in an attempt to find a more comfortable position- only to feel gravity take hold as she rolled right off the side of her bed.

Hitting the floor with a muffled THUMP, she struggled to free herself from her blanket burrito. With a gasp as she finally freed herself from her downy prison, she rubbed her head to soothe the ache where it had connected with the floor. It was days like this that she was glad that there were still guard rails around her loft to prevent her from rolling right over the edge and plummeting down to the main area below. Now THAT would be an awful way to greet the day.

Her eyes widened when she glanced up at the skylight and saw how late in the day it was. She was supposed to be helping her parents out this morning down at the bakery, not sleeping the day away like a tranquilized sloth! Clamoring to her feet, she grabbed her comforter and threw it back on her bed, haphazardly shaking it out to make it look at least a little presentable. She rushed down her ladder, missing a rung in the middle and fell the rest of the way down into the main living area of her room. She made a bee-line to her closet and took out the first two articles of clothing she laid her hands on before stumbling down her trap door and ricocheting off the wall, finally making her way into the bathroom to change her clothes and brush her teeth.

With a final slide down the bottom half of the stairs, she landed in the bakery on her butt, causing her parents to look over at her and chuckle.

“Maman, Papa! Why didn’t you wake me up?! Didn’t you say that you had a big order to complete for a bridal shower or something?”

Sabine Cheng dusted the stray flour off her apron and strode over to her clumsy daughter. She gently grabbed her hand and helped up back to her feet. “Sweetie, you’ve been working so hard lately; you deserve a break. Your father and I can handle it ourselves, so you just worry about your own responsibilities.” She reached up to stroke her hand over her daughter’s disheveled hair.

“Besides,” her father, Tom, interjected with his booming, cheerful voice, “didn’t you say something about a fitting today?”

Walking over to the peg where her own apron hung, Marinette slipped it over her head and tied it behind her back. “Yeah, but that’s not until later this afternoon. I can help you guys out until then.” She smiled as she grabbed a tray of warm, flaky croissants and strode around the workstation to the front where the display case was located. Luckily, it seemed that the morning rush had ended and there was a lull in customers. She took this opportunity to replace anything that was running low in the display while her parents stayed in the kitchen and worked on the bridal shower order.

Times like these - where she could spend a lazy Thursday morning with her parents in the bakery - were some of her favorite. Over the years, she had come to truly appreciate how lucky she was to have such a loving and supportive family. Especially considering that she knew someone very well who didn’t have that kind of relationship with his own father.

It came as no surprise that with how tight knit her friendship with Alya, Nino, and Adrien was, there had been many times over the years that Marinette had dragged Adrien home with her after a study session so he could have dinner with her family instead of sitting down at an empty table to eat in solitude. She couldn’t get away with it very often considering how strictly his father monitored his son from a distance, but when she could, she made sure that the lonely boy who had captivated her young, naïve heart wouldn’t be alone to wallow in his own sadness.

And her parents had been absolutely wonderful and opened their home to Adrien and always made sure that he knew he was welcome at their table whenever he wanted to join them. For the longest time, they had been supportive of their daughter’s infatuation with the handsome, blond boy and had secretly hoped that he would eventually become a true member of their family.

When Marinette had eventually put her schoolgirl crush on him behind her, her parents had encouraged her to keep bringing Adrien home with her to join them for dinner from time to time. They truly cared about him and wanted to take care of him, as much as they could.

So it wasn’t a surprise to Marinette that when she heard the bell above the bakery’s door jingle, she saw her blond friend stride through the door.

“Good morning, Marinette. Helping your parents out today?” Adrien walked over and leaned his forearms on the countertop.

“Yup. They’re getting ready for a bridal shower delivery, so I’m manning the counter for them since I’m done with the sample for Jagged’s new look and I’ve got some free time until I have to bring it over for his fitting.” She wiped down the counter and watched a grin creep over his lips.

“So, it’s a simple matter of give and ‘bake’ then?” He chuckled at his own pun.

Marinette rolled her eyes and shook her head at her ridiculous friend. “Wow, Adrien. That was just painful. Just… don’t.”

“What ‘dough’ you mean, Mari?” He leaned even closer, fluttering his eyelashes as he grinned playfully and he watched his friend try to suppress her laughter.

“God, you’re awful. How can you stand to be so corny? If your fangirls knew how horrible your puns were, they’d turn in their fanclub membership cards.” she giggled and covered her face so she wouldn’t have to watch him continue to make exaggerated faces at her.

With one final chuckle, he backed away and perused the display case, inspecting the wares for sale. “I’m no worried about that happening any time soon. I just stopped in to grab something to eat before I went to class. Can I get a couple of croissants for the road?”

She grabbed her tongs and placed a few croissants in a bag for him. “Here you go. It’s on the house. You know your money is no good here.”

Taking the bag from her, he smirked. “How do you expect your parents to make any ‘dough’ that way?”

Slapping her hand over her face, she just groaned. Sometimes she wished he hadn’t gotten so comfortable around her. His puns sometimes were really bad.

“By the way, when do you have to be over at Roth Records for the fitting?”

Marinette peeked through her fingers at Adrien. Apparently, he was done being silly. “Actually, in about 45 minutes. You just caught me as I was about to get cleaned up and head over to the studio.”

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I have a little bit of time before I have to get to class. Would you like a ride so you don’t have to get a taxi or take the metro with your precious cargo?”

She hesitated for a minute, then relented. It would be much more convenient to accept his offer. After all, she felt like he owed her for having to endure his terrible jokes. “Sure. That’d actually be a big help. Give me a few minutes to get ready and we can head out.”

After she hung up her apron and started up the stairs to her room, Adrien leaned over the counter to call after her, “Take all the time you… ‘knead’.” He laughed when he heard her groan echo down the stairs.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

In stark contrast to Marinette’s busy morning, Luka was enjoying a leisurely day off. Sitting on the couch in the main cabin of his houseboat, he lazily plucked the strings of his guitar, not really playing any song in particular, just enjoying the feeling of the strings beneath his fingertips. Eventually, though, the tune that had been burrowing through his brain couldn’t be ignored any longer.

He carefully plucked the strings, coaxing the melody out into the open where he could flesh it out and tweak it until it really started to resonate with his soul. He felt like he was on the verge of some sort of breakthrough when he was jarred back to reality by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

Carefully setting his guitar next to him, he looked at the display: Penny Rollings. He briefly wondered what Jagged Stone’s agent could possibly want with him so soon, then accepted the call.

“Hey, Miss Rollings, what can I do for you?”

He heard her sigh on the other end. “Luka, I’ve already asked you to call me ‘Penny’,” she admonished. “The reason I’m calling is because we need you in the studio again. Apparently, when Mr. Roth listened to the recording we did yesterday, he wasn’t satisfied with the final cut and wants you and Jagged to go over it again. Do you have any time this afternoon?”

Mentally saying goodbye to his ‘day off’, Luka replied, “Sure. What time should I come by?”

He heard rhythmic tapping, letting him know that she was tapping on her tablet, probably checking her artist’s schedule. “Can you make it around three o’clock? Jagged has a fitting before then, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

He agreed to the meeting and ended the call. Tucking his phone into the back pocket of his ripped, black jeans, he grabbed his signature leather riding jacket and threw it on over his slashed white Jagged Stone band tee. Carelessly shoving his feet into scuffed combat boots, he slung his guitar over his shoulder and headed out. He had some time to kill and decided that busking in the park would be a bit more productive that continuing to obsess over his mystery song.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

“Marinette, my awesome girl, you’ve outdone yourself this time!” Refusing to stand still as he admired himself in the mirror, Jagged stone yelped once again as Marinette accidentally poked him with yet another pin as she tried to adjust the fit of the toxic purple lapels of the rock god’s jacket. From the moment he had donned her latest creation, he hadn’t stopped complimenting Marinette’s handiwork. She had managed to properly fit the sample she had brought of the pants she had made for Jagged without too much bloodshed, but she supposed that was only due to the close proximity of sharp objects to the man’s family jewels.

Apparently, once he was no longer in danger of being stabbed in his delicates, the amped up rock star decided that standing still for a proper fitting wasn’t necessary. Hoping to distract him, Marinette asked him how the progress on his next album was coming. “I’m impressed that you’re already working on your next album before the one you just finished is even released.”

Her subtle distraction worked. He gazed fondly at the top of her head as she made a minute adjustment to the hem of his jacket. “Music’s in my blood and rock ‘n roll is in my soul. You know how it is to be a slave to your craft. I can tell just by lookin’ at the awesome art you create that you have that same passion inside your soul.”

She stilled her hands for a minute as she thought about what he had said. “You know, you’re very right.”

With a final pin placement, Marinette announced that she was done with the fitting and he could take of the sample clothing she had brought as long as he was careful not to knock off any of the pins.

Once he was clad once again in his signature sequined blazer, he flopped down on a couch pushed against one of the fitting room walls. Delicately packing her creation in it’s designated garment bag, she jumped when she heard a knock on the door.

Jagged Stone’s agent poked her head into the room and announced, “Jagged, if you’re done here, you’re needed in studio four.”

Groaning, he flopped his shaggy head against the back of the couch. “Can’t I get a break, Penny? You’ve got me runnin’ non-stop since I woke up. You’re stifling my creative juices,” he complained.

Not wanting to witness the inevitable argument between the temperamental artist and his fed up agent, Marinette quietly gathered her things and snuck out of the room, not bothering to interrupt the other two to say her goodbyes.

She made her way through the labyrinth of hallways toward the elevator so she could head back home. But she stopped in her tracks when she heard… something.

It was the most beautiful song she’d ever heard. The simple guitar playing tugged at her heartstrings in a way nothing had before and she was captivated. She’d never heard anything like it. This song spoke to her and demanded that she listen.

Following the sound, she made her way down the hall until she found the source of the music: a young man sitting in an empty recording studio.

She wiped away the sudden tears that gathered in her eyes and gazed into the room at the musician. His head was bent over his guitar, his teal tipped black hair obscuring her view of his face. His lips wore a soft smile and he touched her heart with his song. She watched as his hands danced over the strings of his guitar, effortlessly bringing to life his hypnotic tune.

She continued to stare in wonder at his hands. She could scarcely believe that those black tipped digits could evoke such emotions within her with just a guitar. The longer she looked at them, taking in every detail, from the ring he wore on his left index finger to the rugged leather cuff he wore on his right wrist, the more she suspected that she’d seen those hands before.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she reached up and slowly wrapped her fingers around the door handle.

