#it's not even a new joke i have already written a fic with this exact same joke

[fezwearingjellybananas]

Once again my chemistry A-Level is coming in useful. For writing crack fic and bad jokes.

[ssa-montgomery]

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart (are harder to hide than I thought)

Word Count: 7489

Summary: Daryl misreads Y/N's laughing and joking with Rick as flirting which leads to a fight between the pair where Daryl's hidden feelings for Y/N are revealed. Little does he know, she's felt the same way the whole time.

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader, Rick Grimes

Warnings: Swearing, verbal fighting, mutual pining, smut, just the filthiest smut, oral sex (fem receiving), thigh riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dom/sub, degradation kink, use of degrading terms (bitch, slut), punishments, spanking, dirty talk, hickeys, marking, possessive kink, kind of ownership kink too?, choking kink, biting, Daryl has a bit of an oral fixation, rough sex, crying, Daryl is generally very possessive and angry and it gets KINKY

A/N: Yet another Daryl request from here on Tumblr and oh boy am I going to hell for this one! Anon requested a fic with jealous Daryl where the reader and Rick have always been close and Daryl views it as flirting and ends up kissing the reader when he can't take it anymore leading to smut and I well, took it a slight step further. My mind really just ran wild with this prompt and this is probably the roughest, dirtiest smut I've written so I really hope this is still what you wanted from this request Anon! I hope you all enjoy angry possessive Daryl!

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

Masterlist

It took a long time for your group to find the comfort you had today, years on the road afraid of what would come next, fighting tooth and nail for every ounce of safety you found in Alexandria but it finally felt like the fight was worth it. On the quiet days that you let your mind forget what lay waiting for you beyond those walls, it almost felt like the old world again. It was a sense of normality you never thought you'd find again, walking up every morning under the same roof in your own home rather than the open skies of the woods or the concrete walls of the prison. Deanna had even found you a job taking shifts at the infirmary based on your first aid training.

For the first time in a long time, you were happy. Actually genuinely happy. When you weren't at work you spent your evenings helping the community, tending to the gardens and spending time with friends both new and old. You'd even taken up hosting the occasional dinner party alongside Aaron and Eric. You were content in your life, but still, there was something missing. You couldn't deny the bittersweet feeling of watching everyone around you settle down into relationships, some already happily married and some even starting families.

Relationships were the one element of your old life that you were admittedly finding it hard to settle back into. You had plenty of platonic relationships sure, some closer than others and you valued every single bond you'd created since you met this group back in Atlanta but after everything you'd lost, you were afraid if you let someone get that close again losing them would destroy you. No matter how safe you were in Alexandria this world was still cruel, and you'd learned that the hard way.

It was the exact reason why you hid what you really wanted from the one person you'd let yourself develop feelings for since this all began.

"This seat taken?" You were sitting out on your porch, your legs tucked up underneath you in your old rocking chair just watching the world go by when you heard his voice behind you. A bright smile broke out across your face as you looked up to see Rick standing with his hand on the back of the chair next to you.

"Not at all, please, sit down. You want a drink?" You asked gesturing towards the fresh jug of cold lemonade you'd made just before you came outside. Rick nodded politely at you as he took his seat and you leaned over to the little table beside you, grabbing the spare glass you kept by the jug. You always kept yourself prepared for visitors, a couple of the women from the community including Rosita and Carol had grown fond of stopping by and admittedly you enjoyed the company. 

You listened to the satisfying noise of the ice clinking against the side of the jug as you poured a drink for Rick, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet, strangely familiar feeling of it all. Summer was quickly approaching and it filled the air with that warmth that wasn't yet overbearing but certainly made you appreciate the feeling of a cool drink.

"Thank you Y/N." Rick smiled at you, happily accepting the glass you held out to him before taking a sip. When you first found this group Rick was one of the first people to truly see your potential and he'd quickly become one of your best friends while he helped you become the fighter you were today. The two of you almost immediately formed a close bond and you knew you could always count on him to look out for you and you'd risked your life time and again to protect his family.

"Judith didn't wanna visit her favourite person in the whole town today?" You asked feigning a dramatic, hurt sigh as you pressed your hand over your heart. Judith was growing up so fast, having now reached the age where she was starting to say anything that came to her mind. It led to a rather hilarious situation for you when she blurted out that you were her favourite person to visit in front of Rosita, Carol and Maggie while the group was having dinner at Rick's house. They had sulked over her choice and she quickly followed it up by saying Daryl was her second favourite which only seemed to add insult to injury for them.

"No, she's got another play date with Gracie today. The pair of 'em are inseparable now." Rick chuckled lightly as he spoke, a peaceful look softening his features as he looked over at you. Judith was the light of his life, that much was clear from the way he talked about her. You could see the weight it has lifted off his shoulders now that he was able to give her the childhood she deserved.

"Oh that's good, it's good for them. Being able to play like kids again. She'll do well here Rick." You took a long sip from your drink while you watched Rick. There was something distracting him, something clearly on his mind as he stared out past the road in front of you, staring at nothing in particular. You gave him a curious look, balancing your drink on the arm of your chair before you spoke again. "What brings you out here anyway?"

"Headin' out on a run soon, just wanted some peace and quiet first before I gotta deal with that you know? Thought I'd stop by to say hi in the meantime." He shrugged, seemingly snapping back into the moment as he looked over at you and offered you a warm smile.

"Rick Grimes lookin' for some peace and quiet, I never thought I'd see the day. You were always lookin' for trouble when I first met you." You shot him a teasing grin as you spoke, your eyes sparkling with that look of mischief that always got you in trouble for your comments at town meetings.

"Hey, watch it you. You're one to talk 'bout lookin' for trouble." He scoffed reaching his arm out to lightly smack you for your dig at him. It truly did bring you comfort to see Rick and the kids growing into their new lives here,  it was what they deserved after everything they'd been through. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Rick's attitude changed then, his expression becoming more serious compared to your previous teasing. It wasn't serious enough to worry you but you knew what came next was going to be a personal question, something Rick seemed unsure about bringing up.

"Sure Rick, course you can." You nodded giving him your full attention.

"You and Daryl, is there something-" 

Rick's question was cut short by a loud, sharp whistle from the road just below your porch, your trained instincts making your eyes immediately snap to the source of the noise. Daryl was leaning against a tree just to the side of your house, his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched the two of you. You offered him a warm smile, giving him a small wave when you spotted him but it was met with a cold, almost angry stare from him.

You could feel your happy expression fall from your face, a heavy feeling weighing on your chest at his reaction, unsure of what you'd done to seemingly upset him. It had taken a while, longer than with anyone else in the group but you'd developed a close friendship with Daryl, finally breaking down the walls he'd built so high around himself but sometimes he would shut you out again and you could never understand why. Maybe things would be simpler if you could understand even just a fraction of what went on inside his head.

"We gotta go Rick."  That was the only form of acknowledgement or conversation the two of you got from him, even his tone towards Rick seemed different. There was none of that usual brotherly respect the two men held for each other present in his voice, instead, he sounded even more annoyed than usual. 

"I'll see you 'round Y/N." Rick nodded at you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he bid his goodbyes, turning to jog down your front steps to catch up with Daryl. By the time he turned away from you, Daryl was already gone turning his back on the two of you without another word as he disappeared up the street.

"What is goin' on with him?" You muttered under your breath, letting out a frustrated sigh as you tapped your nails against your glass. You were growing increasingly concerned that he was angry with you over something you were unaware you'd done and you wished you could talk to him about it, find out what was on his mind but you knew you wouldn't get that chance until they returned from their run now.

What you didn't know was how long Daryl had been standing there, just out of sight, watching the way you and Rick laughed and joked together, catching every innocent touch. Or the way that scene looked to jealous eyes and a cruel imagination that couldn't hear the true conversation.

~~~

It was late when the knock finally came on your door, so late in fact that you'd started to pace, growing worried that you'd just have to give up and accept that he wasn't going to show. You knew who it was the second the three loud knocks echoed through the house, the sound sending your heart racing. You rushed through the kitchen and took one final breath before quickly pulling the front open to be greeted with the sight of Daryl standing on the other side. You opened your mouth to speak but the words died in your throat. You lost your nerve at the way Daryl stared you down, his eyes burning through you with that same angry look as earlier.

"Carol said ya wanted me. Whadda want?" He snapped at you, clearly unimpressed at your lack of conversation. His attitude was completely different towards you today, he was never this short or aggressive with you and on the rare occasion that he was it didn't last long, the anger not having been directed towards you in the first place. Today though, his anger seemed to very much be directed towards you. You hoped he'd have cooled down after your encounter that morning but he seemed just as irritated as he had then.

"I um- can you come in?" You stepped back from the entrance deciding that maybe your doorway wasn't the best place for this conversation as you held the door open for him and gestured for him to come inside. He stared you down for a moment as if he was considering abandoning this whole conversation, walking away before this got too far before he finally stepped inside. You crossed your arms in front of you, your fingers playing nervously with the fabric of your shirt as you started to speak again. "I was hopin' we could talk-"

"'Bout what?" Daryl's voice cut over you, not even letting you finish your sentence as he did everything he could to avoid looking you in the eyes. You could feel your annoyance growing at the sight of him scuffing his dirty boots against your wooden floors.

"What is goin' on with you Daryl?" You asked with more force than you'd originally intended. The original worry and hurt you'd felt were now melting away into frustration at whatever kind of childish tantrum he was having. No matter how much you trusted and respected Daryl you had your limits and you certainly weren't going to let him treat you the way he was without even giving you an explanation.

"Nuthin'."

"Oh, bullshit." You spat back. If there was one thing everyone respected about you it was your ability to put Daryl in his place, even if you did sink to his level in the process. If you wanted answers you were going to get them. "I mean seriously Daryl you've been all pissy with me all day. Did I do something to you? What is wrong?" 

"Rick." You waited for more of an explanation, expecting that maybe the two were arguing but nothing came. You were becoming increasingly fed up with this conversation. Daryl was a man of few words and that was well known in Alexandria but now was hardly the time for him to decide he didn't want to talk. How could you be expected to find a way to fix this when he wouldn't even talk to you about it?

"What about him? Is there somethin' goin' on with the two of you? Will you just fuckin' talk to me, Daryl?" 

"Nah. Ain't nuthin' goin' on with me and Rick but there is between the two of you, ain't there?" Daryl had been trying to bite his tongue on the subject. He knew he shouldn't bring it up but there was a fire burning in his eyes when they finally met yours and there was no putting it out now as it lit the explosive anger inside him. His voice rose in volume until he was almost shouting as he started to rant. "Saw the way you was with him this mornin'. All smilin' and laughin'. Flirtin' with those lil touches. Ya think the rest of us are fuckin' blind or sumthin'?" 

His words were dripping with venom, finally releasing all of his anger that had been building over this situation for weeks as he drew closer to you. His face was inches away from yours and you could smell the smoke from the cigarette he'd lit up on the way to your house still on his breath. He was trying to intimidate you but you weren't going to let it happen as you held your chin up and stood your ground.

"You're jealous? You're actually fuckin' jealous?" You all but laughed in his face. It was entertaining to you, it truly was. What Daryl didn't realise was that even if anyone else in Alexandria was attracted to you in that way, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. There was something about your relationship with him that even Daryl hadn't caught onto yet.

You had denied it for a long time but the truth was you were attracted to the redneck from that first second you'd met him back in Atlanta. There was something about that fiery temper and defiance that drew you in and you couldn't fight it anymore not when it was on full display for you like this. Not when it was over how possessive Daryl had grown over you. You spent countless nights fantasising about what it would be like if you could get Daryl alone like this. If you could get him to unleash that anger on you.

"For fuck sake Daryl, Rick's like a brother to me. I was never flirtin' with him! All that smilin' and jokin' was about Judith and Gracie. Those touches? They're nothin' more than friendly. You wouldn't be havin' such a bitch fit over it if were Carol doin' it would you?" You squared up to him, not caring that you posed absolutely no threat to him as you leaned up towards his face trying to match his aggression. 

"You think I'm stupid, girl?" He growled, his words vibrating low in his throat as he walked you backwards until you were trapped against the wall with nowhere else to run. The feeling should have scared you but as wrong as it was you could already feel the heat growing between your legs. "Don't lie to me. I heard Maggie sayin' you were spillin' all your fantasies to her, she was talkin' 'bout ya wantin' someone 'round here. It's clearly him."

"I really do think you're stupid if you haven't figured out who it really is yet." You bit back with a mocking smirk on your face. You were getting overconfident in just how much you could match Daryl's attitude without facing the consequences. "You wanna know what I really told Maggie? I told her how much I'd been thinkin' 'bout your hands on my body. How rough I thought you'd be with me. I told her how much I wished you'd just get the nerve to just fuck me already. But I mean if your just goin' to sulk instead maybe I should -"

Once you started you couldn't stop yourself from letting exactly how you felt about Daryl and everything you'd been dreaming of spill out before you could overthink it. It didn't matter anyway, he didn't give you a chance to regret it. Before you could even finish your sentence Daryl's hand was around your throat, squeezing the sides just enough to cut off the blood flow as he pressed you back into the wall behind you.

"You want me to show ya who ya belong to? Want me to fuck ya like I mean it huh? Prove I'm the only one who can fuck this pussy good?" Daryl's lips were ghosting over yours now, his breath hot against your skin as he held back from kissing you, teasing you. You were pressed so close together you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he panted out his anger. He was towering over you, completely caging you in and part of you wanted to melt. To entirely give into everything he wanted to do to you and let him take you over but you were too worked up for that now. Too frustrated and proud to play the role of the good girl.

"I'd like to see you try Dixon." You scoffed with a smug look in your eyes. You let your eyes drag over his body like you were inspecting goods out on a run, trying to keep your expression as unimpressed as you could. It was a challenge, one you knew Daryl would take. He had to. You knew what he was like when he got like this, knew how determined he was to prove a point. He was never going to back down from this, especially not when you challenged his ability. You wanted him to fuck you hard, to punish you for testing him and that was exactly what you were going to get.

"Don't be a fuckin' brat." His voice was low as he spoke, a warning of what was to come if you continued the way you were. He used his grip on your throat to pull you flush against his chest before slamming you back against the wall. 

Your head tipped back against the wall as your hands found his wrist, trying to hold his hand in place as he threatened to move away. He hadn't been rough enough to hurt you, just enough to be forceful but part of you wanted him to tighten his grip, to leave a bruise against your skin in the shape of his hand. You gasped out at the feeling of him squeezing his hand again and he took the chance to finally kiss you. It was a rough and messy kiss, his tongue dragging over yours as his lips moved against you. "I'm gonna make sure everyone knows who ya fuckin' belong to. Show 'em who managed to make this brat submit." 

His lips left your mouth, leaving sloppy kisses across your jaw until they found the junction where your jaw met your throat, sucking on the soft, sensitive skin before sinking his teeth in to make sure it left a mark. You cried out, your skin already burning under the feeling as your hands grasped the back of his neck, holding his mouth against your skin. 

He smirked against your skin in between kisses, knowing you were enjoying it from the way you held him in place. He didn't let up, deciding that just one mark wasn't enough as he moved his mouth all across your neck, sucking and nipping until he was satisfied that you were covered. He pulled back to admire his work, looking at the purple marks that were already starting to blossom against your skin, the slight indents of his teeth, everything that marked you as his.

"Ya like that huh?" He hummed against the shell of your ear, his fingers trailing over the marks on your neck. The feeling of his light touch making shiver. "Like walkin' 'round with a reminder of the only one who can touch ya like this? Wearin' a reminder everyone can see?"

"Prove it." You panted out, that mischief still in your eyes as you watched for his reaction. You weren't going to give in to him so easily, even if you were already growing desperate from the simplest of touches. You'd been dreaming about this for too long to not get exactly what you wanted. "Prove that you're good enough to be the only one touchin' me. All I've seen so far is you talkin' a big game. Got the skills to back it up, pretty boy?" 

Whatever small bit of restraint that Daryl had still been holding onto snapped at that moment. His hands were on you in a second, pulling at your clothes to finally feel your skin. He quickly grew tired of trying to wrestle with the small buttons of your shirt, instead grabbing at the top of the flannel and pulling. 

You could hear the sound of the fabric ripping under his strength as the buttons popped and fell to the floor, revealing your heaving chest to him. You pushed the ruined fabric from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as Daryl made quick work of your bra, pulling it down your arms with one hand. His free hand was already groping at your chest before the bra even hit the ground as his thigh moved between your legs, pressing up into you to give you the friction you'd been craving.

You moaned out at the feeling of Daryl's mouth dropping to your chest, sucking another hickey into the curve of your breast where you already knew it would be visible above any of your low-cut tops. He moved his mouth downward, kissing over your skin until he took your nipple into his mouth. His tongue lapped over it, the feeling making you buck against his thigh. The drag against your clit was just right as Daryl kept up his pace, moving between your breasts listening to the gasps that fell from your mouth. 

"Nah." He groaned grabbing at your hips as he decided your movements were getting too desperate, pinning you back against the wall to stop you from grinding against him. You could on his face how much self restrain it was taking for him to stop you, to take his time with this. "Nah if yer gonna cum it's gonna be while I fuck ya so hard ya can't walk for a week. Want to feel you cummin' on my dick. You ain't gonna cum like this. Don't get to cum 'til I say so."

"I wasn't gonna cum I promise." You whined out trying to buck your hips against his hands but his grip was too strong. You weren't going to get anything he wasn't willing to give you. He proved that point, pushing his thigh even further into you, giving you more pressure but none of the friction you were so desperate for. You wanted to break Daryl's rules, wanted to see just how far you could push him and above everything else you wanted to come, your body already so close to that edge. "Just wanna feel you, Daryl."

"You get yerself off before I say ya can and I swear yer gonna regret it." He warned, his voice holding that dangerous tone as his mouth returned to its place on your chest. He was playing his own game with you, testing you to see how far you were willing to let him go as his hands released their grip on your hips. 

He knew you weren't going to listen if he gave you the opportunity to keep grinding against his thigh, you had a reputation for ignoring every instruction you were given. The thing was, you breaking his rules was all the permission he needed to play this rough.  

You ground yourself against his thigh the second he let you go, moaning as the new pressure made the seam of your jeans rub against your clit even through your panties. Daryl's mouth trailed across your chest, biting and sucking at your skin while his hands groped at your ass, pulling you against him. He was toying with you, waiting to see how long it would take for you to beg him to stop, not able to take anymore before you came.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers threading into his hair as you used the leverage to ride his thigh. You should have stopped, should have listened to his warning and told him how close you were but you couldn't help yourself. The heavy drag of denim against denim was driving you crazy, rubbing you just the right way as the friction built you closer and closer to orgasm. Before you could think to stop yourself your movements grew faster and more desperate, the feeling of Daryl's teeth grazing your nipple throwing you over the edge.

"Daryl - oh fuck -" You threw your head, the dull pain from your head colliding with the wall only heightened the feeling as your arms tightened around his neck, one hand scratching across his clothed shoulders. You barely had time to come down before you felt Daryl's hand around your throat again, pulling you back to the reality of what you'd just done. Your head was already swimming from the force of your orgasm and his hand squeezing your throat had your eyes fluttering shut. 

"You stupid fuckin' bitch." Daryl growled forcing your face up to meet the fiery look in his eyes. That anger you loved was still as strong as ever as you struggled against his grip, your breathing coming more laboured than before as his hand restricted it. "I warned ya but clearly you can't fuckin' listen. Gonna show ya what happens to brats that can't learn to behave. You wanna cum so badly? Gonna make ya cum until ya beg me to stop and then some more. Not gonna stop until I ruined ya." 

"Oh god, Daryl, please." You gasped out, your hips bucking in search of his again already. Your mind was racing with the idea of what Daryl was about to do to you and you knew none of it could live up to the reality of what was about to happen. Even after the orgasm you'd just had you could feel the need building again in the pit of your stomach, the way your heart raced under his hardened stare. "I need it please."

"Look at ya, just came on my thigh and yer already beggin' for me like some dumb slut. You want that don't ya? Want me to use ya until yer all fucked out, can't even remember yer own name?" Daryl's degrading words shouldn't have turned you as much as they did but you were already putty in his hands. He was right. You wanted to be used by him in whatever way he saw fit. He could do whatever he wanted to you at this point and you'd thank him even if it left you bruised for a week.

"Ya really liked my mouth on these tits that much huh?" He asked, punctuating his question by roughly groping at your chest again, his thumbs swiping over your nipples. "I know somewhere else I could put it to good use to make ya cum. Gonna eat yer pussy 'til yer drippin' down my face. Where's yer bedroom?"

"It's - it's -" Your words trailed off into a broken moan as Daryl dropped his hand to cup you through your jeans, his fingers running over your clit even through the material. He thrust his fingers against you, watching the reaction on your face as he mimicked the movements of fingering you over your jeans. The feeling had you moving your hips against him, praying he would just slip his hand inside the waistband of your jeans. Any thought of the question he'd asked you was long gone as your brain completely gave in to him.

"Never fuckin' mind then. Here's good enough. Are ya really that drunk on the thought of me fuckin' ya already?" Daryl dropped to his knees in front of you and roughly pulled at your jeans, undoing the button before he pulled them down your legs in one swift movement. 

You could see his eyes darken as they focused on the wet spot on the front of your panties that you were sure had probably soaked onto your jeans too. He wasted no time, peeling the soaked material away from your body and throwing it to the side to join your jeans. He ran his fingers up the inside of your legs, starting at your knee and stopping at the apex of your thigh, feeling how slick your skin was there. "Already drippin' down yer thighs for me. You want me to fuck ya that badly?"

"Yes, yes Daryl need you to make me cum again please." You gasped out feeling the way he ran his hands up the inside of your thighs again, stopping just before he got to where you really needed to feel him. His lips followed the path his hands had just taken, moving painfully slow as he teased you. He stopped to suck at the inside of your thigh, marking every part of your body that he touched as his. He stuck his tongue out and leaned towards your clit before diverting to your hip bone at the last second, driving you out of your mind with frustration as you tried to press your thighs together for any form of friction. "Daryl fuck sake, please just -"

You yelped at the feeling of Daryl's teeth sinking into the side of your thigh as he pulled your hips closer to his face, his tongue soothing over the sting his bite left behind.

"Watch yer tone Darlin'. You got yourself into this mess, yer gonna take yer punishment like the good lil' slut you are." His fingers traced over the red mark that was raising on your thigh as he spoke, distracting you with the feeling of his feather-light touches before he dived in, lapping his tongue across your folds. 

You jerked forward at the sudden feeling shooting through your body, your hand grasping at his hair. He was messy, making sure every inch of you got attention as he kissed and sucked everywhere he could reach. He grabbed at the backs of your thighs, hooking one leg over his shoulder to spread you out even more to his tongue, his lips finally closing around your clit. "Sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Goddamn woman you taste like fuckin' candy. Wanna taste you cummin' on my tongue."

Daryl didn't give you a chance to process his words before his mouth was on you again, lapping up everything he could. Your fingers in his hair tightened, pulling at the strands as he traced his tongue around your clit in tight circles before sucking on it harshly. You were quickly learning that his sharp tongue was good at more than just biting insults, your thighs squeezing around his head. He didn't seem to care about your tightening grip as he dipped his tongue down to tease around your entrance, listening to the way you whimpered and whined before he pushed it inside of you.

Your hips pressed forward against his face at the feeling of his tongue inside you, his name a broken cry on your lips. He grabbed your hips, tilting them forward so his nose bumped against your clit with each movement. Daryl put everything he had into eating you out, a concentrated look taking over his features as he pressed his whole face into you while his arms wrapped around your thighs to hold you in place, letting him take whatever he wanted from you. He flattened his tongue inside you, grazing against your g-spot and the feeling combined with the pressure on your clit had you coming again.

You cried out as you spasmed around his tongue, your knees almost giving out as you doubled over his head, your hands sliding down from his hair to grasp at his back. His name was a broken moan on your lips as he worked you through your orgasm, his tongue never stopping its movements. You expected him to ease off once your body started to slow down again but instead, he pulled his tongue out, licking you clean before moving his tongue to clit again as he slid two fingers inside of you.

"Daryl what - ah - what are doin'?" You pulled at his hair trying to pull his attention away from your already sensitive clit, the feeling almost too much for you already.

"I never said I was done with ya. You felt too good cummin' 'round my tongue to just leave it at one." Was the only response you got as he dove back in, his lips finding your clit again. His fingers hooked in just the right place on every thrust while he found a steady rhyme with his tongue. Your breathing was broken, every second breath a whimper or moan. Your orgasm was building quicker than you'd ever felt before and you knew you were already close.

Daryl's hand came up to grab at your waist, using his grip and your leg slung over his shoulder as leverage to hold you up against the wall as your legs started to shake. His hand slid across to press against your stomach as the cries of his name started to come quicker, louder with each thrust. He pushed a third finger into you and you screamed out his name at the unexpected feeling. The slight burn as he stretched you out only added to the pleasure he was bringing you.

One more particularly rough thrust of his fingers against your g-spot had you coming around him again. You clenched around his fingers as your legs finally gave out, your eyes snapping shut at the intense orgasm that ripped through your body. Daryl slowly pulled his fingers out of you and stood up again, his grip on you the only thing keeping you standing as every muscle in your body tensed. He pulled you in a kiss, slow and messy as he moved his tongue against yours in the same way he had as he ate you out, letting you taste yourself off his lips.

"Three down, how many more can ya handle? Bet this sweet pussy's gettin' sensitive." He proved his point as he dropped his hand down to tease at your clit, feeling the way your whole body shuddered against him. His hands were back on your waist in an instant, pulling you away from the wall as he lead you over to the kitchen counter. He spun you in his arms letting his hands roam across your body as your head tipped back against his shoulder. Your skin was already sticky with sweat, your breath feeling impossible to catch.

Your hips met the hard surface of the counter and you could feel the bulge in Daryl's pants pressing against your ass as he stepped in behind you, holding you tight against his body. He leaned back slowly running his hand up your spine until he reached your neck, messily wrapping your hair around his hand. You gasped out when he shoved you forward by the makeshift ponytail, bending you over the counter. He tightened his grip on your hair and pulled, hard, forcing your head to snap back so he could catch your mouth in another bruising kiss.

"Better brace yerself for this. Gonna fuck you all hard and rough, just like ya wanted." He warned as his hands left your body, the sound of the scrape of the metal zipper on his pants filling the room. He quickly undid the button and pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, not even bothering to fully undress. You reached your hands out in front of you trying to find any purchase on the counter that you could as you pressed your cheek against the cool granite surface.

You were waiting for Daryl's next move, your heart racing with anticipation as you couldn't see Daryl moving behind you in this position. You couldn't even prepare yourself for how big he would be as you realised you still hadn't seen him undress and yet here you were, fully undressed, writhing against the counter for him. You cried out, your hips pressing even further into the counter as you tried to arch away from the pain of Daryl's strong hand landing roughly on your ass. A second later the harsh sting landed on the other side of your ass. A whimper fell from your lips at the pain but you'd be lying if you said the feeling of your skin burning under his hits wasn't turning you on beyond belief.

"Yer ass looks even better all marked up with my handprint," Daryl growled in your ear as he leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back while his hand grabbed at your ass. You could feel his cock dragging against you in this position and the feeling of it had you pushing up on your toes, trying to get Daryl to hurry up and fuck you already. "Might have to take ya over my knee if ya don't learn to behave yerself." 

Daryl was already worked up in a way that clouded his mind to anything but his goal of fucking you. He was painfully hard from seeing you getting off on him so many times already and it didn't take much convincing for him to shove his cock inside you. He pushed himself all the way in with one hard thrust, his hand pressing down on the small of your back as he held you in place. 

You moaned out at the feeling of him filling you up in a way you'd never felt before when you were already so sensitive and he didn't give you a chance to adjust to his thick length. He pulled out until only the tip was still inside you and then slammed back in, setting a cruel pace as he fucked you hard.

Your nails scratched against the surface of the counter trying to find any way to ground yourself in the moment as your brain started to melt, his hips snapping against you so hard you were sure it would leave bruises in the morning. You cried out with each thrust, your moans mixing with his own grunts as the drag of cock against your walls was already becoming too much for you. Daryl's hand found its way around your throat again as he pulled you up until you were flush against his chest.

"Promise ya you wouldn't be able to walk for a week, everyone's gonna see you limpin' 'round after this. Who do ya belong to Darlin'?" He hummed against your ear, his voice was rough and broken as he spoke. He littered kisses all across your jaw, his hands roaming across your chest to grab at your breasts.

"Y-you." You stuttered out barely able to form a coherent thought anymore with the force of his thrusts against you while you drew closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. It was like each thrust pulled any of the bratty fight you'd had earlier in the night from your body.

"Who's pussy is this?" His voice was growing deeper, more possessive as he dropped a hand to tease your clit while his hips never let up their rough pace. You could tell he was losing himself in this feeling just as much as you were.

"Yours- yours Daryl - oh fuck - ah I can't - I'm gonna -" You couldn't take it anymore, Daryl making you admit out loud that you were all his sending you straight into another orgasm. You came hard, a white light exploding behind your eyes as they snapped shut, his fingers still drawing circles around your clit. You whined out, collapsing back against his chest as you tried to grab at his wrist, the feeling of his fingers against you too much for you to handle along with his cock inside you.

"That's right. Mine. Yer all mine." He growled out at the feeling of you clenching around his cock. You could tell he wasn't far behind you, getting closer to his own release as his words started to slur, his head falling to the back of your shoulder where your hair was plastered to your sweat-soaked skin. "Pretty lil' pussy just for me. Nobody else could ever fuck ya as good as this. You know ya can only get it as good as this from me. Nobody else is gonna treat ya as rough as ya need."

Daryl's arm tightened around your waist, clinging to your body as he continued to thrust into you, drowning out your moans and whimpers with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that were mostly teeth and tongue as he fought to keep up his rhyme. No matter how much your body tried to fight it you could feel another orgasm building inside of you as each thrust hit against your g-spot.

You couldn't kiss Daryl back anymore, your mouth hanging open in a loud gasp as a heavy feeling settled in your chest, weighing down on your lungs as tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. The tension in the pit of your stomach was starting to snap again, you could feel the strain with each thrust.

"I can't - I can't not again Daryl please - it's too much - oh fuck please -" You screamed as he held you close to him, helping you ride it out as another orgasm ripped through you. Your body couldn't take anymore, going numb in his arms as the tears you'd been fighting back spilt freely down your cheeks.

"Mine." Daryl made his point by biting at your shoulder as he thrust into you one last time, the sight of you coming again and so forcefully tipping him over the edge with you. He held himself deep inside you as he came, his own breathing becoming broken against your shoulder as he held you both against the counter. He didn't trust his own legs to support your weight as well as his own as his hand ran comfortingly across your stomach. "S'okay. So good, ya did so good. Did so well for me. Fuck Darlin' yer perfect."

Once he had recovered a little more he slowly pulled out of you, cautious of just how sensitive you were now and turned you around in his arms as he reached a hand up to brush away your tears with his thumb. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss, the softest he'd been with you all day, every ounce of his previous anger now melted away. He pulled you into a tight, comforting hug as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. He left a trail of light kisses across the marks he'd left on your neck earlier in the night and then cupped your face, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Didn't mean to make ya cry. Did I really hurt ya?" He said softly, the concern written all over his face as he brushed your hair away from your face where it was stuck down with sweat. "Think I lost control a little." 

"It's okay." You reassured him with a small nod. Your body was slowly coming down at last as you clung to his chest, simply enjoying the feeling of him holding you. You pushed up on your toes to kiss him letting yourself smile into the contact as he cupped the side of your face. "I'm okay I promise. You only hurt me a little and I mean, I all but begged for that. In fact, I'm more than just okay Daryl. That was incredible, I've never felt anything like that. I need to make you jealous more often. Maybe I should flirt with Spencer next."

"I wouldn't recommend that." Daryl chuckled then, the sound was sweet but you could see that fierce look back in his eyes. "I like Rick, Spencer? I might actually break his jaw for touchin' ya."

Taglist: @azanoni @ineedmorefanfics2

[bitterrobin]

Things I hate/dislike about Fanon-Damian Wayne

AKA me just bitching about the various icks of Damian portrayals in fanon that range from weirdly racist things to a blatant misunderstanding of the core character.

Whitewashing - not only in art, but in descriptions; making Damian pale or white, an "exact copy of Bruce" and having blue eyes. He'll share features with Bruce of course, but it's rare I see anyone describe him with traits from Talia or Ras or Melisande. Y'know he's still half Arab/Chinese despite Bruce being white. He should have, at the very least, a shade of brown skin and non-blue eyes.

Describing Damian like an animal (hissing, biting, clawing), calling him feral or rabid - I already have a post about how its pretty racist to constantly describe a poc character like this, so I won't go any further here. Also, rabid, really? Anyone who calls Damian that will die by my hand because it's so genuinely ignorant that I just can't excuse it.

Overuse of terms like "Blood Son", gremlin, "Demon Spawn", "Satan" - these spawned completely in fandom and its gotten to the point that I will immediately click off something if its included. Just stop using these as shorthand to describe him or joke about him. Come up with something else, or maybe just don't include Damian in a fic if he's only there to get made fun of.

Connected to the "Blood Son" term, making Damian obsessed with his biological status as Bruce's child and making him demean his adopted siblings/other adopted characters - he's only had a couple instances of this in canon comics. Once, in his introduction in the fight with Tim written by Grant Morrison when his character was still being fleshed out. Again, in a fight with Tim in Red Robin when Damian is mostly being written as an antagonist and not a character of his own. It frustrates me to no end when this is brought up because Damian's status with being Bruce's son has nothing to do with biological connection or genetics. It has everything to do with just being a son of a father that doesn't put any effort to knowing you and seeing him have deep connections to other kids that you have been raised to see as competition, not family.

Constantly having him carry around a sword/katana - this does happen in some comics, but its really not the main weapon he uses as Robin. A good majority of his time as Robin he just used the standard stuff (batarangs, grapple etc). The really aggravating part is when fics insinuate that he'd carry one around in public or in school.

Making Bruce's half of the family his good white saviors, while also making the al Ghuls evil abusers - if you demonize Talia and then prop up Bruce as a good dad who's done nothing wrong to Damian then I'm going to assume that you don't read comics and you don't have a good understanding of Damian's relationship with his parents. If you make Dick or Jason the good protective big brothers while putting down Talia or Ras or Mara, again, I'm going to assume the worst. Dick did not like Damian when they first met. Tim spent most of their time together as Red Robin/Robin hating him. Jason shot Damian point blank in the chest the first meeting they had, and then continued to threaten his life. Damian has never had a great relationship with anyone in the batfamily when he first appeared. Yes, not even Stephanie or Cassandra or Duke. With everyone, it took time for him to be tolerated much less liked or understood. Making them the ones who understood him and babied him from the start ruins his character development and his relationships with them. Only if you're writing an au where Damian is raised by Bruce, then it's excusable but still not the least bit right when handling the al Ghuls.

Making Damian ignorant or plain stupid, especially when comes to white American concepts - Damian is insanely smart. He knows what riddles are. He knows what metaphors are. He knows that Gotham is a city in New Jersey in America, and that American concepts like school clubs and sports teams and cliques and dances exist. Sometimes it sounds you're making Damian intentionally an idiot when you imply he doesn't know what a video game or a tv show is. Just because he grew up sheltered does not mean he's fucking blind. He's a kid who grew up Middle Eastern, not in another planet.

nitpick but Damian calling Bruce "baba" at every turn or throwing in "habibi" when you write ship content - I am not Arabic, but i'd feel the same kind of annoyance if someone wrote Damian calling Bruce "papa" or "padre" all the time, or randomly listing off Spanish endearments in ship fics. In moderation, it can be cute and appreciative. But sometimes it reads like you just discovered a new funny word and you're throwing it around for no reason.

Insisting that Damian should have learned morality or been punished severely by any of the bats when he first showed up - I must stress that none of them did jack shit to teach Damian any kind of morality when he appeared. Bruce met him, yelled at him, fucked off for a mission, came back and then promptly left him behind with Talia before they were presumed dead by explosion. Then Bruce straight up died. Bruce had very little to do with Damian in the early era. Dick, also, didn't really do anything in terms of actually sitting Damian down and explaining the Bat code or just general "killing=bad". He taught Damian to be Robin, and by that process, gradually got through to him about being a hero and a good person. You cannot expect good behavior from a child from the get-go if you've done nothing to teach that child. On that matter then, implying that Damian should have been kicked out of the house or beaten up on behalf of Tim as a form of punishment or a "teaching moment" is genuinely insane. You're going to abuse the already abused ten year old because he hurt your favorite character? Really? You're truly the pinnacle of an adult figure that he should respect /s.

Being annoying about Damian's attitude towards other characters - he's sarcastic and rude on purpose. It's pretty clear from the start to Damian that no one likes him, so he chooses to not like them back. If you cry about him calling Tim names, then I honestly think you don't have a high opinion of Tim at all if you think a seventeen/eighteen year old teenager would be hurt or psychologically scarred by a ten year old calling him a mean name.

Exaggerating Damian's violence and making people terrified of him - calling his fights with Tim "attempted murder" both undermines what murder actually is and undermines Tim's skill levels. The cutting the line incident for example. Obviously the action of cutting it was dangerous, but if you genuinely believe that Tim would have died from it or that he would regard it with any PTSD-level importance is (imo) kind of stupid. We always hear about the actions Damian takes around other characters, but never the canon reaction. In the 2009-2011 era, Tim was angry and annoyed about Damian. Whenever Damian did anything to him, he fought back. He would shoot back remarks, land a blow. Tim wasn't scared of Damian. They didn't even live together long enough for Tim to feel "unsafe in his own home." The second Damian became Robin, Tim left. They never lived in the same house since then, until the reboot, and even then Tim has been pretty independent and Damian has been away from Gotham more often than in it. Same deal applies to Dick and Steph and Jason and Cass, they never took Damian's actions lying down. He's just a mild annoyance to them. In fact, Damian doesn't attack them in their sleep. He doesn't try to kill them every chance he gets. He doesn't plot their demise. Every instance of Damian fighting someone in the family has either been; protective impulse, a reaction to a fight they instigated, or a sparring-type situation where neither of them are taking things seriously.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 8 - Memories Are Made of This

As the screen goes all wiggly after How Could I Forget? we cut to a high school flashback. Will our star-crossed lovers beat the odds?

Suptober prompt: Satanic Panic Flufftober prompt: Rainy Day

(Read on AO3)

“Dean. Hey. Dude, are you drooling?”

Charlie's voice cuts through his gauzy daydream like a hot scalpel. He shakes himself alert, blinking rapidly as his eyes and his mind struggle to refocus on his dreary surroundings. Third period biochem. Rainy day. Middle of nowhere, Kansas. Ugh.

His bestie continues to lay into him in a hissed whisper. “You need to wake up! You haven't been paying attention to anything Mr. Singer has written on the board, and he already told us it's all gonna be on the test next week!! Where's your head today?” She narrows her eyes and gives him the look that always makes him feel like she's corkscrewing right into his brain. “You're not still thinking about that Novak kid, are you?”

He tries. He really does. He doesn't flinch, doesn't fidget, doesn't drop his eyes. “Nah,” he drawls, putting what he hopes is the exact right amount of casual disinterest into that single lying syllable.

She doesn't buy his act for a second. “Bull. Shit,” she replies, smacking him on the shoulder. “You are. Dean! I told you, that one is not for you! Between your Led Zep shirts and our weekend D&D games, his parents would call an exorcist if they found out he was even talking to you!”

“Oh come on, Red,” he protests weakly. “The Satanic Panic died out in the 80's.”

Charlie gives him a dark look. “Not in the Novak household, it didn't. I'm serious, Dean. Those blue eyes may be super dreamy, but he is more trouble than he's worth. Trust and believe. Now settle down, focus, and catch up!” She points furiously up at the whiteboard, which Mr. Singer is continuing to fill with blocky, crabbed lettering, and then down at his blank notebook.

Dean sighs and picks up his pen.

