#I really hope I can get into more local cons this year since I don’t think I have it in me to travel SUPER far for the bigger cons yet!

[drfrogphd]

My Anime-ZAP booth from last weekend!! This was the second con I’ve boothed at! Hoping to do more this year ^^

[rubyreduji]

fighting for your love — yjh & hjs

summary: when you couldn’t pick who to date between joshua and jeonghan, you weren’t expecting to result in a fight, literally

tags: smut (minors dni!), romance, boxer!au warnings: explicit unprotected sex, threesomes, floor sex, praise, fingering (f. receiving), oral (m. & f. receiving), spitroasting, throat fucking, dacryphilia, double vaginal penetration, light degradation, choking, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampies, overstimulation wc: 5.5k an: it took me a month to write so i hope you enjoy it, kai if you're reading this i hope you especially like it lol my little local jihan lover

“This is ridiculous,” you state as you watch the two boys slide their gloves on.

“It’s not ridiculous, it’s necessary,” Jeonghan says as he climbs into the ring.

“If you can’t pick, then we’ll pick for you,” Joshua tells you. “This is how plenty of animals find a mate and what are humans other than another species of animal.”

You let out a frustrated huff.

This isn’t the outcome you were expecting when you couldn’t pick between Joshua or Jeonghan after they both asked you out.  You understand that this is their thing, that they’re boxers, but this is honestly unnecessary. 

You’ve known both boys for a while now and are no stranger to their competitive nature but you didn’t think it would bleed over into their romantic lives as well. You should have known better. Your work for the gym they belong to and even though you’re around their coach and manager more, they’ve both seemed to take an interest in you anyway.

Despite being frequently annoyed by their antics, you actually do like both of them, that’s why you’ve been having a hard time picking between the two of them. Each has their own pros (and their own cons) and you truly don’t know who to pick, so here you are now, about to watch Joshua and Jeonghan box each other to become your boyfriend.

Everything really started a year and a half ago when Jeonghan signed on with Sebong, the gym you work for. You work basically as the assistant of the owner doing all of the work he doesn't want to do. You didn’t know he was joining the gym though, and was surprised to see such a handsome man standing in the lobby of your gym, which is not open to public access.

The first thing he did when he saw you was flirt with you. Soon the gym coach came in and took Jeonghan away, but that has been his lasting first impression ever since. After that, anytime Jeonghan would run into you in the gym, he’d take time out of his training just to flirt with you.

Joshua on the other hand, has been a long time member of the Sebong gym. He’s been around longer than even you have and he’s always been more or less respectful and kind to you, keeping his fair distance. That is, until Jeonghan appeared. The two seemed to be able to turn anything into a competition, and when Joshua realized that Jeonghan had his eyes set on you, he decided to do the same.

At first you thought it was a joke, but then it seemed to progress further and further to the point there was no way the boys were dropping all the money to bring you lunch and flowers whenever they could just for a laugh. So once you started to take them seriously, the competition really picked up. Taking you out on nice (expensive) dates, buying you gifts, showering you in flattery, requesting you route for them in their next match, whatever they could do to get your attention away from the other man and onto them. It was a bit over the top…but you also kind of loved it.

As you slowly got to know each man better, you slowly started to fall for both of them. There’s something so charming about the way you can never expect what Joshua will do next, yet he’ll always be a gentleman about it, and the way Jeonghan can be mischievous but still so caring at the same time. It’s so frustrating having to pick just one.

In terms of boxing, they’re also pretty equally matched. Joshua’s always been one of Sebong’s best boxers and one of the reasons why become so competitive with Jeonghan in the first place was due to the fact Jeonghan was able to sweep in and match his level. 

Sometimes you’ll watch them during practice, going harder than anyone else in the gym, not wanting to quit until the other does. You know Coach loves it though, because they help push each other to be better.

The two are usually the last two out of the gym, forcing you to stay later so you can lock up after they get done. You don’t mind too much, you like watching them practice, and they always offer to help you clean up before leaving. After locking the doors they’ll always walk you to your car like proper gentlemen, and sometimes they’ll even invite you out to eat or something of the likes. You usually say yes.

You think one of your favorite moments with them was when you all went out to a bar together and got drinks and food and spent the whole night out talking. It felt natural, like the competition was set aside and you guys were just enjoying a night together as three friends. 

The only problem is…the more time you spend with them, the harder it is to choose one. You’ve told them such on many occasions but the answer doesn’t seem to satisfy either man. That’s how Mingyu’s (not so) brilliant idea came to fruition.

“You’re both boxers, just fight for her.” It was said as more of a joke, but when you’re dealing with people like Jeonghan and Joshua, nothing is a joke if it can become competition. You were close to strangling Mingyu after he said it, but the other two were already gearing up to start the fight.

Which brings you to where you are now, after hours in the gym, staring at the two black haired men standing in the ring. 

“Nothing will get out of hand, it’s just a friendly fight to determine who is worthy of your love,” Joshua assures you. You huff.

“What if neither of you win?”

Both men turn to you. “What does that mean?”

“It means you two are a little too evenly matched. I’ve seen you spar before and it always ends in a tie.”

“Not this time princess. Those are always practice matches, there’s something valuable on the line now,” Joshua says. 

You know you should be annoyed that they're treating you like some prize to win, but if you’re being completely transparent, you find it a little hot. It’s not your fault that you have two hot boxers wanting to literally fight over you. It doesn’t mean you find them any less ridiculous.

“You can’t stop us Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan tells you. “Unless you pick right now.”

“You know I can’t do that. I-”

“Like both of us,” both men recite back to you in tandem. You roll your eyes.

“It’s not my fault you’re both annoyingly charming.” They send you twin grins at this.

“Just sit back and wait, pretty girl. We’ll have your answer for you soon enough,” Joshua says. “No hard feelings toward the other.” You doubt that last part, but you still just sigh and let them continue. It’s clear you’re not going to be able to stop them.

The two take their stance, shifting their weight from foot to foot, watching the other warily. Their elbows are tucked close to their bodies, their gloves up high to protect their face. Whichever one throws first will set the whole tone of the fight. Joshua makes the first move, but not really. It’s a fake out, but Jeonghan is able to see it coming, and doesn’t fall for it.

Instead he goes in for his own jab, connecting his glove into Joshua’s side. That gets Joshua going and he’s on Jeonghan, rapidly punching at his face. Jeonghan has no other choice than to back up, trying to block the hits. Jeonghan swings at Joshua to try and get him away and the two boys latch onto each other. They hit at each other a bit more before letting go and pulling back.

It doesn’t take long for them to go at it again though. This time it’s Jeonghan getting in his rapid fire hits. Joshua shields the punches away from his head, trying to make a few hits of his own as he does. Then in a miraculous turn around Joshua gets the upper hand, slamming his glove into the side of Jeonghan’s head.

It’s clear the hit resonated in Jeonghan, but he doesn’t let it slow him down. The two skirt around the boxing ring, dodging the other’s attacks while trying to make their own. If you weren’t so familiar with the world of boxing, you’d think they look a little ridiculous. 

You do enjoy the sight a bit though.

Jeonghan’s hair is pulled back and exposes his long, pale neck. You can see a thin layer of sweat start to create a sheen there. His face is hardened and focused as he makes his attacks on Joshua. Speaking of Joshua, he looks just as good himself. His bangs hand in his face slightly, sticking to his forehead with sweat. His usual smiley face is replaced with one of determination and fire in his eyes. Both of their bodies are on display, their well defined muscles and hard abs out in the open for you to gaze at. You enjoy the sight of the way their bodies move; the clear image of their muscles working hard to win the fight. 

You’re not sure how long you get distracted staring at the boys’ bodies but when you finally tune back into the actual fight, both boys are clearly starting to get worn out. Just as you predicted, they’re too evenly matched to knock each other out. They do look incredibly sexy though, worn out and sweaty. You discreetly clench your thighs together, a little too into the sight of the boys going at it for your affections.

You smirk at that though as an idea starts to formulate in your mind. Both boys are in their own corner of the ring, panting, when you approach the side.

“Are you boys done yet?” You drawl and their eyes flit over to you, like they almost forget you’re here, even though you’re the reason they’re even fighting in the first place.

“Not yet baby, still haven’t won yet. But don’t worry, I will soon,” Jeonghan says.

Joshua scoffs. “Yeah right. It’s gonna be me who wins, princess.”

The nicknames go straight to your core, further encouraging your idea. You lean against the ropes of the ring and stare at the two boys intently before speaking. “You know, I’ve always said I can’t pick between you two, but what if I don’t want to pick.”

“Y/N…?”

"Have you two ever considered…you can both have me?"

You watch the way Jeonghan’s throat bobs as he swallows and Joshua’s eyes go wide a bit before a smirk overtakes his face.

“Oh? Is that what you want pretty girl?” He asks, slinking towards where you’re standing, Jeonghan following suit. 

You suddenly feel a bit shy under their looming gaze. “M-maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Jeonghan asks, a playful tone to his words. “That won’t do, baby. You gotta tell us exactly what you want.”

You squirm a bit. “I- I want you guys. Both of you.” 

“Want us to do what?” Joshua asks. You look at both boys who have matching smirks on their faces and you’re starting to realize maybe this isn’t your best idea. When the two men aren’t being competitors, they’re being the evil twins, and you think you may have awoken that side in them. That’s not going to stop you now though.

“Want you to touch me. To fuck me. Please Joshie, Hannie, I need it.”

“Good girl,” Joshua mutters before he’s throwing off his gloves and slipping through the ropes of the ring so he can pull you against his body. His skin is still warm from all of the physical exertion earlier and it feels nice against your own skin. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as his lips pressing against yours though.

Joshua’s grip is firm, yet gentle at the same time. His kiss is searing against your lips and you let yourself get lost in it. One of his hands cups your neck while the other is snaked around your waist. He holds you in place, not that you’d go anywhere if he did let go. His lips are a mix of sweet from his strawberry flavored chapstick and salty from sweating during the boxing match.

You nearly forget about Jeonghan until you feel him slide up behind you, his own arms snaking around your body, trapping you in between both men. Jeonghan’s mouth attaches to your neck and a shudder runs through your body. The feeling of his teeth grazing your skin makes you gasp into Joshua’s mouth, allowing the younger to slip his tongue in.

Jeonghan’s fingers dig into your hip bones and you can feel his own hips grind up against you, his half hard dick nestled right against your ass. In the front you can feel Joshua’s own cock rub against your thigh. Both feelings combined have your head spinning and your panties dampening. 

Jeonghan’s mouth continues to attack your neck before he’s tugging at your shirt collar, trying to reach as much skin as he can. If this was any other situation you may scold the man for stretching out your shirt, but you can’t be bothered right now, wanting his mouth on you as much as possible.

Your attention is pulled away from Jeonghan’s ministrations at the feeling of Joshua’s hands snaking up your shirt. His fingers brush against your bare skin, before fully cupping your tits. He paws at your boobs over your bra for a second before his fingers dip under your bra as well. They brush across your nipples and you moan around Joshua’s tongue still in your mouth. 

For two men who use their fists for a living, they’re also very skilled with their fingers. Jeonghan’s hands travel down your body before they grasp at your thighs. His cock is still pushing up against your ass as he pulls your body back into him even more. He squeezes at your thighs and when one of his knuckles brush up against your clit through your pants you gasp and whine, grinding down to try and gain the friction again.

“Heh,” you hear in your ear, “so fucking needy. It’s so hot baby.” 

“P-please touch me more,” you beg, pulling your mouth back from Joshua.

“Ah, you want me to touch you more? Where? Here?” His fingers brush against your crotch once more and you jerk.

“Yes! There, please! Please Hannie, I need it. Need you.”

“Of course baby, Hannie is gonna take good care of you.” His fingers plunge into your pants and he slides his fingers over your panties and against your clit. He starts to rub it in slow soft circles, causing your legs to go weak in the men’s arms.

“Princess,” Joshua mumbles into your ear. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. So fucking pretty. I’ve liked you since you started here, you know.”

You whimper at his words. If there’s anything that will set you off, it’s having someone want you as desperately as Jeonghan and Joshua do.

Your panties are already soaked through with your arousal and you’re sure that Jeonghan’s fingers are also drenched. You squirm in the men’s grips, wanting more. Thankfully, they seem to get the hint.

“Fuck,” Joshua finally pulls away from you. “Clothes off. All of them.” Jeonghan also pulls away from you, allowing you to quickly shed all of your layers, leaving you bare to the two men staring at you like you’re their next meal. You kind of are.

Both boys also get rid of the rest of their clothing and your mouth goes dry a bit at the sight of the two naked men in front of you. They’re similar in build with fit bodies and taut muscles. They’re not too similar in their other appendages though.

Though both of their cocks are fully hard, and dripping precum, Joshua’s is fat and heavy and on the tanner sider while Jeonghan’s is long and skinny and a pretty pinkish color. The sight of both of them drives you crazy, though.

You’re still in the middle of assessing their bodies when they descend on you. Their bare skin feels even better against yours now that you’re also naked. You’re already a bit breathless as they sandwich you between them again.

“God, you’re even more gorgeous than I imagined, princess,” Joshua whispers in your ear. “And I’ve been imagining it for a while.”

A shiver runs down your back and you press your body into his even more. Something about his voice, the way he said the words, makes your head dizzy. You’ve never denied that Joshua Hong is one of the prettiest people you’ve ever met, but his voice is also incredibly sexy and deserves to be recognized. Especially when it gets all deep and teasing the way it just did.

“What do you want from us baby?” Jeonghan asks. Oh god his voice as well. The light tone turned sultry. You swear they’re both trying to kill you.

“Anything, everything,” you strangle out. “Please just touch me.”

“I think I can do that,” Joshua says with a smirk and then he’s sinking to his knees so his face is level with your crotch. “So pretty down here too.” He lifts his hand up so he can press two fingers against your clit. He plays with you there for a moment as you slump back against Jeonghan, relying on him to keep you standing.

Jeonghan chuckles at this and he snakes his arms around to your front so he can knead at your breasts. He tugs and flicks at your hardened nipples. Your mind is already reeling, your body buzzing in pleasure. You can barely think as Joshua grabs your leg and lifts it over his shoulder so he can dive straight into your dripping cunt. He licks a long strip against your slit before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking harshly on the bud. You cry out and bury your fingers straight into Joshua’s hair. 

“You sound so pretty for us,” Jeonghan tells you. You turn your head so you can capture his lips with yours and he greedily accepts.

Jeonghan’s kiss is less harsher than Joshua’s, but just as eager. Whereas Joshua tastes like artificial strawberries, Jeonghan tastes sweet like sugary candies and cakes. Your free hand reaches up behind you so you can bury your fingers in Jeonghan’s silky soft hair as well.

You’re not sure which boy to focus on, as Joshua starts to prod at your entrance with his fingertips. He teases you there until he finally inserts a finger, slowly pumping it in and out of you. You wiggle in his grip a bit, wanting even more, but Jeonghan holds you still.

“Patience baby. You’ll get what you need soon enough. Let Joshua enjoy his meal for now.” Jeonghan’s hands still play with your tits as he talks to you. “You can be a good girl for us, can’t you?”

You nod. “Y-yes. Wanna be good for you two.”

Below you, Joshua’s now fed you a second finger. His mouth is still sucking at your clit, not letting up. When you look down at him, his eyes are closed in complete pleasure. His free hand has been squeezing your ass as he goes down on you and you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks like this.

You’re sure his cock is leaking all over the floor and the thought has you groaning. You can feel Jeonghan’s cock nestled in the small of your back and you reach around to grasp him. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to be expecting this and he lets out a hiss before thrusting into your fist.

His cock is slender and fits nicely in your grip. You rub your thumb over his slit, collecting his precum and using it to lubricate the rest of his cock so you can pump him in your fist. Jeonghan’s mouth latches onto your shoulder and you can feel him trembling behind you. Your hand is only half working at him, too distracted by the way you can feel your stomach tightening.

“J-josh!” You cry out before you’re clenching down around his fingers, your legs giving out on you. Your body twitches as you orgasm, your body sinking down to the ground. Joshua grabs you, holding you in his arms, gently rubbing at your skin while you grasp onto him, trying to ground yourself.

Joshua presses soft kisses to the corner of your eyes and your cheeks as you try and catch your breath. “Are you okay pretty girl?”

You nod. “I’m okay, just took me by surprise.”

“Can we keep going?” Joshua asks you softly and it sets off a warm feeling in your stomach. You’re not sure how someone who made you cum a minute ago can be so soft with you now, but you’re not complaining. You just cup his face and kiss him quickly.

“Yeah. Here, I wanna suck you off. Can I?” You look up at him with wide eyes and his face goes pink for a second.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, you can.”

“Ehem,” Jeonghan says, reminding you and Joshua he’s still there.

“Ah, Hannie,” you turn to the older man, “you can uh, you can fuck me. If you want.”

Jeonghan curses softly. “You sure baby?”

You nod. “I’m sure. Josh loosened me all up. I need your cock in me so badly, please. I just came and I’m still so needy.”

Your words cause Jeonghan to groan and he gets down on the floor to meet you and Joshua. He pulls you in for a kiss, his fingers sliding down against your wet folds. You’re still sensitive down there and you mewl a bit.

“Fuck, you’re gonna let me fuck you nice and hard baby?”

“Yes, yes please,” you nod frantically.

“Help Joshua out first baby, then I’ll fuck you.”

You turn to the younger of the two men. Joshua is sitting back, his cock resting against his toned stomach. You position yourself between his legs on your knees in front of him. You lean down and gently take his tip in your mouth, sucking at the head. Joshua gasps slightly, encouraging you to do more.

You pop your mouth off of him and lick and kiss down his length to his balls. They sit heavy and drooping and you lick and kiss at them as well. You can hear the small grunts Joshua is letting out and you move up to kiss at his tip again.

His cock is thick and you’re not completely sure you’ll be able to get it all in your mouth, but you wrap your lips around the head again. You’re going to try your best no matter what. You run your tongue around the rim of his tip before flattening your tongue and trying to push yourself down further.

Your tongue presses against the underside of his cock as you try and get all of him in your throat. Your lips are stretched tight and you can feel the strain in your jaw. You pull your mouth back before plunging it back down, trying to get down further as you bob your head up and down his length. You can hear the lewd noises of your mouth fill the room as they mix with Joshua’s moans.

You’re so focused on pleasuring Joshua you jump when you feel Jeonghan grasps your hips. Your ass is pushed into the air and you can feel him drag his cock over your slit. He teases you with a few more swipes before he unceremoniously shoves his cock into you. His slender width allows him to push into you easily, especially with how wet you are from Joshua eating you out. You moan as Jeonghan bottoms out, the vibrations going straight into Joshua’s cock.

Joshua reaches out and grabs your head, shoving you down further on his cock, his blunt tip ramming into the back of your throat. Behind you Jeonghan does the same, his own tip hitting your cervix, the slam of skin echoing throughout the room. Joshua has a tight grip on your hair and he guides you up and down his cock, practically face fucking you.

You can’t do much but moan and allow both men to fuck into you like you’re nothing but their desperate cock sleeve. You don’t mind it at all though. You actually kind of love them using you like this. It’s dirty, the way they just shove their cocks into you with no care, but it has your pussy drenched, no matter how embarrassing it is.