In the distance, she could suddenly hear the sounds of Jagged Stone and Penny bickering as they approached.

She quickly backed away and took off toward the elevator, once again not wanting to get caught in the awkward situation of listening to them fight.

Not realizing that the slight sound she had made when she released the doorknob was enough to catch the attention of the guitarist she had been watching. He jerked his head up just in time to see midnight blue hair streak in front of the window as she ran off. Shrugging it off, he returned his attention to his instrument and continued to play his secret song.

Chapter 06

*Ooooh, so close, yet so far. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Nope. Our sweet baes are going to have to suffer a little longer, don’t you think? mwahahaha! But, I will say that we’re getting warmer.

Until next time, lovelies XOXO*

[ikesenhell]

1985 Camaro

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 2. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Brief conversation about prior death, otherwise safe. Thank you @missjudge-me for commissioning this piece!

---

They camped out on the back patio until the sun set. He cooked gyoza and rice balls and some pan-fried chicken, and she ordered ice cream delivery, and they nested their knees together and tucked into a pint of something labeled ‘Just Ask’ and when he asked, she wouldn’t tell him, not even when he tickled her (It wound up being a delicious caramel-Oreo flavor). She instead told him about her degree and moving out, about keeping in contact with Mitsunari as he served in Tanzania through hand-written notes on origami paper. They swapped curated Instagram snapshots and embarrassing anecdotes and reminisced. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “About your dad.”

Masamune shrugged. There was nothing to say. It hurt and always would, but that was his private journey. “Old bastard waited too long to have kids s’what. If he’d had me at a nice, respectable age, we wouldn’t be doing this, the old coot!” He waved a dramatic fist at the sky, relishing her giggles. “You fucked up!”

Overhead, his mother’s bedroom light flicked on. 

“Shit,” he muttered. She dropped her face into her hands to stifle the raucous laughter. 

“How—” Now she was whispering. Masamune wriggled closer, their legs reflexively entwining. “How’s that going?”

“Better than it used to. We can talk without yelling. Something something time and distance. I’m planning on hunkering down here for a little bit, and once all of the stuff is settled, I’ll probably go back north. The restaurant owners offered to hold my position for me, which is really nice.” 

“Hell yeah it is. Isn’t that kind of a cut throat world? They must love you.”

“Yeah. Good openings don’t stay open long in the restaurant biz, so that’s really cool.” Absently, he ran his thumb over the whorls of the deck. “What about you? What’s next?”

“Well.” And she paused, eyes luminous. “I got offered a job interview out east. It’s a good job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Once upon a time, when she was too nervous to really settle her heart on something she wanted, she smiled shyly and fluttered her eyes away. Some things stayed the same. His heart surged as the familiar expression played out before him. “It could be a game changer for me.”

“That the case, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have to do some logistics, and I have to interview, right? But if I get it…” She stretched up to the sky, wriggling her fingers long at the clouds, all the prickled flesh on her arms visible in the cold moonlight. Without thinking, he shuffled closer to warm her. “I mean, I have to actually get to the interview first, so there’s the first hurdle.”

Masamune chewed his lip. “How far out is it?”

“It’s in Virginia. Complete other side of the country. The plane tickets are outrageous.”

“Damn. Guess you’re road tripping, huh?”

A gust of warm breath huffed from her lips. “I mean, I hate going on them alone, but I don’t even have a car right now. Mine got totaled; kid hit me when I was driving down here. Guess I’m taking a damn greyhound.”

His first reaction was to say ‘yikes’, and then… well. Masamune paused, soaking in the possibilities. “So you need a car is what you’re saying?”

“Mmhmm.”

Back in the day, his dad often said that the universe lined things up. Masamune didn't exactly believe in fate—he believed in making things happen—but occasionally, he saw the reasoning. 

“How do you like eighties cars?” He asked. 

She eyed him, a smile in her eyes and voice. “Like the Camaro? Sure, it’s cool. Why?”

Masamune snickered. “Everything in the Date family is cool as hell. What if I told you I could get you a car and a road trip buddy?”

The click of her brain working was almost audible. “Don’t you have to be here?”

“Gotta wait for the death certificates, which is probably a week or so. Mom wants the Camaro gone, and if she has to be around me too long, she’ll probably get sick of me real quick. I might as well make myself scarce and hang out with a dear friend. Besides—I’ll cut you a deal on selling you it. Call it a test drive.”

“A test drive? For like, a week?” But she was grinning, her shoulders angled in toward his. “Weeklong test drives aren’t kosher, Mr. Date.”

“And I’m not Jewish.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious as my dad’s grave.” Masamume brushed a lock of stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Want me along for the ride?”

Once upon a time, years ago, the whole gang got into an altercation with an older man in a Ford pickup. They were only teenagers sitting on a dock, but the guy pulled up and screamed at them for ‘loitering’. Mitsunari tried to intervene, and when the man acted like he might hit him, Ieyasu almost threw hands himself. They’d retreated into the woods—and when the man left, Masamune, Mitsuhide, and she went back and lit the dock on fire to spite him. Right beforehand, she’d fixed him with the most mischievous expression he’d ever seen: mouth sucked into her teeth, eyes glittering, staring out from under her lashes. 

Now, she made that same expression, and it lit a fire in him. 

“We’d have to leave like…” She mentally calculated. “In three days to make it.”

“Or we could take the long road, do a little sightseeing, and leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She echoed. Only a half second later, that smile was back. “I’m game.”

---

At six a.m. sharp, Masamune tried to wake her by flinging rocks at her window. That didn't work. At last he resorted to calling her, discovering that she stayed in a completely different room now. 

“Could’a used that knowledge,” he chuckled, hopping in place to warm his legs. The fog pressed in around him, September chill early this year. “Don’t suppose anyone is using that room?”

Her voice was thin, but warm over the phone. “No, it’s a home gym now.” 

“Great! I didn't hassle anyone else. Get out here, Kitten, we got a road to get on.”

She emerged twenty minutes later, sweatpants fresh from the dryer, wet hair in a sloppy bun and a suitcase click-clacking behind her. She never was a morning person. Masamune snickered and popped the Camaro trunk. “Wanna drive, or wanna let me do it?”

“You start. Can we get some Starbucks?”

“Ugh.” He clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “All of the coffee places in the world, and you want Starbucks. My palate is crying.”

Rolling her eyes, she slid into the passenger seat. “Drama queen.”

They got Starbucks. She tucked her feet into fuzzy socks and folded them under her knees, clutching the large mocha. Only the rush of the road beneath their tires filled the silence. Asphalt and trees emerged from the mist like a benevolent ghost, Americana obscured. They’d only just merged onto the highway when Masamune realized there wasn’t an audio jack in the car.

“Shit,” he muttered. 

She opened her eyes, head lolling on the headrest. “What?”

He flicked the dashboard. Nope, no audio jack. Not even a CD player. No; amidst all the toggles and buttons of the dash was a cassette player. “I don’t have anything to listen to. This thing won’t hook up to the phones, and I don’t have any tapes.”

“Hm.” Taking a long sip of her drink, she mused, “Maybe your dad has some in here?”

“I guess that’d make sense. Take a look around, would you?”

Sure enough, she was right. Tucked away in the glove compartment was a treasure trove: Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, AC/DC, Prince, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen. “Damn,” she chuckled, “Your dad had good taste.”

Masamune took the copy of Rumors in his fingers, never taking his eyes off the road. The dust was thick under his thumb. “He’d play ‘Back in Black’ when he picked me up from school. It was cool as hell.” With a snap, he pried open the copy of Rumors and popped it into the player. The speakers hummed to life with strumming guitar, Fleetwood Mac echoing. “I know there’s nothing to say, someone has taken my place…” She rested her elbow on the center console, brushing his arm with her as she texted. 

“Guess what?” She murmured. “Mitsunari just got back from Tanzania.”

“Oh shit, really?” How long had it been? Masamune mentally calculated the dates. “I guess it has been two years, huh? The Peace Corps finally turned him loose?”

“Yeah. He’s apparently crashing at Ieyasu’s place—” Masamune barked a laugh, and she tittered, but continued, “—and wants to know if we’re going to head that direction.”

“He’s in Maryland, right?” Fishing out his phone, he checked it. “Yasu didn't tell me about this. Bastard. Well, we get there fast enough, then we can definitely hunker down there for a day or so and celebrate his coming back.”

Classic rock kept them company on the long drive. He didn't mind roadtrips. There was something sacred about them. Forget the American Dream; it was dead. Long live the American Road Trip, a rite of passage for the lost souls from sea to shining sea. Nothing cleared the senses like cranking up the heater on the floorboards and rolling down the window to a blast of autumn air. She let down her hair and it whipped wild in the wind. 

Thank God she was here. Masamune quietly relished her reappearance in his life. She was a gateway to an old world, one with his father alive, one where he still snuck out of the house at night and biked to the 7-Eleven for slurpees at 3a.m. They stopped at a Cracker Barrel for dinner and ordered root beer floats and roasted each other over the annoying ‘jump-the-pegs’ game perched on every table. Though you were supposed to reduce it to one peg, she couldn’t quite manage it. Somehow she kept getting two or three. 

“I got it down to one peg once,” she laughed, shoving it toward him. Masamune swirled it under his hand. 

“I can do it,” he commented. “But that’s because Mitsunari taught me the trick years ago.” He knocked the first peg out of the top of the triangle, moving it elsewhere. “That’s the one that’s gotta be empty. From there on out, there’s a set solution.”

She craned over it, investigating. “What’s the set solution?”

A long, hefty pause lingered between them as he slurped some of his float. 

“Dunno anymore.” He cracked a grin. “I forgot like, eight years ago.”

“Ass! Then you don’t know!” She swatted at his arm and grinned. “Liar!”

“Hey! I was just trying to look cool in front’a you, Kitten, I can’t look like some big dumb stud after all these years—”

“I love how you allow for the possibility that you’re dumb,” she cackled, “but not the possibility that you’re anything other than hot.”

“Am I wrong? Look at me.”

The roll of her eyes was exactly what he wanted. She shoved a biscuit at him over the table. “I think Mark Twain said something like, ‘it’s better to stop talking and appear dumb than open your mouth and remove any doubt’, Masamune.”