~~~~~~~~

Everybody at the school knows about the Novaks, Lawrence High's very own pack of homegrown Cullens. They're an unwieldy gaggle of siblings, almost too many to count. Well-dressed, God-fearing, condescending little pricks, the lot of 'em. They keep themselves to themselves, and everyone else appreciates the favor. Nobody in their right mind would ever try to date one of them.

Except.

Except...

Except Castiel Novak, the baby of the family, with his eyes as blue as the sky and his messy black hair and his voice like a rake being dragged across concrete? He smiles at Dean, laughs at his jokes. They sit side-by-side in fifth period study hall now, and Dean's grades have dropped almost half a point since the new seating charts were drawn up, because he doesn't get a damn bit of studying done in that hour.

He's completely fucking smitten, is the thing. It's disgusting. But Charlie's right: he doesn't have a chance with someone like Castiel. The Novaks are bible study, violin lessons, honor roll. Dean's cheeseburgers, greasy carburetors, ripped jeans. So what if they have a blast hanging out every afternoon when they're supposed to be doing their homework? So what if Dean shakes sometimes with how much he wants to take Cas's hand, kiss his lips, touch his skin? It'll never happen, and that's a fact.

And then one Friday in March, just as they're all gathering up their books and backpacks to head to sixth period, Cas hands him a folded-up piece of notebook paper and runs out of the room. When Dean opens it up, he sees the question that will determine the course of the rest of his life:

DO YOU WANT TO GO TO SPRING FORMAL WITH ME

YES          NO

This fic concludes here...

[otomiyaa]

Hiii Ginny! I just re-read your "Lyney's trick" fanfiction and it was honestly a masterpiece! You crafted the story very well... but I'm curious... how would you imagine "childe, itto, thoma, kaveh, aether" if they were actually being choosen... will the scenario be the exact same with the gaming one? or different? because the gaming one really relates to his personality and that what makes it special (this is definitely not a fic request though, just wanna hear your thought/headcanon as the author, about how you'll imagine each scenario if the subject chosen were different) Have a nice day by the way! You're a true inspiration!

Hi hi!!! ^^ Aww I'm honored you would re-read my fic! And thank you for asking. My 2-part fics are actually all written in a way that I really see different outcomes depending on the winning option, so not just same plot different lee, or same scenario but with a different quote.

So in this case with the Lyney's Trick fic, I think what I had slightly in mind for each option was:

Childe: Ofc I don't know their exact canon relationship yet and if it's gonna be revealed in the new update (have yet to play) but since they're both fatui I imagined them more to have a brotherly rivalry, so Lyney would've been very smug while getting Childe in the trick position, and maybe they would've been able to tickle him a little until Childe breaks free and just... retaliates. So it would've probably been more lee Lyney and very much Lyney VS Childe focused with the happy ending that Lyney's predicament equally cheered up his siblings.

Itto: Could've been a really fun one with Ayato making some funny remarks while Itto is screeching. I pictured Itto to be as naive and fun as Gaming but then in a sillier way, shamelessly enjoying himself and making funny remarks.

Thoma: Also in this case Ayato (and Itto) would've gotten involved since I grouped them together. Knowing myself I'd have thrown in some flirty thomato stuff, as well as some very cute remarks about how gentle and humble Thoma is even when he's getting tricked into a tickly situation like that. He would've been very blushy, very confused, very cute hehe, getting tickled like that in front of the eyes of Ayato.

Kaveh: Since Kaveh was at the Sumeru table this would've gotten Alhaitham, Cyno and Tighnari involved as well (more than in the eventual outcome where Fontaine gang- Neuvillette and Wriothesley were the main audience). Kaveh would've been a little harder to break, and also to convince in the first place for cooperating, but with some motivation from the others he's more like okay sure why not. And I definitely wouldn't have missed the chance to throw in some bad bad Cyno-jokes.

Aether: Aether would've been a lovely lovely looovely lee, but as the premise already hinted, it was Aether's party with many of his friends there after all. So even if Aether would've been the winning option, I still would've juggled 2 options: his friends either all love to tease and bully him so they help Lyney inc. to wreck him, OR I would've let it turn out into a scenario where they come to Aether's aid which would've turned Lyney into the main lee again. Depending on my mood I would've picked a few main characters to involve, probably Childe, Kaeya and Venti.

Gaming:

That wasn't all btw.

It was already hard to pick between all the lovely characters to put in the poll for this fic. Others I had in mind were:

Chongyun: ofc with some Xingqiu, duuuhh, also involving Xiangling, Gaming and maybe even Shenhe as audience/side characters and maybe even fellow ticklers and teasers. Ending with yang Chongyun ofc and a very confused and surprised Lyney & siblings like omfg what have we done to him.

Xiao: Precious Xiao would've been the perfect person to ask, sitting awkwardly to the side. Might have needed some Aether influence to be convinced into joining. His own polearm could've been used to spread his arms and *wiggle fingers* poor thing. I would've let Venti join in for sure.

Tighnari: Very curious to try the trick. Definitely a lot of Cyno in it as well. Also very flustered and having some adorable reactions.

Scaramouche: What trick? He is above this. This would've been very funny now that I recall this option, oof.

Bennett: Unlucky boy would've been a great target. Razor would've been in this version.

Albedo: Would also have been curious but a little sceptical. Still cooperative. Aether and Kaeya would've been some others to be mainly involved.

[bi-demon-ium]

AO3 Tag Game!

Tagged by @mvshortcut :) I did it here as well but now I'm doing it for this fandom/account bc I CAN (a lot of this will be directly copy/pasted if applicable im sowwy)

How many works do you have on AO3?

116. (Including snippet collections.) For this fandom/account. Far more if you count others,

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Okay this one it won't let me separate by pseud or fandom so you're just gonna have to live with being lumped in with all my MBS and a few other misc fics at "653,461". Didn't get the other accounts though. Man, I'm a mess

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Okay, well, this one by nature is also not solely for this fandom,

(number in parentheses is number of ao3 works posted)

The Mysterious Benedict Society (116) (including snippet collections)

Ted Lasso (44) (also including snippet collections)

Instinct (2) (one is a small snippet collection--)

House MD (1)

Death by Dying (1)

Gravity Falls, technically, but it was one crossover (1)

ditto with The Legend of Zelda (1)

King Falls AM (1)

The House in the Cerulean Sea (6)

Shadowhunters (??? at least 36) (some now hidden/lost)

Professor Layton (1)

The Librarians (2)

The Sandman (1)

The Mentalist (2)

Star Trek (AOS) (1)

Sanders Sides (at least 1)

Miraculous Ladybug (1)

Rosewell: New Mexico (2)

The Dresden Files (1)

That's stuff posted to ao3/finished. There's also, technically,

for stuff I published when I was twelve and I now refuse to acknowledge (not all bc of the fandom but bc the fic was Bad):

Doctor Who

Supernatural

Sherlock

Psych

Castle

Welcome to Night Vale

Avengers

A Series of Unfortunate Events

And then stuff I've written for but never finished:

Warehouse 13

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (2016)

Dirk Gently (2010)

SurrealEstate

Zoo (podcast)

Once Upon a Time

Scooby Doo

Person of Interest

The Goes Wrong Show

Spy Kids (???)

Ace Attorney

The Adventure Zone

Criminal Minds

Star Trek (TOS, TNG, and DS9)

Haven

MacGyver

Trollhunters

exactly one (1) joke The Magnus Archives fic

Percy Jackson and the Olympians + The Kane Chronicles + Tales of Apollo

Leverage

Pushing Daisies

The Sarah Jane Adventures

Megamind

Bones

Avatar: the Last Airbender

Lucifer

Some of these are deeply questionable and/or only have like two (2) wips or even posted works at most, but I'm thorough. Also, I will write about almost anything bc my brain loves to process things like this. I may have even missed something

Top five fics by kudos:

I was gonna have the snippets collections not count but I've got so many exact ties it doesn't matter.

gemini schmemini (136)

kate and her bucket sitting in a tree, S-P-Y-I-N-G (98)

caught (81)

[insert poetic title here] (81)

affectionate gestures<3 (81)

of rube goldbergs and weather machines (74)

tumblr snippets: mbs edition (74)

keeping out the cold (70)

birdsong (70)

Number Two Regrets Her Life Choices™ (68)

timeline? i don't know her (68)

That's actually 6 bc I made a mistake but I've already color coded them so whatever

Do you respond to comments?

