#last time she was in this pen she figured out how to use the latch after about 20 minutes

[golden-girl-daisy]

Living with a shiba is no different than living with a velociraptor. (Sound on)

[rosesdrabbleblog]

I’m Having Sex With A Ghost

Pairing: Ghostbur x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, cursing, 18+ content, wholesomeness?

Notes: Ghostbur my beloved, how is this the first time I write for you? Sex With a Ghost fits his vibes a lot and I just had to use it.

You were sitting in your armchair reading one of your various novels when you heard a rapping at your door. You set the book down on your table gently before walking to the door, opening it. You were a little shocked when you were greeted by Ghostbur, the sweet ghost man who wandered the streets of L’Manburg. While you hadn’t known him when he was alive, you were almost glad from stories you had heard.

You had moved to L’Manburg shortly after the country had been nearly blown up. “It was Wilbur” various residents had told you, “he went mad and blew it up.” You never heard of him before this, which is why you were confused when people regarded Ghostbur as a friend and sort of ally. When you asked why they did if he was the same person, they would either shrug it off or state that they were different people. The whole thing confused you greatly.

You first introduction to Ghostbur was when you saw him struggling to lead a blue sheep around. You went over to offer your help before realizing you could see through the man. Startled, you had backed away and tripped on something, falling onto the ground with a pained cry. The man whipped around at the sound, looking at you with worry. “Oh dear, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes wide. Still in a bit of shock, you nodded and got up slowly, regarding the site in front of you.

From his transparency, you assumed he had to be a ghost. Despite this, you could see his features clearly. His hair was on the shirt side and curly, a soft brown color. His eyes were white, which was something that would catch anyone off guard. He wore a light yellow sweater with a white buttoned shirt. Despite behind afraid of him at first, you now began to realize he was actually rather cute.

Sensing you were a bit startled, he smiled widely and offered a hand. “Hello! I’m Ghostbur! I don’t know if I knew you when I was alive, so apologies if that’s an issue. I seem to have some memory problems since my passing,” he said almost sadly. Before you could get a word in, he continued, “oh! Here, take some of this!” The ghost offered a small blue material, which was a bit confusing. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Have some blue! How it works is it pulls the sadness out of you!” he explained cheerily. You looked at the dyed material in your hands, wondering why it was already blue. The blue staining his hands explained why that was the case.

Since that moment, he regarded you as a friend. He introduced you to his blue sheep whom he had named Friend, and you even offered to put up a small area for him. Ghostbur acted like that was the kindest thing someone had done for him, and he cheerily showed Friend the area. When he had to travel and hand out blue, he left Friend with you. You had taken a liking to the blue sheep, feeding it and keeping it company whenever Ghostbur was away. Your life felt a lot less lonely with the two around.

You smiled at the ghost on your doorstep, “hello Ghostbur! What brings you here today?” You took in his sight, noticing he was holding something behind his back. After a moment, the man moved his hands and showed that he was holding an array of flowers. Not the kind you would purchase from a store or vendor, but the ones that were picked just for you. You noticed that the array had many of your favorite flowers in it. You couldn’t remember if you even told him what your favorites were or not.

“I wanted to bring my friend some flowers! Friend is not with me today, but he misses you greatly,” he said with a smile. You took the flowers from him gently, returning the smile. “Aw, that’s awfully sweet of you Ghostbur. Would you like to come in and have some tea?” you offered. The man nodded, and you stepped aside to let him in. The young man floated slowly into your house, looking at all the intricate things you had in your various bookcases. His hands running softly over volumes of novels, whispering the names to himself. Ghostbur loved books, and you often found you were missing books when he came by. How he got away with it without you nothing, you never knew.

He turned to you, a shy expression on his face. Realizing why he looked confused, you gestured to the couch, which he sat down on. You stared a bit too long, trying to figure out how a ghost could sit on the couch like that. Nevertheless, you went to your kitchen and began making tea.

As you made the two of you a cup of tea, you could hear the clap of excitement followed by the strum of a guitar. It seemed he found your guitar by the closet. Soon the random string plucking turned into a tune that seemed almost nostalgic. You had never heard it before, but it was quite lovely. You took the two cups of newly made tea and walked back into your living room. Ghostbur sat on your couch, fingers gliding over the strings of your guitar. His face scrunched as he concentrated on getting the notes right, letting out a small “fuck” every time he messed up.

He glanced up at you after a moment, blinking at you as he continued playing. Soon, he he began to sing along to the tune he was playing. You couldn’t really hear what the lyrics were, as he was singing them so softly, but you didn’t mind one bit. He suddenly stopped, staring at the guitar for a moment before starting again. Ghostbur began playing a differ song, his voice now loud enough for you to catch a few of the lyrics.

“I'm gettin' hickeys from my bed bugs

I'm gettin' busy with a bad perfume

I'm stickin' kisses to a pen drug

I'm makin' friction with a sad vacuum.”

You set down his cup of tea in front of him, and he stopped playing it again to grab at it. As he drank the tea, you really began questioning how ghosts worked. You sipped yours as well, finishing it quickly and setting it onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Ghostbur set his down as well, looking into his lap as he held onto the guitar.

“Wil-Ghostbur, why are you here?” you asked. The flowers he had given you now sat in a large vase on the dining room table, right by a window for light. The man looked up, a slight blush on his cheeks. You didn’t expect him to answer. “I- I feel that the two of us have gotten awfully close. Now, I can’t remember if I had any affairs when I was alive...wait no, there was Sally,” he said, his words trailing off after he remembered he had a fish mistress at one point. You weren’t sure if that story was even true, but hell, you had met Fundy. That made the fish story even more confusing. “I can’t remember anything about kissing from when I was alive, but I do think I would like to do it with you,” he continued as he took one of your hands into his.

I'm getting jiggy with a rifle I'll pull the trigger with my eyes closed Hoping to hit you somewhere vital And when I miss, you come and kiss me with a smile

You were a bit shocked at that. Ghostbur didn’t seem the type to want physical affection like that, but then again, he was an ever changing man due to memory loss. You paused before responding, “I think...I think I would like that too.” And with that, Ghostbur leaned over and kissed you. His lips were cold, not like ice, but more like the air of a crisp October morning. One of his hands made its way to your check, clutching it lovingly. You practically melted into him. You pulled away to take a deep breath, and you laughed quietly at how flustered he looked. Well, as flustered as a pale ghost would look. You could swear you could see his cheeks reddening, but you hadn’t the time to double check because he pushed you into the couch, latching his mouth onto yours again hungrily.

You felt his hands rest at the side of your shirt, and he pulled away panting to ask “can I? Please?” You nodded, grimacing as he almost tore your shirt right off. Ghostbur did nearly the same to your pants, his fingers shaky as he unzipped your pants and threw them off the couch onto the floor.

Ghostbur began to tease you through your underwear, “look at you...so beautiful...” he whispered to himself as he tore them off after just a few moments. He sunk a finger into you gently, watching you intently to make sure you were still okay with everything. “Let me know if I need to slow down, love,” he said softly, his finger pulling out before being pushed back in. You nodded, letting out a small moan. He kept at this for a moment before sticking a second one in, expertly thrusting them into you and hitting all the spots that made you whine.

I'm havin' sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a

Sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a ghoul

Ghostbur began thrusting them into you at a faster pace, desperate to see you cum. His own pants were tight as he watched you come apart on his fingers. They finally reached the spot that made you cry out, and his eyes lit up as he realized. He kept thrusting them there until you nearly sobbed out “Ghostbur, I’m gonna-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence before you came on his fingers, hiding your face in the couch. You panted out as he slowly removed his fingers, and looked up to find him licking at them with a face of pure lust and bliss. He removed his own pants and boxers at once, desperate to be inside you. You could see how desperate he was, watching his hard cock spring out. You reached out and stroked it slowly as he unbuttoned his white shirt, smiling as he let out the neediest whimper. He threw the last of his clothes onto the floor, moving your hand off of his cock gently. “Please, need to be inside you, I need you..” he whimpered out, positioning himself at your entrance. You moaned as he thrust against you a couple of times before his cock sunk into you. You gasped at the intrusion while he let out a whine, clutching at you desperately as he stilled, letting you get adjusted. Not even a minute later, you rolled your hips against him, “please, please move Ghostbur.”

The man pulled out of you before thrusting in again, whimpering out, “god, you’re so tight, love. I just- fuck you feel so good around me.” Ghostbur began to thrust into you harder, leaning down and biting at your neck. You moaned into his ear, not caring about the bruises you’d wear tomorrow. Why would you when he was fucking you so good? One hand gripped at your hip, pulling you into his thrusts while the other grasped at your hand. When you took his hand into yours, he let out a groan and his thrusts became erratic. Ghostbur eventually found that spot he knew made you cry for him, and he pounded into it without a care in the world.

He could feel himself get close, your whimpers and cries for him sending him spiraling down. But he was a gentlemen. He didn’t want to cum until you did. And he knew you were close from the moans you let out. So the hand that was gripping your hip moved down to circle your clit roughly. The pads of his fingers surprised you, and you came before you could warn him. You tightened around him, making the man cry out, “so good for me love, so good. That’s it, that’s it. Milk my cock love... oh fuck.” And with a few more sharp thrusts, he came inside you, moaning into your ear. He continued thrusting as he did, overstimulating the two of you. He nearly collapsed onto the couch, slowly pulling out of you before settling beside you. He stroked your hair, whispering how much he adored you, about how good you did. You fell asleep soon after with a smile.

Ghostbur watched you with interest as you slept. He continued to stroke your hair and whisper to you. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, after all.

You would never know how much the man truly adored you.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Kickstart My Heart Pt.II (Kang Yeosang) Rated

<<Previous // Next>>

Pairing: Racer! Kang Yeosang × Waitress!/Fuckgirl! Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Light Angst, Crack, 80s Au.

Summary: Getting the chance to spend time alone with Y/N, Yeosang jumps at the opportunity, getting a little more than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Dumb attempts at humor, second hand embarrassment, Lynn is still creepy, slight voyeurism/ exhibitionism, making out in car, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving).

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The two best friends giggled amongst themselves as they entered inside the establishment, hands full of bags that contained to go boxes with several assorted sandwiches, burgers and fries inside of them. Hearing the bell signal customers, the peppy blonde at the front counter looked up from the thick stack of papers in front of her, mouth automatically showcasing her perfect and commercial worthy smile she always used when greeting newcomers or even regulars.

"Good afternoon what can-" Her expression immediately soured, smile fading and in its place puckered lips took shape.

"Oh... it's just you two." She drawled out the last words, eyes rolling as she peered back at the papers she was busy with.

Looking over at each other, Lynn simply shrugged her shoulders as one of her eyebrows raised up in puzzlement. Meanwhile, Y/N couldn't contain the soft snort that passed through her tight sealed lips, the sound coming out more like a goofy raspberry that further irritated the girl at the counter.

"Hey Sora. How's your day going so far?" Y/N tried to make conversation, but it was obvious the girl wasn't having it, blatantly ignoring both of them as her hand scribbled even faster, pages being turnt at a fast speed. Shifting awkwardly in her stance, Y/N turned her head to look at her friend, who merely shook her head, face clearly indicating to her to not try to act nicer and to simply get to the point of why they had come all the way to the workshop.

"Are the boys still here?"

With a few muttered grumbles, Sora lifted her pen and pointed it behind her towards the door that led to the garage, silently answering where the mentioned individuals currently were.

"Thanks."

Sora let out a scoff as the two girls made their past the counter, annoyed ever so vastly by the fact she had no authority nor power to forbid them from going to the back. Being friends with Wooyoung and the rest of the gang, obviously they got special privileges that allowed them to come and go as they pleased not only in the shop but also down at the tracks. And frankly Sora hated it, hence why she didn't refrain from demonstrating her hostility towards Y/N and Lynn, but especially towards the latter for more personal and complicated reasons that everyone was aware of but Lynn herself.

"I don't know why you go out of your way to be friendly towards her. She's been needing to take a chill pill ever since high school." Lynn retorted. Putting down the bags she was carrying for a moment, she pulled the sides of her oversized denim jacket back over her shoulders, the top having slipped off rather uncomfortably on her torso.

"Honestly?...... merely to piss her off." Y/N snickered maliciously, her true intentions finally coming to light.

"Well I'd say you do a fantastic job then. She just takes one look at you and her blood is boiling." Lynn pointed out as she picked up the bags once more.

"Trust me Lynn, you anger her more than I do." Thay statement made the petite girl do a double take at the office behind them.

"Me? Whatever did I do to Barbie?" She questioned, never once recalling a moment where she even spoke two words to the preppy girl that wasn't a casual greeting or goodbye.

Y/N looked with a deadpanned expression to her friend.

"You seriously don't- you know what? Never mind."

Not wanting to waste time trying to explain to her frequently unobservant buddy why Sora had a price on her head, Y/N just quickly rushed over towards the group of men huddled around the red Ferrari F40, one of them hidden underneath it, no doubt in the process of checking or fixing minor issues. Seeing the girls approaching them, all of the boys quickly sprang to life, Wooyoung leading the entourage as they came up towards them.

"So our lovely diner girls actually decided to join us for a movie night. I knew you guys couldn't resist my deadly charm."

Not only were the girls unamused by his little joke, but even his friends behind him shook their heads, disapproving greatly of his overly confident and light narcissistic attitude that he exuded at times.

"I only came cause I am not going to spend a perfectly good Friday night cooped up in my house watching Dynasty." Y/N firmly stated, shutting down any further attempts of flirting directed towards her.

"I like to see people get stabbed or gutted to death."

Cringing at the macabre girl's overly calm response, Wooyoung tilted his head back and looked at the tallest member of the gang, nose crinkling significantly as he silently mouthed a few words over to him, deeply questioning his friend's taste. Said friend simply shrugged and stepped up closer towards the girls, not surprising anyone that he'd pick a stance that had him facing Lynn from the front as he always liked to do.

"Well I'm just really happy you guys decided to join us. I thought you would be happy at knowing it was a horror film."

Not too far behind him, San and Mingi were already giggling amongst themselves, sending each other signals and jokingly theorizing how the night was going to go like.

"I am exceedingly happy Yunho. My body is so filled with joy and immense contentment that I can hardly keep myself from grinning." Despite the jubilant sentence, Lynn's face displayed absolutely no emotion and her raspy and low toned voice was still as monotone and lifeless as it tended to be. Yunho's bright smile nearly faltered, feet rocking back and forth awkwardly as he did not know how to proceed after such a statement. Luckily Mingi stepped in and changed the topic.

"Please tell me there's food in those bags and that we can have some." He pointed to one of the many bags that the girls were carrying.

Lifting one hand up then the other, Y/N shook the contents lightly.

"Your favorites." She chuckled when San came up and tightly squeezed her body into a hug.

"This is why I love you both." Y/N did not mind the slightest bit when he suddenly pulled her face towards his, mouth pressing hard and intense pecks on her cheek repeatedly as a show of gratitude. She was so used to his affectionate nature.

Turning around, Wooyoung cupped his hands over his mouth so that his voice could resonate loudly.

"Yeosang quit tinkering with it already! You're going to get dirty and we have a movie to catch." He shouted at whom the girls presumed was under the race car.

"You literally have speakers built into your vocal chords, there was no need for that makeshift megaphone." Lynn grumbled at him, causing the male next to her to burst out in a fit of giggles.

"Speakers built in hie vocal chords. Good one." Lifting his hand up, Yunho held it up towards Lynn, expecting her to high five him back but was instead met with her cold, squinting eyes that inspected his palm.

"Your aura is overly forced....and you have leftover grease on your hand." She looked away after finishing that sentence. Hearing her say that made Yunho instantly check his hand, immediately wiping it off on his jeans as he mentally slapped himself for looking like an idiot in front of the girl he fancied.

Not paying mind to whatever was happening around her, Y/N's eyes were glued on the figure that emerged from under the car. She couldn't help but admire the strong and buff biceps that were peeking out of the plain white tshirt the man was wearing, sleeves slightly rolled up above his shoulders. The angelic face belonging to him looked even more dazzling due to the light sheen of sweat around his temples, no doubt caused by the work he was doing. Even as he reached for one of the cleaning towels so he could wipe the grime and oil off his hands, Y/N continued to gaze at Yeosang, mind already conjuring up many ideas and fantasies with him as the main protagonist.

"Oh sweetie, you're not making this any easier." She mused inwardly, one of her fingers twirling a strand of her hair.