He clutched at his chest, but took the biscuit anyway. “You wound me, Kitten.”

As they were paying the bill, she split off and reappeared a minute later, plunking thirty cents onto the cash register and tucking a cinnamon stick into his jacket pocket. “Here.”

“My favorite!” He peeled back the plastic wrapper. “Thanks, Kitkat. You remembered.”

For the first time since they’d seen each other again, her expression evolved to one he’d almost forgotten. He’d only seen it once before. It was a moonlit night back in their senior year, after prom, when they were both lingering in the pool as everyone else passed out drunk. He’d wiped a leaf from her hair and told her she was beautiful, and she’d looked at him like that so long and hard that he wondered if he’d ever known her inner thoughts at all. 

“Of course I remembered,” she answered at last, soft and clarion clear. “I remember all kinds of things about you, Masamune.”

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele - XXIII

A/N How much has changed

T/W Mentions of war violence, death, and grief

Mail lines had been cut earlier in the week, meaning letters to and from home were undeliverable. The soldiers’ morale was low from this, most only really hanging on after mail delivery days with calm words from their families. Even still, the capture of Passchendaele was a huge success for the British army and the moment of peace from battle as well as the newly arrived sunshine for the men was more than appreciated. Uniforms were hung up over crumbling brick walls and half destroyed window ledges to dry and most of the men walked around in their undershirts, finally being able to feel the warm springtime sun. A few men were sent to bring in a few crates of food rations and supplies from their old trenches, the trucks not able to make the trip over the still flooded battlefield.

As Corbyn had assured him, Daniel was permitted another week’s rest by the General who was more than impressed with his valour and determination, his leadership ultimately helping the Allies to gain this major foothold in the war. A few German cots were left over in some of the destroyed buildings so Daniel and Corbyn assembled themselves a little room in an old house where Daniel could rest.

He was still heartbroken and arguably traumatized by the events of the prior few days or weeks and after such a physically draining battle, he was back to square one; tucked warmly under a blanket on the cot, silent. Corbyn didn’t mind, still graciously taking care of his friend whenever he could, and he was just grateful that Daniel was more willing to eat now.

Daniel felt like the ache in his heart would never go away; if he dwelled on it too long, thinking too much about what had happened, it would feel like someone had a knife through his chest, twisting it and pushing it deeper until he lost his breath.

It was torture.

So Daniel tried not to think about it, leaving his tin box shut tightly as it only contained memories he didn’t want to relive: Elizabeth’s photograph, Zach’s dog tags, and Christian’s few belongings. He stayed on his cot for a few days, more coherent than before the capture but still broken, letting himself take time to himself to unwind. He wished he could write to his mother, missing her comforting words of wisdom and reassurance. He wondered if she knew that Christian was killed yet. He wondered if she thought he was dead too.

Daniel prayed a lot since their arrival at Passchendaele. Although his faith may have dwindled since the start of the war, he felt like the only way to push onward was to trust in God. He knew his three favourite people were in good hands.

Sunday brought cloudless blue skies and warm weather, drawing Daniel out of bed for the first time in four days. Some of the soldiers were sat around the ruins of the small church, the sun brightening up the area filled with lighthearted chatter and freshly served rations, a few of the men barefoot as their socks were hung to dry beside them. Corbyn was amidst them, smoking a cigarette and laughing at whatever story someone was sharing. His smile only grew when his eyes landed on Daniel approaching them.

“Hey, Seavey!” he cheered, the rest of the men looking over to the quiet young man and welcomed him excitedly.

“Want a smoke, mate?” one offered. Daniel politely declined as he sat next to Corbyn on one of the upturned church pews.

“Good to see you up.” Corbyn patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s good to be up.” Daniel reached forward to grab a can from the crate they were using as a small table. “What’s for lunch?”

“Only the best lukewarm stew a man could ask for.” one of the men across from him grinned through a thick Australian accent as he took a drag from his cigarette, his dark blonde curly hair sticking up in all directions.

“Lovely.” Daniel cracked a half-forced smile as he pulled the lid open and shuffled through his pockets for a spoon.

“Besson here says you led us to capture the town, is that right?”

Daniel looked around the group who were all staring at him expectantly. He looked back down as he swirled his spoon around the dark stew, “Um, I don’t know about ‘led’ necessarily.”

“Don’t be daft. We all know you did.” Corbyn scoffed.

“Just had a pinch of luck, I suppose.” Daniel shrugged.

“Blimey, mate, we captured an entire town in one day! That’s more than a pinch of luck.” the blonde man gaped, leaning forward to stamp out his cigarette on the side of the wooden crate, “Us Aussies and New Zealanders had been trying for months. You made it look easy.”

Daniel bit back his embarrassed smile as he took a bite of his lunch.

“It was definitely the back up you lot got from the Canadians that pushed you.” another man spoke from his place on the ground, lit cigarette between his fingers as his cap embroidered with a maple leaf rested over his eyes to shield him from the sun.

“You bloody wish.” Corbyn laughed.

“You should count yourself lucky that you had our manpower.” the man sat up, dropping his cap to the ground and he ruffled a hand through his shaggy brown hair, offering a cheeky smirk to Corbyn and Daniel as he took a drag of his cigarette under his mustache.

“We’re all on the same team.” Daniel protested softly over their bickering. “We all did it together.”

The Australian man shrugged teasingly, “Yeah, maybe, but-”

A shadow fell over their small group and they all glanced up to see the General standing over them, his usual serious scowl across his face and his hands behind his back, “Sorry to interrupt lunch, gentlemen, but I must request to see both of you down by the lines as soon as possible.”

“Yessir.” Daniel and Corbyn offered him a salute as they watched him walk off through the destroyed town.

“Down by the lines? Christ, we better not be going back into battle. My socks aren’t dry yet.” the Australian held up his bare foot to the group.

“Bloody disgusting.” the Canadian gave him a shove, making him laugh loudly.

Daniel and Corbyn packed up their few belongings, slinging their rifles over their shoulders just in case. They said their quick goodbyes to their new friends before making their way to the dirt road towards the battlefields. Daniel ate as they walked, his boots scuffing against the rubble below them. The sunshine led the way, both young men silent and growing more hesitant with each step, wondering what the General was to speak with them about.

General Dolan was stationed in one of the dugouts in the overtaken German trenches and Corbyn and Daniel were directed there by one of the higher officers. Daniel left his empty lunch can on the side of the trenches as they approached. The structure of the German trenches was much more impressive than the British; steel beams and wood posts holding up the ceilings of massive dugouts, torches lining the walls with sufficient lighting and sets of metal military furniture filling the space. General Dolan was sat at the desk, scanning the maps that were laid out over the desk and had been left behind in the raid.

“Sir.” Corbyn greeted, both men saluting once again.

“Thank you for your prompt response.” General Dolan spoke, glancing up at the two of them, “Can either of you read German?”

“No, sir.” they both answered.

“Pity.” the General shuffled the maps to the side to focus his attention on the two men in front of him. “I wanted to speak with you about your incredible work you’ve done for this Division. Both of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corbyn responded.

“Besson, you’ve been with us for almost a year now, is that right?”

“Yessir.”

“And Seavey, you’ve only been here for a few months?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Daniel nodded.

“Listen, you both have helped our country greatly in the amount of times you’ve both been here, especially with capturing Passchendaele, and your teamwork and dedication to this Division is unmatched.”

Corbyn and Daniel waited for him to continue.

General Dolan took a soft breath, glancing between the two young men with narrowed eyes as if analyzing them, “This war is no where near over. There’s no end in sight currently but we are making progress, especially with this foothold we just got over the German advances.”

The General lit a cigarette. Daniel looked to Corbyn who met his gaze, shrugging lightly and they both looked forward again.

“Now, I’m not supposed to do this so early on in the war so don’t go spreading it around, you hear me?”

“Yessir.” the two men spoke strongly.

“But I believe you two men have done us plenty. Look these over for me and tell me if they are up to your expectations.” General Dolan blew out a puff of smoke as he picked up two pieces of paper from the tabletop and held them out towards them. Corbyn stepped forward to take them from him.

Daniel glanced over his friends’ shoulder. In Corbyn’s hands were two discharge papers, already filled out with each of their names and military descriptions and only requiring their signature and a stamp from the General himself.

“If you wish to stay, you may.” the General broke their silence first, a small smile playing at his lips. “But otherwise you are free to go home to your families.”

Daniel could feel his eyes filling with tears and he looked to the ground to regain himself, taking a shaking breath and nodded quickly, “Thank you, sir.”

“Will we be sent back out here if our services are still required?” Corbyn asked straightly.

“If you take the discharge, no. I wrote it in as stated in Paragraph 392, Section 25 of the King’s Regulations. ‘His services are no longer required.’ Once home, you can no longer re-enlist into this war.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corbyn tried to hold back his own smile.

“Sir, if I may...” Daniel asked.

General Dolan nodded for him to continue.

“If a man has been fighting under the age requirement, would he be permitted to be discharged, sir?”

“Absolutely.” General Dolan seemed taken back by the question. “Under Section 6: ‘Mis-statement of Age on Enlistment, soldiers under the age of seventeen at the time of application must be discharged if brought to the attention of a commanding officer’. Are you aware of an underage solider, Seavey?”

“No, sir.” Daniel breathed. “Just curious.”

“Sign right here if you agree with the terms.” the General pointed to the blank line near the bottom of the page. Corbyn passed Daniel his own form as he bent down to take the pen from the General.

Daniel scanned the page again, disbelieving to what he was really holding in his hands.

This is to certify that Sergeant Daniel J Seavey enlisted in into the 1st Division, 3rd Battalion, D Company, Rifle Section of His Majesty’s Royal Army on the 12th of February 1915. He served in Belgium under General G. B. Dolan and is now discharged from the service by reason of his services no longer being required by the military as of May 9th, 1915.

“Seavey?”

Daniel looked up to Corbyn holding out the pen towards him, his wide smile on display, the General behind him with a content upturn on his lips too. Daniel took the pen from his friend and leaned over the desk to sign on the line as well.

They watched as the General stamped the official crest onto the bottom of both pages and stood up to offer them each a firm handshake.

“Congratulations, men. You did exemplary work out here and you made your country very proud. Now pack up your things and you’ll be on the next truck towards home.”

