#and accident or not I too would be rather ticked off

[unicornblossom13]

Optimus [after Bumblebee runs him over]: That little bot is in BIG trouble.

[bunny-jpeg]

bulk

capt. john price

cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, rugby player!price, age gap (20s/40s), size difference/kink, rough sex, doggy style, headlock (slight choking), dirty talk & degrading language, breeding kink, is this ticking off boxes for anyone?

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john price was a big man. almost ten years playing professional rugby for the english team, he had bulked up since his early years on the team.  thick muscle and a nice softness over top. he was strong, able to carry all the groceries inside of your shared flat and also get his hulking frame across the field with ball in hand. he was also hairy, patches of hair across his chest down to his belly, didn't mention all the pubic hair between his legs. it obscured a lot of his tattoos that he had gotten over the years, like your name over his heart and his jersey number at his thigh (you knew you'd get too hot if you thought about his thighs too much).  you once told him, with your tongue loose with alcohol that it was the ideal male body. that these ‘dehydrated poor excuses of men’ needed to drink water and eat some carbs. 

price was a man's man. you knew the first time you fucked him, that you'd never ever fuck with those limp dicked boys at your university. you got addicted to the feeling of a real man, one who know exactly how to make your eyes roll back and your tongue hang out, panting heavily like a good bitch you were.

post-game price was your favourite shade of john price. you could feel his electricity while in the passenger seat of the car after the match. when he pulled out of the parking lot, he placed his large hand on your thigh. he played with the edge of your skirt and kept his eyes on the road. you could tell that the wheels in his head were turning. 

  “honey?”

  “been thinkin', love.” he said as his fingers edged up your skirt a little more. like he was a teen boy rather than a forty year old man. he was teasing you, knowing that there would be no way you could both fuck in the back of his car. even it was an expensive vehicle, it would be a tight fit for such a large man and his smaller wife. 

you looked at him and said, “never a good thing for a man to think.” you giggled then yelped when he gripped your thigh suddenly. 

he chuckled a little as he continued to drive, “thinkin' about makin' a baby.” he licked his top lip, “i ain't gettin' any younger, love. and you're almost done school, so i think it's high time we start makin' a family.” his words were honey in your brain. it made you squirm. your much bigger, much older husband was asking for you to make a baby with him. 

  “someone's got baby fever.” you giggled as you placed your hand over his. the air of the car grew warmer, which made price open the window a little.  you squeaked a little bit when he gripped you harder. you felt your heart rate pick up at the feeling of his large hands on you.

he chuckled a little, as he looked at you briefly while at a stop light. he leaned in to kiss you, “of course. part of me's been thinkin' about you walking across the stage at your graduation with my little brat in your belly.” then looked back to start driving again. 

you rubbed your thighs together and felt wet at your core. you couldn't deny your husband, plus you had been subject to baby fever as well. maybe it was your body screaming for your lover. to have a part of him in you. and it wasn't like you two were being the most safe, so accidents could've happened. once back at your flat, you weren't in your clothes for long. 

price had practically ripped your skirt off of you and those large paws he called hands were groping at your plush ass with his lips on your neck.  you could feel his hard cock inside of his white briefs. the pre cum leaked through the fabric as he humped against you. he said in a heated tone, “i need it. i need her.” while made you moan then try to get your bra and panties off. you felt the heat rising in your skin, it was painfully hot for you. it excited you in ways that left you feeling hot all over. 

  “how badly, honey?”

he pulled you right up against him, his clothed cock digging into your abdomen, “more than anythin'. i need ‘er.  i need ’er stuff full. want it to smell like me for months. and if it doesn't, i'll just fill 'er up again.” he slapped your ass and watched you moan with your back arched. he groped the cheek one last time before he took his naked wife to the bedroom. 

his clothes were tossed to the side too, the t-shirt from the rugby league and basketball shorts. once everything was off, you admired your lover for a long moment. seeing all the heft and hair on him. his body that was so strong that he could easily crush you in his bicep or between his thighs. it made your core throb as you got into bed. 

  “nah, nah.” price said as he got onto the bed and grabbed your hips, “i need a deeper angle, somethin' to really show her i love you.” then patted your pussy before he gripped onto your hips once more and turned you onto your stomach. he then angled your hips up then dragged a finger across your achy slit. he chuckled, “there she is.” then leaned in to give your slick cunt a little blow, watching your hole flutter.

  “mmm please, honey.” you arched your back as you felt your husband so close to you. your hulking husband who only hours earlier was running across the field, fighting his way through the other team. his strong legs carried him and you were sitting in the stands with your thighs pressed together with need. 

price replied, “i know, i know. i know you need me” he rubbed his achy cock up against your slit, “always so good for me. knew for the moment i met ya that i wanted ya for the rest of my days.” there was an age gap between you two, but in all fairness, it turned you on even more. knowing that this handsome older man wanted to make sure that his cock was buried in you. 

when he pressed into you, your back arched. you gasped heavily into the covers as he lifted your hips further to get a better angle to sink into you. he laid over top of you, his fuzzy body up against your back. he pressed his weight onto you and kept that heavy cock of his snug inside of you. you groaned loudly, muffled by the pillows under your head. 

  “honey.” you whined as you felt the ache of his cock so deep in you. 

he got one of his hefty arms around your throat, keeping you further pinned against the bed. it wasn't hard enough to choke the lights out of ou. but enough to have pressure that made your head swim. it all felt so good and just just started. your voice was strained when price started to rut against you. his pace wasn't fast like a young stallion, but they were hard. every thrust of his hips were lazily slow but hit the back of your pussy perfectly. his cock had a thickness to it, you had carried rolls of ground beef that weighed less than his cock. not to mention the forest of pubic hair anf his breeder balls. he was a perfect man, body and all. he  took you so well. 

  “she likes me.” he said, “your pretty cunt. i bet you were thinkin' about me on the field. all dirty and roughed up, yeah. bet you wished i fucked ya right in the locker room. let the boys hear how i make my girl feel. bruise that poor pussy of yours.” he said, words hot in your heat. it made sweat settle over you.

you whimpered a little against the covers, “please, john. ah!”

he continued to fuck you, his pace was aggressive and it made you see stars. his arm was still around your throat and you could feel your pulse in your jaw. he left messy kisses on your face, leaving your cheek wet. you whimpered and clenched around his cock which only made him fuck you harder. you were such a good little wife for him. being so good to your man while he wrecked your sweet little hole. 

  "honey! please! you whimpered as you arched your back, but didn't get far due to the impressive size of your lover. you felt pinned under him, his strength. you gasped out another noise as the blunt head of his cock kept bullying your sweet insides. letting it make a huge mess of you, his cock was soaked in your wetness. it dripped down his hairy balls. he loved making his girl feel good. 

he continued to kiss your face, not quite getting your lips. his facial hair brushed against your heated skin and made you over sensitive. his mouth kept running as he kept moving. he felt hot all over, like a heat in his gut as he battered your sweet insides, “my perfect woman.  know how to take me so well. meant to take me. givin' me the privilege to make you a mama. ya like that? showin' up to uni with a little extra next semester. my dutiful little wife. keepin' up her studies while she nursing my babe.” he chuckled as he continued to keep that pussy of yours nice and filled. 

you gasped and moaned into the covers. you could be as loud as you wanted, you were in the safety of your bedroom as price rutted against you. your body was sweaty and your head was swimming. it was so painfully erotic, you felt hot all over. your heart thumped in your chest with a heavy beat as price kept moving against you. 

  “you're lucky you have the ring already. if your classmates saw you with a nice round middle, they might have gotten the wrong idea about you. that you're a dirty slag who can't keep her legs closed.” he chuckled as he licked down the sweat on the side of your neck, “dirty bird. but it's alright, we're married. you're my wife. mrs. jonathan price. about time you got a little one in your belly.” he pressed further into you and it made your head spin. his cock felt like it was pressing into your stomach. 

  “i love you.” you panted.

he finally kissed your lips, or at least the corner as he tightened his hold around your throat, “i love ya too, sweet thing. lettin' my cock bully your sweet insides. made for me, all of me. don't worry, be keepin' that womb warm for a long time. hope ya like 'em big, price boys can be a handful.” he laughed as he kissed the back of your neck. 

he was fully crowded in your space as he worked your sweet pussy. you barely had time to think before you felt the flash of orgasm through your body. it was like being engulfed in a quick heat while your body tensed up and your mind went blank. your pussy drooling on his cock, beckoning him to finish inside of you. 

a good husband always finishes in his wife. 

with a few more heavy thrusts against your limp body price finished inside of you. he pushed his cock all the way inside of you and made sure that your hips were at an angle that made it easier for you to get pregnant. he clutched onto you as he slowed down to a stop. your eyes rolled back a little as he pulled out. the loss of pressure made you whine. you weren't able to form any proper thoughts, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as your husband rolled you onto your back and kissed you deeply on the lips. 

no need to think, mrs. price. let your rugby playing husband do all the decision making. <3

[midnighmoonligh]

Can you maybe write Ghost + Child Regressor Reader who had an accident and got scared that Ghost would get angry or be disgusted? :3 You're one of the only people who write COD with a regressor reader and I love it!! 🩷

A/N

Ironically I had just been finishing up a oneshot book I made with this concept! This is just a chapter of it 🫶. If you want to read more I have the entire store post on wattpad here! Hope you enjoy overall and thank you for your request!

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Fandom

Call of Duty

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Characters

Y/N ; 17 ; Gender Neutral ;; They/Them ; little

Simon " Ghost " Riley ; 31 ; He/Him ; CG

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⚠Content Warnings⚠

Violence, War stuff, COD yk. Potty accident & internally shaming of self!

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A sudden anxious urge washed over you. You tossed and turned over the covers you had not put on yourself. You were trying to go back to sleep, but instead found yourself awake anyway. With a huff, your eyes finally peeled open. You looked out the window to your left, enjoying how pretty the moon looked tonight with the way the snowy clouds dropped layer after layer. The window seal was covered in snow, making it pile up on the sides to reach higher. You found it pretty, peaceful.

Until you felt it.

You felt a strange wetness, almost coldness too. Well, it was warm in some spots cold in others. When you shifted, the jeans you had fallen asleep in stuck to you. You froze in place at it.

The seconds ticked by as you began to process what happened. The anxiety you had felt when you were refusing to wake before hit you like a train when it had clicked. It was suffocating, quickly becoming hard to breathe as you process how embarrassing it was.

You had wet the bed.

You've never done that before, genuinely. You didn't understand what had happened and god you rather shrivel up and die than really acknowledge what had happened. You suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes darting across the room. First, they focused onto the alarm clock placed on the suspiciously chewed up night stand. The clock read 3:48 am. It was really early, or late depending on your standards.

Then your eyes fell onto Johnny and Simon. Both were now settled into the air mattress on the floor. You've never actually seen them sleeping together, so it was a bit of a shock to find Simon without his mask and laying on his side toward the door. John was also on his side, but pressed against his larger partners back with an arm tossed over his side in a loose hold. They had about four or five blankets tossed on then, most leaning toward the larger man in the bed.

You shook that shock from your mind since you confirmed that they were asleep still. With a shaking body, you began to rip off the sheets from the bed, tossing the blankets onto the floor at the foot of the bed since that was the only space free. You grabbed a spare pair of pants and underwear before scrambling out of the room. You'd worry about searching for new sheets later. For now, you went around as quiet as physically possible searching for the laundry room. You found it on the main floor, in the hallway under the upstairs. It was a small space, had a door too.

When entering, you closed it and turned the lights on. The sudden brightness made you flinched, but with the tears quickly filling your eyes you needed it to see better. You tossed the bedding onto the floor, the clean clothes on the surface of the dryer. Then you opened up the washer, happy to see it empty. With that being confirmed, you began to stuff the bedding into it. You were clumsy, feeling that fuzzy headspace wash over you as you berated yourself in your mind. Insult after insult, you didn't hold back on yourself. You couldn't believe you had done this. It was definitely a new one for the books, one you hoped to take the secret of it to your grave.

Suddenly, the laundry room door opened.

" What are you doing? " Simon's exhausted voice rumbled out from deep within in chest.

It scared you, making you visibly jump. He had caught you mid struggling to shove the thick sheets into the machine. You were quickly loosing your usual motor skills as you fell further into that, normally, comforting headspace.

" Um- I, uh, spilled somethin, " you told Simon awkwardly while trying to shove the bedding harder into the washer.

Ghost's expression was a mix of exhaustion and irritation as he observed the mess in front of him. It was evident that Ghost was already in a bad mood, and your little accident likely added to that.

" What the hell did you spill? " He sighed, moving closer to you and reaching out to take the sheets from your trembling hands.

You flinched as the bedding was taken from your shaking hands. You sniffled as quietly as you could manage while stepping back. Now you knew it was a matter of time before Simon smelled it. You stared at the floor in shame. The anxiety of the fact of what had happened hammering through you harshly. You've never done it before, it scared you.

" Don't remember, " you mumbled.

Simon's frustration was palpable, and as he picked up the damp bedding, his expression darkened. The smell of the accident clung to the sheets, and while not the most pleasant, he has endured far worse on the battlefield.

" Bloody hell, " he muttered as he looked down at the sheets in his hand before giving them a rough twist and shoving them into the washer. " I hope this was a one-off, " he said gruffly as he reached over and turned the washing machine on.

You continued to stare at the floor of the laundry room. You still wore soiled pants, tears spilling over uncontrollably while you wished you could just sink into the ground and completely disappear from shame. You didn't reply to Simon, deciding it was likely better not to.

Simon made sure the washer door closed properly before turning it on. Then he turned around and saw the tear stains on your face. His annoyance softened slightly, replaced by a mixture of surprise and concern. He crouched down to be more on your level, knowing it tended to comfort you when agere-related things happened.

" Hey," he placed a hand on your shoulder, "look at me, " he requested as gently as he could manage. It helped you realize his frustration was more at being awake, not directed toward you. Although it ate at you, you did lift your head for him. You blinked heavily at him so you could see him clearly. This caused your tears to practically pour.

" You know this is not your fault, right? Even the big boys have accidents sometimes, it's part of life. I'm not mad about the sheets, just... just be careful in the future, okay? "

Shock quickly washed over you. He was comforting you, not scolding you? It was gross what you had done, yet he was being so patient and sweet. You didn't deserve this, at least that's what you had convinced yourself. Despite what you told yourself, you did deserve this. You deserved every ounce of his love and affection.

" 'm sorry, " you mumbled up, raising your arms up to wipe your face even if it wasn't worth the effort. The words seemed to make you crumble. " Don know what happened, " you hiccuped as you began to cry freely at last.

Seeing you break down, Simon sighed and pulled you in for a hug. He held you tightly. It didn't feel right or fair, especially when you were still wearing gross clothes. It made you feel more guilty as much as you wanted the comfort.

" Don't apologize, it's okay, " he mumbled against your shoulder and slowly rubbed your back in soothing circles. " Sometimes these accidents happen and no one's to blame, " he said with a softer tone as he tried to soothe you. " Let's get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, yeah? "

" 'm gross, " you whined quietly, squirming in Simon's hold to get away from the hug. " 'm sorry, " you added, soon hiccuping out a sob.

Simon sighed, his annoyance returning as he tightened his hold. He wasn't as patient as John, unfortunately for you both.

" You're not gross. You just had an accident, it happens to everyone," he said firmly, hoping it would get through to you this time. "Now let's get you cleaned up, silly bug. "

With that said, he picked you up in a strong but gentle grip. Being picked up us 100% you're weakness, something you had found our several months ago. Mostly because Johnny absolutely loved carrying you around. In his arms, you slumped against him and calmed your crying faster than you'd care to admit. You buried your face into a mixture of his shoulder and chest, your favorite spot. Simon had turned off the laundry room light before leaving. He was quiet as he walked through the hallway, only a few steps before pushing obathroom downstairs bathroom door. He continued to hold you as he pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. While standing there, he tested the water to make sure it didn't get too hot or cold.

It made you nervous, hoping that no one would be woken by the sound. The last thing you wanted to explain was your regression to John's family, let alone the fact you had an accident in the bed as a, now, 17-year-old. You didn't even want to tell Johnny.

Simon seemed to pick up on your nerves and spoke up, " Don't worry, Johnny's a deep sleeper and the others usually mind their own business. The shower won't disturb them," he said as he gently set you onto your feet. " Do you want help? "

You nodded without missing a beat. Both pair always made sure to ask, which helped in general. Even if sometimes the asking for permission to do something got a little out of hand. Without missing a beat, Simon began to help you out of your pants. He's become a pro at helping you with closed eyes too. You held onto his forearms for support while doing your part to get them off.

He knew how vulnerable you were feeling, so he spoke softly to soothe your nerves. " You're okay, " he repeated as he helped you step into the shower, clothes now disguarded safely. " Let's get you cleaned up, alright? You'll feel much better once you're clean. "

You hiccuped quietly and sniffled as you pulled the curtain of the shower closed. Simon waited patiently outside the shower, likely standing half leaning against the bathroom sink like he usually did at home. You did your best to bathe yourself, but you kept dropping the soap bottles and just about everything you tried to hold. The sound of it hitting the tile floor kept making your flinch. You felt so little, making it hard to control this bigger body of yours.

" It's okay, take your time, " Simon spoke up from the other side of the curtain, " You're doing great. "

The praise helped you. You sniffled and did your best. Somehow, you managed to not drop stuff as much. It did still happen, just not as frequently. When you finally finished, you turned off the water and peeked out from the curtain.

" Towel? " you mumbled quietly.

Simon's expression softened as he saw your clean face peeking out from behind the shower curtain. " Yeah, " he said gently, stepping closer to the shower and handing you a soft white towel. " All clean, eh? Good job. "

He remained nearby as you dried off, making sure you were comfortable and giving you a small smile of reassurance.

You to on the towel when it was offered, soon disappearing back behind the curtain to dry off. When you felt you were finished, you wrapped the fluffy towel around yourself then carefully got out of the shower. It wasn't an easy task, barely trusting yourself to not slip right now. However, with Simon keeping an eye on you, you didn't feel as anxious about it. You stood in the bathroom, shivering now from how cold you were without the warm water.

Simon looked around before spotting a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It had one of John's sister's names on it, so he just grabbed it and plopped it onto you.

" Here, use this for now. "

" is okay? " you whispered as you wiggled around a bit to tie it in place and free yourself of the towel. It was big on you, not that you minded. Though you quickly noticed the ducks on it in a few spots. It made you giggle, so you showed him too.

" Oh that's cute, " Simon told you with a nod. He may not have agreed, but you didn't really care that much. " And yes it's okay, we're just borrowing it. "

You nodded slowly at that information. Taking his offered hand, he lead you all the way upstairs and back to John's childhood room. Much to your surprise, he was awake and laying on the air mattress, just on his phone. He blinked a few times when he noticed you two come in. First you, then Simon. He made sure to shut the door behind you two.

" Everything okay? " Johnny asked, quietly and gently.

You only nodded, looking to Simon who did the same. He didn't say a word. That much made you feel relieved and genuinely cared for.

" I noticed the sheets on the bed were gone, so I put a fresh pair on, " John told them while turning his attention back to his phone.

Nothing was added nor asked. It relieved you. Simon shuffled with you to the foot of both the beds, where there was a lot more space to comfortably stand.

" Anything you want to wear in particular? " he asked as he tugged open a drawer of the dresser in the closet. You quickly noticed the same, probably bite marks, all over the wooden furniture.

" 'm dunno, " you mumbled as you lifted your hand, soon chewing on your fingers. You just felt the need to have something to chew on.

" Hmmm, " Simon hummed as he shuffled through the clothes. " How about some sweatpants? I'll let you wear one of my shirts if you want. "

You paused your chewing to blink at you, even catching John look up from his phone in the corner of your eye. It had surprised you both. Simon was not a big clothes sharer, well willingly.

" Really? " you asked, sounding a tad more excited than you had meant to.

" Sure, why not, " he shrugged.

" kay! " you agreed, nodding your head and even bouncing a little.

It made him smile. In return you found yourself smiling too.

After getting dressed, with some help too, you ended up snuggling into the air mattress with Simon and Johnny. You were squished between them, though comfortably. John was still on his phone, smiling contently while he did whatever it was he was doing.

" Comfortable? " Simon has asked, getting you to look at him. You nodded after, moving to your side to face him then cuddling into his chest. He pulled one of the blankets to be around you better. " Good, " he sighed contently.

" Just relax now, we've got you, " he whispered before yawning and settling down himself.

You gently tugged on his shirt, making him look down at you. He looked barely awake, yet he still wanted to make sure you had everything yih needed.