I really try to, but then I get all in my head about it and/or am really really tired and put it off so long it then feels like it would be weird to respond because it's been forever. However, if there's a direct question or something I want to address/respond to, as in, I have something particularly unique to say or a question to answer, then I'll usually respond really fast.

And this fandom's smaller so if I'm slightly more likely to respond 😭

Also when I know who's commenting personally which is al ot more likely

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending you’ve ever written?

Honestly, I'm not a huge unhappy ending person, but. uhhh

solo

bring me home (in a blinding dream)

hollowed

seasalt

checkmate

dark side of the moon

wretched clarity

cruel kindness

green-eyed monster

the naming of cats

curled & crushed

oops

I didn't even look at the snippet collections lkgfhjh

Do you write crossovers?

Not often, but I rotate them in my brain. Honestly, though, I'm more inclined to write a fusion than a crossover proper. And even so, I tend to just be thinking about it rather than actually writing it. I've only written one crossover in recent memory (recently, that is) and it was mostly a joke about a shared actress made into actual angst. :)

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

Yeah lmao

Do you write smut?

😏 ......not for this fandom. That I'd post anyway

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

👁️👁️ not. Directly in this fandom

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!! also not in this fandom

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

In this fandom? Nicholas/Milligan. Overall, ever? Recency bias/hyperfixationitis says whatever I'm into the most at the moment. But generally for MBS I prefer gen (although I've written a lot of Nicholas/Milligan, that's partially because it's blissfully easier to find gen already)

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

:(

SO many

Particularly minotaur, the dearly departed, and the "paralyzed" series. Oh and the hanahaki AU

What are your writing strengths?

I think I can write a really funny string of dialogue, and I'm also fond of fun metaphors, both in the elegant poetic way and in the more Douglas Adams/Terry Pratchett way (which is to say, still potentially elegant but also comedic as hell)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Motivating myself to write anything; being overly self-indulgent

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I'm extremely bad at linguistics in general, so if I must include someone talking in another language in my fic, I think I'd tend to cheat and do italics or some other indication that this is 'in another language' (ie "Where are you going?" she asked in Russian), but that's admittedly a lazy approach. But I also think it's probably better than butchering it with an auto-translator? Also, when people just include the translation in the end notes, even with a link (although that makes it marginally better) it breaks the flow of the story and makes it hard to read. Making an effort to at least match grammar is good (which I would do if it was for longer than a single scene, probably) but I think the best solution is when people know what they're doing and like, have an actual translation with a little html code so you can click on it and it reveals what it means? Or if you're clever, revealing what it means using context around it, but that has its own limitations. So that both like, uses the actual language and doesn't break up the flow. It balances accessibility, flow, and respect for the other language in question well. But you've got to both know what you're doing with the language (either asking someone/hiring someone/knowing the language yourself) and the html (although there are guides for that you'd have to spend time figuring it out + know it exists in the first place to look). And this is fanfiction, something we ultimately do for free in our spare time, so the lazy approach, I think, can be understandable. Maybe not in every context, but it's not worth stressing a lot over in a few random lines or anything, you know? It is really cool when people do know a language well enough to include it properly in a fic, though, it can say a lot about a character or dynamic; and their background(s) and like. it's neat :)

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Ever? Doctor Who. In a shitty little notebook in middle school. Then there was some Star Trek (both TNG and TOS) and Avatar: the Last Airbender and Marvel and such, and then Supernatural (my first smut? extremely terrible Destiel smut. rip) and I think the first thing I ever posted was Welcome to Night Vale? Not sure.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

Oh, man. I have no idea. Here's a few favorites from this fandom:

cain's lament

minotaur

shades of green

a hope in hell

Number Two Regrets Her Life Choices™

tagging:

PLEASE, if you want to do this, I'm begging you, tag me in it and do it. i'm too tired to come up with names im so sorry

[barclaysangel]

Andy, Junior, and Percy Jackson (Chucky season 2 rewrite fic, drabble 3/4)

Here is the third drabble! Just one more drabble will be posted on Sunday, hopefully I'll be able to write more later on. I'd prefer it if you read them in the order they are posted. PLEASE leave notes and comment what you think because comments help fuel our motivation since @streets-in-paradise and I worked on this AU together and one day, the fic will finally be written!

Thank you and enjoy! :)

Word count: 1.8K

Junior had been quiet that day. 

This wasn’t the first time that Andy has seen Junior be this quiet, not making any sarcastic remarks, jokes, or smiling just a little but it never met his eyes. It happened plenty of times already, but it didn’t make Andy any less worried whenever it did occur. 

The reasons for Junior shutting down were always different. Sometimes after a bad nightmare, he’d be quiet the next day, or it would be after opening up a little too much for the kid’s liking about his father. He’d go almost completely silent. 

But Andy knew that neither of those triggered this new episode. The night before, Junior had been talking about his mother. Bree Wheeler was still a touchy subject, even more so than her husband, but Junior talked about her this time. 

“I already enjoyed reading Greek mythology,” Junior had told Andy that night, “I was so fascinated with the stories of the Greek gods. Then my mom heard about these books and got me the first set. I was already hooked just after the first page.” 

The books Junior was referring to were all five books of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, tapping his fingers on the box the books were contained in. 

Okay, yes, Junior may have mentioned once that those were one of his favorite book series. Andy knew he could’ve just gotten one, but he splurged and bought them all. He figured the kid would want something to keep him entertained when he went on his weekly supply run, rather than to resort to cutting off pieces of Chucky’s plastic skin whenever he got bored. 

“She always knew me like the back of her hand. Sometimes even better than I knew myself.” Junior was speaking kindly of his mother but his eyes and smile were melancholic. 

Andy knew how much the kid loved talking about Bree, but it wasn’t a secret that he was still taking her loss hard. How could the kid move on, even after knowing that Chucky was responsible for her sudden death and it wasn’t by her own hands? 

Junior was grieving and unable to move forward. He couldn’t blame him, he’d be the exact same way if he saw his mother die the way the kid did. Junior lost the last person in his life that truly loved him. And in a way, so did Andy. Even though the adult’s mother was still alive, he had to stay away. He couldn’t bear it if he lost her too just like how he lost Kyle. 

So it wasn’t a complete surprise when Junior went quiet the next day, running almost on autopilot. There wasn’t a lot Andy could do to bring him out of that state, just be by his side and make sure he ate. 

The eating part was never the easiest when the kid was like this, he never had an appetite and spent most of breakfast pushing the food around with his fork before actually having a few bites. But Andy still made sure Junior had some food in his system and let him know that he was there for him. 

Junior would always say he was fine or hum affirmatively whenever the adult asked if he was okay. That was never true and Andy would have to pretend that he didn’t notice how Junior would come back after collecting wood for the fire with red tinged eyes as if he had been crying. 

Andy knew that he couldn’t push him to open up. Too much pressure and the kid would snap at him, making all the work he had done to get Junior to trust him come crumbling down. He had to be patient and take things slow, just let him know that he would always be there if the kid needed to talk and let him come to Andy. 

By nighttime, Junior seemed to relax slightly. He was still quiet but began talking a little more with Andy when the older man spoke rather than just nod his head in agreement. Baby steps, but it was certainly something and he would gladly take it. 

Even though the kid seemed to be doing a little bit better, Andy still felt the need to check up on him. And that’s what he did, peering into Junior’s room since the door was still open. He was already lying down on his cot, a few blankets over him, and staring up at the ceiling. The sight was a little concerning and the adult only relaxed when Junior finally blinked, assuring that he wasn’t dead. 

After a moment, Andy lightly knocked on the door. “Can I come in?” He asked, waiting for the kid to nod before walking inside the bedroom. Andy sat down on the edge of the cot, looking over at the kid who still had his eyes trained on the ceiling. “How are you doing, kid?” 

Junior didn’t say anything for a few seconds before he shrugged his shoulders up and down. “I…I’m alive. That’s all.” 

It wasn’t much of a response, yet that was something Andy was willing to work with. “Good. I’m glad you’re alive.” He told him genuinely and caught a glimpse of the corners of Junior’s lips turning upward just slightly. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” The kid muttered and Andy took that as another win. Sometimes Junior would say something about how he wished he wasn’t alive and then chalk it up as a joke. But the adult always knew he wasn’t joking, and it would break his heart. 

However, this time he agreed with Andy’s words, which was a step in the right direction. 

The adult paused for a moment, thinking of the right things to say. “You know, if you ever wanna talk…I’m right here. I can only listen if you want. I just want you to know that you’re not alone.” 

Junior nodded, finally turning his head enough to look at Andy. “I know…I just…don’t really feel like talking right now,” he said quietly, “but…maybe tomorrow? If-if I feel better.” 

Andy sent him a reassuring smile while nodding. “Yeah, of course. It doesn’t even have to be tomorrow, it can be whenever you feel like. Okay?” 

The kid’s lips tilted upward again, another sign of improvement. “Mhm, okay…thanks.” 

“No problem, kiddo.” He told him before he happened to look over at the Percy Jackson box set that was beside the cot, leaning over to gently nudge it with the tip of his boot. “You haven’t read these yet?” 

“Not yet. I haven’t felt like reading, but I’ll get to it.” Junior said before pausing, looking like an idea came to him before he spoke again. “Can you…can you read it to me?” 

Andy paused briefly. “I don’t know about that, Junior…” 

“Please Andy?” He asked again, now pouting. 

“I don’t think I’d make a very good narrator—” 

“I don’t care, just…please?” 

The longer the adult looked at him, the more his resolve started to fall down. God, it was getting a lot harder and harder to say no to Junior. 

Finally, he sighed quietly. “Okay, what book do you want me to read?” 

The kid’s eyes twinkled in delight when Andy gave in. “The first one, ‘The Lightning Thief’. I want to feel like I’m seven years old again.” 

He smiled slightly and nodded, leaning over to pick up the first book from the box set. Once it was in his hands, Junior scooted further to the edge of the cot to give more room for Andy, allowing him to sit down comfortably with his back resting against the wall. 

While Andy wasn’t very comfortable in his narrating abilities, he just couldn’t refuse the kid, especially when he was starting to open up a little more. “Okay, kid…” he opened up the book and flipped past a couple pages until he landed on the first chapter, “‘Chapter 1: I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher’? Holy shit, that’s how this book is gonna start?” 

“Just read it!” When Andy looked down at him, Junior was smiling. This was a real smile, his first one of the entire day. It made something in his chest feel warm. 

Well, now he just had to read it to him. 

The adult chuckled under his breath before beginning. “‘Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.’” 

And with that, Andy started reading the book. He understood what Junior meant about getting hooked after the first page because he was hooked as well. He continued reading and checking up on the kid every now and then, spotting Junior looking relaxed and smiling, giggling at any of the funny parts. 

Halfway through the second chapter, Andy peered over and noticed that the teenager had fallen asleep. He couldn’t help but to smile at the sight, noting how peaceful the kid looked as he slept. Good. He needed some peace in his life. 

Well, Andy had to make sure to be quiet as he left, he didn’t want Junior to wake up. The kid needed to get as much sleep as possible, he was still a growing boy. Maybe he’ll make some pancakes with coffee tomorrow, he knows how much Junior likes his homemade pancakes, especially when he mixed in some blueberries— 

Oh…oh shit.

At that moment, a thought suddenly occurred to him. As he looked at the teenager sleeping, he finally understood what the warmth that was growing inside of his chest meant. 

He saw Junior as the son he never had. 

Now, Andy always cared for the boy since the moment he basically dropped on his doorstep. And the more Junior opened up, the more he began to care for him. Junior told him about his past with his father, how Chucky manipulated him, and Andy always felt this wave of protectiveness washing over him. He had to protect him. 

Was this how his mother felt? Seeing her newborn son for the first time, holding him in her arms and willing to do anything to keep him safe? 

Junior wasn’t his child, not by blood, but Kyle wasn’t his sister by blood either. If he could see Kyle as his sister, then he could see Junior as his son. 

Andy would do everything he could to keep the kid out of harm's way. To make sure that nothing and no one will ever hurt him again. He’d give his life just to make sure Junior lived because he couldn’t bear it if he lost someone else. 

And would he burn down the world just to make sure the teenager that was a pain in his ass half the time was warm? Then he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

But for now, the adult closed the book, noting what page they were on, and placed it on the floor beside the cot. He carefully pulled the blankets up to Junior’s shoulders, watching him shift slightly but remained sleeping with the same peaceful expression. Andy smiled fondly, hoping that tomorrow would bring a better day for his kid. 

“Goodnight, Junior.”

[writer-in-theory]

only a minor kidnapping (spencer reid x reader)

Summary: Reader needs a fiancé to spend the holidays with her family. Luckily, the cute stranger at the coffee shop seems gullible enough to lure to their winter cabin.

Category: Fluff, bits of angst in there

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: Christmas, Lowkey kidnapping, Insecurity, Family issues (ie, living up to their expectations, some judgment)

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: This is very loosely based on the movie Holiday in Handcuffs, which is so problematic and hilarious if you’ve never seen it I highly recommend it. I did end up cutting quite a few scenes from this because it was very long, so I might end up posting them separately later we’ll see. Also, I just want to say thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins because this fic would've never gotten written without all of her amazing plotting and motivation 💜

Masterlist

Holiday Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Life doesn’t always go the way you expect it, but sometimes it does exactly that.

You can’t even be surprised when the day you’re meant to leave for vacation comes around and you’re still woefully single. Any other time of year, and you’d cheer at the blissful lack of romantic responsibility. It was the day after Christmas, however, and single people all over the world would understand your frustration at your lacking romantic endeavors.

“You could just not go,” Chelsea suggests, not even looking at you as she got to work making the next coffee on the list of orders. The shop was surprisingly busy for the day after Christmas—still full of students studying who-knows-what and irritating couples fake laughing at their partners’ jokes.

“Seriously? My mother would drag me by my hair all the way to Vermont if I told her I wasn’t coming.” Unfortunately, you weren’t one hundred percent certain it was an exaggeration. “We all drop everything and spend a week together at this cabin, Chels. I have to go.”

“Will it really be that bad without a date? You’ve gone alone every other time.”

“Yeah, but I’m officially closer to thirty than I am twenty. They already call me their late-bloomer, I don’t want to give them any more ammo.”

“It can’t be that bad,” your best friend and coworker laughed, waving her hand to alert you to the customer who was just beginning to walk into the shop.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna spend the whole first night talking about how amazing Nick is, and the rest of the week will be spent reliving my Dad’s glory days on Quantum Oasis.”

“Your dad was on that show?” The new voice caused you to turn your head, and almost immediately a smile was pulling on your face. Dr. Spencer Reid was standing in front of you, cheeks still tinged pink from the cold and hands stuck deep in his coat pockets. The man came into the shop nearly every day—at first only on his workdays, but now showing up on his days off to read at his favorite table in the corner. At first, he’d gotten your attention because he always tipped the baristas well, and now your brief conversations were enough to make your days.

“Kind of. He was the screenwriter,” you admitted, already punching in his order. For weeks he hadn’t had to say it aloud, the creature of habit he was.

That seemed to be the exact right thing to say. Spencer’s eyes widened comically, lips parting in the ghost of a shocked smile. “Your dad is Archie L/N? No way! I was supposed to meet him in college but the guest lecture got canceled last second.”

Looking back, there was no explanation for what came from your mouth next. One second you were thinking about how Spencer Reid couldn’t get any more perfect, and then your mind was considering what it would be like to bring a guy like him home to rub in your parents’ faces. Then, suddenly you were giving him a conspiratorial look and asking, “Would you want to meet him?”

“I-I mean, is he here?” Spencer asked, nervously glancing around the coffee shop but clearly not finding the other man.

“Well, no. This time of year he’s at our family’s old cabin in Vermont,” you explained, heart beginning to race at the beginnings of disappointment on Spencer’s face, “but, he’s turned that cabin into a private museum of sorts, for the show. It’s only open to family friends and celebrities and stuff, but I bet he’d make an exception if I brought you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m heading up there today after I get off work in a couple hours. You’re totally welcome to ride along. I’ll be staying for a week, so if you want to go I’d pack for that long.”

“I’d love to go,” Spencer told you.

“Really?” A lightness filled your chest, even as Chelsea was standing there giving you an incredulous look. “Then I’ll meet you here in a couple hours? Coffee’s on me today.”

And as Spencer soon left, Chelsea immediately began laughing. “Oh girl, you’re so fucked.”

“What do you mean?”

It couldn’t be that bad. Sure, Spencer would eventually find out that the cabin wasn’t exactly a museum, and eventually you’d have to broach the topic of pretending to be your partner for a week, but surely he’d understand once you explained?

“You’re about to drag that man out into the middle of the woods for a week with your family. Does that sound fun to you?”

And well, no, not when she put it that way. “Well, we actually do have some really cool props leftover from the show.”

“Yeah, that’ll make up for kidnapping him.”

“It’s not kidnapping! He’s getting in the car willingly.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. Good luck this week.”

Sure enough, after your shift was over, Spencer was dutifully waiting just outside the shop with his typical brown bag and a duffel. Though you hadn’t spent much prolonged time with the man before, it was an enjoyable road trip. The two of you talked through most of the eight hours, discussing anything from the show your dad had written to the best way to eat an orange—”No, Spencer, cutting it into wedges is so much work!”

Eventually, the car turned off the highway, and the scene melted into a familiar one that filled you with both apprehension and nostalgia. There was already a lot of snow blanketing everything in sight, and there was more on the way that evening. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the area in beautiful oranges and pinks. The cabin came into view, a small thing that was the only sign of civilization in sight.

As you pulled up the drive, the man beside you began to shift. “That doesn’t look like a museum.”

“Sure it is,” you shrugged, glancing at him briefly before parking the car, “it’s private, so all the info’s online.”

“There’s not even a sign,” Spencer protested, turned in his seat so his back was pressed up against the car door.

“We keep it lowkey on purpose, to avoid people finding it.”

“That’s not a museum.”

“Okay, so maybe not technically,” you sighed, “but I wasn’t lying about all the props and stuff. There really are some cool things inside.”

“Y/N, where are we?”

“My family’s winter cabin?” And at that, Spencer seemed panicked. His head turned so he could survey the area, likely searching for proper escape routes. As he began getting out of the car, you followed, hurrying over to stand in front of him. “Look, wait, please. All you have to do is hang out a little with my family and you’ll have full access to all the old scripts and props. I’m sure you can even take a couple if you want.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Oh yeah, and if for some wild reason someone happens to call you my fiancé, just go with it?”

Spencer stood in front of you, amber eyes searching your face—for what, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of, was that this had to work out. There really was no other option than getting Spencer to agree to pretend like he was engaged to you.

“I want to go back to Virginia, right now.”

“Well, see the thing about that is I really only had enough gas to get us here.”

“Then I’ll walk,” Spencer snapped, already beginning to turn around and head back the way you two came. It was a few miles to the nearest little town, there was no way he would make it in this snow.

“Spencer, wait,” you tried again, chilled fingers wrapped around his exposed wrist. He didn’t turn around, but he did stop walking. “Please. It’s only for the week, and I promise I won’t ask for anything weird.”

“Other than for me to pretend to be your fiancé?”

“Yeah, except that.” It was then Spencer finally turned to face you, close enough he had to tilt his head down to look at you.

“You know this only works in movies, right? This is crazy!” His voice raised in pitch, hands gesturing wildly in the air.

“It could work, you don’t know that!”

“I do know that!”

“Please, I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate.”

“You’re not asking! You kidnapped me!” Spencer shouted, pulling a wince out of you. He wasn’t wrong, per se, but it didn’t feel great to hear it worded like that.

“You’re really not gonna try this?”

“No, of course, I’m not!”

Then, as though your hands no longer were controlled by your brain, your body jerked and your hand was throwing your car keys as deep into the snowy forest as you could manage. Absolute horror etched across Spencer’s face and it looked for a second as though he mind go after them. Instead, he took a step back from you and shouted, “Why did you do that? How are we supposed to get back now?”

“That’s irrelevant,” you said quickly, not really wanting to think about the answer too much. Why had you done that? It seemed as though your family was already bringing out the worst side of you before you even saw them.

“It's absolutely relevant, Y/N!”

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck here now. You might as well go along with the plan.”

Spencer looked like he was ready to fight it some more. His head tilted to the side a little and lips parted to give you a look that screamed being absolutely done with the situation. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Who would want to spend a week with a near stranger’s family?

Luckily, that exact family must’ve heard some of the noise because they were currently making their way out of the cabin to the both of you. “Oh, Y/N, you made it!” your mother cooed, immediately wrapping you up in a tight hug. “Was the drive tough?”

“No, no it wasn’t. The snow didn’t hit until we got about twenty minutes from here.”

“We...? Oh my God, you brought a boy!” she cheered, and you could only smile at the little glare Spencer gave over her shoulder when your mom pulled him in for a hug.

“Jellybean brought a guy?” Immediately your older brother, Nick, was pulling you down in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles through your hair to mess it up as much as possible.

“Nick, fuck off,” you whined, finally yanking your head back away from him.

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be single forever. I was gonna give you a pamphlet for a nunnery this year,” Nick laughed.

“Oh come on! You’re such a-”

“Now, children, no fighting in front of our guest,” Mom admonished, looking up at Spencer as though he might be a figment of her imagination. “Oh, come in, come in. It’s getting cold and we have dinner all ready for you two. I hope you like lasagna.”

So you followed your mom and brother inside, reaching out to take Spencer’s hand in yours. He turned his head, looking at you with surprise but thankfully didn’t say anything about it. Sure enough, your dad was sitting at the dining table with a giant dish of lasagna waiting.

“Jellybean, who’s this?” he asked as he got up to hug you.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s my fiancé,” you introduced, willing your face to hide the smirk forming at the surprised look on Nick’s face. You knew how your family saw you, knew they’d be horribly surprised at not only being engaged, but being engaged to someone as successful and attractive as Spencer.

“Fiancé?” your dad clarified, shifting so he can shake Spencer’s hand.

“Yes, Sir. It happened this morning,” Spencer answered, giving you a knowing look that might’ve had you giggling under any other circumstance. At any second, he could tell your family everything, and then how desperate would you look?

“Oh, honey! Congratulations, I’m so proud of you,” Mom cheered, pulling you in for another hug after setting another place at the table. “Let’s see the ring!”

“The ring? Oh, the ring!” There was, of course, no ring. You looked up to Spencer as if he could help you, but he just raised his brows as if to see ‘I told you this wouldn’t work’. No, it would. You’d make it work. “You know, I took it off to shower before we left and I must’ve forgotten to put it back on.”

“I did that all the time at the start. You’ll get used to wearing it in no time.”

“So, Spencer,” your dad began once everyone sat down at the dining table to eat, “what do you do for work?”

“I’m an agent for the FBI,” Spencer explained, pulling raised brows from your father, “I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We use behavioral profiles to track down serial killers.”

“That’s so cool,” Nick breathed, a wide smile on his face. “Who’s the scariest killer you’ve ever caught?”

“Nick, not at the table,” Mom protested, flashing Spencer an apologetic look as if he’d mind.

“I’m not asking for the gross details, I just wanna know!”

“We once caught a therapist who was using people’s worst fears against them,” Spencer offered then.

“Woah,” Nick let out right as Mom shuddered and looked down at her plate.

“Jellybean, you’re not involved in any of this stuff, right?”

“Of course not, Mom. I don’t ask about his cases.” That was also technically true. In the past year of him coming to your coffee shop, Spencer had briefly mentioned cases when he got back from them but never went into the details with you.

The rest of dinner passed easily, Spencer charming your parents so well you half-wished he was actually your partner. Eventually, the plates were all cleared and all that was left was to get some sleep after a long day of traveling.