Daniel and Corbyn thanked him once more, both sharing their last formal salute to their officer who did the same back and they left the dugout. Daniel smiled down at the parchment in his hand once they were back outside, feeling like a weight was off his shoulders but still pressing down on his chest, knowing who won’t be there waiting for him when he would get off the train.

[bobdangit]

That's Not Very Gucci Of You || Bob & Vashti

Bob tries to conduct his back-alley deals in private. Vashti is not so obliging. Especially when she suspects the lives of fellow snakes are on the line.

Just looking at the window display of the Candy House was enough to give Bob diabetes. Think of the money. Don’t think of the chocolate mice. He tore his eyes away with some effort, focusing instead on the uniformed girl behind the counter. Hildegaard said her name tag, as she continued to beat pastries with a spatula. She looked several feet too short and was without the requisite number of gold teeth to be Bob’s contact. Approaching her with perfect sheepishness, he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, miss. Have you seen a man wandering through here? Big as a Dumpster, pushing around a trolley—” He didn’t get much further than that, cut off too fast by the staccato machine-gun fire of footsteps.

The second the doorbell chimed at 3:45 on a Saturday afternoon instead of 10:30 that same Saturday morning, Vashti untied her apron and slammed it on the bench in a huff, stomping towards the door from the kitchen to the floor and wrenching it back with enough force that its own welcome bells rung Mike the Delivery Guy’s impending doom rather than tinkling a cheery hello.

Vashti of Barzrud waited for nobody.

“You were supposed to be here five hours ago with my fresh raspberries, you moron,” she hissed at Mike at the counter as soon as the door flung open, her finger jabbing the air towards him as she approached with fury etched upon her face. Her high heels click-clacked against the polished floors (against store policy, massive OH&S issue, slipped back on daily as soon as her boss left for the day), sounding like Freddy Krueger pulling his knives against a fence with the same homicidal intent. Hildegaard, about to reply to whatever Mike the Delivery Guy had been saying to her, scuttled away immediately.

“For Paimon’s sake, it’s 3:45 next week, not this -” Suddenly, Vashti cut herself off. This guy was not Mike the Delivery Guy. He could have been Mike the Delivery Guy (generic, white, wrinkly old human male the colour of a pale boot heel), but he wasn’t wearing the Mike the Delivery Guy uniform, nor did he enter with any berries in tow. He was just a Guy. A customer. Vashti narrowed her eyes. Hardly made any difference to her.

“And what do you want?” she asked. Unapologetic. Coldly.

Bob got as far as, “Uh.” He tried pointing in the direction that Hildegaard had been a second ago, now finding himself staring at thin air. The dark-haired girl teetering on stilt-like high heels didn’t seem like his contact either. “Hi,” he said, pulling himself together. He flashed her a wide, if not slightly insurance-salesman-like, smile. “Raspberries, you say? Why don’t I get cracking on that right away for you. My associate—he does the actual deliveries, you see, drives the van—must be around here somewhere. He’s about yea high, grunts a lot, very much a Mainer. Let me go rustle him up and you’ll have your produce in a minute.”

Vashti narrowed her eyes, wholly unimpressed. So he was connected to her missing delivery, and was apparently simple-minded enough to think it wise to take one step into her shop without her premium Autumn Bliss raspberries to show for it. Pulling up the counter hinge, she barged past not-Mike as she stalked towards the entry, barely even glancing at him. “The pair of you idiots have already wasted my entire afternoon,” she shot back, eyes already scanning outside the window for the van. “I wouldn’t trust you to find the bell at the end of your dick, much less your associate and my raspberries.” With that the door to the Candy House clattered shut behind her, high-heels growing fainter against cobble stones as she searched for her promised bounty.

“Whoa, not that way,” Bob began to protest, but it was too late. Miranda Priestly Mini had already swished out the back door of the store. (Well, maybe not Mini so much. She was already taller than him.) No doubt, she was about to get up close and personal with Bob’s buyer. He all but ran after her, emerging into the alley to discover his suspicions were totally correct. There was the candy girl on one end. On the other, like a bad, bad Mexican standoff, was the man that Bob had come to meet. Six feet four; beard big enough to nest several small woodland creatures; pockets of his motorcycle jacket bulging with cash. Or a Sig Sauer. Hard to tell. Bob stepped up unobtrusively behind the candy girl, signalling to the contact that the deal had to be put off. Signals such as shaking his head, slicing one hand across his throat, and every possible non-verbal synonym of ‘no’. Tall Boy simply replied by taking a menacing step forward.

“Skin,” he growled. “You got it?”

Rounding the corner into the alley beside the Candy House, Vashti just about smacked straight into the Hell’s Angel on steroids that was waiting by the store dumpster. He took up almost the entire walkway, and whoever he was, he definitely wasn’t Mike the Delivery Guy. The only thing she knew for certain: he was right in the middle of her road.

“Skin?” She echoed, putting her hands on her hips, the tips of her claw-like rose petal pink manicure digging into the fabric of her uniform. She fixed him with dark eyes as she looked him up and down, even less impressed than she was before, until she threw up her hands in exasperated defeat. “Skin? Listen, I’ll have your skin decorating my lampshades if somebody doesn’t get my Andras damned raspberries to me in the next five minutes. Now if you’re going to magic them out of thin air, great. If not, get the hell out of my way.”

Bob, wincing, tried to butt in: “Hi. Excuse me,” and the meatlocker glanced irritably in his direction. “Are you Mister—” Bob checked the name scribbled on his hand real quick— “Ted? You’re my three-thirty. Nice to meet you. If we could just…” It took some manoeuvring but he managed to wriggle into the tiny bit of space between the twin skyscrapers of the candy girl and the man capable of snapping her like a twig. “You want the, uh, goods?” Bob had to mutter the last part out of the corner of his mouth, but he laid it on as meaningfully as he could. Short of a lobotomy, there was no way for Donkey Kong to mistake it. “I got it right here. We don’t have to make a scene.” Reaching into his windbreaker, Bob held out a brown-paper-and-string parcel for the buyer to take. It was innocuous enough, except for one thin, long rip in the paper through which the scales of the ill-gotten lamia skin gleamed.

Not-Mike had gone unnoticed behind her. When he suddenly began worming his way between her and the human barge, Vashti recoiled in disgust as he nearly touched her in the close confines. So far, she’d successfully gone without human touch and she had no plans to have them brush up against her with their filth any time soon.

We don’t have to make a scene? What was he even talking about? Vashti began to ask as much until her eyes tracked down to where Not-Mike was pulling out a bundle that definitely wasn’t her raspberries from his jacket. Something was glimmering inside, a beautiful, lustrous copper, and as she noticed it Vashti’s heart plummeted deep into her stomach.

From Not-Mike’s hands, she grabbed the package, tearing it open with savage intensity. Lamia skin.

Vashti stared at it a moment. It was like holding the skin of a murdered loved one (if she had loved ones to speak of) in her hands, and for the first time since the fateful night in Iran, she paled, heart twisting. From the package, her gaze drifted downwards to the man’s boots. What were they made of? No prizes there.

She turned on the man immediately, hardened features dissolving as she waved the package in the air above her head. “What do you want with this?” she snarled, pushing Not-Mike to the side into the alley wall until she remembered his role in procuring it in the first place. Then she whirled on him too, jabbing the package into his chest.

“Where did you get this? Where?”

Oh, bugger. Bob was seventy-five percent concerned about himself, and marginally concerned for the candy girl… Oh, she had a name tag. “Vashti.” Saying it aloud had no impact. He was still flat against the wall, and Ted still loomed over her shoulder, looking none-too-pleased. “Vashti, listen to me here, that thing you’re holding? That’s not yours. It’s a little concept called… Ah, never mind.” Taking advantage of the fact that she was literally sticking him with it, Bob yanked it out of her hands. “Hey, Ted. Ted, we can sort this out nice and easy.”

Too late. Ted was in no mood to negotiate. He let loose a single word, “Double-crossers,” before he ran at the pair, meat-hook sized hands extended to catch them by the throats.

Somehow, the human possessed the audacity to swipe the package back from her, offering it back to the meatheaded one like he was playing here kitty, kitty, kitty with a particularly stupid lion. Vashti was just about to yank it back when there was a shift in the air, a primal yell, and she had a split second to turn and see him lunging for her and the human (Yes, he was a double-crosser! Where were her raspberries?) before she stumbled from surprise, her stiletto heel giving way.

Grabbing the human to steady her, she succeeded only in dragging them both down to the dirt. The package went flying through the air, Vashti crying out in dismay as she watched it hit uselessly against the wall, further tearing it so the delicate skin slapped into a puddle of mud by the dumpster.

Bob could only stare as six months’ hard work and reconnaissance went flying into the mud. A howl of sheer mourning was building up in his chest, but he had to think fast. Think practical. Ted was momentarily distracted with fishing the lamia skin out of the gutter. Meanwhile, Bob had himself and Vashti to take care of. He hoped that ankle of hers wasn’t twisted. He hoped it didn’t hurt. Much. Scrambling to his feet, he shoved at her in a silent urge that she do the same. Ted’s back was turned to them, making this their only chance at a getaway.

Except.

Except.

That was three grand easy in Ted’s pockets right now, and Bob hadn’t risked life and potential facial scarring to walk away from this unpaid. He glanced at Vashti, murmuring, “One-two-three, and we rush him, okay?” And then he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, big guy! The lady here would’a like to apologise!”

Following the human’s lead, Vashti scrabbled to get back onto two legs, her heels doing the utmost best to keep her from a smooth recovery. The one that had stumbled her had twisted at the sole and bruised her ankle and she hobbled as she kicked one, then both of them off. She threw a glance back at them hopelessly. They were Gucci and they were ruined.

One-two-three, and we rush him, okay?

“Oh, you...” Vashti began, venom contorting her features and seeping from every one of her pores. The next words that spilled from his mouth just confirmed it - he was going to die, and he was going to die painfully.

“I’ll apologise by making sure the casket stays closed at the funeral of your seraphspawns!” she yelled at Big Ted. Then she turned back to the Not-Mike Human. “Is that a good enough apology for you?” she spat. “Huh?”

Bob didn’t rise to the bait. “Rush ‘im was the plan,” he said, not waiting for an answer as he dived straight towards the oncoming Ted. Ted, about the size and intelligence of a Zamboni. Bob, fast-approaching sixty but genetics was on his side. Preternatural strength and all that. He put his shoulder to Ted, heaving hard.