" 'm wan 'm paci, " you mumbled you him, moving to chew on your thumb to emphasize what you wanted. He frowned.

" Not sure we packed it kiddo, sorry, " he told you sadly, hand rubbing your back.

You shook your head, shifting a little to your back to point to your backpack still settled in front of the nightstand.

" You packed it? " Simon questioned with surprise peeking on his tone.

" Mhm, " you admitted shyly. Yet, he was clearly proud of you with the way he squeezed you into a hug. Then he pulled out a spare pillow and smacked John with it.

" What on EARTH-" John yelped louder than he really should've.

" Y/N's pacifier is in their bag right next to your head. "

" Oh. "

John turned over to face where the bag was, tugging it over then shuffling through it. Soon, he turned over to face you both, showing off the prized pacifier he had fished out. You rolled to your back, opening your mouth for him to nicely place it in. Happily, you chewed on it. You didn't really move from there, clearly soothing yourself into such a sleepy state it was hard to move.

" So sweet, " the scot cooed as he shuffled over. He brushed some of your hair from your face, then snuggled up to you and Simon.

Judging by how quiet the older of you three are being, you figure he fell asleep at last.

" Better not kick in your sleep, " the younger man teased you. You huffed at him playfully, making him smile wider. " Okay okay, try to get a bit more sleep. Sure we'll all be up in a few more hours if you can't, " he told you, soon yawning too.

You caught the yawn, making him absolutely beam. He laid his arm over you, just above where Simon's was. Soon after, you were both falling back asleep together.

[ranhaitanisgf]

🤺back🤺🤺🤺back i say🤺🤺 it’s my turn to request something for hana’s event🤺

may i please request a scenario with baji + flower shop in which he goes to buy his mom flowers as an apology but doesn’t know what to get, so he just picks out random flowers that actually mean everything except “i’m sorry” so you help him out?

by the way, you don’t have to write this part, but i just thought it would be cute if he develops a crush on you and you see him at a different flower shop buying a small bouquet and you think he’s betraying you, but later he shows up at your shop, awkward and stiff, with that same bouquet to ask you out because his mom said that’s the proper way to do it. just wanted to share that little add-on with you!!

— baji keisuke // flower shop // love at first sight

☆ ˎˊ˗ heyyy ... arba idk if ur still active IM SRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG i disappeared D: we miss u come back ... also this idea was sooo cuteeee arghjhghjghjhg i actually went soo overboard w this but it was too good!!

☆ ˎˊ˗ fem!reader implied

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 2.2k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

you’d had your eye on him since he’d walked into the store. 

it wasn’t for any particular reason aside from the fact that he seemed to be feeling wholly out of place, which made you giggle a bit as he shuffled around, muttering and grumbling to himself as he awkwardly looked at different bouquet arrangements. 

he definitely didn’t seem like the type to be buying flowers either; his long dark hair and overall brusque demeanor didn’t exactly give you the impression that he was someone who would go around buying flowers, (and was that him that pulled up on a literal motorcycle?! he seemed like he was around your age!!). 

under normal circumstances you would have gone up to assist, but you decided to sit back and see how this boy was going to play this one out, (he was really cute, but if a cute boy like him was in a flower shop, he was undoubtedly buying flowers for his girlfriend). it was quite the entertaining spectacle to see him walking around, his eyebrows pinched together as he tried to find something that he found suitable. at one point, he even seemed to phone someone for help, though he hung up rather quickly after yelling that he definitely was not buying flowers!!

after minutes and minutes of walking around, he finally picked up two bouquets of flowers; geraniums and tansies. you had to restrain your laughter as he walked up to the register, damn near shaking to keep yourself from bursting out into giggles. 

“d-did you find everything, pff--ahem! did you find everything alright today?” you had let your giggles slip through on accident, and even though you tried to cover it up with a cough, you could tell that it failed immensely from the ticked off look on the boy’s face. 

“you’ve got a lot of nerve to be laughin’ at me-” he started, the deep tone of his voice taking you off guard. 

“n-no! i’m not really laughing at you per se…well, kind of.” you tried to explain. “see, okay, do you know what flower language is?” the boy quirked an eyebrow at this, giving you the sort of look that says go on. “well, it gives flowers different meanings, y’know? so unless you’re trying to pick a fight, i really wouldn’t suggest using these flowers.” 

“...what do they mean?” 

“geraniums and tansy flowers together…you would be calling the person stupid and then be declaring war on them.” the boy’s amber eyes widened, his lips pressing together in a thin line as his brows furrowed together once more. “if you’d like, i can suggest flowers with a more…caring meaning for your girlfriend.” the boy’s eyebrows shot up at your words, making you wonder if you’d said something wrong. 

“girlfriend? these’re for my mom.” 

“oh! sorry, i just assumed-ah, never mind. now, let me see…” you stood up from your seat, gathering the flowers in front of you in your arms and coming out from behind the counter. after you put the flowers back, you looked around for a moment, a few ideas floating through your mind. 

“hmm, why are you getting her flowers?” 

“...’cause…” he mumbled a bit, making you lean in a bit. 

“what was that?” 

“‘c-cause! i made her cry…” despite the fact that his voice had raised a little bit, all you could sense from him was embarrassment and shame, especially from the look on his face, (he almost looked like a kicked puppy). the sight made you smile softly; it wasn’t often that you got genuine customers like this, so you were going to make it your mission to help him. 

“alright, give me one moment…” your eyes flicked throughout the store, taking a few moments to weigh different options before making a decision. you ended up grabbing three bouquets; white tulips, daffodils, and some small filler greenery with bits of baby’s breath. 

you walked back behind the counter, setting the bouquets down in front of you. the black-haird boy had followed you aimlessly around the store, eventually ending up back in front of the register. there was a kind of quiet curiosity in his eyes as he watched your practiced movements, (truthfully, you weren’t used to someone watching you do bouquet arrangements with such an intent stare). 

“i’m doing this for you right now because i want to help you, but for future reference, you usually have to call ahead a day or two for this.” a smile played on your lips as you unwrapped the flowers in front of you, glancing up a bit to look at the boy. 

it was only for a moment, but his amber gaze staring right at you caught you off guard, making your heart skip a beat. you immediately looked back down, busying your hands and trimming the leaves off of the flowers. the rest of your work was done in silence; trimming the end of the flower stems, arranging them in a way that looks pleasing, opening some of the flowers to match the rest. it was relaxing work, so much so that you almost forgot about the boy in front of you. 

almost. 

the whole time you were working you could feel his gaze on you, looking up a few times just to look back down immediately. you felt a little bit anxious throughout the process, hoping that he would deem your work acceptable enough for his mom, (your anxiousness was also from the fact that a very cute boy was watching you, but that was aside from the point). 

you finished the final step, delicately wrapping the flowers in a thick brown paper and securing them in place with the tie of a thick ribbon. 

“there, all set! what do you think?” you asked cheerily, admiring the flowers you had put together. in your mind, you thought it looked pretty good, but it wasn’t your opinion that mattered here. 

“yeah…they look good.” 

“yay! i’m glad you like them!” you handed the bouquet over to him, a rush of happiness flooding through you at his approving words. “i hope you’ll come again!” 

“wait, how much was this?” he started to pat around his pockets for his wallet, but you shook your head. 

“don’t worry about it, it’s on me! just make sure to come back if you need more flowers, though i hope it’ll be for a better reason!” 

“i will…” he stared at you for a moment, a questioning look in his eyes. “hey, if you keep looking at me like that i’m going to take it back, so go apologize to your mom!” you ushered, waving bye to him. 

“thanks.” if you weren’t looking closely, you probably would have missed the small smile on his face before he left. 

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

“isn’t that…” you squinted a bit, walking a few steps closer to get a better view. sure enough, there he was! the same black-haired amber eyed boy who you had helped last week, in another flower shop!! 

“oh my god, that total traitor!!” you huffed. “i told him to come back if he needed more flowers…” you watched as he got handed a bouquet of flowers, shaking your head in disdain. when you saw him head for the exit, you immediately panicked, scrambling away from the scene and jogging the whole way back to your shop. 

despite the fact that you had only seen him once, you still felt a bit of disappointment at the fact that he had gone to another flower shop, even when he’d said he would come back. maybe you scared him off? 

i didn’t even say anything weird though…

your thoughts kept you quite occupied while you were preparing the shop for open, though they were a bit burdensome when you happened to prick yourself on some roses, too distracted to be paying attention to the thorns properly. 

after some of the bouquet orders for the day, you flipped the sign on the door to ‘open’. you were about to go back to sulking behind the counter, but a glimpse of black hair outside caught your eye. 

looking closer, you realized that it was the same boy! he was seated on his motorcycle, chatting his a blonde haired boy who you assumed was his friend. 

maybe he had realized that the flowers from your shop were better!

however, your gaze narrowed when you realized that he was holding the same bouquet you had seen him with earlier, making your mood sour immediately. 

was he coming here to rub it in your face or something?!

while you were busy glaring, you started to notice that his blonde haired friend was gesturing and pointing wildly towards your shop, seeming to be shouting at the black haired boy about something. while you were still a little bit sour, you began to be intrigued by what was going on, contemplating going out there to see what all the commotion was about. 

the thought immediately perished as you made eye contact with the blonde, who could clearly see you staring at them through the windows of your shop. the two of you stared at each for a moment before you darted away from the glass, rushing back to behind the counter as you prayed that he didn’t actually see you, (he definitely did). 

“well, whatever! i helped him out and he went to another flower shop--so what!!” you muttered to yourself, throwing your hands up. “that’s the last time i ever do a nice thing for someone!!” you grumbled, preparing the flowers for the rest of the bouquet orders you had to do. 

it was a practiced routine at this point, so you were able to arrange the flowers properly without putting much thought into it, using it as busywork to take your mind off of things. you weren’t sure why you were so upset about the fact that this boy went to another flower shop, but it certainly wouldn’t help you to let it get in the way of things. 

hearing the bell to the door chime, you chirped out a ‘welcome in!’ as you continued trimming and arranging flowers, being careful this time to mind the thorns so that you didn’t get pricked a second time. 

“uh, hey.” the deep tone of voice immediately made you look up, feeling as if you would have snapped your neck if you looked up any faster. you shook off your nervousness, (and excitement) going back to what you were doing as you tried to look casual. 

“well, you’re back. whatever you want isn’t going to be on me this time because you betrayed me.” you said cooly, a bit of a frown on your lips. 

“betrayed--what? uh, anyways, i just wanted to give you these…” he cleared his throat, holding out a bouquet to you. when you finally looked up and took a good look, you noticed that the tips of his ears were red, (should you be having hope right now…? no, stop it! get a hold of yourself!). “and, uh, i got them with that flower language thing…” 

“what…?” you leaned forward across the counter, inspecting the flowers in the bouquet a bit closer. “calla lilies and white camellia’s…” looking up at the boy’s embarrassed and somewhat flustered expression, you paired it with the meaning of the flowers, and…

ah…

immediately, you felt your heartbeat speed up and felt the apples of your cheeks heating up, leaning back and looking away. you fiddled with your fingers for a moment as you tried to think of something--anything, really--to say. 

“i…uh…how, um, how did you come up with this…?” 

“my mom said it was a good idea…” he shifted a bit, his arm still holding out the bouquet of flowers. “if you don’t want them, i can jus’ take them back-” 

“no!” you grabbed the bouquet from him, smiling a bit too much, (you couldn’t help yourself though). “you’re giving them to me, so they’re mine now, right? you can’t take back a gift! and-and just hold on for a second!” you left without another moment to spare, running into the back and scrambling for a piece of paper. you picked up a nearby pen, quickly jotting down your name and number and then running back out, a big smile across your face. 

“here!” the boy in front of you grabbed the slip of paper, his amber eyes examining it before he smirked a bit, showing off the sharp bits of his canines. 

“(y/n), is that right?” 

“yes! what’s your name?” 

“baji. baji keisuke.” 

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

bonus: 

“baji-san! how did it go!?” 

“i need a yakisoba right now, chifuyu…” baji grumbled, sitting on his bike and leaning back. 

“did you get rejected?!” chifuyu asked, a look of grave anticipation on his face.

“no!! she thought i betrayed her flower shop because i went to another flower shop! your idea was shit!” chifuyu’s face went pale at that, his mouth hanging wide open. 

“i didn’t think about that…” 

“yeah, this is the last time i take advice from whatever weird manga shit you got this from.” 

“...”

“...”

“i mean, she said yes, right? a win is a win!” 

“...shaddup.”

(chifuyu proceeded to pay for the yakisoba outings for the next six months.)

geraniums: folly, stupidity | tansy: hostile thoughts, declaring war | white tulips: apology, i'm sorry | daffodils: appreciation, happiness | calla lily: beauty | white camellia: you're adorable

[lopsicle]

The Weakness Of Being Known

TickleTober Day 2: Accident:

Summary: Toristuka calls a meeting with the other PsyKids about precautions. Touma accidentally reveals a secret about Saiki. Hjinks ensue.

Character: Lee Saiki, Ler Toristuka, Ler Aiura. Akechi is also just there.

Friday fifth period was meant to be relaxing. It was the last day of the week before the weekend, where Saiki’s life could finally get a little more peaceful without the bothersome pests that lingered around him whenever he was at school. Given that it was his free period, he thought that he might be able to spend it studying in the library, waiting for the seconds to tick by while going unnoticed.

Of course, he was stupid for ever wanting things and was immediately punished neigh a few minutes after he sat down. Out of the thousands of thousands of thought spewing through his mind through his telepathy, one stuck out, for being one of the most annoying voices he could hear.

‘Saiki!’ Revealing his powers to Toristuka was a total mistake, he seemed to believe Saiki’s head was a personal message board for him to scream into the void too, as he had apparently forgotten that phones exist.

‘I have a huge emergency, I need you to meet me and other PsyKids in the janitor’s closet on the second floor! I already messaged Aiura and Touma!’

Oh, so he *did* know how to use a phone, he’s just being aggravating. Well, whatever this so called emergence was, Toristuka was doing an annoyingly good job not thinking about it, meaning Saiki had no clue what he was getting into with this. Being wedged in a closet with the only three people who knew his secret, not to mention how bothersome they were on top of that, was the absolute last way he wanted to be spending his final hour in school.

Saiki sighed. He got up and began walking to the second floor.

He knew he had no choice in the matter, if there really was some huge threat, he and Aiura should be able to deal with it quickly, and then he can leave. Plus, it was oddly nice seeing Akechi again after so many years and Aiura had given up on her obviously doomed romance attempts with him, making her not unbearable to be around.

He had nothing nice to say about Toristuka though.

Saiki casually pulled open the supply closet, revealing a rather spacious room with concrete grey walls, lined with tar black shelves stocked to the brim with bleach, spray bottles, wipes and the such, with a mop limit hanging in the corner. Standing in the centre of the room was Aiura, well rather she was sitting on one of the lower shelves, with Toristuka and Akechi in front of her, the latter of which was rambling on to poor Toristuka.

‘But, given that he’d want to come here under absolute discretion as to not reveal his powers, it’s unlikely he would teleport and even if he did, he’d need to find a safe locati-‘

‘Hey, Brainiac, Saiki’s here!’ Aiura interrupted him, saving Toristuka, who seemed thoroughly disinterested from his rambling.

‘Oh, Saiki, I was just talking about you, see-‘

A monotone voice cutting through their heads quickly cut Akechi off once more as Saiki closed the door behind him, his expression somehow even more displeased than usual now that he was actually here.

‘I gathered. Toristuka, why are we here?’ Saiki got straight to the point, to which the other two also turned to Toristuka. It seemed like he kept all three of them in the dark about this. This was either gravely dangerous, or it was going to get gravely dangerous for Toristuka for wasting their time.

‘You see, I’ve been thinking about all of us and how we’re basically superheroes now!’

‘We’re not,’ Saiki dejected, though that didn’t seem to stop Toristuka, unfortunately.

‘But, what if we’re *not* always superheroes? What if one of us turns evil one day and the rest of us have to stop them? That’s why I called you here, we need to figure out the weaknesses of everyone here as a fail safe!’

Silence filled the room for a few moments, making Toristuka feel even more awkward about this idea now that he was pitching it. It sounded good in hindsight but saying all that out loud made it sound even more unrealistic.

‘Toristuka,’ Saiki began, his voice dripping with agitated, ‘your aware that I could, and am going to, kill you right here and now.’

Toristuka yelped and jumped behind Akechi, grabbing onto the boy’s shoulders and shaking them nervously.

‘See, he’s already turning evil!’ Akechi nervously chuckled, seeming slightly amused as he placed a hand on Toristuka’s shoulder to comfort him.

‘Honestly I’m with Saiki on this one, where’d you even get this idea from?’ Aiura asked, rightly assuming that Toristuka couldn’t think of any ideas on his own, even stupid ones like this.

‘I saw it in a comic book!’ He exclaimed, much to everyone’s displeasure; he really was interrupting all of them just to live out this superhero fantasy.

‘While it’s not a bad idea in theory, in practice, there’d be little use for it. If any of us three besides Saiki ‘turned evil’, then Saiki would be able to deal with any of us, maybe even all three, with our only advantage being that we could reveal his psychic powers, though he certainly has ways around this.’

Toristuka seemed dejected, of course Saiki already had precautionary plans set up, though he wasn’t fully done yet.

‘Well, what if it’s Saiki who decides he’s sick of all of us and tries to off everyone?!’ He exclaimed, at such a volume that you could almost believe this was an actual concern of his.

‘Really,’ Saiki thought to himself, ‘you think I’d do straight to murder?’

Though it did seem to get the three of them thinking, for whatever reason. They really would be helpless against Saiki, suddenly Toristuka’s worries seemed a little more validated. Of course, they all trusted Saiki, even if he could be cold and cynical and seem like he didn’t care about anyone else, they all caught onto the fact that his behaviour came from a point of caring too much.

‘Well, if he does end up going all screwy, I’d be able to foresee it, so we’re a-okay!’ Aiura offered, striking a pose though it didn’t seem to satisfy Toristuka.

‘Right, because your fortunes about Saiki are always sooooo correct, aren’t they?’ Toristuka shot back, earning a glare from the fortune teller.

‘Oh yeah?! Have you got any useful ideas on how to take down the strongest person in the whole world?!’ Toristuka got shy at that, stammering as any idea he came up with would quickly be shut down, either by himself or Saiki interjecting his thoughts into his mind, that alone being a remainder of how strong he was.

‘Uh-hm, oh, Akechi, you’ve known Saiki the longest! Do you know if he’d have any weaknesses?’ Toristuka turned his attention to Akechi, the others following suit. Aiura was a little curious though Saiki was apprehensive, he doubted that Akechi would know any of Saiki’s weaknesses, mainly because Saiki didn’t even know if he had any specific shortcomings. But this was Akechi, one of the few people who managed to elude Saiki’s telepathy, likely one of the smartest people Saiki knew. If anybody was going to know this, it would be him.

Or Kusuke, but none of these four would ever willingly speak with him.

‘A weakness of Saiki’s, what an interesting question. While I don’t know of any ‘kryptonite’ so to speak that could nullify all of Saiki’s powers, at least not one that he’d put on willingly, it would be difficult o counter him as even if you manage to counter one ability, he has a plethora of other powers. Additionally, other than a select few, Saiki would be able to read the minds of whoever made a plan against him, meaning he’d be able to counter it. I’ve only managed to outsmart Saiki once and he turned me to stone straight afterwards, therefore I doubt we’d be able to beat him at all. If we can’t defeat his superhuman side, maybe his human side is the solution then! He has a fear of bugs but that isn’t particularly practical in winning a fight, he clearly loves his family, though I wouldn’t never dream of harming them, that would make us evil and his mother is lovely! I don’t remember any instances of weakness from our time back at elementary school, honestly he was probably much stronger then because he wasn’t showing any constraint, come to think of it, it probably wasn’t a coincidence that a window randomly shattered when I tickled him that one time, that was likely a subconscious response, or maybe even a conscious one in an attempt to dis-,’

Finally, Aiura cut him off once more, waving her hand dismissively, yet with interest.

‘Hold on, hold on, slow down, did you just say Saiki is ticklish?’ She asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice. Honestly, she couldn’t even imagine Saiki smiling, or experiencing tough, he always presented himself as being above that. Saiki’s expression shifted from a neutral one to mild displeasure, hoping that no one caught onto that little fact Akechi let slip.

‘Good grief,’ he thought, ‘he really can’t keep a secret.’

Saiki was pulled out of his mind by Akechi rambling to Aiura once more, finally having piqued her interest.