Your throat is burning from the way Joshua is using your mouth and your fingers dig into his thighs. Tears are welling up in your eyes a bit and you can’t tell if it’s from choking on Joshua’s cock or the pleasure Jeonghan is giving you by continuously drilling into you.

“F-fuck, Y/N,” comes Joshua’s choked out sob before he’s spilling his seed right down your throat. You gag as you try and swallow it all down but some of it still drips out of your mouth. “Shit Y/N. You look so hot like that. Dirty little girl, taking my cum down her throat.” Joshua reaches up and swipes the rest of his cum off your chin.

Your throat burns and your voice is raw when you try to speak. “J-josh.”

“You were so good for me.” Joshua reaches up and cups your breasts in your hands, kneading at you softly. “You feel good princess?”

“H-hannie, feels so good. W-want more though.”

“More?”

You nod. “Please Shua, fuck me too. Need to be full.”

“Fuck baby,” Jeonghan mutters from behind you. “You want us both in your needy little hole?” He thrusts up into you roughly to help make his point.

“Yes. Need both of you so badly. Please Josh.”

“Shit princess, that’s so slutty, how could I say no,” Joshua smirks at you. “Lean her back Han.”

Jeonghan does as told, leaning back and taking you with him so your cunt is now more exposed to Joshua. Jeonghan’s cock is already buried in you, but due to its slender size it still leaves room for Joshua to slide in. Well slide in isn't exactly the right words. 

You feel Joshua push his tip up against Jeonghan’s cock at the folds of your pussy. He ruts at your entrance for a second before starting to push in. His cock is thick though, and it stretches your pussy wide, your opening burning as it does. If it wasn’t for all of the arousal lubricating Jeonghan’s cock and your cunt, you’re sure Joshua wouldn’t have even been able to get in an inch.

“God you look so pretty like this,” Jeonghan coos. “Our nasty little slut.” 

You choke out a moan at the name and Jeonghan chuckles. In your front, Joshua is still slowly pushing his cock into you bit by bit. After what feels like forever he’s shoved inside of you and you feel like crying from how desperate you are.

“Please move, I need it, please,” you beg, not caring how pathetic you sound.

“What the princess wants is what she gets,” is Joshua’s response before he pulls out only to slam right back into you. You cry out, your fingers finding purchase on Joshua’s shoulders. “God you feel so tight around my cock.” 

Joshua reaches down and grabs your legs, picking you up. Your legs automatically wrap around Joshua’s waist, pulling him closer to you. His cock moves rapidly in you as he matches Jeonghan’s pace. The older of the two’s cock slams deep into you while the younger’s fills you up, satiating your fervent desires.

Your mind is reeling and you can’t focus on anything other than the sheer pleasure coursing through your body. You can feel Jeonghan and Joshua’s mouths and hands all over your body, feeding your hunger for them.

At some poit you realize that your cheeks are wet, tears freely streaming down your face as both men do their best to abuse your cunt.

You let out a strangled gasp when you feel one of Jeonghan’s hands snake around your neck, his other one grasping harshly at your breasts. His fingers close down around your neck, his hot breath brushing your ear. 

“Gonna let me and Josh cum inside you baby? Let us fill up your needy pussy with our seed?”

You whine, high pitched and needy. “Yes. Yes, please. Cum in me, use me however you want.”

“Hear that Shua? Our baby girl wants us to use her like the cumdump she is.” Jeonghan’s fingers are still tight around your neck, making you light headed in the best way possible. 

Instead of responding Joshua just roughly grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth once more and nearly shoves it down your throat. You can barely breathe with Joshua’s mouth over yours and Jeonghan’s hand on your throat but you don’t care. It makes your head fuzzy and all of your senses go crazy to the point that there’s nothing other than Joshua Hong and Yoon Jeonghan.

A shudder runs through your whole body and without much warning your body is trembling as you hit your orgasm. Your pussy clenches down on Jeonghan and Joshua’s cocks, holding them in a vice grip. They both let out twin groans as your body goes limp in their grip, your mind completely blank.

You’re not sure who cums first, but before you know it they’re both spilling their seed into you, filling you up to the brim. You’re still shaking when they pull out, some of their cum spilling out and dripping down your legs. Slowly Joshua lowers you to the floor.

“You’re so pretty like this, Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan says in a soft voice. “All fucked out like a cock drunk whore.”

Your body is exhausted and you want nothing more than to rest, but then you feel Jeonghan’s fingers trailing against your puffy folds. You mewl out when you feel his fingers insert into you, shoving his and Joshua’s cum back into you.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” He says with a smirk.

Your whole body is overstimulated and just having his fingers in you sends your twitching. Your fingers grasp at air and you whine.

“Shh, be a good girl for us. Can’t you do that pretty girl?” Joshua asks as he runs his hands up and down your warm skin. He stops at your tits, kneading them softly before flicking your sensitive nipples.

“J-josh, H-hannie!” You cry out. Jeonghan’s fingers are now moving rapidly inside of you, your walls fluttering as your body screams at you. 

Your eyes screw shut and your back arches as you reach your release once more. You can feel the liquid spray out of you, drenching your legs and Jeonghan’s hand. It seems to go on forever before your body is falling limp to the ground once more.

“Oh god princess, that was so hot,” Joshua says, a bit breathless. Jeonghan pulls his fingers from you satisfied with his work.

Your body is completely boneless as you lay on the ground, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are closed and you think you may never get up ever again.

You’re not sure how long you lay there as Joshua and Jeonghan move around, cleaning up the mess you made and rubbing at your sore body. When you finally get some semblance of feeling human again you open your eyes and sit up.

“Hey baby,” Jeonghan says to you in a soft voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you sigh, “very good.”

“Sorry we kind of went in hard there at the end,” Joshua says. He caresses your face with his hand. 

“I asked for it. I liked it,” you admit. “Thank you, you two.” 

“You’re thanking us?” Joshua laughs a big incredulously. “That was like a dream for me.”

Now with the ability to think again you glance around and realize you’re still on the floor, of the gym, covered in cum and sweat. 

“Ugh, I feel so gross. This is so gross, these floors are filthy,” you groan.

Jeonghan snorts. “Come on, we can go clean up in the locker room.”

“Round two in the showers?” Joshua shoots you and Jeonghan a mischievous look that Jeonghan sends back. You groan again.

“You two may have the stamina, but I certainly do not,” you state, knowing damn well that you’re going to let them fuck you again in the shower.

The boys are quiet for a moment as you three walk to the shower before Joshua finally pipes up. “So does this mean you choose us both?”

“Yeah,” you smile at them, “I choose you both…if you both still want me.”

“Of course! I’m not going to let him stop me from having you,” Jeonghan says.

“Even if you have to share?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’ll just be the better boyfriend,” Jeonghan proclaims proudly.

“Hey! I’m going to be the best boyfriend Y/Nnie can have!” Joshua shoves the other boxer’s shoulder. This sets off an argument between your two new boyfriends and you roll your eyes before turning on the shower.

The least you can say is that your relationship definitely won’t be a boring one.

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join my taglist: here!

[toadallytickles]

NEST 2024 + Gatherings Going Forward (again)

Attended my 4th NEST this year! This is just a quick point-form summary as I’m still dropping and wanted a write-up before I fly out this weekend to see my moms!

Perhaps I wore my “tickle me I’m cute!” shirt on Friday- and perhaps it got me pinned and gang tickled by 4 friends UGH- I haven’t been gang tickled since last June which is WILD honestly. Kinda hoping wishing this June it happens again 👀

Learning that it’s okay to let people touch me. 🙄😒 From my past writing “AUNT 2024 + Gatherings Going Forward,” I shared that I’ve denied myself from playing with friends until everything felt perfect, but recognized that I set the bar way too high and that maybe I just fear that “awkward first session” because I’m really awkward with touching and this fetish. At NEST this year I’ve allowed friends I’ve met and connected with at previous gatherings to tickle me in the con-spaces to break that touch barrier in a fun, familiar way for everyone. I also let myself engage in pick-up sessions with friends to get that “awkward first session” out of the way! I had to reassure myself throughout the weekend that it was okay that they were touching me, and they were touching me because they wanted to~.

My nesting partner is choosy about the gatherings he attends as he wants to focus on those he has connected with already, and can find gatherings overwhelming at times. This NEST made me feel similar- I want to continue attending gatherings, and I love meeting new people, though going forward I’m going to focus on regular attendees and friends I know from previous gatherings. There are a lot of regulars and mutuals I would love to get to know better and potentially play with- I’m just really awkward and don’t know how to approach people, and in turn I feel I accidentally give off a closed-off vibe. I would like to be part of my friends’ friend group, I just don’t know how to integrate! NEST going forward, I would love to volunteer and help out more to continue making the gathering the best it can be!

Oh, I had my first Wawa experience! I tried their Caramel Cookies and Cream Frozen Cappuccino, IT WAS SO GOOD, Starbucks Frapps could never. definitely kept me up way past my bedtime! 😋 Also the mascot is a (Canada) Goose because Wawa was originally a dairy farm in Wawa, Pennsylvania, and the Ojibwe word “we’we” means “Snow Goose.” Now I need a Sheets experience~.

I got to try out @ticklingduck's vibrating tickling rods! @mister-ttt and I did record content including them! They are like a small Pursonic (without it stopping after 2 minutes~)! 😏 I also BOUGHT ONE!! 🎉 @ticklingduck's socials: Etsy, Twitter, Tumblr.

Wore my Geurdo Link cosplay on auction night, even though I was not participating in the auction, and I was extremely shy so I just sat in the audience and didn’t really show it off LMAO!! (Still editing the tickle video featuring this cosplay, previews are in the NEST Server and on my OF~).

I’ve had the literal pleasure of forming a play partner dynamic with a local friend, and he has really built up my confidence, self-esteem, and has helped me be more self-sex-positive. It was exciting to carry that sex-positivity into some sessions this weekend, and I learned that I really like being consensually sexually violated by friends.. 🥴💦 don't look at me.

This weekend really validated my growth and boundaries. Finding this gathering somewhat personally hard to navigate because I wasn’t meeting my exact wants (a me-issue, not NEST's), that helped me recognize that I’m not the same person I was at my first NEST and other 2019 gatherings, and that I’m truly growing. I wasn’t able to navigate NEST like I did in 2019, so now I know I’m on the right path and know what I’m exactly looking for.

And finally on the last day of the gathering, I’m sitting in the lobby in my lazy travel fit, not showered, sporty wind-breaker, capris, my glasses, pink paw print socks + sandals of course, and a guy I’m pretty sure was not part of the NEST group asked me if I was “Kyle-“ and there were other men around. I say no, and guy just wanders back to where he came from. Assigned Kyle at NEST. I have not felt gender euphoria in a long time. 🥹

anyway, the end. looking forward to the next gatherings~

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

A Sister's Love

Pairing: Platonic Damian Wayne x Al Ghul!Reader

Warnings: Injuries and blood. Drugging, Trafficking and sexual assult but these are not the main themes.

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: You realize you have a lot to learn about yourself outside of your little brother, Damian's, shadow.

A/N: Was originally gonna make this a Dick Grayson x Reader but realized it would be weird cuz of mixed families and stuff. And I don't wanna be pushing the boundaries of incest.

Growing up in the League of Assassins meant a lot of things for you. It meant that you were raised to be powerful and commanding. It meant you knew how to kill a man in 47 different ways and counting. It meant that you were raised to rightfully think that you were the best.

Although for every good thing there was always cons. Your schedule was rigid and your peers were unfeeling. Your mother most of all, but that didn't stop you from trying to win her affection. It was the reason why when your little brother was born you felt threatened.

That was until you met little Damian. Your mother had handed him to you with a smile of pride that she never showed you and you hated him. But then you saw his precious little face, a nose tinier than a button and adorable lips that were curled into a pout. He was so beautiful.

Since then, you put any differences you might have had with your mother behind you. According to Ra’s it would have been a mistake to show Damian such tenderness, to teach him about loyalty to your heart, instead of without it.

But Talia couldn't ignore the tug she felt in her heart seeing you and Damian together. You still worked hard, harder than she had ever seen before, now determined not to show that you were weak and have them take your brother from you. Damian followed your example, training to her approval, however taxing it was for him.

And more importantly, Damian loved you. You were the first woman he had ever loved and he was smart enough to know that would never be a mistake. You were his shelter in a storm, his fire in the cold. You were the best sibling that anyone could ever even dream of.

But then you had to part. At age 10, Damian went to live with his father, Bruce Wayne. You had never met the man when he was with your mother and you assumed you wouldn't need to, he wasn't your father.

Both you and Damian didn't want to leave each other. You'd miss your little brother and you'd miss the feeling in your chest whenever you'd look at him. Damian would miss home; he would miss your presence and he would miss the familiarity. But he couldn't stay.

That's something you learnt at the League. Damian couldn't stay, with you. He was meant for bigger things than you.

Another thing you learnt was that you didn't have to stay either. You wanted to see the world, see what everything else had in store for you. And your mother, bless her, gave you her blessing.

Of all the things the league taught you, there were things they missed out on. And a part of you was thankful for that. Because you enjoyed the feeling of wide-eyed wonderment when you stepped into a train station for the first time ever.

You had never tasted a chocolate muffin before, you realized as you stuffed your face at a local bakery. Coffee and chocolate muffins went well together. You liked sweet things better than spicy things, you noted when you didn't enjoy the tteokbokki you bought at a Korean food stall.

People were kind, not foolish. They smiled at you when you came in and genuinely asked you where you were headed. Like the woman you met on the tram who was heading to Washington DC. Even through the short ride, the two of you had bonded and she had left you with her phone number and a promise that if you were ever in DC, you would ring her up. Diana was trusting, too trusting. You could have assumed it was because she was stupid, but you wanted to believe it was because she was smarter than even you.

Some people were kind like her but of course, some were impolite and pig-headed. You of course didn't waste any time putting them in their place. Maybe that was why you shouldn't have any faith in humanity.

But isn't humanity just the thing you should be putting faith in?

It was fun at first, discovering new things, seeing how people really lived outside of books and things taught to you back at the League. You knew everything, you weren't naive enough to be oblivious but reading about something was miles apart from actually experiencing it.

After a while however, you got lonely, it was a huge world with people constantly moving and you've come to realize that unless you're with somebody, you can't really move from your place. Instead, you'd be stuck watching all of them. So, you sought after your brother.

It was easy enough to track Bruce Wayne, he lived in a house large enough to be seen from outer space. Getting to Gotham took longer than you expected. Time passed so easily when you didn't have a purpose but now that you had somewhere you needed to be, the train couldn't go any slower.

Gotham City was less gloomy than people made it out to be. The sun was shining and the city was bustling. In some ways, it seemed a little homey. Maybe that was because you didn't have to worry about someone hurting you. If anything, they should pray that they don't choose you as their next victim.

Of course, you could've gone to Wayne Manor and introduced yourself civilly but you wanted to see Damian more than anything and didn't want to delay it any longer. And more than that, you wanted to see Damian is his cute little school uniform.

That's what led you to wait outside of the well-reputed Gotham University, waiting patiently for the bell to ring and students to file out of it. You already knew that they wouldn't come out singing like in the movies but a very small fraction of you still hoped.

Your heartrate increased with every passing minute, excited to meet your brother after nearly a year of being apart. Eventually, the bell did ring and students began trickling out of the doors, looking like bumble bees, excitedly zipping around and talking to their friends.

'Would this have been my life if I was never born in the League?' You wondered, looking at a girl who was animatedly chatting with her friend, arms interlocked as they moved towards the parking lot where their parents were waiting.

When you finally saw Damian, you suddenly felt out of place. Like an outsider watching someone else's brother when you saw his eyes lock onto someone in the commons. Even though you weren't on the school campus, you could still recognize who it was.

Richard Grayson, oldest son of Bruce Wayne, waiting to pick up your little brother on a motor cycle.

And for the first time in your life, you experienced insecurity, watching them greet each other like brothers. The feeling was sour and you wondered if it was a mistake coming here, thinking that you still had a place here.

It was true, people didn't move from their place unless they had someone to go with. You hadn't felt fulfilled like that since your brother stopped being at your side. He was everything you knew. It was just your mistake for thinking that in the year apart your brother wouldn't have found anyone either.

***

"Drake, pull up the security cameras from today at my school parking lot." Damian ordered, stepping into the Batcave.

"No 'Hello', no 'How you doing?', it's always 'Tim, do this' 'Drake, do that'," Tim commented sarcastically but still pulled up whatever he needed, "And then as soon as I give you what I want, you're going to forget me again. And not even visit the kids."

Dick spared him a laugh at his dramatic scene, ruffling his hair as greeting and then turned his attention to the screen. The footage was played at double the speed until Damian's eyes locked onto just what he wanted to find.

It was just for a second, when Dick's motorcycle had zoomed past but that was all he needed. Damian had seen your face and it wasn't any mistake, he'd know you even if he was blind. Even though he was so sure it had been you, he still couldn't hide the way his body froze, eyes wide when he saw your face.

It was the same face he'd see every night before he went to bed and the very first person he wanted to see every time he woke up. Your image was what came into his mind when he thought of being nurtured, when he thought of being safe.

There was a time when he was younger, too young, there was a thunder storm. He doesn't remember much from the night, just hiding his face against your chest and you wrapping a blanket around him. His mother trained him even harder the next day, until he almost dropped but he'd never forget curling up to your warmth. Not even now, when he knew that thunder storms were the least of his fears.

It was as simple as that. With his father and brothers, he didn't have to worry about looking weak, he didn't think of love as a weakness, rather he considered it as the fuel behind strength. Yes, his father taught him well. And now he would show you just how much he's grown. So, you can be proud of him.

"We need to find her."

"Why? Who is she?"

"My sister."

***

Of all the things you wanted to experience, visiting a bar was one of them. Was the air really enough to intoxicate you? Were you really going to lose all sense when you stepped into it? Would be able to drink your troubles away?

You were sorely disappointed. The alcohol didn't taste good, it burned when you swallowed it and made your tongue feel fuzzy. The music was so loud that your brain began throbbing against your skull to the beat of the song.

Men were picking fights and women were having fun but even then, you couldn't find it in yourself to get up and actually have fun. I mean, how were you supposed to? How was cosying up against a drunk man supposed to make you feel better? How was getting lost in throngs of sweaty people who didn't know what personal space was meant to improve your mood?

If anything, it just reminded you of just how pathetic your life was.

You were realizing you had no purpose. Damian was all you had known for years now, knowing only to protect him with your life and love him with your heart. Who were you without him? What did you like? What made you happy outside from your duty at the league?

A man knocking into you brought you out of your thoughts, which had been happening all night. Except this man stopped in front of you and gave you a smile that turned your stomach upside down.

"Sorry about that pretty lady, let me buy you a drink to make up for it." He spoke with a voice that was trying to be smooth but instead sounded like metal scraping over each other.

"No, thank you." You said sharply, not yet done with your Manhattan anyway. You were barely enjoying your time here as it was and you were sure another drink wouldn't change your mind.

"Not a fan?"

You shook your head at him, choosing to humour the man.