If she were the type to do it, Vashti would have handed it to him - this human was unflappable. If he were a Greater Demon, he would have been hundreds of thousands - millions of years old for how old he was in human years, but still he rushed Ted like he was a far younger man.

Clearly, this was no garden variety human. As she watched as Ted was brought down from the safety of the concrete footpath where her stockings wouldn’t slip in the mud, Vashti’s eyes slid back to the sad bundle of lamia skin sitting in the muck. She steeled.

Near the dumpster, an abandoned beer bottle was lodged in the mud and Vashti swooped down to pick it up. The human, still struggling with Ted, had the back of his head to her and Vashti trod carefully through the muck to avoid slipping. As she neared, she raised it...

And brought it smashing down across Ted’s head, the bottle bursting into a cloud of green glass.

Bob realised about two seconds into the fight that not only was he on his own, he was going to fail a physics lesson about using Ted’s momentum against him if he didn’t do something fast. When Ted obliged him by crumpling to a heap on the ground… Well, maybe there was a benevolent God up there somewhere. In the empty air where Ted had been moments ago, now stood Small, Dark and Scowling. She was holding what was left of a glass bottle.

And still, Bob’s first reaction was to shove his hands into his pockets. Had to hide the wads of cash he’d filched from the inner lining of Ted’s jacket.

“Wow,” he said, not a beat later. “Vashti, right?” Gesturing at the broken bottle, the best he could still come up with was, “...Wow. You must’a really liked those shoes.”

A part of Vashti hadn’t really expected that to work as well as it did. Big Ted crumpled to the ground in a heap, but that was humans for you - little more resilient than flies.

She ignored the human as she scooped her shoes up, tossing them and the remnants of her beer bottle into the dumpster. As she did, she retrieved the package of skin that still lay beside it.

Considering it for a moment, she tucked it into her shirt.

Limping to the back door into the Candy House kitchen, Vashti turned back to the human just before she went back inside. “If I ever see you back around here again, I’ll make sure you don’t live to make it again. I don’t care what human you are.”

As the screen door shut behind her, a bitter voice called back out before she disappeared back into the depths of the shop.

“And yes, I really did like my shoes,” she said. “They were Gucci.”

[jtrbluv]

f i r s t  d a t e (mess we’ve made) | myg

pairing: min yoongi x reader 

genre: fluff

word count: 3.1k

warnings: none

summary: you to naturally drift away from the dangerous and enticing force of nature called love. you decide to have another go at it, with your best friend. how will it turn out in the end? a drabble series capturing the ups and downs of being in a relationship with your best friend, min yoongi.

A/N: this was a lot longer than i anticipated so umm. this is a oneshot series now HAHA. anyways enjoy hehe this is just wow im hungry

prologue

❀ ❀ ❀ A first date is a momentous occasion, a milestone, a day that will forever be embedded into your mind, regardless if it’s good or bad. The thing is, when you are already best friends with that person you’re going on this so-called date with, it really doesn’t seem like anything’s changed. Yet, it’d be a complete lie if you were to say that it didn’t have any importance at all. He made you feel at ease, at home, besides that weird sensation that makes it feel like your heart is threatening to break the barriers of your ribcage. But hey, I guess that’s normal.

While going against the tradition of a first date where you’re supposed to make a good first impression and get to know the person more, you and your date, Min Yoongi, decided to take a different approach. A more affordable, lazier, and chill approach. An approach that included a movie marathon at someone’s house while splitting the pay (because chivalry is not quite dead, just yet) to order some pizza. And maybe some cuddling in between all that. Nothing more, nothing less, for now of course.

I mean, at least that’s how your dream looked like the night before your actual first date.

The two of you had planned this all out over text. He constantly asked you if you wanted to formally go out like your typical first date, but you told him that what you guys were doing was just fine. Although this date doesn’t seem as special as it was, deep down, you knew you had something more special and pure. And the thought of that alone just sent his heart into overdrive.

He almost entirely dismissed the fact that this was supposed to be a trial run of sorts. He already didn’t want what you two had, to end, even before it started.

On the contrary, this ‘trial run’ proposal had not left your thoughts ever since that night. You knew from the beginning that this was something you always wanted, as much as you wish you didn’t, it always had its throne in the back of your mind. And you didn’t know if you wanted it to ever end. And those thoughts alone scared the crap out of you.

-

You two had agreed to dress like bums while spending your time together. The classic hoodie and sweats are always a move. The effect of him wearing something so simple yet looking so effortlessly good always made you feel some type of way. He could say the same for you as well.

You sat on your phone as you mindlessly scroll through your phone, waiting for a certain car with a certain someone to pull up to your house. The night breeze nipped at your nose and sent shivers down your body. You always hated how cold it got in the nighttime despite how hot it would be in the day. Your hoodie strings were pulled tight and tied at your chin, making you look like E.T. and the fact that you were wearing Yoongi’s grey sweater didn’t help it either. You wore a pair of black leggings and black slides to complete the ‘i hate school, i don’t wanna be here so what’s the point of me trying to look nice’ look. It was a look you became very accustomed to in your sophomore year after everything that had happened at the time. Next to you was a paper bag full of snacks the two of you loved to eat.

The deep rumble of the car’s exhaust pulling up near you caused you to glance up from your phone. A familiar car pulled up to your driveway as you stand up from the porch and approach the car. The car window rolls down to reveal the face of a boy you’ve grown very familiar with and fond of. He sweetly smiles at you as you shakily open the car door and settle into the passenger’s seat. A wave of nervousness and anticipation settles into your bones. These feelings were foreign to you and you definitely didn’t expect them to appear when being in the presence of your best friend. This is different now. The title of a ‘boyfriend’ or ‘significant other’ holds an entirely new importance that you weren’t used to. At all.

Yoongi noticed your lack of usual chatter and assumed its from your own nerves. He realized how hard it must be for you to do this and come out of your comfort zone like this. It’d be a lie if he didn’t say he wasn’t nervous himself. He’d been thinking about being able to have this moment with you for so long now, and he really didn’t want to fuck it all up. After all, you two were best friends and you essentially knew each other as much as you know yourselves, if not, even better. He garnered up the courage to create small talk with you,

“Did you um- start on the summer assignments?” he stuttered, not keeping his eyes off the road.

“I did some of it,” you respond, voice barely louder than a whisper, “it’s really boring.”

His lips press together into a thin line, unsure about what to say next, “Alright.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, staring out the window as you think about the awkward tension in the air that was basically suffocating the two of you whole.

As you two approached a stoplight, Yoongi looks over at you as you’re still staring out the window. You sense his presence behind you as you slowly turn your head towards him, eyes wide and face blank. An uncomfortable silence takes over until you both couldn’t take it. You both chuckled together in unison, breaking the impromptu staring contest you two just had.

Your mind snapped back into reality as you process what had just happened, and you were utterly confused. “What’s happening Yoongi?” you ask him, starting to feel at ease once more.

“I have no idea,” he responded, pulling up to his house, “but here we are, mi casa.”

He parks the car and leaves, you gathered your belongings until the car door abruptly opens causing you to gasp and drop your bag, “Ladies first.” Yoongi says, arm motioning you to exit the car as if you had your own personal chauffeur.

Your brows furrow in annoyance as you clench your teeth, “You know, when people open doors for others, they don’t swing it open and startle them like that.”

“It’s not my fault you get scared so easily,” he smirks, causing you to get even more irritated.

He opens the door to his house for you as you step inside and slip off your shoes, “I’m gonna kill you one day, just watch.” you jokingly threatened him, loosening the strings of your hoodie as you slid the hood down.

“I’d love to see you try baby,” he responded provocatively, making his voice sound even deeper than usual while emphasizing the pet name he had used at the end. Your eyebrows shot up as you suddenly lose all train of thought. You cough to regain your composure as you mutter, “Baby?”

He bit his bottom lip as his head droops down, “Sorry, I just,” he scratches the back of his head, the pink pigment in his cheeks starting to increase, ”just forget about it.”

“No, it’s okay.” you immediately respond, feeling guilty for how you had reacted, “you just caught me off guard,” you reveal as Yoongi sighs in relief. You snicker to yourself as you started to lay out the snacks on the coffee table as Yoongi grabbed a few blankets and pillows from his bedroom and laid them out on the couch.  

He walks over and plops onto the couch, grabbing the TV remote as he starts looking through whatever’s on Netflix, “What do you wanna watch?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really care to be honest.”

“Me neither.”

You finish setting up as you plop down onto the couch, sitting next to him, “Oh yeah, I ordered pizza. I think it should be coming soon,” he said as the doorbell coincidentally rings. He greets and pays the delivery man as he brings the box to the coffee table and sets it down. The familiar aroma of a warm delectable pizza full of gooey cheese and an array of toppings practically made your mouth water. You two always liked combo pizza the most because pepperoni and cheese was just too plain and boring for your tastes. You two immediately dug in, eating straight from the box because it was too much work to grab plates.

“I was thinking,” you said, mouth filled with pizza, as sauce started to drip out of your mouth, “the ‘Suite Life Movie’.

He nodded before taking another bite out of his pizza, “A cinematic masterpiece.”

“Of course. The plot was truly ahead of its time.”

“That’s true, but, I was thinking,” he attempted to explain while chewing, “Let It Shine.”

You paused at his suggestion, mouth inches away from taking another bite of your pizza, “An underrated cinematic masterpiece. ‘Don’t Run Away’ is still a huge bop I don’t care what anyone says.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, wiping his hands with a napkin before turning on the movie.

The movie begins to play as you and Yoongi continue to stuff your faces with junk while still focusing on the movie. You two had finally reached your breaking point as you clean up and rest on the couch. Yoongi takes the blanket beside him and drapes it over you. You glance over as you see you two sharing the blanket as it drapes over your legs and his. You scoot closer to him so you sat shoulder to shoulder. As you settle back into your original position, the back of your hand brushes against his, causing you to stiffen. Yoongi peers over at your distressed form, smiling at your tenseness. Your eyes soften as you slowly slip and intertwine your fingers with his own, leaving him ogling at you in pure awe and shock. You smirk at him, sinking back into the couch cushions as you continue to watch the movie.