Discarding the rag on one of the toolboxes nearby, Yeosang carefully approached the group of friends, still awkward in interacting with all of them, trait that only helped in making him stand out like a sore thumb, more than he already did. Clamping a hand over his new buddy's shoulder, Wooyoung brought a hand up and patted one of his squishy cheeks.

"Now that you're finally here we can go." Looking around, Wooyoung gestured around.

"So who's riding with who?"

Immediately Yunho turned his face towards the girl next to him, about to voice out his want of having her in his car, but it seemed as if his plans would fall through as Mingi latched an arm around him.

"I'm going with Yunho." He seemed determined not to let go of him.

"Why? So you can cling to him during the scary parts?" A chorus of laughter poured out at San's amusing words.

"As if!" Mingi huffed, though it was more than obvious to everyone that it was precisely as San had predicted.

"Mingi... I was kinda hoping I could... you know?" Yunho tilted his head over to Lynn, making him get the picture of what he wanted.

"Whatever happened to bros before hoes?" Mingi sighed as he detached himself from Yunho.

"Ok then. Yunho you go with Mingi, San you can take the girls and I'll keep Sangie here company since he's still a little bit shy you know."

It seemed as if it was all decided about how their night was going to run, so Y/N knew she had to speak up and take the opportunity before it was all settled.

"Why don't I ride with Yeosang instead?"

Hearing her suggestion, the male in question widened his eyes in shock, not expecting her to voice that out loud. Even Wooyoung found it slightly odd and suspicious that she'd say that. But then he remembered the type of girl Y/N was and it started to set off alarm bells in his mind.

"Oh it's ok Y/N. You probably won't like to have him scream in your ear and cover his eyes like a baby at the jump scares." Not taking kindly to such blasphemous talk about him that painted an inaccurate picture.

But Y/N remained undeterred. She would stand her ground no matter what.

"Oh please, I insist. I'd love to take care of him..." She did not hide the sultry way she said that last part, eyes locked on Yeosang's, the boy swallowing hard and pressing himself further into Wooyoung's side. Wanting to bargain even further, Y/N took hold of her friend.

"How about this? Lynn goes with Yunho and Mingi, you ride with San and I get Yeosang?"

San cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle the laugh he wanted so desperately to release.

"I don't think it's just him she wants to get." He chuckled to himself.

"You're seriously leaving me alone with these 2 giants?" Lynn pointed to the two men at her right, one of which obviously was more than willing to welcome the arrangement.

"I promise Mingi won't disturb you too much with his crying." Yunho swore to her, hand coming up to clasp around Mingi's mouth when he attempted to protest that decision.

Wooyoung looked over to Yeosang, leaning in and dropping his voice so that only he could hear.

"If you don't want to, just say the word and I'll get her off your case." He offered. Although they had only met just a couple days ago, Wooyoung felt compelled and obligated to look out for the new boy, even if it meant protecting him from his other friends.

Knowing that he probably shouldn't and that it was a bad idea, Yeosang glanced over at Y/N. Meeting her eager eyes and cunning smile, any resolve to stay close to Wooyoung was immediately dispelled from his mind. He might never get another opportunity such as was presented to him and he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was rather curious to find out more about the young vixen that he had heard so much about since he moved into town. With an assured smile that slightly worried Wooyoung, Yeosang stepped forward and held out his hand towards Y/N.

"Shall we get going then?"

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Unable to focus his attention towards the gigantic screen right in front of him, Yeosang slumped down further in his seat, fingers tugging his red sweater over his body. Every few seconds or so, he'd turn his head to peer at the girl on the passenger seat, looking exceedingly calm and collected unlike him. He was overly anxious to the point his food was still untouched, sitting in the backseat, long forgotten. Y/N, although collected, was bored out of her mind, elbow rested on the window, head being supported on her palm as her eyes never lingered away from the gore filled scenes being displayed across from them. There was a deafening silence inside the black Iroc Camaro, the tension between both individuals becoming increasingly thick.

Becoming desperate after 40 minutes of not getting him to make a move or even attempt to break the ice, she decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. Unzipping her green varsity jacket, Y/N began to slide it off her shoulders, revealing the low cut crop tank that she was hiding thus far.

"It's so hot today, don't you think?" She asked him as she tossed the clothing item behind her before settling back into her seat, fighting hard to keep her signature smirk off her face.

If he wasn't feeling hot before, Yeosang certainly started to feel heated after she had taken off her jacket. His hand reached out to grab the cup of soda in the cup holder, gulping most of the contents and ice down to help cool him down. He made an effort not to glance back at his companion anymore, knowing if he did he would have been unable to keep his eyes off her chest. Although it was dark and he turned away almost immediately, he had not missed the fact that she had chosen not to wear a bra, her nipples slightly poking out through the thin and flimsy shirt that even slowed one to make out the outline of her areolas. It was definitely a weakness of his, and Y/N was quick to find that out. Thumb coming up to her mouth, she began biting down on the nail to keep from giggling at Yeosang's reaction. He was devastatingly adorable with his wide eyes and stiffened posture, knee restlessly bouncing up in an agitated fashion. Looking in between his legs, she felt disappointed that she hadn't caused enough damage to earn a tent forming in his pants. He obviously knew how to calm himself in time. That wasn't enough to make her give up. On the contrary, it only hardened her resolve to get him to break.

Letting out an overly dramatic sigh, she reached her hands inside of her tank top. Cupping her breasts in her palms, she started off with slow movements, massaging them gently. Her eyelids started to flutter, closing only briefly as very faint and soft sighs were being exhaled through her nose. Although it was mostly done to tease the boy next to her, she got carried away and started to become more and more turned on with what she was doing. Each time she'd purposefully pinch and pull at her hardening peaks, a muffled whine would be heard coming from her throat, legs starting to spread inch by inch as her planters started to stick against her core.

Opening her eyes and tilting her head, she witnessed Yeosang's astounded expression that also held some lust in it. He was no longer sipping from his drink, but rather his teeth and tongue were merely toying around with the blue plastic straw as the grip on the base of the cup was lightly crushing it. The movie ultimately failed its purpose of keeping him distracted as his attention had fully diverted over to the sexy girl next to him, watching intently as she pleasured herself, wishing that it were his hands instead that were ministering such devotion to her breasts.

"Wanna be a doll and help me out here?" It seemed as if she had read his mind.

Without even a second of hesitation, Yeosang reached down and adjusted his seat back as far as it could go. Jumping at the invitation, Y/N climbed on top of him until she was straddling his lap. Yeosang's hands eagerly clasped around her waist, thumbs circling on the skin of her exposed abdomen. Cupping his cheeks, Y/N leaned her face down and harshly entangled her lips over his own. Yeosang hummed softly as he tasted the remnants of her cherry flavored chapstick, head tilting back when one of her hands tugged at his hair. His hands didn't hesitate to trail up and cup her mounds through her shirt, taking over the job that was previously being done by the owner's hands. Her insistent mouth parted his trembling lips, tongue poking out ever so slowly until it began divulging in the sweet taste of his wet cavern. Although he was no stranger to French kissing, Yeosang had never experienced a makeout session as intense as the one Y/N offered. She was very skilled and experienced, as proven by the swirl and swivel of her tongue against his own. He couldn't stop the moans pouring out from inside him, his hips bucking up into hers as if on instinct while his hands became more harsh and aggressive as they grasped at her breasts with near ferocity. Y/N would only pull away from their kiss for a few seconds to allow him to catch his breath before her lips lured him back into her. It was finally dawning on Yeosang's mind why so many men became captivated by her charms, even when knowing what the outcome would be. Here he was, the most lovely and hottest girl he'd ever met in his life, on his lap, making out with her while simultaneously getting to second base. He felt so damn lucky. But Y/N wanted to take it up a notch, not satisfied with ending the night with just heavy petting.

Sliding off his lap, she suprised him when she took hold of his belt and began to take it off him. Getting an inkling as to what she might have had in mind, Yeosang took hold of her wrist, making her head shot up at him.

"Is something wrong?" She began to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had she really fucked things up already.

Yeosang turned beet red as he swallowed harshly, trying hard to form the words his head was attempting to sought.

"Are you.... are you a virgin?" She felt like she would have died if the answer was yes.

Seeing her worried face, Yeosang quickly shook his head.

"No! I'm most certainly not a virgin." He sounded almost offended at the insinuation, but it helped calm Y/N down, releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"I just...I've never tried...that before."

His confession just made him cuter in her eyes, previous desire to corrupt and play with him only heightening to new levels after that revelation. Wanting to entice him, she moved her hand to cup at his bulge, loving the way he immediately gasped when she started palming him through his jeans. He bit down at his lip so harshly he believed it would draw blood. He wouldn't contain himself as he bucked his hips up into her palm, desperately wanting her to help him out with his problem. When her fingers reached for his zipper again, he didn't stop her, he merely lifted his hips up to help her as she pulled his pants down by the belt loops, his hardened cock popping out to greet her, surprising her when she noticed how large and thick it was, the head leaking with precum which she used to her advantage and began spreading it down his shaft. The contact of her hand gripping him had Yeosang shuddering, low groaning spilling out his lips. Looking up at him with a devilish grin, Y/N began lowering her head until her lips brushed against his tip.

"Just sit back and relax pretty boy."

A raspy wheeze was caught in Yeosang's throat as soon as he felt her warm mouth on his length, hands flying behind him to clutch at the leather seat of the car. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It felt so dirty, so wrong and yet he wanted it. He wanted her........

He didn't care if he was playing with fire and he'd get burned by the end of it.

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Taglist: @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @yunhofingers @deja-vux @hanatiny @brie02 @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @mingismoon @ateezbabysitters @minhyukmyluv @rainteez02 @nanamarkie @serialee

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

“Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can’t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

[theoswriting]

lavender, honey and coconut (e.p. x fem!r)

summary:  Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs. y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning. That had been her first mistake.

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

word count: 4k

a/n: okay, this is my first time writing for cm and emily prentiss, so I hope it isn’t too ooc! this is definitely a different vibe to the show lmao, i mostly wrote this to amuse myself, and then decided it might be worth sharing. I hope you’lll enjoy it xo (tell me if u do, i’m nervous)

warnings: some alcohol is consumed, light swearing

ao3

Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs.

It's a well-known fact that if you want to keep something hidden, one, you don't tell Garcia because she's incapable of keeping anything secret and two, don't breathe near her because she will be able to figure out that you're hiding something, and she will know which buttons to push to get you to spill everything.

Penelope likes to think that in another life, she would've made a great interrogator. In this life though, she uses her powers to get what she wants out of her friends.

This was one of the first things y/n found out when she joined the BAU. Derek spoke about the tech goddess' powers with reverence while the rest of them spoke of it with fear. Even Hotch seemed a little disconcerted by the whole thing.

y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning.

That had been her first mistake.

***

Paperwork days were the worst.

y/n should probably love them more because if she's stuck behind her desk, it means that no one is out there getting brutally murdered. Still, it's a lot less exciting. It doesn't help that the bullpen is oddly quiet, everyone focused on their files. Spencer is going through his about a mile a minute, stopping from time to time to rewrite something or to look up some kind of information. Derek is slower and y/n can almost see the boredom oozing out of him. Yet, he doesn't look up when she looks over at him and keeps diligently going through his notes.

Finally, her eyes land on Emily. Her head is propped up on her left hand as she writes with the right. Occasionally, she will bite her nails as she focuses hard on part of her notes. y/n thinks she looks extra cute when she frowns, trying to understand her own writing. It makes y/n smile before refocusing on her own work.

y/n is almost done with one of her reports when she notices some missing information. She could easily look it up herself, but she's bored and this is the perfect excuse to get away from her desk for a bit. So she stands up, gathers her papers and walks to her favourite tech genius' lair.

y/n opens the door and sees Penelope's back turned to her. Before she can say anything, Garcia's voice rings out.

"Well if it isn't my favourite ray of sunshine, what can I do for you, y/n?"

y/n smiles at the blonde's greeting, as she sits down next to her, "Are you busy?"

"Not at all!"

"Great, I'm missing some information on this file, but most importantly, I'm in dire need of entertainment."

Garcia happily grabs the file from y/n and starts tapping away at her computer, putting up the information she needs on her screen in no time. She prints it all out and hands it to y/n with a flourish.

"Here's the info you need," She starts, but her eyes quickly turn regretful, "Sadly, I have no recent office gossip to entertain you with."

y/n pouts at that, "Damn, not even from Slutty David?"

Penelope shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak when she suddenly frowns at y/n. She pulls back slightly and y/n wonders if she'd forgotten to put on deodorant that morning. Penelope says nothing, just watches her.

"What?" y/n finally asks, unnerved by the staring.

"What are you not telling me?" Garcia asks simply and it's y/n's turn to frown. She can't think of anything that she might be hiding from her friend.

"Nothing?"

y/n is pretty sure that's the wrong answer and that Penelope is going to keep asking her questions until she confesses to something she didn't even know she was hiding. To her surprise though, Garcia only stares at her for a few more seconds before dropping it. As quick as it disappeared, her bright smile is back on her face and she goes back to telling a story.

It turns out that yes, she did have something to tell y/n about Slutty David.

y/n leaves Penelope about twenty minutes later with a refreshed brain, ready to get back to work. When she gets back to her desk, Emily looks up to give her a smile. y/n smiles back and winks at her as she sits down. Emily's smile broadens before she turns her focus back to the file in front of her.

y/n does the same, her smile staying even while going through an autopsy report. It's only hours later when y/n is almost done with paperwork that she freezes. She looks up at Emily and realizes.

That's what she's been hiding.

She frowns. There's no way Garcia knows that though, she and Emily have made sure, they've been careful.

Yeah, it was probably a fluke.

***

Mornings where she gets to wake up next to Emily are y/n's favourites. Even the early ones, when they get called in for a case, having Emily next to her makes it all easier.

That's what happens that morning, both of their phones going off at 5:45 am. Emily is the one to reach for her phone while y/n latches onto her and drops a kiss on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"It's JJ. We have to go in."

y/n nods and painstakingly opens her eyes. She drops another kiss on Emily's shoulder and turns away from her to get up, but before she can go too far, Emily reaches for her and kisses her. y/n scrunches up her nose even though she's smiling into the kiss.

"Morning breath. Gross," She manages to mutter against Emily's lips.

"Don't care."

y/n had wondered when they started dating if it would get to a point where it'd be too much to be together and then work together as well. Now, six months into their relationship, y/n knows she had worried over nothing. They have a system and boundaries. They keep the PDA to a minimum at work, which isn't a problem considering they had decided to keep their relationship a secret from the team. It's not that Prentiss and y/l/n don't trust their coworkers, it's more than they don't want to screw up the group's dynamics.

And it's also ridiculously funny to see how long it's taking a whole group of profilers to figure out that two members of their team are dating.

After getting dressed, y/n starts packing a new bag, taking clothes from the one drawer Emily had emptied out and gifted to her on their 2 months anniversary. Emily had a similar one at y/n's place. Considering their jobs and the amount of time they spent at each other's place, they figured it was smart to always have enough clothes at each other's place for instances like these.

Not even 10 minutes later, they're out of the door. They kiss one last time before Emily gets into her car and y/n gets into hers. As usual, y/n takes the long way to work, her place being famously further away than Emily's. So when she finally gets to the conference room, everyone is already there and waiting for Hotch.

y/n sits in between Derek and Spencer, "Good morning, my people!"

"It certainly is not," Hotch deadpans as he enters the room. y/n closes her mouth and nods to herself. She should've seen that one coming.

The others chuckle quietly, but the laughter quickly dies. Hotch was right. This is far from a good morning.

The murders are gruesome, the victims are all women which bear a striking resemblance to Emily. y/n doesn't bring attention to it, it wouldn't bring anything to the case except worry over a detail that isn't of much importance, at least not right now. Instead, she watches her girlfriend look at the pictures, and by the way her jaw clenches and unclenches repeatedly, she's come to the same realization.

"Alright everyone, wheels up in 20." Hotch dismisses them, and almost everyone rushes out of the room to get their bags. Garcia stays behind though, and so does Emily. y/n gathers her stuff slowly then, waiting for Garcia to leave the room so she can have a moment alone with her girlfriend.

Garcia doesn't leave, though.