‘No, I said that I tickled him though I suppose the true meaning of your question would be ‘Is Saiki ticklish’ in which case, yes, yes he would be. At least he was, he probably could’ve written it out of his genetic code or mind controlled himself into not feeling the sensation, though I doubt he would, given that most if not all people are ticklish, writing a natural reaction like that out of himself would simply make him standard out more, and shatter some semblance of normalcy that he had left.’ Akechi surprisingly shut himself up, able to recognise that both Aiura and Toristuka were clinging on to this information. So was Saiki, though he was more so hoping to take this with him to the grave.

‘Well, there’s only one way to find out if he did that or not!’ Aiura announced, suddenly shifting her attention to Saiki, a playful smile curling across her lips. Saiki wasn’t exactly sure why he took a step back once the other two approached him, shooting a vengeful, annoyed glance at Akechi, who lingered in the back.

‘You could just ask me, or I’ll just tell you. Akechi’s deduction was sound, I am ticklish.’ The word felt awkward for Saiki to even broadcast telepathically, like a record player trying to play a vinyl that hadn’t been used in years.

‘There’s no fun in that! And we need to know if this is going to be effective at stopping you if you go all murder-y!’ Toristuka added, as if he had actually pointed something out. Saiki felt his back collide with the wall, had he really moved away from that much? They were still approaching him, a sort of teasy friendliness in their mannerisms which was unknown to Saiki, the feeling that they had control in a situation for once.

How mortifying. He really should just teleport out of here, but for whatever reason, one that Akechi was still trying to figure out, he didn’t.

Aiura was the one to make the first move, lunging for Saiki’s side and squeezing against it. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but him remaining perfectly still was not it. She tilted her head in confusion, grabbing his other side and squeezing up and down them yet still, nothing.

‘Akechi, your dedication was totes wrong!’ Aiuea huffed though didn’t give up for some reason, poking along Saiki’s waistline in boredom.

‘Ah, but I wasn’t, Miss Mikoto,’ Akechi said, putting his hands together delightfully. ‘It’s hard to see through his glasses but Saiki’s eyes widened ever so slightly at your touch, not to mention he’s been breathing with roughly 12% more force than he normally would.’

‘How did you even notice that?!’ Toristuka screeched at him, before turning his attention back to Saiki, who was moderately impressed with Akechi’s antics. He’s grown accustomed to them.

‘This is hopeless, move Aiura, let me try.’ Toristuka announced, and Aiura obliged, lightly disappointed by Saiki’s lack of reaction.

‘I’m not a toy, you know,’ Saiki thought, his eyes narrowing at Toristuka as he approached. He never expected to ever allow Toristuka to touch him, but if he appeared concerned, then they may catch onto the fact that this is a very real weakness of his.

As long as they don’t find the spot, he’ll be fine.

Toristuka took a hold of Saiki’s left wrist and raised its above his head, immediately scratching at his armpit. When that proved unsuccessful (other than Akechi noticing how his shoulder tensed up slightly), he began spidering his fingers all over Saiki’s underarms, desperately trying to find somewhere that would set him off. Toristuka’s expression grew more and more flabbergasted with each second, he should’ve expected that Saiki was able to keep his composure, but this was insane, even for him.

No one was immune to tickling.

‘Cool it there, perv, I’m not sure Saiki appreciated being manhandled by you,’ Aiura added when Toristuka’s fingers began exploring Saiki even more, his ribs, his waist, even his neck, though it all proved unsuccessful.

‘If Saiki wanted me to stop touching him, he could make me.’ Toristuka shot back, the most intelligent thing he had said all night. He took a firm hold of Saiki’s shoulders and turned him around so that he was facing the wall, seemingly taking this very seriously. Maybe he took his idea being mocked to heart, or maybe he just didn’t want Saiki to be right all the time. Maybe he just wanted a way to annoy Saiki whenever he wanted.

Yeah, definitely that.

Saiki felt strange as Toristuka’s fingers spidered around his back. He wasn’t letting Toristuka do this because he trusted him, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have some faith in him now. Sure, his ideas and actions were usually terrible and the whole idea of the PsyKids was something Saiki personally didn’t care for, but seeing him be passionate about something that wasn’t perverted was refreshing.

Saiki didn’t have long to linger on his pleasant thoughts though, he thought Toristuka was stopping as he pulled his fingers away but was unpleasantly surprised by the feeling of his dull nails being jabbed right in between his shoulder blades.

‘Ah!’ Saiki squealed in shock, his voice hoarse and cracking from the lack of shock. His reaction was so raw and genuine that it took the other three aback, though Aiura and Toristuka soon found themselves delighted.

‘Ha, I was right! Everyone has a weakness; Saiki’s no different!’ Before Saiki could even react, both Toristuka and Aiura swarmed him, the feeling of Toristuka’s fingertips brushing up against the sensitive space between his shoulders, while Aiura’s manicured nails found themselves tracing against his shoulder blades. Saiki thought a smile, clenching his fists though made no real attempt to get away. His cheeks reddened slightly, which was of course noticed by Akechi.

‘O-M-G, Saiki, this is literally adorable! How come you never told us the big bad psychic had a little tickle spot?’ Aiura’s teasing certainly wasn’t helping that situation. Saiki’s giggles came out of his mouth awkwardly, pausing, stopping and starting again, trapped between hitched and desperate breaths. It was as if he didn’t even know how to laugh.

‘Yohohou’d reahahct lihihke thihis!!’ Saiki answered, unable to hide the smile that came onto his face once Aiura began squeezing his shoulder blades, letting her nails sink into his uniform and wriggle all against the ticklish spot.

‘Yeah, obviously we would! Your always acting so high and mighty, but you can’t stop a little tickling!’ Toristuka smirked, finally feeling like he had the upper hand on Saiki for once, though he clearly didn’t know better.

‘Actually, Saiki very much could stop us if he wanted.’ Akechi chimes in, and continued before the other two had a chance to question him or, more accurately, before Saiki shot him up. ‘The only material that can stop Saiki’s powers is germanium, there’s no reason to believe that tickling would suddenly nullify his psychic abilities, especially because he was using his telepathy earlier. Initially, I assumed it was because of Saiki chose to teleport away or stop us from tickling him, then we would end up become suspicious and persistent on this matter, which would be even more annoying to him.’

Akechi approached Saiki, who didn’t even turn to look at him, finding the wall a safer sight.

But, since we now know that Saiki is definitely ticklish, he should stop us whenever he wants, unless he would want this to continue.’ Akechi concluded his little speech by running his finger right between Saiki’s shoulder blades; he shivered in response and let a few snickers slip from his mouth.

‘Wait, he’s actually enjoying this?!’ Aiura asked, though Saiki must’ve misheard her. She sounded excited by that. But, the broadcast of her thoughts into his mind quickly corrected him, she apparently found this ‘totes adorbs’.

Toristuka didn’t seem to mind either but Saiki didn’t care for his approval.

‘Gohohod griehef!’ Saiki huffed under his breath in annoyance, partly because he never intended on telling his friends classmates about this little secret of his, and partly because it had actually flustered him. It was totally out of character for him to enjoy something like tickling, it was clear that the author was just projecting traits onto him, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the sensations. They felt human, to laugh and squirm and let loose for once; even if he claimed to above other humans due to his abilities, he knew craved to be normal.

Maybe this is exactly what he wanted.

‘Don’t pretend to start hating this now, Saiki!’ Toristuka pulled him from his thoughts; he really was on a roll today, he’d manage to say two whole correct things. That’s more than average. Saiki, for better or worse, couldn’t keep pretending to hate this, to hate their company.

Or he could, because they couldn’t really do anything about it.

‘I-I hahave to get bahahck to clahahass soon.’ Saiki tried to negotiate, feeling his shoulders start to relax a little, allowing Aiura’s nails to flutter against them, pinching against his skin slightly.

‘Do you want us to stop now?’ Aiura asked considerately, her fingers even slowing against Saiki’s shoulder blades. He hated how nice she was by asking that, because it made him feel a little bad about being annoyed at that question. If he said yes, then he’d have to stop getting tickled for now but if he said now, then he’d be admitting he enjoyed this.

Although, Akechi had already figured that out, Aiura and Toristuka didn’t mind in the slightest. The thought of being vulnerable with them seemed near impossible to Saiki, Akechi knew too much about him, he wasn’t entirely convinced Aiura wasn’t still crushing on him and Toristuka…was Toristuka. But regardless of that, they all cared about him, they’d long forgotten of the original intentions of this meeting and were simply indulging one of Saiki’s interests for him.

Like friends would do.

‘Mahahaybe just a fehehehw mohohore minutes..’ he managed to force out in a mumble, doing his best to not react to the excited squealing from behind him.

Saiki was sure that he was only smiling right now because he was being tickled.

And no other reasons.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Trip Hazards

Massive shoutout to the lovely anon who requested this fic. I had a lot of fun writing for Blakley. Pairings: Everett Blakley x f!nurse!reader Summary: Everett Blakely has had his eye on a certain young nurse on base for a while now. When he finally plucks up the courage to ask her out he has a rather unfortunate accident.

There she was. Y/n Y/l/n. As pretty as anything. Her hair was pinned neatly in a Gibson roll while the rest of her head was covered by her white nurse's cap. Blakley sighed as he watched her count out a crate full of dressings and distributed them into piles. He could happily watch her all day.

“She’s a good-looking broad, Blakley,” Douglass agreed, watching the nurse as she began ticking off the new medical supplies on her clipboard. “I can see why you like her,” a smug smile pulled at the bombardier’s lips and his moustache twitched mischievously.

“I don’t like her, I…” Blakley turned to his friend, a little embarrassed that he’d been caught looking at the young nurse again. He couldn’t find the right words to describe how he felt about a certain Nurse Y/l/n. From the moment he’d bumped into her in the infirmary while visiting Bubbles he’d been fond of her. She was softly spoken and had an air of grace about her as she swept down the corridors in her white apron.

“You know you could just talk to her rather than keep staring,” John Egan chimed in from where he was perched on the jeep, lighting up a cigarette, the smoke floating up above their heads.

“No, I can’t. I’d just make a fool of myself,” Blakley replied adamantly, his eyes drifting away from the nurse and back to Douglass who smiled broadly.

The bombardier's moustache twitched once more as if he was going to come out with a clever comment, but Blakley’s warning glare stopped him.

“Well you look like a fool anyway standing over here staring at her,” Gale Cleven’s voice echoed from his spot beside Egan, breaking off the staring contest between Blakely and Douglass.

He turned to the Major, pushed his dark hair back and placed his hat back on his head, “Not you as well.”

Cleven held his hands up in response, but Egan answered for him, a common habit between the two Majors, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Blakley stared at him with a deadpan expression. If he could have facepalmed he would have. Sometimes he wondered if he could smack Egan and Douglass’ head together and make sense of their comments. “Well for a start she could say no, tell me I’m a creep and then avoid me at all costs.”

The other airmen stared at him as though he’d grown an extra head, but the group remained silent until Cleven spoke up.

“Well other than that. Don’t think worst-case scenario, Blakley. You’re one of the good guys. You cause far less trouble than John.”

Egan glared at his friend and shoved him playfully. Blakley rolled his eyes at the Major’s antics. How could he think of anything serious while they continued this behaviour?

Douglass placed a hand on Blakley’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, but accompanying it with a stern look.

“Alright, I’ll go and talk to her,” Blakley sighed, straightening out his B-3 jacket that he’d worn despite the warm summer afternoon. He was now regretting that decision, and paired with his hat too he was sweating before he’d even turned in Y/n’s direction.

“That’s my boy, go and get her,” Douglass called, hoping up onto the jeep so he could watch his friend.

Blakley felt a shaky breath escape his lips as he took a few tentative steps forward. His eyes were so focused on Y/n that he didn’t hear Lemmons whistling for Meatball, or the large grey object that streaked across his path, not until his leg connected with the object and he went flying through the air.

Meatball seemed unphased by her collision, continuing to trot towards Lemmons while Blakley flailed on the floor.

He could hear his fellow airmen’s cheers and jests from behind him, but it was when he met Y/n’s eyes from across the airstrip that his heart dropped. She’d looked up briefly from her clipboard and their eyes had met before he buried his head back into the dirt.

This couldn’t be happening. No. No. No.

It was the ruckus of laughter that alerted Y/n to the group of airmen standing by the jeep, their heads thrown back in fits of laughter. Her eyes fell on their fallen comrade in front of them, his whole body pressed firmly against the ground. She’d recognise that dark head of hair anywhere as Major Everett Blakley.

She’d seen the Major around often, in the pub in Dicklesburg or the officer club at one of the many on-base parties. She vividly remembered their first meeting while she was nursing Bubbles Payne. He’d been blushing like a schoolboy and her heart had instantly begun to race as their eyes met over the bed.

She watched as his friends continued to laugh at his discomfort and other than the way his limbs flexed against the ground, there was no sign of life. She glanced back down at her clipboard listing medical supplies before placing it down on the crate. Inventory could wait until later.

She removed the cloth that covered her hair and stuffed it into her apron pocket, smoothing down any loose hairs that may have sprung up. She wasn’t sure what it was about Everett Blakley but he always made her heart beat a little faster.

“Are you alright, Major?” She asked, standing above him as her shadow covered his face. He just shook his head, mumbling something into the earth that she couldn’t make out.

Sighing, Y/n crouched beside him, ignoring the way her white apron draped against the ground. Her eyes flicked over to James Douglass who was still bent double. Anytime she had seen Blakley, Douglass had never been far behind.

Her bright eyes flicked over to Major Egan and Major Cleven who had also participated in the laughter despite their fellow airman’s embarrassment. She gave them a look, similar to the one her mother would give her brothers when she’d finally had enough of their antics. The two Majors seemed to catch on and began to usher the men away, but not before Douglass shouted, “Go get her, Blakley.”

So this was what it was all about.

“Are you alright, Major?” Y/n asked, kneeling now and placing a hand on Blakley’s shoulder. She could just make out the pink tips of his ears from beneath the collar of his B-3 bomber jacket. She wasn’t sure why he was wearing it on such a warm day but that was probably contributing to the flush on his cheeks.

“I’m quite well, thank you,” he spoke gruffly against the ground, moving his head just a fraction.

“Right… Do you want to get up then?”

Blakey merely shook his head and had he been looking at Yn he’d have seen her with a more than confused expression.

Y/n huffed, nestling down beside the Major. At her touch, Blakley’s head shot up. He had grass and mud pressed into his right cheek, and a single blade of grass stuck to his lip.

“What are you doing?” He asked seriously, but Y/n couldn’t suppress the chuckle that fell from her lips.

“I’m sitting here with you.”

Blakley cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to elaborate.

“Well, you took quite the tumble and it’s my job to make sure you’re alright.” Y/n pointed at the Red Cross on her armband. “Can’t have one of our brave pilots injuring themselves on my watch.”

Blakley pushed himself up into a sitting position, brushing off the front of his jacket but forgetting his face.

“As you can see,” He cleared his throat, “I’m fine.” He couldn’t help the way his heart pounded in his chest, the blood rushed through his ears loudly. He wondered if Y/n could hear his heart beating too.

“Other than your wounded pride I would imagine,” she suggested and Blakley’s face grew red once more. “It’s okay to be clumsy, I’m clumsy too.” Y/n pulled her long white apron up to just above her knees, revealing multiple purple bruises, “I’m always falling over things.”

Blakley swallowed hard, his eyes travelling over the nurse's pale flesh. He felt his cheeks growing warmer and he cleared his throat, removing his gaze from her body. He should have been looking far more respectfully than he was.

Y/n seemed to notice his blush and reached over, linking her hand through his. Blakley glanced down at their joined hands, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips.

“There are worse things to be than clumsy,” Y/n added, her bright eyes meeting Blakley’s with a kind smile. “You could have a moustache like Douglass.”

Blakley chuckled, running his thumb over his own moustache, neatening the corners.

A gasp and a muffled shout from behind them confirmed that Douglass was in fact listening to their conversation.

A brunette head appeared beside the jeep and Major Egan flashed them a smile, as he marched Douglass away despite his protests regarding his rather ‘fetching’ moustache.

Blakley chuckled, turning back to the girl in front of him. There definitely were worse things than being clumsy, and who knows, maybe being clumsy was the best thing that could have happened to him.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots

[five-rivers]

Hunger Chapter 2

“Well, if it's the lone star tick, that only makes you allergic to red meat, right?” said Sam.  

“Yeah, I guess,” said Danny, staring hard at the plate of chicken nuggets Tucker had just pulled from the microwave.  He was also under the impression that the tick thing got you all at once, not gradually if rapidly over the course of a few weeks, with the effects going from thinking meat tasted off, to just ‘not being in the mood’ for it, to actively throwing up upon taking a bite of a hamburger.  

He tried to determine if the faint sense of nausea he felt while looking at the chicken was from his memory or, well, from looking at the chicken.  

“Cheese was fine,” observed Tucker.  “Eggs were fine.”

They had been.  Danny picked up a chicken nuggets and tried to ignore how his skin crawled as he did so.  Before he could double-guess himself, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed as quickly as possible, hardly even chewing.  

His body immediately rebelled.  

Luckily, he had a good mental map of Tucker's house, so he was able to dive through the wall and into the bathroom before he started puking his guts out.  

“Not the tick, then,” said Tucker, sounding like he was going to barf himself.  

“You know,” said Sam, “I'm all for having more vegetarians in the world, but I think you should maybe… see someone about this.”

Danny finished emptying his digestive system and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth.  

“Who?” he asked, tone matching the bitter taste.  “It's not like I can go see a doctor.  Half ghost and all.”

“I know that,” said Sam.  “I meant your ghost friend.  The one that helped you with your other changes.  The freckles and skin color and ghost puberty stuff.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “I don't really want to bother him too much, though.”

And, when he wasn't actively experiencing the need to be eaten, or the disorienting second childhood that came after, he was rather shy about the whole arrangement.  Understandably so, he thought.  

Sam crossed her arms and stared at him, unimpressed, through the bathroom mirror.

“What happens when this does spread to eggs and cheese?  Or fruit?  Or vegetables?  Would you go see him then?”

Danny grimaced and went ghost, hoping he could get rid of the foul taste in his mouth that way.  If anything, it made it worse.  

“Whoa!  What's that on your back?” asked Tucker, pointing.  

Danny looked back at him, alarmed at the tone of voice, then twisted so he could see his back in the mirror.  Pushing up on his suit from below were two bumps, just under his shoulder blades.  He quickly unzipped and pulled down the top of his suit.  It wasn't something stuck on his back.  It was part of his back.  Two upwards distortions of skin.  

“I don't know,” he said.  He touched one of the tiny knobs.  It was sensitive, though not in a bad way.  On the other hand, it didn't really feel like skin.  More like… petals, maybe.  Soft and silky.  

He swallowed.  As strange as it may sound, being eaten had removed some of the sense of wrongness Danny had felt about his body since the Accident.  But this… this mutation… he didn't know what to do with this.  

But maybe Clockwork would.

.

Half curled in Clockwork's lap, listening to him rhythmically list off things he thought were appetizing, things that Danny could feel his core taking special note of, he didn't know why he'd been so nervous.  

When Clockwork finished his list (which included things like statues, silver, gemstones, the smell of lilacs and lilies, chocolate, vanilla, cream, sugar, and the sound of clocks) Danny looked up.  “So my wings will bloom… like a flower?”

“They tend to be similar in appearance, yes.”

“And my body will change to be tasty.”

“As you ripen.”

“And then you'll eat me, and that's it?  Things will go back to normal?”

“What do you mean by normal?”

“You know.  Like it usually is for me.”

“You will have to grow up again, and when you near ripeness, the wings will grow back, but, to some degree, yes.”  He paused for a moment, playing with Danny's hair.  “Once your wings bloom, you will find yourself compelled to seek out places with high concentrations of ectoplasm, so you can feed.  You may also find yourself losing mobility, either from physical changes or psychological pressure.  At least, those are all things experienced by other ghosts with this adaptation.  I cannot tell you your future, after all.”

Danny wrinkled his nose at the obvious loophole-ing, but pressed on.  “To make it easier for someone to find and eat me.”

“Yes.”

“And this will happen again?”

“It may happen more slowly, if you are not under quite so much pressure to improve, but yes.”  Clockwork started to braid some of Danny's longer hairs. 

“Can I, um, can I come here, when I start to bloom, then?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork.  “I believe the garden will be most suitable, should you feel the need to plant yourself, but your bedroom is also available, and you may choose any space you like.”

Danny hummed.  “And you'll still eat me?”

“Of course.”

Danny's stomach rumbled, jolting him out of his half-doze and reminding him that he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten today.  

He blushed, then blushed harder when he realized that, without his top on, Clockwork could probably see the blush working its way all down Danny's back to the base of his spine.  