You involuntarily snuggled closer to him as the movie went on. Legs tangled beneath the sheets, hands intertwined, as your head rested in the crook of his neck. You both hummed along to all the songs as they flashed on the screen. Your body began to shut down towards the end of the movie as your eyes constantly threatened to close. Yoongi turned his head slightly to see your eyelids fluttering, fighting the wave of fatigue and drowsiness that was overtaking you. On a whim he decided to ask you, “Hey, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair. His voice causes you to stir awake, shaking your head as you detach your body from his.

“Let’s go out,” he said, eyes pleading for you to say yes as his hand was pulling you to get up.

You let out a deep yawn, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes, “Isn’t it getting late?”

“It’s only 11:30,” he responds, showing you the time on his phone, “c’mon y/n, I know you’ll like it.”

“Alright,” you give in, standing up from the couch, “where are we even going?”

You follow him out the front door and into his car, “We can’t forget about dessert right? Besides, I’m craving bingsu.”

“That does sound really good,” you add, “I was like 5 seconds away from entering a food coma. You caught me at the right time.”

You constantly yawned the entire car ride there, head bobbing as you kept falling asleep on the way to the tea house. He was taking you a popular place around your area that specialized in boba and bingsu.

“Here we are,” he said, taking the keys out of the ignition as he gets out of the car. You trip while getting out of the car, stumbling to the door of the tea house while Yoongi watched you with eyes full of admiration at your clumsiness. You run your hands through your hair as you grab a table towards the back of the small restaurant while Yoongi ordered. You propped your elbow onto the table as rested your head in the palm of your hand. Yoongi walks over to you with a large ceramic bowl filled with mango bingsu, a favorite between the two of you. You gave him a timid grin as you mouthed a small ‘thank you’. You pick up the spoon, about to dig in until he intervenes,

“Wait, lemme take a picture of you first,” he blurted out, reaching out and holding your wrist just before you were about to dent the bingsu, “it’s our first date after all.”

“I look so bad,” you giggle, holding out your sweater paws and disheveled hair.

“You could never look bad to me,” he said, smiling sweetly at you as he snaps a picture of you with his phone. He sets his phone down and picks up his spoon until you interrupt, “Hey, me too!” taking out your phone as you take a picture of him holding up his spoon and smiling. New wallpaper secured.

You both nodded in agreement as you dug into the bingsu. You two finished the bowl concerningly fast considering the amount of pizza you two had devoured back at his house. You lean back in your seat, clutching your bloated stomach.

Yoongi emits a loud belch which makes you both laugh in amusement, “We should get out of here before we both pass out, at least we could sleep back at home.”

“Alright then,” you huff, slowly rising up from your seat, “let’s go,” you murmur, stretching your hand out towards him. He takes your hand in his own as he stands up and you leave the restaurant.

The car drive home was relatively silent. Simply just basking in each other’s presence and the fact that you two were together, and you certainly couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

Your dad had agreed to let you spend the night at Yoongi’s house. His mom and your dad have been close friends since the two of you had known each other which made things significantly easier. He parks the car in the driveway as he sluggishly steps out. You follow him into the house as he sets his keys down and jumps onto the couch. You sheepishly grin as you trail him and plop down onto the spot next to him. He sighed deeply as he started to speak, “It’s not even that late but all this food is making me tired as hell.”

“Yeah, I feel like I just gained 10 pounds.” you chuckle, rubbing your stomach in emphasis.

“Sooo,” he trails, turning to face you, “what did you think of tonight?”

“I loved it.”

“I’m glad you did.” he responded, reaching over to grab your hand, “Ready to sleep?”

“Mhm,” you manage to mumble out as he draped the blanket over the two of you. He happened to have a pull out couch that was fairly comfortable than most. Although you were good acquaintances with his mom, and she happened to like you very much, you didn’t want to ruin her trust by spending your first date in his bedroom. Naturally, she could get the wrong idea, and that’s the last thing you wanted to happen.

The dim lighting barely allowed you to make out most of his features, but for some reason your heart was racing. He slowly laid himself down onto the couch, motioning you to join him. You oblige and lay down next to him, facing him as he pulled you in close. The close proximity reminded you very much of the day he had confessed to you. Except this time you weren’t sitting in the back of his car, under the stars, anxious and afraid of what was going to happen next. You were in the comfort of his home, sitting on his couch, wrapped in his warm embrace, content and happy.

He brought his hand up and timidly cupped your face, brushing the pad of his thumb along your cheek. You leaned in towards his hand as a small giggle escaped past your lips, making his lips curl into a smile. The sound died down as the smile faded from him, his eyes transformed into something you couldn’t quite read. He looked almost confused and hesitant, but your oblivious self couldn’t pinpoint what he was thinking about.

That completely went out the window the moment he started to lean in. It would’ve been stupid to say it wasn’t something you two had always wanted and always thought about. Your lips meshed together moving in perfect harmony. Something switches in your head and tells you to go for it. Maybe it’s lust. Maybe it’s love. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are closed, his face is centimeters away, and you were practically about to bump noses. You take a deep inhale as you slowly shut your eyes and lean in.

Your lips meet. His lips were soft and cold from the shaved ice you two had previously eaten. You two awkwardly stay in the same position and broke it soon after. His eyes widen in complete shock, “Woah.”

“Yoongi, that was literally a peck.”

“Okay an-”

You shut him up with another kiss on the lips. This one was certainly different from the other. It had more fire, more passion, more longing. You slowly caressed each other’s lips, taking your time and letting this new, foreign feeling sink in. Your hand involuntarily reach up, fingers entangling itself into his hair. As you started to get more comfortable, you would sporadically detach lips and change the positioning of your heads and resume kissing. It’s as if that single kiss had just made up for all the lost time and all the time you two had spent wishing to be together.

You two part at last, foreheads against one another as you stare into each other’s eyes. You were both in complete disbelief at what had just happened, but you had wished it had never ended.

“Goodnight beautiful.” he softly mutters, pressing a final kiss to your forehead as he sinks back into the couch, eyes shutting.

The corners of your lips naturally curl into a smile at the sight of him sleeping soundly right next to you.

“Goodnight Yoongi.”

-

-

MASTERLIST

[blankdblank]

Dragons, Spiders, Dwarves, Oh My

@deepestfirefun​ Pt 1 of 2   :D

Color, the legend, the myth, the unattainable. It was said that when you met your soulmate you could see it, the most vivid colors giving life and vibrancy to the world unable to be described being a sure fire way of knowing just who your Mate was. Yet halfway through your twenties there was no Mate to be seen. Taken from your families upon adulthood to enforce your pairing off with your Mates, as if something sinister would occur to be content in waiting for fate. Travel was enforced, Mates were usually born within miles of their Mates.

Unless they had marks like yours, a supposedly golden compass star on the back of your hand between the bones of your thumb and index finger aimed at what looked to be an opal colored jellybean above it. There was no mark like yours, you would know nation wide travel programs sent you to various continents and at the entrance gates you were told you could stay the night but your mark did not register a match to any of their citizens. So off alone you went to the Lonely Lands, lands where those told they have no hopes go and not long after vanish from the lives of the loving. You didn’t mind vanishing, not after how you had been treated. So packed up, you closed up your delivery designer jewelry shop causing quite an uproar at the loss to the vibrant rare gems you could craft none other could find buried in the earth anywhere or metal so sturdy or pristine.

.

It was a lovely home, the one you were literally dropped at from a parachute, since no plane would dare touch down on those lands as if to contaminate their shores upon returning, quite picturesque, like out of a movie. A nice farmhouse double storied just for you with tons of land. None around for miles it seemed you settled in and focused on decorating with what you had packed away. It was just barely three days, and then the twisters came. The very earth seemed to swallow you whole and in the boarded up home you held tight to the walls of your closet in the heart skipping moment of what felt like the house being torn off it’s supports. Slamming your eyes shut you hyperventilated your way to safety.

.

Slamming hard into the ground wherever you had been dropped to jolted you awake, and open mouthed your eye caught the bright red coat you pulled off your head. Under that an orange one and three white leopard spotted jackets in fake fur under those. Wobbling your way onto your feet you felt for the handle as the push light tacked to the wall died. A timid turn later and your breath staggered at the luxuriously colored dwelling you were in. No longer shades of varying grades of grey black and white your mind still registered to the colors they belonged but explosions of color. Room to room you went until you froze looking yourself over in the mirror hanging on the wall.

Your bright purple eyes scanned over your shimmering silver curls that swung over your back and shoulder in the turn of your head at the deep voices on the other side of your front door.

“What path have you chosen Gandalf?! Raining carriages?! What next anvils?!”

Supposedly this Gandalf replied just as curtly, “Well of course it does not rain carriages!! If it has fallen in our path it was unintentional on my part! All we can do now is to knock and see if anyone is home!”

A loud knock sounded and your knees nearly gave way, “co-“ your soft reply ended in your clearing your throat in a second duo of knocks, “Coming!” Wetting your lips you looked yourself over straightening your mint green sundress you righted the strap that dropped off your shoulder hiding the portion of your cleavage formerly revealed in the droop. Barefoot you tentatively got to the door and shook your hands to get the feeling back in them to unlock and open your door confidently.

The wood between you was swung back breaking your heart. And at the group of men shorter than you and the taller man blowing confused smoke rings your way all you could say was, “If any of you start singing about yellow brick roads I’m gonna throw punches.”

.

“Excuse me?” Lowly in the sea of grey the outer world was playing out to be your eyes landed on the heartbreakingly blue eyes of the sun cast seemingly honey coated raven haired man in front of all the others in a brown cloak hanging over silver and blue layers done to his black fur lined boots. “Just what do you mean by falling here in our path?”

Your shrug seemed to knit his brows together and plainly you stated, “I didn’t land here on purpose, I got picked up in a storm and as for why I was dropped here how the fuck should I know, you’re my Soul Mate aren’t you supposed to have the answers?!”

The man’s mouth fell open and the Gandalf person beside him asked, “Soul Mate? Just what do you mean by that term?”

“Soul Mate! Just how it sounds, the one person you’re destined to be with.”

The man asked, “How are you certain this Mate is me?!” He asked almost offended by the notion of being paired off with you.

“Because grumpy and precarious one, your eyes are blue!”

He pointed to the men behind him, “Most of their eyes are blue.”

“No! The world is grey! That’s how it is when you’re born, you see grey to black until you meet your Mate and you, Mr Smart Ass, are all sunkissed and blue eyed while they are still grey!”

His brows furrowed along with Gandalf’s as you said, “Don’t you look at me like I’m-!”