"Then let me buy you another one, if you don't like it then you have nothing to lose."

You pretended to giggle at him and he swelled with pride. Did he think he was winning?

"One Boulevardier." He told the bartender who nodded and began preparing the drink. Until it was ready, you indulged the man in front of you who reeked of cigarettes and alcohol.

He placed the drink in front of you and if you hadn't known that it would burn going down and turn you into a shell of yourself, you might have been curious to what it tasted like.

"You see that dude over there?" He nodded to a man standing in the other corner of the bar and you turned to look at him. Another man, covered in tattoos who didn't look any different than the one standing behind you.

"He's my pal, owns the bar. Ask him and he'll hook you up with free drinks tonight. For a price, of course."

You turned back around to face the man and out of the corner of your eye saw something dissolve into your drink. It was only for a second but you saw the last remaining grains turn invisible and you definitely noticed the way the once steady drink was now swirling into a vortex in the middle.

"Drink up, princess."

You smirked. Tonight, might be fun after all.

***

This was boring.

You had been pretending to be unconscious for about 40 minutes while these men drove you to some undisclosed location. Their conversations were unbelievably dry and it's not like you had anyone else to talk to. Everyone else who might have been even mildly interesting were knocked unconscious.

Eventually they pulled up to some sort of holding facility and if your assumptions were correct then this would be a midpoint before they sold all the girls here to some sort of pimp.

Once they lugged you off the truck and threw you into a room with so many other people, you could hear their breathing did you open your eyes. It seemed like this was some sort of abandoned butcher or meat factory, judging by the ominous hooks hanging above your head and the metal walls. The door had been bolted shut, the only way to look through it was a small glass window.

Only after you finished taking in your surroundings did you even look at the other women who had been trapped in the room along with you. Your stomach turned.

There were so many unsuspecting faces who looked like they didn't sign up for this. Half of them looked under the influence of something, sweating profusely even in their sleep, faces scrunched up in pain. The other looked like they were forcibly taken, bruises covering their skin, hair and clothes in disarray and more than half of them had either a black eye or a swollen lip.

Maybe it was their fault for not being trained, that's what someone at the league would've said. But isn't it their captors’ fault for misusing their training, their strength, for something as vile as this?

You decided to wait, you couldn't assume that this small group of girls was the only one in the confines of the building. How many more were here?

You weren't feeling overwhelmed, not at all, not with the weapons that were littering you. A kunai hidden is either of your boots, throwing stars in your pockets hidden underneath your vest and a war fan in your pocket. You could handle these clowns without even looking up.

But it wasn't your life you were concerned about. It was the lives of these underaged, vulnerable girls who had fallen prey to these monsters.

While you were waiting a couple of the girls started to wake up. Some were still heavily drugged, still groggy when their eyes fluttered open and unable to focus onto anything. Others shot up straight as an arrow and began crying, screaming, begging for them to let them out.

They were ignored, by both their captors and you. Why try and reassure then when you weren't sure what was going to happen. More importantly, why throw off the monsters lurking outside the door that there was one woman who hadn't been phased.

Instead, you just stared blankly, trying to get comfortable and hear anything through the walls. Eventually, you heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the room. You covered the lower half of your face with a scarf, making sure that anyone who left here alive today, wouldn't be able to remember your face. Whether it be as a saviour or their punisher.

The girls whimpered and curled into one another, crying quietly and you felt sympathy. There was no way they'd be able to move forward from this without having fear stab at their heart with every step they took. You could only hope they had something in their life that would make them feel safe.

For tonight, you'd be that for them.

A few men opened the door with a cruel smile, stepping inside for a second before bolting it shut. They flaunted guns and other weapons to the girls, finding pleasure where there should be compassion and worry. You were disgusted watching their smirks twist maniacally when the girls cried harder seeing them brandish their weapons.

One of the men stepped forward and grabbed the girl closest to him who begged and cried to spare her. His disgusting hand might as well be made of acid because you almost felt the sick burn when it snaked between her legs and copped a feel while she sobbed and screamed, trying to fight him off.

You grabbed one of your weapons and returned their sick grins with one of your own.

It was going to be hard to cop a feel when he can't feel anything.

You were going to break each and every bone in his hand to ensure that.

***

"Can I borrow your phone please?" You asked the bloody and broken man by your feet. He glared at you and spat blood on your boots, unable to do anything else. You sighed and faked a pout.

"Is it here?" You wondered, holding the dirtied boot over his ribs and his eyes widened, catching drift of what you were about to do. You rammed your foot into his broken ribs, courtesy of yourself, and he screamed bloody murder. Music to your ears.

"Apparently not. Want me to check your pants?" You asked, raising a brow and he frantically shook his head, using whatever strength left to pull out his phone from his pocket and you smiled, thanking him quietly.

"Now, let's hope that one blow is enough to put you out of my misery." You sang, punching him right in the face and he passed out. Lightweight.

You took a look around the place, seeing bodies littered over the place like confetti. Blood was scattered on the ground and you're sure if people looked hard enough, they'd find someone's teeth. You on the other hand looked fine.

You sat on the floor, crossing your legs comfortably, tired after the fight and dialled a number onto the phone.

"Hello, police?"

"Yes, how can we help you?"

"Well, there's a sex trafficking scam going on at my location. Quite shoddy but they have a number of women trapped here and it would be nice if you could send backup to have them escorted home safely."

"A sex trafficking scam?"

"Well, it could be just a regular trafficking scam but I'm not too sure."

"All right, I'll have someone check it out."

"Good, and I realize you might get a lot of calls like this but please don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. Tell your people to send a couple of ambulances as well, you'll need them."

"Of course."

You could only hope the person on the other end of the line would eat their words when it was on the front of the newspaper. For now, your work was done.

In the meantime, how were you going to get anywhere from here? Where even were you? Was there anyone even conscious here who could give you directions? Or would you have to call the police again to find out where to go?

Not that you'd wait long enough for them actually arrive here. You'd return to the bar way before that for another drink. Maybe now you'd actually be able to enjoy one.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard a creak coming from the other end of the warehouse. It echoed through the halls and you leapt to your feet, soundless moving to hide in the shadows and pulling out a kunai.

The footsteps that followed it were light and airy, barely even touching the ground. They were trained, whoever they were. You kept your ears open in order to hear something.

"Whoever was here was trained." You heard someone comment.

"Are you really that stupid, Nightwing? It's obvious that my sister was the one who took out this ring and reported it." Came the snappy reply back and your breath caught in your chest. Make no mistake, that was your brother's voice.

"We must find her."

He was actually looking for you? He knows you're here? You're not entirely surprised, you haven't exactly been careful or stealthy when it came to concealing your face around Gotham. A mistake on your part but you couldn't have been more relieved.

You still remained quiet, not wanting to disturb the flow, not wanting to interrupt. You had the mind of a soldier but when there was no one to follow you seemed more like a sheep. It made you feel slight shame, that you were unable to stick up for yourself despite being so many things.

Maybe, the league wasn't the best thing for you.

Immediately you scraped the thought from your mind, berating yourself for even thinking that. The league had given you everything, everything you were today was because of them. You were strong and calculating, the leagues proud soldier.

You were proud of your roots, thankful that you grew up to be the person you were. They had given you everything, and your brother was just one of the gifts that you had been blessed with in your life.

"Damian." You spoke softly, stepping out of the shadows. His head snapped towards you, eyes widening when he took in your form. It really was you. His sister.

Damian wasted no time in bounding towards you and you knelt down to meet his eye level, catching him with open arms. A part of your heart sang when you realized he was still small enough to fit in your arms. He still held you close. He still loved you.

"I've missed you, Ya Amar." You spoke softly, cradling his head that was buried in the junction of your neck.

"I as well, Okhti."

***

Damian was ecstatic that you were in Gotham. Of course, it didn't look like it to anyone but everyone who knew him well could tell that he was happy that his sister was home with him. He didn't wait for even two seconds when you got to the Batcave (much to Bruce's surprise) to show you all his pets.

The next few days would be considered the best of his life.

Damian wanted to be as close to you as possible, sitting near you during meals, training with you, talking with you, even going as far to sneak into your temporary bedroom at night for cuddles. He certainly got more comfortable showing affection since the last time you were around.

He showed you his hobbies like painting and sketching and you were impressed. He had the skills to be doing something like this? Damian had picked up many new talents and many new stories since you last saw him and he was eager to share them all with you.

The next few days would be considered the worst of your life.

You had found Damian now, so why didn't you still feel fulfilled? Why did you feel like something was missing? Like this wasn't meant for you? Why weren't you satisfied?

Why did you feel envious that Damian got to experience so many things? Why did you feel resentment against him when you realized you never got the same things he has?

Your life felt like it amounted to nothing.

You loved your brother but so far you had just been living for him. And now that you realized there were parts of the world that you wanted to see. There were thoughts in your mind that were of your own and desires that you didn't have to explain to anyone. As long as it made sense to yourself.

And you realize one thing with an aching heart.

You couldn't stay here in Gotham.

"Does Damian know?" Bruce asked you one day when you had asked him a favour. Bruce so far had been a little cold and unfeeling ever since you had met him in the Batcave uninvited. His feelings towards you got more negative when you gave an offhanded comment about how you thought he was taller. But he was the only one you could ask for a favour. He was the father to your beloved brother and you could only hope he would offer you the same consideration.

You had asked him for a flight to Washington, to see if Diana really meant what she said. To take a leap of faith for the first time in your life.

You shook your head no, "Not yet. I'm hoping he will take the news well. It's not like I'm leaving forever. I just—I need to—" You trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Bruce nodded, "I understand. Just tell him before you go. I don't think I've ever seen him this happy before."

"It makes me feel worse." You admitted, feeling a little guilty. How could you not feel happy at your brother’s happiness?

"You need some time to figure out that your world is yours. No one else should determine how you feel about yourself."

"You are very wise," You said softly, "Thank you."

***

"I love you dearly, Damian." You tried to coerce him from his room where he had locked himself in only 5 minutes ago. No doubt he was sulking since he found out that you would be leaving for DC in two days’ time.

"If you did, you wouldn't be leaving!" His voice was muffled, as if his face was buried in his pillow or even Titus. You had been trying to coax him into open the door for 20 minutes now and had multiple offers from Grayson, which you turned down.

"Oh, for the love of—Damian Wayne, you open this door right now!" It was silent for a moment before you heard the lock click open and took that as the indication from him to step into his room.

It was large and from the moment you stepped in, it was easy to tell the space was his. There were swords mounted on the wall, paintings on the wall adjacent to it. His desk was tidy and in the corner of his room, there were multiple easels and sketch pads.

Damian was sulking on his bed and you sighed, feeling guilty. You sat beside him and ran your fingers through his hair. Even though he was upset with you, he still sank into your touch, feeling comforted by mere contact.

"It's not forever, Damian. Wherever I'm going, I'm going to come back. I just need some time to myself." You tried to explain.

"But why!"

"The league taught me well, Damian. But it taught me to live like a soldier, but not as a person. There are so many things that I don't know about myself. What do I like? What do I want to do with my life? And I need to figure it out for myself."

"Why can't you do that here?"

You gave him a pained look and realization dawned on him, "Because of me."

"Damian, in the time we spent apart you learnt so many things about yourself. That you like animals, that you like art. There are so many blanks in my life and I need the distance to figure it out. I need to understand myself." You explained wistfully.

It was true, there were so many blanks in your life. You didn't even know what food you liked better, what hobbies you enjoyed. You wanted to experience new things, without the influence of Damian, without relying on him. And more importantly, you were scared you would put Damian above yourself time and time again.

It was all you knew. Damian was worth more than your life, worth more than your heart. But if that was true, you wanted to know at least what your heart was worth to you. If you didn't hold any value to yourself, it would be foolish to think you would to anyone else.

You needed the distance. You needed something new. You wanted to dive into uncharted waters and figure out the magic for yourself, without anyone to help you.

"It's not forever," You reminded gently, "I'm going to come back, I can promise you that."

Damian began leaning until his head was settled in your lap and you chuckled, gently scratching his scalp and he nestled into your belly. Hard to believe this was the same boy who left only a year ago. You wondered if you would change as much as he did or if you were stuck in your ways now.

"Okay," He said, voice muffled and you smiled, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you for your blessing, Ya Amar. It means the world to me. I love you; you know that."

"I do." He said, now wrapping his arms around your waist, "I love you too."

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

[hes-a-rainbow]

Heaven And Hell (Part One)

Eddie Munson x OC!Fem Fix It Fic

A/N: Here is my newest fic! I had this idea over the weekend and ended up writing 40 pages 🤷🏻‍♀️ It’s been a really long time since I’ve last put this much effort into a story so please enjoy! A share means the world ❤️

Warnings: Angst, references to past trauma (Upside Down)

Word Count: 3.5k

(Divider by @silkholland​)

Steve’s crisp white sneakers squeak on the linoleum tile as he tosses the bags of chips from his arms into the shopping cart Robin is currently in charge of.

“Watch it, doofus! You’re gonna break all the chips before we even get back to the car.” Robin huffs out as she picks up a bag of Doritos to see if she can ‘feel’ any broken ones inside. She huffs before throwing them back on top of the rest of their products.

Steve ignores her and reaches for the back pocket of his jeans, finding the crumpled handwritten list of items to get for Robin’s birthday party. Nancy and Jonathan were in charge of the actual set up and decoration while Steve and Robin were in charge of food and drinks. It seemed like the easiest task but he and Robin had been crisscrossing around the local supermarket trying and failing to read Nancy’s chicken scratch writing of precise instructions. (Nancy had even gone as far as writing out the products in order of the aisles they were in but Robin and Steve never caught on; both of their eyes moving around the page too quickly to fully process.)

“Can you relax? Most chips come broken anyway, they factor that in with the price,” Steve’s eyes roam over the page, mentally ticking off what they already had in their cart (because they both forgot the pen in the car) so he misses Robin’s annoyed reaction. She leans over the rail of the cart, slapping him on the shoulder to get his attention again. “Don’t tell me to relax!” She points her pointer finger into his chest, “I am the furthest thing from relaxed, Steve! By midnight tonight I will officially no longer be a teenager. Do you know what that means, Steve?”

Steve rolls his eyes, getting ready for the speech that he’s heard at least a hundred times within the last six months, “Yes I know what it means Rob—”

She quickly waves her hand around his face, effectively silencing him, “I don’t think you do, Steve! I will no longer be able to blame my naivete on being a teenager, I will no longer be able to continue getting the student discount at the movie theater because in certain lighting, I look younger than I am!” Robin continues her tyrant as she begins listing off the things she’ll no longer be able to do. Steve quickly takes control of the shopping cart, hoping she’ll eventually tire herself out (as she usually does) but at least he’ll be able to guide her a few aisles over where they forgot to pick up plastic cups.

“I have been playing it very carefully for those movie discounts. They're supposed to stop at 16 but I have been able to walk a very thin–,” She moves her pointer and thumb in front of Steve's face, pushing them together until there is barely any room left to further prove her point. “Very thin line these past few years.” Steve lightly knocks her hand away from his face as they pass an older woman who scowls at Robin’s yelling and Steve thinks the woman is about two minutes away from calling the manager over to kick them out.

“Yes, your long con of saving ten cents per movie ticket is now catching up to you–” Steve leans more of his weight on the car as he turns into another aisle, narrowly missing a display of cereal boxes.

“Do you know what Tiffany Braddock told me?” Steve begins tuning her out as he scans the aisle for the red plastic cups they need, the last item on their list.

“She said that everything was fine and dandy on April 21st and then–” Robin claps her hands together loudly causing Steve to jump a bit. “Boom! Morning of April 22nd, her twentieth birthday, wakes up with appendicitis.” Steve spots the cups towards the middle of the aisle and picks up his pace a bit as Robin continues, “Doctor said she could have died if she had waited any longer! It’s as if her entire body just shut down at the strike of midnight. And how do we know that’s not gonna happen to me? She was at least athletic in school! As for me, I think we are all well aware of how unathletic I am. It’s almost as if I was bred not to be in sports. My mom always said it was because of my weak ankles but it has to do with my equilibrium or something. There has to be some medical explanation for how uncoordinated I am.”

Steve decides to get the 100 pack instead of the 50 because it’s better to have more cups than less, especially since he had seen the invite list Nancy had put together and she had nearly invited every person Robin has ever even interacted with. She may not have been the most popular in high school, but once Robin got into the local community college and started attending classes that she was actually interested in, it seemed as if people just flocked to her. Steve could admit that sometimes he was a bit jealous about how easily she could talk to people, just going up to somebody random to compliment their shirt and then ending up being invited to their cousin’s wedding two weeks later (true story). Steve liked Robin’s new friends, they were quirky and loud and laughed at all of Robin’s lame jokes, but most importantly, they loved and appreciated her for who she was and that’s really all that Steve could ask for for her.

Steve starts humming along to the Cat Stevens song playing over the market speakers when he realizes he hasn’t been able to hear any of the music since they first walked into the store due to Robin’s constant stream of words. His eyebrows furrow together, as he looks to his right where Robin stood only a second ago.

“Rob?” He calls out her name before seeing a quick flash of her striped shirt as she turns out of the aisle. He swears her mind is always going a mile a minute but sometimes she’s even worse than Henderson, disappearing in the middle of a conversation to pet a dog or something.

“Robin!” He ushers the cart into the direction he saw her leave in, the cart now significantly heavier than it was 10 minutes ago. He quickly spots her in the next aisle, hugging some random woman in front of the cereal section.

“Jesus Christ, we do not have time for this.” Steve whispers under his breath. Leave it up to Robin to make friends within the 10 seconds he lost eyes on her. He pulls his cart up next to Robin and the mystery woman, “Hey Rob, we really have to get going now.”

“Steve, look who it is!” Robin takes a step away from the woman, letting Steve finally take in who exactly was standing in front of him. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the woman in front of him who he hasn’t seen in four years.

“Noah! Holy shit!” He doesn’t realize just how loud he is as he throws his arms around his old friend. Her hair is shorter now but she still smells like the sweet vanilla shampoo he had recommended to her all those years ago. He can feel her squeezing him back, God he had missed her hugs, he had missed her, they all had.

He pulls away too soon for his liking but he already has a million questions on the tip of his tongue, “What are you doing here? Are you back for good? Did you graduate yet?” He leaves his hands on her shoulders as he takes a step back to get a better look at her. “You look great! Henderson is gonna freak out when he sees you! Did you tell him you were coming back? Holy shit!” Noah smiles back at him with her signature wide grin, dimples peeking out slightly while her cheeks coat with the slightest pink hue as she takes in her rambling friend.

“Steve,” She giggles out, “Please take a breath, I don’t need you passing out in front of the Coco Puffs.” He lets go of her to turn to Robin, whose face mimics his as he points to their mutual friend in front of him with a ‘can you believe this’ look on his face. Robin laughs and mouths back ‘I know!’

“You have to come to Robin’s birthday tonight! It’s at my house. She’s turning twenty and everybody’s back in town for it! Nancy is gonna freak out when she sees you and oh man don’t even get me started on Eddie–” Her smile falters just the slightest bit, and anybody else might not have noticed but Steve sees it right away, after everything they had been through together, he can read her like a book. He sees a small hand holding on to her worn out jean jacket, he hadn’t even noticed that someone else was with her.