She's staring at y/n ominously. She's missing a furry cat to be petting and she'd look like a supervillain from a cheesy action movie. y/n tries smiling at her, but the blonde doesn't respond in the slightest.

y/n leaves the room. She'll check up on Emily before take-off. She is big enough to admit that she was a little freaked out by Garcia.

She thinks nothing of it until hours later, when she's setting up their evidence board in a small town in buttfuck, Texas. JJ is standing next to her, writing the name of the second victim.

"Garcia has been asking about you."

It's such a weird thing to say that y/n is a bit taken aback. She pauses and slowly turns to look at JJ, "Uhm… Okay?"

JJ puts the cap on the pen and turns to y/n, her face probably too serious for whatever this is about.

"Remember when we told you about Garcia's weird ability to tell when someone is hiding something juicy?" y/n nods, still confused as to where this is going, "Well, she's smelt whatever it is that you're hiding."

y/n briefly wonders if no one is bothered by the constant comparison of Garcia to a literal hound dog, but apparently not. She lets out a small chuckle and nods at JJ, clearly not believing the warning tone the blonde had used, "Yeah, okay, I'll sleep with one eye open."

"y/n, I'm serious," JJ lowers her voice and looks around before confiding, "Penelope is the reason the whole team knows I had a one night stand with Slutty David."

"You had sex with Slutty David?"

JJ shudders, "Everybody makes mistakes."

***

y/n tells Emily about JJ's warning as they cuddle into bed that same night, exhausted from a day of leads getting them nowhere. To her surprise, Emily agrees with JJ.

"Garcia has a way of getting you to admit to things you thought you'd never say out loud."

The way she talks about it has y/n looking up from her very comfortable spot on Emily's shoulder to her girlfriend's face. She's staring off in the distance as if haunted by whatever it is that Garcia had dug up on her.

"What the hell did she find out about you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

***

"So, are you seeing anyone?"

It's Saturday night and they're out at a club for a Girl's night. After the case they'd had, they deserved a night to unwind. They've chosen a bar where the music is loud, but not loud enough to drown out Penelope's question. JJ and Emily are gone, lost somewhere in the crowd fighting for the bartender's attention, in search of more drinks. As y/n's brain finally processes what Garcia has just asked, she fights the urge to smile and look for Emily.

y/n has drunk enough to be on the dumb side of gay.

"Why do you ask?"

"Answering a question with another question, very telling," Garcia smirks.

Penelope seems oddly composed for someone who is two cocktails and three shots deep into the party. Usually, a drunk Garcia means sloppy kisses on the cheek and getting her away from attractive strangers before she can say anything overtly sexual or inappropriate. So something doesn't add up. y/n squints her eyes at the blonde in front of her, like that will somehow help her see things clearer.

It doesn't. Everything looks fuzzy and she probably should stop drinking.

"I'm not."

The lie tastes gross in y/n's mouth and if there's one thing that could make her feel better, it would be kissing Emily. Before she can stop it, a smitten smile makes its way onto her face. Garcia slams a hand on the table, making y/n jump. She focuses her eyes on Penelope who's pointing an accusing finger at her.

"There! Who did you just think about?"

y/n sputters, racking her brain for a more convincing lie but she can't stop smiling so she gives in. Damn her inability to lie when she's drunk.

"Okay, fine" y/n amends, "I am seeing someone, but please keep it quiet."

Penelope obviously does not keep quiet. Instead, she squeals loud enough that she startles a few people passing by their table. Of course, that's also the moment JJ and Emily pick to come back.

So when Garcia basically yells, "I knew it!" for the whole bar to hear, there's no way y/n is getting out of this one.

"Knew what?" Emily asks with a smile as she puts down a drink in front of y/n. She immediately grabs it, thinking that maybe if she blacks out, this conversation will also be erased from the history of the universe.

"y/n is seeing someone!" Penelope happily informs the two recently arrived. JJ whips her head, excitement filling her eyes, about a million questions fighting to be asked first. Emily, for her part, chokes on her drink.

"Why haven't you told us anything?" JJ says, her blue eyes even more glassy than usual, "Who is it?"

y/n shrugs, going for a nonchalant vibe. She goes with something vague.

"You don't know her."

Penelope's smile widens, "Oh, so it's a her."

Shit. Not vague enough.

What follows are a series of questions that y/n refuses to answer and thankfully, with Emily there to mediate, they manage to change the subject. Seriously, y/n could kiss her right then and there. Instead, she takes a sip of her drink and glances towards Emily. They decide to leave less than an hour later. JJ is about one sip away from taking her top off while y/n is just about ready to throw caution to the wind and start making out with Emily. To hell with consequences.

Penelope is still suspiciously acting sane.

"Oh, Pen, be careful, someone dropped their drinks right behind your chair."

JJ's heads up makes y/n glare at Garcia who looks a little too guilty.

***

When they get back to Emily's place, y/n barely waits until the front door is closed before kissing Emily. Emily welcomes it, blindly throwing away the keys to wrap both hands around her girlfriend's neck. The kissing is sweet, the taste of their last drinks still sticking to their mouths. It's a little messy due to the fact they're both smiling like two goddamn idiots in love. When they stop, Emily grabs y/n by the hand and drags her to the kitchen so they can both drink water to make their hangovers hopefully less painful in the morning.

They're almost done when Emily speaks.

"We have a problem."

y/n stops moving. She should've known this moment would come.

"Listen, if this is about the burnt toaster, I've already ordered a new one."

"Garcia- What?" Emily turns around to look at the spot where her toaster usually rests, "What happened?"

Realizing her mistake, y/n puts her empty glass of water down and wraps her arms around Emily's waist, "Nothing you need to worry about," Emily looks back at her girlfriend who looks too innocent, "What were you going to say?"

"Garcia knows you're with someone."

y/n nods slowly, wondering where Emily is going with this. She doesn't see any problems. Sure, Penelope knows that she might be sort of taken by a woman, but that's it. Even in her drunken state, she'd managed to keep any other incriminating details to herself.

"Garcia has a way of finding things out, it's only a matter of time until she puts two and two together."

Emily looks genuinely fearful and y/n wonders again, what kind of dirt Penelope had gotten Emily to disclose. She thinks back to JJ's warning as well. y/n turns it over in her head, but in the end, she scoffs and leans up to kiss Emily.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll make up a fake break up or something and we'll be fine."

Thinking she could fool Penelope Garcia so easily was y/n's second mistake.

***

Derek is getting himself coffee when y/n swiftly approaches him from the side.

"What secret did Garcia get out of Emily?"

"Which time?"

"There's more than one?"

"Oh yeah."

***

The whole thing with Garcia does make y/n and Emily reconsider telling the team, or at the very least, Hotch and HR.

They hadn't at first because of team dynamics, but mostly because they themselves were figuring out how they worked as a couple. It turns out they worked great, and hiding each other from their coworkers and best friends was getting a bit much for the both of them.

They wanted to show up at Rossi's dinner parties together without worrying about what their friends would think. y/n wanted to hold Emily's hand after a rough case on the jet without it being questioned, just as much as Emily wanted to drive with y/n to work every morning and walk into the building together.

So the next morning, Emily and y/n get to work before anyone else and walk into Hotch's office.

He doesn't have much of a reaction, not that they were expecting anything more.

What does surprise them is that, after giving them the whole speech about professionalism and whatnot, he smiles at them and says, "I'm happy for you both."

Aaron Hotchner smiles at them and y/n feels like her relationship has just been blessed by the angels from above.

***

"Hey, Spence? Do you know what Garcia dug up on Emily?"

"Emily sprained her wrist a few years back and told us that it had happened at the range. It turns out that she'd sprained it falling from her skateboard."

"Her skate- What?"

***

When y/n had told Emily they'd be fine, she wasn't being cocky, but she just knew that there was no way Garcia would suspect something with how careful they had been.

They never showed up together at work. At first, they always timed their arrivals carefully, until it became second nature. They were never overly affectionate with each other. If they needed to be comforted during a particularly hard case, they'd wait to be behind the closed doors of the hotel room they shared on most trips. As much as y/n wanted to, she never showed up to work wearing one of her girlfriend's sweaters, no matter how warm and comfortable they were.

Bottom line was, there was no reason for Garcia to suspect anything when their teammates who were literal profilers hadn't caught onto anything.

No one except Hotch knew. And only because they'd told him, so.

y/n should've known though, from being a profiler herself, that being too confident meant she was bound to slip up and make a mistake sooner rather than later.

It all happens very quickly.

JJ asks y/n if she can grab a couple of files she had left with Garcia and bring them back to her because she was waiting for someone to call and she couldn't go too far. y/n, of course, accepts, always happy to get away from her desk and the paperwork begging for her attention. She quickly knocks on Garcia's door before entering and the tech doesn't turn around as she greets her.

"Bonjour, Emily, what brings you to Casa Garcia today?"

y/n chuckles at the blonde's eccentricities, "Sorry, but you got it wrong, it's me."

Penelope rolls her chair around to face her and she looks truly distraught to have gotten it wrong, "But I always get it right. I'm the all-knowing Penelope Garcia."

y/n gently pats her shoulder as she reaches past her to some files she sees on the desk, "Are these JJ's? She asked me to get them for her."

Garcia nods, but she still looks defeated at having failed to guess her visitor's identity, so y/n tells her she'll come by later with some coffee for a chat. Penelope nods and turns her attention back to her computer and so she leaves.

It's funny, y/n thinks, that of all the people Penelope could have confused her with, it was Emily. Maybe some of Emily's fears had planted themselves into her brain unbeknownst to her because y/n suddenly feels very uneasy. Why did Pen think it was Emily walking in? Had she unconsciously started walking like her girlfriend? No, no, that was ridiculous. Emily had a very distinctive gate that was very different from y/n's.

Still, something is off. y/n trusts her gut, it has never failed her, and her gut is telling her something is off.

She doesn't know what though. She had woken up with Emily that morning and they'd actually had time to enjoy a nice breakfast together and had plenty of time to get ready together. In fact, they had even gotten to enjoy a very pleasant shower together. y/n smiles at that particularly good memory until she realizes.

"Shit," she mutters, but not quietly enough. She's standing in the middle of the bullpen, her coworkers' eyes on her. Before she can tell herself that it's fine, that she was just paranoid and that there was no way Penelope had noticed, she hears a familiar but hurried clicking of heels approach the bullpen. y/n turns around to see Penelope standing on the other side of the glass window and one look at her is all y/n needs.

She knows.

Before Garcia can make her way inside the bullpen and bring mayhem with her, y/n hastily makes her way to her. She drops JJ's files on her desk haphazardly under Derek, Emily and Spencer's bewildered eyes. When she gets to Penelope, she gently grabs her by the arm and urgently leads her away.

"You smell like lavender!" Penelope exclaims with no preamble, "You usually don't smell like lavender, you smell of honey and coconut, but never lavender and that's why I got confused!"

y/n confidently nods in greeting at an agent passing by Garcia's office as y/n shoves her inside. He looks unsettled but only smiles in return, preferring to ignore whatever is going on. Smart man.

"That's why I thought you were Emily! Because Emily is the one who smells of lavender!" Penelope is pacing while y/n stands with her back to the door.

"Okay, Pen, I need you to breathe," She says when the techie is still going on about lavender, honey and coconut.

"Breathe? How can I breathe when you and Emily are dating."

y/n thinks that's a bit dramatic, but Garcia has finally stopped pacing and talking. y/n slowly steps towards the blonde and puts both of her hands on her shoulders. She debates for a few seconds, wonders if she'd get away with a lie but at this point, y/n's pretty sure the cat is out of the bag.

"Yeah, Emily and I are together."

y/n should've been prepared for it, but when Garcia lets out a high pitched squeal, it still gets her by surprise. Her pained grimace is quickly chased away by laughter when Penelope hugs her with all the strength and excitement caffeine was providing her.

"This is so great, I'm so happy for you two!" She lets you go long enough to see the smile that's made its way onto her face. It's the same smitten smile she always gets whenever she thinks about Emily and Garcia honest to god pinches her cheeks, "Aww, look at that smile!"

y/n laughs and tries to get her cheeks away from anymore pinching. That's when the door opens enough for Emily to sneak her head in, "Hey you two, is everything okay?"

She looks at Penelope first, but her eyes end on y/n. Before she can say anything though, Penelope smirks, "Why yes, lover, everything is just fine."

At that, Emily gets in and closes the door behind her. She looks at y/n for confirmation.

y/n just nods, "Yeah, she knows."

"You bet your sweet ass I know!"

And with no further warning, Penelope tackles Emily in a hug much as she'd done with y/n minutes prior. When she lets her go, Emily steps closer to y/n, and with a hand on her lower back, she says, "I told you she'd find out."

y/n ignores the I told you so her girlfriend apparently couldn't wait to give her, but yeah, she's not wrong.

It'll teach her to ever doubt the abilities of the all-knowing Penelope Garcia.

***

Months and months later, y/n meets up with Penelope for brunch on a Sunday morning. Before she can even greet her, the blonde fixes her with a stare that is both strange but oh so very familiar.

"What are you planning?"

This time, y/n grins and tells Garcia not to worry, that she'll know in due time. After all, she can only hide the little velvet box in her coat pocket and its content for so long.

***

[flamencodiva]

Bottom of the Bottle 2 - Sneaking Back on Stage

Description: Dean was at the peak of stardom until his world came crashing down. Can he find his way back to the top?

Word Count: 5340

Warnings for entire series: Smut (oral female and male receiving, P in V, Threesomes, Fingering, Orgies) Fluff, Angst, Violence, Language, Mentions of Drug use, Drinking, Mentions of Death.

Songs in this chapter: Partial Lyrics of Brother's Osbourn Ain't My Fault and Full lyrics of Down don't Bother Me by The Derek Truck Band

Beta'd by: @wonder-cole

Aesthetic by: @firefly-graphics

Dividers by: @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

<< Chapter 1

Dean pulled the bike up on the driveway and parked her next to his father’s truck. Then, killing the engine, he hopped off with a smile. Finally, Dean found a place where he could start over, a place he could play and live again. He found a small spring in his step and ran his fingers through his short hair. He was glad it was quick. His years with Purgatory had the band growing out his hair long. He hated it, but it was for the image. At the time, he would do anything just to be able to be involved in music and if growing his hair long was the worst of it, it was worth it to him.

But the minute that he was put in jail and kicked out of the band for something he didn’t do, he was glad to be rid of it. He was happy to cut off the long hair and return to his short locks. Turning the key to unlock the door, he let himself in to find his father sitting at the dining room table, hands folded on top of it.

“You could have gone to bed, you know,” Dean muttered as he placed the helmet on the table in the foyer and shrugged off his jacket to put it on the hook, “I told you I was going to be back.”

“Where did you go?” John asked as he looked up at Dean.

“Out,” Dean huffed, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. So I went out, the bike had a wire come loose, I was close to a place, got help, came back.”

“You can’t do that again, Dean,” John said as he got up from the table.

“Do what? Go out and have fun? Go out and try to find some friends?” Dean asked, “I’m confused as to what you want from me here. I’m already working at the garage. I’m living under your thumb. I have a damn motorcycle instead of Baby.”

“I just wanted you to think before you went out,” John said as he walked to Dean, “I know you love to sing, and you love music, but it isn’t everything.”

“It’s all I have!” Dean practically yelled. “You know you started spewing all this bullshit about how I abandoned this family and ran away and couldn’t wait to leave,” Dean ran a hand across his face. “I wanted to go out and explore and find myself. You want to know the fucked up thing?” he walked up to his father, “I came back when Sam called me about mom. Not you,” he poked at John’s chest, “Sam, he called me to tell me mom was sick. You were the coward who couldn’t even face me to tell me my mother was dying!”

“Would you have answered the phone if it was me?” John muttered. “You have to admit, the minute you signed that contract, you wanted to high tail it out of here faster than a damn wolf chasing its prey.”

Dean looked down at the floor and licked his lips, “I wanted to get away from you. Not mom, not Sam, you. Because I was so mad and disappointed that my own father didn’t want me to follow something I was good at, something that gave me life.” Dean walked over to a picture of his mother and let his fingers graze over it, “I came every chance I could. I was in that hospital by her side when you didn't know it. I always waited for you and Sam to leave because I didn’t want to fight you while she was fighting Cancer.”

Dean wiped the stray tear that was falling down his cheek and shook his head.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not that money I gave for the treatments or the fact that I tried to get Mom one of the best specialists I could find.” he turned to face his dad. “Music is in me, and I can feel it. What hurt me wasn’t mom dying. It was the fact that my own father thought of me as a disappointment when I made it big.”