Gandalf shook his head, “Forgive me, Miss-?”

Your arms crossed and the man’s eyes fell to the mark on your hand parting his lips and making his hands join to stroke his hidden beneath his glove, “Pear.”

Gandalf nodded, “Miss Pear, now I take it you’ve traveled a long way, and in your world that is how meeting your, Mate, works, here however, children are born with marks. Now, since you are obviously unknowing if this world we might hitch our ponies to your carriage and bring you along with us so we might sort this all out along the way.”

“Carriage?” It was your turn to furrow your brows and through the men you darted out the porch and down the steps into the tall grass to squeak in the middle of ponies looking you over as you saw the house you were in appearing as a traveling home carriage making you squeak again and drop into a cross legged position staring at the grass.

The bald dwarf to the side of your Mate said, “Great, Gandalf! You broke the lass! Perfectly good Lass and you made her all anxious! Thorin broke our Burglar-.”

Bilbo, “I am not broken!”

Dwalin, “And now you’ve broken her!”

Gandalf looked down at him with a huff and steadily in your hands smithing over your face through calming breaths you heard the men growing closer. All eyeing your hair shimmering like the finest mithril they’d ever seen matching your eyes like the rarest of purple gems they’d imagined only to be from myths.

.

Bilbo, “Are you alright Miss Pear?”

Your head popped up and you pointed at the carriage, “No, it’s my house inside and a carriage outside”

“What?” The group asked.

You popped up suddenly making them step back and follow you back up the porch and into the jaw dropping two story home inside the carriage, “Look inside! See?!”

Gandalf, “You’re not a wizard, are you?”

“Wizard?! No! I mean I can create gems and metal but that’s it.”

Thorin, “You can what?!”

In a wave of your hand a band circled your finger sprouting seemingly through your skin to do so forming a sapphire filled band around cuts of diamond formed daisies set in a white gold band they gawked at in your easing it off your finger to pass around, “Family trait.”

Gandalf, “Very rare.”

Dwalin, “Can all your kin do this?”

“No, my dad’s family stems from King Midas…everything he touched turned to gold.”

Kili, “What a gift! He must have been very well loved.”

Your brow inched up dimming their grins, “Clearly you’ve never heard the story.”

Thorin, “You are very talented.”

“Doubt it will do much to dim your disappointment at being paired with me.”

“I am not disappointed.”

“Didn’t seem like it. Seemed down right offended when I said it.”

“I was not-. Merely, I always pictured being paired with a Dam.”

“A concrete construction used to control water flow? That was your dream match? What are you part beaver?”

His brows furrowed, “Dam! A female Dwarf!”

You nodded and wet your lips, “So you’d all be-.”

Thorin, “Dwarves!”

Bilbo, “I’m a Hobbit though.”

You nodded, “Were not allowed to use that word back home.”

Bilbo, “Hobbit?”

“No, Dwarf, considered rude.”

“What?!”

You shrug, “I don’t make the rules.”

Fili, “Are Dwarves illegal?!”

“Um, they’re not, preferred, depending where you’re from. It’s really hard to say we don’t see them much.”

“Are you disappointed then?! To be stuck with a Dwarf?!” Thorin growled at you.

“Well you didn’t shout to light me on fire for making the ring, and you have a good taste in jackets-,”

Thorin, “WHAT?! Who threatened to burn you?!”

“Um, everyone. Hello, ‘burn the witch’ is the go to saying.”

Gandalf, “You are not a witch.”

“Tell that to the ones with pitchforks grabbing their torches to chase my family to the gallows for the past couple hundred generations.”

.

Jeans, boots and a jacket were added over the shirt you swapped for your dress and the journey began with you riding on your porch watching the men lead the way. Barely taking a week for you to see everything in full color after a stolen good morning hug to your grumpy Mate testing how soft his coat really was. Along the way Thorin did try to spend a bit of time each day getting to know you, but after the long days of traveling there was little energy to spend in making you feel fully welcomed it seemed.

But in Rivendell was where it all changed, a single comment from the Elves to you on your beauty and your waist was grabbed tugging you half a foot to your right straight into Thorin’s side. From then you were almost glued together. Day and night, at least for a week until a bit too much wine led to a lonely naked wake up for you to the sound of Thorin locked in a hushed debate with the others in the courtyard outside.

Clearly it wasn’t to be spoken of as for whatever reason Thorin was always being drug away from you when the sun set, and dinners had you eating far away from him only leading to your trying to explore the Elven kingdom and the possible friends inside.

Nearly a month and a half you had stayed feeling the Dwarves watch you just as they had since your first bout of cramps just a few days after arrival and each month since. Small tokens of aid, teas and spare blankets were left with you as you spent the days sprawled across the sun lit porch using the heat to help aid in your painful cramps you no longer had medicines for. But the Elves seemed to help in the first morning you didn’t arrive at breakfast and were found in the fetal position on your bed groaning into your mattress. Giving you their own supplements for the issue when it struck them that seemed to alleviate the problem greatly.

You supposed that was the issue because by dinner the Dwarves were gone triggering a sleep inducing bout of tears for being abandoned. And when you had gone to bed another crash found you in your bed inside the carriage scowling out the window at the Dwarves who had left you behind. Weeks they were ignored by you having to face the weather sleeping on the porch for their only shelter from the next waves of rain until you let them in and locked yourself in your room upstairs. Even without hooking the carriage up it followed their ponies and careened down into the Goblin Tunnels with the Dwarves.

A single glimpse of you in your fall through the front door drew a shriek from you at the Goblin latching onto your ankle dragging you across it screeching about your hair. “Looks at its hair!! How it shines!”

The Goblin King boomed through the halls, “Scalp the wench, bring me a fine mane!”

Knives were drawn and at the bruise forming grips dragging you across the stony ground in your struggle and cries to be freed drowned out by the shouting and fighting Dwarves. At the first knife nearing your skin the Goblins froze at the sudden flash of your eyes to resemble glimmering opals stirring gasps that stopped in the trickle of diamonds falling from the ceiling. Awed at the sight their grips paused only to look up open mouthed at the goblins above erupting into pools of diamonds. All around more and more exploded filling the tunnels with the stones until Gandalf appeared suddenly, his cloak was torn off and spun around covering you in your balled up stance he lifted you in to place you back inside your house shouting, “Run! Run you fools!”

Turning with the door closed after reciting something to you to help calm your panicked state, he leapt from the porch to guide the Dwarves and the self manned carriage careening through the city eventually being their battering ram out of it while Bilbo eyed and pocketed a curious trinket, when atop the porch that bounced right for him. Only to find onyx stones in its place later that night.

.

Days you had remained with glowing eyes and mithril skin shimmering brightly, unbreathing and frozen since the attack until the light of the full moon hit you and a sudden gasp was followed by your whimpering stagger away from what they took as your being mentally thrown back into that fight. Tightly they held you, apologizing for all that had happened until you calmed enough to sleep against Dwalin’s chest, the only Dwarf able to sit still long enough to allow you sleep and not be considered a threat to Thorin for trying anything in their silent conference.

Northern Greenwood brought on waves of emeralds from the spiders, gentle waves of emeralds throughout the kingdom turned your arms silver from shoulder to wrist you covered with your sleeves you gripped in your palms trying to reign your powers back. Though between the nearing of a band of Elves behind a Great Elk all stood open mouthed when your eyes shot open at the earth trembling roar of Smaug, who had caught the fresh scent of rare freshly formed emeralds. Down through the leaves above rained scales of pure mithril between a sea of shimmering Lasgalen stones both cut and uncut flooding into the pathway making the Dwarves scramble up the roots of the trees after Bilbo while your body steadily went rigid, staring straight ahead with a hand risen halfway stuck on its way to cover your mouth. The expression almost as if you had something to say yet were lost as to when to say it.

Jumping down from his Elk Thranduil felt the stones and scales shifting around his feet in his stroll to you, though a foot away Bilbo shouted, “Gandalf said we’re not to touch her when she turns silver. He had to wrap her in a cloak, to carry her back onto her carriage until she wakes up again.”

Thranduil looked at him, “Wakes up?”

Bilbo nodded and Dwalin said in gripping Bilbo tighter in his slide lower at a group of emeralds sliding down the tree over them, “Sort of a trance or something of the sort.”

Thranduil nodded reaching back to unhook his cloak he wrapped around your body to lift the stunningly light body for the walk to the carriage approaching him unassisted. Once you were on the porch Thranduil gasped and lowered to sit avoiding the sea of gems flying through the now open door into the chest that flew open sucking all the loose stones into it in a near endless stream until it slammed shut. Once out of the trees the Dwarves and Bilbo eyed the blooming forest while Thranduil hesitantly left the cloak around you then turned to walk to his Elk again, “Follow us to the Palace. No doubt you are in need of food, as is the Lady, when she awakens.”

Thorin, “We need to go to Erebor! The beast will have left it open for the taking!”

Thranduil turned to face him in his lifting his foot to climb onto his saddle, “Smaug seals the gates each time he leaves, how he enters again is a mystery, though he always does.”

Thorin, “Still-,”

Thranduil, “You will not get far without food, but wander until you drop if you wish. My kin will not stop you on your death errand.” He mounted his saddle and turned to head back to the Palace then glanced behind hearing the carriage following him, the loyalty of the structure made Thorin huff in his determined path not to leave you alone when trapped in this state and he hopped down from his tree and trudged after you. Already feeling his heart pulling him towards the abandoned peak full of gold and treasures hoarded for decades by the greedy beast.

Inside the gates again Bilbo found the King’s attention by saying, “Miss Pear, she has to be where the moonlight can hit her.” Thranduil looked him over, “Last time, in the Goblin Tunnels after Rivendell it took a week and when the full moon hit her she woke up.”

Thranduil nodded then glanced at his son, “Guide them to their apartments, I will carry, Miss Pear to the Royal Gardens. It gets the most moonlight.” Climbing the steps again he made sure to hold only to cape and lifted you in his arms for the stroll alongside the others to the last corner where he entered the gardens and carefully set you down and uncovered you. His head tilting in his inspecting your features, a chance shared by the other guards noting the fear trapped in your expression making him mumble, “Fear, such a powerful emotion.” Without looking at the guards he stated firmly, “Set up a patrol of Lady Pear, no one touches her until she awakes, no guard is left alone. Mithrandir gave the warning for a reason, the creatures triggering her fear are turned to gems and mithril, there is no telling what one who accidentally has contact with her in this state might face.”