“I had Nick bring your bags in here,” Mom explained as she guided you and Spencer to a room...with one bed in it. Of course, it made sense. If you were engaged, then there would be no reason for the two of you to sleep in separate beds much less separate rooms. Still, Spencer was fully staring at you now, not even trying to hide how he felt about it.

“Do we have a spare guest room? Just in case?” you asked Mom, hoping that there was still another room with a bed in it.

“You know there’s not, Honey. Besides, you’re engaged. You don’t have to be embarrassed about your Mom hearing anything, I know what’s going on in here.”

“Mom!” Immediately your cheeks heated up, face falling into your hands as if that might protect you from the conversation at hand. Of course, she couldn’t just stop at that, though.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. Hopefully, I’ll have some grandbabies on the way tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Mom,” you groaned, shutting the door as soon as she began making her way back down the hall.

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” Spencer announced, heading immediately over to the window to peer out of it. You followed him, watching the way the harsh wind blew the snow around to ruin any hope of seeing anything more than a foot in front of you.

“How? The car’s out of commission, there’s no way you’re finding the keys in this.”

“I’ll walk,” Spencer repeated the plan, “I could make it three miles in this.”

“Spencer, I doubt you could get three miles when it’s sunny and warm.”

“I’ve been in fight or flight mode for the last five hours, I can do it.”

“That’s ridiculous, it hasn’t been that bad.”

“No, what’s ridiculous is the way you thought you could kidna-”

Then Mom was opening the door again saying, “Honey, why am I hearing fighting in h-”

She couldn’t possibly hear him talking about kidnapping schemes, not when that would be the one thing you couldn’t talk yourself out of. There was no way you could risk him continuing talking, so you did the only thing you could think of to stop the situation.

You reached up and grabbed Spencer’s face, pulling him down for a kiss. He made a little noise of surprise against you but didn’t pull away, even going so far as to rest his hands against your hips. When you pulled back, Mom was standing there with a bright smile on her face.

“Oh, look at you two already fighting like a married couple,” she cooed, reminding you of the way Spencer’s hands were still at your hips. Still, you found yourself not wanting to move from his grasp. “I promise I won’t bother you anymore. The angry makeup sex always was the best.”

When she did finally leave with a gentle click of the door, neither of you moved. Spencer looked down at you, an amused look playing on his expression. This was the most relaxed you’d seen him since the car ride, and you found yourself wishing he could stay that way.

“Is she always so...open?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” you laughed a little, turning your head to look out the window in embarrassment. It would’ve been an embarrassing situation already, never mind the fact that it was with a guy who wasn’t even your partner.

“Look,” you sighed, looking up at him again after seeing the car slowly being covered in snow outside, “it’s dark and snowing really hard right now. Let’s get some sleep, and if you really want to leave in the morning I’ll help you find the keys myself.”

“You mean it?” Spencer asked, clearly unsure but still looking at you with a new sparkle in his eyes. You’d pretend that it didn’t hurt that he was so excited to get rid of you.

“Of course, I’m not actually gonna keep you here against your will,” you sighed, and the two of you finally parted. As you got ready for bed separately, building a little wall of pillows in the middle, all you could think of was how the skin of your hips still burned from where Spencer’s hands had been.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

When you wake in the morning, you’re surprised to find the bed is empty. Without another body to keep it propped up, the pillow wall has long since collapsed onto Spencer’s side of the bed. He couldn’t have left on his own, so was he now awake and talking to your family?

That thought alone was enough to wake you completely, apprehension making your hands shake as you got dressed for the day.

Spencer was in the kitchen with your Dad, the two of them sitting at the island and nursing cups of coffee. Had Spencer put so much sugar into his cup that it needed to be chewed, or had he held back in fear of being judged by your dad, who most certainly drank it black?

“You know, she used to be a model,” your dad was saying. The right thing to do would’ve been to announce your presence. Still, while your parents hadn’t exactly been non-forthcoming about what they thought of you, it was still intriguing to hear what they said without you there. “Our Jellybean was so successful at it too, she could’ve made a good living for herself.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t, she hates talking about it,” your dad continued.

“Why’d she stop?”

“Oh, Jellybean has always been jealous of her brother.” Fuck. You wanted to reach out, to tell them to stop before the conversation took a turn for the worst. “She wants to be a writer, but I hate to say I think she should’ve stuck to modeling.”

That was it, the final nail of the coffin. He hadn’t said it aloud, but the implication was there. You weren’t as smart as your brother, you couldn’t handle what it took to be successful as a writer. You weren’t good enough.

“Hey, Spencer,” you called, forcing a smile onto your face as you stepped just far enough into the kitchen for the men to notice you.

“Good morning,” he told you over his cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” you answered quickly, not wanting to stay in this room for longer than necessary. “Wanna see the movie room?”

It was sort of like telling a kid they could have as much candy as they wanted on Halloween, the way Spencer’s entire face lit up. He was standing in seconds, mug discarded into the sink as he rushed to follow you.

The room was one of the larger ones in the cabin, originally meant to be an office but quickly evolving into a place where your dad could store his memorabilia from the shows and movies he worked on over the years.

Immediately, Spencer was enthralled. He walked the perimeter of the room first, fingers gently grazing over the shelves as he took in all of the scripts and props contained within them. You allowed him this time, smiling a little as you watched him take in everything. And when he had, the two of you ended up sitting on the couches in the room. You were messing with one of the props, a fake dagger designed for one of the main characters.

“This is incredible,” Spencer breathed not for the first time that day. “I can’t imagine having a family like yours.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” you shrugged, shying away at Spencer’s incredulous expression.

“Your dad’s a famous screenwriter, your mom’s a famous director, even your brother is an incredible screenwriter, how could that possibly be bad?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for everything they’ve provided for me in life,” you explained, hoping above all that Spencer didn’t come away from this trip thinking that you were a spoiled brat. “It’s just a lot of pressure, is all.”

“Is that why you quit modeling?” He asked curiously, pushing into dangerous territory with the intimate questions.

“I quit modeling because I hated it, not because of any deep-seated insecurities or anything,” you finally answered. “I want to be a writer someday too. And I will be, it just might take me longer than Nick.”

Nick, the golden child who had hit it big with his first screenplay. You were sure part of that had to do with who his parents were, but still, the movie came out and he was praised for his skills. How could you possibly keep up with someone like that?

“What’s so wrong with me?” It’s unclear why the words came out of your mouth when they did, but now that they were in the open you couldn’t say you regretted them.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N,” Spencer tried to say, but even without being a profiler, you knew he had to be lying. The man had been so against pretending to be with you, there had to be a good reason why.

“Then what is it?” you asked, “Why are you so against pretending to be my boyfriend?”

“Other than the kidnapping part?” he asked, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah, other than that, I guess.”

“Have you seen me? There are so many other people who would’ve been better for this,” Spencer pointed out.

And wasn’t that just ridiculous? If it wouldn’t have killed the moment, you might’ve considered laughing. “Are you kidding me right now? Spencer, you’re every parent’s wet dream.”

“That’s...a gross thought, and not true.”

“Seriously? It’s been a day and my mom loves you! And I think my dad would rather you be his kid than me.” It was a hurtful thought, but one that had been swirling around your mind since getting here. Maybe having such a perfect fake boyfriend wasn’t a great idea after all.

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer told you, his voice softening. It was the kind of voice you could picture him using if you two were actually dating. He was looking at you like he might actually care, eyebrows tilted a little and lips parted as though he were trying to figure you out. Maybe he was.

“Sure it is. Did you hear my mom last night? That’s the first time she’d ever said she was proud of me, and it was because of you.”

Silence lapsed between you two for only a few minutes before Spencer asked, “You said a week?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll stay,” he told you, and it almost felt like a dream. Was this really happening? After all of the fighting, all of the begging and desperation, Spencer would really help you? Later, you would wonder if you were deserving of his kindness at that moment, but for now, you would launch yourself at him in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, you won’t regret it. I’ll make it the best week you’ve ever had.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The next day, Spencer finds himself woken up to excited shouts and a hand shaking his arm.

“Spencer, c’mon, the blizzard stopped!” you cheered, far too energetic for the early hour. “C’mon, get out of bed!”

“I’m coming, I promise,” Spencer laughed, rolling onto his back and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You were already dressed and ready for the snow—coat, hat, and gloves included.

It was refreshing, how innocently happy you were so often. The only people Spencer really talked to anymore were his teammates, and though he loved them dearly they had all long since lost that innocent joy years before.

So Spencer would join you out in the snow. He got ready quickly, pulling on his own coat and wrapping his purple scarf around himself.

By the time he was ready, the entire family was already outside. He was always blown away seeing families like this, genuinely enjoying each others’ company simply because they could. They had their problems, evidenced by the broken words dripping from your lips the previous day, but they were able to get past them to have some fun together.

“Spencer, over here!” you waved, smiling brightly enough to light up a room. You were gorgeous like this, tongue sticking out a little as you refocused your attention on rolling a giant ball of snow. “Help me make a snowman.”

“I’ve never made one before, what do we do?” he asked, causing you to stop in your tracks and look up at him in wonder.

“What do you mean you’ve never made a snowman?”

“I grew up in Las Vegas.”

“But you’ve been living in Virginia!” you wailed, sounding personally upset that he’d missed out on the experience. “Well, today we’re changing that. We’re gonna spend all day out in the snow if we have to.”

It was truly fun in an unexpected way. Building a snowman was just rolling little ice crystals together until they made a vague shape, but still, Spencer found himself laughing along with you the whole way. He helped you stack the pieces, and when it was time to make the face he followed your orders to a tee.

“Here, this will help,” Spencer said, lifting his scarf to wrap it around the snowman’s neck.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” you gasped, eliciting another smile from Spencer. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d last smiled this much, when he wasn’t worried about a case or all of the problems plaguing the team.

As wild as the entire situation was, Spencer was thankful for the chance to decompress. It was freeing, being out here in the snow with you. He wished they could do this every day, even after the week was over.

And that-

Well, where had that thought come from? Just two days prior he’d been considering walking miles in a blizzard to escape this cabin, and now Spencer was wondering if they might be able to stay longer. What was this effect you had on him? It was almost scary, the way he’d come to enjoy your company despite your imperfect means to get him here.

A bunch of snow was hitting his shoulder then, a bit of it flying up into his face and chilling the skin there. Spencer let out a wild yelp then, turning to find where it had come from.

You, of course, were standing there with a couple of snowballs in your hand and a devious look on your face. “You’ve never had a snowball fight either, right, Doctor Reid?”

Oh, what Spencer would do to get you to say those words again.

“I haven’t,” he answered, bending down to press some of the white crystals into his own ammunition. You have him a few seconds grace before it was on, the two of you running around the open space and hurling packed snow at each other.

Eventually, he’d caught up to you, his arms reaching out to grab you in an attempt to prevent you from throwing another snowball. What started as an innocent part of the game ended up in both of you tripping over yourselves, you flat on your back in the snow, and Spencer having caught himself just over you.

Both of you were breathing heavily, little swirls of air entwining between you two. Your eyes were gorgeous, carrying the kind of depth that Spencer could lose himself in for ages. Yes, he wanted more moments like this with you.

And with the rest of the family watching, you were pulling his head down just enough so you could kiss him again.

The first time had been shocking. Spencer had been mid-rant, fully about to ridicule you for thinking it was a good idea to kidnap a federal agent. He could have his team here in hours if he was really willing to put up with their jokes for the end of time. Then, your lips were on his and that night, Spencer found himself laying awake thinking about it.

Now it was happening again. Spencer had seen it coming, able to move back against you. His skin was heating up despite the snow wrapped around you two. It was beautiful, a moment that Spencer never wanted to end. He wanted to kiss you again, just because he could and not to keep up appearances. He wanted to learn more about you every day and when the week was over, he wanted to ask you to stay with him.

Spencer wanted to kiss you again, but he didn’t. He didn’t, because all you wanted was a fake boyfriend. You didn’t want him, not truly. He was good enough to appease the parents, that much you’d made clear. He was good enough for the parents, but he wasn’t enough for you.

So he smiled and said, “Good thinking. They’ll really believe us now,” before standing up and holding out a hand for you to take.

He smiled and told himself it didn’t hurt.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

By the third day, it’s almost comfortable to wake up beside Spencer.

The pillow wall is still up, but in the middle of the night your leg has ended up over it, your ankle hooking around his. He’s crossed the self-made barrier too, arm thrown over it and fingers dangerously close to holding yours.

Spencer is gorgeous like this—relaxed without any care in the world. His hair is messy, spread out against the pillow. His lips are parted and there are tiny little snores coming from him, creating the most domestic scene you’d ever bared witness to.

It made your heart ache in a way you weren’t expecting. There were only a few more days of this, and then suddenly there wouldn’t be anymore waking up to Spencer. He’d go on with his life and you’d go on with yours. After all of this, you had to imagine he wouldn’t want to come near your coffee shop anymore, and could you blame him for that?

After just a few more days, Spencer would be out of your life forever, and that was the simple truth of the matter.

“Good morning,” his gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts. The second his amber eyes landed on yours, his lips were pulling upwards. It was easy to imagine this was the way it was meant to be—Spencer, your boyfriend, overjoyed that he got to wake up beside you in the same way you wanted to rejoice.

“Good morning,” you answered back, voice barely over a whisper. “What do you want to do today?”

“Your Dad mentioned they were all going skiing.” Oh. They usually did that at least once, getting up at the crack of dawn and staying out until late. “They won’t be here all day, so I had a plan.”

So far, it had been you coming up with ways to entertain yourselves. What did Spencer have in store for you? “Oh yeah? What is it?”

“You mentioned you missed baking. I thought we could start small and you could teach me how to make cookies.”

Immediately you were flying out of the bed, eliciting a loud laugh from Spencer. “What? Come on, let’s go! There are cookies to bake,” you demanded, laughing as you pulled on the nearest outfit you could find. Spencer was up and moving now, too, albeit at a much slower pace.

Eventually, you’d managed to nudge him to the kitchen where he already had all of the baking supplies set out and organized on the counter. “Oh, you’re my favorite person.”

“That’s what it takes? Baking?” Spencer laughed, shaking his head.

“Absolutely,” you answered, wrestling your hair up into a bun off of your face. You tossed a hair tie over to Spencer, who followed suit to tie his long hair off of his face, the shorter pieces already falling out to frame his face.

God, it isn’t fair how beautiful he is.

So the two of you get to work making the cookie dough, you taking the lead and explaining the process whenever needed. It’s truly fun, getting this time to spend with Spencer. There’s no arguing, there’s no one around to try and impress. It’s just the two of you, getting to know one another better.

And eventually, the cookie dough is made.

“You want to try it?” you asked, a playful look taking on your face as you held out a large spatula of cookie dough out for him to try. Just as Spencer got close enough to taste, you were wiping a bit of the dough on his nose.

Spencer gasped, eyes darkening a little as he looked down at you. It was nearing an absolute sinful look, the kind that made you squirm from where you were standing.

“You didn’t want to do that,” Spencer warned, grabbing the nearest thing to him and wiping it across your cheek. Flour, there was now a large swatch of flour across your skin and on your shirt.

“Oh yes, I did, Sweet Pea,” you challenged, also grabbing some of the powder and tossing it at him.

You thought it only happened in movies, but here you were in a flour fight with Spencer. The two of you were laughing loudly, and you couldn’t remember the last time your chest felt this light. It was far too easy picturing doing this in your own apartment, making a mess in your kitchen but leaving it until the morning. You could picture the two of you, wrapped around each other as you shed the flour-covered clothes.

“Truce, truce,” you giggled, hand reaching out to hold onto his upper arm in an attempt to stop his movements.

“You’re admitting defeat so quickly?” Spencer asked with lips pursed in a hint of a smile. When you nodded, he added, “So what do I get for winning?”

There were so many things you wanted to say.

He was looking at you, and you were unable to take your eyes off of him. Your thoughts were racing a mile a minute, solely about what his lips might taste like now against your own. You’d kissed him once before, but now would you be able to taste his morning coffee and the ghost of leftover cookie dough? Would it be sweet, with gentle hands guiding you closer to him?

“What do you want?” you asked, tempting him to make the decision now. He could have you if he so chose.

Spencer was licking his lips now. Your lower back was pressed to the counter and he was in front of you; it would be so easy for him to lean down and take what he wanted. For a second, you thought he might, too.

Instead, he shook his head as a barrier shut across his face. Spencer stepped back, saying, “I think I’ll take the first shower.”

It was impossible not to feel hurt, to long for the version of this in which Spencer actually kissed you. He’d made it clear at the beginning of this all that he wasn’t in the least bit attracted to you, so it shouldn’t have stung this much now. He’d done far worse before than not kissing you.

Still, as Spencer walked away to shower, you couldn’t help but think that the end of this week would kill you in a way you’d never quite expected before.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The second the bedroom door shut behind him, Spencer had his phone out. If only to save his dignity before, the man hadn’t wanted to resort to this unless absolutely necessary.

It was necessary now, as Spencer sat on the bed with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. He had been so close to ruining everything, to making this into something it wasn’t. You wanted him to be your pretend partner, how could he possibly make it anything more?

Before Spencer could think about it, his shaking hands were calling the one person he trusted most with all of this. He knew she’d be telling the rest of the team—the only reason he’d put this off for as long as he had—but Spencer couldn’t do this anymore.

“Boy Genius! Is everything okay?” Penelope’s voice rang through the speaker, filling Spencer with pure relief.

“I wanted to ask for some advice.”

“Oh, I can do that. What, are you planning on finding a New Year’s Eve kiss tonight?” Penelope teased but when Spencer couldn’t even find it in himself to answer, she gasped. “Spencer Reid, do you have someone to kiss tonight?”

“No, well kind of.” So Spencer launched into the full story, and it truly did sound crazy when he explained it all. Even now, he wasn’t sure why he had believed you, not fully. It seemed like an obvious lie in hindsight, but now he was here and he couldn’t exactly say he regretted getting into your car. He only regretted that the end of the week was quickly approaching. He regretted how the days got tougher with each passing second, knowing that eventually you two would part ways forever.

“Hold on,” Penelope finally spoke after he finished the story. She was clearly trying to stifle her laughter on the other end of the line, little snickers slipping out every so often. “Oh baby boy, you fell for the candy in the van trick.”

“Please don’t tell the team about this,” Spencer groaned, already being able to see the looks on their faces once they knew he actually got kidnapped.

“You know I have to if you want us to come to rescue you.”

“That’s just it, I...”

“Oh my god, you love her!” Penelope squealed, causing Spencer’s cheeks to heat up. The thing was, he couldn’t even say that his friend was wrong necessarily. You were unlike anyone he’d met before. You were fun and carefree, and he found himself wishing he could spend so much more time with you. He wanted to come home to you every day, to your giggles as you baked or your gentle singing to Christmas songs even though the season was over by now. “You’re gonna tell her, right?”

“No, I can’t,” Spencer sighed.

“Why not?”

“She needed a fake boyfriend, that’s it. After this week she’ll want to go back to normal.”

“How would you know that unless you tell her?” And deep down, Spencer knew she was right. Penelope Garcia was typically right when it came to such matters. It would be wise to trust her, but still, at the thought alone Spencer’s hands were sweating and his heart was racing. How could he possibly go out there and admit he liked you after he’d spent so long making it clear he thought you were ridiculous for this elaborate scheme?

“I know, you’re right,” he sighed.

“Of course I’m right, why wouldn’t I be?” she laughed, and then her tone with soft as she added, “you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I love you too,” Spencer told her in return.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You hadn’t seen Spencer in hours.

The cookies were done but eventually got left abandoned on the island, growing cold as you studied the book sitting in your lap. Of course, you weren’t actually able to read it. The thoughts swirling through your mind like a thick fog made concentrating on any one thing for too long impossible, always taking you back to the man locked up in your bedroom.

Had you really messed up that badly? It hadn’t seemed like an egregious action at the time, just a little light flirting. It was even relatively tame compared to the behavior you two engaged in around your family—lingering kisses and gentle touches, little embraces of two people who were completely comfortable with one another.

So when the sun set and the new year began creeping ever-closer, you decided enough was enough. For better or for worse, this would be the moment you were honest about everything.

“Hey, Spencer?” you asked, knocking a couple times on the bedroom door.

A few moments of shuffling later, and you were met with a slightly disheveled-looking Spencer. His eyes were tired, eyelids not fully open as he looked at you. One hand came up to rub at an eye, trying to force the sleepiness there away.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“Only a quick nap,” he reassured you.

“Okay, then grab your coat and c’mon,” you told him, figuring it was better to leave it a surprise for as long as possible. Already you felt light, buzzing with nervous energy. Your hands shook, and you didn’t trust your voice not too if you spoke to him for too long.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out. Do you trust me?” It was a scary question to ask, considering how he’d gotten to this cabin in the first place.

You never would have expected the small shrug and the “Of course I do,” from him, but here you were accepting it anyway.

The two of you made your way out into the snow, away from the cabin, and up to a little hill not far from the home. You plopped right down into the snow, and with only a little hesitation did Spencer join you.

“What are we doing out here?” he asked, already looking up at the night sky. The cabin was in an area not heavily inhabited by people, so the sky was decorated in sparkling stars. “Oh, I’ve never seen the Milky Way.”

“I thought you were from the desert?” you asked him in return. The only other places you’d heard of being able to see these many stars were out West where the desert made much of the space not inhabitable.

“Las Vegas,” Spencer clarified, and ah, that made more sense. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is,” you answered, leaning back a little so you could peer up at the sky. The two of you were silent for a few minutes, simply enjoying one anothers’ company. It was peaceful in a way your home in Virginia never got. Though you often complained about these family vacations, you would miss it if you ever skipped out on a year.

It would also never be the same again, knowing how fun this week has been with Spencer. How could you ever come back again after this?

“I never said thank you,” you shattered the silence, turning to look over at him. “for putting up with all of this. You could’ve easily screwed me over, but you didn’t. You’re a really good guy, Spencer.”

“Anyone would’ve done the same,” he tried to be humble, but you weren’t having it.

“No, actually they wouldn’t. You’re really special.”

Then, Spencer was leaning in. His hand was braced against your jaw, and though you knew you could move at any second you found you didn’t want to. Just as you could feel his breath on your face, you whispered, “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. No one’s watching.”

And then, the most miraculous thing.

“I want to,” Spencer whispered before closing the distance.

It was beautiful and magical, and everything you could have ever imagined. You’d had New Year’s Eve kisses before. Typically they were during loud, crowded parties with the taste of champagne and beer stuck between you. They were hard and fast, enough to bruise lips but never illicit any other feeling.

You wouldn’t ever be the same, after Spencer Reid. His lips were soft against yours, allowing you to take the lead. His hand was cold against your face but you didn’t care, your own hands wrapping into the fabric of his scarf to pull him even closer to you.

And when you two broke apart, Spencer was the most wondrous sight you’d ever seen. Eyes shining with wide pupils, cheeks and nose tinted pink from both the cold and the kiss, lips parted as he fought to regain the air he’d willingly sacrificed.

Spencer was a work of art.

“Spencer, I have to tell y-” you began to say, but the words were quickly broken off by sirens.

Police sirens.

Immediately the two of you were on your feet, watching as a dark SUV approached the cabin. A few figures hopped out, searching around but ultimately running up to you.

Oh, God, they were wearing FBI vests. Spencer had called the FBI on you, hadn’t he? Turning to look at him, you found that his head was tilted down, eyes trained at his snow-soaked Converse. “Spencer?” you asked, tilting your head to try and catch his gaze but ultimately being unsuccessful.

Then your family was exiting the cabin, running up to where the commotion was. How humiliating could this get? Already your vision was blurred by tears, arms wrapped firmly around your middle as if to offer some kind of protection against the scene.

“You called someone?” you asked, gasping around the words as if they had choked you.

“Of course he did, you kidnapped a federal agent,” the blond woman called out, sounding more than a little judgmental. Her blue eyes were looking at you harshly, staring you down as if you were no better than the serial killers they caught regularly.

“JJ-” Spencer began but was quickly cut off by your family realizing the true nature of the situation.

“Y/N, did you kidnap him?!” your dad shouted while your mom let out a panicked cry, hand flying up to cover her mouth.