“Mama?” Noah quickly steps aside, revealing to Steve the tiny human she had unintentionally been blocking from him. In the front of her cart, in the child's seat, sits a little girl wearing an outrageous outfit of bright red and white polka dot leggings and green flannel shirt that looks two times too big for her. Her brown hair sits messily on the top of her head in a wild bun with curls sticking out all over. Her big eyes look over Steve, before they look back at Noah, leaning closer towards her arm.

“Whoa.” he hears Robin whisper out behind him and he’s almost a hundred percent sure she didn’t mean to say that outloud.

“I–” Noah begins towards Steve but stops herself looking back at the small child, “Baby, these are mommy’s friends from school.” The little girl looks up at Noah and Steve can’t believe just how similar they look; he understands genetics and all but she is literally a spitting image.

“This is Robin and Steve.” Him and Robin both respond silently with a small wave, neither of them really knowing how to interact with a child this young.

“Hi.” “Hello child.” Steve gives Robin a look over his shoulder as she just shrugs back. Noah laughs it off, knowing that all of this was quite the surprise but she really wasn’t expecting to run into anyone this quickly. She had only been back in Hawkins for less than 24 hours. She had rehearsed everything she was going to say in the long car ride back to Indiana, Scarlett mostly sleeping or singing quietly to herself in the back seat, but she thought she would have more time. Time to seek out her old friends and then drop this bombshell on them.

“Guys, this is my daughter, Scarlett.” The child’s gaze looks over Steve and Robin quickly, seemingly assessing them and Steve feels like he’s being judged for every bad decision he’s ever made in his life.

“Wow,” Robin clears her throat before continuing, “So are-are you like married now or something?” Steve automatically looks down at Noah’s hand, she always wore a lot of rings, and it seems her style hasn’t changed that much but the rings have. He looks towards her left hand, where he sees a ring he recognizes.

It instantly takes him back to 1986. To the Upside Down.

He remembers staring at those rings as she tightly held on to his nail bat that he had let her borrow when going after Vecna. He remembers them shining in the moonlight of the eerie dimension as she held pressure down on Eddie’s wounds. Her tears streamed across her dirty face as she shouted at the metalhead who was going in and out of consciousness. Steve has to physically shake his head for the thoughts to disappear.

As if she can feel his gaze, Noah holds left hand with her right hand, blocking Steve’s gaze at the ring. She clears her throat, causing him to make eye contact with her again, “Uh, no. No, just me and Scar.”

The silence is deafening between them as the cheery beats of a Van Morrison song play overhead. It breaks Steve’s heart at how much has changed, he had fought against every nightmare you can think of with Noah, and now he felt as if she was a stranger, because in many ways she had become one.

“That’s awesome!” Robin says a little too loudly, “Are you visiting Pops?” Robin refers to Noah’s grandfather, the only one of her family to have stayed back in Hawkins after the Vecna situation.

Pops ran the only record store in Hawkins (promptly named ‘Top of the Pops’) and was a stubborn son of a bitch. Steve remembers Pops telling him it would take more than an earthquake to get him out of Hawkins.

Noah’s parents had felt differently, selling their house soon after and to everyone’s surprise (and shock), Alice had followed them to New York to stay with family and finally start college in the city. All the Hawkins gang had tried their best to stay in touch with her; it started out with phone calls every night, then the occasional letter, but life soon got in the way for all of them.

The town was rebuilding, Hopper, El, and the Byers had moved back to town. Nancy and Jonathan moved away to Boston. Even Steve himself started taking night courses at Indiana State. But he still remembers those first few weeks when she had left. No one was expecting it, they all assumed she would just move in with Pops, or she and Eddie would get a place together (everyone knew they were destined to be together). But when Eddie had shown up at Steve’s door step, less than two months after defeating Vecna, all of their wounds (both inside and out) still healing, Steve will never forget the look of utter defeat on Eddie’s face.

He and the metal head quickly became friends after March of 1986. Apparently battling monsters in a different dimension will do that to people. If anyone had told high school Steve he would be best friends with the town freak who was accused (and acquitted!) of murder, he would’ve thought they were smoking some of Eddie’s stash. They soon become the brother that neither of them wanted but both of them needed.

Eddie was utterly heartbroken when Noah left, and from the little he told Steve, Eddie had even insisted on going with her, starting a new life away from Hawkins like they always dreamed of, but she had turned him down.

Eddie was never the same after the events of the Upside Down, none of them ever were. They all now carried scars, visible and mentally, that had bonded them for life. But the whole group was torn up after Noah left, because after all they had survived and endured together, she still decided to leave them behind.

Steve remembers when Noah told them, after she had left Eddie’s place, sat everybody down together in the Wheeler’s basement. Steve was furious, Robin had cried, Max had yelled, and Nancy and Henderson had yelled above the rest trying to keep some sort of peace amongst the group. After many, many tears, hugs, and promises, Noah drove off to her new life.

But she was back now. Standing at the Main Street Supermarket back in her hometown of Indiana in front of him and Robin with a child of her own.

“Uh, yeah,” Noah begins to twist the rings on her fingers back and forth, a habit she always had when she was nervous, “Pops fell and broke his leg while doing inventory at the store last week.”

“Oh my god! You should’ve called us! We would’ve checked in on him.” Robin grabs for Noah’s hand, squeezing it lovingly before looking over to Steve, seemingly waiting for him to agree with her.

He clears his throat, “Um, yeah. We definitely would’ve helped him out and brought groceries or whatever.”

“I couldn’t ask you guys to do that.”

Robin seems genuinely confused, “Why not?”

“Because he’s my family,” Noah responds before Steve corrects her, “You’re our family.”

Noah looks away and starts blinking her eyes in quick succession, “Well maybe I just needed an excuse to come back then...” Her voice cracks slightly as a forced smile graces her face but Steve can see there’s so much more behind it. He has so many things he wants to ask her; why did you leave? Why didn’t you ever come visit? What happened while you were away?

“Please come to my birthday tonight!” Robin bounces on the toes of her feet slightly as she quickly tries to change the conversation, “Everyone will be there and I’m sure they will all be so surprised to see you!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Rob–”

“Please! You’ve been gone for so long and this will be my last official night as a teenager!” Noah looks over at Steve who just shrugs in response, they both know that Robin usually has a way of getting what she wants.

Noah turns to Scarlett, brushing an unruly curl away from the little girl's face, “I’d have to ask Pops to babysit…”

“Yes!” Robin claps her hands together, bouncing up and down slightly, “Everyone is coming over Harrington’s at 8. Same address so don’t say you got lost on the way over.” Robin winks and envelopes Noah in another bone crushing hug. Once she releases Noah out of her grip, she leans over the cart to come face to face with Scarlett, “And it was a pleasure meeting you, little one.” She sticks out her hand to shake and Steve can’t hold in his laugh at the utterly confused face Scarlett shoots back at her.

“Scar, baby, we talked about this.” Noah bends slightly to get eye level with her daughter,  “You say ‘thank you, Miss Robin!’” The look on Scarlett’s face remains and Steve can instantly tell the toddler is just as stubborn as her mother, and even comes with the same facial expressions. Noah turns back to Steve and Robin, “As you can see, we’re still working on our manners. But, uh, you sure I won’t be like a nuisance or anything?”

“What?! Fuck that! It’s my party and I want you there!” Noah’s eyes grow at Robin’s outburst. A wide grin comes over the little girl in the shopping cart, “She cust-ed, Mommy! Quarter, please!” She sticks out her little hand and laughs, seemingly pleased with how this is all playing out.

“Dam-Dang it, Robin!” Noah reaches into the pocket of her jean jacket and pulls out a bag of quarters, handing one to the little girl who gleefully squeals and puts it into the pocket on her shirt.

“We’re trying to learn not to use curse words so much because somebody,” Noah side eyes Scarlett who again just giggles at her mother, “Thinks it’s funny to repeat the things mommy says at home to their friends at daycare.” Scarlett’s hands flew to her face in a lame attempt at covering herself as she broke out into hysterics.

Robin bursts out laughing at the toddler's displays, and Steve can’t help but follow along.

“Yes, ha ha. Mommy loved meeting with your teachers about that one.” Noah tickles Scarlett’s sides causing the toddler to let out a little screech of laughter. The loud speaker crackles around them to announce a clean up on aisle three. Noah looks down at her watch, “I’m sorry guys, but we’ve really got to get going.”

“Oh yeah of course!” Robin grabs her hand again, “I’ll see you tonight, right?” Noah pauses for a split second, and Steve can see a flash of fear come over her features before she straightens up and nods her head, “Of course, we have so much to catch up on!”

“You’re telling me!” Robin shakes her head towards Scarlett who is now distracted by the bird on the Fruit Loops box. Noah sniggers, “It was great seeing you both. I’ll probably be a little later tonight because of bedtime and all.”

“Right, that’s no problem, you know where to find us!”

Noah’s eyes fall down to the tip of her well loved leather boots, she opens her mouth to ask something but stops herself instead, leaning into Steve for another hug. Steve wants to ask her if she’s alright, or question her about what she was going to say but she speaks up first as she pulls away from him, “See you later, Harrington.”

Him and Robin watch her and Scarlett head off into another aisle as they walk in silence towards the cash registers. They don’t say much to each other as they are both replaying the conversation in their heads.

It isn’t until they get to Steve’s car that Robin asks the big question, “So, do you think Eddie knows?”

Steve looks at Robin, visibly confused, “That Noah is back? Probably not. She said she just came back yesterday.” Steve goes to grab another few bags from the cart, fitting them into his trunk like a giant game of tetris.

“No, idiot. Do you think Eddie knows about his kid?” Steve drops the bags in his hands and watches as they tumble out of the paper bag and onto the concrete.

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 3.18 Mixtape

Words: 801

Content: just some words. *insert self-indulgent fic writer waffle about writers’ block, feeling mopey, blah blah blah* 

—-----------------------------

“Um...so this is the...third go at recording this thing. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I’m just going to play a few things, and maybe read something. You said… you said you wanted my voice so…”

I had, and just thirty seconds in, even through these crappy headphones, my eyes are already welling up at the sound of that familiar soft accent. I’d promised myself I would save it for as long as possible, until I really, really missed him. I lasted all of… thirty-five hours and seventeen minutes. Pathetic. It’s not like we’ve never been apart before, he’s always coming and going, but maybe it’s worse because I know I won’t see him for three weeks this time (‘No girls at rehearsals’). Of course there’s phones, but we suck at timing and end up just with snatched minutes as he’s dashing off to a photoshoot, or messages left on the answerphone at 2am. 

“Anyway… I think you’ll recognise this one from the album.”

I do recognise it, but it takes a few bars because I don’t think I’ve heard it on an acoustic before. It’s a little Zeppelin-ish done that way. It’s a real power ballad on the record, but I think I prefer it this way. It’s funny, I hear Steve playing all the time, but very rarely a whole song; usually it’s just the same bit over and over while he’s trying to work something out, or a screeching Jimmy Page solo to blow off steam! He doesn’t practise as such, I don’t think he needs to. Music runs through him all the time and he just picks up a guitar when he needs to let it out into the world. 

“This next one is one of Sav’s… I dunno what we’re doing with it. We did the demo but… too many ballads I guess. But it goes sort of like this.”

Partway through he breaks off - “There’s a solo… my solo… goes here. But I don’t think I can do it on this, so you’ll have to imagine.” There are some scraping noises which I guess is him fiddling with the microphone, then all I hear for a minute or so is breathing.

“I didn’t know what to talk about - you know me, not much of a ra-con-teuuur - so I thought I could read you something instead. So this is what I’m reading… trying to read. The Odyssey. It’s about this Greek king who fought in the Trojan war and then has all these adventures trying to get back home. It takes him ten years, and I think it might take me as long to read it, heh-heh.”

When he starts to read, his voice is whispery, hesitating over the Greek names and longer words, but he gets a little bolder as he gets into the rhythm of the story. If you’re a boy and you grow up on a Sheffield housing estate and go to the local comp*, reading is not exactly encouraged. At all, let alone classical myths. He has read a lot since then, in a rather scatter-gun, autodidactic fashion, but he’s not exactly had the chance to engage in literary debate, so he’s always afraid he’ll be mocked for misunderstandings or mispronunciation. But I love listening to him talk, about books, about anything. Sometimes I make him tell me stories when I can’t sleep, lying with my head on his chest hearing his heartbeat in one ear and tales of childhood escapades in the other. Oh god, this is not helping! I miss him more than ever now. I pull the pillow from his side of the bed and hug it to my chest, hoping the lingering hint of his smell and the even cadence of his recitation will soothe the loneliness. 

More microphone fumbling noises rouse my mind from its dreamy state. There is some mumbling, ‘how much tape…? Okay, let's give this a go’, and then strumming. Now this I recognise instantly; it’s my favourite Zeppelin song. That is so sweet of him. He starts to hum the verse and then, so low and quiet I almost miss it, ‘someone told me there’s a girl out there…’. Oh. Did I really…? Quickly I press rewind and spool back a few seconds. Steve doesn’t sing. Ever. He says he can’t. He mimes on stage. He doesn’t even sing in the shower. But that… that is most definitely Steve singing. Just a few lines, then he la-la-las the rest. I replay it three more times, then get scared I’m going to stretch the tape or something. I’m so… it’s like I’ve been given a precious jewel, just for me. Oh my heart. 

“G’night love. I’ll see you very soon.” and then the click of the recorder being switched off. 

—-----------------------------

* Comp = comprehensive school. Standard type of school for kids aged 11 - 18 in the UK

—-----------------------------

And that’s the end of part 3. In part 4, Lepps on tour!

[mahbonesmccoy]

Deadlocked [Vampire!Zemo x Reader]

ONE-SHOT

Summary: You've been traveling a lot these days and you always don't want to miss all the museums you wanted to visit in every country you're in. But the front desk clerk of the hotel you're staying at in Sokovia warned you, telling you that they don't have many museums around here... But your stubbornness will inevitably be your doom.

[Vampire!Zemo x reader] Warnings: +18 NSFW, Violence, non-con, implied smut in the end.

A/N: Since it's october, might as well do this! Of course this is inspired from Bram Stoker's Dracula with a twist. Happy Halloween!

A museum is a place where all the things from the past are stored. Be it an art, artifacts, and, of course, corpses that was mummified. You absolutely love going to museums, admiring the gruesome of the history and how it has been before. In London, you often take your time to visit the national museum and now that you've been living independently from your parents for a year now, you've taken full advantage of the opportunity to travel alone as often as possible and to see other museums in different countries, which is how you landed up in Sokovia.

You indulged yourself drinking coffee in a little coffee shop and then taking pictures of the beautiful view. So far, everything is delightful on your end. You take your journal out, writing a little bit of words that summarizes your whole experience in Sokovia this day. For now, you spent your day walking around, shopping and reading in their library. You tried to search any museum around but you found none… Which was a bit odd. You don’t speak their language but thankfully you often encounter kind people who speaks English to help you out with your inquiries.

I’ll visit their museum tomorrow.

At the end of the day, you went back to the hotel you’re staying at. It’s been a long yet lovely day and you badly need some rest.

“Good evening, Mr. Frederich!” You greeted the front desk clerk.

“Ah, I hope you enjoyed your first day here in Sokovia.”

“Yes, I did have my fun around. Anyways, are there any museums around here? I forgot to ask those people I’ve met along the way here. And I checked the internet, nothing seems to pop up.”

The clerk was sort of hesitant suddenly. It’s a simple question and simple to answer and it seems he can’t find himself to answer you.

“We don’t have any museums here. But there is one… it’s closed, and people are not allowed to come in there. It’s been deadlocked for a long time, and I tell you… You really don’t want to go there.”

A small frown forms on your eyebrows. You don’t know why but you find yourself not wanting to believe the man. You can tell he’s hesitant as if he doesn’t really want to answer your inquiry of the said museum.

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Good evening, miss… I have duties to do.”

Not wanting to make things awkward between the two of you, you decided to turn the whole matter down and go to your room. But your curiosity and mistrust got ahead of you, and you pulled out your phone to look for nearby museums, only to find none. There is hardly a smattering of information on this little country's history on the internet, and there is no museum at all.

Groaning, you tossed your phone on the nightstand. You’re too tired and maybe you can ask the locals about this museum that Mr. Frederich has been clearly avoiding telling you about.

---

Instead of waking up late, you managed to get up early in the morning and prepare yourself for the remainder of the day. You then head downstairs to have your breakfast, intending to wake up your thoughts with a cup of coffee. While sipping our coffee, you seem to have drifted away from the present and begun to ponder this museum. You don’t know why it bothered you so much where you can just find one in the next country you’re going to visit soon. However, the fact that Mr. Frederich seems troubled or... perhaps terrified to tell you about this museum makes you want to learn more about it. You quickly finish your meal and coffee and then head out of the hotel.

You started to ask some of the locals about the museum but all they told you is that they forgot where it was now, it was probably demolished and some even refused to answer. One old lady even scowled at you for asking the question, as if it was an insult.

“You’re a foreigner here and it will do you no good.”

You’ve been out for the whole day and noon time is almost over. When you have made your mind to give up, you decided to ask one more to any of the people you will meet along the way back to the hotel. Fortunately…

“You’re in the wrong place, dear. It’s in Novi Grad, not here.”

“But why was it not showing on the maps and people seemed to not entirely know of the existence of this museum?”

“They must have mistaken, I’m sure. It’s still 2 pm! You can still catch up. 4 pm is the last entry. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Oh goodness, thank you!”

Of course, without further delay, you decided to go to Novi grad which is only an hour away from where you are since Sokovia is a small country. At this point, your gut tells you to turn around and leave. Go back to the hotel and listen to Mr. Frederich… But there’s no turning back now.

When you arrived, the city was a bit more crowded compared to the one you’re staying. You didn’t want to delay so you decided to look around for the museum. Alas, none… again. You stood at the heart of Novi Grad, looking around like a lost puppy but then you remembered what the man had said to you before you thanked him.

You’ll know it when you see it.

And so, you start to look around again, sharping your mind up. Until…

You’re facing the north, staring at the castle where it’s situated far away from the crowded heart of Novi Grad.

I see it now alright.

---

Your struggles have finally ended when you made it to the museum and all of that was bloody worth it. There were only 4 people left in the museum and there’s still an hour before the actual closing time and so you indulged yourself roaming around. Most of the Artifacts belongs to an aristocrat family, given the names under each of the exhibits. You then stop right in front of a sword and a mask; both were in a glass together.

Baron Zemo

You assumed that is the sole owner of the mask and the sword unlike the other items that has only a name and a description. Your mind was so occupied looking at the fine details of the blade that you didn’t notice a man approached you from behind until he cleared his throat to announce his presence, drawing you back to the present.

“Oh! I’m sorry… Have I blocked the view?”

“Oh no. You didn’t. I’m the curator of this museum. The name’s Helmut.”

You said your name to him in return, shaking his hand before turning your gaze back to the Mask and Sword.

“Nice touch of the sword, the fine designs and its details.”

Helmut nodded in appreciation, stepping forward to stand beside you to revel the beauty of the mask and sword in front of you.