Heads bowed and he turned away with a soft sincere wish for you to find peace in these halls followed by a bow of his head to you when he turned away to ready for the meal and to hear from your Hobbit friend more about your journey since he seemed the most apt to speak. Dinner bled into bathing, and bed soon after with a string of Elves flowing around your garden, swapping out on the hour, guards and servants of all stations with those feeling drawn to you being removed and sent to their former stations. Thranduil kept watch of the rotations with his back to you even through your wavering hums under the light of the moon as if to calm yourself.

.

Days you continued your panicked hum worrying the Elves as to what you were seeing while Thorin became more and more agitated, he would neither leave without you or go an hour without pacing by your garden. Barely to the end of the week and a clatter allowed just a moment’s sprint past one of the distracted guards, another shouted for Thorin to be grabbed only to hear his shouts, “I am taking my One!” He flung his cloak over you yet in the angle of your arm his grip missed the moment of your arm being covered to have him folding his hand around your arm instantly turning him to mithril with glowing blue eyes.

Around you both in the fall of his cloak to the ground the Dwarves came to a stop sharing their statements they tried to stop him only for Bilbo to peer up at the Elf King in his inspection of you both in sitting on the bench near you both. In his silence the Dwarves gave Fili gentle pats on the back marking him as their next chosen leader in Thorin’s stead until he had woken.

**

“Midas!! Midas!!!” Shouts of the name echoed through the streets and panting Thorin eyed the torch lit kingdom he suddenly found himself in. Burning wood and oils filled the air along with sweat and an overpowering aura of fear filled these streets.

A familiar hissing voice echoed through the streets, Smaug, “The Witch is hiding the gold!” Fire lighting a pair of reflective eyes in the pitch black sky reflecting sparse glints of fire across his scales in his shifting and coiling to smirk at the villagers racing through the streets. “Find the Witch! Get the gold!”

On his feet Thorin inhaled sharply and looked around seeing torches appearing in the hands of those racing by him lit by licks of flames in the warm exhales of the hissing beast hiding above in the darkness like some puppet master.

Peering down at his burning mark he saw the Northern point spinning on his skin making him lowly mumble, “Jaqi.” Racing after the mark through the streets the shouts only grew louder.

“MIDAS! MIDAS!”

“Give us the gold Witch!”

Turn after turn his heart pounded until he spotted you biting your lip curling up in a dip under an archway built into a half wall in its shadow in the passing of another set of villagers racing by. A turn of your head had your wide eyes landing on the King, still glowing in bright opal shades granting one passer by a glimpse of you. His grip on your ankle brought Thorin out of his alley to knock the man out with a heavy blow before reaching down to help you up and guide you away. “Come on. This way.”

Hours it seemed you ran and fought through the city until all at once people poured down the sides of the alley you were in. Ropes drawn and tightly burned into your wrists and ankles in the sudden slam of your back into the wooden stake you were both being tied to with no luck in fighting the hands shoving you back into the stake with more trying to shove a gag in Thorin’s mouth. A hard bite later and those hands retracted and he shouted, “LET HER GO!” Harder he was slammed back into the stake in Smaug’s roar, “GIVE ME THE GOLD WITCH!”

Weakly in the hard shove all but breaking your ribs you replied, “I am no Witch.”

Smaug roared back, “YOU LIE, MIDAS!!”

Torches were raised and Thorin began to pant in concern seeing the first of them being hurled at the pile of oil soaked wood at your feet. Weakly he said, “Let her go!”

Smaug, “THE GOLD, OR YOU DIE!”

Weakly you replied, “I don’t have any-,”

Loudly he roared in your face making you clamp your eyes shut and flinch your face away until he fell silent again, “DIE THEN MIDAS!”

Thorin, “She’s telling the truth!” His shouts muffled by the crowds went unheard and he tugged at his bindings as hard as he could shouting again and again in Smaug’s repeated orders to give him the gold.

His shouts stoked the flames now licking your legs in your repeated statements of the same sentence, “I am not Midas..” The words stinging in Thorin’s chest worse than the flames could grow hot enough to reach, again you repeated in a pant at Smaug’s next roar as the city around you now warped into Erebor with Dwarves racing by for their lives in Smaug’s next roar triggering Thorin’s body to quake at the familiar shout, “GIVE ME THE GOLD!”

Another wave of flames erupted in the screams of the Dwarves made Thorin tug harder at the binds making his wrists start to bleed as Thror chased after the Arkenstone. In a snarl he spat out tauntingly, “You will fall! You always fall, Midas!”

Sharply you pulled at your own binds shouting with tears in your eyes while Thorin stole a glance at the bouncing stone, feeling his heart egging him after the stone, and back to you feeling the pull to the stone snapping off in your shout, “I AM NOT MIDAS!” in a weak whisper you added, “Coward.”

Tears poured down your cheeks at the snap of Thorin’s binds sliding off his hand he contorted to slip free with the use of his blood trickling out onto his palms. Lowering he tore at the ropes around his ankles freeing them to leap from his burning steak to yours. Again down in the flames in Smaug’s next roar he freed your legs. Inching up his hands patted your legs feeling the metal skin under your pants protecting you from burns, up again he leaned around the stake fumbling his fingers around the rope trying to untie you in another of Smaug’s roars. The prickling on the back of his neck let him know another burst of flames was coming making him turn again to fold around you. Whispering to him you said, “Thorin, let go.”

Flames burned and crackled only to fall deaf at his whisper, “You burn, I burn.” Wrapping around you his body tried to act as your shield, fisting your hair and sweater to keep you behind him in his pitifully withheld groans of pain making him push his forehead into the stake closing his eyes at the excruciating pain.

“Let go, Thorin.”

Muffled around you Smaug said, “You..fall! …always…” his voice died at the sudden death of the flames in a white blinding light when your shared marks glowed and burned in a sudden pull through what felt like miles of water.

“This is all my fault…”

Struggling against the pain of suffocation he heard your whisper again, “Let go, Thorin.” His fists at his sides unclenched in realizing you were no longer in his arms. A sharp gasp from him brought you back into his sights in his blink back into focusing on the garden.

Staggering backwards he fell into the arms of his stunned nephew Kili, who had shouted for the others in the first sight of his skin changing back again. “Uncle!” his arms folded over Thorin’s heaving chest, “You’re back! What was it like?”

Thorin’s eyes peered up at you and he mumbled, not seeing Thranduil entering the garden to listen, “We were in a kingdom, Smaug was telling the villagers to catch us. Demanding gold. They tied us to steaks,” his eyes tracing the retraction of your mithril form, “And they lit us on fire.” The words sunk in through the Company and the Elves listening in when you gasped and raised your hands to grip at your wrists free of any injury glancing around the growing group of people in the darkening of your eyes back to purple.

.

A single worried glance from you over the group gathering around you ended at Thorin’s standing and coming closer to you asking, “You see that? Every time you turn mithril?”

You nod, “Every time.”

Thranduil came into view and you looked him over, “I take it you’re the Elf King? I mean, you seem like the most, official guy here with that, crown?” Wetting your lips you asked as he moved closer taking in the difference in your eyes and hair, “I didn’t hurt your trees, did I? Dragons are pretty big.”

Shaking his head a smile ghosted across his lips, “No, Miss Pear, you did not damage our trees, and yes, it was quite a wave of gems and mithril scales Smaug turned into.” Extending his hand he asked, “Are you hungry?”

Nodding tentatively you replied laying your hand in his, “Little bit.”

.

Fully your experience was shared and over a full dinner everything delving into a full celebration growing as Elrond and Celeborn gathered for the Feast of Starlight. A knock on your door brought Thorin into your gifted apartment.

“About Rivendell, I understand why you must not trust me. Abandoning you like that, but please let me explain.”

You shook your head, “No, it’s fine, no need. I get it. We were drunk, it didn’t mean-,”

His hands extended and cradled yours you were trying to smooth across your middle, “Not in the least! It meant everything! Means everything! You are my One and we solidified our bond, we became intimate.” Wetting his lips he said, “I love you, my only issue with our sharing a bed was how thoughtless it was as far as your being able to conceive on the way to facing a Dragon. I wished to protect you, from me.” Inching closer he said, “You see, I have such a difficult time controlling myself around you. I, with Dwarves, when we meet our Ones, we have this unending urge to be with them, each and every way possible. I find you irresistible, and no doubt you would have gotten cold, or tired and I would have rushed to you and never let go rushing into a full heat over you, please forgive my wording, but bedding you as often as possible until a child was confirmed. I wished to do this right, when you were safe and we were home in Erebor.”

“So, it wasn’t something I did?” The tears in your eyes and tremble in your voice had him inching closer shaking his head, releasing one hand of yours to cup your cheek as you whimpered, “Because I waited, so long, and then we, got so close,” your lip began to quiver at a tear rolling down your cheek, “And you just wouldn’t come close to me.”

“I am, I can never forgive myself for doing that to you, and I will wait as long as possible until you trust me and wish to finalize our marriage.”

Softly you whispered, “Marriage?”

“We do not bed women at random, quite the opposite, it is rather, impossible to garner physical intimacy from a Dwarf unless you are to be bound.” Firmly his hand rested on your hip and already you could feel his pulse spiking at feeling the thin silk nightgown you had been given in Rivendell sliding against your skin leaving little hindrance at the very flimsy layers keeping his skin from yours.

Lowering your gaze over his chest his eyes trailed your lips as his fingers shifted to brush your hair behind your ear, tracing your jaw line as your fingers rose to pinch the tie holding the neck of his shirt together. “So, it’s been what? Two months?” Lowly a growl left him in a hungry exhale as you pulled the knot loose to trail fingertips between the strings into his dark chest hair and warm skin. “You have your mountain, your home-,”

“Our home. If you’ll have me still.”

“Thing is, it’ll take some time to clean, it is a mountain after all,” the trail of your fingers down his chest had his other hand gripping your other hip in the darkening of his eyes, “If you wanted to wait-,”

On his toes to close the few inches between you his lips were on yours and against the wall he pinned you to tangling himself with you as much as possible until you mumbled about the bed. Well into the morning he loved every inch of you and kept hold of you the rest of it, tracing his fingertips across your skin and through your hair singing to you adoringly while you slept soundly across his chest.

Pt 2