“I–Well, I–” you stammered, wondering if you could possibly explain what had happened in a good way. “Only a little.”

“What does that mean, honey?” your dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he wasn’t disappointed in you before, then he most certainly was now. In an attempt to make them finally proud of you, all you’d managed to do was ruin whatever relationship you’d had with your family.

“It was only a minor kidnapping. He could’ve left anytime,” you tried to explain, eyes turning to look at Spencer with a pleading look. He knew, he knew he could’ve left. You’d offered to help get the car back in running shape if that was what he really wanted. “Spencer, please. Tell them. Tell them you want to stay.”

That was the moment that cracked something in him. He head finally snapped up, honeyed eyes looking at you with an intensity you’d never seen from him before. “I don’t want to stay here,” he told you, stealing the breath straight from your chest. “I’ve been miserable, I can’t be here anymore.”

It didn’t make sense. Was he trying to hurt you on purpose? Was kissing you his way of making sure you knew how wrong this whole situation was?

Spencer Reid was a complete ass.

“Fine,” you snapped, squeezing tightly on your abdomen to try and hold back the sobs you felt climbing your body. “Go then. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I made you so miserable.”

You were walking away, right back to the cabin. If they wanted to arrest you, they could come after you.

“Y/N, wait!” Spencer shouted, but the FBI agents were talking to him then, telling him they needed to start heading back. You weren’t going to stop for him, not after he’d gripped your heart until it shattered into something unrecognizable.

By the time you got back to the bedroom, the police lights were fading away in the distance, carrying Spencer away with them.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It would have been far too easy if things got better after that.

No, after Spencer was rescued by his friends, no one in your family could quite look you in the eye. You were the woman who kidnapped a guy so you wouldn’t be alone for the holidays, how sad was that?

So you’d left early too, spending all of the next day digging around in the woods for the keys you’d thrown. It felt like a lifetime ago, standing by your car and begging Spencer to stay. The two of you ended up having fun in that strange situation, or so you thought.

You went back to work.

What else were you supposed to do? It felt silly to be heartbroken over a man who had never once been yours, but here you were throwing yourself into making coffee so you wouldn’t have to feel the unbelievable pain that came with remembering that night.

He’d kissed you.

Spencer had actually kissed you, a moment meant just for you two. What had it meant, if no one had been watching? It couldn’t have been pretend, so why had he done it and then left in the next few minutes?

“Go home, you look like shit,” Chelsea told you after a week of being back on the job.

You sighed, finishing up the drink you were working on and sliding it across the counter to the customer. “I’m fine, I can finish my shift,” you told her, insistent. How could you return home to an empty apartment, after having imagined asking Spencer to stay when the week was over?

“No, you’re scaring the customers away with your doom and gloom. Take tonight, work through everything, and come back when you’re ready,” your friend insisted.

That was how you ended up home early, fumbling with your keys to unlock the apartment.

And when you stepped inside, you were sure something in your mind had cracked. Standing there in slacks and a button-up, was Spencer fucking Reid. His hands were shoved deep into his pants pockets, hair still just as messy as you remembered and a guarded expression on his face.

“How’d you get in my apartment?” you asked, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“I learned how to pick locks when I was ten,” Spencer admitted with a light, breathy laugh.

“So you broke into my house.”

“Only a little,” Spencer echoed what you’d said before, a playful smile taking on his face. It hurt more than he likely wanted it to, pulling a wince from you. Still, as much as it pained you, you found that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

“Why are you here, Spencer?” you asked, wanting to get to the bottom of this right away. He couldn’t stay in your apartment for longer than absolutely necessary, not when you were still trying to shred the imaginary pictures you’d formed in your mind of him being here.

“I handled that night completely wrong.”

“You humiliated me in front of my whole family.”

And that was the hardest part of it all.

Though it would have killed you, knowing Spencer didn’t feel the same way for you was something you could get over. You planned to tell him the truth that night, knowing that one of the likely results was that he’d admit that while he had fun, he didn’t want to continue being her boyfriend, real or fake.

No, it was the fact that your family would never treat you the same ever again that stung. It would ruin you, knowing that the memories of that cabin were ruined forever. You would always be known as the family member who committed a federal crime simply because she didn’t want to be alone.

“I know, and I’m sorry. My team tells me my IQ drops in half when I’m around someone I like.” You didn’t answer, how could you? What was there to say to him, when nothing he was saying made sense at all? “I meant I was miserable because I was pretending to be your boyfriend.”

God, was this a joke to him? Was it funny to see the pain blossom in your chest and take root there?

“I know,” you snapped, “I got that the first time.”

“No!” Spencer shouted, stepping forward in his panic. “No, no that’s not what I meant.” His eyes looked up to the ceiling, hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to find the right words.

You’d guess he never did find them because instead, his hands were grabbing either side of your face then. Spencer was stepping closer to you and pressing his lips to you in a desperate kiss that would undoubtedly leave your lips swollen and bruised.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he murmured against your lips as his face barely pulled back.

“You mean it?” It didn’t feel real.

Spencer’s words were confirmed again in another kiss. As he gained confidence, he pressed forward until your back was against the wall, his hands moving down your body to keep you held there. Your own hands finally woke up, moving up to tangle in his curly hair.

The kiss reminded you of spring. Things had been lost that night, when harsh words had been spoken in kind to one another. It wasn’t ruined though, and the sign of it all was this kiss, both gentle and aching.

This kiss was a new beginning, the hope of a future where you could bring Spencer back to that cabin not as a fake fiancé, but as your real partner.

And as you planned to stay the rest of the night wrapped up in his arms, all you could think was that for once, maybe the movies really did have something right after all.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

General Taglist:

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[waywardstation]

Now that Ingo is able to properly sleep the rest of the Pearl Settlement has trouble to sleep because Sneaslers Warden snores like a train engine!

All jokes aside this was incredibly sweet and cute! The way choose to write the "holes" in Ingo's memory when trying to remember the sound of Nimbasa City at night. It's kinda sad how little he remembers... And sleepless nights? It's less from things being too quiet/noisy but I relate so hard. Yet he tries to make the best out of this to make Akari happy and because of his own curiosity. Ohhh! I've always wanted to try Dangos! I think they probably taste similar to sweet mochis but still. Ingo going into protective Uncle/Dad mode (duncle? dadcle?) when Volo shows up. He's not able to put a finger on it but he knows he is suspicious towards her. I love that!

A shame we didn't see more Gingko Guild Explanations to modern appliances because they were hilarious (but I'm already happy with what we got) And Ingo dozing off in the middle of all of this and Akari making the connection was brilliant.

And awwwww (I literally AWWWW'ed out loud) when Ingo realized that the Soundscape player has the exact noises he can't fully recall but he misses. And Akari going out of her way to help him... THEY'RE FAMILY YOUR HONOR! They have each other for support after being thrown out of their times.

I love when stories make me happy like this. Yours always make me happy but this one is especially cute! Thank you for the new update!

I’m regards to my latest fic, Behind (Sleep) Schedule

Anon, this was such a nice message to wake up to!! You’re so sweet, you have no idea how much I really appreciate such an in-depth response to my fic ;v; thank you!! <3 <3

Ingo really can snore like an engine train!! The guy is LOUD and now that’s Pearl clan’s problem!!

Thank you though, Anon!! I am so happy to hear that you enjoyed the fic! The holes part were hard to write, I struggled with writing about the things Ingo couldn’t quite remember without leaving the audience entirely lost as well haha. So I’m glad that came across the way it should have!

And dango looks very good! I was looking up festival/special Japanese treats that would have been around since before the 1800’s, and found dango! It was described to be very similar to mochi in the creation and ingredients process, so I felt it would have been perfect for Beni to make! There are tons of different types of dango too, it’s very interesting!

And it’s very fun writing Ingo being suspicious of Volo haha. Even before I got to the end of the game, I was wary of him and wondering why he was being so buddy-buddy. When he got nosy with Ingo’s amnesia in the ancient quarry, I began distrusting him even more.

Ingo performs a lot of safety checks, and I see him as generally cautious. so I like writing a version where he picks up on these strange habits of Volo and is wary, even if Volo technically hasn’t done anything yet.

And thank you!!! I’m glad you liked the appliance expo part!! I honestly could have written about all sorts of appliances and their incorrect uses for countless paragraphs, it’s so fun, but I kept asking myself “how many people would seriously want to read about what appliances are and how they work?” Haha. But I am very glad you liked what I wrote, I had a lot of fun with that part! There is an upcoming fic with another appliance though, maybe you’ll see more from that!

And I’m so happy to hear my fic got an out-loud reaction, that’s so sweet ;w; thank you!! Akari and Ingo are so similar, and have so many ways that they can help each other out! I’m sad that the game doesn’t fully explore this potential (but it’s understandable), so I love writing stories that can explore that and give me the content I crave haha. Glad other people enjoy it too!!

I really appreciate that you like my fics, and it means so much that they make you happy. I love writing feel-good stories to make people happy, so it’s so nice to know its doing just that! :) thank you so much for enjoying my content, and for the WONDERFUL review!! It made my day!! :) <3

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[speechlessxx]

Naïveté (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: Ransom loves control and his sweet, innocent plaything doesn’t know better. 

Warnings: DARKish Ransom with hints of soft Ransom but not really, this fic is lowkey a mess, a little uncomfortable situations, unprotected sex, implied AGE GAP, angst, mutual obsession, choking, Ransom is a little off (but what’s new), Sugar Daddy/Baby relationship, innocent reader, implied Dom/Sub dynamic, loss of virginity, poorly written attempt at SMUT

Word Count: 4.7k

Please do not read if anything makes you uncomfortable. 

READ WARNINGS

This is my first time writing smut. Please don’t hate me. 

Something a little different from what I usually write (?)

“You’re not going to see him again, are you?” your friend, Joey, asked you. Worried, judgmental lines sprinkled across his young face as he stared at you. You frowned and shook your head as you brought the straw of your iced coffee to your lips. “Good.” He muttered. “That guy was a creep.”

“He's not that bad,” you argued. 

“(Y/N), he was the worst thing that could’ve ever happened to you,” Joey scoffed as he drank his drink. “I’m just glad you kicked him to the curb before things got too intense.” 

You stayed silent and nodded, taking another sip from the straw. Joey began to talk about your friend group’s evening plans to hit up this bar, but your mind was taking you somewhere else.

You couldn’t tell Joey the truth. It’d disappoint him. It would anger him and jeopardize your friendship. 

But you couldn’t admit that Ransom Drysdale had a hold on you, and you didn’t want him to let go.

As an aspiring writer, you were interning at Blood Like Wine Publishing under Ransom’s uncle, Walt Thrombey. In a twisted turn of events, Walt took a liking to you.

Your doe-eyes and bright optimism intrigued him. He always fluttered around you like a moth to a flame and always had off-putting conversations with you.

It started with his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them in a way that made you uneasy. Then, it was pushing your hair to the side to expose the back of your neck, or his hands that would slither down to the small of your back. Everything about the man made you uncomfortable, but you’d never spoke out against it in fear of losing your internship. 

One day, Walt invited you over to his grandfather’s manor. “A family party,” he explained. And though you were afraid of accepting – calling it an intrusion – Walt insisted. “A chance to meet a world-renowned author,” he said. How could you refuse?

You met Ransom at that party. From the moment you walked through the doors, he knew he had to have you. He was a brat that way.

Walt was too preoccupied with arguing with his father to introduce you to the family. So, you kept to yourself, finding sanctuary in Harlan’s nurse, Marta, who looked just as out of place as you did. 

Unbeknownst to either of you, Ransom was listening in on your conversation – stalking you as if you were his prey.

Marta had explained to you that she was very fortunate to work with Harlan and that he was a kind man. Ransom couldn’t help but rolled his eyes when Marta had brought up how she and his grandfather were great friends. Blah, blah, blah, he thought as she droned on.

Then, he heard you open up about yourself. 

About how your scholarship was barely covering your tuition and how you were too late to apply to housing, so you had to live off campus in a ratty apartment whose rent was too much to handle on a monthly basis. You told Marta about how your part-time job at the local coffee shop next to campus was barely paying you enough for groceries, let alone the rest of your expenses.

The gears inside Ransom’s devious mind began to turn as a plan started to form in his head.

When Marta had been whisked away into a conversation about immigration with his father, Ransom found the perfect opportunity to meet you.

“I’m Ransom,” he introduced.

“(Y/N),” you greeted, offering your hand. He took it and brought it to his lips. Your cheeks flushed. Where all the Thrombey men this welcoming - this comfortable?Ransom smirked at your reaction.

Similar to his uncle, his hand found its way to the small of your back as he maneuvered you to the back door. Perhaps, it was simply a Thrombey gesture?

It was easy to navigate through a conversation with you. You were a good listener, Ransom was a great talker. The conversation went by smoothly as Ransom droned on and on about himself (something he was really good at). 

“I have too much money. I don’t know what to do with myself,” Ransom had joked, steering the conversation in his favor.

You chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish I had that problem.” Ransom responded with a hum, encouraging you to open up about your financial troubles (though he knew it all from eavesdropping earlier).

“I think I have the perfect solution to both our troubles,” Ransom proposed. 

And the rest was history. 

-=+=-

No one close to you knew the exact extent of the relationship. You tried to create the narrative that you met Ransom through Walt and the relationship just blossomed.

You were embarrassed to admit that Ransom was paying your rent, tuition, and giving you a weekly allowance that helped you get by.

Joey had even joked that working for the Thrombeys was changing you when he noticed your sudden change in labels. You had forgone the Forever 21 sales section and wore the luxury brands that Ransom deemed worthy to be draped over his angel.

When your friends met Ransom - the man keeping you afloat by sharing his own riches – they knew something was up. Though they didn’t have a clue about the financial aspect of the relationship, they knew that Ransom was bad news.

They’d tell you he stared at you like a piece of meat. He’d watch your every move as if he were engraving your very image in his mind. Joey would tell you he didn’t like the way Ransom had a grip on you every time you were together. 

“He’s possessive and not in a cute way,” Joey warned you, but you shrugged him – and all your friends – off.

You’d tell them that Ransom loved you... But were you trying to convince them or yourself?

Your friends saw through Ransom. They saw how he was taking advantage of your innocence and your naivete.

When you told Ransom of your friends’ opinions, he told you to ignore it, so you did. But as time went on, it was clear that their reluctance to be accepting of the relationship bothered you. You blamed it on the age difference. (You were still in college and Ransom was in his mid-thirties). But it was more than that and your friends didn’t quite know how to explain it to you. You were just so in love with the guy - who were they to dictate your love life? They just cared about your well being. 

So, Ransom commanded that you lie to everyone. “Tell them we broke up,” Ransom told you. “Just a fib to get them off your back.” When you showed reluctance, Ransom said with pleading eyes, “do it because I love you.”

You were always too trusting for your own good.

But you couldn’t see that. You saw Ransom as your white knight – your savior. He made sure whatever balance your scholarship left was paid for. He even got you out of that ratty apartment and into a better one that was worth the expensive rent. It was closer to campus, too, so you didn’t have to ride the bus. He kept you fed and clothed. Ransom kept you afloat. 

You were afraid to let him go – afraid that his interest would fade, and another girl would be the apple of his eye. What would happen to you then? So, you tried to become everything Ransom wanted. You depended on him after all...

Just like he planned it.

-=+=-

The ride was silent. The text on your phone read Harlan’s manor. Need you here. NOW.

The driver asked you if you wanted him to turn on the radio. He was just as eager to ease the tension, so you gladly obliged. When he arrived at the family manor, he even told you, “good luck, miss.”

You gave him a nervous smile. What were you stepping into? (And were you prepared for the aftermath?).

You didn’t bother to knock on the door. He was already waiting outside for you. A cigarette in his hand. You frowned as he extinguished it against the brick wall.

“Ransom, hey,” you offered him a smile.

He didn’t return it. He had a scowl on his face and something on his mind. His face scrunched up in aggravation. He only gave you a hard stare. His blue eyes staring at you in the dark night.

He eyed you up and down. You wore a white lace dress from whatever designer (he didn’t care). He liked white on you and you knew that. It made you look like an angel – his angel. A symbol of purity – something you naturally were.

“You’re late,” he said. His voice was hard, matching the expression etched on his face. Hard and disapproving.

“I… I was with Joey,” you explained. “He was getting suspicious, so we went on a coffee date – “

“Did I ask?” Ransom snapped. “It’s part of the agreement. You make yourself available to me 24/7. That’s why I pay you so much.” You gulped as you adverted your eyes, unable to hold his angry glare for too long. He let out a sigh and held out his hand. You glanced at him, uncertainty written all over your face. “I’m not going to wait forever, (Y/N).”

“Sorry,” you muttered and took his hand. Ransom pulled you to him. His lips smashed against yours and you cringed at the faint smell of smoke.

You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away – trying to catch your breath. But his grip tightened. “Kiss back,” he muttered into the kiss, growing impatience at your insubordination. Reluctantly, you did as you were told. After long minutes of the uncomfortable session, he pulled away and eyed you again. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice hushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why’d you asked me to come?”

“I was bored,” he shrugged. What he didn’t say was, there’s a situation I can’t handle, so I need something I can control around me or else I’ll lose my mind.

“So, I’m entertainment?” you joked, nervously. He laughed a bit. You looked into the house through the windows. You could hear faint chatter and cheers of happy birthday. “It’s someone’s birthday?” you asked.

“Harlan’s,” Ransom nodded.

“Oh, I should probably pop in and – “you began walking towards the door.

“Don’t,” Ransom ordered through clenched teeth, and you froze in your tracks. Your hand was grazing the cool metal of the doorknob. You pulled your hand away and walked back to stand in front of Ransom. “Good girl,” he muttered, an arm slinging itself around your waist. “We should get out of here.” He whispered, stealing another kiss from your sweet lips.

“My friends are at this bar tonight,” you offered. “We could stop by.”

“And let them know we’re seeing each other again?” Ransom laughed, dryly. “I’d rather not let them turn you against me.”

“No one could ever do that,” you assured him.

“Let’s go to my place,” Ransom muttered. “Something I want to show you.” He said as he nipped at the exposed skin of your neck. You yelped in surprise as a strange feeling shot through you.

Ransom has invited you over once or twice before. Most of your outings usually ended with him dropping you off at your apartment. He didn’t normally offer to take you to his place or swing by. The offer was spontaneous – different.

You smiled and nodded, not wanting to piss him off more than he already was.

He led you to his Beamer. The ride was silent, and Ransom didn’t bother to try to ease the tension. No music. No conversation. Just a hand that rubbed the inside of your thigh in a manner that unsettled you.

Sure, Ransom was handsy at times, but he kept his distance from your most intimate areas. He’d always had to have a hand on your waist or your hand gripped in his. The most he’s ever done to make you uncomfortable was when he wrapped his hand around your neck to keep you from turning away when he kissed you. That was it.

In truth, Ransom saw you like a delicate doll. Such purity and innocence should be maintained. But tonight, Ransom was losing control – his chat with Harlan left him spiraling. 

The only thing he still had control over was sitting in the passenger seat of his car.

-=+=-

His home was just as you remembered it. Large windows, large spaces, large rooms. It was clean, for the most part. A few clothing items discarded on the floor, some hung on chairs. He shrugged off his dark grey cardigan and hung it on one of the chairs, joining the other clothes.

Ransom led you straight into his kitchen. He fetched a beer and a bottle of water. You were never much of a drinker. Ransom knew that. He stared at you as you wrapped your lips around the bottle’s opening and drank it carefully. He was still deciding – trying to make up his mind.

Should he ruin his little plaything now? Or shall he wait?

“You said you wanted to show me something?” You asked.

He nodded. “It can wait.” He walked over to you. You were leaning against his kitchen island. He plucked the bottle from your hand, placing it to the side along with his beer, and brought his hands to your hips.

“Rans – umph!” You yelped as he effortlessly lifted you up onto the counter. “What are you doing?” You asked him with a small, nervous laugh. Your face heated up as each of his hands settled to both of your knees and spread them. When you tried to fight against his grips, Ransom just slotted his waist between your legs. “Ransom?” You asked as he placed one hand on your waist and the other at the back of your neck. He hummed quietly. His eyes didn’t meet yours. They simply stared are your lips. “What cha doin’ there?”

He didn’t respond. He captured your lips with his and you were too stunned to react, so you simply mirrored his actions.

Sometimes Ransom got like this. Sometimes he wouldn’t talk and he’d just assume you’d read his mind. But tonight, your minds weren’t in unison.

You were under the impression he just needed physical contact (which was true). You thought he just needed comfort and you were more than willing to give it to him.

But tonight, Ransom wanted something much more than simple kisses and a few touches.

You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but Ransom pulled you back. He licked at your bottom lip, wanting entrance, but you refused him. So, in retaliation, Ransom yanked your hair which made you yelp. He took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. He didn’t need to fight for dominance. You just sat there with your mouth open, unsure of what to do – unsure of how to react. He had never been physical with you – he had never tried to hurt you.

The kiss was heated. You wished it were passionate or loving, but it wasn’t that. It was something else entirely.

Desperate to catch your breath, you bit on his tongue. It was a mistake. One that you’d pay for. But you were desperate.

He pulled away suddenly. “What the fuck!” He snapped.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Ransom – I just,” you stammered, unable to explain yourself. “I – I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry, Ransom.”

Your eyes finally met. His bright blue eyes were dark like the night sky. And it was then you understood what Joey and all your friends told you. He stared at you like he was starved and you were the only thing on the menu.

“You little, ungrateful bitch,” Ransom spat. One of his hands wrapped firmly around your throat, tightening slightly and cutting off your oxygen. “You breathe when I let you. You live because I let you. The clothes you wear, the food you eat, the fucking apartment you live in – it’s all because I gave it to you. You could at least show some appreciation.” 

His grip tightened until you could see tiny black dots peppering your vision. And then suddenly, Ransom let go.

You fell forward into Ransom. Your head in the crook of his neck and hands on his shoulder. You were coughing and sputtering out apologizes, unsure of what else to tell him.

“You’re gonna show me some appreciation, baby,” he cooed but his voice was nowhere near comforting. It was taunting. “Alright?” You nodded. “Okay, c’mon,” he hoisted you up. Panicked, you wrapped your arms around him and your legs around his torso, afraid he would drop you. “I got you, sweet angel… I got you.”

You weren’t sure where he was taking you until you were laid on soft, satin sheets. You opened your eyes and saw Ransom standing at the foot of the bed. He pulled his sweater from his body and you felt your jaw drop. Why would he hide his toned physique beneath sweaters? It was a mystery to you.

He smirked when he caught you ogling him. He was always so cocky.

“How?” you murmured. He cocked an eyebrow up at you. “How am I going to show you?”

Ransom’s smirk widened as he reached down for you. His fingers lightly traced the neckline of the dress. “I think you know,” he muttered. 

Your heart thudded against your chest in realization. You tried to scoot away from him, but Ransom leaned his body forward, encaging you.

“You don’t want to make me mad, baby, do you?” He whispered, his tone still taunting. His hot breath against your ear. You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Good. Because I don’t think you want me to take away all the nice things I’ve given you, right?” You nodded. “Take off the dress for me.” He ordered, releasing you.

You did as you were told, not wanting to make him angry. His breath hitched when you revealed yourself to him. He always knew you were beautiful. The idea of you being untouched – unclaimed – made blood flow straight to his member.

His expert fingers made quick work of your bra clasp. He discarded your brassiere along with his sweater and tutted at you when your hands instinctively went to cover yourself up. He pried your hands away from your chest. 

“Don’t cover yourself up, angel,” he told you, leaning forward and leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down your neck. He kissed the bruises that were forming from his grip moments ago. He scolded himself for damaging the delicate skin of his angel.

He kissed down your collarbones and found his way to your breasts. He took his time worshiping your body. There was no rush (the night was still young). 

As his lips worked on one of your mounds, his fingertips toyed with the other. You couldn’t hold back the moans that were escaping you and the heat that presented itself in between your legs. 

Everything was so foreign to you. All you could do was toy with the hair on the back of Ransom’s head and moan his name.