Clockwork chuckled.  “Speaking of eating, growing wings is hungry work.  Come.”

Reluctantly, Danny got up and followed Clockwork to the kitchen he had stocked with human things.  Danny hadn't thought about it much, but he must have made it especially for Danny, for when he was growing up again after being eaten.  

Clockwork reached into the fridge and removed a large, clay jug of something, then a smaller glass bottle full of something red like wine.  He examined the bottle for a while.  “I could,” he said, after a moment, “accelerate the growth of your wings.  Just this once.”

“Why only once?”

“The cycle of consumption and regrowth would become unbalanced if done too frequently.  You may eventually wind up growing wings shortly after hatching.”

“Yikes,” said Danny.  “Um.  I think I'll pass this time and just go at the normal rate.”

Clockwork nodded and put the glass bottle away.  Then, from the jug, he poured Danny a cup of what looked a lot like thick paint but smelled so good Danny's mouth was watering before Clockwork even gave it to him.  It tasted a lot like a vanilla milkshake, and as soon as he was done drinking it, he fell asleep.  

.

“He says it's normal,” said Danny.  

“Really?” said Sam, with all the sarcastic bite a goth teenager could manage, which was a lot.  

“The type of ghost I am doesn't eat other ghosts, and since I'm half human, that crosses over to animals.  It's not going to get worse, it's just…” He sighed.  “A thing.”

“And the stuff on your back?” asked Tucker.

“Same kind of thing.  They're like antlers.  They'll fall off eventually.”

“Well,” said Sam, when Danny failed to elaborate, “I can at least give you some vegetarian meal recipes.”

.

Danny found himself eating more sweets.  And more cream.  A lot more cream, since usually he didn't eat any.  He wasn't sure why, since it wasn't like eating those would make him taste like them.  Unless it did?  Ghost logic was strange, sometimes.  

Whatever.  It was food.  It wasn't like he was eating flowers.  

.

The process of growing wings was both painful and satisfying.  Painful, because the growing buds made his back ache in both forms, despite only existing in one.  Satisfying, because the bigger they got the less wrong they felt.  

Like he was growing back into himself.  

.

Okay, so he was eating flowers.  It wasn't like he was eating anyone's jewelry.  

.

He'd thought he'd have to change his jumpsuit to accommodate the wing buds.  He didn't.  His jumpsuit changed on its own, not stretching, but weaving itself over the buds as they grew.  It was like the suit was part of the buds, too, that way.  

Even the seams lined up with the edges of the petals.  

.

He booted Johnny Thirteen from the jewelry store, then froze, looking at the display cases.  His stomach rumbled a little.  

No.  Just, no.  He wasn't an animal.  He had control over himself.  He wasn't doing that.  

.

In the dead of the night, he woke from the kind of deep, heavy sleep he only got when he had truly exhausted himself.  His core sang with resonance.  

With an automatic response that came from being taught it from early childhood twice, Danny rolled out of bed and followed the pull down the stairs and into the basement.  He transformed sluggishly, groaning a little as his wing buds came into being.  They were still furled, but they had grown long and heavy and while the weight and tension could feel good in some positions, the same tension could stress every muscle in his body if he moved the wrong way.  

He flew through the Zone on autopilot, following the resonance all the way home to Long Now.  He snuggled into Clockwork's side, seeking the core that had called him.  

“Hi,” he said, tiredly.  “What's up?”

“Hello, Daniel.  Your wings are about to bloom.  I thought it best to call you here.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Danny.  

“Here, I've set something up for you in the garden.”

“Hm?  Why?” asked Danny, letting Clockwork steer him.  

“The garden has the best ectoradiation and flow of ectoplasm.”

Those things did sound good…

When they got to the garden, in all its multi-season glory, Clockwork took Danny down a path he'd never noticed before.  At the end of it was a cool, pleasant glade, with a small pond and a wooden bench and table.  On one side of the pond was the statue of a veiled angel, holding a mirror.  Directly opposite the mirror, on the other side of the pond, was a clear space and a a moss-covered rock that was just the right size for a pillow.

Clockwork guided Danny down to kneel by the rock, then to rest his head on it so he was looking at the mirror.

The first thing that Danny noticed was that Clockwork had arranged him in the classic, semi-fetal “baby angel” pose.  The second thing was that it was absurdly comfortable, the position perfectly accounting for the weight of his wings.  

“I thought you would like to see,” explained Clockwork.  

Danny, still only half awake, was about to ask see what when his whole body was seized with acute, anticipatory tension.  

The covering of his jupsuit peeled away first, revealing the silver-freckled purple of the outside of his wings.  Then, with a sticky, tearing sound, the petals themselves separated, falling open to the sky.  There were three for each wing, their insides a dull, clouded green.  

He trembled with the sudden influx of energy.  He could taste the sky, the wind, the delicate variations of ectoenergy.  But none of that energy was available for him.  He could feel it being stored away, packed tight and out of reach, a treat for whoever ate him.  

He tried to stay awake, but the exertions of his new functions bore him under swiftly.  He didn't even remember closing his eyes.  

.

An advantage of his wings senses was that he knew exactly where he was when he woke up.  Directly in front of his face was a ladle with a note that said “stay hydrated!” on it, and a plate full of… clock parts?

He picked one up - a small silver plate with emeralds pressed into it - and popped it in his mouth without thinking about it.  

The freak out was immediately followed by the rest of the clock parts disappearing. 

Danny's jumpsuit was shredded and didn't seem to be reforming like it usually did, so Danny put on the pair of pajama pants that had been left, folded, on the bench.  Then, he went to look for Clockwork.  

(Stepping inside made his wings droop ever-so-slightly.  The environment outside really was better.)

“Thanks for calling me over,” said Danny, floating closer to Clockwork, “and for the, um.  Snack.  But should probably go back to Amit–”  Danny was hit with a massive wave of disorientation.  He very much wanted to go home, but at the same time, he was completely certain that was a bad idea.  He would have fallen out of the air if Clockwork hadn't steadied him.  His core whined, confused, and a very small part of him was pleased to detect a slightly mechanical, ticking note to the noise.  

“Daniel,” said Clockwork, very gently, “Amity Park is back on Earth, outside the Zone.  There wouldn't be enough ectoplasm there for you.” 

“But,” said Danny, uncertainly.  

“Can you turn human right now?” asked Clockwork.  

Danny tried.  He couldn’t.  His wings held him firmly in ghost form, refusing to be banished before their task was done and Danny was being digested in Clockwork’s stomach.  

“I intend to keep our arrangement from earlier,” said Clockwork, before Danny could panic.  “You will not be missed.”

Danny relaxed.  The times Clockwork had eaten him, he'd stopped time until Danny could go home.  “Thanks,” he said.  

Clockwork nodded graciously, then pulled Danny towards him to kiss his forehead.  “I can already tell that you'll taste delicious in no time.  Please, relax.  There is no hurry.”

.

“I think I have more freckles than before,” said Danny.

“Indeed,” said Clockwork, setting a bowl of what Danny knew was just cream, sugar, vanilla, and ectoplasm mixed together in front of him.  

That didn’t stop his body from craving the mixture like nothing else.  

Clockwork stopped him from grabbing it, and emptied a small jar of flower petals into it.  Then flakes of silver and diamond dust.  

Danny made a hungry noise.  One layer of it was human enough, but whirring and ticking and something bell-like were clearly audible.  

(Danny could not match any clocks, yet, but he was working on it)

“They’re getting bigger, too,” he observed, after guzzling half the bowl.  

“I see,” said Clockwork.  

“And they feel different.  The skin.”  The freckles felt smoother, slicker, and cooler than the skin around them.

Clockwork picked up one of Danny’s hands and ran his thumb over a tight cluster of freckles.  “Like icing on a cake.”

Danny took his hand back and finished off the bowl.  “Do you think I’ll taste like cake.”

“I think you will taste like yourself,” said Clockwork.  “Sweeter than any cake.”

.

Danny tried to sleep in the room he’d grown up in, the last two times, but the air in there felt so stale when compared to the garden, and he found himself sleeping at the pond, resuming the position Clockwork had put him in the first time.  

Well, he supposed Clockwork had foreseen how well it would work.  

Clockwork spent a lot of time there, too, sitting at the bench and reading out loud to Danny as he dozed.

.

The freckles started to merge together into broad silvery-white patches.  When those patches were around a joint, the joint became hard to move.  Extra force was needed to bend the tough, shiny, skin.  And within those silver patches, gems grew, set into his skin like bearings in watches.  

.

Danny’s wings started to pale.  Streaks of color - silver, bronze, blue, palest lilac and pink - made appearances, organizing themselves into complex fractal patterns.  

.

“I know I’m sleeping more,” said Danny, “but I don’t know how much more.”

They were still in the garden.  Clockwork was rubbing a cream into Danny’s back, near his wings.  There were complex structures there, under his skin, woven through his ectoplasmic muscles and around his bones, and they were working hard, all the time.  Even in the best position Clockwork could put him in, they often ached.  

And even the satisfying ache of a job well done was still an ache.  

“How much time you spend here doesn’t matter,” said Clockwork.  “You should sleep as much as you need to, and not worry about it.”

.

When Danny woke up, he couldn’t open his right eye.  He looked at the mirror across the pond and saw that a silver patch had completely covered the eyelid.  

He groaned and tried to push himself up.  Tried.  His wrist didn’t bend when he told it to.  He glared at it, one-eyed.  Silver had circled it, too, and the thumb on that hand.  He tried to bend it again, and had some success, but as soon as he stopped actively forcing it, it returned to the position it was in before.  

A quick check showed that his eye and wrist weren’t the only body parts affected.  His left hip was partially covered, and so was a great deal of his spine.  

This would have been a much bigger problem if he couldn’t fly.  

“I can bring you breakfast in the garden,” said Clockwork.  “You don’t want to be stuck in an uncomfortable position.”

Danny was already itching to go back to the garden.  His wings had started to produce a thin, fragrant nectar from their bases the other day, and since then, sitting upright made his back feel bloated and leaky.  

He opened his mouth to say as much, but instead of a human voice, a complex series of ticks and chimes rolled out.  The ticks sent pleasing vibrations through his bones and flesh, and the chimes hummed in his throat.  It was all completely incomprehensible to him, but it felt good.

He glanced up at Clockwork, who was smiling.  “Go on,” Clockwork said.

Danny grinned - skin moving strangely around the silver patches - and started to chatter.  

.

The next day, Danny couldn’t open either of his eyes.  The air smelled strongly of vanilla and lilac.  

“Don’t worry, Daniel,” said Clockwork as he tipped a cup of cream into Danny’s mouth, “I will take pictures of what you look like ripe.”

.

Having spent so much time at Long Now, Danny hadn’t released the cold energy that naturally built up in his core over time.  It spread outwards, now, freezing him from the inside out even as the silvery-white coating his skin did the same from the outside in.  

But it did not touch his wings, which stayed soft and flexible and took in energy and ectoplasm at the same steady rate.  

.

“I wonder if you are even aware of all the sounds you are making,” said Clockwork, fondly, as he rubbed Danny’s back in that way that felt so good.  “They’re enough to make me want to eat you right away, but I can tell you aren’t quite ripe yet.”  He patted Danny’s back.  “Just a little longer.”

.

Danny knew when he was ripe.  Not from any external stimulus, but because something like a switch popped up in his brain.  Not a literal switch, of course, he wasn’t hallucinating, but he knew that if he flipped it, if he made this one, last, tiny conscious decision, he would send out a signal that said eat me, I’m tasty!

He flipped the switch.  

.

(The next thing he consciously remembered, he was hatching from an egg in Clockwork’s hands.)

[ornii]

If its not too much to ask...

A Wednesday Addams x Male!Reader, where the latter wakes up after being involved in an accident, and witnesses Wednesday crying for the first time...all the while she tries to deny it.

Denial

It was an accident, it truly was. She never meant to hurt him like she did. But I suppose intentions never truly matter in cases like this. It was around 8 PM in Nevermore and (Y/n) was in his Girlfriends room, trying to convince her to go out with him. Wednesday was too busy focusing on her novel instead of him, which he didn’t mind as she always said an hour, but it’s been at least three.

“Cmon, not even the crypt? Im sure there’s bones for you to analyze in there.” He says, trying to convince her to come. While Wednesday would enjoy that, her focus was on the story she’s crafting.

“My work overtakes my probable enjoyment of that.”

She said, and you couldn’t help but get a bit frustrated, she never wanted to genuinely spend time with (Y/n), which was were the two struck a conflict. While he enjoyed her presence it was always with what she wanted, never his, and she was constantly pressured to partake in things she despised like Holding hands.

“…Really? You can’t take your mind off your novel just to spend some time with me?” He asks, almost a bit loss for words at her scrutiny. She stops and turns to him.

“As Ive Said, My priority is the completion of the novel, you know this.”

“Well I didn’t know parchment was more interesting then I was.”

“Well it doesn’t open its mouth so it has its benefits.” She replies coldly. (Y/n) squints a bit, obviously getting upset, and decides to twist his own knife.

“Fine, I’ll go hang out with Yoko and Enid, they’re probably available. More than my girlfriend.” He says, which ticks an insecurity Wednesday never had before and didn’t know how to accurately process it, jealousy. He walks over to her to give her one last goodbye.

“If you don’t want to hang out or do anything, fine by me, but I don’t have to sit here.” He says, he was suddenly face to face with Wednesday, well one would not consider it face to face since she’d a foot and a half shorter, but her terrifying demeanor spoke for her. She approached him and he began to back away.

“If you wish to fraternize with some other woman be my guest, I should have expected something from someone like you, you rope me into these feelings I can’t comprehend and force me into loving you. Well, I don’t!” She says as (Y/n) reaches the balcony being pushed back by her fearsome tone. With one slip of the foot he tumbled off, and rolled off the roof. Wednesday turns and folds her arms, fuming.

“You can stop with the attempts of humor (Y/n), get back up here.” She says, when he had no response, she slowly turns back to the edge and quickly walks over and sees (Y/n), lying on the ground in the most uncomfortable position, and a look of terror and worry washes over Wednesday. (Y/n) only watched from the ground, as a ringing in his year deafened everything out, he lied on the ground before it all went black.

It was around a Week he spent in the hospital, lying in a coma as the impact of his head hitting the ground must have done a number, every day Wednesday was there. Guilt Strickens her, as the cause of his condition was her definitely. She couldn’t use her deadpanned emotions to divert blame, this was her coffin she built, it’s only appropriate to lie in it.

“(Y/n)..” she began, “I made sure to water your plants, and.. I’m sorry. All you wanted was to spend time with me, and I let my selfish nature pollute my feelings and, put you in this predicament.. If I had just gone with your ridiculous plan we’d be there, together, you bothering me with your foolish jokes and, while I acted like I hated them, i missed you..” Wednesday says, her lip quivers just slightly and for the first time in years, she felt a tear run down her cheek. This time rather wiping it, she just let it down, and let out a shaky sigh. She closes her eyes and grips his hand.

And he squeezes it.

Her eyes open and she looks up as his Were open finally, he blinks a few times and sits up, Wednesday looks at him like she’s actually seen a ghost.

“What happened?” He asks, and Wednesday didnt know what to say, and he notes the small beads running down her cheek.

“We’re you.. crying over me?” He says, his grin widening and Wednesday quickly wipes her tears.

“No, I had found out you were going to survive.” She says, trying to be tough.

“Sure Sweetheart..” he says and pulls her hand in and kisses it. Leaving her at a loss for words, he smiles and relaxes as she was still a bit, at a loss.

“So, you feel any better after almost killing me?” He asks smugly and she frowns, “it was an accident.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for throwing Yoko and Enid in your face, that wasn’t fair of me.” He says. And Wednesday just sighs as well.

“I understand I may not be the; easiest to be in a relationship with, and you have been more than patient, I apologize as well..”

“So is there cameras here? I want to get a recoding of you crying—“

“(Y/n) I will put you back in a coma.” She sharply said and he just chuckles and kissed her cheek.

“I’ve missed hearing your voice..” he said and she smiles just slightly.

“I missed you too..”

[wooahaes]

before i know it, the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: ~0.7k

warnings: one mention that pins down readers birthday as being a summer birthday. but mostly its just sappy, loving wonwoo.

daisy’s notes: he is boyfie shaped fr........ i will b thinking abt him forever

Wonwoo had a soft spot for the nights where you fell asleep in his lap while he was gaming.

Most of the time, it was because you hated going to bed alone unless you had to. You’d always been the more openly affectionate one in your relationship, and you’d told him outright one day (long after moving in together) that it felt weird to not fall asleep snuggled up close to him. So you’d come into the living room to where he was playing online with his friends on a game system rather than his PC, and you’d lay your head in his lap and watch... until you inevitably fell asleep every single time. He’d asked about it once, and you did have to confess that you didn’t intend to fall asleep. You just wanted to stay close with him until he was done, but the sound of his breathing was calming (even if the occasional things he said weren’t), and usually you ended up dozing off by accident.

Tonight was no different. He had his headset on, controller in hand, and your head using his lap as a pillow. Seungcheol was saying something about his plans to get in and play later this week when Wonwoo starting keeping an eye on the time. The clock ticked over to midnight, and he let out a quiet sigh as he waited for Seungcheol to finish speaking. The moment he did, he spoke up and said he was going to get off for the night.

“I‘ll see you tomorrow,” he said as he started to disconnect.

Only to hear Seungcheol’s quiet ‘tch.’ “We all know you took off today for her. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo smiled to himself. “That’s why I said I’d see you tomorrow.” Before he bid his farewell and disconnected from the game.

It was only light teasing, and it left him with a lovestruck smile on his face as he looked down at you. He reached out, fingers grazing the side of your face for a moment before he turned off the console. He’d plug in his controller in a few minutes. For now, he was going to admire you for a little longer...

Only for you to stir, finally looking up at him after glancing back at the TV. “You’re done?” Then you sat up, stifling a small yawn. “You didn’t play long...”

“That’s okay,” he said, reaching for the remote. He clicked the TV off, before turning to you. “I’m all yours for the next twenty-four hours.”

The way your brows had drawn together in slight confusion only made him smile. Being able to vex your brain and surprise you like this always made him happy, and maybe he had taken advantage of your sleepy state to be able to do it. He nodded toward the clock, and watched as you put the puzzle pieces together mentally before realization struck.

“Wonwoo--”

He had already slid a little closer to you, pulling you in for a soft kiss. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said as he leaned back, casually dropping the term of endearment just to see you smile. “Whatever you want to do today, I’ll do it.”

You didn’t have plans. Wonwoo knew you didn’t have plans, too. But the fact that he had cleared everything today in order to give you his full attention was sweet, considering he knew that you were used to people being too busy (or on vacation--the pains of a summer birthday) around your birthday. And of course it would be Wonwoo who knew that and found a way to say, without saying it, that he was there for you. That he’d always find time for you.

Maybe the sentiment would make you cry later... but for now you just leaned in to kiss him one more time before going to bed. The two of you could figure out plans when you woke up later. For now, you just wanted to cuddle with him and think vaguely about how you would spend the day with your beloved.

taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @wonuziex​ @synthetickitsune​ @cinnamoroxie​

[ameagrice]

The Wanderer

chapter two: sugar cookies and christmas trees.

jeremy frazier x oc.

The clock above the board at the front of the classroom ticks away aggressively. Aggressively, because one of the hands is broken and hanging on by a thread behind the glass, while the other is half-snapped off entirely. It’s loud, and it would be a beautiful evening, if it were the only noise in the room. Somewhat peaceful, even! Except…

Jeremy Frazier sits beside her at the desk, turning the pages of his book every few seconds, and writing in the margins.

The clock says it’s almost five o’clock, and they’re waiting for their parents to arrive on the scene. Jeremy says his won’t come at all and it’s pointless him being there, but Sadie is sure when hers arrive there’ll be hell to pay. She almost envies Jeremy and his family, despite all that she’s heard about them.

They’re sitting in detention, because she launched a paper-mache airplane at his head in a fit of rage. Jeremy declared her tripping over his outstretched feet as an accident, when they’d been the last two in the classroom to pack up. To her, having had a rough week, it was the last straw.

Could you stop? sits on her tongue. But after throwing a hard object at him, and him having retaliated by throwing it back at her, it feels a bit mean to have a go at him for reading. Even so, the sigh that leaves her nose is enough to stop his page-turning.

“Is there a problem?” He drawls, irritation lacing the words.

“No,” she snaps. “Not at all.”

There’s a red and purple spot under her left eye that is sore to touch and tender. Truthfully, she hadn’t thrown his paper-mache airplane that hard at his head, but Jeremy saw red, too, and hit back twice as hard. He won’t bruise but she certainly has. The eye socket is tender and raw, and he has not apologised.