John let his son’s words sink in before heading to the stairs, “A lot of good that fame and fortune did. You became part of a group that, in the end, it brought you back down to zero.” John was halfway up the stairs before he stopped, “you called me a coward for not calling you, but you’re a coward for not manning up to face me at that hospital.”

John’s footsteps began to fade as he ascended the staircase and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Dean to stew in his anger. Dean let out a frustrated growl with his jaw clenched and stomped up the stairs towards his old room. Why was his dad so adamant about keeping him locked up in a cage? He was already in a cell for six months, and he hated every minute of it. Apart from the fact that he could write a few lyrics, he hated being in that damn jail. He didn’t do anything wrong, and everyone tried to fight him for being a damn rock star.

Entering his room, he could see the boxes from his old home scattered around. Some boxes labeled clothing, some marked notebooks, and a few just miscellaneous. Walking to the box labeled notebooks, Dean tore the tape out and pulled out one of his more recently used ones. His fingers grazed over the pages before he turned to his bag full of his things from jail. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small booklet he had filled with some lyrics he had.

Dean didn’t go to bed right away that night. Instead, he took that time to filter through the small notebook and transferred his lyrics to his larger notebook. The memory of Y/N on stage seemed to haunt him. She looked at peace being up on that stage, almost ethereal, an angel ready to spread her wings and fly. Putting down his pen, his eyes roamed his room before settling on the silhouette of his guitar case. Sure, Dean had plenty of guitars, but this one, this one was special, and he was surprised to see it propped up in the familiar corner of his room.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over towards it, pulled the hard case out, and placed it on his bed. Opening up the latches, he lifted the lid and smiled. There nestled nice and snug was a Fender FA-100 Dreadnought Acoustic Guitar. He loved this guitar and hadn't been able to play it for years. He felt almost sad that he had it with him but could never really pull it out to play often. It was a birthday gift for his 17th birthday from his mother. Sure, she said it was from both her and his father, but Dean had a feeling it was more his mother than his old man.

Gently pulling it out of the case, Dean sat on his bed and placed the guitar on his right thigh, the fingers on his left hand holding down a chord on the fret before he strummed it. He winced at the awful sound that came out. It needed tuning. He looked around his room using the tiny light from his desk lamp and smiled when his eyes landed on the corkboard above his headboard. There, pinned to it, was his favorite pick. It was one of the few things his father did give him that he loved, a pick that he had seen in the music store that he had to have.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began to pluck at the strings and turn on the knobs to find the right notes. There was something about the way he felt holding his guitar that sent a shiver down his spine. Dean missed this feeling, and he kicked himself for letting the image geniuses at the label dictate that he should only be the voice of the band. Focusing on his tuning, he continued to play with the knobs until he was sure the guitar had the right notes to play.

With one last strum, he hummed in satisfaction at the sweet sound. He moved his fingers along the fret, strumming at the strings when a melody came to mind. He wasn't sure of the tempo, but he knew the notes he wanted to play. Adjusting himself and the guitar, he cleared his throat and let the music flow through him.

“Blame the whiskey on the beer, blame the beer on the whiskey,” he let out and smiled, “I like the sound of that,” he chuckled before grabbing his notebook and scribbling it down.

He continued to find the melody, and he figured a slow rhythm was a good fit for the song. At least that’s what he felt.

“Blame the bar for the band, blame the band for the--” he paused as he tried to find the right word, “song? Yeah, that works,” he wrote it down and shook his head gently.

His mind began to fill with doubt as he looked down at the lyrics. Was he really going to try to get back into music? Could he really deal with being a label stooge? He wanted to make music, sure, but it needed to be his music.

“You got this, Winchester,” he calmed himself, “You’ve been playing music for a long time. This is a good song.” he licked his lips and looked down at his fingers, “you had these lyrics in your head for a while, you just gotta get them out.

He continued to strum on his guitar and progressed as much as he could. He had gotten to the first round of the bridge before yawning. But, looking over at the clock, it was well past two in the morning, and he had to try to get as much sleep as he could.

The following day, Dean woke up to his father banging on his door.

“Wake up,” John called through the door, “I’m headed to the garage. You should head out soon. Coffee is already brewed.”

Dean let out a groan and ran a hand across his face to try and wake up fully. He stretched his body before forcing himself to get up. Dean looked at the open notebook on the floor and sighed. He had to finish the lyrics and try to memorize the song by tonight if he wanted to show Benny up. He didn’t like that Benny thought he would use Y/N for his own personal gain. That wasn’t in Dean’s nature at all. Besides, if the song was a hit, he could perform the other songs he had lying around, but he had to find a way to hide it from his dad.

Walking to his window, he looked outside and sighed. The sun was just rising, and he could hear the birds chirping on the nearby tree. Opening the window, he leaned on the windowsill when something caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly to see the trellis that ran up the side of the house by his window. Reaching over, he pulled on it and gave a pouted shrug.

“Still feels sturdy,” he muttered to himself before looking down and feeling his pulse race. “You can do this,” he said, looking at the height, “you did it back in high school to go sneak over to ‘easy’ Gracie's house.” he reminded himself. “That and all of Mullet’s parties to play a gig.”

With a nod, he began formulating his plan. He spared no time in grabbing his clothes and getting dressed. His notebook was tight under the crook of his arm as he made his way downstairs to grab a coffee. His father had already left, leaving him alone. With a coffee mug in his hand, he used his free hand to write out the rest of his lyrics before looking at the time and dashing towards the front door. He made sure he kept the notebook close to him as he got ready for his bike ride to the garage.

He kept to himself as he placed certain things in his locker before grabbing his coveralls and put them on over his clothes. Then, his notebook in hand, he walked over to the work orders board and picked a clipboard to work on for the day. In between changing the oil on a few cars, replacing brake pads, and rotating tires, Dean had finished writing and found himself memorizing the lyrics he wrote out.

“I got my hand’s up. I need an alibi,” Dean muttered, “find me a witness who can testify.”

The melody was slow and funeral-like, and for the most part, it worked. What mattered to him right now was memorizing the damn words so he could get them out. He was sure the melody would change later, as he kept bouncing from uptempo to slow funeral march. It was hard trying to find a good beat, but he wasn’t sure what direction he was going. Was he going to stick to the complex rock rhythm he got used to with purgatory? Or was he going to go to his country roots?

He didn’t notice his father looking at him closely, the sad look on John's face as he recognized that Dean was writing lyrics. The old man could always tell when Dean was working on a song. Dean could never sit still when he was inspired, and the fact that Dean kept tapping different rhythms during the day wasn’t helping him hide it. But John was out of ideas, and the last thing he needed was to find his son on the news where they were announcing his death. It was bad enough seeing his son being arrested on the news, but to have his death broadcasted would absolutely shatter him. John had tried so hard to shelter Dean from getting the performance bug, but it seemed like the tighter John held on, the more Dean slipped through his fingers.

The rest of the day, Dean had played with a few different melodies in his head, but nothing seemed to stick. By the time he had memorized the song, it was time to close the garage. Dean had put his coverall back in his locker and walked over to his bike.

“Dean?” John called.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, turning to face his father.

“What do you think about heading over to the diner we always used to go to for dinner?”

Dean looked at his watch and then back up to his Dad. He still had some time to head home and grab his guitar and sneak out, “yeah, sounds good. Need to have that famous burger of theirs. I missed it when I was up in KC,” Dean said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” John nodded his head as he let Dean go before him, “I gotta lock up, so you go ahead and see if they can get us in a booth.”

“Sure,” Dean called out before putting his helmet on and zipping up his jacket.

The ride to the dinner wasn’t too bad. It was short. To begin with and Dean made it with perfect time to grab the last available booth. Dean ordered a burger for himself along with a beer and a slice of pie for after. The waitress was about to leave when John appeared and slid in.

“I’ll have the meatloaf and a water, Jenny, thanks,” he said to the young waitress.

“You got it, John, coming right up,” she smiled at the elder Winchester before turning to Dean and winking, “I get off at 8.”

Dean offered her a smile before turning to his father, “you come here a lot then?”

“Haven’t really cooked since your mother died,” John muttered as he looked at Dean. “You did good work today,” he changed the subject, “I was thinking about showing you how to run the books and showing you all the accounts, you know, get you ready to take over.”

“Dad--” Dean sighed, “I love working at the garage, I do, but it won’t make me happy.”

“Because music makes you happy,” John scoffed, “look what music did to you!” he pointed out.

“You know as well as I do that it was the industry, not the music. Those are two different things!” Dean argued.

John shook his head before running a hand across his face, “look, you need a backup, and I need someone I can trust to take over.”

“You planning on retiring soon?” Dean let out as he leaned back in his seat.

“Maybe,” John sighed, “I can’t run the garage forever, and I don’t want to sell it.”

Dean looked at his father’s face and could see the hurt in his eyes, “you really love that garage.”

“It’s my second love to my family,” John said as he folded his hands together over the table. “Just think about it?”

“I guess I can do that,” Dean muttered as their waitress, Jenny, came by with their food.

“You know she’s single,” John commented as he grabbed his fork to dig into his meatloaf.

“I don’t need dating help,” Dean let out as he grabbed his burger in his hands, “besides, I’m not looking for attachments.”

“Sometimes they’re a good thing, though,” his father commented after swallowing his food.

Dean rolled his eyes, “after the fiasco with Lisa, no thanks.”

“You’ll find someone,” John chuckled, “I don’t think I ever met Lisa.”

“Thank your lucky stars for that,” Dean huffed. “All she cared about was the fame and notoriety. Then I caught her with some publicist screwing in my bed,” he shook his head, “then again, I was nailing two, maybe three girls at a time so… no skin off my back when I cut her loose.”

John stayed silent for a minute, digesting what his son was saying, “so you went for the sex god approach then.”

“Better than being the drug addict,” Dean shook his head and took a bite of one of his fries, “the alcohol helped to just dull the senses anyways. I was a pretty face and a voice for the band, that’s it.”

John could hear the unhappiness in his voice and see the pain radiating in his son’s eyes over not making the music he wanted. It hurt John for a bit, but it also had him thinking about how it might help keep Dean home and safe.

“The business can chew you up and spit you out pretty easily.”

Dean watched as his father continued to eat his meatloaf, letting the conversation die. Yet, he knew where it would lead if he kept the conversation going.

Finishing his meal, Dean cleaned up his face and reached for his wallet before John stopped him.

“I got this son, you go on home, or are you going back out for a ride?” John asked.

“I need to rest, so I’ll be up in my room,” Dean lied as he slid out of the booth. “So I’ll be in bed by the time you get home, maybe.”

“Okay, I’ll be up watching some tv, so I’ll try not to make too much noise,” John pulled out his wallet and a few bills to place on the table.

Dean walked out and towards his bike just as John got into his truck.

On the ride home, Dean was thinking of what his escape plan would be. He already knew he would climb down the trellis, but his guitar had to come with him. Reaching the house, both men stayed in silence as they went their separate ways. Dean closed his door and put the lock on for good measure. He felt like a teenager hiding from his parents, but he knew his father would never understand. And honestly, Dean really had no place to go, and if he had to keep his musical exploits a secret, then so be it. One could say he wanted to try to impress a particular bartender he met last night, also wondering if he would hear her sweet voice again. Grabbing his case, he looked around for something he could use to strap it to his back, finding a rope he could use on the fly.

Once he was sure that the case was secured to his back, Dean carefully climbed out of the window to sit on the windowsill. He moved as carefully as he could, making sure to avoid making too much noise with his guitar case and getting it out of the window. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he reached the trellis and slowly began to climb down.

“You got this, Dean,” he said to himself as he made sure to place his foot on the holes as he climbed down. “Just like that time you snuck out to head over to the bonfire,” he took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat, “granted you also missed a small hole and fell when you reached the last foot off the ground, but you did it.”

Finally reaching the bottom of the trellis, Dean gave a small jump and smiled in satisfaction. Heading to his bike and rolling it away from the house to not make any noise when he started the engine. Once he was a block away, at least, his night began. The ride to Rusty’s was smooth, and Dean could see it already start to fill with patrons. Parking his bike, he adjusted his guitar and made his way inside. His smile grew when he saw Y/N at the bar already taking orders.

“You know we really do have to stop meeting like this,” he called out with a smile when she turned to him.

“Does that line work? I mean, right now, it just seems like you’re trying too hard,” she let out as she walked over to him, “going to drink, perform, or both?”

“Both,” he answered, “know where I can find Jo?”

“She’s over by the stage taking names for tonight,” she pointed over to the blond who was talking to a few groups.

“Wait,” Dean squinted a bit, “That’s Jo Harvelle? I know Jo,” Dean smiled and turned to face Y/N, “Will you be performing tonight?”

“Nope,” she sighed, popping the ‘p.’ “Yesterday was a fluke. I was filling in for someone.”

“I’m going to go talk to Jo,” Dean said before leaning over and taking Y/N’s arm gently before she could leave. “Whoever told you that you weren’t amazing last night was lying to you, sweetheart.” He let her go before she could give him a counterargument and made his way to the stage with his guitar strapped to his back.

As he approached the stage, he could feel a hand pull him back, and a person walked past him.

“Hey,” he called out, “do you mind?”

“Why yez, ah do mind,” the familiar Cajun voice said, “didn’ tink youz goin’ tah show up.”

Dean gave Benny a cocky smile before huffing, “I did tell you I would see you. Let me guess you have a song to sing tonight too?”

“Betta’ than what chu have to play i’m zure,” Benny chuckled, “I didn’ tink dat dey let chu play an inztrumentz.”

“I was playing the guitar before I ever joined that group,” Dean said with a low growl, “how the hell did you recognize me anyway.”

“The long lockz don’ matta to me brotha,” Benny sighed, “but da eyez are da windows to da soul.”

“You and everyone else seem to recognize me,” Dean muttered, “well, you can go ahead and sing your song before me,” Dean offered him a sly smile, “I’m sure I can bring the house down.”

Benny let out a scoff before turning away to walk towards Jo, “good luck wit dat brotha.”

Dean watched as Benny talked to Jo, who gave him a quick nod while jotting down a note. Once she was done, the Cajun turned around and checked Dean on the shoulder.

“Good luck up, der,” he chuckled at Dean, “you lookz like you need it.”

Dean clenched his jaw as Benny walked away. The guy really didn’t like him. Dean didn’t do anything. Hell, most people’s assumptions of him now have to do with the damn drug charge. Shaking his head, he walked up to Jo and adjusted the guitar strapped to his back. As he walked up to the young blond, he couldn’t help but smile as a memory of a young girl in pigtails flashed before him.

“Never thought you’d grow out of the pigtail stage,” he said as he stood in front of her.

“Well, well, well,” she said, chuckling before pulling him into a tight hug, “never thought the infamous Dean Winchester would grace us with his presence. I thought this place would be too. country for you?”

“I want to sign up to perform,’ he let out with a deep breath.

“Fees $20 to perform,’ she sighed.

“Performance fee?” Dean scoffed, “Really, Jo? Who the hell came up with that?”

“Look,” Jo sighed, “The $20 goes for every and all performers. It’s a small fee for renting out the stage. Besides, you get more in tips if people really like you.”

Dean grumbled as he fished in his pockets for a twenty-dollar bill. He handed it to Jo and shook his head, “I’m only going to be singing the one song.”

“Okay,” Jo wrote down his name and smiled, “You can wait by the bar and order some food. I’ll have someone pull you to the back about three performers before you.” She reached over and pulled him into a hug, “Welcome home, Dean. I have a feeling this is going to be a fresh start for you. You never looked right with that band.”

Dean smiled as he hugged her back, “Thanks, Jo.”

With that, Jo pulled away to let him walk towards the bar with his guitar still on his back. Approaching the bar, Dean smiled, seeing Y/N smile as she served customers. Her laugh reached his ears, and it pulled at him. There was a sense of comfort he felt from listening to Y/N’s laugh. Her laugh was very familiar to him. Walking to the bar, he pulled up a stool and sat down to wait for his turn. He wanted to try out his new song, but he wasn’t sure about the tempo yet. He continued playing around with different beats, but all he could come up with was a depressing march, but it didn’t seem to fit the song at all. With a groan, Dean decided to get something in his stomach while he waited.

“You look like you got something bothering you, Gringo.”

Dean snapped his head up from the menu to see Y/N leaning over the bar top towards him.