He moved one of his hands to cup your clothed sex. He felt the increasingly dampening spot through the delicate material and moaned against your nipple. He stared up at you as he continued his assault. Your eyes were closed tightly and your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as you continued to let out soft moans. The sound going straight to his crotch.

In one swift motion, Ransom was able to pull your underwear down your legs. The material fell to the floor and he kicked it to join the rest of the discarded clothing. He pulled away from you to admire your body, splayed out on his bed like an offering. Your cunt glistening in the pale moonlight, calling his name. He fumbled with his belt as he shoved his slacks along with his boxer briefs down.

Your eyes finally opened and were met with the intimidating appendage. Long and thick. Fear suddenly flooded through you. It wouldn’t fit. Was this worth it? Was surrendering your virginity to Ransom – your white knight, your savior – worth the luxury? Worth the money?

“Don’t be scared, angel,” Ransom muttered as he leaned over you. You were shaking. He shushed you as you thrashed around. “I give you so many things, baby girl,” he said lowly, his voice turning into a growl. “At least give me this in return.”

You sniffled before nodding. You were afraid though you weren’t sure what frightened you more. The menacing crazed look on Ransom’s beautiful face or the fear that you were about to lose your virginity.

Ransom’s hands traced the curves of your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. And then one of his hands carefully rubbed against your folds, finding your clit expertly. You felt your muscles clench. He rubbed it in tight circles, causing electricity to run through you. 

As much as Ransom was eager to be inside of you, he didn’t want to hurt his angel. He had to prep his sweet, innocent angel. He wanted his angel to enjoy this.

Your breathing was shaky as you slowly gave into the feeling. He shifted in his position and carefully thrusted two fingers into your cunt. You gasped at the sudden intrusion. You threw your head back as he stroked your inner walls, exploring your untried canal.

“You’re wet, angel, and we barely begun,” Ransom said ever so cockily. You moaned in response. No words could form. You tried to bite onto your bottom lip, trying to silence yourself. But Ransom tutted at you. He slapped your clit and you yelped in surprise. “I want to hear every sound.” He ordered before scissoring your opening, attempting to stretch you open. The wet, slick sounds accompanied by your moans were all too addicting to the man that hovered over you.

You felt helpless and pathetic. You were putty in his hands. He felt you clench around his fingers when he curled them, brushing against a certain spot. He smirked as he continued to play with that spot and thrusted a third finger into you. You mewled against him as your hands fisted the satin sheets.

“Ran – Ransom,” you panted, eyes watery. “Something’s – something’s happening…” you moaned as you felt a coil within your stomach snap. You screamed as your orgasm crashed through you. Ransom smirked watched you drip around his hand. He pulled away from your pussy and your eyes widened as he slowly brought his fingers to his lips and sucked away your juices.

“Want a taste?” he asked you. You didn’t respond as he brought one of his fingers and brushed it against your lips. He then leaned down and stole another hungry kiss, sharing your taste.

While you were distracted from your previous orgasm and from the kiss, Ransom pumped his member and lined it up with you.

Catching you off guard, he pushed in. You shuddered in pain, pulling your lips away from him as your eyes widened in pain. The stretch itself was unbearable.

He pushed his tip in and you nearly shrieked. “Ransom – “you whimpered. “It hurts – It hurts!”

Ransom simply shushed you and kissed your lips. “Relax, angel… just relax for me.” You tried to do as you were told but found it quite difficult. He continued to push in inch by inch and you were afraid he was never-ending. “You’re so tight,” he murmured against your lips. You bit your lip as tears started to prick in your eyes.

And finally, he bottomed out. You had never felt so full. You swore you could feel him in your stomach. 

Ransom looked down to where you were both connected and groaned. He loomed over your body as you willed your muscles to relax around him. “Hey, hey,” he said, softly, using one of his hands to turn you to face him. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he praised and began to pull out.

His strokes were gentle. Pulling out only a few inches before thrusting back in. Only when the pain begun to dull and your whimpers turned into moans again, did Ransom pick up the pace. The slapping of skin and his groans. Everything started to feel cloudy. You felt as if he were tearing you apart, but your body welcomed the pain that was turning into pleasure.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you hung onto him as he ravaged you. You continued to mewl and moan into his neck as you felt the same coil in your stomach tighten. Your walls clenched around Ransom and he knew you were close again. He reached back down to your clit and rubbed it again.

“C’mon, baby, come for me,” Ransom urged you as he thrusted. He thrusted all the way in and grinded against your sex. You moaned as you tensed, the coil bursting once again. Ransom groaned as you tightened around him like a vice, milking him and throwing him off the edge with you. He filled you up with his thick cum, but he continued to pump into you, painting your walls – marking you as his.

You were a breathless, sweaty mess as he pushed you into another orgasm with his thrusts. You were convulsing and twitching underneath him, fighting to stay conscious. You felt Ransom pull out completely and felt your mixed juices drip from your pussy. Your vision was hazy as your head turned to the side, eyes fluttering close.

Ransom winced when he looked down. Your blood covered his length and was splattered all over your lower body. He sighed and looked at the clock. It was late, but he knew that there would still be guests over at the house. It was the perfect time, especially with you falling asleep.

“You did so good for me, angel,” he whispered to your sleeping body as he wiped your blood away with his sweater. He decided that he’d deal with the bloodstained sheets when he returned. You were most likely still going to be knocked out. 

He pressed a kiss to your lips and smiled. Even in sleep – even after being fucked – you still looked like an angel.

When you awoke, the sheets had been changed but you were still stark naked. Daylight was trickling through the windows. Ransom emerged from the bathroom door. “You’re awake,” he smiled wickedly at you. You returned a shy smile when you realized he was only in a towel with water droplets painting his Adonis-like body. You looked away as he dressed himself. He smirked. You were still bashful as if the night before he wasn’t buried deep inside of you.

“Did you leave?” you ask. Your heart dropped at the thought.

He shook his head and relief washed over you as he sat next to you on the bed. His finger gently traced your jaw before leaning in to give you a kiss. “I was here all night, all morning, too,” Ransom lied. “You’ll attest to that right?”

“What?”

“I cleaned you up after we had sex,” Ransom told you. “Changed the sheets and then held you throughout the night. I told you I loved you and I thanked you for allowing me to be the first - and only - man inside of you .”

“Right.” You nodded, blushing at his words.

“I didn’t leave you, angel.” Ransom promised. “I was with you all night, all morning.”

-=+=-

“Where was Mr. Drysdale the night of his grandfather’s death?” the prosecutor asked you.

You looked around the courtroom and met Ransom’s blue eyes. He gave you a small nod, knowing you won’t let him down. He did this all for you – so that he can continue taking care of you – after all.

“Uh,” you muttered into the microphone, “he was with me… at his house.”

“Mr. Drysdale’s statement says that he asked you to join him at the manor the night of Harlan Thrombey’s birthday party, yet no one in the family saw you?”

You nodded. “Ransom – Hugh – was already outside when I arrived. I wanted to go inside, but he told me not to and he asked if I’d accompany him to his house.”

“So, you can account to Mr. Drysdale’s whereabouts the whole night?” The prosecutor prompted. “There were no times that he stepped out? Even when you were asleep?”

You nodded. “He was with me all night, all morning, too.”

Ransom smiled at you when you met his eyes. Good girl. He thought. His sweet little angel still under his control.

[jihyuncompass]

Unexpected Changes

It’s time for a very special fic for a very special boy who lives in my head and my heart. Happy birthday Shawty I love you <3

I want to give a very very special thanks to my wonderful friend @otherlandshark​ for giving me this idea, your mind never ceases to amaze me and I love you so very much. 

I would also love to give thanks to everyone who has encouraged me or helped me with this fic. There’s several of you, some of which aren’t on here. But thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. 

Summary: You decide to surprise Shaw for his birthday, but some unexpected events get in the way. 

Shaw x MC

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Some cursing, adult jokes. 

-----------------------

Leaning forward you squinted at the calendar in front of you checking it, you confirmed the date, June 21st. The date was circled in a red pen, the little box for the date had Shaw’s B-day!!!!! Written in the same red felt pen. You smiled to yourself as you reached out to your phone left face down on the table beside you. 

You’d half expected a text from Shaw already, after all he usually was the one to text you first. Yet when you checked your notifications you didn’t see anything from him. You sat down at the kitchen table, considering if you should text him first, maybe he was sleeping in today, his finals should be done by now so maybe he was taking a day to rest. Even if that didn’t really sound like Shaw’s style. 

As it turns out, you didn’t have to wait too long to decide if you should text him or not. Your phone screen lit up with a text message, the contact image of a young lavender haired man. 

Shaw: Do you remember what today is?

MC: Oh I know this one!

MC: It’s monday!

Shaw:....

Shaw: Care to try again? 

MC: Ah fine, it’s the 21st of June!

Shaw: You’re not wrong, but do you know what else it is? 

MC: Hmmmmm 

Shaw: Hm?

You knew very well that Shaw’s birthday was today, but still you wanted to tease him a little bit. Maybe just to get back at him a little bit for his usual rounds of teasing you. 

MC: Maybe you should remind me what today is, since it seems I don’t know

Shaw: Or, how about we meet up? 

Shaw: With my finals I’ve haven't had the time to entertain you 

MC: Oh today? I’m not sure if I have the time…

Shaw: You can’t be that busy can you? 

MC: Shaw it’s Monday! I have a job you know 

MC: Buuuuut 

MC: It is a bit slow today, perhaps I could take the day off. 

Shaw: Meet me at the park.  Don’t be late. 

MC: Hey!!! I should be telling YOU that!!!! 

Putting your phone back down on the table you quickly rose from your seat. You had preemptively taken the day off, preparing for today weeks ago. Today was not only his birthday, but also right after his final exams for school. Both events in your eyes were worthy of a celebration. 

First, you got yourself dressed and ready, putting on the carefully chosen ensemble, an outfit more in line with Shaw’s personal style than your own, but one you knew he’d appreciate seeing you in. 

You pulled out the large picnic basket from your closet, putting it down on the table while you opened your fridge door to grab the neatly packaged and wrapped food you’d spent the night before putting together. Once you finished your personal game of picnic basket tetris you carefully snuck in a picnic blanket on top. 

The last step was the gift wrapped box sitting on the other side of your dining table, the gift was wrapped with the shark wrapping paper you’d special ordered on a whim the week beforehand. You slipped the box into your bag, trying to keep it at least a little bit hidden from view. You slipped on your shoes as you held your bag in one arm and the picnic basket in the crook of your elbow. 

The bright blue sky was the first thing you noticed when you stepped outside. The warm new summer air swaying the newly bloomed flowers on your path. The summer breeze was just warm enough that you felt a bead of sweat appear on your brow as you walked to the park you had arranged to meet at. 

Since the weather was so warm for the first time in what seemed like forever it looked like everyone in the city was outside today. Families walked into ice cream shops, groups of friends wandered into stores and restaurants. Couples holding hands walking down the sidewalk hand in hand. 

The park wasn’t any less busy, it took several rounds walking along the park to find the perfect spot to get yourself set up, after walking the perimeter for a while you found a good spot you could get yourself situated. 

Your phone rang just as you finished pulling out the last items from your picnic basket. Once the items were set down you reached out and quickly answered your phone without even really checking the caller ID. 

“Hello?”

“I’m almost there, where are you?” Shaw asked on the other end. 

“I’m sitting under one of the trees, just walk around I’ll wave when I see you” 

Shaw sighed on the other end. “You can’t just find me?” 

“Nope! You have to find me. I’m not moving.” Shaw dramatically sighed. “Just come find me. Trust me it’ll be worth it.” 

“Alright,” Shaw said. “I’ll find you, I can see the park now. Be ready.” He hung up the phone just a moment after that. 

Your eyes swept around the park looking for him. You looked for that familiar lavender hair or that patented leather jacket he seemed so very fond of. Still, it was hard to see through all the crowds of people, the way they crowded up the paths and sidewalks and made it even harder to see anyone specific. 

Once you saw that lavender hair sticking out of the crowd your hand was raised in the air, waving wildly to try and grab his attention, and as some of the people thinned out you could clearly see Shaw walking down the sidewalk, his eyes also looking around the park to try and find you. 

After waving your hands for a few more moments, Shaw's eyes met yours, a spark of recognition crossing his face, and then, his facial expression slowly changing as he noticed where you were sitting, and the assortment of food that you had put around yourself. All for him. 

He stopped just a few steps away from you, you could tell that he was trying to hide his exact facial expression. Trying to hide it with his classic cool and unbothered face, but his eyes didn't lie, and the way they seemed to be sparkling. 

"What's this?" Shaw asked as he looked down at the set up. You smiled and motioned to the blanket you had spread out on the ground. 

"Happy birthday Shaw." You said, his eyes looked like they were glowing. His pupils wide as he took it all in. His mouth was slightly open, like he couldn't quite believe what it was that he was seeing in front of him. "What are you doing just standing there! Come on, sit down." 

After a half a moment of him staring he sat down on the other end of the blanket. He still wasn't saying much, almost uncharacteristically quiet. 

"What do you think? I tried to make some things I know you like. It's no hotpot but I couldn't quite figure out how we could do hotpot in the park, but since the weather is so nice I figured that a picnic would be nice!" 

Shaw looked at you, and in the moment that he was staring at you it was like an instant change. He cleared his throat and let his usual cool and collected expression return to his face, looking cool, calm, and collected like he had been expecting this the whole entire time. 

“It doesn’t look too bad.” He finally said. You smiled at him, a comment like that from Shaw was quite the compliment. “You did all this?”

You nodded. “Yeah I made all this last night and this morning.” You handed him a can of coke and a can of pepsi, his two favorites. “Consider this a double celebration, we’re celebrating your birthday and you finishing your finals.” Shaw looked up and down at the picnic food on the blanket and you sitting on the other end of the blanket. 

Shaw’s usual smirk reappeared on his face as he popped the tab open on the can of coke, taking a long sip. “I suppose I can admit you made an okay show of pretending to forget today.” 

“I would never forget!” You said, “I’ve had the date written down on my calendar ever since I found out when your birthday was.” 

Shaw’s face was unreadable, he hid his expression by sipping on his soda. Trying to keep his face away from you, as if by looking at you it would reveal something he wasn’t ready for you to see yet. 

Maybe you would have asked if he was okay, or try to say something to make him face you again. But before you could do anything about that thought your attention was broken by the raindrops that fell right on top of your head. 

The rain started to fall faster, dark rain clouds overtaking the whole no-longer blue sky. You looked up at the sky, as the raindrops started falling faster and harder. Within seconds it was pouring down rain on the once warm soil. 

It seemed to take Shaw a bit longer to notice the rain that was soaking his hair and clothes. Once he noticed his eyes went upwards to look up at the now darkened sky. 

Although he didn't say it, and neither did you, you had a very good feeling that you knew what had caused this sudden rainstorm. 

Looking around the park, the once happy families and couples were packing up their things, running for shelter or to their cars, no one seemingly prepared for any kind of sudden rain. Even you, who should have prepared for this possibility, hadn't even considered the idea that it could rain. Especially with the person you were with. 

"Shit, the food!" You quickly tried to repackage and rewrap the food you'd brought, trying to keep it from getting wetter and ruined. 

"It's just a little rain" Shaw said looking up at the sky, he must have known the rain's origin. There's no way that he couldn't have known what caused this. 

“I would say it’s a little more than a little rain!” You tried to shove them back into the basket. "Also I don't want all this food getting wet and soggy." You pushed back some of your wet hair as the raindrops ran down your face and neck. 

Quickly you put all the food back into the basket, and motioned for Shaw to stand up, the blanket below you was already soaked, and the mud started to stick to the other side. You bit your lip and you tried to fold it up the best you could. 

“Did you bring an umbrella?” You asked him, Shaw shook his head. 

“Didn’t think it would rain.” You glared at him. “What?”

“You don’t just keep one on you in case of sudden rain? That seems to happen a lot around you.” You hugged yourself to try and keep warm as the rain soaked your clothes. 

“I didn’t think I’d need it.” Shaw said. “Besides, it’s June.” You resisted the urge to remind him that not only does it rain in June but the time of year doesn’t seem to matter when you have an Evolver who makes it rain whenever he’s in a good mood. 

Trying to hide from the rain under the tree you held the picnic basket close. “How about we go back to my place, we can eat there.” Shaw picked up your other bag, the one with his present hidden in it, biting your tongue you tried not to make clear that you didn’t want him seeing the contents just yet. But he didn’t try to look. 

“Here.” Shaw shedded his jacket and handed it over to you. You took the jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders, the arms a little too long and the jacket not quite fitting, but it was comfortable, and you could feel the lingering warmth from his body heat on it. 

“I’ll follow your lead.” Shaw said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Looking out to the rest of the now deserted park you mentally mapped the quickest way home, the two of you would be soaked, no doubt, but at least you could get back. 

Together you took off into the rain, trying to walk beneath any kind of cover you both could find on the way back. You held Shaw’s jacket close, as you did the scent of peppermint and light cologne was easy to pick up, an almost comforting smell. 

Throwing open the door to your apartment building you both breathed a sigh of relief when you were out of the rain, so filled with relief it took a few moments to realize something wasn’t right. 

“Someone turned off the lights.” You commented looking at the dark lobby. Shaw punched the up button on the elevator, to no avail. No elevator sounds, no lighting up on the button. 

“The power’s out.” He said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “Probably the heavy rain.” 

You withheld the groan growing in your throat. “Seriously?” You tried the elevator button 

yourself, with no better result. 

Shaw didn't seem nearly as bothered as you did, or at least he pretended like he wasn't bothered. He looked to the door leading to the stairs up. 

"Come on. I won’t carry you up the stairs." Shaw said, pushing open the door. 

You followed up, slowly trudging up the long stairwell, your socks squelching uncomfortably in your shoes. Your hair dripping with the rain, Shaw's jacket being the only thing giving you the smallest bit of comfort at the moment. 

The two of you eventually made it up to your floor, and down your hallway to your door. You couldn't waste any time with sticking in your key and getting through the door. 

Your apartment was dark, just like the lobby, no lights on, not even the stove or oven. The apartment was completely dark beyond the small amount of light coming in through the window, and completely silent without the hum of the fridge or your computer. 

You set the picnic basket down on the table, rushing to the bathroom to grab towels. Grabbing the biggest towels you had in your cupboard. Tossing one to Shaw and using your own to dry your face and hair first. 

"I'm gonna change clothes." You told him. Then looked him up and down. “I’d offer you some of mine but I’m not sure they’ll fit.”  You racked your brain, there must be something you could offer him. “I could ask my neighbor, he’s a little shorter than you but maybe-” 

Shaw shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“But-”

“I’m not that wet.” Shaw said as he dried off his hair, the lavender strands still damp when he pulled the towel away. Shaw looked you up and down, that mischievous look reappearing in his gaze “You on the other hand-” He said with that tone that could have suggested anything. 

“Shaw!” You said as your cheeks flushed red. His smirk intensified at your flustered face, and you did your best to reel it in. After all that was the reaction he was hoping for. You huffed and pulled out a set of clean clothes from your closet. 

You left him in the living room while you changed clothes, drying your hair further in the darkness of the bathroom. You probably should have predicted a result like this, but it was too late to go back now. 

In dry clothes and sufficiently put back together you ventured back into the living room. Shaw stood with his shirt in his hands as he set it on your clothes drying rack in the corner of your apartment. 

Although his back was turned to you, you quickly averted your gaze from him as the flush returned to your face. You kept your eyes on the ground as you put away your other damp clothes to be washed and dried once the power was back.

“Oi.” Shaw said, You kept yourself from looking directly at him. “Why are you staring at the floor like that? Did you break your neck putting on a shirt?” Your face turned an even brighter red color as he spoke. 

“I-” You turned your head away. “I’m just thinking.” You tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. Maybe so he wouldn’t try and pull an even more embarrassed reaction out of you. 

Shaw’s slit brow raised up, his classic playful expression returning in full force. “What could you possibly be thinking about?” He said, walking towards you. Still feeling too flustered to look at him, you grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and tossed it at him. 

“You’re probably cold right? There’s no heating right now so you must be freezing.” Your words came out faster and maybe a little more jumped than you’d typically like. Watching him out of the corner of your eye he unfolded the blanket and placed it over his bare shoulders, relieving a little bit of your embarrassment. 

The picnic basket still left on the table caught your eyes once you felt calm again. The basket was still a bit wet, raindrops clinging to the top and sides of the basket. The bag with Shaw’s present is also just as damp. Glancing from the picnic basket to the blanket around Shaw’s shoulders, an idea formed in your head. 

“What’s going on in your head?” Shaw asked, poking your arm playfully. 

You smiled and looked at him. “The rain ruined my original plan but, I think I know what we can do to still celebrate.” You picked up one of the other throw blankets on the couch, and unfolded it and spread it on the living room floor. 

Shaw caught onto your plan pretty quickly, you handed him the picnic basket and pointed to the blanket. “You get this all set up, I’m going to go and find some candles so we can have a little bit of light.” 

You arranged your candles and flashlights around the blanket so there was at least some light overlooking your picnic food, even if some of the items had become slightly soggy from the rain. 

“Nice atmosphere.” Shaw joked. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “We can always eat in the dark.” 

“Nah.” Shaw said as he took a bite of the sandwich you’d made. “The dark is for other things.” He gave you a suggestive look as he said that, making your face turn red again. 

“Don’t be gross!” 

Shaw’s suggestive smirk only intensified. “I saw how embarrassed you were when you came out here. I know what I look like. You can-”

“Shaw stop it!” You said louder, trying to hide your flustered expression in the shadows left by the candles and flashlights. “I don’t care if it’s your birthday, I will make you go back out in the rain.” 

Shaw’s expression changed, but you still saw that mischievous spark, although that was just a regular feature of Shaw’s face. “You sure do get embarrassed easily.” He said as he took another bite. You ignored his comment, not interested in humoring his dirty mind further. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t have other plans today.” You said, looking up at Shaw. “I figured you’d go to Live House or hang out with the band.” 

Shaw shrugged. “Birthdays aren’t that big of a deal.” He said, sipping on the new can of cola you’d gotten him. “Besides, I knew you had something planned.” 

“Wait, how did you know?” 

“You’re not very good at surprises.” Shaw set the can of cola down as he picked at the side dishes. “I will give you one thing though, I wasn’t expecting this.” 

A smile broke across your face. “Do you like it?” 

Shaw looked back up at you. “It’s alright, you didn’t do too bad.” 

“Well,” you sat up straighter and leaned for the closed bakery box you’d set next to the picnic basket. “I still have a few surprises left in me.” You set the bakery box between you. Shaw’s expression changed as you opened up the top. Revealing the birthday cake you’d gotten for him. A simple cake frosted in blue with a dorky looking shark frosted onto the top, Happy Birthday Shaw! Written in black frosting below it. 

Shaw’s face shifted through a variety of emotions in a few seconds, at first confusion, surprise, and then he started laughing. Covering his mouth as he laughed. 

“What is that?” Shaw said between laughter. “It looks so childish.” 

You huffed, “It’s what the bakery had! And I figured you wouldn’t want a boring cake!”

Shaw managed to get his laughter under control as he looked at the cake again. “Let’s hope it tastes good for your sake.” He said, handing him a fork you both dug into the cake, not even bothering to slice it. 

The cake was sweet, and thankfully unaffected by the rainstorm, the cake flavor was fairly basic but the sweetness was enough to make it good. Shaw also seemed pleased with the flavor, taking bite after bite of the cake without complaint. 

Once the two of you had pretty much eaten the entire frosted shark you both considered that more than enough cake for the two of you. Now, it was time for your final surprise. 

Shaw was still focused on the cake when you pulled out the two gift wrapped packages, holding them out for him. 

“Your final surprise of the day, I promise.” 

Shaw took the two boxes, setting one down and unwrapping the other. You watched him intently as he ripped away the wrapping paper. 

A slight surprised noise came from Shaw as he looked at his gift. “A children’s fossil dig kit?” He held the box in his hands, the front showing two children digging in the play sand for plastic fossils. He gave you a bizarre look. 