“Good.”

“Good!”

The clock ticks some more, until she can’t take it.

“What are you reading?”

Jeremy inhales deeply, and flicks the book shut to the front, wrinkled page. It's cover is simple, and the title rather boring.

"Crime and punishment," he offers the page to her. "Dostoevsky."

She hums in amusment. "You're one of those." Sadie looks down at the page of paper before her, scribbled all over in blue ink pen with the lyrics to U2's song 'Hold me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me'. Lily plays it on a loop every night before she goes out to work, so it loops around Sadie's brain in the day at school.

Jeremy tilts his head, his expression a little jarred. With a confused hike of a laugh, he says, "One of those? What does that mean?" Offence is sprinkled in his tone.

"One of those that thinks they're above all other readers because they read 'proper' books by old men.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy snaps. "Wasn't it you reading 'Make Lemonade' yesterday for our extended essay?"

Sadie flays a hand to say yeah, and? "Virginia Wolff rocks. Dostoevsky? That guy sucks. And anyway, 'Make Lemonade' is about getting into college and the trials of being a teenager. Crime and Punishment is something those old people who run the community centre would read for fun."

"Well, I think Virginia Wolff is shit, man."

"Did you ever give her a chance?" Sadie flings herself around in the seat, and startles; Jeremy's looking already at her, brows pinched together, mouth curled in distate.

"Did you ever give Crime and Punishment a chance?" he retorts.

No, she did not. And it seems her silence is Jeremy Frazier's answer.

When their detention ends, they leave the room in silence, dismissed by the ancient Mrs. Vaughn, in her heavy woolen coat and polished boots. In the foyer, down the hall in the midst of being renovated and decorated with bits of peeling plaster, Lily stands with her arms folded across her stomach, face plastered in makeup ready for her shift at O'Grady's, the bar downtown. Her skirt is pulled down to her knees so as not to give Vaughn the impression that she makes her money by having it higher (which, Lily would admit proudly, she does).

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you!" her voice rings in Sadie's head. "It isn't my fault you don't have anything to flaunt." Lily's classic and re-used phrase to starers and old people who think they owe her their opinion.

When she hears them approaching, pushing through the set of old, squeaky doors, she digs a hand into her coat pocket and produces a cereal bar, throwing it in Sadie's direction. She catches it with a cracking clap.

"Come on, then. Get in the car."

The Car is Lily's prized possession. It's painted blueberry-blue, and the inside smells of Fresh Pine from the blueberry-coloured freshener hanging from the front mirror. The seats are polished to high heaven, and God Forbid Sadie drops anything on the floor. Her life wouldn't be worth living. For Lily's twentieth birthday, their parents put together their savings and combined them with Lily's own, to buy the 1994 Dodge Ram.

The walk through the parking lot is cold, and their breath is visible in the air, clouds of mist and smoke.

"He do that to your face?" Asks Lily, leaning over mid-walk to take Sadie's face in her hand and turn it, inspecting it. "Hit him harder next time."

"Oh, I plan to," she vows. Lily swipes around the socket of her eye, and it stings like hell. "Ow."

"Oh, shut up," she snickers, and turns her blue eyes away. Her eyelashes are brushed with black mascara tonight, not brown. Although that could be because Sadie stole it, and consequently lost the tube... "Put some ice on it when we get home."

"I ate all the ice."

"Alright, then put frozen peas on it? You little weirdo, what are you eating ice for?"

"I was craving it!"

Four days pass before she sees Jeremy Frazier again, late in the evening on Saturday afternoon. The Sixth Sense has just been released on the big screen, and from the looks of the seating in the theatre room, the whole school has shown up for it.

"Okay," Abbie mumbles, walking along and leading the way down the dark aisle. The room is loud with yells and talking from teenagers excited for the movie, and equally as scared for the thrills. It's supposed to be the biggest movie of the year. "We're row C, seats seven and eight."

"I can't see shit in here!" Sadie squints at the letters stamped into the rows, going backwards from Z to A. "Is that a K? I think that's a K. Oh, wait, hang on, that's not a K."

"It is, that's a K."

"I'm sure that's an L." She throws popcorn in her mouth.

"Definitely not an L..AHA!" They both freeze on the brightly-patterned carpet, and turn down row C, squeezing past rude boys who refuse to move their legs, and girls older than them who pay them no mind, chatting amongst themselves. "Uhhh, here!"

Looking up, a voice is familiar, in seat number nine. It's a boy in a dark denim jacket, the sleeves rolled back in the heated room, head thrown back into the seat, laughing at the boys beside him. They're called Jacob and Daniel, and Sadie recognises them from biology class second period. The final boy she recognises from art class, and detention. Her shadow casts over the boy, his frame so tall the top of his hair is ever so slightly above the chairline.

Daniel's eyes raise from his friends to Sadie and Abbie, and his smile drops shortly but his words continue. Unfortunately, while Jacob keeps laughing at Daniel, Jeremy looks away, and turns his attention to an unimpressed Sadie, and a deadpan Abbie.

"Oh, you're kidding me," he sighs. "Of all the seats in here, you had to choose the one next to me?"

"It wasn't exactly a choice," she sneers, sitting down heavily, like Woody from Toy Story. "I'd never choose to sit next to you."

"Hey, watch your mouth, Sadie," Daniel leans forward to look her up and down. "It's fucking rude."

"Speak for yourself!" Abbie leans back into the chair, getting comfortable. "Now fuck off."

"Yeah? Watch it, or you'll be looking like her."

Boys. They always take it too far.

Sadie frowns. She can't help it, but leans back into her own chair and gets comfortable, knee over the other. Her mind turns to the blue-purple bruise under her eye, and from the corner of it, sees Jeremy, looking uncomfortable.

Thank God the trailers start. As the lights dim, the room cheers, and pieces of popcorn go flying over the rows of seats. Jeremy looks away, and the opening credits begin to roll.

Truth be told, it's a good movie! Creepy, as people yell out at certain scenes, but it's the best movie she's watched all year. Admittedly, she's a little cautious of having her feet on the ground, and wishes there was the space available to pull them to the chair. Even Daniel jumps in his seat once.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Abbie whispers during the tent scene. "But I'm scared, Sadie."

"Well," she swallows. "You ain't getting me out of this chair any time soon."

The boy next to her laughs quietly, a gentle exhale through his nose. His long legs shift, extended under the seat in front.

"Something funny, Jeremy Frazier?" Sadie mutters.

He tilts his head a little against the seat. "No, ma'am."

Hmm. The theatre falls silent, watching as the boy runs to hide in his tent. Everything is still as both the boy and the audience wait, watching and waiting. And then all chaos breaks loose, as the tent pegs begin to rip open one by one. Sadie averts her eyes, and then looks up again. Abbie is shrieking beside her, and the rest of the theatre does, too. When Sadie looks up, there's a little girl, waiting for the kid. It's unsettling, and quite frankly, awful.

"This is the worst movie I've ever seen!" she hides behind her hands. Abbie's own fly out to grip Sadie's arm painfully, screaming at the girl waiting outside the tent.

"She's in the tent! She's in the tent!" Abbie screams. Her terror blends with the rest of the room.

The cacophony settles down. Lifting her hand away, Sadie can't help herself from looking to her right...where Jeremy Frazier is mesmerised by the horror on-screen. Though his arms crossed against his stomach are relaxed, and his body lanugage doesn't give any fear away, his eyes are shiny and big, and they're absolutely glued to the image, the terrifying scene on the big screen.

"You look like you're enjoying a horror more than you should be," Sadie whispers into a quiet moment as the theatre noise lowers.

Those dark eyes slide in her direction, irises in the deepest shade of brown. Something cold trails down Sadie's spine, like icy water in the shower, but unable to look away, her own gaze is glued to Jeremy's. Her mouth parts just so, absolutely captivated by him. It isn't the first time; they've lived in the same town their whole lives, attended the same schools and teams, seen one another at church and community events. Jeremy Frazier is and has always been captivating, a looker in his own right, and every girl knows it. Sadie knows it, and their fight doesn't change the gaping feeling in her stomach, dragging down and down and down even further. Jeremy Frazier is one of a kind, and she'll never admit that she's admired him from afar.

"This isn't scary," he mutters calmly. He surveys her, gaze sidling from her bruised face to her nose, and across her cheeks. And then he leans his head back against the seat and looks away, like nothing happened.

The end of the movie is a relief. She feels somewhat weak from the constant on-edge feeling for the whole of the film. With half a tub of popcorn left over, she and Abbie take their time getting ready to leave, eating and talking as they pull on their coats ready to go out into the frosty November air. The theatre is loud again now, the lights turned on, but it's steadily emptying out, popcorn and wrappers left behind on seats and the floor disrespectfully. Jacob Jones, the boys' friend, leaves to get a ride home, leaving his two friends behind.

"So," an authoritve voice calls amdist the shuffling of people getting to their feet. "What did you think of the movie, Abs? Scary?"

Abbie scoffs loudly, not even looking up from her Ericsson T28, squinting as she read the screen. "Don't call me Abs."

"So?" Daniel pushes, the boy in crisp Nike's leaning forward in his seat on the other side of Jeremy, looking intently at Abbie. He is a contrast to Jeremy: his eyes are crystal blue, his hair a shock of yellow-blond. Abbie once told him that Hitler would have loved him, and he threw a book at her.

She huffs through her nose, turning from her phone and looking him up and down. "I nearly shit my pants. Happy?"

He grins, jumping his brows. Abbie gags. "Very."

"God, you're such a creep. Seriously now, get out of here before the cleaners clean out the crap. That’s you, Daniel, thicko.”

The seat Jeremy resides in creaks with age as he stretches out his long legs. He's tall without trying, without having to stand on his toes; it makes Sadie want to smack him out of sheer spite. She isn't short by any means, standing at full height at what she considers to be a beautfiful five-foot-four and a bit. But it's as if with every stretch, Jeremy is flaunting. God. Eugh!

Daniel and Abbie are arguing over her fear of the tent scene, when Jeremy sits up straighter, clearing his throat.

"Sadie!" Abbie cuts across, before he can get a word in. "Should we get going? It's nearly midnight already."

She's already ready to go, with her coat on and her bag across her body. Her own Ericsson is vibrating in the bag, no doubt her mom or Lily bugging her to come home.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted now, anyway."

Abbie bids a jokey fairwell to Daniel, although they'll see each other in class next week. She's set off down the row, the boy following after her pulling on her coat. Leaving Sadie to collect her popcorn bucket and shift from foot to foot, eyes sore in bruises, and tiredness.

"Um...I'll see you in class, then?" She attempts, unsure as to why she's bothering to say goodbye to the boy who hurt her face.

Jeremy, even if he is confused, doesn't show this. He nods, gathering his bits together to leave. "Yeah," he smiles politely. "We have gym together on Monday, right?"

"Unfortunately," she rolls her eyes. Then blanches. "No. I meant it's unfortunate that we have gym, not that I have gym class with you."

Jeremy just laughs it off. "It's cool, really. I knew what you meant."

Somehow that's even worse. She can only smile tightly, bid him a 'see you, then', and rush off after Abbie, who nags that her mom is waiting outside in the car.

At home, she fills in her mom and Lily about The Sixth Sense, and the boy who sees dead people. She spends an hour on the house phone racking up the bill, talking to Abby and Jane respectively, conversing about their planned trip out of town in a few weeks to the mall. She has work in the morning, waittressing for only three hours at the tiny diner downtown by the hardware store for a bit of extra cash. Her birthday is coming up, and she has her eye on the Dior perfume in the magazine on the coffee table.

She falls asleep that night, terrified of what might be lurking under the bed, and haunted by a red tent.

It’s hard to get up on time the next day. Lily is banging on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, telling Sadie she’s running late, but when she looks at her alarm clock, she’s two hours early.

When confronted in the kitchen, Lily simply shrugs, and smirks. “I didn’t want you to be late.”

She can’t do anything but shake her head in disappointment and pour some cereal into a cracked bowl.

By nine-thirty, she’s dressed for work, ready and out of the door, walking with her coat yanked so tightly that it feels like she might be strangling herself. It’s a quiet morning in town, but people will no doubt come for breakfast on a Sunday morning. Not always—some weeks, she doesn’t see anyone all shift—but others, there’s a good mix of regulars who come for a warm drink and cooked breakfast or pancakes, or visitors from out of town who want to explore the ‘quirky’ and ‘cute’ places to eat. They come in, ask Sadie questions about ‘small town living’ as she pours their coffee and serves their waffles and pancakes, and laugh obnoxiously about how little there is in the area. ‘Quaint’, they call it, ‘Interesting’.

There is nothing worse than tourists.

Luckily, there are none this morning. Fionnuala, the woman who so generously gave Sadie the sought-after job after three weeks of begging, has already set the place up when she walks in. It smells of sugar and breakfast, with a hint of bleach and Estee Lauder perfume. The bell above the door rings twice when Sadie enters, and Fionnuala herself comes out of the kitchen entryway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, expecting customers. It is in fact, Just Sadie. She beams nonetheless.

“Oh good,” Fionnuala winks, “I was startin’ to think you’d passed out at the theatre. Good night?”

“Craaaazy night,” says Sadie. “Never watching that ever again. Like ever.”

“Oh! That bad? Really?”

Sadie finds the energy in the early morning to slam her bag down on the counter, and stare down her manager. “Fionnuala—there is nothing worse than that movie in the world.”

The older woman throws her hands up in surrender at the attacking tone, allowing herself to turn around and head back into the kitchen. “I’ll take your word for it!”

Since it’s so quiet, Sadie spends the morning polishing cutlery that is already polished. Dipping the metal utensils into a pot of boiling water would have once burned her fingertips off, but after so long in the industry, her nerve endings are pretty much fried. It’s a slow and quiet morning, very relaxing after the late night out at the theatre, so she passes through all of the cutlery in an hour and a bit, moving on to pulling everything off of the shelves to clean and replace them shortly after.

Every little thing in the cafe is strategically coloured and placed—the walls are painted beige and pearl-pink, and the sconces holding the lights around the place are shell-shaped in the colour pearly-white. The floor is tiled black and white, an original feature from the nineteen-forties, and the tables are shabby-chic style in white and brown. They’re, most decidedly, awkward colours, but the overall feel of the cafe is that of relaxation.

She’s halfway across the tea and coffee shelving when the bell above the door rings. With one knee on the counter and the other foot on a chair, reaching for the top shelf, she casts a look over her shoulder.

A gust of cold air enters with them: Jeremy Frazier, and his mother, Sara. He’s in the same jacket from last night, black denim and a heavy black coat, blue jeans and Nike’s. His mom wears that navy skirt all the moms are wearing this season, scallop-edged, paired with a thick coat and boots. Those damn boots—they’re all Sadie’s own mom is talking about. Jealous, she is, because Jeremy’s mom can afford new winter boots.

“Hi!” She steps down onto the chair, and then the ground. Casting the cloth aside, Sadie tries to calm her racing heart. Serving Jeremy Frazier and his mom was not on the cards for a Sunday morning. Usually, it’s just his mom, so Sadie can’t help feeling a little self-conscious acting professional in front of her school mate. “Take your pick of seats, guys. I’ll be right over.”

Sara hasn’t looked at her yet, but Jeremy raises his eyebrows once in silent thanks, following his mom to her usual table by the window. The edges are a little misted up today, it’s so chilly on the other side. She’s chatting away to him about something her son very obviously is not listening to, throwing in absent ‘yeah’s and ‘I know’.

Digging out the notepad and pen from her pinny, Sadie rounds the counter and heads over to their table, going over the script in her head on the way over.

“So, what can I get for you?”

Sara looks up with eyes similar to her son’s. Her mouth is pulled up in a brilliant smile, slim-faced and stress-lined. Kind—Sara looks kind. That expression changes instantly when she looks at Sadie, dropping in horror.

“Sadie!” The gasp is sharp and short.

She shifts awkwardly. “That’s me!”

Sara looks between she and Jeremy. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad!”

“Oh, mom, stop—”

“He did this to you?” Sara demands, nodding at her. “My son gave you a black eye?!”

“Uh—” she taps the pen frantically across her notepad. “I started it, to be fair.”

“My son gave you that!”

She sounds wounded, and sick, as if the fact that Jeremy bruised Sadie’s face was a crime against humanity, or the worst thing imaginable.

Jeremy is red in the face. He’s sunken down in the chair, staring out of the window at the uninteresting scene across the street: the hardware store being repainted.

“You already knew this happened,” he rebutted. “When you picked me up from detention.”

“I didn’t think it was this bad! Sadie, you look like somebody’s smashed blueberries across your face.”

And finally, something Sadie can react decently to. She barks a laugh at the unexpected comment. It’s funny, the way she says it.

“Well, it’s a good job I like blueberries.” She winks. Sara inhales shakily and tries for a smile—it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But, seriously now, it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.” A total lie, but anything to not get fired. “Now, is there anything I can get for you both?”

Sara orders the usual, slightly distasteful given the circumstances, blueberry muffin and omelette. Jeremy orders toast and jam with a side of blueberry muffin. It’s put through the til. They get their food. Tension is high. And Sadie goes back to cleaning.

The bell rings again, David and Holland, husband and wife, come in for a visit. They take a sweet tea each, the elderly couple in worn winter jackets, with tired but kind faces and they express their concern for Sadie’s ‘blueberry’ face. She tells them a tiny white lie.

“Clumsy as hell, I am,” she giggles. “Walked into a door!”

“Be more careful in future, Sadie!” Holland chides, taking Sadie’s hands in her wrinkled pair softly, patting them like a grandmother would.

Fionnuala sticks on the radio for a little while, and the news filters through in the background.

It’s nearly twelve o’clock by the time Jeremy and his mom leave. She’s out of the door before he is; Sadie watches them from the corner of her eye, polishing tea pots at the counter side. Jeremy Frazier stands hovering by the door, but turns at the last minute, approaching her. Although she wants nothing more than to avoid him, she sets down the teapot in hand, clenching the rag with the other, and smiles politely, silently.

He has his hands in his pockets. Jeremy sighs. “I wanted to apologise.”

The rag is twisted between her hands. “What for?”

He scoffs. “What do you think, Sadie? My mom.”

The twisted rag is burning her palms. “Well,” she tenses. “Your mom wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. I did start our fight.”

“Just accept the apology and move on. My mom shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. And…I wanted to apologise too. For…doing that. It was an awful thing to do. I’ve been thinking about it since the movie last night.”

Sadie slaps down the rag, and sets her folded arms on the top. “I meant what I said. It doesn’t even hurt that bad, now. Case closed.”

“So do you accept my apology?”

“Will you read ‘Make Lemonade?”

Now it’s Jeremy’s turn to shock. He side-eyes her, turning back to look briefly outside, and huffs a confused laugh. “What?”

“‘Make Lemonade’,” Sadie repeats. “Virginia Wolff. If you read it, I’ll accept your apology, and we can start over. All violence forgotten. If not…I guess you’ll have to watch out for kamikaze dodgeballs in gym class.”

At last, Jeremy’s face turns positive. He nods his head slowly, considering it, before clenching his teeth together and breathing in deeply. “Okay.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

He raises his hands and pulls the collar of his shirt higher. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is that a threat, Jeremy Frazier?”

He doesn’t answer, only chuckles and swings open the cafe door, out into the cold again.

Sadie feels warm, watching him go.

She’s got a truce with Jeremy Frazier.

They have detention together Friday evening.

“Why?!” Lily exclaimed at the wheel, throwing her hands up with every word. “Why, why, why, why?!” At pick-up, she’d gone insane.

The explanation to why: they had gym class. They were on the opposite teams. The hall was deafening with screams and shouting. The teachers had evacuated the area.

Sadie, bored, threw a ball so hard at the wall for fun that it bounced back, and smacked Jeremy in the face, standing behind her. He took that same dodgeball and launched it right back at her. She busted his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“You broke my nose.” He deadpans.

Sadie flays her hands out wide, leaning over the desk. Jeremy sits on the other side, reclining in the seat. “So we’re even. You busted my face, I busted your nose. We’re cool now!”

“We’ve never even been friends. How are we ‘cool now’. If anything, this should make us far from cool.”

Ouch. How can she make this event easier to stand? It’s growing late, Jeremy’s growing on her, but…

“Look,” he sighs. She shifts her eyes from the window to the boy. His curls have grown out, brushing his ears, dusting his eyelashes. “My mom said to tell you that she wants to talk to your mom about having you ‘round for Christmas. To make up for, well, nearly smashing your face in.”

She blinks hard. “That sounds violent.”

“So can you ask your mom?”