"It's a family sword. It took a long time to forge. Duty and power are symbolized by the mask and sword. It hadn't been worn in a long time… Come, I want you to show everything in here, draga.”

You enjoyed the company of Helmut very much and he explained every historical artifact that you took interest with, and you can’t help the fact that this man looks ravishing. You don’t particularly take interest in any men in your travels, and it seems Helmut begged to differ. The way he speaks with eloquence, his composure, and his aura itself screams regal.

“You’re the first curator that really fascinated me especially when you talk about the history of the Zemos. As if you were there!”

Helmut smiles at your statement, tipping his head down a little bit to the side bashfully.

“Thank you, (Y/N). It’s my job.”

Looking around, you suddenly realised how dark it is now and when you check your watch, it’s past 6 already! You suddenly feel so guilty for letting Helmut stay with you just to entertain your questions and it’s already closing time for them. No wonder why the four people around weren’t here anymore.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry to have taken too much of your time. God, this is so embarrassing but thank you so much for letting me stay a little bit longer.”

“That’s not a problem at all, Draga. You can actually stay here for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay but I really have to go.”

“No…”

His response caught you off guard there. He sounded so different so suddenly and more… authoritative. You chuckle nervously, giving him a playful slap on his shoulder.

“No, seriously. As much as enjoy your company, I really must go. Thank you so much for this, Helmut.”

You make your way to the exit, clutching your handbag tightly as you feel woozy. You immediately realized the doors were shut, despite the fact that you didn't hear anybody shut these large, heavy doors... Now that you're anxious, you try to open it, but it’s deadlocked.

To make things worse, you feel a strong pair of arms hugging you from behind and Helmut leans his chin upon your shoulder, his nose lightly rubbing against your cheek. The nasty smirk on his face was palpable...

“Draga, you should have listened to your Mr. Frederich…”

Tears begin to form on your cheek, and you push him away from you, your back now facing the doors, and you take a stride back till your back meets the two hefty, closed doors.

“Who are you! Stay away from me!” You demanded.

With the smirk still on his face, he walks closer until you’re trapped between him and the doors. He softly lays his palm on your cheek; his thumb running down to your bottom lip and slips it inside your mouth. His eyes are pooled with lust and malicious intent… It must be your mind tricking you but you swear to god you can see his eyes turn dark red.

“My name is Zemo… Baron Helmut Zemo.”

He whispered as he softly wipes the tears off your cheek with his other hand. He doesn’t have the need to pin you against the door… You couldn’t run and escape anyway. Too afraid for your life, you didn’t move nor protest when the Baron slips his thumb inside your mouth.

“Obedient,” He chuckled darkly “I’m going to make you last, draga.”

Before passing out, all you could remember was his lips on yours and his tongue slithering into the cavern of your mouth and then a sharp, stinging pain on your neck... You're bound in there now, and there's no way out. The once silent hallways are now filled with your screams and moans. You’re his bride now.

Meanwhile, Mr. Frederich keeps on looking at his watch, hoping that you’ll return soon…

But you didn’t.

[nanowrimo]

The Best Writing Tools to Win NaNoWriMo

Five-time WriMo-Winner Jenna Plute won her first NaNoWriMo in 8th grade and hasn’t looked back since. She’s here to tell us about some of the unusual apps she’s test-driven to help a wide range of writers navigate their way to the finish line!

The goal of National Novel Writing Month is to write fifty thousand words. That's it. Sounds simple, right? You could copy-paste the word "purple" fifty-thousand times, and you would win. Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Your inner-editor steps in, and no words seem good enough to put to paper. And maybe this is good if you have years to write your magnum opus. Each turn of phrase can be molded, each comma artfully placed, each setting fully fleshed out. But when you're writing a novel in a month, overthinking is the enemy of success. To avoid this, nothing has helped me as much as programs that force you to write continuously. With these programs, I can bash out 1,667 words in 45 minutes. Are they good words? No. But will I win NaNoWriMo and have a first draft? Yes. And that's the goal. 

Fighter's Block: 

Fighter's Block is a RPG-style writing program. You are the protagonist seeking to defeat some monster, whose XP bar corresponds to your word goal. Each time you type a word, you decrease the monster's XP while raising your own. The catch is that the monster also attacks you. You can set the speed of the attack in the settings based on how fast you type. The goal is to write faster and reach your goal before the monster can defeat you. 

Pros: This gamifies writing and makes it seem less intimidating. You just have to type to win, and the settings are adjustable. The concept is cute, especially if you love fantasy. There is also a local save that can hold all of your writing, so you don't NEED to save it in another document. 

Cons: It is easy to delete your local save and lose thousands of words with a single click. For added security, you really need a secondary save. 

750 Words: 

750 Words is inspired by the concept of "morning pages", which is the habit of writing a few pages every morning to put your thoughts to paper. It's a repository to hold all of your daily pages in a private area and will give you feedback on how much you pause or get distracted while writing. You can also see automated summaries that display the general emotions, themes, and ideas of your work. 

Pros: This is a great way to create a writing habit and gives you a secure platform to hold all of your work. You can also gain insight into the mood and emotion of your story (or life, if you want to use this for journaling). 

Cons: Though this helps motivate you with a simple goal, it does not force you to write. It gives you the information to analyze your patterns, but that still puts the onus on you to stay focused. 

Written Kitten: 

Written Kitten is for those motivated by praise as opposed to punishment. Each time you write a hundred words (you can change this amount), you receive a cute picture of a kitten, puppy, or bunny. The more you write, the more cute pictures of animals you can see!

Pros: This program is less stressful which can allow a more leisurely writing session. The animals are all certainly cute, and it does exactly what it promises.

Cons: The local storage isn't reliable, so you have to transfer your work to a separate document every so often. The less stressful nature of this program also works against it in maximizing word count in a short amount of time. 

Write or Die: 

Write or Die's operation is encapsulated in the name. While the website won't actually kill you, it will kill your words in the method you choose. If you aren't typing fast enough (at a rate you choose), the site will begin deleting your remaining words, turn your screen bright red, or play an explosion sound effect. 

Pros: This program is extremely effective in making you want to type. There's also a huge amount of customization available, especially if you're willing to pay for the full version. With the full version, it will also save your work. 

Cons: Even with adjustment, the consequences are too harsh for me. It's just annoying to see the screen flash red or your words be deleted. Failing multiple times was just disheartening and made me want to quit NaNoWriMo out of anger. 

My personal conclusion is that Fighter's Block is the best. I've used it for the past three years (and past three wins) and have remained impressed. The format is intuitive and it's not difficult to transfer to Google Docs. The level of consequence also fits me the best. 750 Words and Written Kitten are too soft, but Write or Die is too stressful. 

In the end, choosing which software all comes back to what NaNoWriMo stands for: a fun challenge that generates a first draft. Winning is word count. If these focuses sound like you, try one of these programs and see if it helps.

Good luck and happy writing!

Jenna Plute is a five-time NaNoWriMo winner originally from Colorado. When she's not reading or writing, you can find her studying math or drawing. Though she hasn't yet published a book, she hopes to before she dies.

Top photo by Dan Barrett on Unsplash.

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen. 

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error. 

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully. 

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering. 

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice. 

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter. 

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?” 

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle. 

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless. 

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.” 

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask. 

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper. 

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly. 

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space. 

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?” 

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven. 

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.” 

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do. 

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about. 

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper. 

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.” 

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer. 

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine. 

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk. 

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows. 

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth. 

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide. 

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers. 

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

[athenasbloodyspear]

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed. 

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee. 

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them. 

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out. 

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends. 

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge. 

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12. 

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie. 

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove. 

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked. 

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.” 

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed. 

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter. 

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug. 

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back. 

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited. 

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee. 

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up. 

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically. 

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter. 

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures,  with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy. 

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.” 

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it. 

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store. 

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it. 

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists. 

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. 

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts.  There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.” 

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up. 

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs. 

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed. 

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.” 

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.” 

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door. 

                                                           ~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years. 

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars. 

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast. 

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked. 

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?” 

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.” 

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.  

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.” 

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.” 

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.  

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.” 

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?” 

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.” 

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.” 

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said. 

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.” 

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister. 

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters. 

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.” 

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.” 

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately. 

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop. 

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door. 

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk. 

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?” 

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces. 

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door. 

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?” 

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started. 

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.” 

“Wicked.” Maven calls back. 

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley. 

                                                        ~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi. 

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN. 

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.” 

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked. 

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage. 

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks. 

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands. 

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe. 

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.” 

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly. 

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured. 

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack. 

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio. 

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.” 

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.” 

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.” 

“Sure.” Levi replied. 

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote. 

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked. 

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.” 

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?” 

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded. 

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.” 

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.” 

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.  

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly. 

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio. 

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back. 

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.” 

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.” 

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.” 

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?” 

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased. 

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled. 

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”  

                                                        ~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect. 

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today. 

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states. 

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago. 

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between  her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?” 

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her. 

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again. 

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off. 

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad. 

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something? 

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open. 

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder. 

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly. 

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain. 

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point. 

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak? 

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way. 

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side. 

“Oh hey Maven-” 

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door. 

“Maven wait-” 

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space. 

“Sorry.” Jake muttered. 

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed. 

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?” 

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.” 

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere. 

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter. 

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped. 

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake. 

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.” 

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.  

                                                     ~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player. 

However, none of these things were easing her mind. 

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake. 

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this. 

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray. 

                                                        ~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name. 

“It’s Maven.” He said. 

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. 

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked. 

All four boys leaned in to read the screen. 

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS. 

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.��

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[seijorhi]

Hi, I saw ur post about requests closing soon so I figured I’d give ya another, but it’s okay if ya don’t get to it anytime soon since you have so many!! Can I request Yandere Suga and Daichi with a fem! darling who’s oblivious to them, and they both maintain the image of friends in front of others but they’re actually fighting each other for your love, but then you start dating someone else and they both team up? I 💕 your writing so much, I’m excited to see what you do 😌

Yes of course bby! Hope you like it 💕

Daichi Sawamura x female reader, Sugawara Koushi x female reader

TW implied non-con, slight nsfw, manipulation, abuse of power (kinda), minor violence, mentions of grief

Tug O’ War

You meet Daichi first, on the outskirts of Miyagi thanks to a blown tyre and a dead phone battery. It’s just after nine pm and you’re ready to resign yourself to abandoning your car and hiking the rest of the way when the police cruiser pulls up, and sitting behind the wheel is Officer Daichi. 

Sawamura, he tells you on the drive into town.

“So I take it you’re not from around here?” he asks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a small smile adorning his face, but you know he’s just being polite, trying to break the somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Truth be told you don’t mind the quiet. With his radio playing quietly in the background, you’re still trying to sort through your thoughts, prepare yourself for what’s waiting for you when you arrive. 

But that’s not his problem, and you don’t want to be rude, so you shake your head with a faint smile of your own. “I am actually… or I was, I guess. I moved away after high school.”

A lone eyebrow quirks, “Oh yeah? So what brings you back to Miyagi then? Family?”

Fingers twist in your lap.

“… Something like that.” 

Maybe it’s because of the nerves eating away at your stomach, or maybe it’s just been a while since you’ve been back, but the drive to your sister’s house feels like it takes longer than it should. Daichi makes easy conversation the whole drive, and by the time you pull up out front of your old childhood home you find yourself glad of the temporary reprieve. 

“Thank you. For the lift, I mean,” you tell him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he lifts your suitcase out of the trunk and passes it over to you. “I would have been up for one hell of a walk if you hadn’t come along.” 

He grins down at you, laughing not unkindly, “It is kind of my job, but you’re welcome. I could hardly leave you stranded, now could I?”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can speak a word the front door of the house is thrown open and a tiny figure barrels out onto the front lawn. You have a split second to brace yourself before impact, tiny arms wrapping around your middle, “Auntie!!!” 

A bewildered Daichi watches as you smile (genuinely, perhaps for the first time that night), ruffling the boy’s hair. “Hey buddy, how’s my favourite little man?” 

Glancing up, you spy your sister standing in the open doorway and your smile fades a touch. Your nephew’s already excitedly chattering, blissfully oblivious to the situation - a minor miracle in and of itself - as he eagerly tugs you back up towards the house. 

It’s only when you’re halfway up the driveway that you remember Daichi.

A glance back over your shoulder confirms your suspicion - he’s still standing there, watching the odd display with a slightly confused expression, though to his credit he manages to quickly school his features back into something a touch more befitting an officer of the law when he realises he’s been caught.

“Thank you again, really. I appreciate it. You’re kinda my hero tonight.”

He nods, and it might be a trick of the dim light, but you swear you see his cheeks flush pink, “Anytime.”

Just as he promised, your car is picked up by a local towing company the very next morning before you’re even out of bed. The tyre is replaced without too much fuss, but when you go to pay, the mechanic simply shakes his head and tells you it’s all been taken care of.

You make a mental note to swing by the station and thank Daichi (again) in person.

***

It’s only fitting, you suppose, that you meet Suga a few days later. 

Thursday’s your sister works late, which leaves you to pick your nephew up from school. You’re thankful that they’re already aware of the situation, nobody questions why a veritable stranger is passing through the gates - at least, not after your nephew perks up at the sight of you, shouting your name as he hastily tries to shove his arms through his backpack. In his excitement he almost trips - would have tripped - if not for the silver haired man who catches him before he can stumble, setting him right with a shake of his head.

“Please slow down, Daisuke. You’ll hurt yourself,” he chastises gently. 

Your nephew pouts, and you can’t help but chuckle a little as he ducks his head in shame as you approach. “Hey bud, did you have a good day?”

Hazel eyes regard you curiously as your nephew clings to your legs, nodding before burying his face into your side. 

“You must be Y/N,” the man - Daisuke’s teacher you can only assume - says as he straightens up. 

Considering your nephew had all but screamed it across the courtyard, there’s not really a need to confirm it, but you nod anyway, accepting his hand when he offers it. 

He’s tall and handsome - though maybe handsome’s the wrong word. Pretty, maybe - his features are soft and delicate, with long eyelashes and eyes you could quite easily lose yourself in, truth be told.

“His mother told us you’d be coming by every now and then to pick him up. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Sugawara, Daisuke’s teacher.” He pauses, biting his lip for a moment before exhaling quietly. “I’m sorry, by the way, about…”

You’re quick to wave him off, ignoring the painful tug in your chest, “Please, it’s- I-I’m not… It’s fine.” 

It’s very much not. 

Even as you say the words your hand finds its way to Daisuke’s hair, stroking it gently as his grip tightens. You’ve never been good at dealing with grief, your own or anybody else’s, but you can’t stand the platitudes - even those with the best of intentions. 

Sugawara frowns faintly but he doesn’t push you and desperate to change the subject you force a smile on your face, “So, you’re the famous Suga I’ve heard so much about! He absolutely adores you, you know? You’re almost all he talks about at home.”

He laughs, and just like that you feel the tension in the air dissipate. “Oh, is that so? I guess I could say the same about you. I’ve heard nothing but ‘auntie Y/N’ all week.”

Your cheeks heat, and you gaze fondly down at the boy still clinging to your side. “He’s a good kid.”

Daisuke chooses that moment to pipe up, launching into a detailed recount of his day, much to your and Suga’s mutual amusement. 

And neither you nor Daisuke notice that while you’re engrossed in his retelling, Sugawara’s pretty hazel eyes are focused on you, a soft smile playing across his lips. 

Thursday afternoon pick ups quickly morph into Tuesday, Thursday and Friday afternoon pick ups as well as Monday morning drop offs, and you don’t mind one bit. For one, you know that your sister appreciates it more than she lets on and you would do anything to make this even the slightest bit easier for her, and it gives you a bit more time to spend with Daisuke, which you’ve missed more than you care to admit. 

Also because whenever you do stop by to pick him up, Suga - Koushi, as he keeps insisting you call him - makes it his personal mission to strike up a conversation, whether he’s out there supervising the kids or not.

He’s friendly and warm and has a surprising habit of making you laugh at the most unexpected things, and you can’t help but find yourself being reeled in by the silver haired man. It doesn’t hurt that Daisuke thinks he hangs the moon in the sky, but there’s just something about Suga that’s… easy.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t poke or pry. You still have a few friends in Miyagi, but the conversations inevitably end up circling back to what happened and how you’re holding up. You don’t blame them, you know they’re only worried about you, but it’s exhausting. Suga’s a breath of fresh air, and you hadn’t realised how desperate you were for a friend who didn’t know all the grizzly details.

Though being Daisuke’s teacher, he undoubtedly does.

But Suga seems content to pretend, until the day you arrive sniffling, eyes rimmed in red and unable to muster your usual smile.

That’s when the facade breaks, and he takes you back inside the classroom away from all the prying eyes of the other parents and lets you fall apart on his shoulder. You should be mortified, but you suppose that Suga’s probably uniquely equipped at dealing with emotional outbursts, considering he spends his days surrounded by six year olds.

“He was like my big brother,” you whisper after a while, your voice shattered and raw. “I miss him so much.”

He doesn’t say a word but his grip tightens and he hums quietly, and that’s enough.

***

A week after you get settled, you swing by the local police station with two coffees in hand and timidly ask the uniformed officer sitting at the front desk if Daichi’s around. The man looks at you, looks at the two drinks in your hands and grins a little too widely. 

“Good ol’ Daichi, eh?” he winks, “Yeah, he won’t be back for a while. Can I help you with anything, ma’am?”

Your cheeks burn. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering he’s a police officer and all, but it does and you feel like an absolute idiot. Of course you should have checked before coming, but even if you’d had the foresight to do that, it wasn’t like you had his number.

Thankfully the other officer takes pity on you after you explain why you’re actually there, promising to let Daichi know you stopped by, diligently taking down your number to pass along as well. 

True to his word, it’s hours later - well into the afternoon - when your phone lights up with a notification. Several, in fact.

Hey Y/N.

It’s Daichi.

Sawamura.

Srgt. Mokoto said you came to see me today?

Is everything okay??

The corner of your lips quirked up, and you get the sense that Mokoto had likely neglected to tell Daichi the real reason you’d dropped in, probably to make him sweat. 

Hey :)

Yeah everything’s fine.

I brought you coffee as a thank you for the other day! Which I maaay have drank myself when you weren’t there…

But let me make it up to you! I can drop by the station if you’re around on wednesday at all?

The reply comes quickly. 

Absolutely. 10:30 work?

You shoot back a quick reply confirming and toss your phone on the couch with a sigh. 

It buzzes again a moment later, but the text message waiting for you isn’t from Daichi.

So a little birdie tells me you’re back in town. 

***

“You know, you really didn’t have to bring me coffee. I meant what I said, it’s part of my job. My boss would have had my ass if I’d just left you stranded there like that.”

You glance over at him with a wry smile. “Yeah? And paying for my new tyre and the towing, is that part of your job too?”

Daichi’s cheeks flush pink and he almost chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah.”