“Just trying to figure out what to eat before I have to head up on stage,” He chuckled, trying to shrug off the nervous feeling he had on him. “Besides, Benny’s gonna get mad if he sees you talking to me.”

“I can handle Benny,” Y/N offered him a smile, “besides, I’m the only bartender here, so I’m doing my job.”

“What do you recommend from the kitchen?” Dean asked as he licked his lips. There was something alluring about Y/N, but at the same time, he felt as though he had known her from before their encounter in the coffee shop.

“Honestly? The ultimate bacon burger,” Y/N answered. “It’s got premium Angus beef, with nice crispy bacon, a chipotle aioli, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. Not to mention you can have it with steak fries or onion rings.”

“That actually sounds good. I’ll have that and a bottle of Margiekugels,” Dean closed up the menu and sighed, “So is there ever a chance I’m going to see you on stage again?”

Y/N looked over at him as she put in his order on the digital register, “I don’t know,” she sighed, “it was just a one-time thing being up there.”

“Well, if you ever want to go up there again,” Dean said before taking a sip of his beer, “I could always be your backup.”

“Look,” Y/N shook her head with a slight huff. “I know all about you. Just because you cut your hair doesn’t mean that people aren’t going to recognize those big green eyes of yours,” she gave him a soft glare. “I’m not into rock stars, so do me a favor and just find someone else to play with, okay?”

Dean let out a small huff with a smirk, “well, screw you then, sweetheart.”

He took another sip of his beer and shook his head.

“You think you know me because of what the media says about things I didn’t even do? Then fine, you know me. But in reality, you’re just a scared little bitch who wants to stay behind the bar counter.” he grabbed his guitar as he got off the stool. “You can have them send my burger to the table in the corner over there,” he pointed towards the back of the saloon and slapped some money on the counter, “keep the change.”

He stalked off with his beer and guitar, chest full of anger as he looked up to see Benny had already gone on stage and was singing a song. The people were cheering and hollering for him.

Goin' 'round in circles

Pickin' out a cue

Travelin' with no memory

Ow, in my shoe

Down don't bother me.

If the music say

You can take a picture baby

Time won't care

And you're my second nature

A-coming over me

And though I might be shakin'

Down don't bother me no more.

Down don't bother me no more

Down don't bother me no more

Down don't bother me no more

As Benny finished his song, Dean rolled his eyes as everyone in the crowd cheered and whistled. Seemed like Benny has a crew of regulars that come to see him. He took a swig of his beer, smacking his lips and smiling at the waitress who brought his burger to him. Dean could feel Y/N staring, but he didn’t care. She had made up her mind, and he was done trying to prove to people that he wasn’t an asshole.

Finishing up his burger, he watched as Benny made his way over and rolled his eyes. He should have known that the seat he picked was closest to the kitchen.

“I’ze hope chu enjoyed dat performaze brotha,” Benny chuckled, “chu look like you could yuz da luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Dean grumbled, “I know my skills, so why don’t you go back to yours and leave me and mine alone.”

Benny lifted his hands in surrender and let out a laugh, “didn’t mean ta hit a sore spot witch you. Enjoy da burga.”

Dean shook his head as Benny walked into the kitchen. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as he could feel his hands shake. Looking at his guitar propped up in the chair, his mind began to spin with thoughts.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ his mind shouted. ‘People are going to hate this song. I don’t even have a tempo yet!’

He could feel his heart race. Nothing could get him to snap out of it. At least, not until Jo came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jerk.

“Hey,” she gave him a warm smile. “You got two performers before you. You should head backstage. I’ll show you the way.”

Dean nodded numbly as he followed her, not noticing an old friend watching him as he disappeared behind a black curtain.

Chapter 3

Tags in the Reblog

[bookwyrminspiration]

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 36: Comfort and Contingency

word count: 7.4k

chapter summary: As Sophie faces the revelations of the diary, she has to keep moving forward and takes a risk after Keefe figures something out.

warnings: death (carry over from prior chapters), grief, that's mainly it!

taglist: @cosmogyral-cleo @axels-corner @cadence-talle @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @milesspidermanmorales @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjenniie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @panic-at-the-multi-fandom-chaos @dragonwinnie-kotlc @solreefs @fintan-pyren @jazzanddaydreams @xanadaus @sa-divine

-ao3 link here or read below

In the moment it’s always oh so easy to forget how to feel, to push everything to the side and only focus on what’s most prudent in a single second. But that cannot last forever, and it shouldn’t. There will always come a time where one needs to step back, where you need to break down.

For Sophie, that time was right now.

“Sophie? Sophie what happened? Why are you crying?”

Was she?

Numbly, she raised her fingers to her cheeks, surprised to feel them come away wet, staring down at them as though they belonged to someone else. The fingers were shaking, trembling down the whole arm--the entire body, actually. Shivering and unsettled and wobbling as tears tracked their way down its cheeks.

She couldn’t feel any of it, could only see that little bee drawn on the page, only remember the line written in looping, shaking writing. Don’t let Murad know, don’t let Murad know.

Why not?

“Sophie? Sophie, this is starting to get really concerning, are you okay?”

Was she?

“No,” she choked out, covering her face with her hands as she tried to breathe, the enormity of the diary all crashing down on her at once. When she’d been in the middle she’d been too focused on getting through it, on absorbing as much as she could, looking for any detail that would help her learn something.

Now that she was done…

She pressed harder against her skin as if the pressure would calm her down. “It’s so awful.”

“What is?” There were hands on her shoulders gripping tight, shaking her gently. She didn’t know whose they were.

“Everything.”

“The book? The diary?” Dex asked, and she nodded, wiping at her eyes as she tried to focus on taking deep breaths. In and out. She started to count them, mind latching onto the numbers to try and keep itself from mulling over all the words, all the misery she’d absorbed.

That gnome’s life was ingrained in her memory now. There would never be a time when she could forget it, the curse of her photographic mind. She’d always recall each page, each stroke of the pen, the final smudges of ink.

When she refocused, letting the numbers piling in her head fade away, she found herself surrounded by concerned faces. Wrinkled brows and tight lips and wide eyes.

Tam had perched on the arm of her chair, a hand on her shoulder--he must’ve been the one shaking her--while Wylie sat criss-cross on the floor a little ways in front of her.

Dex stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes scanned her face. When he saw her looking back, he straightened up, pausing only a moment before continuing.

“Did you find out how they died?” he asked, remembering her earlier comment. “I thought we already knew that. The monsters got them. Being in the trees only kept them away for so long--that’s why there were broken things and claw marks everywhere.”

Sophie shook her head, keeping her mouth firmly closed.

Wylie shifted then, leaning forward. “You can tell us you know. Whatever it is, it’s not something you have to deal with alone.”

Pausing for a moment, she glanced at the diary, knowing that if she didn’t say something about it she’d spend the whole night tossing and turning and thinking about it, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Besides, everyone else had to know eventually, even if they didn’t have to read the finer details or the specifics. That part she could keep to herself. She could protect them from that.

“Monsters did kill the gnomes,” she finally whispered, feeling Tam’s hand tighten on her shoulder again, the others nodding along. They knew this. It was the logical conclusion.

Tam prodded a little further as her voice failed her. “And?”

“And…it was Fintan’s fault. I don’t know how, but it was. He was there in the village for a few weeks trying to do…something! I don’t know what because the gnome didn’t know, but he was working with the monsters and it seemed like it was going well then everything went wrong and they all attacked. The gnomes weren’t even a part of it; they were only trying to help the animals and they ended up dead as collateral because of Fintan and Murad’s failure. I think it was an accident--it sounds like one what with Fintan collapsing, but it wasn’t the accident we thought it was--”

“It was tied to the Neverseen and Phoenix,” Wylie finished for her, looking off into the distance, thoughts she couldn’t translate written across his face.

Tam’s wings rustled behind her as he shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “Wait, so you’re saying that Fintan murdered the gnomes? Am I hearing you right?”

“Not exactly,” she mumbled. “It doesn’t make sense. Okay,” she said, sitting up straighter, all business. If she laid everything out maybe it would make more sense. Her friends sensed the shift and shut their mouths, ready to listen.

“The gnomes left the undergrounds because it was too hard being away from the sun and plants, we knew that part. They eventually ran into problems on the ground so they moved into the trees and built this village. But then Murad of all people, you know, the Phoenix member, shows up and finds them somehow despite this place being literally in the middle of nowhere--I mean seriously, we stumbled on this place completely by accident so how did he even get here? He shows up and asks them if he can use the village as a base of operations to work with the monsters--though the gnomes called them ‘affected animals’ apparently--because he claims he’s trying to fix them.

“And of course the gnomes are too considerate and generous for their own good, so they say yes, but then when Murad moves his people in--several people by the way, so clearly they’re better organized and equipped than the Neverseen--it turns out he’s working with Fintan! So now the gnomes are stuck in close proximity with him because as much as they hate him, they care about saving the animals and environment more, and then it gets even more confusing!”

She paused for a breath, brow furrowing as she rubbed at her temples, the pace keeping her from thinking about it enough to start crying again.

Wylie raised his hand tentatively. “You’re saying Murad and Fintan were here, as in where we are right now?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s why there’s non-elf sized furniture. For them and all the people they brought with them.”

“I don’t think I can ever sleep on a bed here again,” Dex said, making a face.

Tam chewed at his lip, hard enough she worried he’d bleed. “How does it get more confusing?”

Sophie dropped her hands back into her lap, launching into the next part of her venting rant. “Right! The gnome kept describing these weird occurrences and interactions between Fintan and the monsters in the area. The first one was--you know the clearing where you found me?” she said, directing the question to Wylie, who nodded. “I think that’s the space they were referring to. From the description of what happened, he was down there and touched a monster. It was super aggressive and looked like it was going to kill him, but Fintan didn’t move or back down or do anything, and then it started submitting itself to him! Letting it touch him! Which is completely different from the way monsters behave around elves--you remember what it was like.

“They’d attack without thought or hesitation, yet he was so close to it. And from there he gradually brought the creature closer and closer until it was in the village, right next to people. As if that’s normal. It was like Linh’s dragons, just there among everyone. Then more joined! There were multiple monsters in the village all because of Fintan and I don’t know how he did it. The gnome theorized that it was another ability, but that doesn’t make any sense. And then whatever he was doing stopped working and…well…with a bunch of monsters in the village…” she trailed off, rubbing at her temples again.

No one spoke for a moment, letting everything sink in for a moment.

Finally, Tam whispered, “That’s…a lot.” He sucked in a breath. “I think meeting you was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me, Sophie.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean now I’ve…got you all, and Linh and I aren’t stuck at Exillium in the Neutral Territories anymore, but I’m also part bat and finding myself wrapped up in interspecies accidental murder via monsters by known terrorists while living in a place they lived. Being your friend is…interesting.” He shrugged as he spoke, eyes refracting the light as he glanced around, cheeks flushing as his wings shifted, leather rustling.

Dex made a face of reluctant agreement and nodded. “That is true. You always find yourself in the middle of everything, Soph. I mean, we’re willingly by your side, but jeez. Calm down.”

A surprised laugh interrupted her focused breathing, startling her. “You are remarkably calm about all of this; how are you doing that? I just told you Fintan was here and responsible, at least partly, for the death of all the gnomes who used to live here. We’re sitting on their furniture.”

His smile faded. “Yeah that’s…that’s creepy. I don’t know. I guess it’s…well, we can’t really do anything about that right now. We can’t change any of that. We still have Phoenix to rescue and Phoenix to take down. There’s still monsters everywhere. The gnomes…it’s awful and I hate it and I hate Fintan even more--and this Murad guy who was a total asshole to you. But I can’t do anything about that. I can do something about the rest, though. So, it’s not that I don’t care.”

Silence settled after he finished, long enough that he shifted uncomfortably. “Wow. That was a lot. Sorry. Forget I said anything,” he started waving his hands as though he could wave the words away, Sophie opening her mouth to reassure him otherwise when Wylie beat her to it.

“No, you’re right. It’s better to focus on what we can do. You’re probably better at that than most of us, that’s all. And it’s late, and while you and Tam are more naturally awake at this time, even Sophie’s insomnia isn’t. We can continue this later with everyone else.”

It wasn’t until he’d said it that she’d realized just how exhausted she was. Adrenaline from nerves over the diary entries had sustained her, the suspense of being unable to put it down despite knowing the ending.

Now, her shoulders drooped, eyes fighting to close, to put everything behind her, to give her mind a chance to process when she wasn’t there to witness it, to take over and shut her down.

She wanted to let it win.

“Right. Good idea,” Dex said, pointing at Wylie. “Um…” he started looking around the room. “You probably shouldn’t stay here. I don’t exactly have a bed you can borrow and I know you slept on the beanbag chair last time but…” he trailed off, gesturing towards said chair, which currently sat covered in various scraps of metal and poking wires. Honestly, she had no clue how Dex was even going to get all the pieces off; he’d be sitting on shards for eternity.

Sophie nodded along, moving to get up before realizing, “You don’t have a bed?”

“Nope. House didn’t come with one, and what with the owl thing, I don’t sleep as much anymore, so I usually just crash on one of the chairs.” He spoke nonchalantly, waving away her concerns as he offered her a hand to help her up, tired as she was. “I can walk you back to your place.”

Her place. Her place with a spot beside the bed you couldn’t even see from the entrance, a spot next to a window now shattered. A hiding spot for a terrified gnome. Right next to her bed.

Vehemently shaking her head, she pulled away. “No, not there. No.”

Dex furrowed his brows, starting to ask why before shaking his head, resting a hand on his hip as he tapped his fingers rhythmically, thinking. “Okay. Well, then--”

“She can stay with me,” Tam quietly interrupted, picking at the tender skin around his lip. “I’ve got a spare bed.”

Sophie didn’t say anything, only glancing between the three of them as they came up with a solution to a problem they didn’t even know, working things out so she wouldn’t have to as her mind lagged, body begging her to just give it up right then and there and sleep on the floor.

At least the fact that she was tired reminded her she’d gotten better about sleeping, even amidst everything else. Even without sedatives.

“Sophie?” Wylie asked, waving a hand in front of her face, snapping her back to the conversation as she blinked oh so slowly, savoring every moment her eyes closed and the world faded away.

“Hmm,” she responded, trying to stay focused on his face; the details kept slipping away.

He smiled slightly, looking like he was well on his way to being just like her. Slow blinks and slow movements, deep breaths and a tired heartbeat as he rubbed at his eyes. “You didn’t hear any of that did you.”

“Correct.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tam cut in, shifting from side to side. “You’re coming with me. Let’s go,” he said, stepping closer and hesitating for a moment before he took her by the wrist, gently leading her towards the door.

Almost mindlessly, she trailed after him. It was Tam; she trusted Tam. What more was there to it? If he grabbed her hand and dragged her somewhere, he’d have a good reason and she’d trust it, even if sometimes he left her in the dark.

Everything was dark, actually. Sunlight seemed long forgotten as the stars took their quiet control of the night, galaxy swirling together so effortlessly eternal in the blank slate of the sky. Without anything nearby and almost no light produced in the village, you could see every detail the universe had to offer.

The only sound their shuffling feet against the wooden bridges as they swayed beneath them, they moved through it all. Tam’s fingers squeezed tight around hers, eyes squinted harshly, arguing with a racing heart.

Sophie had the vague memory of a night just like this, of walking through the darkness together, of holding his hand tightly and making sure he wouldn’t fall as he squinted at nothing.

Reaching forward, she tapped sloppily at his shoulder with her free hand. “Hey. If you tell me where to go I can lead, and then you won’t fall off and have to echolocate yourself back up.”

“I don’t echolocate,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. Then after a moment, he said, “I’m near Linh. Not quite opposite her but--go to her and then you can find me.”

“I’ve already found you, you’re right here,” Sophie said, straightening up to get a better sense of where they were standing. Tam made some retort back at her under his breath, but she paid it no mind as she turned, making sure to hold his hand tight so she wouldn’t lose him.

Time passed in silence as she led him until Linh’s house became visible in the distance. He told her to turn and take a path past it, curving around the outskirts of the village and winding further and further away from everyone else. Of course Tam would be the furthest away, no matter how much they reminded him he always had a place set just for him in their family.

They passed practically right beside a dense copse of trees, forming a wall to their left she couldn’t even see through; she wondered how far it stretched, when it ended, considering running her fingers through the leaves.