“I thought it’d be fun! Little field work practice.” 

“It’s for children.” Shaw said. “Do I look like a child?” 

You reached for the toy. “If you don’t want it I’ll just return it then-”

Shaw pulled the box away. “Nuh uh, you don’t get to take a gift back. This is mine.” Shaw set the box down beside him, out of your grasp. You settled back where you sat, even if he wouldn’t say it, you knew he did like the gift. He picked up the second item, much smaller than the first, barely bigger than a stack of envelopes. 

Tearing the wrapping paper away, once again he seemed a bit confused by the gift in his hands. A stack of notecards, hole punched and held together by a binder ring. Each one with slightly different writing on it. 

“This is?” Shaw asked you, giving you a look. 

“It’s a coupon book, for my time and for favors. If you want to drag me along to a concert or an antique fair, you can use those, and I can’t say no.” 

“And I can use these for any kind of favor?” 

You nodded. “Yep! Anything at all.” 

Shaw looked back at the coupon book and then at you. A particular look in his eye. As he looked at you, you watched as the blanket that had been around his shoulders started to fall. 

Opening the binder ring he handed you one of the notecard coupons. “I’m using one right now, my first request.” Shaw scooted closer to you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating from his bare torso. “I want you to spend every one of my birthdays with me.” 

“Every single one?”

Shaw nodded. “Every single one.” Your eyes were locked together, your wide eyes against his slightly troublesome gaze. Still you weren’t worried about what was going on in his head. Beyond that troublesome gaze, there was also the softness in his face, the way he looked perfectly calm, and perfectly happy. “I think I have another idea for a coupon to use right now.” 

Smiling gently at him, you reached out to hold his hand, not breaking eye contact for a second. 

“I think I’ll let this one be a freebie.” 

Shaw leaned closer, until your foreheads were practically pressed together. 

“Perfect.” He whispered, closing the small gap between you. His soft lips pressed against yours he pulled away just a centimeter after one long kiss.

“This, I think, is the best gift I’ve gotten all day.”

[siriuslystarbucks]

Every ‘I Love You’

Written for Starbuck Ship Week run by @prongsfoot-discord Day 1: Time Loops. I’ve never done a time loop fic before lol

Pairing: James Potter/Sirius Black

Tags: AU: No Voldemort, Love Confessions, Time Loop, Angst, Confusion, First Kiss, Communication, Getting Together

Summary: One night, James tells Sirius that he loves him. He does it again the next night. And the next and the next, and Sirius doesn't know how long he's been living this day, but he would like it to stop, thanks, because he still doesn't know what to reply. 

Read below or on AO3

James woke him up that morning. Not by shaking him awake-- which was something he'd done plenty of times because he claimed that having to be the only one up was a horrible fate-- but by whistling. He was in an overly cheerful mood this morning, and he was whistling tunelessly as he walked about the room, getting ready.

Sirius pulled his curtains open but didn't otherwise try to rouse himself. He was perfectly comfortable where he was.

"Sod off with that!" Moony yelled, throwing a pillow at James.

It hit him harmlessly in the side. James paused whistling for long enough to pick it up, then he started whistling again-- louder, this time, to prove a point about how untouchable his happiness was-- and he walked over to Moony's bed, then started whacking his legs with the pillow. "You've got to get up if you want breakfast," he said, practically singing the words.

Sirius grinned, too tired to join in on the teasing but enjoying it all the same.

James looked over at him, as if sensing that he was watching, and his smile widened. He winked, whacked Moony one more time, then dropped it at the side of his bed to continue getting ready.

"Ready for another thrilling day of classes?" James asked him as he got closer.

"As thrilling as they ever are," Sirius responded around a yawn. Not one of his best replies, but James was smiling at him like it was award-winning.

Classes were as boring as advertised, and that night, they were down in the common room, tucked away on a couch together, doing their homework.

"I love you," James said. He looked at Sirius with hearts in his eyes. He was so sincere that it made Sirius's chest hurt.

"I-" Merlin, what was he going to say? "I'm sorry," he said by rote. It's what he said to the people that confessed their feelings to him. Half the time he didn't even recognise them, so it wasn't hard to let them down easy. Even for the people he knew, it wasn't that difficult to tell them that he was sorry, but he didn't feel the same. Looking at James was completely different. James meant something to him; James meant the world to him, and as soon as he said the word 'sorry', James looked crushed.

"Oh. I- no I'm the one that's sorry. I thought... I mean, I thought that you were- well, I was wrong. Doesn't matter." He turned back to his book. His shoulders hunched up towards his shoulders as his face burned red.

Normally, when he was upset, Sirius would try to make him feel better. Since he was the cause this time, he thought it would be for the best that he didn't try to comfort him.

After a minute of awkward silence, James muttered, "I'm calling it an early night."

"Goodnight," Sirius mumbled, just as quietly.

He shuffled away and up the stairs to the dormitory, looking defeated.

Sirius felt like scum. He well and truly did. He didn't know what he could've said to James that would've been better, but he did feel bad about it. By the time he went up to the dormitory-- after giving it plenty of time-- James's curtains were drawn, and he seemed to be asleep.

The next morning, Sirius knew that the air would be fragile. He pulled his own curtains open first thing, but he took plenty of time getting ready. He didn't want for James to think that he'd rushed to get away from seeing him or summat.

When James woke, he seemed... cheerful. He was even whistling tunelessly to himself, just like he'd done yesterday. Sirius only remembered that he'd been whistling yesterday because it had annoyed Moony so much that he'd-

"Sod off with that!" Moony yelled, throwing a pillow at him.

It hit James harmlessly in the side. Just like it had yesterday. James paused whistling for long enough to pick it up, then he started whistling again as he walked over to Moony's bed and started whacking his legs with the pillow. "You've got to get up if you want breakfast," he sang.

This was just like yesterday. Sirius frowned as a feeling of dread crawled over him. It was like yesterday had never happened.

James looked over to Sirius with a grin, but it faded after a few seconds.

Okay, so he'd just been being paranoid. James remembered what happened yesterday. He'd just been trying to pretend like everything was still normal. Sirius sent him a weak smile.

"Are you alright?" James asked, walking over in concern.

"Yeah. I just didn't want to make things awkward for you. After last night."

The concern was replaced with confusion. "What do you mean, last night?"

"When we... y'know, talked. In the common room."

"We weren't in the common room last night. We went for a run in the Forbidden Forest, remember? Went straight up to bed when we got back." James wasn't messing with him. His expression was one hundred percent serious. He wasn't joking around or playing a weird prank. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine," Sirius said automatically. What he 'remembered' from yesterday must've been a dream. A horrendously vivid dream, but a dream all the same. "A little tired, I guess."

...But if it had been a dream, then why had Prongs and Moony's interaction been the exact same this morning?

*

"I love you," James said.

"Why?" Sirius asked. He was curious. He honestly couldn't wrap his head around it. The first time James said it, he'd been blindsided. It still didn't sit right with him. There was a twist in his stomach when James said it. Three little words, and he was taken entirely out of himself. James said 'I love you' and Sirius had no confidence, not for himself, not for James, and absolutely none for their relationship. He was second guessing all of it, and without James being able to remember it when a new day dawned, he couldn't move past it. He'd gotten used to James listening and giving him advice.

James smiled faintly at him when he asked. "It's not any one thing."

"No, but... why me? Surely there's someone else out there that you'd rather be with."

"I can't imagine being in love with someone else," James said, which made the knot in Sirius's stomach squeeze tighter. "Isn't it what everyone wants? To be with their best mate?"

"I don't think so," Sirius said honestly. It sounded... very James, but not like anyone else. He couldn't imagine Moony or Wormtail wanting to date their best friend.

*

“I love you,” James said, looking over at Sirius earnestly. It was the first time he’d ever said it. At least, as far James was concerned, that was true.

Sirius had been living this day over and over. Each Tuesday night, no matter what he did in the day, James would confess to him. He’d done this at least ten times already, and he still didn’t know what to say in response.

James’s expression fell a little at his extended silence. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What would you like for me to say?” He wasn't careful with his tone. It didn't have any of the fondness that he felt for James. He said it flatly, like he didn't care about James in the slightest.

Sometimes, James got sad. Right now, he got angry. His expression hardened. "Fine. Be like that. You could've told me flat out that you didn't feel the same." He slammed his textbook shut and grabbed his bag. It looked like he was juggling all his items as he stormed out of the library.

Sirius sighed, putting his elbow on the table and leaning into his hand. He'd chosen the library this time with the specific hope that James wouldn't want to say anything when they were so far away from Gryffindor Tower and didn't have an easy way out.

He went to bed that night, keeping his head down and feeling guilty.

He knew that in the morning, James would be whistling like nothing happened, and he'd have to sit through the same exact lectures again. They'd been boring the first time he heard them. One repetition had been annoying, but he was convinced he was going to claw his eyes out before he managed to get out of this.

*

"It's a time loop," Sirius said. He didn't like going to Professor Dumbledore, but he was desperate. He'd skivved classes and spent all day in the library. He'd spent several days in the library. Over a week, possibly; it's not like he was keeping count, but it occurred to him too late that maybe he should've been trying to keep track. He'd been through every book about time travel, time loops, and time related curses. There was nothing useful. He had a better chance of getting answers by talking to Dumbledore than he did sneaking out and trying to find more books elsewhere.

"Curious," Dumbledore said. His brow had furrowed slightly, and he was looking at Sirius intently instead of with his usual casualness. "I know that you dabble in a certain amount of- ahem, experimental and high level magicks. Is there anything you've done that might have triggered this? The smallest footnote in an old ritual can have side effects."

Sirius shook his head without needing to think about it. After reliving the day for the third time, he had considered that option. Unfortunately, things had been quiet on the Marauders side of things. They hadn't done anything in the week-- or even month-- leading up to this stupid Tuesday that they hadn't done a dozen times before. "I'm sure that it's nothing I've done. I haven't done anything new leading up to this for weeks."

"It's... possible that someone else is reliving this day, and you were caught up in it."

He shook his head again. "Everyone else is the same. They only change if I do." He'd checked once, just to be sure. Of course, he couldn't remember everything he'd done the first day, but he'd tried his best, and it had been enough for him to be convinced that he was the only one that knew they were doing this more than once.

"I imagine you'll have to analyze your day then, Mister Black."

Sirius grimaced. He knew that it was his last name, but he hated being called that.

"Whatever the answer is, I think it'll come from your own actions. Not a spell or ritual."

"But this is a magical problem."

"Humans possess a kind of magic all unto themselves. Something that has nothing to do with wands or potions. We have the power to change, at will and deliberately."

Sirius blinked. He hadn't wanted to have a counseling session, he'd wanted a fix to this.

"I believe that when you find the change you need, the loop will be broken."

"Seriously? That's it?" Sirius asked, not bothering to be nice. It's nice like the Headmaster would remember this in the morning, after all. "That's your great advice? Change myself?"

"A simple answer, but not an easy one," he said, apparently unbothered.

*

"I love you," James said.

"So what? You're a sodding teenager. You'll fall out of love in a month."

James looked at him like he didn't recognise him. "Are you joking right now? Because if you are, it's not funny."

"And if I'm not?" Sirius asked, looking at him challengingly.

James didn't answer for a moment. He just looked at Sirius as sadness creeped into his features. "I don't know what I did to make you care so little about me."

"I-" Sirius startled, taken aback. "Of course I care."

"You're not acting like it. I don't want for you to lie. I'm not asking for you to claim that you return my feelings when you don't, but I expect for you to act like my friend, to act like the person I fell in love with." James paused, considering as a thought occurred to him. "Are you feeling alright? You've been acting off all day. I thought you already suspected how I felt, so I thought it would be best to come out with it, but I was wrong, wasn't I?"

It was kind. As kind as James always was to him, even when he didn't deserve it. If Sirius thought that he would wake up tomorrow to a new day instead of the same day, yet again, then he would latch onto this. He would tell James that he was sorry, but yes, that's what it was; he wasn't feeling well and he'd been on edge all day.

But this wasn't anything new, and they would do some horrid exchange tomorrow like nothing had changed-- because as far as James was concerned, there was absolutely nothing that had.

"I don't know what you want me to say, James," Sirius said, exhausted. If James would just tell him what he wanted to hear, then he could do that next time and hopefully it would break the loop. It was, after all, the only big event in this day. "Tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it."

"I don't know either," James replied, but Sirius could tell it was a lie. He was heartbroken though, and it was Sirius's fault, so he didn't push.

He could work on it the next morning.

*

"Let's play hooky today," Sirius said, one hand on James's arm and trying to smile like he didn't have a care in the world.

James grinned back freely. "Sure."

It was nice to finally have a break from classes, but Sirius finally let himself relax around James again. Ever since that first 'I love you', Sirius had been tied up in knots worrying about it. He didn't want to hurt James's feelings, but by trying to push him away, all he'd done was make himself miserable.

They had fun that day. Sirius pressed a kiss to James's mouth before they tried to sneak back in.

"Sirius," James whispered, when they were still standing so close together they could feel the other's warmth. "If we're doing this-"

"I don't know if we are," Sirius said. He kept his tone gentle, but there was no denying the panic that shot through him. "You're my best mate, but I don't..." He didn't know if he wanted to date James. If he was willing to take the chance.

James swallowed thickly. "Right. You can think about it. I've got time."

James might not know it, but right now, they had nothing but time.

They got caught sneaking back in and got detention for a week for going off the grounds and skipping their classes. It didn't matter. The only one who would remember in the morning, was Sirius.

*

Sirius had done this enough times that he knew the look James got before confessing. Before James had a chance to say it this time, Sirius asked, "Do you ever get scared that you'll ruin something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like us. Our friendship."

A beat. "I do. Sometimes. I think any risk would be worth it, in the end."

"Even if you don't get the answer you want?"

James frowned. "What're you getting at?"

Sirius didn't look up at him. He looked at his own hands, twirling a quill between his fingers absently. "I know how you feel about me."

Silence.

He still didn't look up at him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see his reaction. "And it terrifies me. The way you look at me sometimes... it's like I could bugger up everything under the sun and you'd still love me."

"That would be true even if we were mates and that's where my feelings stopped," James said quietly.

"And that doesn't scare you?"

"You feel the same for me."

That was- sod it, that was the truth. Sirius was beyond confused for how he felt for James ever since this time loop had started, but he cared about him. He loved him. He would do anything and everything for James if only he knew how. "I do," he admitted. "And it's terrifying."

"What about it scares you?"

"I don't know. I've never felt like this for anyone else. I feel like it could destroy both of us, and there would be nothing left."

"Rather bold of you to assume that we'd let that happen," James said. "What makes you think either of us would be willing to lose our friendship?"

"Fair enough," Sirius said, finally looking up so he could give James a smile.

James looked subdued, but he smiled back. 'How much you love me scares me' wasn't the response he'd been hoping for. Sirius knew that, even if he didn't know what James had actually wanted. Probably 'I love you too', but despite the countless times he'd confessed, Sirius had never been able to get him to admit that that's what he wanted to hear.

It's part of what confused him, and a big part of why it terrified him. To anyone else, what Sirius said just now would've been crushing. James looked a little sad and disappointed, but not heartbroken. 

He wished that he could keep this time. No recrimination, no hard feelings. James knew that Sirius knew how he felt, and he also knew that Sirius was beyond confused about his own feelings.

He sighed and went back to copying down the passage from the textbook. It wouldn't last till morning, but it gave him something to do while he kept James company.

Sirius woke up the next day, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get through this. He didn't know how to look James in the eye like everything was fine when he was so utterly lost.

He pushed his curtains open and rolled to his feet. He was so out of it that he didn't notice things were different until he ran into James in the loo. He frowned.

This wasn't right.

James was supposed to be happily whistling to himself and annoying Remus, not standing morosely in front of the mirror as he tiredly brushed his teeth. "Morning," James mumbled.

Sirius blinked.

"You okay?"

"Are you? I thought you'd be in a better mood."

James's brow creased. "Did we have a different conversation last night than the one I remember?"

Last night. Oh Merlin, he remembered. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday? You know, the day that comes after Tuesday?"

The relief Sirius felt was instantaneous. He didn't think about it, just wrapped his arms around James and rested his head against his shoulder. "Thank Merlin."

"Are you still asleep or summat?"

"More like I just woke up from a nightmare," Sirius muttered. A beat. "I don't know how you even know what love is. How do you know liking me a friend was different than fancying me?"

"I don't know," James said, which wasn't the most encouraging thing Sirius had ever heard. "I thought about it, and it seemed like it fit. Don't look at me like I have all the answers, Padfoot. I'm guessing most of the time, too."

"You always seemed so sure," Sirius said without really thinking about it. James had told him that he loved him a hundred different times, and not once had Sirius thought that he wasn't one hundred percent certain about it.

"What?"

Sirius shook his head.

That night, he asked James if he could kiss him instead of going for it without warning, and James said yes.

"So," James said, clearing his throat, "do I get an Acceptable?"

"Don't be stupid. You get an Outstanding."

"Even though you're not sure how you feel?" James asked.

"I know how I feel, I just... don't know if I'd call it in love or not. It might be more like halfway between in love and just loving you. How should I know?"

James only chuckled. "Well, whatever it is, it's good enough for me. If you're wanting to give this a try, that is."

"I am." He'd spent so many days trying to avoid James's confession, and all he'd needed to do was think about how he felt, not worry about what James wanted to hear him say. 

[fanfic-scribbles]

Smile

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky gives you some reasons to smile.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, puns, cheesy jokes, so cheesy

Words: 3344

A/N: I’m going to admit it upfront, about 40 percent of the time spent on this fic was spent on writing it. The other 60 percent was spent on finding the jokes. Also, this story is semi-inspired by the fact that my face is not nearly as expressive as it feels (I basically look like the polite cat meme when I really try and I can’t do it for long before my face hurts too much) so this goes out to other people who get accused of resting bitch/asshole face. And get written up for it. Anyway, please enjoy this goofy little Bucky/Reader get together.

  ~

‘How do you make a tissue dance?’

‘Put a little boogie in it.’

Bucky snorts and coughs when he accidentally breathes coffee instead of air. ‘That’s disgusting,’ he texts back but Sam just replies with an obnoxious smiling face. Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his coffee. It’s actually not so terrible today.

He doesn’t hang out in a dive, but this coffee shop is a type of quiet he almost never sees in the city. It’s too far from the tourism path for convenience and just outside the neighborhood purview where there are many other local (better) favorites. It’s clean enough and decently sized, but it’s decorated like it was supposed to be trendy ten years ago and the place is barely staffed, to match its perpetually nigh-empty interior. There was a short-lived attempt at hiring another person, but after a ridiculous amount of turnover the owners, or whoever, apparently cut their losses and the only constants that remain are Bucky, the lone customer, you, the person actually working the counter, and your manager.

You’re nice. You always speak kindly to Bucky and, when you think you can sneak it, upsize his cup without comment or charge. Also, one time when his glove broke and slipped off, you hadn’t even commented on the arm; you’d even helped him stop panicking enough to see it hadn’t gone far and helped secure it temporarily with a rubber band.

Your manager, meanwhile, is a dick who glares at Bucky and once made a snide comment about him leaning too close to the register, and only talks to you in demanding barks. Like now– but the five minute “hushed” conversation is winding down and soon it will be safe for Bucky to go get his refill.

“I’m writing you up,” the manager says.

You jerk back in shock. “For not smiling enough?”

“It’s what we got marked down for, it’s what’s going on your record,” he says, turns on his heel, and retreats into the back to do jack shit. Bucky glares at his back as he goes. His harsh expression turns to a milder frown when he looks at you, hunched over and staring at the counter with a dead expression on your face.

He looks at his phone, looks at his empty coffee cup, and makes a quick decision.

“Can I get a refill?” he asks when he’s in front of you, startling you out of your stagnant misery. You look up at Bucky and after a second force an unnatural smile on your face. He winces on your behalf.

“Of course,” you say softly, and turn to refill the cup.

When you hand it back to him Bucky shuffles, hesitates, but finally asks, “Why are colds bad criminals?”

You blink. “Uh…why?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You blink again, and then let out a startled laugh. Bucky smiles slightly at the sound, and smiles more at the more natural, smaller turn of your lips as you say, “That’s…that’s a good one.”

“It’s pretty terrible.”

“All the best ones are,” you say, and the door chimes making Bucky break away. But as he watches you talk to the delivery man like normal he nods to himself. He leaves with his coffee to start the day and fires a quick text to Sam: ‘Where do you get your dumb jokes?’

~

The next day when the door chimes and you see your one regular customer, you let yourself smile a lot more naturally than you have been. Your face is starting to hurt and your boss is probably napping in the back, so you take the chance to relax.

“Hi,” you say. “The usual?”

“Please,” he says, polite as ever as he hands you exact change and you go to fix his cup. When you bring it back he asks, “What did the fish say when he swam into a wall?”

“What?”

“Dam.”

You giggle despite yourself. Bucky’s smile is small and guarded, but you haven’t had a moment yet where you haven’t been grateful to see it. Maybe this ‘smiling’ business is all it’s cracked up to be. If only it didn’t hurt your cheeks so much.

But as he tips his cup to you and goes to his favorite corner, you find you don’t mind the ache as much.

~

Every time he comes in now, he brings a new joke.

“What do you call a fake noodle?”

“An im-pasta.”

“What does a clock do when it’s hungry?”

“It goes back four seconds.”

“Why did the bike fall over?”

“It was two tired.”

The delivery is fairly flat but there’s always at least the hint of a smile and, you don’t know, it might be his absolute seriousness that sells it, because every one of them raises your spirits. You don’t know why he’s suddenly telling you jokes. For anyone else you might think they’re flirting, but you don’t get that impression here. He’s handsome, always looks put-together in quality clothes even if they seem picked for comfort over anything else, and even before this he has always been unfailingly polite. If he wants someone, he has to have someone just as lovely. Right?

You can’t help but think about it even after he comes back. And the wonderfully terrible jokes, thankfully, don’t stop.

“Why did the mushroom go to the party?”

You keep pouring the coffee while you ponder an answer. “I don’t know,” you decide and lift your head as you hand Bucky his drink.

The way he smiles is very fetching– not quite a smirk, it’s a little too unsure for that, but it tilts up to the side and gives him a boyish charm that would make anyone weak in the knees. “Because he was a fungi.”

It makes a smile big enough for you to feel, but considering how self-conscious you are now you quickly tell him, “I liked that.”

“I know,” he says. “You smiled.”

“You can tell?” Maybe you aren’t as bad off as you thought. Or maybe he’s just being nice. But he seems honest, and he nods decisively.

“I get not being the most…expressive.” He shrugs. “But anyone can still see it, if they look.”

The implication that he cares enough to look stuns you both to silence. He ducks his head shyly and lifts his coffee cup in thanks before retreating to his corner. When you finally have working vocal cords again you say, “Have a nice day.” It might be the first time you’ve ever really meant it.

~

“What’s the opposite of coffee?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and narrow in quick succession as he goes from surprise to contemplation. He weighs your question with all the dramatic seriousness you could hope for before he says, “I don’t know. What is the opposite of coffee?”

You grin when you say, “Sneezy.”

His smile is bright and he nods his head. “Not bad, not bad.” He leans on the counter, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. It’s…shockingly warming. You have to remind yourself not to get too close. He showed up out of the blue and he can be gone just as quickly. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean he has any attachment here. In fact, you hope he doesn’t– you’d question his sanity otherwise. “Why did Mozart hate chickens?”

“I don’t know,” you say, eager to hear the answer.

“Because when he asked them for their favorite composer, they said, “Bach! Bach! Bach!’”

You laugh– that is, of course, when your supervisor pokes his head out of the back and scowls at you. He should be happy that you’re ‘smiling enough’ but you know full well anything you do is never going to be good. You freeze whatever expression is on your face as Bucky’s mood darkens and your heart sinks. “Enjoy your coffee,” you say, infusing meaning into every word. That ekes out a small imitation of a smile as Bucky raises his cup and goes to his seat.