“Guess I’ll have to.”

“Guess so.”

“Does your mom know that I broke your nose?”

“Yes,” he quips, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“And?”

“And what, Sadie Fells?”

“Why does she still want us ‘round for Christmas if she knows I broke your nose?!” Sadie yells.

Jeremy practically flings forward in his seat, eyes wild. “How am I supposed to know? Ask my mom!” He grimaces, hands rushing to his plastered nose. “Stop yelling, it’s hurting my face.”

“You’re hurting my ears.”

“Sadie.”

By December, and the date Jeremy’s mom has set for the get-together at their house, the universe has thrown them together four more times outside of school. Once, at Sadie’s work. A second time at the Thanksgiving parade in the street, when his mother came over to compliment Sadie's on her new, identical boots. A third occasion at the movies, sitting with Abbie and Daniel. And the fourth?

Well, he broke her nose.

Accidentally.

With a dodgeball.

Together in the nurses office, holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to her face, they rambled on about their mutual hatred for one another. In the music room during class, they laughed as a group with Abbie and Daniel about that sitcom they watched the night before. At the cafe, when he 'popped in' coincidentally on her shift, talking at the counter on a slow day.

By the time December comes around, they’re almost close friends. Close, because the universe has forced them together. Almost, because there's a part of Sadie that feels suspcious as to why Jeremy has been so accepting of their recent troubles. And friends, because they may as well be.

However, today feels oddly uncomfortable, because despite their recent closeness, she's never been to Jeremy's house. They're here because Sara invited them, and there's only so many times that Sadie's mother, Anya, can decline Sara's offers of a hot drink and cake. She caught them at the car in the parking lot the day Jeremy broke Sadie's nose, spluttering apologies faster than she could breathe, and absolutely demanded that the family come around for Christmas cake and a talk, mainly to make up for the constant fighting between their children, but also just for a get-together.

The Frazier house sits on Jefferson Street, number 125, right in town, a red, three-storey with arched and stained glass windows, a large home with christmas lights strung around the tree in the yard, where a large treehouse sits. The lights give the yard and the driveway a multi-coloured glow, perfect for the winter theme. The driveway is well-scrubbed, and the front yard free from any stray vines or ivy. It's a beautiful home, and Anya makes sure to tell Sara just that.

"Welcome!" Sara beams sprightly, opening the front door. It's painted a dark-brown colour, and has three diamonds of glass down the front. "Come in out of the cold, Sadie, that's it."

Her mom ushers her in first, and she flounders in the hall, waiting awkwardly. "You have a lovely home, Sara! The yard is gorgeous!"

There's Christmas music playing from somewhere in the kitchen, and people standing in groups, talking away about things Sadie doesn't care about, and sitting on the chairs in the living room, arranged just so that they're easily sociable. Fold-up chairs are scattered here and there around the ground floor, and the people sitting in them are laughing and talking and stuffing their faces. The Christmas tree, thick and full of life, stands proudly in the corner of the living room, directly in front of the door, blue and gold and red baubles hanging from its branches, with multicolour lights fading in and out. The Santa string lights strung along the banister of the stairs are singing a mechanical tune and flashing bright red.

Hands lay on Sadie’s coat. She jumps violently, turning, but it’s just Sara. She laughs like Sadie’s the funniest thing since sliced bread. “Oh, bless you! Let me take your coat, Sadie. I’m sure Jeremy’s around here somewhere. JEREMY!”

Her sudden shout makes Sadie cringe. Her eyes dart around for her own parents, but they’ve disappeared somewhere. She can’t see them, but she can hear her mother’s cackle.

“Jeremy!” Sara tries again. She’s drowned out by the Christmas music and guests voices. “Stay here, I’ll go find him for you.”

Sadie chokes. “Oh, that’s okay! I’ll go find my mom—”

“I’ll be one minute!” She smiles and pats Sadie’s back, sliding past her to start up the stairs. It’s a staircase that winds sharply, accompanied by yellow patterned wallpaper with dark-brown wainscotting underneath and a banister of the same colour. The kitchen, just around the corner, is full to the brim with people, but the same wallpaper is visible, and the lighter-brown cupboards and immaculate tiles. Along the top shelves, cookware and bakeware sit: a blending machine, a coffee machine, a couple of pots and pans, and cooking books. On the refrigerator stand magnets, but she can’t make them out; people keep moving in front of them.

It’s awkward being alone in someone’s else’s home. She’s almost glad when Sara returns to the ground floor with her son in tow, trudging with his hands in his pockets like he’d rather be elsewhere. It makes sense, really. She doesn’t particularly want to be here, either.

Sara claps her hands together and shrugs her shoulders once, ecstatically. “We’re all here! Wonderful. You two get along now. We don’t need any more broken bones, do we?” She laughs.

To be polite, Sadie giggles along and agrees, but honestly she would rather die than laugh at that, because it really hurts her face.

Jeremy must notice it pretty quickly. He watches his mom go, and then turns around, starting up the stairs. Watching silently, and a little hurt, Sadie frowns. He’s ripped off the bandaging on his nose, and it’s still a little discoloured but it’s getting there, more blue than black, spread under his eyes. It’s an awful sight. The bruising hasn’t come out of her injury yet, and she’s dreading it.

As if he can feel her eyes on him, Jeremy stops on the corner, rolling his eyes to her. He waves a hand. “What?”

She startles. “Well—I don’t know anyone else here. That’s what…why your mom went to get you.”

“You didn’t bring your sister?”

“She didn’t want to come.”

He sighs, turning around, and stomps back down the stairs. “Bring her next time.”

“Actually, go back to where you came from, asshole,” she scowls, crossing her velvet-covered arms over her chest, and making for the kitchen, where the buffet is laid out. “I didn’t ask to come here.”

She doesn’t hear a reply, so she assumes he’s left her alone. Pushing between gathered people, she makes it to the kitchen table, strong mahogany scratched with years of use. There’s a thin tablecloth running down the middle, tiny snowmen zig-zagging across. Jeremy’s parents have put out a huge display, more than enough to keep everybody at the party going, so she takes a place and gets together a great bunch of food, pouring a glass of peach schnapps and lemonade where the drinks are set out at the corner of the table. She’s a casual drinker, allowed only at events with her parents, and special occasions…also with her parents, and only ever three glasses. But since they’re not here in the room to supervise, she pours a bit more than a double, and a bit less lemonade than she should.

A shadow at her side casts over the food. His hands reach out for his own plate, and the serving tongs after.

“Look,” he begins. “That was rude of me. I’m sorry.”

Is he, really? Maybe not. Maybe he’s being polite because technically he’s being rude to guests, and Sadie gets the feeling that his parents aren’t the kind to take that lightly.

“Well,” she swallows back a mouthful of peach schnapps. “Thank you for apologising.” She doesn’t have the guts to look him in the face, especially with this giant plaster across her sore nose. Eyeing his outfit from behind her hair, he’s made an effort tonight: black pants and shoes, but a good-looking cerulean quarter-zipper sweater, rolled up at the elbows, and a white collared shirt undone at the buttons but folded loosely at the collar. He looks put-together, well-done.

“My mom made me wear it.”

Sadie jolts, heart hammering, caught out. “I didn’t mean to stare,” she coughs, and swallows her embarrassment in the drink. “Just—the colour suits you.” An even more embarrassing attempt at saving herself.

But Jeremy isn’t embarrassed or disgusted. He chuckles, Sadie raises her head, and he nods to the glass bottles of Budweiser beside the bottles of peach schnapps. “Thank you. Can you grab me a bottle?”

She does, setting down her own drink on the side to get his, and handing him the bottle opener after. He mutters a thanks.

Sadie searches her brain rapidly for some good conversation starter. “How’s your nose now?”

Jeremy tilts his head, but a grin comes to face. “It hurts. How’s yours?”

She snickers, and then gags, because holy hell it hurts to do that. And Jeremy knows it, cracking up at her mistake. “Hurts,” Sadie manages, and knocks back the rest of her drink to curb the ache later. She turns to face the rest of the party, leaning on the table, and Jeremy copies.

“I really am sorry about before,” he mumbles, paying full attention to the tiny salad sandwiches on his plate. “It was rude. I don’t know why I said it.”

She shrugs. “I broke your nose. I threw paper-mache projects at you. That’s why you said it.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean,” he meets her gaze, “if anything, I got you back. I busted your eye socket. I broke your nose back. Mine was an accident but with yours, I was just angry. And I’m sorry. Seriously. Nobody deserves that.”

It’s true! It’s so true that she can’t help nodding her head with his words although the people-pleaser inside is dying to correct him. For once, can she push that urge aside and just accept somebody saying sorry for hurting her?

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll accept your apology. Can we be even, now? No more broken bones or bruises? I’m tired of it.”

He bumps her shoulder softly. “Sure. Break even?” And then he holds up a pretzel off of his plate, offering it out to her with a sure hand.

She raises her own shaky one, and pinches the other side of the salted pretzel. “Break even.”

They each tear a bit off, and that’s that.

It’s late into the night when everybody leaves, but as usual, Sadie’s parents are the very last to leave. Her family and Jeremy’s are gathered in the living room after everyone else has gone home. Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree is playing for the tenth time, and Sadie is sitting beside her mom, curled into her side with Anya’s arm around her. Jeremy has placed himself on the floor in front of the electric fire, his parents on the opposite sofa.

His dad is very, very drunk. He’s spluttering some hate about a guy from earlier, a man he had been laughing with, and eight bottles of Budweiser sit at his feet on the floor. While he’s totally relaxed in the corner of the chair, Sara is plumping up the sofa cushions erratically, karate-chopping the top of each one for that added detail.

“Alan,” Ted Frazier slurs, sitting forward so suddenly it sends Sara into a frenzy of fluffing the cushions faster. “I mean it, that guy won’t be back in this house ever again.”

Alan Fells isn’t far from Ted’s state. Sadie looks past her mom’s shoulder to her dad on the other side. He smells of strong vodka all the way from the other side of the sofa. He hums firmly. “Good. Vile man. Vile.”

Anya moves, pulls her arm away from Sadie, and stands. “Let me help you, Sara.”

“Oh, that’s alright, you’re a guest! D’you want another drink? Let me get you another.”

Her mother waves Sara off. Her dress has wine splashes down the side, and her hair’s turned frizzy from the warmth and the alcohol tonight. It’s the same colour as Sadie’s in a dull brown. They share the same wide eyes, but Anya has an upturned nose just like Lily. Sadie got her father’s nose, straight at the bridge, small and buttoned at the end.

“Mom,” she quietly says, between Ted Frazier’s hate speech and her father’s agreeing.

“What, Sadie?” She hisses.

And that’s the end of it. Being alone with two extremely drunk men is terrifying enough, never mind it being in someone else’s house.

She and Sara leave for the kitchen, collecting dishes as they go, and talking about some tv show Sadie’s never heard of. She watches them go, around the corner down the hall.

The sofa dips beside her, but it isn’t her father. Ted is still on the other side. Jeremy has taken her mom’s place, reaching out his too-long legs across the carpet. He stinks of beer, but she smells of peach schnapps and secret gin, so they even one another out.

“I hate when he gets like this,” Jeremy whispers, and reaches behind them for the window ledge. When he pulls his arm over again, he produces a magazine for her, one of his mom’s. It’s a kind gesture to kill time and a good distraction, but she can barely make sense of the words in her fuzzy mind. “It puts my mom on edge.”

“It’s not nice,” she agrees, flicking to the first page. Things are starting to grow blurry with the tiredness taking over. How much has she drank? Four glasses? Five? Three is usually the limit, because it makes her feel unwell the next day. “He get this way a lot?”

The boy hums lowly; it lights a fire in her chest. “Most nights. Not this bad, though. He stops at about five bottles. Think the guy’s been through five crates tonight.”

“Mine’s the same.” She concedes. “He enjoys a rum nightly. Never gets this pissed though.”

“Are actually bonding over our parents getting drunk?” He huffs.

“Might be.”

“Hm.”

“Hm.”

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree is playing for a final time when Alan gets to his feet. He’s a little wobbly, but not too terrible that he can’t pull on his coat. Sadie’s father is a tall guy, and his ginger hair is thick and curly, and when he gets drunk, his Appalachian accent rings loud and clear.

“Get up,” he tells her, heading for the door. “Let’s get going. It’s late.”

It’s actually nearly four in the morning, and she’s half-passed out on the couch with Jeremy in a slumber beside her, but she manages to find the heels she’s half-kicked off at some point and pull them on, properly, with her mom emerging from the kitchen to hurriedly help her with her coat.

“Thank you for coming! We’ll see you soon?” Asks a worn-out Sara, whose smile is exhausted.

“Of course!” Anya pulls her daughter into her side. “Same time next week?” She jokes.

All Sadie can think, as Sara sticks sugar cookies wrapped in tissue in her hands, is hope not.

chapter three ->

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2024--Day 13: The Yuletide Challege (3/3)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 2818

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma heard her phone ding, announcing an incoming text, and she smiled to herself.  She’d bet money she knew exactly who was texting her; they’d been texting back and forth more or less every day since she’d helped him decorate his place.  She certainly didn’t want to think about it too closely, but she found herself looking forward to Killian’s texts.  He was funny…and thoughtful…and an idiot all wrapped up in one smoking hot package.

If the idea wasn’t so completely ludicrous, she’d say she was starting to fall for him.  But, of course, that was ridiculous.

Emma glanced down at her phone and read her waiting text.

Killian: Morning Swan! Tick-tock.  Nearly Christmas week, and I’ve yet to receive my third act of kindness. ;-)

She quickly sent off a reply.

Emma: Um, actually I just did you an act of kindness.  You texted me at 7 in the freaking morning, and I didn’t threaten murder.

He responded with a series of emojis that made her bark out a laugh.

Emma: Fine.  I’m free this weekend. What (PLATONIC) good deed do you want this time?

Killian: You had to tack on “platonic”, didn’t you? :(

Emma: Lol, I know you, Killian Jones, and I’m not walking into any more innuendo.

After a bit more nonsense in text message form, Killian asked her to stop by his apartment on Saturday afternoon, and they could decide from there just what her third act of Yuletide cheer would be.

Accordingly, at 2:00 pm sharp, Emma knocked on Killian’s door, waiting with more anticipation than she would have expected for her new…whatever he was…to answer.  When he finally did, she was not disappointed.  Her stomach swooped at the sight of those deep, blue eyes, the delighted smile that lit up his face.

And then she noticed what he was wearing and barked out a laugh.  He’d covered his normal jeans and button down with a large apron that said “kiss the cook”.

“So are we baking today?” Emma asked as she stepped inside and let him help her off with her coat.  “Because if we are, I can guarantee you my contribution will not be an act of kindness.”

He chuckled.  “Nonsense, darling.  Anyone can bake Christmas cookies, and I could desperately use your help.  I must have four dozen completed before tomorrow.”

“Four dozen?” she asked with a grin, “sounds like someone’s chasing a sugar high. What the hell are you going to do with four dozen cookies?”

“They aren’t for me, Swan,” he said, looking curiously uncomfortable.  “I’ve made rather a tradition of baking cookies for the children at the group home each Christmas.”

That was…really sweet.  “I didn’t take you for such a philanthropist.  What made you start that tradition?”

“Seemed only good form,” he said, busying himself with grabbing sugar and flour and the other assorted ingredients he would need.  “My brother and I lost our parents quite young and we were in and out of establishments of the sort for years.  Perhaps I see this as a small way to give back for what Mother Blue and her nuns did for us.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Emma said, taking the apron he handed her and pulling it over her head.  “You gonna see him for Christmas?”

His face fell.  “He…died. In the same accident that took my girlfriend and my hand,” he said thickly.

The pain radiated off of him in waves, and Emma felt like a terrible person. Stepping toward him, she laid her hand atop his on the kitchen island.  “I’m sorry, Killian.  I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

He turned his hand over and laced it with hers, giving a little squeeze, before finally meeting her eyes.  “No need to apologize, love.  The truth is…I wanted you to know.  Perhaps if I talk of it I can finally, truly heal.”

Emma looked down at their joined hands, feeling the oddest sense of belonging at the simple gesture.  Her heart turned over, humbled at the idea that he’d entrust her with one of the worst memories of his life.  “Well what are Yuletide good deed doers for?” she asked, her voice far breathier than she’d anticipated.

“What indeed?” he asked softly, looking at her with such a look of tenderness it made her want to run away…or fly into his arms, one or the other.

“Anyway,” she said, taking a quick step back, “what about all those cookies we need to bake?”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Killian pulled the last sheet of cookies from the oven and set it on the potholder on his counter before turning back to his guest.  Her hair was a mess, she had a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, a smudge of flour on her cheek…and she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

There was no denying it anymore.  He was falling in love with her.  He didn’t know what stroke of good luck convinced her to choose him for this challenge of her family’s, but he was profoundly grateful she had.

“That the last of them?” Emma asked as she finished decorating the last sugar cookie.

“Aye,” he answered.  “We’ll give them a few moments to cool, and then we can give them a few finishing touches.”

Emma turned to face him.  “You know, Killian, I’ve never had any success in the kitchen, but this afternoon has actually been fun.”

“It has, hasn’t it,” he said with a tender smile.  “However, it seems you’re wearing nearly as much flour as went into our cookies.”

He reached up before he could stop himself, cupping her cheek and smoothing away the flour with the pad of his thumb.  Time seemed to stand still for a long moment, neither of them saying a word, both staring intently at the other.

And then she moved.  Grabbing his lapels, she pulled his lips down to hers, kissing him as though her life depended on it.  He hesitated for less than a heartbeat before matching her kiss for kiss, letting all his pent-up feelings have free reign as their mouths melded, their tongues tangled.

The heady feel and taste of Emma Swan was intoxicating, and Killian would have gladly spent hours kissing her, but much too quickly for his liking, she pulled away, breathing hard.

“That was…” Killian whispered, not sure there was an adjective in the English language powerful enough to describe what had just happened between them.

“A one-time thing,” Emma said, quickly stepping back.  

Killian looked up, surprised, and found in her eyes not the awe and wonder and love he was feeling, but something akin to fear.

“Swan…” he began, hardly knowing what he meant to say.

She’d already taken off her apron and was moving toward the door as quickly as she could.  “I have to go.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

“I kissed him,” Emma said quickly, hearing the panic in her voice, unable to control it.

She hadn’t known what to do, where to go, how to calm herself, so she went to the only people she trusted, her family.  Mary Margaret had taken one look at her, ushered her inside, and then promptly made her hot chocolate with cinnamon.  It was only after a few sips of the sweet, comforting brew that Emma was able to relax enough to breathe again.

“Um…who?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Killian,” Emma said.  “I kissed Killian, you know the guy I decided to do the good deeds for?”

Emma could see the excitement Mary Margaret was desperately trying to hide. “Why?” she asked, affecting a casualness Emma knew she didn’t feel.

“I don’t know!” Emma said with a shrug.  “I was feeling good.  It’s been a while.  I don’t know why I did it.”

Mary Margaret took a deliberate sip of her cocoa before responding.  “Did it mean anything?”

“No!” Emma was quick to reassure.  “It was just a kiss!  It was nothing!”

Mary Margaret deliberately set her mug on the counter and focused her full, almost motherly attention on Emma before decisively shaking her head.  “No, it wasn’t nothing,” she said.  “You wouldn’t have brought it up if it was nothing. You wouldn’t have that deer in the headlights look if it was nothing.  Talk to me, Emma.  Do you have feelings for this guy?”

“No!” Emma said, getting up and starting to pace.  “Yes…I don’t know!  I don’t know how I feel other than wanting to hop in my bug and drive as fast and as far away as I possibly can.”

Mary Margaret let her pace for a few moments before getting awkwardly to her feet and pointing Emma in the direction of the sofa before the big, magnificent Christmas tree.  “You’re falling for him, but the thought scares you, am I right?”

Emma sighed, defeated.  “Mary Margaret, I can’t do this again.  I can’t.”

“You can’t do what?” Mary Margaret said with a gentle smile.

“Fall for someone,” Emma said.  “Neal, Graham, even Walsh, they’re all gone.  There must be something wrong with me, something that drives people away.  I can’t fall for Killian only to have it all fall apart in a few months.  I don’t think I could stand it again.”

Mary Margaret leaned over and hugged her tightly.  “Oh Emma, I know you’re scared,” she said, pulling back, “but it’s worth it.  Love is so worth it.  Don’t give up what could turn out to be the best thing in your life just because of fear.”

“But…I barely even know this guy,” Emma said.  “How do I know this isn’t just the magic of the holidays talking?”