‘Ah’ indeed. “So considering I doubt you’re going to let me pay you back-”

He lifts a hand to stop you, shaking his head adamantly, “Not a chance. I know the guy who runs the garage, he owes me a favour. It was nothing, really-”

“Then coffee is the least I can do,” you say with an easy shrug. “But I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to keep you too long-”

Daichi’s hand - warm and rough - reaches out to close around your wrist, stopping you before you can stand.

“Stay,” he says, dark eyes glimmering.

***

You’ve forgotten, having spent the last few years living in the heart of Tokyo, just how small a town this really is. 

You’re standing out by the school gates watching Daisuke run around with his friends when Suga decides to broach the subject. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Hmm?” You glance up to find him watching you with that same fond if not mildly exasperated expression on his face. It’s not his fault, not really - you’ve just been a little out of it the past few days. 

Thankfully, Suga doesn’t hold it against you, chuckling. “Tomorrow night - are you free?” he repeats.

Your eyes widen a little, cheeks warming. “Um… well I kinda have a… thing earlier, but I should be free by then. Why?”

A silver eyebrow lifts. “A thing?” he prods.

“Just a thing. Why are you being so nosy all of a sudden?”

Suga laughs again, “Well if you’re not still tied up with your thing, I’m having some friends over for drinks for my birthday. You should come.”

Which is how you find yourself standing nervously out the front of Suga’s apartment, a bottle of wine in hand. 

When you knock, however, the person who opens the door is not the one you’re expecting. Tall, broad shouldered and handsome, out of uniform for the first time since you’d met him-

“D-Daichi?”

The brunette stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“I, uh… I’m- is Suga… Is Sugawara here?” you manage to stutter out, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze.

His brows furrow, an odd look passing over his eyes, and for one awful moment you think you’ve somehow managed to screw up the address. But before you can embarrass yourself further, a familiar head of silver hair appears behind his shoulder, slapping him on the back.

Relief washes over you. “Suga! Happy birthday!” 

Pushing a still somewhat bewildered Daichi out of the way, Suga’s quick to wrap you up in a warm embrace - which takes you by surprise - with a grin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your eyes flicker back to Daichi for a split second, and Suga’s follow. He’s more observant than most give him credit for, but even the most oblivious would have a hard time not noticing the blank expression on the brunette’s face - or the way he was still staring at you. “You two… know each other?” he asks, ignoring the teasing and impatient shouts coming from inside the apartment.

Finally, Daichi snaps out of his stupor. “Yeah. We met the night she moved back into town.”

“Which is a polite way of saying that my car basically imploded and he saved me from having to hike all the way back to my sister’s,” you correct, and Daichi huffs in amusement, though he doesn’t disagree. “Suga teaches my nephew,” you tell him, answering the unspoken question written across his face. “I didn’t realise the two of you were friends, though!”

The two share a glance over your shoulder.

“Yep.”

“Small world, I guess.”

You laugh, passing Suga the bottle of wine, allowing Daichi to lead you inside with an innocent hand on your lower back.

There’s a decent few people squashed into Suga’s modest apartment, but somehow you manage to find yourself sitting around his coffee table, Daichi’s arm slung over the back of your seat, Suga sitting opposite you both, discussing - of all things - high school sports.

“Volleyball, huh?”

You can kind of see it. They’re both tall and in great shape - you’re pretty damn certain the muscles Daichi sports aren’t just for show - but it’s more than that. You tilt your head, chewing on your bottom lip. “What school did you say you played for?”

“Karasuno,” Suga says.

It takes a moment for it to click - though you blame that on the drink in your hand that Suga’s dutifully kept topped up - Karasuno… the flightless crows. Ah yes. 

A slow smile creeps across your face. 

“I saw you play once.”

Both men’s eyes widen, “You did?” Suga asks.

“Yep. The guy I was dating at the time, he played too.” You almost laugh when you glance up to find Daichi frowning at your side, an unexpected tightness in Suga’s usually easy going smile, “It’s okay,” you reassure them, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach, “you guys won. It damn near broke his poor heart.” Not that he’d ever admitted as much out loud.

There’s a short silence, then-

“What team?” 

You do laugh at that, “Don’t you think you guys are a little past high school rivalries?”

The ex-captain and setter meet each other’s eyes. Neither speak a word, but something utterly indecipherable passes between them, and when Daichi finally breaks it to glance back at you, there’s a sharp grin plastered across his face.

“Nope.”

You shake your head, feeling like you’ve missed something. 

***

Hours later, fresh from a steamy shower, you stumble into bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. Sure enough, two unread messages are waiting for you.

You looked so damned pretty today. 

Are you gonna let me take you out to dinner now or am I gonna have to get on my hands and knees and beg?

You smile into your pillow, quickly typing out a reply.

I don’t know, you used to be pretty good on your knees.

Your phone lights up a moment later, a familiar ringtone playing out.

***

Life gets busy after that. 

Suga mentions that Daisuke is struggling in class, so you decide to join some of the other parents and volunteer as a ‘class helper’ one afternoon a week. Dai beams whenever you show up, and Suga seems eternally grateful for the extra set of hands - even if it’s just for craft time. 

And just when you think you’ve managed to patch one hole, another appears. Miyagi might be a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, it’s not immune to the low life creeps that used to hang around your old apartment block in the city - you’re mugged walking back from the store, a bag of groceries for dinner in arm. The guy only hits you once, a blow to the cheek that sends you sprawling to the ground, grabs your bag - the one with your phone and wallet - and runs. 

Your sister almost bursts into tears when she sees the cut on your lip, and it’s guilt more than anything else that swells through you when she spends the next twenty minutes berating you for not being careful enough.

You know she doesn’t mean it, you know she’s just scared. The promise falls from your lips before you can stop it, but it’s worth it you think, when her face relaxes and she pulls you into a tight hug.

But when you drop by the station the next morning, Daichi takes one look at you, and you watch in perfect slow motion as that warm smile freezes and falls. You expect the police report he makes you file, though you don’t really hold that much hope that they’re going to get your phone or wallet back, but not the words that come out of his mouth next.

“Self defence classes? Daichi, I...” you exhale with a huff, “don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”

The dark look in Daichi’s eyes as they flicker across your face tells you otherwise. “What if they had a knife, or a gun?” 

You would have just thrown your bag and run, you weren’t stupid - your purse wasn’t worth your life, but Daichi doesn’t want to hear a word of it. 

“What if your wallet wasn’t all he wanted?” he presses, and you stiffen at the implication. Gentle hands reach across the table to grab yours, the rough pad of his thumb brushing against the back of your palm, “Just you and me, two hours a week, that’s all I’m asking.”

… What now?

“You’re going to teach me?”

“You got somebody better in mind, sweetheart?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow and a wry grin.

It makes sense, you suppose - what with him being a police officer and all. 

And between your one on one sessions with him, volunteering at the school with Suga, making sure that Daisuke got to school on time, that the house was cleaned, there was food in the pantry and your sister wasn’t falling apart, you were running on fumes.

Yet when you come home exhausted and aching from Daichi’s place and catch sight of him, casually leaning against your doorway with a bag of takeout and that damned smirk you’d fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago, you can’t help but grin.

“Hey, baby. You hungry?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

***

They’re more observant than you give them credit for.

Suga notices the way you gingerly stretch to put away the paint supplies one afternoon.

Daichi catches an eyeful of a bruise on your neck as he hovers over you - the makeup you’d used to hide it having rubbed off with the last manoeuvre.

Suga catches you checking your phone more often, smiling softly to yourself.

Where Daichi used to be able to coax you into staying back for a drink, you were quick to finish up and head home, claiming to be tired and hungry. You don’t take him up on his offer for dinner either. 

But the final nail in the coffin came in the form of a drawing.

“Dai, who’s that?” 

Suga’s crouched by his desk, gazing oddly at the picture your nephew had drawn. The task was simple - draw your family. Daisuke had dutifully done just that; him, his mom, you, and-

“Auntie’s new boyfriend.”

Suga’s eyes snap to yours and you curse your heart for skipping a beat. “I didn’t know you were dating anybody.”

***

Daichi’s fingers tap restlessly on the leather of the steering wheel. 

He was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago but when the call came in, he didn’t really have a choice but to answer it. She’d asked specifically for him after all, and even if she hadn’t, the Sergeant would have tossed the case his way regardless.

Mokoto knew how he felt about you.

Spending an hour and a half sitting in your living room while your sister sobbed wasn’t exactly how he’d planned on spending his afternoon, but he supposed it came with the territory. He knows how to do his job properly, though. Listening, asking the right questions, offering sympathy without promising results - it’s nothing he hasn’t had to do before. 

“Please Daichi, she- she’s all we have left, I… I can’t-”

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aching to leave with every second that passed. 

Of course, it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Through her tears, your sister did manage to give up the name of the guy you were fucking. 

A name he certainly recognised from way back in high school. He knows he’s going to enjoy pursuing that particular lead, but as he pulls his car into the driveway and switches the motor off, Daichi shoves the thought aside.

He has other, far more pressing matters to deal with.

His heart thrums like hummingbird’s as he walks up the pathway, nodding politely at his elderly neighbour as he passes. 

The sight that greets him inside his living room makes the wait worthwhile.

You, on your knees, stripped down to your pretty, lace underwear, arms cuffed behind your back and your plush lips wrapped around his best friend’s cock.

With his long fingers carefully carding through your hair, Suga coos at you between breathless moans, praising you for being such a good girl for him with every roll of his hips. You’re shaking, trembling as silvery tears spill down your cheeks and when he drops his wallet, phone and keys on the bench and kicks off his shoes, your wide, pleading eyes turn to greet him.

Daichi’s cock stirs in his pants, a rush of excitement and something much, much darker and more primal flooding his veins. 

Noticing that he no longer has your full attention, Suga’s eyes follow yours. “You’re late,” he says with a lazy smirk.

Loosening his tie, Daichi huffs out a laugh, “And I see you didn’t bother waiting.”

[sturchling]

The Gilded Poppy Meets Marinette

First of all, I hit 1000 followers last night! Thank you all so much, this is so cool. If there is anything special y’all want me to do for 1000 followers, let me know. 

This is an idea that I saw and talked about with @anastasian-dreamer and @musicfeedsmysoul12 and I loved it so much. I just had to write it out! I will write another one where the Poppy helps to defeat Hawkmoth. Find it here. I hope you all like it!

Nikolai and Remy had met the Dupain-Chengs not long after they met each other. They were only 15 and had not yet mastered being thieves. They needed food and they decided to try stealing from a popular local bakery. The plan was for Remy to talk to the bakers and distract them, while Nikolai grabbed some bread. The plan, however didn’t work at all. Sabine caught Nikolai the instant he touched the bread. But instead of getting mad and calling the police, Sabine gave them the bread with a smile. Sabine could tell they were living on the streets when they came in and since the bakery was doing well, Sabine didn’t see the harm in giving the boys free food. The boys thanked them and left the bakery with their stomachs full.

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That wasn’t the last time they went to Tom and Sabine’s bakery. They often went there and the couple always gave them free food. They grew close with the family and one day met their daughter Marinette. The boys were in the bakery, talking to the couple as they ate when a young girl, who couldn’t have been older than six, came into the room. The little girl looked at the teen boys and with a big smile on her face, asked her mother, “Mama, are they the ones you give all the bread to? Can they come play with me?” Sabine looked at the little girl with a kind smile, “If they want to Marinette.” That is how Remy and Nikolai found themselves being led into the most pink bedroom they had ever seen, with a plate full of fresh cookies and one very excited six year old. As they played with Marinette, the two boys agreed to make sure no harm ever came to this little girl and her parents, and to make sure to pay them back for their kindness.

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Years went by, and the Gilded Poppy was now a well known group of thieves made up of six people. Despite being busy with their heists, Remy and Nikolai always made a point to visit their favorite bakery every time they were in Paris. The rest of the Gilded Poppy often came with them and had also grown to care for the Dupain-Cheng family. Remy and Nikolai acted as older brothers for Marinette and the rest of the Poppy were like the crazy aunts and uncles of their weird family. Jett, Remy, and Zoe often got up to crazy schemes (nothing illegal, but always funny) with Marinette, the four of them constantly laughing. Vivienne would talk to Marinette for hours about fashion and her latest designs. Remy and Nikolai had also started sending the family expensive gifts to pay back their kindness from all those years ago.

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On one trip to the bakery, as they ate their food and talked with Tom and Sabine, the door to the bakery was flung open by Marinette, who rushed by and up to her room without a word, very clearly upset. Tom and Sabine just looked resigned at this point. They knew this was likely the work of that liar Lila Rossi, but there wasn’t much they had been able to do to help Marinette. They supported her as best they could at home, but they hadn’t made any progress with the school. When Nikolai asked what was wrong, they told the Poppy the whole story. Needless to say the Poppy was furious that some third rate con-woman had been making life hard for Marinette. And they were going to try there best to stop it right now. 

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For the next few days, they followed the liar around discreetly. They listened to all her lies and listened to the class falling for them. Any time that Lila lied and said Marinette was bullying her, the Poppy had a hard time not jumping in right then, but they knew they needed to wait for the right lie at the right moment. So they watched as the liar continued to lie about everything under the sun and the class isolate Marinette more and more. The only person that seemed to stand by her was Adrien Agreste. Other than that, all her other friends had abandoned her, and it made the Poppy furious. But they soon got their perfect moment to intervene.

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Marinette was away at a doctor’s appointment and Lila was using the opportunity to come up with the most outlandish lies she could say, since the designer wasn’t there to mess anything up. She was telling the class about some of her ‘adventures in Italy’ when she came up with a new story. The Gilded Poppy was in the news a lot lately, so Lila claimed to have almost caught them once during a heist in Venice. She told the class she had risked her safety to safeguard a priceless painting and how the Poppy had threatened her, but she still did what she thought was right. Alya was looking at Lila with stars in her eyes. “Wow Lila! That is amazing. No wonder you are Ladybug’s best friend, you are already like a hero.” The class fawned over their friend’s ‘heroic deeds’ not knowing they were being listened to by a certain conman.

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Remy couldn’t believe the idiocy of this liar and the class. He and Nikolai really needed to convince Tom and Sabine to move Marinette out of this class. But that is a discussion for another time. For now, the liar had backed herself into a corner and Remy would be able to put an end to this madness. He quickly fell into character and approached the class. “Pardon me, but did I hear your story about the Gilded Poppy correctly?” Lila smiled at the stranger, always looking to charm and amaze the people she met. “Yes, it is true. If it wasn’t for me, they would have stolen that masterpiece.” Remy put on his most charming smile, making sure he sounded calm and happy. “That is amazing. I am a true crime author and am writing a book about the Gilded Poppy. I would love to include your story in my book. When did this happen? What were they trying to steal? And where were they stealing it? Tell me everything.” Remy knew the girl would take the bait. From what he could tell, this girl lied for attention and fame,  so the offer to be in a book would be too good to resist. Remy smirked as Lila jumped into a story about how last August, the Poppy had tried to steal the famous  Ginevra de’ Benci painting from the Museo Correr and ending her tale with how the Poppy had threatened to kill her for stopping them. 

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Lila had finished her story and expected this author to be as astonished and fooled as the class. But instead she was met with a confused look. Remy made sure he looked perfectly confused before innocently asking, “Young lady, what are you talking about? Please don’t waste my time with made up stories.” The class looked confused at the man in front of them, before Nino spoke up. “What do you mean sir? Lila isn’t lying.” Remy looked at the class with a practiced cool look. “I do not wish to be rude, but she is lying. I have several accounts, including witnesses, police reports, and news articles that put the Poppy in New York from last July to September. They weren’t in Venice. They also are notoriously non-violent. They wouldn’t threaten to kill you. Also, the painting you mentioned is famously held in the National Art Gallery in Washington D.C., not the Museo Correr in Venice. You can all look this up, it is common knowledge.” The class all pulled out their phones, trying to prove that their friend wasn’t lying. Trying to defend her against this author. But they couldn’t find anything. They saw that everything this author said was true. About the Poppy, about the painting, everything. They quickly turned to their friend, now realizing that she was a liar. They started yelling at her and the school courtyard dissolved into chaos. It was so chaotic that no one noticed that Remy had disappeared.

-----------------------

Things got a lot better for Marinette after that. Lila was exposed as the liar she is and the chaos of that day even drew Mr. Damocles out of his office. Once he found out what happened and the extent of Lila’s lies, Lila was expelled from school. The class did apologize to Marinette, but the friendships were already to damaged to be mended by a simple apology. Remy and Nikolai did end up convincing Tom and Sabine to switch Marinette out of that class. Now Marinette was in Mrs. Mendeleiev’s class and was much happier. She had made a bunch of new friends and the class had a lot less drama going on. The Poppy was just happy to see their dear Marinette happy again and was glad they could help her. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 9

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol)

Word count: 2332

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

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

“Just one more,” you murmured, pressing your lips into Jaehyun’s before he could object.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, chuckling softly when he separated. “You’ll have me late if you keep this up.”

“It’s not even light out yet,” you complained groggily, your hands blindly searching for a place to anchor onto.

“That’s the point. I need to get home, so I’m back in time to start the day when dawn arrives,” he reminded, reaching for those travelling hands and taking hold of them.

Your eyes had since adjusted to the dim lighting in the bedroom, and you noticed the embers from last night hadn’t yet been put out within Jaehyun’s gaze. You stoked the fire a little more, shifting your leg to nudge his.

Jaehyun groaned. “You’re tempting fate, Y/N.”

“I’m attempting something,” you mentioned demurely and shook your hands that Jaehyun still held.

“Not even my Mum has made me turn up on that yard late, I’ll have you know. I can’t be having you ruin my good reputation.”

You pouted, but nodded the further your slumber rolled away and your mind became alert. Unhooking your leg from his, you sighed. “Your career is important. Go be the best cowboy you can be.”

“You’re so cute, you know that?” he breathed, grinning from your supportive statement.

“I aim to be everything you need,” you announced and Jaehyun, who had pulled himself to the side of the bed and reached for his jeans, halted his movement, glancing over his shoulder in thought at you. You reached for your hair, assuming he was taking in your abominable morning state. “What? Do I look ugly?”

“No. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

“You better go before my heart starts ruling over this head of mine and I take back about being supportive of your needs and aim to satisfy mine,” you confessed, and Jaehyun shook his head, discarding his attempt to leave and kicked his pants off.

Crawling back to you, he gathered you up in his arms, a giggle leaving you when his hands brushed along your sensitive sides. Once fully captured within his arms, he kissed you passionately.

“Even if I’m late, you’re well worth putting in the extra effort this morning with.”

After Jaehyun had gone, with a final kiss exchanged at your front door and a warning about not answering the door looking like that to anyone but him, you headed back to your bed, nestling in under the warm covers in just one of Jaehyun’s t-shirts.

You were extremely happy right now.

And had been for the past month too. Everything was working well. You woke up most mornings feeling warm and appreciated, kissing Jaehyun off to work before eventually getting up and starting your own. You so far had acquired two signatures of landowners in Blayne over your proposal for redevelopment and was certain you’d have three more by mid next week.

You had chosen to go this path first before confronting Mr Jung with your proposition. Word travelled all too easily in these parts for you to rely on what was spoken was kept confidential. Part of you hoped for this to happen. If you got enough people talking about the redevelopment positively, you believed that would shape the head of the town’s opinion too.