Your supervisor starts to stalk over to you but you are saved by the sudden ringing of a phone, and he blessedly turns on his heel and goes to answer.

You sigh and start cleaning up the counter. Bucky is in his corner, hunched over and quiet as usual. He looks fine, but you feel bad for the interruption, even though you get the impression he understands. Still, this is one nice thing you’ve had in this otherwise miserable job and you’re not going to lose yet one more good person to your superior’s shitty attitude.

You push out a roll of receipt paper, scribble ‘Why did the espresso keep checking his watch?’ on it, and stick it in your apron. You walk over to wipe down an untouched table and, before heading back, make a little detour to drop it next to Bucky’s arm. He grabs the paper as you’re scooting away (plausible deniability in case your boss comes out) but it isn’t until you’re back behind the counter that you realize what that just looked like. Does he think you just dropped your number? He hasn’t opened it yet. Is he trying to figure out a way to let you down? You suddenly regret playing into this so much; he was just trying to be nice, he probably didn’t expect you to latch onto it so–

He opens the paper, reads it, and shoots you a little smirk. You breathe a sigh of relief and mindlessly wipe things down and rearrange well-organized creamers and straws until Bucky comes up for his customary pre-leaving refill. You’re a little disheartened it’s that time already, but it means you’re that much closer to the end of your shift, at least.

“Why?” Bucky asks quietly. It takes you a second before you remember the receipt paper and you surreptitiously check the back to see the door is closed.

“Because he was pressed for time,” you say quietly as you hand back his cup.

He chuckles. “I like it,” he says and takes a sip. “Thanks,” he adds as expected, but then he winks and you…you just stare at him as he leaves.

Should you have dropped your number?

~

A few days later, Bucky is caught off his guard and pays for it.

“What’s this?”

Bucky doesn’t get to his coffee cup fast enough and Sam snatches it and reads. “Sam,” Bucky grumbles but there it is, Sam’s eyes go wide and he turns that stare on Bucky. “Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky snaps and snatches his drink back.

“You’ve been using my jokes to hit on a dorky barista?” Sam asks and follows him across the room.

“I’ve been using jokes from the site you steal yours from to share with the nice woman who makes my coffee,” Bucky says and sits in a chair. He never stays for Sam’s group VA sessions and he should have left sooner, damn it. “I wouldn’t use yours. They’re gross.”

“Potentially inappropriate for a lady,” Sam says. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but, no, that’s exactly it, even though Sam’s tone implies something completely different from what Bucky would have said. “What’s her name?”

“Bucky?”

Steve has never been more of an actual hero to Bucky than he is right now. Right on time to walk back home with Bucky, Steve wanders in, sees the two of them, and stops. “Oh, should I…”

“Let’s g–” Bucky is immediately stopped by Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bucky’s got his eyes on someone,” Sam says, immediately centering himself as Bucky’s most hated arch-nemesis.

…Okay, maybe not, but if Bucky didn’t have real problems he would be.

“I do not,” Bucky grumbles, because he knows it’s pointless and Steve is immediately sitting in front of them and leaning in like he’s the last girl at the sleepover.

“Really Buck? That’s great!” Steve says. “Have you…are you going to make a move?”

“No,” Bucky says and quickly runs down the situation, hoping that it will clear things up but knowing his friends too well. Indeed, Sam and Steve share smirks before looking at him again.

“You’re a real hero,” Sam says, only partly joking.

“I hate you,” Bucky says, ducking his head down. He doesn’t really blush anymore, if he ever did, but the motion is instinctive.

“You don’t.”

“I wish I did.”

Steve grins, as does Sam, and Bucky wants to duck into a hole. Goddamn mother hens, they’re going to want to–

“Should we come by?” Sam asks and leans back in his chair. “Be real wingmen?”

“No,” Bucky says, harsher than he means to. Sam and Steve don’t look bothered– they’ve weathered worse emotional snaps than that– but they wait for him to explain and Bucky doesn’t know if he can. Because what if this is leading to something? Is he ready for that? He thinks he might like you, but would he be okay putting in the effort of getting to know you? What if he can’t handle it? What if Steve and Sam walk in and they’re all you see? Both of them are plenty distracting, and charming, while Bucky can hardly put one foot in front of the other, some days. And what if this isn’t leading to anything, you’re just nice, and it’s nice, but Sam and Steve find out and look at him with all the pity they can muster?

“I just…want to see it through. On my own. Whatever this is.” ‘Or could be’ he leaves unspoken, because hoping for anything still feels like too much.

“Okay,” Sam says first, because of course he does, but Steve nods along quickly. It’s enough to make Bucky exhale deeply and relax muscles he didn’t know he had tensed. He rolls his eyes and stands up to cover for it.

“You’ll keep us updated though, right?” Sam asks, an easy grin on his face as he lounges in the chair.

“Like I’ll be able to avoid it,” Bucky mutters, finishes his drink, and lets Sam know they’re okay by throwing the empty cup at his head.

~

The fact that you’re running out of coffee-related jokes is stressing you out. You wanted to keep on theme but too many more days of this and you’ll be scouring the internet for whatever jokes Bucky hasn’t used yet. There are some coffee-related puns, but…the ones you like carry a romantic hint to them, and you were hoping to save those in case Bucky showed any interest. So far you haven’t picked up on anything, but you’re also very oblivious, and your roommate thinks you’re an idiot and he’s obviously into you.

But he might not be.

You do what you’ve been doing since your boss snarked at you about flirting on the clock and get Bucky’s cup ready with maybe your favorite joke.

‘How did the hipster burn his tongue?

He drank his coffee before it was cool.’

And smile proudly at it. Your small handwriting is getting better– Bucky barely has to squint at it this time, and he gives you a conspirator’s smile when he slides his twenty-dollar bill across the counter at you, with the neatest print writing along the margins.

‘What do you call an alligator detective?

An investi-gator.’

It’s cute and you snicker to yourself as you gather his change and place it gently in his gloved hand. He doesn’t retreat to his corner right away, though, and shuffles in place. “I was…I just wanted to say…” But then his eyes glance to your side and his face freezes in an unfortunately familiar way. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says woodenly and raises his cup just so.

“Of course. Have a nice day,” you say as robotically as possible and watch him go. Your supervisor clears his throat pointedly and you pretend like the place isn’t as clean as it was since the last time you went around. But now you’re thinking. About how awkward Bucky looked, and how he mentioned wanting to say something…maybe…maybe he is open. To you. Potentially.

Tomorrow, you decide with a thrill of nauseating adrenaline. Tomorrow you’re going to bring it up.

~

The next day you arrive at the shop at your usual time in the pre-dawn cold only to find an extra padlock on the door and a note in the window.

You stare, dumbfounded, and read the note. You read it again. And again.

‘Out of Business.’

But nobody called you.

You immediately grab your phone and dial your supervisor’s number. When he doesn’t pick up you call it again because this cannot be real. The job was shit but it was a job, and you knew what to expect, and you’ll never see Bucky again, will you?

It takes almost half an hour for the asshole to pick up– or maybe more, as the sun is starting to show up– and upon answering, he snaps, “What?!”

“What happened?” you ask, just as unkindly.

Your boss grumbles unintelligibly but you wait. “Did you see the sign?”

“I was working yesterday; no one mentioned anything about this.”

“Corporate called last night.” He yawns loudly. “I tried to call you.”

That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one, but your tongue gets tripped up in anger and he says, “Sorry but there’s no room at the other branches for you, your last check is in the mail,” and hangs up.

You stand there for a while, trying to blink away tears at the sudden upheaval of your life. You should have found a replacement job while you had a chance. You should have asked your co-workers where they were going. You should have given Bucky your number.

You stand there for a little while, debating spending money you shouldn’t on a nice breakfast to wallow in, when the sound of footsteps coming up behind you makes you turn around.

“Oh, Bucky,” you say and rub your face. You think you’ve managed to hold it in, but it’s chilly and any exposed skin feels frozen.

“What’s going on?” he asks and peers around you at the note.

“Um…” You gesture uselessly. “Apparently this location is no longer in business. Just found out.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “That asshole didn’t even call you?!”

The amount of anger on your behalf startles you. Startles both of you, actually, but just as he’s about to say something you laugh and say, “At least that asshole isn’t my problem anymore.” You sigh. You have savings, and the other job, and there’s always some other crappy job waiting for someone like you. But there’s something here that won’t be, and you pull out your phone and start typing. “Um…Bucky…there’s something I wanted to say to you. But it’s hard to say.”

“Okay?” he asks. You squeeze your eyes tight, brace yourself for impending rejection, and hold out your phone.

‘I like you a latte,’ followed by your phone number, hopefully gets the point across. After a few seconds your phone buzzes and you jump and bring it back, hoping no one texted you anything terrible while Bucky was staring at your phone.

It’s a new number, and the text reads, ‘It’s hard to espresso my feelings for you.’

You look up at him and he’s smiling, mouth parted slightly, and you start smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. But it’s okay. “I only had two more coffee jokes left before that line,” you confess and save his name to his number.

“Maybe you can tell them to me over breakfast? My treat,” he says and extends his arm.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Your treat this time,” you say, and link your arm with his. “In return, I’m going to show you where to get some good coffee.”

“Oh I don’t know,” he smirks at you. “The last place had its perks.”

Lacking a good comeback, you push your face into his shoulder to muffle your laughter. He leans into you, and doesn’t pull away even when you’ve gotten under control.

It’s the beginning of a brew-tiful relationship.

[ekingston]

thank you for thinking of me, @gveret-fic, in spite of the fact i can only just barely call myself a fan fic writer again!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

just 2!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

a hilariously modest 49760.

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

five? six! i kept thinking of more as i was answering these questions!

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

with only one exception none of my old stuff is up on ao3, so i suppose it’s You & Me & Holiday Wine on #1-4 and Picking Up on #5

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

i do! i’ve made it a habit to respond to all comments before or just after a new chapter goes up so at the moment i still have a large number of them unanswered— hopefully not for too much longer!

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending

i used to be a big fan of stark cynical nihilism, believe it or not, but i’ve arrived at a point where life seems full enough of that already so i’m trying to write brighter things these days.

7. Do you write crossovers?

i have! sometimes you just need a taste of how two characters from different pieces of media would interact, you know?

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

unfortunately.

9. Do you write smut?

DO i

(absolutely. in fact i hope you’ve all read it)

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

knock on wood because i fear that’d be much more traumatic than when it happens to my art 😒

11. Ever had a fic translated?

i was going to joke that it’s already been translated once since english isn’t my first language but that’s not actually how it works so, no!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

well there is something in the works but i don’t think it strictly counts as co-writership!!

13. All time fav ship?

never have i ever been as obsessed with a particular pairing as i am with supercorp now and i was online when Xena:Warrior Princess was still on the air, so. can you imagine how tired i am?

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i’ve arrived at a point where i need to either just write this fairytale au in one inebriated sleepless weekend or kill it entirely, because it’s taking up valuable headspace i would much rather be using to finish YMHW and on editing & publishing my second supercorp fic.

15. Writing strengths?

i hear i write humor well! which has been a bewildering discovery but also extraordinarily rewarding!

16. Writing weaknesses?

i’m afraid i still could use some work when it comes to pacing. also actually making myself sit down and write, even when my head isn’t quite in it

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

perhaps with the exception where you, the writer, are multilingual and you know for sure that you’re writing exclusively for an audience that’s also fluent in those exact same languages, maybe don’t?

18. First fandom you wrote for?

i was in elementary school at the time so i could barely loop my g’s and i had no idea what i was doing, but it was for V the original series — the show is from 1984 but the reruns aired here years later and i had the queerest urge to make the two evil ladies with the enormous hair who glared and glinted their teeth at each other a lot become the very best of friends.

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

no fan fic i’ve written before has given me as much joy and satisfaction as YMHW has and that’s in huge part due to the warm reception it’s gotten. i’m grateful for everyone who has taken the time to read it, and that includes those who never leave a comment because i understand how hard that can be and i’m here mainly to give people something to enjoy, not to cause stress or guilt about not leaving a note! i have a lot of love for all of you!

i’m sorry if i’m tagging people who have been tagged before, but: @msdanvers, @ayeti, @spicycheeser, @roseticospacebae & @deadbiwrites, give me yours!

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

So this is not actually the next part of the unedited v!Wind fic but I got the sweetest anon ask in my inbox and like, suddenly *m o t i v a t i o n,* y’know?

So have this sort-of one-shot, set in some nebulous hypothetical future of that fic. Idr if I’d brought up the possibility of Phantom traveling with the boys before (I really need to find time to reread what I’ve written), but this would be set after they'd been past that point for a while.

Nonny, I hope you enjoy <3 This one’s for you! (And the amazing @w1lmutt, of course.)

TW: cursing, bleeding and self-inflicted harm. Nothing graphic, I promise. (Also, the hero boys being stupid martyrs, but that’s practically par for the course.)

They manage to make it to camp before Phantom explodes.

"What the fuck, old man!" the boy snarls. He grabs Time by the collar and drags the taller man down to his level. Time lets him, which only serves to incite the boy further. "What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of charity case?" He spits.

Time says nothing. He doesn’t even have the decency to wince when Phantom jostles his broken arm.

"Look. At. Me!" the boy demands, punctuating each word with a small, ineffectual shake. "I am more than just another one of your failures! I make my own damn choices! I can deal with their consequences! You are not responsible for me, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Time shakes his head, still too calm to be doing their youngest’s temper any favors. He doesn’t look at Phantom like the boy’s a perfectly capable hero in his own right, and Phantom cannot stand that. "I understand that you-" the man begins.

Phantom decks him.

"That’s enough!" The others step in then, pulling them away from each other. Time, however, won’t stop looking at him like that.

Phantom rips himself away, snarling. He needs to get out of here.

He stalks off before he can do something really rash, like go for his sword.

~o0o~

"You here to lecture me?"

Phantom kicks his feet in the air from the branch he’s perched on, eerily reminiscent of the first time the heroes had met him. His eyes are dark.

"Not gonna lie, I was expecting the captain or the puppy," the boy drawls.

Four sighs. With a quick burst from his Roc’s cape, he climbs his way up to a branch nearby, settling so they’re vaguely facing each other. "You did go too far."

"Fuck off," Phantom growls, jabbing his blade at Four threateningly. “He was asking for it.”

Four eyes the blade, then its wielder. "You shouldn’t point that at someone you don’t intend to use it on. It’s a weapon, not a toy."

"If you think I’m merely playing around, then man have I got unpleasant news for you."

Four sighs. "I know being babied sucks, but watch what lines you cross," he tells the younger boy bluntly.

"Oh, shut up. What would you know?"

"Who do you think got the brunt of the group’s mother-cucco tendencies before you came along?" Four points out, dry. In the ensuing silence, he ticks off, "I'm the shortest of the lot, and sometimes that means they like to pretend I’m not mature enough to handle ‘adult things’," he makes air quotes with his fingers. "Meanwhile Hyrule regularly overextends himself, but he’s got one of the best senses of when to cut and run, so he’s better about tolerating the fretting and gets hurt less frequently than, say, the Champion. And Legend gets out of most of it by being an asshole." A pause. "Though even he has the good manners to thank someone who saved him, however roundabout the Vet might be about it."

The boy looks nearly contemplative, under the stubborn mulishness. Four lets the silence sit for a minute. Then, lightly, he tacks on, “Though if you’re trying to pull a Legend to get out of being fussed over, I should warn you: that ship has long sailed for you.”

Phantom stares at him with that fantastic pissy face he makes sometimes. “Was that a boat joke,” he deadpans. Four grins at him, quick and impish, and the boy rewards him with a groan. "The sailor puns are getting really old."

"You're not the one who gets to decide that," Four giggles. Then, "Feeling better? Ready to face the music?"

"Absolutely not." But the kid climbs out of the tree anyway, no threats or violence necessary. Four will count it as a win.

~o0o~

Back at camp, Phantom marches up to Time. With everyone else not-so-discretely looking on, he makes a show of leaving his sword out of easy reach and points at the ground.

“Sit,” he orders, as though the armored hero were a very large dog.

Time stares down at him. “If you mean to hit me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he says wryly. Phantom scowls.

“Sit, you big lug. I know a spell for that arm of yours, and I’m not doing it with you standing over me. You’re too tall.”

Time lowers himself to the ground obligingly, even as he prods, “A spell, hmm? What exactly does it do?”

Phantom, somewhat alarmingly, snaps his fangs over his fingertips hard enough to draw blood. “It’s not quite a healing spell, but it’ll get rid of that shiner I gave you, and probably patch up your arm too. Gonna use your magic to do it, though.” He lifts bloody fingers to his own face, dabbing marks on his skin with a hesitance that speaks of relying on borrowed memories, before pausing. “Close your eyes, old man. I’m not teaching you this spell, you’re an idiot who’ll misuse it.”

“So pushy today.” Time closes his one eye, reluctant but confident that the others will stop the boy from attacking him if it comes down to it. “I don’t see what the problem is. It sounds useful; it’d be good to take some of the burden of healing off Hyrule.”

“You would think that,” the boy huffs, right before wet fingers brush at his cheek. Time twitches away with a faint grimace.

“Are you bleeding on me now,” he asks, plaintive. Phantom huffs.

“Don’t be a baby; it’ll flake right off. Quit moving.”

The man exhales slowly, obviously uncomfortable. But despite his suspicions and reservations, Time doesn’t move and he doesn’t ask. He merely lets the boy do as likes, lets him keep his secrets. This, Phantom knows, is Time’s own kind of apology.

He’s not above taking advantage of that.

The former villain dots a final smear under the hero’s eye, then immediately presses his wide sleeve over his work, obscuring the design from the curious eyes of their audience.

“I’m starting it now,” he warns.

Time feels a tug on his magic—much smaller than he was expecting. A song on his Ocarina might cost him the same amount. The pain in his eye and then his arm ebbs away, pulled somewhere by the spell, and the dampness on his face ashes off right off, as promised. Time raises a hand to scratch at the lingering itch even as he opens his eyes.

“I still don’t see why-” he begins. Stops.

Phantom turns away swiftly, but the boy is standing too close to hope to hide the bruising on his face. Bruising he did not have before.

Time seizes the boy by the arm before he can flee. He drops that arm just as quickly when Phantom yelps in pain, registering too late that it’s the same arm Time himself had just had broken—had just had healed.

“What have you done,” he hears himself ask, even though he already knows.

Phantom rocks back on his heels, trying for nonchalance and failing badly at it. “This isn’t something I plan to do often,” he huffs, refusing to look Time—or anyone—in the eye. Time clenches his jaw hard enough for his teeth to creak. “You can suffer from your own mistakes. But if you’re gonna take a blow meant for me, again-”

“This isn’t happening again,” Time cuts in, cold down to his bones. He needs to nip this in the bud, right now, or it'll only get worse as their battles grow harsher. “I forbid it.”

Phantom gets a mulish look on his face. Time feels his horror mount as the younger hero growls, “Just try and stop me.”

Time grabs the kid by the shoulder—the uninjured one this time. What does he need to do to make the boy see sense? “Do not use that spell again, Phantom.”

“Let go of me,” Phantom snarls, futilely trying to claw his way out of the older man’s grip. Unfortunately, Time doesn’t think he could make his own fingers loosen if he tried. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Don't pretend you wouldn't do the exact same thing if literally anyone got so much as a scratch on them."

"That's-" different, he almost says, but he recognizes that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say right now. He deflates ever so slightly, just enough for Phantom to rip himself free and start rubbing at his arm, shaking faintly. A distant part of himself remembers the boy's issues with touch guiltily. "What made you think that was remotely acceptable? Why do you even know a spell like that?" He demands, side-stepping the accusation with what little grace he can scrounge up in his rattled state.

In his own display of blatantly dodging around a topic, Phantom looks away and snaps, "Gee, I wonder why Ganondorf would possibly know a spell that let him pass off wounds to hapless victims. Such a mystery for the ages."

The silence is deafening. Too late, Phantom snaps his mouth shut, realizing he's said too much.

"Are you saying you used a fucking torture spell on yourself-" someone begins.

"Why in the world would you even-?"

"Are you actually out of your mind-!?"

"When I said 'thank him' this is not what I meant-!"

"We're not all this bad, are we? It's just the two of them?" Warriors groans loudly, looking pained. At his words, Twilight whips around just in time to catch sight of the terrifyingly thoughtful look on Wild's face.

"Cub, don't you even think about it-!"

"ENOUGH!"

The bellow comes from, surprisingly, Hyrule. The boy scowls at them all disapprovingly.

"Wild, dinner's burning," he starts, very evenly. The aforementioned hero takes the chance to duck his mentor's fretful clutches, scampering over to the fire.

"Phantom, congratulations, your arm's broken," the wandering hero continues, voice more than dry enough to make up for his homeland's lack of a Gerudo desert. "That means I'll be working on you instead of our leader. Do not-" he interrupts preemptively, jabbing a finger forward and speaking over the boy's attempts to protest. "Just. Don't. We're out of potions, and that means I look over everyone that gets hurt. I'd be looking at that arm if you'd gotten your injury naturally. I'd be looking over Time right now if you'd been a bit less hasty with your ritual. And I think we'd all prefer it if you didn't use that spell again, or teach anyone how to do it."

A glance around the clearing reveals a show of nods, no one disputing Hyrule's words.

Phantom tries to cross his arms before dropping them with a wince. "You can't actually stop me," he sulks at them all. The pout really brings out the bruising on his face.

"It would be hard to, yeah," Sky agrees, soothing. "But it should be fine if there's no need for you to use it, right? Because Time," he shoots a Look at their stoic leader, "isn't going to do something reckless like throw himself in front of a monster with no shield again, right?"

Time grimaces faintly. "I'll try," he promises, which—from the looks on his companions' faces—isn't nearly good enough. But they all recognize that it's entirely honest, and the best they're going to get out of him tonight.

So ends the incident; they let the matter lie there, awkward and ignorable, and move onward with their evening.

OMAKE:

Phantom corners Twilight during his watch shift.

"Tell me you have blackmail on that idiot," he hisses. His request comes out like an order.

There's no need for their youngest to clarify who he means. The rancher pats the kid on the head, just once, like he thinks Phantom's cute but also knows he bites. "I'm not giving you blackmail on Time," he replies cheerfully. The younger hero has far too much influence on the man already. "You'll use it for evil, which I'm afraid goes against my personal code of honor. So sorry."

Phantom narrows his eyes, letting the needling slide entirely. "So you do have dirt on him," he divines.

Twilight rolls his eyes. "Leave him alone, brat. Do we need to have this talk again? Quit tormenting him."

"I'm not. Blackmailing him into self-care will only be good for him, promise."

"You can't honestly think that'll work." A pause. "Or that we haven't tried it already. It doesn't work."

"Bet you I could do it." Phantom's eyes have that disturbingly obsessive gleam in them again. "Bet you I've thought of something you haven't."

"Uh huh. And what would that be."

"All have to do is threaten to snitch on him." The boy's grin widens mischievously. "To you."

"..."

"Come on, think of it," the sailor wheedles. "He hates you fusing over him. It's why you never give me those don't-touch-my-almost-dad talks while he's still in earshot, yeah?"

Twilight's face does a funny little twitch.

"I know it, you know it, and I'd bet good money the others know it too," Phantom presses on. "How much more self-preservation do you think we could squeeze out of him if we pretend that the alternative is me giving you more reasons to shoot him worried looks all day and do that hovering thing you like to do?"

The older hero appears to consider this seriously for a long, long moment. Phantom leans in, eyes wide and imploring.

"...Nope. Still not telling you anything." Twilight tries to keep his face stern, even as a traitorous twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You're not going to trick free blackmail out of me that easily."

The boy deflates. "Screw you," he grumbles. "It would've worked. I know it would've worked."

Twilight ruffles the grumpy kid's hair. "It was a nice try," he offers, and accepts the kick to the knee he gets in return as his due.

(In his bedroll across the clearing, pretending to be asleep, Time feels something tight and anxious in his chest finally begin to relax. He's nearly giddy with the sheer relief of his epiphany.

That's how he'll keep Phantom from pulling stunts this stupid again. Tell Tetra.)