“You missed it,” Tam said out of nowhere while they walked, stopping her up short.

“Hmm?”

“Right there, it’s a bit of a jump. You walked past it.”

“I have to jump?”

“Or fly. You have wings.”

“Why would you live somewhere you have to jump to?”

“Because I can fly. I don’t have to jump to it.”

A smile was pulling at his lips as he watched Sophie grapple with the conversation, pulling her back a dozen or so steps before gesturing with faux grandeur towards a particularly dense section of branches and falling vines and bushy leaves bordering the path.

“Tam, that’s a tree.”

“Sophie, that,” he corrected, “is the way to my house. Look,” he squinted a little, gauging something she couldn’t see, then disappeared into the thickest part.

Sophie tried to mirror his squinting, trying to find whatever it was that he’d found. The moonlight helped a little, but the exhaustion swaying her body meant her brain didn’t want to cooperate at all.

After a moment, Tam’s hand reappeared to grab her wrist, pulling her through the branches and dangling vines, greenery parting around her as her feet left the bridge and she found herself falling.

Snapping to attention behind her, her wings caught her fall, suspending her in midair as she adjusted, Tam’s hand falling from hers to give her more room.

“Oh wow,” was all she could think to say as she straightened, legs curling closer to her chest so as not to bump anything.

Peering down at the ground, the outlines of the roots of a thick cluster of trees were vaguely visible, all clumped and grouped together in a way that seemed almost unmanageable, like it would suffocate anything beneath it and around it. But it created a little pocket instead, a space hidden from everything around it.

Tam watched her take everything in from a sturdy branch in a tree just beyond the dense foliage they had pushed through--dense foliage she would suspect had been grown like that intentionally to keep everything behind it hidden once her mind started working again in the morning.

A few feet away from the bridge they’d just left sat the edge of another one, reaching reaching reaching towards the other without ever quite connecting. If you had enough spring in your step, you could jump it.

Trailing after the bridge, her eyes wandered further and further into the dark little alcove hidden in their village and landed upon the house, the house curved so expertly into and around the tree it sat upon and within that it seemed as though it had always been there, walls melding with branches and trunk so smoothly it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

With such a thick canopy overhead, the walls had been saved the fading of the other homes in the village, a richer color blending with the continuous shadows the place must be covered with during the day.

“Are you going to stay there forever?” Tam asked, drawing her attention back towards where he stood, balancing on a branch with his back pressed against the trunk for more stability, the perfect stepping stone between the main bridge and this hidden one.

Taking a small jump forward, he deftly landed on the yearning bridge, stepping back a little to give her room to land next to him, wings going quiet, though the muted ache in her back made itself known.

“I’ve never seen your house before,” she mumbled as she followed behind him, this walkway much sturdier than all the suspension-style bridges interlocking the rest of the village. She’d gotten used to the constant sway and shifting surface beneath her, it was almost unsettling for it to be so suddenly absent.

Tam shrugged. “You didn’t need to.”

Slowing down so she could catch up, he watched her as they walked, though she didn’t pay it any mind. With her dwindling energy and lethargic body, he was right to worry about whether or not she’d topple off into the abyssal dark below them, her body waiting to be ravaged by monsters that might not be monster by choice.

Sophie listened to Tam’s heart hammering away in his chest as they reached the door, plain wood except for the hollowed out carving of a crescent moon near the top. All she could think was Hey, that’s just like Shrek’s outhouse, before he was pushing it open and tapping on something she couldn’t see.

Gentle lights flickered to life, strung all over the place in flowering bulbs and casting the room into subtle glows of pink and blue.

That was what she first noticed, but after that it was impossible to ignore the tree in the middle of his house.

“There’s a tree in the middle of your house,” she said, staring at the tree in the middle of his house.

“Yes, there is a tree in the middle of my house,” Tam said, astute and emotionless, dropping her wrist to walk around the tree.

It wasn’t an entire tree in the middle of his house, but rather part of the entire tree. From the outside the building appeared to blend right into the trunk, but from the inside that trunk split in two and went right through the center of everything. The flooring went close enough to the bottom of the visible part that there was no worry about falling through, but all manner of insects and other crawling creatures could slip through the crack; the ceiling was the same.

A few branches split out towards the upper portion, reaching towards a loft she could see if she tilted her head to the side. Close to the ceiling, it didn’t look good for much else besides storage.

The strings of lights reached all around the ceiling and occasionally zig-zagged out to dangle from the tree branches before jumping back to the ceiling. With a lag to her actions, she glanced around what she could see. A plush beanbag chair positioned atop a rug tucked into a corner, a small table beside it, a little dresser and shelf in the other corner beneath a window that wouldn’t get much light, Tam’s bag from the underground next to it.

A tree in the middle of his house.

Something thudded and bumped against something else, and Tam asked “Can I trust you to climb a ladder?”

“I’m not that tired,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. That was a lie. She was that tired.

He shrugged, positioning said ladder that he’d pulled from somewhere behind the tree that she couldn’t see, hooking it partially against a branch and partially against the floor of the loft.

Gesturing up, he said, “The beds are up there.”

Now that she thought about it, you could also fit beds up there, not just storage. Unless you considered people to be storage, in which case beds with people in them were still storage.

Nodding, she stepped forward, nearly losing her balance as she peered at the little crack around the tree in the middle of the house to see if she could see to the ground. She could not.

In silence, she tested her weight on the ladder, making sure it would hold with the last of her mental energy before pulling herself to the top, one rung at a time, ducking when she got close to the ceiling.

Hidden from her view on the floor, two beds lay tucked into each side of the loft. Just a mattress on the floor with a simple blanket and pillow draped over each, it looked cozier than anywhere else in the world.

She paused, heart pounding as she imagined the gnomes who must’ve occupied these beds, the gnomes who no longer were. She hadn’t thought about where she’d go if she didn’t go home, just knowing that she couldn’t sleep in her bed, not tonight. Not knowing that a gnome had crouched beside it in that hidden spot and written their last words.

Tam’s voice broke through the coiling anxiety in her chest, the immobilizing numbness. “No one lived here. It was empty when I found it, no sign of anyone being here. I found the beds in other houses and moved them.”

His comforting tone knocked something loose in her chest and she could move again.

These mattresses had belonged to someone else, but they’d been shifted around; this loft was no longer a place frozen in time waiting to be rediscovered until they’d stumbled upon it. It’d never even existed in the first place. The building, the mattresses, those had been there. But the final touch was Tam’s, and that was infinitely better than sleeping in the remnants of a ghost story.

As she flopped back on one of the mattresses, body entirely ready to just surrender then and there, Tam’s head popped into view, bat wings flaring slightly behind him as he found his balance, the soft light from the flower bulbs casting the skin into rosy tones, illuminating the veins stark against them.

“You’re…going to be okay, right?” he asked, squinting at her as he tugged at his bangs.

Sophie didn’t respond for a long moment, a weariness settling into her bones and dragging her down down down towards the earth, longing to bury her beneath it and feel the cool press of its weight against her skin. The earth was a long ways down.

Trailing her eyes away from Tam, they settled on the second bed. He had two.

“Stay?” she asked, tongue fumbling over the simple word.

He didn’t say anything, and her eyes fell solidly shut as she sought out the darkest corner of her mind to settle down in, casting a mental barrier around her consciousness. If she built a thick enough padding between her and everything else, cornering herself off, then she didn’t have to think about the messy handwriting on green-stained pages, smudged ink in fumbling whorls, petal covered covers somehow withstanding the test of time.

Shuffling sounded from the edge of the loft, moving steadily closer and closer as wood creaked beneathed Tam’s weight as he found his way to the second bed, falling atop it. Rustling blankets moved painfully slowed as she listened to him try to be quiet, try not to disturb her.

“Okay,” he whispered, but she’d already fallen asleep.

---------------------

Sophie Foster was the most solitary social creature to ever exist and the most social solitary thing to hate being her. She spoke to no one and knew everything about them, heard everything they said and everything they did not. She heard everything they did not say and said nothing in response.

People told her secrets they never told her, and she held onto them as if she didn’t know, rewarded with more secrets.

All she had to do was be there.

And then it was gone. She heard nothing and they said everything, whispers rounding cafeterias and names hissing like snakes in the air.

The mirrors in the hallway didn’t speak, but they said more. They said everything Sophie never had and never would and never would’ve thought to say.

She stood in the middle, peering down either side, the infinite and unending tunnels of mirrors upon mirrors stretching out on both sides of her. Left and right. Forever and eternity.

Looking back at her was Sophie. All identical, all mirrors of each other, all standing in this hallway made of mirrored walls, floors, and mirrors, all reflected back at each other. The same pale yellow undertones to her hair as it brushed against her shoulders, the same tilt to her head as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, the same hints of gold in her damning brown eyes, the same uneven eyelashes from all the picking they’d done, the same scar on the back of her hand in the shape of a star, the same worry crease between everyone’s brows.

Sophie watched Sophie watch Sophie and gave a little wave, watching Sophie watch Sophie wave back.

Where did the mirrored hallway lead?

When she’d first found it, first seen it, she hadn’t been there. There were no reflections, no movements, no Sophies. There’d been no feet she could use to step forward and further into the hall, a hall that seemed as infinite as another she’d found the end of once.

But now they were there.

Sophie looked back at herself from the mirror and all of her was there, scars and skin and wings and feet and all.

So she took a step to the right, then stopped.

Instead, she turned to her left, peering down the hallway, watching her reflections turn around themselves and peer in different places with her.

Right couldn’t be the right way to go; it was too obvious.

She went left, footsteps silent against the mirrored floors. Everything was silent. Sound didn’t exist in the hallway, no pounding heart nor buzzing wings penetrating the fog. And yet it didn’t unsettle her. Things were supposed to be quiet here, anything to the contrary would’ve been frightening.

Step after step she took in absolute silence, watching herself walk at her side from the corners of her mind, that dreamy haze distorting and discoloring and lagging around her.

One foot after the other, on and on and on, and all there was was more her, more walking, more mirrors. She didn’t think the hallway had any end.

She didn’t think she’d ever stop seeing herself.

Maybe that was the point.

---------------------

Sophie rubbed at her forehead as she walked along the yearning bridge, still finding her footing. Flecks of light bursting with triumph through the thick canopy over head dotted the ground, covered her arms, and she watched them for a moment, glad they didn’t make her skull throb any more than it already did.

She’d woken fitfully, the drowning lethargy of the night before no longer strong enough to drag her under and keep everything black in her head, the walls she’d placed around her consciousness fading as she subconsciously reached out, turning the words and events she’d learned over in her mind.

Waking fitfully would’ve been fine anywhere else, but when you woke fitfully in a small loft with a low ceiling, there was a risk you’d bump your head on it.

Sophie had bumped her head on it.

Which was fine. It wasn’t like her brain was her most important organ or anything, the source of her control for nearly all her abilities. She could afford to bang it around a bit, right?

At least, that’s what she told herself as she followed the bridge, fanning out the clothes she’d been wearing long enough to feel grimy, in search of something; she hadn’t figured out what she was looking for yet, but she’d figure it out.

Tam had been gone when she’d woken up, his bed mostly made aside from a few rumples that looked like he’d sat down for a while, maybe to wait for her.

Given that it was almost midday at this point, she couldn’t blame him for leaving her alone, though she would have to apologize for driving him out of his own house.

Fintan and Phoenix and Murad circled over and over again in her mind as she emerged from the thick foliage onto the main bridge, blinking through the sudden sunlight, unsure where to go from there.

They’d been the source of so many problems for so many people, completely changing the way their society worked, their ways of life. And from what she knew, they were going to continue to do so. Fintan may have made some good points in his dramatic monologues, but his methods weren’t something she could ever support.

And how had Phoenix gone from a kid who happened to be there to who she was now at the center of all of this? Could it really just be horrible luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Heading back towards the central parts of the village, voices overlapping each other and debating sounded up ahead. She didn’t pay them much attention, figuring if it was important people would clue her in when needed and if it wasn’t then she didn’t need to know.

“Hey! She’s awake!” Marella called out as Sophie rounded a corner and the center platform they’d had their faux campfires at came into view.

Marella sat with Keefe, Biana, Dex, and Linh in a loose circle, glasses of water and snacks between them all, though Keefe’s looked mostly untouched.

Awkwardly, Sophie gave a little wave. “Um. Hello. What are you all doing here?”

They glanced at each other, no one saying anything, though a few of their mouths looked like they were trying.

“I don’t like what that silence means,” she stated, dropping her hand to her side as she surveyed the area more closely; maybe there was something sitting out that would give her a clue as to what they were talking about.

Keefe shifted forward then, hands braced on his knees. “Okay, I know you said we couldn’t go to Foxfire because we didn’t know anything about what we’d be getting into--”

“Because all we know is that it has something to do with Foxfire, if that even is the correct answer. Which means we should not go there yet,” she interrupted and repeated, having a suspicious feeling she knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

Shaking her head, she started to tell him that she knew he wanted something to do and that he was going through a hard time right now, but he cut her off before she could finish the first word.

“I solved another part of your riddle. So technically we have more information and your point from before doesn’t matter anymore!”

Wind rustled through the leaves, brushing mussed strands of hair against her lips as she pursed them, already feeling another headache forming alongside the bump on her head.

She sighed. “Explain.”

Keefe sat up straighter, everyone else in the group glancing between the two of them as if watching their friend and a parent fight, awkwardly existing in the vicinity.

“Okay, sit down,” he instructed first.

Sophie closed the distance between her and the group, sinking onto a bench obediently, some rebellious part of her curious to hear what he had to say despite the danger it would inevitably entail.

Once she’d settled, he launched into his explanation. “I couldn’t sleep very well last night, and because we’d been talking about your riddle I kept thinking about it over and over again and I realized, if they sent the same first sentence--the exact same first sentence as each other, then we have to think of the two riddles not as riddles, but a riddle, only one. They’re working together. Bronte told us to go to Foxfire, but nothing else he said helped. So then I thought of it this way: Bronte is telling us the general area, but it’s Councillor Oralie who's talking details!”

Sophie looked at everyone else, who seemed to be up to speed on this idea, now watching what she’d say. “And?” she said, thinking over the rest of the riddle.

“‘History will have something sweet to say about you’” he said, the hint of a smile ghosting at his lips. “What do you think of when you think of Foxfire and sweets?”

“The mentor’s cafeteria,” she blurted out, then, “oh.”

Keefe snapped his fingers into finger guns, mouthing Bingo.

Marella pumped her first in celebration. “She got there!”

Someone laughed a little at that, and Sophie leaned back, scooting her hands underneath her so she wouldn’t reach up to pull on her lashes, though she wanted to desperately.

“There’s more, isn’t there,” she said, looking around the group. If he was just relaying information about the riddles--riddle--then why would they have gathered here like this?

That’s where he winced, running a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Yeah, there is, Foster. I know you think Foxfire is dangerous, but what else are we supposed to do? Wait for it to not be? It’s not going to get better if we don’t do something, so let’s do something! We can make a plan--that’s why we’re all talking together--because I know you love those so much, but please don’t say that it’s too risky because literally everything we’re doing is risky. They sent you that riddle for a reason; we have to see what it means!” he finished, practically begging, hand pressed together, eyebrows scrunched and making the bag under his eyes even more prominent. He truly looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

“Actually,” she said, carefully. “I was thinking that…that’s a good point.” It wasn’t going to get better if they didn’t do anything, and yet a part of her still wanted to ignore it and wait for it to fix itself. That way it wouldn’t be her friends, her family in the line of fire.

But they wouldn’t be her family if they weren’t putting themselves out there because they couldn’t stand doing nothing.

Keefe started back. “You were? I was not expecting that, like, at all.”

“Yeah, you’re usually really preachy about how we shouldn’t be putting ourselves in danger, and then you go and put yourself in danger,” Biana nodded, breaking the silent tension of the moment. No longer was it just her and Keefe talking, now it was a group discussion.

Or at least, a partial group discussion. “What does everyone else think about this?” she asked, briefly looking off to the side to do a mental scan for everyone. Tam, Fitz, Wylie, and Maruca were unaccounted for, and anything they decided she wanted their opinions on.

“Everyone’s more or less on board,” Dex supplied, tapping his fingers together absentmindedly. “Fitz and Tam are, of course, worried. But Maruca’s determined to protect everyone and make sure everything goes as smoothly as it can.”