It was a gamble, though, and the longer you spent racking up other names and parts of the land as opposed to the one Pierce instructed you to get meant you would be running out of time to convince Jaehyun’s father if he initially rejected your proposal.

You had confidence in your decision.

And that confidence clearly shone in other ways now too. “You know, I haven’t seen you this dressed down since you came to Blayne, Y/N.”

Glancing up at May as you stopped in for lunch with Reg, one of the landowners you were meeting with, you laughed lightly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“You finally look like one of us, is what she means,” Dorothy, from the table over, chimed and you grinned at her.

“Do I? I wonder how I managed that, being a city-slicker and all.”

“I don’t think it’s about how, but rather whom,” May concluded, and you bit your bottom lip, trying not to smile with the image of Jaehyun surfacing in your mind.

“We had it pegged that it’d be Avery,” Reg chortled, and you spluttered on the water you had taken in, looking up and apologising profusely. The older man held out his hand to May. “Well, it’s not him. Pay up.”

“Not my boy? Surely it’s him that has you enjoying Blayne. Out of us all, he’s the most understanding to newcomers.”

“Are you making bets on my relationship status?” you asked, and the patrons of the diner all chuckled in one way or another. “Well, I’m sorry May, but I’m not dating Avery.”

“You didn’t deny dating someone else,” Josie, the only waitress, piped up and there was immediate silence as everyone stared at you.

“I’m dating Blayne,” you answered cheekily, and they all groaned with protest. “What? Call me a sucker for what I’m trying to do out here, but this place has changed me.”

You left out the part about a certain cowboy that had as well.

Word travelled too fast around this place.

“Avery is disappointed, you know,” Jaehyun mentioned when he stepped through the front door of your home later that evening. You glanced up at his arrival, dropping your laptop onto the couch and moved into Jaehyun’s waiting embrace.

After kissing Jaehyun in greeting, you smirked. “Word sure doesn’t struggle to get around here yet mobile data does.”

“You completely ruled my cousin off your it-list. The elders are scrambling about trying to figure who’s left to catch your fancy.”

“Have they suggested you at all?”

Jaehyun grinned and shook his head. “Not Jung’s boy.”

“Because you’re so exclusive.”

“I’m destined to marry a Blayne Belle, apparently.”

“So you’re either going to wait another six years until Melody is legal or pick up Josie? I mean, she looks great for forty.”

“Don’t!” Jaehyun exclaimed, encircling your waist with his palms. They felt hot against your barely covered skin. “Where are your clothes by the way?”

“I’m used to the summer weather being removed by air conditioning in my apartment,” you admitted, gesturing to your singlet and shorts with a sly smile. “And this is more than what I had on when you last saw me.”

“Wicked woman,” he stated and went over to a panel on the wall.

You followed Jaehyun and pointed at it. “I tried to turn it on, but it’s ancient and doesn’t have any instructions.”

“You’d be lost without your damn instructions, wouldn’t you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes, peering around him to inspect his efforts.

“Do you know where the toolbox is in the truck?” he soon asked, and you nodded. “Can you get it for me?”

“Why, are you going to be Mr Handyman instead of Mr Cowboy to me now? Perhaps Avery might be a better option after all.”

“Har-har. If you want to learn how hellish this summer is going to get in the countryside when the heatwave hits next week then-”

“Toolbox. Onto it!” you cried, dashing outside into the humid evening and over to Jaehyun’s truck. After spotting it nestled just behind the passenger seat, you went to reach for it but stopped, your eyes travelling to the papers sitting on the chair you had just leaned over.

Picking them up, you read the contents and returned inside with the toolbox in a daze. “Thanks, Miss City. I’ll have you feeling cool in no time.”

“Were you going to tell me about the rodeo tour?” you queried in a small voice a moment later, and Jaehyun stopped looking through the box for what he needed and up at you.

He shot you one of his lopsided smiles, though his eyes were hesitant. “You’re concerned already? The rodeo season is basically over for this year, don’t worry.”

“I know. This is for next season, but the qualifiers are tomorrow.”

“I was planning on telling you tonight.” Standing back up and wiping his hands on his jeans, Jaehyun gauged your expression. “You know I do them from time to time. Old Joey from the county over popped by and offered me a horse to ride. It’s a real nice horse, gave him a test-”

“What about Blaze? What will he think?” you cut in and Jaehyun frowned. “He’s your riding horse.”

“He’s a work horse. And horses don’t really get offended if you ride another. You’re being weird about this.”

“I’m just confused. This morning I woke up thinking this weekend we’ll be going to the farmer’s market and maybe ride over to the lake and take a swim or something. Now I’m going to be on the sidelines of some rodeo? What do they call them? Rodeo Bunnies? Don’t expect me to become one.”

Jaehyun laughed heartily, scooping you up into his arms in a warm embrace. “You’re coming?”

“Of course. I have to.”

“Why?”

“Why are you asking why? I’m supportive of your endeavours,” you answered, puzzled by the smile spreading Jaehyun’s lips out further. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like a girlfriend would support me?”

“Girlfriend?” you echoed and let out an awkward laugh.

“Is it more for you now, Miss City? A whole month of you and me having this secret rendezvous and you might be feeling something deeper than my skin for me, huh?”

“Do-don’t you have to fix the air-con? It’s hot in here.”

“Stifling.”

“And if you’re going to some rodeo thing, don’t we need to sleep early or something?”

“Are you flustered, Y/N? You’re awfully good at not answering my question.”

“What question was that now?” you diverted, slipping out from under his strong arms and over to the toolbox. “Which one do you need?”

“All of you. That’s all I need,” Jaehyun confirmed, coming back to your side, kissing the top of your head before taking the tool you held in your left hand and got to work.

You arrived on the Jung’s property around six the following morning, travelling in your car separately. Whilst June was aware of your ruse, and no doubt Avery had strong suspicions, Jaehyun had asked to keep your relationship on the low for now. At first, you had agreed. You had a job to complete and complicating that with personal affections could ruin your credibility.

Still, it was hard to keep your hands off of Jaehyun when he came out from his room above the stables. “Wow, you know I’ve been calling you a cowboy from day one because of the hat and boots but I didn’t realise just how much this shirt was missing from the picture until now.”

Jaehyun glanced at his rodeo shirt, tassels and all, before shooting you an embarrassed smile. “Get a real good look at it today, Miss City. I don’t dress up like this often.”

“Another reason why he’s single, I’m sure,” his father gruffly mentioned, patting his son on the shoulder. You realised the older man was proud for some reason. All this time, you assumed he only cared for Jaehyun by the level of work he did around the farm.

Perhaps that was because Jaehyun was adamant that was all he cared about. However, as you watched the interaction fondly, you realised the man had a lot of love for his son. Jaehyun mentioned he had been on the sure-fire track to going pro as a teen on the rodeo circuit last night. You wondered if Mr Jung wanted that for him and felt guilty for needing him to help on the farm.

Either way, it warmed your heart to see a nervous Jaehyun, and his father equally acting out of character for once.

“Don’t you go worrying about marriage for our son today,” June fussed, straightening out Jaehyun’s collar as you had been itching to do. She smiled up at him. “Come home in one piece.”

“Of course, he will. We can’t be having Y/N’s first rodeo dashed with any hospital visits,” Avery commented, arriving at your side and slinging an arm over your shoulder. “You and I need to do some talking about the earful I got from my mother last night.”

You giggled awkwardly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You’ll be sorry when they start trying to hook you up with all the eligible men in Blayne. Dorothy is convinced you’d suit her boy, Jacob.”

Jaehyun snorted. “Y/N’s a little too high maintenance for Jacob.”

“Am I now?” you retorted, waving off Jaehyun’s parents who were staying behind to look after the farm. Hopping into the cab of Jaehyun’s truck and looking at Avery who got in after you, you scoffed loudly. “If I was too much high maintenance, I’d recommend we take my vehicle over this one. At least, I’d be convinced we’d get there on time, for one.”

Jaehyun glared at Avery’s somewhat stifled snort before patting the steering wheel of the truck. “Don’t you worry. This old beauty of mine will get us there with ease. It’s you we have to concern ourselves over.”

“Me?” you wondered, and Avery nodded. “Why me?”

“Rodeos are a whole other world, Y/N. I bet you won’t be ready for what’s about to happen.”

“It’s people riding horses and taking on cows or something with ropes. I’ve seen it on TV,” you assured the cousins, who looked at one another with loose grins forming.

“She’s not ready for this.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“Would you two just shut up, and Jaehyun, start driving. Watch me prove how-”

“Adaptable you are,” both boys chimed, and you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as Jaehyun finally threw the truck into reverse and headed down the driveway towards your first rodeo.

_________________

Part 10

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[anistarrose]

Summary: Winters running the Mystery Shack are difficult, but two unexpected guests improve Stan’s day.

Characters: Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines

Relationships: Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Happy Holidays, @halogalopaghost! I'm your Secret Santa, here to mash together a couple different prompts through the power of time travel (and Mabel)!

***

It doesn’t take Stan many years to learn that winter’s no good for the rural Oregon tourist business.

Granted, he can hardly blame the tourists — he has to drive on Gravity Falls roads himself, much to his disgust. Between the paved, plowed streets that always turn slick with ice where you least expect them, and the winding gravel roads that you might as well ignore when road and wilderness alike are under identical four-inch blankets of snow, he knows no gallery of fake haunted paintings or taxidermied coyote’s ass is worth the trip in these conditions.

He’s on his third winter in town, now — not counting the first, worst one he arrived at the tail end of — and if there’s a right way to run a business this time of year, he hasn’t found it yet. He always scrapes together just enough to pay his bills, thanks the occasional local who wanders over to purchase a seasonally appropriate if overpriced snow globe — but he’s lucky if he breaks even in December, and knows January through March are a lost cause before they begin. He’ll make it back within the next year, sometimes even before summer ends, but it stings to know he’s about to fail at his one goal for the next three to four months straight, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It might sting less if he had another way to spend these winters — if he had a good reason to formally close the Shack for a few months, like an experienced business owner making a grounded and responsible decision. But he can’t even search for Ford’s journals in this weather — he’s learned from his mistakes, his countless brushes with frostbite, throughout those cold, desperate months in the wake of the portal shutting down.

He’s useless right now, and worse, this season’s shaping up to be the bleakest yet. His usually-scammable neighbors have already lined their shelves with winter knicknacks from Mystery Shack visits past, and the bulk of Stan’s meager sales have come from shivering out-of-towners who’ve never tried to take a Pacific Northwest road trip in December before, and probably won’t be keen to try again.

What seasonal merchandise hasn’t he sold yet? Bumper stickers for miscellaneous holidays, maybe — but neither timely bumper stickers nor the usual selection of tchotchkes will convince people to visit the Shack in the first place, under these road conditions. He can’t even walk around selling merch door to door, for the same reason he can’t look for the other journals — he’d freeze to death, presuming he could make it through the snowdrifts to somewhere worth visiting in the first place. Even with snow chains on the Stanmobile’s tires and a bucket of salt in her trunk, grocery runs alone are perilous enough.

Damn it, Ford, he thinks, why couldn’t you have gone missing in Florida?

He could always do what he does best and lie, maybe — send out word that there’s free hot chocolate or something with every purchase at the Mystery Shack, and hope that people hand over their hard-earned cash before they pick up on the false advertising. He might draw in some local customers that way, and even if he loses their trust for the next few months, they always seem to forget about his cons eventually — as if he never scammed them, and they’ve never so much as heard the words caveat emptor.

He’s just about to dial the local paper’s number on the phone, hoping to flatter Toby into letting him run another ad for free, when he hears a telltale knock at the gift shop door. The bell atop that door doesn’t ring, which means that despite the hostile winds and snow they braved to get here, his visitors are still out loitering on the porch — or so Stan thinks for a moment, before it dawns on him that he doesn’t even remember unlocking the door this morning. He’d just been that pessimistic about even seeing a customer.

“Hello?” someone calls — a fairly young voice, probably approaching the tail end of puberty. “Are you there, uh…Mr. Mystery?”

“On my way!” Stan shouts, throwing on his fez and bolting for the door. His neighbors in Gravity Falls might forget and forgive a lot, but he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of a parent whose teenage kid froze to death on the local grifter’s doorstep, so he unlocks and flings open the door as fast as he can. “Welcome, travelers! Prepare to be baffled and bemused by our mind-boggling boreal mysteries, here at this last refuge at the edge of the Arctic we like to call the Cryptid Cabin!”

His visitor — no, his two visitors — both blink slowly, proving to at least be baffled, if nothing else. Both are bundled up in what Stan assumes to be several sheep worth of wool garments, lovingly knitted into sweaters, hats, and scarves.

“But you call this place the Mystery Shack,” the girl speaks up, and the boy nods.

“Yeah, and we’re nowhere near the Arctic! This is Oregon, not Alaska!”

Stan groans — the only customers he might see all week, and of course they’re teenagers. “Look, punks, business is slow these days! I’ve had a lot of time to think about a seasonal rebranding, and not a lot of chances to workshop it, alright?”

The teens’ expressions instantly soften, and the girl exclaims: “Well, you can workshop it with us!” She grabs the other kid — her brother? — by the hand, and pulls him into the gift shop.

Maybe Stan’s judged them too quickly — he’s still not thrilled to have strangers pitying him, of course, but he’ll take it over strangers mocking him any day of the week.

“Dang, you’re right,” the boy comments once inside, and face-to-face with shelves of untouched merchandise. “It really is empty in here in the winter.”

With little light coming in from the windows, and a flickering bulb overhead that will soon need replacing, the often-bustling room is now dim and eerie — aside from the junk food wrappers on the floor, which Stan hastily kicks under his desk.

“Look at all the lonely snowglobes in need of homes!” the girl pipes up, swiping a glass-encased antelabbit off the shelf and giving it a hearty shake. “Good thing I’m here to adopt this lucky little guy — how much is he?”

Stan takes a second to run the numbers — the maximum amount of money a teen would have on hand, versus what Stan needs to charge to make a profit — and replies: “Twenty-nine ninety-nine and nothing more. We don’t do sales tax here, ‘less you’re a cop.”

“Bet there’s a lot of other taxes you don’t do, either,” the boy snorts, rummaging through a shelf of hats until he unearths one with the old Murder Hut logo on it. “Aha! Now here’s a collector’s item!”

“Oh, did you come here before the rebrand and forget to grab a souvenir?” Stan asks. He doesn’t remember these two, but it’s been a couple years since he painted over the last Murder Hut sign — and they do seem pretty familiar with the building, not to mention Stan’s whole… business model.

“Oh, uh, that’s a funny story, actually! Real funny!” the boy stammers with a whole lot more trepidation than the topic should’ve warranted, and looks to his sister for help.

Sure enough, she steps in. “We lived here for a while — in Gravity Falls, I mean! Not here in the Shack, obviously — wouldn’t that be ridiculous, if we lived in your house for months without you knowing? Could you imagine —”

“That is to say, we still visit sometimes!” the boy supplies. His eyes are a whole lot more fixated on the snowglobes than with anything in Stan’s general direction. “You probably don’t remember us — we weren’t in town for very long, or anything…”

Stan sighs. They’re lying, obviously — but hey, there’s no cops in the Mystery Shack, and he doesn’t have a dog in whatever fight compelled the duo to spew this bullshit. He’ll keep an eye on the cash register, of course, but these kids are tolerable company when they’re not being suspicious as hell — so if they want to invent a bad cover story for a low-stakes tourist trap visit, more power to them.

“Well, the hat’s vintage, so that’ll be double price. Twenty bucks,” he announces matter-of-factly, and the boy groans — but there’s a smile behind it, like he’d expected this and now he’s just playing along. If there’s one thing Stan’s willing to believe, it’s that these kids have been to the Mystery Shack before.

“You’re a highway robber, old man, and I’m the coward who’s gonna let you get away with it,” the boy declares, and Stan can’t help but laugh. The kid reaches under several layers of sweaters to pull out a wallet, with a blue pine tree embroidered on, and miscellaneous charms of fantasy characters hanging off a chain on the side. Stan doesn’t recognize any of them, but they still tug at his heartstrings, because he can tell they’re the exact kind of nerdy references Ford would love.

He does take note of the pine tree design, though — it’s generic enough that slapping it on some shirts and hats wouldn’t quite be plagiarism, and in Stan’s eyes, those are always the best souvenir designs.

The kids put their money forward, hovering awkwardly as Stan rings up their items — the girl busies herself attacking a loose string on her brother’s scarf, nimble fingers tying it back in its approximate place, while the boy twiddles his thumbs and stares at the snowy, gray scene out the window. At the moment, only light flurries fill the air, but tomorrow night promises a blizzard… and Stan, grump with a soft side that he is, can’t help but hope that if these kids are really on vacation, then they aren’t planning to drive anywhere tonight.

With it being winter, and him running the business that he does, he doesn’t have much charity to give — but, if he’s going to play along with his customers’ little lie, then he should probably at least bring up the topic.

“You’re not hittin’ the road any time soon, are you?” He makes eye contact only with the green illustrated presidents in his hands, so not to come across as overly invested. “Weather forecast says tonight’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Aww, you’re worried about us?” the girl coos, because apparently both parties here are damn good at picking up on each other’s lies. “That’s so sweet — but you don’t have to be! Our great uncle’s waiting for us in town, and he’ll… well, let’s just say he’s planning to bring us back home before the blizzard hits.”

“He’s, uh — he lived here back in the seventies, so he knows what he’s doing,” the boy adds. “On the roads, that is. Mostly.”

“Well, you two take care,” Stan tells them, hastily adding on: “So you can come back when the weather isn’t terrible and buy more keychains, that is.”

“Oh, we will.” The boy grins, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his sister. “Maybe don’t count on it being next year — or the year after that, even — but you can count on it.”

“Well, uh…” Stan stops himself, resisting the impulse to divulge things he really shouldn’t. “You just shouldn’t count on me running this place forever. Be sure to get your novelty cryptid pins while they’re hot, y’know.”

He’s never really wondered what he’ll do with the Shack when he gets Ford back — and yes, he has to believe that statement deserves a when, not an if — but he figures the Shack’s fate will depend more on Ford’s own whims. If reality lands somewhere between the nightmares of Ford wanting him gone and the fantasies of finally sailing around the world, if Ford doesn’t hate him but still wants to spend more time with Important Science Experiments than with his brother, then Stan could see himself returning to a mediocre life in his moderately successful tourist trap… but with the search for the journals still coming up empty, Stan can only try not to think about the future, and accept that he’ll just cross — or burn — that bridge when he comes to it.

“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” the girl suddenly declares with a tone that frankly reminds Stan of his mother, “you look like you could use a pick-me-up!”

“What?” It’s starting to freak Stan out how well she can read him, and there’s no telling whether it’s just a sharp intuition, or something significantly more Gravity Falls-y. “If I look tired, kid, it’s because it’s December in Oregon, I haven’t seen the sun in a week, and I am tired. Only pick-me-up I need is for you to get out of my hair, and let me go back into hibernation like nature intended.”

“Okay, but counterpoint: you hear us out,” the boy insists. “We’ve got a little something up our sleeve to really light up your winter —” He winks at his sister. “Don’t we?”