“No one’s saying you have to go off and propose to the guy, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a grin.  “Take it slow.  Let things develop naturally.  If he’s the one, I promise he’ll be there with you every step of the way; he’ll take things as slow and deliberate as you want.”

Emma was silent for a long moment.  Was her sister in law right?  Was it possible there could be something real, something substantial, something magical and lasting between her and Killian?  The fear gradually began to recede to be replaced with something she hadn’t felt in quite some time.  Hope.

“Maybe you’re right,” Emma said finally.  “Maybe I owe it to him…to myself…to at least be open to the possibility.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Christmas Eve was a cold, dreary day for Killian, much like it had been for the past five years.  He’d begun to hope this year would be different, that this year he’d have someone to spend the holidays with, but after that last encounter with Emma on the day of the cookie baking, he’d started to lose hope.

Killian frowned as he sat before the tree they’d spent so many happy hours decorating.  He scarcely knew what had happened.  One moment they’d been having a pleasant afternoon, the next she kissed him as though her life depended on it, and then she was gone, running away from him like being in his presence was the most loathsome prospect she could imagine.

What had he done wrong?  How had he so royally cocked up something that was turning into one of the most beautiful, meaningful relationships of his life?

Killian took a sip of the rum he’d bought in honor of the holiday (the rum he’d hoped to share with a certain gorgeous blonde).  After the disastrous way the evening had ended, Killian had decided it was best to give Emma her space, let her determine the course of their…whatever it was that they had with each other.

Perhaps it was a good idea, perhaps it wasn’t, Killian didn’t know.  All he knew was that he missed her, more than he’d ever thought possible.  He missed their daily text conversations, their banter, their flirting.  He missed her. What if that kiss had driven her away for good?  What if he lost her?

Killian took another sip, not even wanting to consider the possibility.  A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.  He would give her the holidays, give her a chance to get some perspective, and then he would plead his case, let her know how he felt. He’d never forgive himself if he neglected to do even that much.

There was a knock at the door.

Killian looked up, confused.  Who the bloody hell would be disturbing him at 7:30 on Christmas Eve night?  He was hardly fit for company, no matter who it might be.  “Go away,” he growled, not even bothering to get to his feet.

“Um…if that’s what you want, but I was really hoping we could talk,” came the voice he thought about, dreamed about, daily.  Emma!

Killian jumped to his feet and fairly sprinted to the door.  “Swan,” he breathed as the door opened, “at last.”

She grinned, looking a bit uncertain at the same time.  “So, are you going to invite me in, or what, Jones?”

Killian stepped back hastily, sweeping his good hand out in a gesture of invitation.  “Of course, love.  You’re always welcome here.  Always.”

She smiled shyly up at him as she shed her coat and took a seat on his sofa, patting it in invitation for him to join her.  “The tree looks really good, Killian,” she said awkwardly.

“Thank you,” he said, scratching at the spot behind his ear.  Why was this so awkward?  From the first they’d been comfortable with each other, but now…now it was like there was a wall up between them.  Perhaps it would be best to clear the air.  “Swan, why are you here?”

She met his eyes, attempting a bright smile.  “Well, I still owe you one good deed, right?  I had to do four before Christmas, and tonight’s my last opportunity.”

His face fell.  “Oh, aye, the good deeds…”

Emma reached over and put a gentle hand on his arm.  “Maybe that wasn’t the only reason I came.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly dropping her eyes, picking at the tassel of the afghan he had draped over the back of the sofa.  “I just…I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

His eyebrow raised.  “The other night?  Swan, if you mean to apologize for that kiss, please don’t.  I assure you it was both very much wanted and very much enjoyed.”

He watched as a tinge of pink colored her cheeks.  “I wasn’t gonna apologize for that.  Not really,” she said, finally meeting his eyes.  “It was what happened afterwards.  The running, I mean.  I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that.”

“Swan, you don’t have to…”

“Yeah, I think I do,” she interrupted.

“Emma,” he tried again.  “If you don’t have feelings for me, you need not apologize.  I never wish to pressure you or take advantage…”

“That’s just it,” Emma said with a hint of impatience.  “It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you.  It’s that I do.”

Killian felt his heart pick up it’s pace as his stomach swooped pleasantly.

“That’s why I ran away,” Emma continued.  “There’s this…I don’t know…connection between us that I can’t deny, and it scares the hell out of me.  In my experience people leave.  People always leave.  If I let myself feel for someone, I just get my heart broken, and…Killian, I can’t lose you too.”

Killian smiled tenderly, reaching up to cup her face, to let soft tendrils of her hair slip through his fingers.  “Swan, you need never fear that.  If I win your heart, and I have every intention of winning it, it will be because you want me.  If I win your heart, it will be the most precious treasure I’ve ever had, and I’ll guard it with my life.”

Emma smiled gently at him, leaning into his touch.  “That kind of statement should sound so sappy it’s almost laughable, but coming from you, somehow it doesn’t.”

He grinned.  “It’s a gift, darling.”

“Killian, I can’t guarantee I won’t get scared again,” she said, after a soft chuckle, “but being away from you this week made me realize something.”

“Aye, what’s that?”

“I missed you,” she said.  “I don’t want to let fear keep us from exploring what might be a really good thing.”

“Nor do I, love.”

“Just…” she said.  “Do you mind if we take things slow?  I’ve always kind of rushed into things before, but, I don’t know.  I want to make sure we do this thing right.”

He smiled, letting his thumb gently caress her cheek.  “We can take this as slowly as you like, darling.  We’ve our whole lifetimes before us.”

“Good,” Emma said.  “How about we make it official by testing out that mistletoe you’ve got hanging by the fireplace?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

NEXT CHAPTER->

[gingersnaptaff]

💘 or 💖 for any combination of Gwen and Dylan and Arthur that you care to write. Just quietly enabling.

GEMMA!!! FOR U!!!!!

💘💖: Rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out Fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

The clearing was quiet. The sun was copper as it dipped below the trees, bronzing their branches with an inferno.

And Arthur tossed another log on our own crackling fire before stirring the hissing embers with a twig.

His mouth was set in a thin, puckered line. Shadows shifted across his face. He chuckled gruffly, his lip curling in disgust. Green tinged his skin and, quick as a flash, he discarded the twig in the fire, rounded on Gwalhafed and jabbed a finger in his face, “Haf! You little-”

With a yelp, Gwalhafed jumped up from the log he'd been sitting on and frantically squawked: “I didn't do anything! That was all Gwalch's fault!”

Arthur growled, his dragon dark eyes piercing his older cousin. “Gwalchmai, why would you even tell -”

Gwalchmai cocked his head, a smug, delighted smile on his lips as he took in Arthur's all-too apparent rancour. “What? Tell my mother that I saw you and Gwyn kissing in the glade?” He leaned back on his log, his tawny eyes glinting in the firelight. “Why wouldn’t I? Go on then. Kiss her.”

“Why?” Arthur seethed, spittle clinging to the corners of his mouth. “So you can bask in my shame? I'm already marrying her, I don't want to kiss her too.”

“Because I'm a Rhosian?” I snapped as I stood before stomping up to him and jabbing a finger in his chest, a spark of delight lancing through my veins each time he flinched. “What and you think I willingly want to marry you, do you? If it wasn't for that stupid prophecy then I'd toss you back into a horse trough the second you turned your back!”

Arthur tossed his head back and laughed. His eyes were ringed with a coronet of molten gold as he hissed, “Oh? I'm sure you would for only you Northern bastards would do such underhanded tricks. Your father did the same in Iwerddon, so I'm told. Deceived all until they were homeward bound and grieving.”

“Liar!” I hissed, a cauldron roil of wrath scalding my breast. I stood on my tip-toes a little, swaying slightly as though I was a drunkard, and flinched in surprise when scarred hands cupped my waist.

Dylan's hands.

“Gwyn? Arthur? What’s going on?”

Arthur growled, the tiger’s eye luminosity of his gaze shifting to flint. “Nothing.”

“Doesn't look like nothing,” Dylan said pointedly. “It rather looks as though there is something happening here. Won't you tell me?”

“No.” Arthur pouted.

“Tell me.”

In lieu of a proper answer Arthur rolled his eyes and cupped my face in his calloused hands before he leaned down and kissed me. Squealing in surprise I bit his lip, blushing at his husky moan. His chapped lips made mine tingle. Every one of his kisses was demanding, setting my nerves alight. I returned each kiss with an equal fervour, wishing, wanting, praying to scald the flesh off his bones, to set his whole body alight like a funeral pyre.

He hummed as I fisted my hands in his tunic to try and steady myself. Dylan’s hand traced my curves, each playful brush making me shudder, even as I tugged Arthur towards me to deepen the kiss. He stumbled a little over a rock, a hoarse squeal leaving his lips, and gasped. His breath was feverish and frantic against my lips. “Brân's bollocks!” He bellowed at me once he'd staggered out of my grip. “You tŵpsyn! I could've died!”

“Don't be so dramatic,” I said over the frenetic pounding over my heart, watching as he stumbled back to Gwalhafed’s vacated log and slumped down on it. “I only tugged you!”

“You nearly broke my neck!” He roared, clutching it protectively, his eyes blazing with anger as they swivelled to where Gwalchmai was standing near the crackling fire. “See what your foolish words have done, cousin?”

Gwalchmai sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It was an accident. How was -”

Arthur shook his head furiously, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He stood up and turned away from us, before storming off in the direction of the tents and smouldering red rubies of the fire pits.

Silence reigned over the clearing.

Somewhere above us, an owl hooted with frail, mocking laughter.

[super-ion]

Valiant

(master post)

Chapter 3

It's midday when it happens. I'm walking beneath one of the elevated transit lines that spiderweb out from the port to the outer settlements. One of the trams whooshes by, as they do invariably every eight minutes. The only difference this time is there's a thump as the tram passes and something falls from the rails about a hundred meters in front of me.

The body hits the ground and the legs crumple.

I'm briefly horrified, thinking it's a person, but I feel the tiniest pang of relief as I get closer and realize it's just a service android.

…just an android.

The second wave of horror comes with a wave of guilt.

I'm about twenty meters away when it convulses. Up until this point, I'm holding out hope that there is something I can do for it. Take it back to the warehouse and do my best to repair it.

The body spasms again and its back arches at an impossible angle. There's a pop and my rad counter crackles menacingly. This is followed by trails of greenish smoke leaking from its eyes.

I skid to a halt.

My rad counter is ticking merrily along, faster than I like, but my dust jacket and mask should be good enough.

I glance over my shoulder and up at the rail, mind racing. The positronic core is definitely ruptured, no recovery from that. It's just spare parts.

The thought doesn't do my sense of guilt any favors. I've stripped plenty of chassis down, but that doesn't make seeing the actual accident any easier.

I convince myself that it would rather I put it's body to good use than let it get scrapped in some corpo junk heap.

Val needs a body.

I break into a sprint. If I work quickly, I can get the head off before the rad counter starts yelling at me. If I work quickly, I can invoke finders rights.

I fall into a crouch at the body… chassis, it's a chassis.

“Sorry, bud,” I say to it. “I’m going to need to borrow a few things from you. I hope that's alright.”

There's no expression on its face, just a rigid shell with smoked out eyes.

“I'll light a candle for you,” I add as I start assessing the damage.

The legs are a total loss, just dead weight at this point. Gotta lose them. Slight crumpling in the shell of the torso and left arm. Hopefully cosmetic. Probably microfractures in the spinal column. That's fine. Probably. Not like she'll need it right away without the legs. And the head. Yeah, no good. Will probably kill me…

A sound behind me makes me freeze.

I'm not alone.

Up until this point in my life, I've never been held at gunpoint. I've certainly seen it happen enough times, down the street or out the window, far enough away to not think too hard about it. It's different when it's happening to you.

I am absolutely fundamentally terrified.

Two figures circled into my field of vision. They're not corpo and they're not civil protection. They might be militia, but they have no insignia that I can see. They're all masks and goggles and scary looking guns and they move silent as ghosts.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This is bad. It suddenly occurs to me that I might not make it home tonight. Val will wait for me. She'll be waiting forever. She will wait and wait and wait and wait and wait…

I take a ragged breath and slowly raise my hands.

“Just take it,” I plead. “It's yours. I was never here. I never saw you. Please, just let me go.”

The one on the right shoulders their gun and starts digging in one of their pockets. It might be my imagination, but the one on the left seems to relax slightly.

“Mechanic?” number three asks from behind me, voice distorted beyond any recognition.

It takes me a moment to understand.

“Y-yeah, I'm… mechanic.”

“The head,” they demand.

I glance down.

“It's… the core is ruptured. It's cursed.”

“The head,” they demand again.

Righty tosses a sack at me, it hits the ground with a heavy thud. Probably lead lined.

I have no idea what a shadow militia wants with a ruined and moderately radioactive positronic core. Honestly, it's not my business. The only thing I care about right now is getting home to Val.

I work as quickly as my shaking hands allow, hoping and praying to any gods who will listen that there aren't any more positronic cells waiting to pop.

I finally get the last connection unhooked as the rad counter starts chirping admonishingly. I scramble to shove the head into the bag and toss it halfway to righty, who scoops it up.

I kneel there next to the body as righty and lefty make their exits from my vision. I'm still too fucking scared to check if number three is still there.

***

I enter the warehouse and exhaustedly pull the door closed behind me.

I practically ran home, even with a hundred pounds of composite and high tensile lightweight alloy on my back.

I stand there for a moment, quivering and suddenly lost. Half an hour ago I didn't think I'd ever make it back.

“Ellie?”

I open my eyes to see one of Val’s spidery drones peering curiously at me.

I blink and break into anothe sprint. I take the steps of the scaffolding two at a time and collapse into her. The android chassis hits the platform behind me with a thunderous noise as I rip my hood off to rest my bare forehead against the shell of her core.

I'm crying.

Fuck. I can't remember the last time I let myself cry in front of anyone. I've been alone for so long, just surviving, but ever since I stumbled into Val, I've had a reason to actually live. I wasn't really afraid of dying today, I was afraid of never seeing her again.

“Eloise,” she says softly, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I reply, and the whole story spills out of me between sobs. I tell her I was scared, terrified, but I can't quite bring myself to tell her why.

“I am glad you are well,” she says after I finish. “I wish…”

She hesitates. She sounds almost plaintive.

I wipe at my eyes, and let out a shuddering breath.

"What?" I whisper.

“I wish I could comfort you in some way,” she replies very quietly. “To… to pull you close and hold you.”

The words hit me like a tidal wave, rolling over me. I've been hoping, desperately, in my most private moments that she felt as I did.

Ellie, you idiot.

Tell her how you feel.

I don't know how. All I know how to do is fix things.

“I… I might have a solution to that,” I tell her and gesture to the chassis.

I wipe my eyes again before hauling it up onto the work bench. I flick on the light to examine it and a few of her smaller drones skitter out of the shadows and up the table to join me.

I throw myself into the work, trying to forget my harrowing ordeal. Together we fall into a rhythm, a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by technical commentary. I examine the physical structure, taking inventory of the damage. She taps into its system, probing the firmware and compiling drivers based onto her findings.

It's… maybe not romantic, but it's comfortable, intimate.

She starts humming.

I'm so lost in the work, I don't even notice at first. It's only when I pause to set aside the soldering iron to grab a roll of tape that I realize the music is coming from her.

Maybe humming isn't quite the right word, no human vocal tract could ever reproduce the sounds, but it's humming all the same.

She notices me listening and the music stops abruptly.

“That's nice,” I say. “What is that?”

There's a flicker from her core, her equivalent of ringing her hands. Is she embarrassed?

“Chopin,” she replies. “Nocturne number 2… I am sorry. It is a bad habit of mine.”

I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows. I suppose it might be considered a bad habit for a warship to sing idly. But she hasn't been a warship for over a century.

I want to hear her sing again, more than anything.

“Would you sing more of it?” I ask, hoping I don't sound too desperate.

Another flicker. After a moment she starts again, tentatively, haltingly at first, but she gradually relaxes into it.

“There was a quality assurance engineer,” she explains over the sound. “He worked night shifts during the surge. He always had music playing. Old Earth classical. I was very young. I suppose it made an impression on me.”

This brings a smile to my face and I lose myself in the music.

We work for another hour before she makes me break for dinner. Then I get to work on an adapter interface. She was designed to be integrated directly into a starship mainframe. The chassis is very nearly as far from that as possible. But data is data, and there are only so many ways to achieve an interface.

It's late, well past local midnight by the time I finish. She must be confident that we're close if she isn't forcing me to bed.

I stare down at the cabling that now sprouts from the spine of the chassis. They come together in a bundle that I have checked and rechecked.

“Should we…” I say around dry lips. “Should we plug you in?”

A flicker. Apprehension. Anticipation.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice almost breathy.

I grab one of the serial cables off of a rack and slide it into the adapter where it locks with a satisfying clunk. I drag the other end to the closest port on the shell of her core.

“Here we go,” I say, and I slide the plug in.

Nothing happens for a moment.

Light pulses from her core and the chassis twitches.

“Please stand by for a moment,” she says. “I need to construct a calibration dataset. I do not wish you to be harmed in the process, Ellie.”

I don't know exactly what she means by that until the body thrashes violently. My first instinct is to rush forward, make sure she's alright. I have to remind me that she's fine. The cool metal and warm light behind me is her. The body is just a peripheral.

The motions gradually become less erratic, falling into a jerky simulacrum of human motion with each gesture becoming more fluid. I feel a brief pang of unease as she enters the uncanny valley, as if I'm watching a headless, legless corpse practicing hand gestures.

The motions show and the pulsing light fades back to her baseline.

Cautiously, I approach.

“How's it feel?” I ask.

“I… I feel… I don't know... I feel good.”

I reach the table and marvel all the tiny little fidgets, the random motion subroutines she is assembling to keep her body from reaching stillness.

It isn't a corpse any more. It's not a collection of parts I happened upon this afternoon. It's part of her.

She reaches out to take my hand in hers and her fingers gently curl around mine.

[thunder-jolt]

Not in the exact style as Hades but the shading would at least help. Anyways, allow me to introduce a minor goddess/primordial deity (minor as in NOT known, not as in her age), Lyssa, the Goddess of Rage, Frenzy, and Rabies in animals.

= = = =

Her lore is quite simple:

She is not known by many and is often considered forgotten by most. However, she is known for inflicting the Minyades with madness as tasked as an agent by Dionysus, and inflicting Herakles with madness as tasked by Hera but was intervened by Athena. Unfortunately, no other gods (other than Dionysus, Hera, and Athena) even know of her existence, though she was infamous for creating the disease of Rabies (aka the Lyssavirus) when the hounds of Achteon tore him apart purely at the presence of Lyssa, or any other creature potentially infected with Rabies.

In Lyssa's defense, she created the disease of Rabies by accident but, in her own words, "It would've been an accident if the other gods didn't task her with inflicting madness upon other people, and animals, too.", which would imply that the disease was intentional, it's how it does to the human body that is unintentional. In her own words about the disease, "It can bring madness, yes, but it does other things, foaming at the mouth? Hydrophobia? Those are purely not of my power or intention. I'm a goddess closely related to the Maniae, not a goddess closely related to the Nosoi."

But enough about lore now, let's get to her personality:

She can easily be ticked off by any loud noises, though mainly with big crowds (and selfish pricks-) for that matter.

Much like a dog, she's both bark and bite. And trust me, you do not want to have her bite. That's what I would consider a death sentence, whether death by rabies or by something else.

Though being the goddess of rage, she gets along rather well with the other gods, such as Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and, the previously mentioned gods that were stated in her lore (Dionysus, especially. Hera, good terms. Athena, minimally mutual). She also gets along well with Zagreus and Melinoë, though I'm not sure how to put it into words.

She's also good with dogs, though most of the time, they end up becoming crazed and might end up tearing another innocent man, so she avoids any duties surrounding dog-sitting, or taking care of dogs, though Cerberus is an exception, as it seems to be immune to Lyssa's madness, still.

Much like the disease of Rabies, Lyssa is also hydrophobic, though not really Hydrophobia as it is Thalassophobia. Purely, Scylla's to blame, though it's debatable whether she is truly the cause or just simply a correlation to Lyssa's fear of the ocean.

She tends to be quite prophetic when it comes to the topic of madness, to which she almost can sense that in a far, far distant future, it's all nothing but bleak madness. (Of which, she's correct, albeit in a different way-)

ANYWAYS! Tell me what you think of her, in the comments or in reblogs! It would be very lovely.

[guideoftime]

Tick…   …Tock.

Tick…   …Tock.

    Link, give the Ocarina to me... As a Sage, I can return you to your original time with it.   I’m sorry, Sheik. 