“Where are they?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Keefe shared all the information he had and then there was nothing to do but wait for you to wake up. We weren’t actually talking about Foxfire until you came along, we were just hanging out. They’ll probably be upset that we’re talking about it without them, so maybe we should find them.”

“And after that? Now what?”

Biana leaned forward at that, speaking up. “Now is the part where you let me sneak into Foxfire to see how bad it is!”

“We’re not going to let you sneak in on your own!” Linh countered, flicking her with a splash of water like she was scolding a cat. Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a cat; Echo certainly didn’t count.

Dex scooted back away from their bickering, wings clinking against the banister behind him as he searched fruitlessly for solace.

Biana shook herself off, droplets flying. “I’d be so quick and efficient, they wouldn’t even know I was there. Give me five minutes and I can see everything we’d need to know! You let me sneak in to spy on the Neverseen when we took them down the first time!”

“Uh, you did that without telling anyone,” Marella corrected with a snort. “Very Keefe of you, which is not a good thing in this case. No offense,” she added at the end with a glance at him.

Keefe shrugged. “None taken. You’re right, it was pretty stupidly Keefe of Biana to sneak away in the middle of the night to spy on the Neverseen….but, it did work. And this time we can be even more prepared! Like what you guys did when you went to Nightfall, the…um…not the Atlantis one,” he said, tripping over the last words.

That was his mother’s Nightfall. His mother he didn’t like to talk or think about who he’d been forced to think about more than anyone ever should’ve been in the past day. Distractions could only help so much.

“Fine, I’ll take Sophie with me,” Biana relented, covering his slip.

“There she goes, that Lady Fos-boss, always finding her way to the center of everything,” Dex sighed, rolling his eyes, though his lips betrayed him with their twitching smile.

Sophie put her hands on either side of her face, pressing on her temples. “I just woke up like twenty minutes ago.”

“That’s twenty minutes you could’ve been with me at Foxfire!” Biana said, looking very pleased that Sophie hadn’t actually said no to the idea.

Sophie sighed, running over everything in her head. Foxfire, the mentor’s cafeteria, the last things she’d heard about the place. That it was overcome with monsters, with broken glass and shredded grass fields. That it hadn’t been touched since the day it fell.

But…that wasn’t going to change if they didn’t do something. Murad and Fintan were making more monsters and losing more and more control everyday, dragging kids down with them in the process.

“Can I eat something first?” she asked, and Biana grinned her victory.

---------------------

We’re not going to do anything but look, she affirmed again, clutching as hard as she dared to Biana’s hand in her own.

This time, unlike the first Nightfall, Biana was on her left. That way Sophie and Biana both had their dominant hands available to do whatever they needed to in the case of an emergency.

Yeah, you’ve only said it ten times, Biana shot back, bouncing slightly next to her, waiting with anticipation for them to proceed.

Torn purple grass field lay sprawled out between them and the once-glittering pyramid. Now the glass sat cracked and decrepit and smudged, smeared and foggy, like it wanted to collapse in on itself. Around it, chunks of dirt and earth had been torn up around the place, flat terrain now bumpy and disheveled, like streets after a storm when all the debris and mud had been washed into the road, drying there until something came along to freshen it up.

There was no one to freshen this place up anymore.

Sophie had teleported them to the furthest point on the field she could recall ever being to in her wanderings, not wanting to put them in the middle of something they’d have no way out of.

Skin tingling with the lingering pressure of each hug of farewell from her family--Fitz had held on particularly tight--before she’d split open the sky, a shiver down her back joined it as she stared and stared, waiting for the scene to make sense.

I don’t get it. Where are the monsters?

Because when she gazed over Foxfire’s grounds, the smashed glass and overturned earth, crumbled crystal walls and shattered pillars, impact sites and gouges and tears riddled through every inch, it was empty.

There was zero sign of life.

---------------------

Do you think they’re all inside? Sophie asked, nudging Biana. With glass walls, floors, and ceilings, they’d have to be hidden very deep inside, the layers of glass building up thick enough that you couldn’t see through unless you were inside.

Unsettled, they started moving, skirting around the mounds of dirt, footsteps the loudest thing in the area.

Maybe they didn’t like the elements and had sequestered themselves away, a ticking time bomb just waiting to blow until something came along to trip it.

They’d trip it.

Sophie felt Biana shrug, but she didn’t say anything, prompting Sophie to ask, Hey, are you good? We can go back; we’ll figure something else out.

No, Biana asserted. I…everything turned into colors. I can…see…so many colors, she struggled to get out, words falling with awkward grace from her mind into their shared mental space, clunking like bricks.

What does that mean? Sophie asked, eyeing the fields like she could pick up on something beyond her senses if she only tried hard enough.

Monsters.

Sophie froze, footsteps halting. Where.

Everywhere, Biana whispered, and her free hand blinked into view just long enough for her to point down at the ground, moving her arm around in a circle around them, gesturing towards everything nearby.

What? Sophie asked, looking, seeing nothing but ruined terf and--

Look, Biana urged, words still clunky, the presence of monsters and creatures overwhelming her senses and messing with her word processing.

Sophie looked. And then it clicked.

Torn up earth but no monsters in sight, Biana seeing colors and pointing to the ground.

She peered closer at one of the mounds of disturbed soil, recognizing it as a hole now that she knew what to look for.

Or in better words, a burrow.

And looking out over the whole field, all the shredded grass and mounds of dirt…she lost count of how many there were.

Hidden under the earth, under the surface, was an army of monsters waiting to explode like a minefield.

And they stood right in the middle of it.

[imhavingyour]

like the sun

the one where the boy that works in the garden wants you to read him one of your poems

warnings: none 

word count: 2.9k

(hi i haven’t written in years but i really love this concept and i hope that you do too <3 feedback is greatly appreciated <3)

-

It’s past midnight.

There is no particular reason as to why you are still awake. You just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. No matter how many sheep you counted, no matter what position you moved your body into, no matter how long you kept your eyes shut, you just couldn’t drift off to sleep. Unfortunately, this was not a rarity for you. At least as of recently. 

Instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling or watching the clock tick, you decided to leave your bed. You reach over your nightstand for your matches and strike it, grabbing the lantern that became more visible in the light and setting the flame to it. 

The library was on the opposite end of the house but, honestly, you couldn’t imagine going to any other room. You grabbed your journal and poetry book and headed for the door. The thought of walking down the hall to the bedroom of your sister, Alice, came to mind. Surely, she wouldn’t mind staying up with you for a bit. She was always understanding of your unfortunate sleeping habits. You found yourself standing faced in the direction of her room, but stopped yourself from taking a step further.

“No, that isn’t fair to her. You woke her up just last week.” You whispered, and made direction for the library. The cold floor felt exaggerated against your bare feet, but you were almost there, just around the corner…

When you entered the room, the smell of the books filled your lungs. You sighed as if the scent had carried away a weight that you were holding. The daybed at the window was your spot. You grabbed the inkwell and fountain pen on the desk, settled everything down by the window, and opened it to let in the warm air of the summer night. You couldn't imagine the amount of hours that you have spent sitting here against the window. Most of the time you would sit there reading. Sometimes you would daydream. Sometimes, your groundskeeper, Harry, would be tending to the small garden that was visible outside the window, and you would pretend to be completely oblivious to him and hold your book closer to your face. 

You thought back to a particular moment a couple weeks ago when you had been sitting in this exact spot, mindlessly staring out into the garden while you daydreamed about your future, and the garden that you would like to have. In your garden, there would be more bleeding hearts and baby’s breath. 

You had found yourself so lost in the arrangements of your imaginary landscape that you had not noticed Harry appear with a watering can in one hand and shears for the hedges in his other. You stiffened, but he seemed to not notice you in the window. You watched as he touched up the hedges that had already seemed perfect. 

He was wearing a blue button up and heathered gray pants. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his tanned arms. He lifted his bicep to his forehead to wipe off his sweat. Harry then settled down the shears in the grass and picked up his watering can, crouching down next to the peonies and taking a seat in the bed of grass. While watering them, you see him furrow his brows and move his mouth in conversation.

Was he talking to them?

Indeed, he was. You saw him run a hand through his hair. Truly, he looked conflicted about something. If only you could hear…

Your curiosity had always gotten the best of you, and it was your curiosity that led to reaching for the handle on the french window. He was so caught up in his one-sided conversation, surely he wouldn’t notice as long as you were careful with your movements. You push open the window slightly, and just like that, even though you had been so careful, the loud squeak of the latch had blown your cover. Harry’s head perks up and you stare at each other in slight shock — you had both been caught in your actions. Your breath was caught in your chest and all of the blood in your body was present in your cheeks. When Harry sees that it’s you, he exhales, the corners of his slips turn upwards into a barely-there smile. He raises his hand to give you a soft wave.

Suddenly, a gust of wind from the window takes you back into the reality of your sleepless night, and along with it, it blows out your lantern. 

“Christ!” You whisper to yourself, frantically looking around the room. Your eyes were still adjusting to the shift in lighting, so everything appeared pitch black. You remembered that there were matches on the desk on the adjacent side of the room. You sat up, taking blind but careful steps toward it. You had only moved a couple of steps forward when, of course, with just your luck, you hit your hip on a nightstand beside one of the chairs. You wince in pain as the table wobbles. You catch it just before it falls over, but you couldn’t save the books that were on it. They fall to the floor with a ‘thump’ that loudly echoes across the entire room. You squeeze your eyes shut and freeze your movements at the abrupt sound. A mere seconds later, you hear footsteps rushing to the library. Harry appears in the doorway, eyes blown wide in a search for what the noise had been. The house that included his room, as well as the rooms of the other workers, were separated by a hallway just down from the library. Harry recognizes your silhouette in the darkness, and you his. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He asks, his voice reaching a soft tone that you haven’t heard before. Your heartbeat thuds at his new sound. 

You fixed your posture and used your hands to straighten out your nightgown before speaking, “Yes, I- uhm. I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry that I-” 

“I couldn't sleep either.” He interrupts. Even in the darkness of the room, you were almost positive that he could see the warmth in your cheeks. 

“I was trying to grab the matches on the desk,” you motion your hand to the furniture that was only a few steps nearer, “The wind had blown out my candle.” You see Harry’s figure look to the left at the desk, and swiftly walks towards it in the darkness, no nightstands bothered. He feels around the desk for the matches, picking one up and striking it. His face appears in the light of the flame and his eyes look to yours. A breathless gasp leaves your lips. Harry takes a step towards you, and with every one after it you could feel your heartbeat quicken. He stands in front of you in silence. His lips tuck into his teeth as he studies your face for just a moment before looking to your things on the daybed. You waited for him to say something, anything.

“May I join you?” He whispers, shifting his stare back to your face. A chill runs up your spine and you quickly nod your head. A smile breaks on his lips and you hear the exhale from his nose. Then, he reaches out his hand for you to take. When you put your hand in his and he sharply inhales.

“Goodness, Y/N! You’re freezing!” He says in bewilderment. Your lips curve in a slight smile at his sudden concern. Without a thought, he raises your hand to his rose-colored lips and gives it a soft kiss, rubbing his thumb over the spot afterwards. You gasp as if his lips were a branding iron and flinch back your hand at his intimate action. 

His eyes went wide — his movements were so quick and thoughtless — regret immediately washed over his face, “Y/N I’m, I’m so sorry that was very careless and inappropriate of me,” You had never heard him speak this quickly, “Truly, I-”

“It’s fine, Harry,” You whispered. He let out a sigh of relief, and opened his mouth to apologize again, “I just wasn’t expecting you to do that. But, honestly, it’s nothing.”

It was not nothing. It most certainly was not nothing.

You take his hand again with a tenderness, and guide him to the daybed. He relights the lantern and you close the window. A shriek sounds from the hinge and you wince. Harry lets out a laugh and you knew that he was thinking back to the last time he heard that same sound. You sat with your knees pulled into your chest and Harry stretched his legs across the daybed, leaving  centimeters between his feet and your clothed thigh.

His eyes look to the inkwell and fountain pen that you had resting on your poetry book, “Were you writing?” 

“Just some poems, that’s all.” You shrugged, looking down to hide your embarrassment. 

“Your parents tell me that you’re a wonderful writer.” He says quietly. His eyes look down at his twiddling thumbs, and so do yours. 

You furrowed your brows at his comment. Why were your parents talking to Harry about your writing? What else have they told him about you writing? What else have they told him about you? Your stomach starts to turn as you think of all the embarrassing things that your father could have possibly told Harry about.

“Parents always bias towards their children. Trust me, Harry, they’re giving me more credit than I deserve.” Now you were the one twiddling with your thumbs. Harry snaps his gaze in your direction, a look of confusion on his face.

“Why would you say that about yourself?” He had looked as if you offended him. His lips were parted in the slightest way and his eyebrows were placed in a way that had accentuated the lines in between them. The jade of his irises circled in a thin line around his large pupils. Honestly, he looked quite cute. However, you still scoffed at his question. 

“Oh, come on, Harry. I’m not Emily Dickinson. My writing isn’t anything special.” You confessed. 

“Then read some for me.”

“I beg your pardon?” You spoke. You were genuinely taken aback by his statement. Your mind immediately went to the book filled with your poetry, and how so many of them had been written with the thought of Harry in mind. God, at least half of them were about him. 

“If your poetry is nothing special then why don’t you read one to me, someone who is unbiased?” Unbeknownst to you, Harry was biased. You could read him your daily schedule and he would praise you as if you had composed Beethoven’s 9th symphony.

You truly thought about what he had said for a moment. You had never read one of your more personal poems (your favorites) to anyone, and now, here you were. About to read one to the person that they were about. You rolled your eyes at him and he giggled in return, not taking you seriously at all.

“Fine.” You muttered, and reached for your book. You stretched out your legs, accidentally poking Harry’s thigh with your foot. You try to act as if the contact meant nothing and continue to cross your ankles. Harry cleared his throat. 

You open the pages and look through some of them, biting on your cheeks to hold back a smile while you flip past the more obvious ones. Finally, you found a piece that you liked that would be okay for him to hear. You can feel his eyes on you before you meet his gaze. He gives you a smile of encouragement. 

“It’s okay, Y/N, it’s just me.” He says in the same soft tone that you heard when he had first entered the library. You take a deep breath before starting.

“If he is the sun then I will be the flowers that bloom in the spring

And I’ll open up for him so that his light can meet with every part of me

When he is lost in the clouds I’ll ache with the emptiness

But he’ll send me raindrops and remind me that he’ll never leave.” 

Slowly, you close the pages of your book. Your head remains tilted down, you were too shy to see his reaction. After moments of silence you give into your eagerness. You needed to know what he was thinking.

He stares at your book like he was lost in deep thought. Oh, God. He hates it. He knows it’s about him and he hates it. How could you have so stupid as to read him your poetry? You should have put your foot down and told him that your writing was none of his business. He would have left you alone and forgotten about it had you done that. 

Harry was trying to think of who you wrote the poem about. 

Was it the mailman? Her french tutor? A friend of her brothers? 

He looks up to see the worry on your face and shakes his head into a kind smile. 

“I think you’re a wonderful writer, Y/N.”

Your cheeks must have looked like cherries from how hard you were blushing. You wouldn’t tell him, but his words meant the world to you. You were so relieved, as if you had spent all of this time trying to prove yourself to him and here he was, telling you how wonderful your words about him were.

“Thank you, Harry.” You had hoped that those words were enough. 

“Thank you,” His eyes sparkled like the stars just outside of the window, “for sharing something so personal.”

It was time to change the subject, you decided. For your entire life, never had you enjoyed the attention being on you for too long. You took your eyes away from Harry’s and looked at the shelves of books that covered the walls of the library.

“Would you like to read something?” You suggested. Part of you had regretted saying that. You wished you asked Harry a question about himself, there was so much what you wanted to know. What was his family like? You had only known the names of his mother and sister. What did he like to do when he wasn’t working? What was he saying to the peonies in the garden a few weeks ago? Were peonies his favorite flower?

“Um- sure, if that’s what you’d like.” He said. He rose from the daybed and looked around the vast room until his eyes landed on the books that you had knocked over earlier. He walked over to it, picking up both of the large books and holding them with one hand. He settles back into his spot across from you and shows you both of the books. 

“Anna Karenina or Grimms Fairy Tales. Take your pick.” After a short pause, both you and Harry share a laugh at the latter suggestion. It must have been a read of one of your younger brothers. 

“Anna Karenina, please.” You say, pursing your lips.