“You bet we do!” She pulls a bag of marshmallows out of not her sleeve, but her backpack, and grins. “Prepare to be amazed and astounded by the natural wonders of this town, and also the miracle that is processed sugar and gelatin!”

“Are you imitating my sales pitches?” Stan asks, dumbfounded. “And do you carry those on you at all times?”

“In winter in Gravity Falls, I do!” the girl replies, already heading for the exit with her brother. “C’mon! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, nothing will!”

“We all know you’ve got time to spare, Stan,” the boy adds, cracking open the door. “Get a move on!”

“Spare time doesn’t mean I’ve got spare limbs to lose to frostbite,” Stan grumbles, but follows them anyway. There’s something captivating about these little punks — not so much this mysterious phenomenon they’re trying to sell him on, as if they could really out-charlatan Mr. Mystery himself, but rather the way they’re not put off by his frigid facade. They see right through him, showering him in alternating kindness and acerbic wit.

Stan can’t help but wonder if their uncle’s kind of like him — tired, bitter, and pretending to be indifferent, but secretly soft on the inside, like a marshmallow that’s burnt on the surface but melted within. It would explain why they’re so good at calling him on his shit — but then again, Stan and this mystery guy can’t be too alike, because if Stan had a niece and nephew like these two, he’s sure he’d be living his life a whole lot differently.

He exits the Shack, and all his questions are immediately replaced with new ones when he sees the teens just hurling marshmallows towards the edge of the woods. The wind’s in their favor, so some of those sugary little fuckers fly far.

“Okay, so I’ve already got a couple concerns,” Stan tells them, shivering. “First off, what the hell?”

“It might take a couple minutes before one shows up,” the girl admits, as if it’s a totally reasonable stand-alone explanation for whatever the hell’s going on here. With about a third of the marshmallows now blending into the snow on Stan’s lawn, she and her brother stop with the throwing, though they still hold onto the bag. “Our grunkle theorized that they move slower in winter, to save energy — oh wait, never mind! Here comes one now!”

“Sorry, what? And where?” Stan squints out into the woods, terrified to lay his eyes upon a woodland monster these kids just lured to his doorstep — but all he sees, at first, are a few wisps of smoke dispersing in the wind above the trees. He’s not even convinced it’s smoke, really, because these aren’t the right conditions for a fire — but to his surprise, he glimpses an orange light within the woods, glowing steadily brighter until the trees and bushes around it are all casting faint shadows.

When it steps into the clearing, Stan realizes he has seen something like it before, albeit only from the overcautious distance he tries to keep from all anomalies. It’s an otherwise normal campfire perched on wooden, spiderlike legs, and it melts a path in the snow as it trots forwards, then lowers itself to the ground to absorb the first of a dozen marshmallows.

It lets out a satisfied little sound — a low, steady crackle that sounds almost like a purr — then scampers up to the next morsel of food to repeat the process.

“It’s called a Scampfire!” the girl explains, beaming. “There’s a bunch of them out in the woods, and they’ll always wander over if you leave out enough campfire food — especially sugary stuff! Isn’t that cute?”

“Our great uncle figured out this amazing trick when he used to live here, and he passed it down to us!” the boy adds, practically bouncing up and down in place. “If you leave them a trail of food, they’ll follow you around until you run out — which means they can clear your driveway, warm your hands, even save your car if you drive into a snowbank! Or help you make s’mores, of course.”

“Our grunkle says he even skipped paying his heating bill a couple winters,” the girl adds with a grin, “but I dunno if we can recommend that in good conscience.”

As the scampfire draws a closer, continuing to purr as it consumes more of the sugary trail, the boy slaps a handful of marshmallows into Stan’s palm. “Give it a try!”

Stan’s not thrilled about bringing a fire onto the wooden porch attached to his wooden house, even as cute as said fire is, so instead he tosses his ammunition at something much more disposable — the golf cart, since if this one croaks, he can always just steal another from the insufferable rich family up on the hill. His aim isn’t great — he blames his cold fingers — but exactly one marshmallow lands right in the cart’s driver seat.

The scampfire breaks course from its path towards the Shack, clearing a path through the snow before it crawls into the cart, absorbing the final morsel and curling up atop crossed legs. Nothing explodes, and in fact, a few of the icicles on the awning start to melt, dripping water into the patch of bare muddy ground surrounding the cart.

“Huh,” Stan mutters. Dozens of harebrained schemes flash before his eyes — if he could find a slingshot, or even better, some kind of cannon to mount on the cart’s front hood, then he’s sure that with practice, he could entice some scampfires to clear a path through any snowdrift…

But no matter his exact solution, it’s a way to get into town consistently. He can finally go door-to-door selling knickknacks, instead of sitting in the gift shop every day and hoping some poor soul would get bored enough to brave the roads and visit. He can actually work out a way to line his pockets even in the winter, instead of constantly waking up from nightmares about getting foreclosed on —

“See? They get food, and we don’t freeze — classic mutualistic symbiotic relationship!” the boy declares, and his sister gently socks him in the arm.

“Nerd!”

“Hey, you knew that too! We’re in the same biology class!”

It’s familiar, but the kind of familiarity that Stan doesn’t treasure anymore. It’s more like the kind that he hides in the basement or in boarded-up rooms whenever he can, and grins and bears with a heavy heart when he can’t, like every time he looks in the mirror or hears someone call him Stanford. He comes so close to asking these teens if they’re twins, because he figures the answer can’t be worse than wondering — but the question dies in his throat, and he tells himself it’s for the best.

“Is your uncle who invented this trick the same one who’s waiting in town for you?” he asks instead.

“Yep!” replies the girl. “He probably won’t get worried about us for like, ten or fifteen more minutes, though — I’m sure he’s got his nose buried deep in a book right now.”

“Do me a favor and let him know he’s a lifesaver,” Stan says. “Also tell him I’m glad he moved out, because he sounds a little too smart to fall for the fake monster wares that I peddle.”

The kids exchange a look that Stan can’t even hope to comprehend, though he’s damn sure it’s worth a thousand words to the two of them. Twins or not, he’s getting an “inseparable” kind of vibe from these two, that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure he’d like the Shack at first,” the brother muses, “but I’ve got a hunch it would grow on him.”

“He does like cryptids — sometimes even fake ones!” the sister chimes in. “Oh, shoot — we still need to grab a souvenir for him! I knew we were forgetting something!”

“Huh.” Stan throws a few more marshmallows in the direction of the woods, and the scampfire stumbles off the cart before trotting along on its merry way back to the forest. “I can get you something, no problem — I don’t call this place a gift shop for nothing, y’know. But for the love of Paul Bunyan, let’s talk about it inside.”

He’s not great at mental math, but he doesn’t have to be to know he owes a lot to these teens and the mysterious uncle he might never meet. Hell, even forgetting the business perspective — he can actually look for the journals in winter without risking frostbite, if he gets one of his fiery neighbors to tag along. Even if he finds nothing, even if he only winds up with more failures to contend with, he’d rather rule out locations than be useless to Ford for months at a time.

None of this weird family that he might never see again, these three benevolent strangers that he can only put two faces to, could possibly know how much they’ve just changed for him — and he can’t tell them, as much as his oversized heart promises he can trust these snarky kids who remind him so much of himself. But he does owe them, so when he reenters the gift shop, he goes straight for a seldom-opened and never-advertised box of knickknacks that he has no intention of charging them for. It’s got the dimensions of only about two side-by-side shoeboxes, so he lifts it onto the counter with hardly a grunt, and opens it up.

“Got lots of goodies in here — mostly stuff that I made or, ahem, acquired in bulk, so they never quite sold out by the time everyone and their mother in town had already bought their own. Take a gander.”

He knows that gander will reveal some Murder Hut-branded shirts with the words written on in marker, plastic six-sided dice with a different cryptids pictured on each side, cheap whistles purported to attract Bigfoot, cheap flashlights once advertised for attracting Mothman, exactly three cool rocks that Stan found in the woods… and the pièce de résistance, a little wooden Mystery Shack-shaped music box, which chirps out a pleasant tune when Stan flips up the roof. That last one’s a rare knickknack that Stan really put effort into personally crafting, back at the height of last winter’s monotony, through cannibalizing parts of premade music boxes and sticking them into brand-new shapes — but he couldn’t sell them for enough to be worth the cost of making more, and could never sell this last one at all.

“Oh, wow!” the girl gasps, clearly delighted. “How can I even choose between —”

“No, take it all. It’s on the house — but don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you hear me? I’ll know if you blab, ‘cause people will start asking me if they can get free crap, too, and I don’t wanna hear a word of that nonsense.”

“Free stuff at the Mystery Shack?” The boy narrows his eyes. “Are you feeling okay, old man?”

“Kid, stuff only goes in the Free Bullshit Box when I can’t sell it anyway.” Stan crosses his arms with a huff, even though he’s technically telling the truth. “The only catch is take it before I change my mind.”

A sudden spark of recognition in the brother’s eyes morphs into a grin on his face, and he nods. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”

“I think our grunkle will love this! Especially the dice,” the sister adds. “Hey, maybe we could give all this to him piece by piece for Hanukkah! There’s enough here for a new surprise every night!”

“Whoa, there is! Man, the look on his face the first time we bring out a Bigfoot whistle is gonna be great —” The boys eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and he coughs into his hand. “But we should probably get a move on, huh? Don’t want to get caught in, y’know, the blizzard tonight.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Stan returns the lid and hands the box over. “You, uh, need a ride back to town? ‘Cause being a man of mystery and all, I know this neat trick to clear a whole road with just a bag full of marshmallows —”

The kids both start cackling, so hard that the box almost escapes the girl’s hands, and Stan laughs with them — not because he thought his joke was that funny, but because the kids’ laughter is absolutely priceless. The isolation’s definitely getting to his head and his heart, but he’ll take whatever reprieve he can get.

“I think we’ll manage on our own,” the boy finally wheezes out, “but thanks for the offer, Mr. Mystery. Thanks for everything, really.”

“See you later!” his sister adds as they leave. “Don’t let the feral gnomes bite!”

“You take care, too,” Stan replies, not nearly as loud — but he figures that the kids can read his lips. They can read so much about him, and know so much about the town, that he’s honestly a hair’s breadth away from assuming they’re two more anomalies from the woods themselves, just in more recognizable shapes than most…

Though if Stan’s honestly considering that theory, then more of Ford must’ve rubbed off on him than he likes to think about — which is to say, it’s a good a reason as any to stop thinking about it. What or whoever they were, the duo were actually pretty tolerable for teenagers, and Stan’s pretty sure they didn’t put a curse or whatever magic mumbo jumbo on him — because if they could manage that, they could definitely tell some less conspicuous lies, right?

He kinda likes the idea of one goddamn supernatural force in this town that’s actually benevolent, actually watching his back when his mood’s at its bleakest, and coming to his rescue with — no, he’s dropping that train of thought. No baseless hoping, just letting himself down easy before he gets up.

It does occur to him, several minutes after the gift shop door swings closed, that Hanukkah has already come and gone this year. Which probably just means the kids are prepared to hide that box for another twelve months… but maybe, when Stan finds the other journals, he’ll double-check for entries on helpful teenage cryptids who can’t lie. Just to be sure.

***

Mabel, Dipper, and Ford barrel into the living room so suddenly that Stan almost drops his mug of hot chocolate. They’re all covered in a ridiculous amount of snow, considering how briefly they were just outside, and Ford looks awfully delighted for someone whose glasses are someone whose glasses have just turned opaque with fog.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shouts. The cardboard box in her arms has seen better days, but she’s cradling it like an infant. “You’ll never guess when we just were!”

Dipper points a gloved finger in the air. “You mean, when we just — oh wait, did you already —”

“Yeah, I beat you to it this time!” Mabel pumps her fist. “Anyways, Grunkle Stan — you’ll never guess who we just visited!”

[rocorambles]

Let Me Show You How Much I Love You

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader 

Genre/Warning: Yandere, Implied/Slight NSFW, Implied Rape/Non-con, Violence, Abuse, Manipulation

Summary: Oikawa’s had years of practice of knowing exactly what to say to have you wrapped around his finger and with a sweet melody of reassurance, comfort, and love, you melt into his arms once again. Why had you even been afraid? Oikawa was just looking out for you because he loved you. And you loved him.

Requested by Anon

You sigh at the constant friction of faux fur brushing against your wrist and ankles as you shift until you find a comfortable position on the bed. You don't like being chained to a bed like some kind of glorified sex slave or pet, but it's better than the alternative. At least this means there's no hands constantly touching, no sickly sweet voice whispering in your ear, no presence physically hovering over you all the time. You'd take your current predicament over any of that, even if the blush pink color of the faux fur hand and ankle cuffs make you want to puke and gouge your eyes out.

It wasn't always like this. You remember when Oikawa and you first started dating. You had been so enamored by the handsome pro-athlete and easily agreed to hanging out with him over and over again until it just felt natural to officially couple up. He'd always been clingy, but back then you had eaten it up, loving the attention he always gave you. So what if he wanted to know what you were up to all the time? So what if he questioned you about every person you talked to or messaged? So what if he began to weedle his way into your life so much that it seemed like you two were attached at the hips? That just meant he loved and cared for you, right?

Things became a little strange after the two of you got married and started living together in Argentina. He followed you as soon as the two of you got out of bed, watching you as you got ready in the morning, insisting on shaving you and washing your hair and body for you. He even insisted on cutting your nails for you. Whenever you were in the kitchen and about to cook something, he'd nudge you away from the stove and never let you near anything remotely sharp, insisting he'd cook for the both of you. Every time you brought up learning the local language and finding a job to keep yourself occupied and bring in some extra income, he’d just chuckle at you and insist his hefty salary was more than enough to support the two of you and your beginner language books would mysteriously disappear the next day. But you were so lost in the honeymoon phase of your marriage that you just let it all slide with a giggle, convinced he was just that in love with you and that he just didn't want you to lift a finger. 

It wasn’t until one day while you had been taking a stroll around your neighborhood hand-in-hand with your lover that you began to realize Oikawa’s behavior might not be as innocent as you had thought. You had been distracted while looking down at your phone and didn’t notice the uneven sidewalk in front of you until you tripped and sprained your ankle. You hiss in pain as you try standing up, only to slump into Oikawa’s arms, your swollen ankle unable to support your weight. He lifts you in his arms as he walks back home and you curl into his chest, looking up into his face expecting to see worry and warmth, but you flinch when he doesn't even look down at you or say a single comforting word. 

The tension between the two of you grows thicker and thicker with every step you take until you feel like you’re suffocating as he gently places you on your bed. You try to sit up and reach out to the brunette, but you yelp when he roughly shoves you back down to the mattress, fury raging in his eyes. “You’re not leaving this bed unless you absolutely have to, unless I’m with you watching over you. Look at you. You can’t even walk without getting hurt!” Stunned speechless, you just stare at him as he then grabs your phone and shoves it in his pocket claiming he needed to keep it away from you for your safety because ‘it’s a dangerous distraction’. Rage lances within you and you try to lunge at him in an attempt to retrieve your device, but you cry in pain when a strong grip wraps around your injured ankle. 

Ice cold fear begins to freeze the fire burning within you and you shiver as you stare into chocolate brown eyes. You stiffen as he finally releases your ankle and joins you on the bed, but Oikawa’s had years of practice of knowing exactly what to say to have you wrapped around his finger and with a sweet melody of reassurance, comfort, and love, you melt into his arms once again. Why had you even been afraid? Oikawa was just looking out for you because he loved you. And you loved him.

A few days pass and you yawn as you flip through a book Oikawa has chosen for you. You look at the clock on the wall as your stomach growls. He’s late and you haven’t eaten since he left much earlier that morning. You know he wants you to stay in bed until he’s back, but surely he wouldn’t mind if you grabbed a light snack, right? Confident the man you love wouldn’t want you to be hungry, you gingerly make your way to the kitchen, limping on your good ankle. You're slicing some cheese to go with the crackers on the counter when the sudden opening of the front door startles you and you slightly nick your finger with the knife in your hand. Grimacing, you quickly reach for a paper towel to wipe the blood just as your husband enters your home and sees you. 

You turn to cheerily greet him home, but you recoil at his clenched jaw and the way he grits his teeth. “Why are you out of bed?” Your mouth opens and you try to stutter a response, but his eyes narrow at the crimson spot forming on the makeshift bandage around your finger. It only takes him a couple of long strides before he’s grabbing your wrist and dragging you back to your shared bedroom. You try to tug your arm back, telling him to slow down as shards of pain jar you with each step you tack on your bad ankle, telling him to soften his grip as you begin to lose feeling in your hands from the lack of circulation. But he doesn’t even acknowledge you as he continues to haul you until you’re once again slammed back down on your cushioned prison. 

You barely recognize the man on top of you anymore as his face twists in malice and venom coats every word that leaves his mouth. “I told you to stay in bed and look at what happened because you didn’t listen!” You panickedly stutter that it was just a small cut and that there’s nothing to worry about, but your voice breaks off in an agonized scream as he latches onto your injured ankle and begins to twist it. “I can’t trust you to listen to me. I can’t trust you to keep yourself safe. You’ve given me no choice. I’m going to make sure you can’t move without me.” You hardly have the time to register what exactly he’s implying before there’s a resounding cracking sound and you howl as a pain you’ve never experienced before envelops you. Needless to say, you don’t move an inch off that bed as your broken ankle struggles to repair itself. 

The next two months are agonizing. You’re finally seeing Oikawa for what he really is and you begin to loathe the feeling of his skin against yours. Words that used to be so soothing to you now make you curl in on yourself in disgust. Actions that used to be comforting now feel smothering. But what choice do you have? You can’t do anything by yourself and you just slump helplessly as he carries you from room to room, as his hands linger too long on you in the shower, as he thrusts into you night after night. The only freedom you have is your tears and you quietly weep when his arms entrap you and he raves on and on about how much he loves you and how everything he does is for you. 

Hope begins to thrum within you when your ankle fully heals and your mind starts planning, strategizing, thinking as soon as you're given the all clear by the doctor. You don’t even fight Oikawa as he insists on still carrying you around despite the fact that you’re more than capable of walking yourself and you’re still lost in thought when he deposits you onto your bed. It’s only the slam of a drawer and the scent of Oikawa far too close to you that has you looking up and when you see what’s in his hands, you immediately scramble away, trying to put as much distance between you and the monster next to you as you can. 

When Oikawa reflects on the moment, he’ll admit you put up a good fight. You got a few strong jabs in and one solid kick and your nails left quite the marks on him. But it doesn’t take him long to restrain you and you whimper in humiliation at the furry, pink hand and ankle cuffs now adorning your limbs and spreading you on full display for hungry eyes. You clench your eyes in denial as Oikawa coos at you telling you how pretty you look for him, how good you’ll be for him and when he forcefully brings you to your peak over and over again that night, you feel something inside of you break as you lie there and take what he gives you.

Your trip down memory lane comes to a screeching halt as your bedroom door swings open. You don’t even bother turning your head, instead choosing to close your eyes as an all too familiar pair of lips affectionately capture yours. “I missed you, Y/N-chan.” You shudder as a lean, muscular figure situates itself between your legs. “Let me show you how much I love you.”