   There was a pounding in his head that kept getting louder, like someone was rattling his brain and trying to rip it open. Wait–no wait that was real. That was a real banging sound though his brain was pounding just as hard as a fist against his front door. A breath is pulled quickly into his lungs and Sheik picks his head up from where it was buried in his tiny arms. Tiny… tiny arms, tiny hands, tiny legs, tiny–door, there were people at the door. 

   Nimbly he shoved himself down off of the couch and walked his way over toward the front door, standing on his tiptoes to turn the knob and pull it open. On the other side of the door stood a couple of Castle Soldiers, silver armor shining brightly with the reflection of the sun. He watched them closely and then the one on the left slowly knelt in front of him. He doesn’t recognize their face, but they had a rather plain one too, easily forgettable. The helmet is tugged off and held in their arms as they watch him pitifully. 

   He hates that. 

   “Little Sheikah, I’m afraid we come bearing news of your mother. There was an accident, on a mission she was running. I am terribly sorry–but your mother is gone.” 

   A steady blink, bright ruby eyes watching them, and then Sheik took a single step back and swung the door shut in their faces. It slammed closed and he reached back up, pulling the chain across it and then turning around to face the house. The empty, very large, very cold house. Another blink, another breath, he felt very–hollow? Numb? Is that the feeling he was having course through him right now? 

   Empty. That sounded more fitting. 

   Liars. 

   It’s not their fault, his mind tries to reason. They don’t know. They don’t know. And, technically, neither should he. He shouldn’t remember. His head is so loud and painful. His hands move to his head, fingers pushing through his hair and Sheik slowly sits down on the floor in front of the door, squeezing the sides of his temples as if putting pressure against his head was going to make the pain stop. 

   Golden, evil eyes. Bright red hair. Mocking laughter. The haunting, nauseating sound of the organ played repeatedly. 

   Blonde hair, bright water blue eyes, green tunic, long sword, such a bright smile and joyful laughter–Link. Link, Link, Link, Link–

   Sheik’s hand covered his mouth quickly and he shoved himself to his feet, rushing over toward the trash bin and tossing up whatever had been in his stomach. It’s mostly dry heaving, his head and body at war with itself. He dragged his hand across the back of his mouth and fell back down onto the floor of the room, his hands moving to hold his forehead. One breath in, two out. Did moving through time suck this much for the Hero? It was a terrible feeling, though he supposed Link did have the Master Sword to protect him. 

   Still. 

   “Why?” 

   Why did he remember? The Princess, the Sage of Time, had said he wouldn’t remember. The Triforce pieces would protect her and Link, the Sages destiny would protect them. Sheik was just–Sheik was Sheik. He wasn’t anything special, he just did as he was told and yanked an innocent child turned teenager around Hyrule, shoving him into danger and demanding her save them. More politely, but Sheik was no better than a Compass. Actually, considering you can keep a compass with you, maybe he was even less useful than that. 

   His gaze darts around the house and he presses his lips together. He needs to start a fire and warm the house up. One thing at a time, simple tasks until his mind settles. 

   It’ll be okay. There’s no other choice. This is their reality now. 

   His body is too small. The things he can remember doing, in being capable of, no longer work. The harp is heavy and he can never remember it being heavy. The strings are hard for his tiny hands to play and he can’t move as much as he wants to. It’s like his soul has been ripped from his body and transplanted into someone else's. He doesn’t know how to make it work properly and each attempt has him falling and getting hurt. Granny had to pick him up from the ground once when he fell and hit his head hard enough to knock himself out. She had been very displeased. 

   The Princess can’t tell him why remembers. All he does is look at him with pity and say she’s sorry. Sheik doesn’t want her to apologize, he wants her to understand. But she can’t. She has her father back, her Kingdom back, she just misses his mother and seeing him makes that feeling come back harder. She doesn’t want to see him, and he doesn’t want to deal with the looks she gives him. 

   He doesn’t know what to do with himself. The house is empty, he’s too small to do anything, the only person in Kakariko Village who remembers him is Granny and hanging out with her is just–weird. She also sends him on fetch quests and he’s avoiding Hyrule’s Forest. He’s avoiding him. Sheik–had been tempted to go look for the Hero, but he shoved that feeling away as quickly as he could. It’s not right. He had pushed enough burdens on Link, he doesn’t need to deal with Sheik’s broken mind too. 

   So he trains. He trains to try and get used to his body, to try and wrap his head around what was happening, to try and give himself something to focus on. It works, mostly. He hurts himself, he falls a lot, he overestimates himself and his body and that leads to consequences. He thought it would be like riding a bike, but it’s not. It’s like having half of yourself cut off. Nothing reacts the same as it’s supposed to. 

   Then there was the emotional aspect. 

   He never realized how uncontrolled children's emotions were, until he was trying to contain all of his own inside of himself and it just–was too much. The stress, the pain, the grief and struggling kept boiling over. It felt like the smallest things set him off. The whispers from the soldiers, the looks that they gave him, the comments from the Princess. They think he doesn’t hear them, they underestimate a Sheikahs hearing. “Orphan” was the first word thrown around that caught his attention, then “the last Sheikah” was another, the comment of “finish their line” was what really made him snap though. 

   Sheik bit that guard, and the fight that resulted from it had quickly ended with a gash across his back, from his right shoulder down to the bottom left of his hip bone. And from there, the distrust between himself and the soldiers was like a great ravine. He kept watching, waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next one to want to gut a child. Not that he–really was a child. An adult mind and memories in a tiny body. But still, they didn’t know. 

   His mind rationalizes the fights as defending himself, the Princess tells him he’s being a child. That he’s causing her more problems. That his mother would be disappointed. 

   She would be. 

   She would be. 

   But not for the reasons Princess Zelda thinks. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard to cope. To get his emotions straightened out, to make his mind stop feeling like it was struggling against itself. But he can’t, he can’t separate what he remembers from what’s in front of him and it feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of two opposing minds. Memories of things he did one day, that don’t happen now. Memories of his mom coming home and his tiny mind now not understanding she can’t. There are days he thinks he sees her at the Castle and when he blinks she’s not there. His head is playing tricks on him and it hurts. He lays awake in bed at night, thinking he can hear that man laughing at him and all Sheik wants to do is scream. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard. 

   He did it. So, why can’t Sheik? 

   The last fight with the guards draws unwanted attention, Sheik realizes this far too late. The Princess had been acting like a shield between him and her father, and when the King paid a bit too close attention, Sheik realized he was in trouble. They dragged him off to his office, shoved him inside the room and then swung the doors shut. The man sat behind a large oak desk, watching Sheik intently with those dark blue eyes. The Princess gets her eyes from her father apparently, Sheik didn’t remember that. 

   He stands from the desk and makes his way around it and Sheik tracks every careful movement with intent. It reminds him of something it shouldn’t, of that man, and Sheik has the briefest bits of fear fill his heart. In a way that nothing has since waking up in this timeline except his nightmares. He stops in front of Sheik and like with Ganondorf, he holds himself steady. “I understand you lost your mother and that is difficult, Zelda suffered much the same when her own passed. It’s never an easy thing. However, young Sheikah, you need to grow up now. You’re alone and no one is going to baby you forever. Learn to cope, not to cause problems, you do not wish for the fate that will bring you.” 

   Body of a child or not, Sheik knows a threat when he hears one. “Should I just stand there and let them say what they want? Just because of what I am?” He shouldn’t talk back, that will only get him in more trouble. 

   The King is so very neutral looking it unsettles him. “People will always say things you don’t like, part of growing up is learning to just ignore them. Your mother knew her place well enough to not fight over every single thing someone said to her. This is the fate your Tribe brought upon itself.” 

   And his mouth opened before his brain could stop it. “My Tribe did nothing wrong, the Hylians massacred my people in their sleep.” 

   There’s the sharp sound of skin hitting skin that echoes through the room and Sheik registers that before he does the fact he’s on the ground and his face is throbbing. He doesn’t move after catching himself on the floor, body frozen and tense as he waits for the next hit. It doesn’t come, instead the King moves back around the desk. “Pick yourself up and leave, remember this lesson for the next time.” 

   Lesson. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard. 

   He finally caves and goes looking for Link when he can’t sleep anymore. The Great Deku Tree was alive and thriving, the Kokiri were playing in their little homes, and the fairies that flickered around the lively forest seemed fond of him. He sneaks his way past all of them to get into the clearing where the Tree was, dropping himself down in front of it and nervously glancing around. He hadn’t actively looked for Link, but he figured it would be more polite and less–traumatizing for Link if he talked to the Great Deku Tree first. The tree for–their part doesn’t seem surprised to see him. 

   “Hmm… young Sheikah, what brings you here?” 

   Nervously he rubs his hands together and takes a step closer, his gaze running across the ground before raising to look at them. “Great Deku Tree my name is Sheik, son of Impa the Sage of Shadows. I’m searching for a Hylian who… used to live here. His name is Link.” 

   “So, you remember that which has not come to pass, do you?” As they all suspected, the Great Deku Tree remembered too. He wondered what it was about the both of them that made them an exception. He nodded his head and the Tree—sighed? Do tree’s sigh? “I’m afraid you’ve come too late. Link has left for Termina.” And there… there was the feeling of the rug being yanked out from beneath him. “He searches for something, I’m not sure what, perhaps himself. He was lost when waking up, and he hopes by traveling he’ll find who he is. If he’ll ever return, I cannot say I can only hope. Maybe he will find his answers there.”

   It shouldn’t hurt, he shouldn’t feel like he was left behind. Is this again, the irrational emotions of a child or was it Sheik himself? It’s like the slowly forming cracks in his heart had finally shattered and it’s no longer enough to just hold himself together. The feeling of suffocating had finally just consumed him and Sheik crumbled. 

   It’s just too hard. 

   He sat there for a while, just crying into his knees while the Great Deku Tree was just there. They’re a tree, they can’t do much, but the isolation of snapping in the forest where no one can see except the trees is somewhat comforting. It takes him a bit to get himself back under control but when he does the Great Deku Tree finally tries to offer some form of comfort. 

   “You will be alright.” 

   And Sheik just doesn’t believe it. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

[akiiireix]

Killed for Sport (Tsukishima Assassin AU)

"Should I ask you why you have a knife strapped to your leg?"

"It's a dagger actually. And no, you shouldn't." The blonde female glared at the blond male while answering. "And don't act so surprised Kei, you have a gun on yourself ." She continued.

Smirking, the boy reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. "Well, would you look at that? Are you by any chance psychic Tsukishima?"

No sooner did he say those words than he felt the tip of the dagger against his neck. "Call me that again and I will not hesitate to slit your neck. It's (Y/N)." she snarled. "Just because your father decided to fuck around with my mom doesn't mean we're related."

Her actions didn't make him flinch — not one bit.

Pushing her hand away he dusted his suit and walked past her like it was nothing, "Oh darling sister, that fucking around is the reason you were born in the first place."

He wasn't wrong, clearly he knew it and she knew it too which is what ticked her off. Gripping the dagger in anger, she slowly put it back on her leg and walked behind him.

"Just don't interfere with my work or you might accidentally get hurt, big brother." She ended with a tight-lipped smile and narrow eyes, leaving before he could even respond.

Of course none of that had an effect on him either. He simply chuckled in amusement. "I don't need to do much to get on her nerves."

Kei. Kei Tsukishima was one of the top assassins in Tokyo. After all, he did come from the Tsukishima family and they were all raised to be trained assassins. It was more like a family business for them. Naturally, his half sister (Y/N) Tsukishima was also trained and made to do jobs. She was a year younger than him but stood at 5'9 which really ticked him off sometimes, seeing as how she might reach him soon enough.

At the age of 18, he had already made his way to the top, being the best at what he does. The only other person who came close to him in getting the job done was (Y/N) and so he made it his life's mission to be the perfect thorn in her side.

Isn't that what older brothers are supposed to do?

"Tsukki, that wasn't playing nice." A voice called out from behind him. Not turning to look at the person, he simply replies emotionless.

"I never agreed to play nice Yamaguchi."

"Nevermind her, what's our job this time?" He asks the boy swiftly.

Tadashi Yamaguchi wasn't an assassin like his best friend, rather he worked on the sidelines as his assistant — his eyes and ears on all jobs.

He shook his head in disappointment at the change in subject "Our target this time is Mahiru Kurota" he turns the tablet in Tsukishima's direction and shows him the picture of the guy before continuing. "And he's been accused of doping athletes in exchange for money—"

"Doping is common and normal. Why exactly am I being sent to kill this guy?" He broke in, interrupting Yamaguchi. "Tsukki if you let me finish you'd know." He answered in annoyance.

Rolling his eyes, Tsukishima motions him to continue what he was saying earlier. "Soon after their payments, these same athletes are found dead. They're made to look like accidents but....."

"But that might not be the case." Tsukishima ends after listening to him. Yamaguchi nods in affirmation. "So this guy is taking the money and then killing them off. Ahh what a pain, I couldn't care less about those athletes you know. But a job is a job and since I'm being paid—

"500,000 Yen" Yamaguchi inputs.

"Right, so let's get the job done." He went quiet for a second before he continued. "Is there anything else I should know or do?" He asks.

Yamaguchi goes through his the job details before he lifts up his head and answers. "You've been asked to use you status as Volleyball Player in Karasuno to get close to him."

"Fine." He answers simply.

"That about sums it up. He's hosting a party right now, here's your invitation." He hands him an envelope. "And I'll be monitoring you but they're having a body check at the entrance so we cannot put any electronics on you for communication."

Nodding in response Tsukishima makes his way over to the entrance. "Oh and about (Y/N)—" he tries to call out.

"I don't want to listen to anything about her right now. I'm on a job." and with that he starts walking. Stopping short, he takes out the gun he had had in his coat and throws it towards Yamaguchi.

"Don't think I'll be allowed in with that." He said and walks out of view

"Don't tell me later that I didn't try to warn you." Yamaguchi mumbled as he walked back to the parked van he came in.

At the door, a guard asked for his invitation. "You're Kei Tsukishima?" He asks in suspicion. "Isn't that what's written on the invitation?" Tsukishima lowers his eyes at the guard. "Do the work you're assigned to before I have a chat with your boss about these issues."

Taken aback, the guard apologized profusely as he let Tsukishima enter the party. "The boss is in the back room." He added, hoping that this information would let his past mistake slide.

Clicking his tongue, Tsukishima enters, passing all the drunk and euphoric teens before going through the mentioned door.

"— and the girls team might not be as good as the boys team but this year we're sure to win. After all I am trained by the best middle blocker in the school."

A familiar voice was heard talking as soon as he entered. To his horror he saw (Y/N) sitting across Mahiru and having a chat with him. So this was what Yamaguchi had probably been trying to tell me.

When the two of them noticed him standing at he door, Mahiru got up from his seat, "Kei Tsukishima, I presume. So nice to finally meet you in person." He offers his hand for a handshake.

Tsukishima instead ignores him and nods. "Ahem... So right take a seat please and we can work on the contract." He sits beside (Y/N) who's grinning at him evily.

She had probably figured out the fact that he hadn't known she would be here too. "Hello brother, we were just talking about you." she added slyly.

Returning her smile he retorted sweetly, "Yeah, I heard the part where you called me the best middle blocker." Watching the grin wipe off her face gave him satisfaction like no other.

If Mahiru sensed any tension in the conversation between the two of them, he didn't say anything, probably dismissing it as normal sibling banter. "Here's the contract."

He presents two of the same set of papers, passing one over to them and keeping the other one. His hand hovers over the papers he passed to them, "I hope it's alright that the contract for both of you is made together since you're siblings."

"Actually n—" Tsukishima starts to say but she pinched his side which shuts him up but also earns her a glare. "Oh don't worry it's alright." She add sweetly.

The three of them talk about the details— mostly (Y/N), while Tsukishima takes note of their surroundings and commits them to memory. "—and that is all. Please give your signatures if you agree to these terms."

Oh finally we're done with this facade. When (Y/N) kicked him, he focuses back to them and signs the papers. "If that is all then I'll be taking your leave." Tsukishima replied and walked out.

After he left the room was silent for a while before Mahiru turned to her, "Is he always like that?"

"Yeah, perks of being famous and all." She replies waving him off. "Would you like to join me for drinks (Y/N)?" He asks after a pause.

Keeping the disgust off her face, she turns back and smile at him. "Maybe another time, after all I have practice early tomorrow. Can't win without practice now can I?" she chuckles.

"That's why you came to me didn't you?" He asks curiously.

"Well yes, but I still need to put in my effort. Now then, I shall take your leave too."

The next afternoon (Y/N) was working on the laptop when there came a knock on the door. Without warning, Tsukishima entered, followed by Yamaguchi who was telling him that he should've waited for permission before entering.

"Oh look Yamaguchi, I think she's angry." He said dryly.

"I wonder what gave it away?"

"Well you see you can know her mood by her hands. Like right now, she's holding a gun. I don't think that means she's happy to see us." He stated matter of factly.

She obviously couldn't shoot him. "Not us. You." She added as she put the gun down. "So speak. Why exactly are you interrupting my precious time?"

"Don't talk as if you were doing anything important." He rolled his eyes, "we need to work on this together— I'm not happy either, but we do so just do what I say and we'll get this over with."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Keep your male dominance to yourself. We're doing it my way."

Obviously they would get nowhere with this fight so he decided to humour her for the time being. "How exactly did you enter with that knife?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Dagger." She corrected, "and Yachi took it from me when she gave me the invitation and news that I had to work with an imbecile like you."

"Ahhh—" Yamaguchi interrupted their arguments.

"Mahiru got back with the day you have to pay and collect the drugs. It's a month from now, right before prefectuals actually. So figure out a plan peacefully before then or the two of you will be in big trouble."

Work peacefully with her?

Work peacefully with him?

Having no other choice she decides on her plan of action. Tsukishima takes out some licorice candy and chews on it while she works.

"Put that away will you it's annoying." She muttered angrily. "Would your highness like it if I threw it in the trash?" Surprised at how easily he listened to her, she nods.

The moment she looks back at her laptop she felt the candy hit her face, "oops guess the trash didn't want it." He smirked.

At this point she was practically seething. Of course he wouldn't be so nice as to actually comply with her requests.

"If you do that again I will throw you out that fucking window you— what are you doing?" She asks as she noticed him get off the chair and look out the window.

"Checking how high the drop is, see if it's worth it." He answered cheekily. She was officially enraged. Sitting back down she decided to ignore him until it was needed.

"Poison" she suddenly spoke after hours of silence.

"Car malfunction." Came his swift reply.

After arguing for a few more hours and getting consultations from both Yachi and Yamaguchi they settled on car malfunction much to (Y/N)'s disappointment.

Tsukishima smirked at her victoriously, glad that his idea made more sense for this job.

A month later.

"Don't mess up the plan you trainwreck or we're screwed." He whispers. "Oh shut it you overgrown baby. The only one capable of messing up is YOU." She retorts.

They work in silence, placing the job above their petty fights. After they finish making the changes to Mahiru's car the two of them slip out and go to the destination where they're supposed to meet him.

It wasn't long before they saw his car roll up. "Let's get down to business shall we?" (Y/N) asked in all seriousness when Mahiru entered the room.

"Right." Mahiru pulls out his briefcase and opens it, turning it in their direction. "I assume this is enough?"

Obviously, Tsukishima had to sell his act since he knew he had not been enthusiastic during their last conversation. He looks through the contents in the bag before nodding.

"I'm glad that Karasuno's shield is doing business with me. This will take us places." Mahiru then turned to (Y/N), "and Karasuno's Angel."

Who calls her that?

Who calls me that?

"Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Honestly didn't think you'd pull through with this deal but I'm glad you did." She replied putting on a charming smile.

"I'm hurt that you would think that sweetheart." Before she had a chance to reply he continued, "and about the payment?"

"Right. Here you go. That's everything we agreed on." Tsukishima says while handing him a briefcase.

"That concludes our deal then. I hope we can work together again." Mahiru smiles at them and then turns to leave.

Mahiru surprisingly had come alone, seeming to trust them. Dismissing the whirring sound that came from his car when he entered, he proceeded to start the ignition when.....

..... His car blew up. Tsukishima and (Y/N) walked up to car after the blast to see him lying on the floor covered in glass. Somehow still alive, but not for long.

"Please— save me! I'll do—do anything— for you." He cried in pain while holding his hand out to the two of you.

"Then Perish." Tsukishima told him and turned away. (Y/N) offered him a little flying kiss and a goodbye and followed behind Tsukishima, leaving before the bystanders and cops arrive.

Sending their condolences, they walked away, triumphant smiles at a job well done. After a week, when nothing suspicious was recovered from his accident, they were assured that their assassination would never come to light.

It was and always would be considered a tragic accident.