“Good choice,” He whispers, “He stepped down, trying not to look at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

Your heart skipped a beat at how effortlessly he had recited the words, “I love that quote. It’s so beautiful.” 

I’ve written more beautiful things about you, Harry thought. But, you couldn’t possibly ever hear them, they were all so evidently about you. While you stare out the window, he takes a moment to look at you, really look at you. He had hoped his fondness for you wasn't blatantly obvious throughout your time spent together, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was, and you had caught onto it. Your eyes had a delicate stare out the window, your lips had been tilted upwards in a way that made your face look so beautifully peaceful. They had looked so soft under the moonlight. Everything about you looked soft. Your hands had laid on your knees. If only he had the courage to just reach out and touch.  

“Well, go on.” You told him.

Harry’s eyes grew wide. For a second, he thought he had said his thoughts aloud. The confused expression that you give him made him realize that you wanted him to read the book. He stifled a laugh of embarrassment while he opened to a random chapter. 

It had only taken ten minutes of Harry’s reading to leave you leaning against the window in a drifted sleep. It had taken him a few minutes to notice. The moonlight had given a bit of a blue tint to your face. Your lips were slightly parted and your eyelashes created an ethereal shadow across your cheeks. Harry took a moment to thank whoever was watching over him. He was so grateful for everything that this night had given him. It was rare that he was able to share moments even close to this with you. You were often so busy taking care of your siblings and he was so busy with all of the outdoor work. If it meant that he could spend hours like this with you, he would never choose to sleep. 

He stared at your face again. For a moment, he contemplates going back to his room to grab his sketchbook. The possibility of waking you up changes his mind. Instead, Harry stays seated across from you and stares at you for what feels like hours trying to paint you in his head.

[kurowrites]

“You’re a tea-lover yet you come to the coffee shop where I work at just to see my foam art and you give me hefty tips regularly so I’ve taken it upon myself to master the art of tea-making just for you” AU. - Wangxian for preference!

“Hey, Xianxian,” Luo Qingyang whispered, poking Wei Ying with her pointy elbow. “He’s here again.”

She didn’t have to elaborate who ‘he’ was – the person in question was already sitting down at his usual table, in full view of the counter Wei Ying and Luo Qingyang were standing behind.

This customer had become somewhat of a fixture in their shop lately. All the people who worked there knew him by now, for two different reasons. The first reason was that the man was simply insanely good-looking, with handsome, harmonious features and well-formed, sensual lips that some women would be willing to kill for. He always wore well-tailored clothing that looked expensive in an understated way, which only served to underline his immaculate looks. The only thing that marred his good looks was that he never smiled and rarely spoke.

The second reason why everyone knew him was that he always ordered a coffee with latte art, but only from Wei Ying. There were some customers that made it a habit to order from their favourite barista, but it was strange for this particular customer, since he never actually seemed to enjoy drinking the coffee he’d ordered. Wei Ying had often wondered why he still insisted on ordering Wei Ying’s coffee’s if he didn’t like the coffee that Wei Ying made. Or why he came to a shop that served nothing but coffee, at all.

(Self-punishment? Harassment? Wei Ying refused to be intimidated.)

In short, the man was an enigma. But he was a handsome enigma, so all the girls in the shop went crazy over him whenever he came. All girls apart from Luo Qingyang, that was. She alone seemed to be completely immune to the customer’s good looks. But then, she was also immune to Wei Ying’s charms, so maybe she just disliked handsome men on principle.

“Xianxian, stop gawking like the embarrassment that you are and go take his order!” Luo Qingyang hissed in his ear, jabbing her pointy elbow into his ribs once more. “It’s not like he lets anyone else take his order!”

“Ouch, Mianmian, you’re so cruel!” Wei Ying complained, rubbing his smarting side. “I’m going, I’m going! There’s no hurry, it’s not like we’re busy right now.”

Luo Qingyang gave him a stern look and he hurriedly took off, making his way to the now occupied table.

“Hello,” he greeted with his friendliest customer smile. “What can I bring you today? The usual?”

The customer sent him a slightly confused look (as if Wei Ying wouldn’t remember his order by now, hello), but then he nodded once.

“Hn.”

“Very well, I’ll be right back.”

He turned around and went back to the counter. But today, instead of heading directly for the coffee machine to prepare the order, he opened one of the cupboards where he had prepared a surprise just for today. Well, he had hoped he’d get to use it today, but he hadn’t known if the customer really was going to visit. And indeed, he had been lucky.

He pulled a small tea set out of the cupboard and started to heat up the water and prepare the tea, just as he had practiced a dozen times at home. His movements were confident by now – he was sure he was going to prepare a really good cup of tea. Maybe not perfect, but good. And because he was unable to make any latte art as he usually would, he had prepared something else. He put the prepared cup of tea on a saucer and placed a little chocolate rabbit (self-made, of course) onto the rim of the saucer as decoration.

Luo Qingyang gave him a strange look, but he ignored her. He needed to move before the tea would go cold. Putting his creation onto a tray, he carefully carried his work to the waiting customer. With a flourish, he set the saucer onto the table in front of the customer and presented his work proudly.

All he got in return, however, was a severe frown.

“It’s good tea, I promise,” Wei Ying said encouragingly. “I can’t say I’m perfect, but I’m confident in the quality of the tea. And since I think you liked my little foam rabbits, have a little chocolate rabbit as decoration as a replacement.”

“I did not order tea,” the customer said, severe frown still in place.

“I know, I know,” Wei Ying reassured him nervously. “But uh… you never actually seemed to enjoy drinking the coffee that I make. I don’t want to make my customers suffer through my drinks, you know. And well, if I’m not entirely mistaken, then you’re the nephew of Gongfu cha master Lan Qiren. I thought that tea, rather than coffee, might be more your… thing.”

Lan Zhan (Wei Ying was relatively sure that that was his name) did not reply. He just kept staring at the cup in silence.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Wei Ying said, suddenly feeling very nervous. How had he ever thought this was a good idea? Of course he’d overstepped. This wasn’t what the customer had ordered. Whatever he might feel about Lan Zhan not enjoying the coffee he brewed, it was none of his business.  He had to do what the customer asked him to. “If you want, I’ll bring you your coffee now. Free of charge, of course.”

“Nn.”

“Excuse me?”

“This establishment does not serve tea,” Lan Zhan observed.

“No, usually not,” Wei Ying said, clutching at his tray as if it could provide him with security. “I brought my own stuff to work. Oh! I made sure everything is in order, of course. I properly cleaned everything beforehand, and the tea is fresh.”

Lan Zhan didn’t visibly react to Wei Ying’s words. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused on the little chocolate rabbit next to the teacup, the one that Wei Ying had painstakingly modelled and decorated in order to make it look as cute as one of his foam art rabbits. Carefully, Lan Zhan reached out and touched the rabbit with the tip of his finger.

“You… made it?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Yeah! Took me a while to figure it out, not gonna lie, hahaha,” Wei Ying said. “It’s cute, though, no?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan confirmed, and a big smile spread over Wei Ying’s face. Lan Zhan thought his little rabbit was cute!

Lan Zhan finally peeled his eyes away from the rabbit and looked up at Wei Ying.

“I like tea,” he enunciated. “I also like rabbits.”

Wei Ying smiled, feeling way too relieved for getting away with switching up a customer’s order without asking. But he didn’t care! Lan Zhan liked his surprise!

“So, what made you order all those coffees that you didn’t like?” Wei Ying asked, a little teasingly. “Don’t tell me the foam rabbits I make were cute enough to make you drink all that bitter bean juice in exchange?”

Lan Zhan looked back down on the tea in front of him.

“Hn,” he said, and before Wei Ying could ask what exactly he meant, Lan Zhan had lifted the cup to his mouth and was sipping on the tea.  

“It is good,” he declared once he had set the cup down again.

“If you want to,” Wei Ying said eagerly. “I’ll make tea for you from now own. But shhh.” He conspiratorially held a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell the others. I’m not sure my boss is going to like it if I supply the customers with anything other than bitter bean juice.”

Lan Zhan looked up at him, and Wei Ying’s heart beat a little faster. Lan Zhan really was very handsome. Especially from up close. Such pretty eyes that almost seemed to smile at him. He could drown in them, almost.

“I know a very good tearoom,” Lan Zhan said, and Wei Ying tilted his head, confused at the non-sequitur. Was he trying to gently refuse Wei Ying’s offer?

“If you like tea, we should go there,” Lan Zhan continued. “When you’re… not working.”

Wait, what?

Wei Ying gaped at Lan Zhan, speechless.

Wait, was this– shit, was this– He was familiar with the concept, because it sometimes happened to his female coworkers, but this couldn’t– there was no way–

“Forgive me,” Lan Zhan said, already reaching for his wallet. “I overstepped. I will–”

“NO!” Wei Ying shouted, just barely managing to hold himself back from latching onto Lan Zhan’s arm at the last moment. “I mean… sure. I can give you my number. If you want.”

Whatever it was that happened the next moment, there was no way Wei Ying’s poor heart could have been prepared for it. Lan Zhan’s mouth did something small, an almost imperceptible curving of his lips, but it transformed his entire expression, and… he was smiling.

Oh god, he was smiling at Wei Ying.

With a thundering heart, Wei Ying smiled back. Oh god, this was impossible. This… wow. He would do a lot of things to get smiled at like that again.

“I… give me a second. I need something to write.”

And with his still thundering heart, he ran back to the counter to grab a pen.

Luo Qingyang gave him a flat look as he rifled through their weird collection of mostly broken pens.

“Listen, I’m glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses, but can you please remember you’re still working right now?” she asked. “I’m not going to do your work just so you can make heart eyes at loverboy over there.”

“He’s not–”

“Sure he isn’t,” Luo Qingyang cut in. “That’s also why he only ever looks at you whenever he visits. Give him your number and go back to work, it’s upsetting having to watch you two being shy maidens at each other. It’s nauseating, is what it is.”

“Wait, Mianmian, so you think–”

Luo Qingyang gave him a slap on the back of his head. “The answer is yes, now go give him your number and get it over it.”

Wei Ying peered over the counter curiously, and he found Lan Zhan watching him. When he smiled, Lan Zhan answered with a matching almost-smile.

Oh, Wei Ying’s heart was going to stop any minute now. No wonder Lan Zhan never smiled. It was an actual health risk. He was doing humanity a great service.

“Dammit, stop it already!” Luo Qingyang hissed, and pushed him out from behind the counter.

He wouldn’t stop, Wei Ying thought giddily as he approached Lan Zhan’s table with his number in hand.

He wouldn’t stop, he thought as he placed the paper into Lan Zhan’s hand, their fingers brushing against each other in a way that certainly wasn’t a casual, appropriate touch.

He wouldn’t stop, he thought as Lan Zhan looked up at him with a slight flush in his cheeks.

And after all, he had just started.

He would make it up to Mianmian later.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑫𝒂𝒅! 𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛: 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝑾𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝑪𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

"What is it? You wanna come out of confinement?"

Hongjoong picked up his baby son and held him for a few seconds.

"I know. You must be bored to death in that thing."

Hongjoong was surprised when he started crying even harder than before. He gently rocked the boy in his arms.

"Are you hungry? Want me to get your bottle?"

Hongjoong quickly dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle. He tried feeding it to him, but the baby swatted the bottle away with such force, it ended up spilling all over the floor. Hongjoong groaned in frustration as he tried to calm the crying baby down.

"Y/N.......please get here already..." He whined, a small pout on his face.

Sighing he went back inside the living room and put the baby back in his play pen, which of course made him whine and wriggle more. Hongjoong went over to the piano on the corner. It was the last idea he had so he began playing a soft lullaby on the piano. As soon as the baby heard the first notes, his crying ceased and instead he made low guttural sounds as he began calming down from his crying fit.

Hongjoong kept playing 2 more songs until he looked over and saw that his son was already fast asleep. He finished the last song and walked over to see his son sleeping like a little angel, a fond smile on his face.

"Who would have thought you loved music just like me?"

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

You were whining at this point.

"Sweetheart please! Just eat the food."

Your baby daughter once again refused to open her mouth as you placed the spoonful of puree in front of her. With a loud squeal she slapped it out of your hand, tossing the spoon and the mushy content onto the table in front of you both. You let out a groan as your hands clutched your head, feeling like you were about to break down like her at any minute.

As if on cue, Seonghwa came in and immediately rushed over to the kitchen when he heard your daughter's crying.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he scanned her all over.

"I don't know! She won't eat her food and I'm just tired at this point!" You didn't mean to come off so angry, but you were beyond frustrated.

Seonghwa understood and simply helped you up. He gave your nose a tender kiss and hugged you briefly.

"Here. Let me try."

He took the space you previously occupied and looked at your daughter. He smiled at her and began doing cutesy signs at her, varying from hearts to bunny ears. Once he began using his aegyo voice, the baby began calming down, now only sniffling softly. Seeing an opportunity, Seonghwa picked up the spoon and scooping up more puree, he successfully managed to get her to start eating.

"Seriously?!" You were indignated but Seonghwa chuckled.

"I told you she would be daddy's girl."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Although his son was crying on the top of his lungs for several minutes now, Yunho still had a smile plastered on his face.

"There there. Calm down kiddo. Mommy will be here soon."

That answer didn't seem to satisfy the infant, who only began crying harder, making Yunho pout.

"Well dang, do you really miss her that much?"

Taking a peek out the window and seeing that it was not cloudy, Yunho picked up the baby bag and grabbed his keys. Making sure to lock the door, he carried his son all the way into the car and strapped him into the baby seat in the back. As soon as Yunho started the car, the baby stopped screaming, although he kept spilling out tears. Once they were further on in the road, he stopped crying and his eyes struggled to keep open. Yunho looked at him from the rearview mirror and chuckled.

"Maybe that documentary I watched was correct. Babies do fall asleep in car rides."

Yunho decided to turn on the radio for a little while, which only helped to make the baby fully fall asleep in no time. Even after he had parked in front of the office building, the baby still stayed asleep. When you came out, Yunho immediately got out of the car and opened the back door.

"Did you get here early?" You asked.

Yunho sighed softly before getting the sleeping baby out.

"Well if I didn't, he would have continued crying his eyes out from missing you too much."

He carefully handed you the baby, who squirmed around before opening his eyes. The instant he saw you, his eyes lit up and he stretched his arms out to touch your face, making you giggle at how adorable your baby was.

"Mommy missed you too." You kissed his tiny nose.

Yunho frowned.

"I missed you too. Where's my kiss?"

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

You were both woken up when your baby daughter started crying.

"Yeosang." You called out.

"Mmmm?" He mumbled.

"It's your turn." You said.

He merely let out an inaudible groan.

"I took care of her yesterday. It's your turn."

Realizing he was right, you got up and went over to the adjoining room to yours. Picking up your daughter, first you made sure her diaper didn't need changing. Then you held her up to your chest, thinking she was hungry. But it was none of them since she kept crying and crying. You gently rocked her in your arms, even singing a soft lullaby to her, but she just began wailing even harder.

"Yeosang!" You cried out.

Huffing softly, he sat up and made his way to the nursery with slow, tired steps.

"Ok give me her. Let's see what's wrong."

He cooed at her softly and as soon as the little girl was in her father's arms and heard his voice, she immediately stopped crying.

"That was easy." He smiled proudly.

He tried setting her back down on her crib, but just as soon as she felt his hands off her, her crying resumed, this time harder than before.

"Ok! That's not going to work."

Picking her up again, once more she stopped crying and instead nestled herself in Yeosang's embrace. You both looked at each other in disbelief. Yeosang couldn't help but snort.

"She loves me better than you."

Not in the mood or headspace for his jokes, you lifted your hand up to hit him but immediately put it down.

"Let's just go back to sleep."

You both crawled back into bed, Yeosang being a little more careful as he adjusted himself so the baby could properly sleep in his arms.

"This better not become a daily thing." You said as you closed your eyes.

Not missing the opportunity even in his exhausted state, Yeosang teased:

"If you don't like it, you could always sleep on the couch."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San waved the rattle in front of the crying baby's face.

"Look! It makes noise! Don't you wanna play with it?"

The baby only smacked it with his hand, making San step back.

"Well damn son, a simple no would have sufficed."

Not about to give up, he picked up a cat headband and placed it on his hand before shamelessly doing aegyo in front of his son.

"Would you please stop crying for your dad? It makes him sad to see you cry."

When the baby continued crying, San began to whine loudly.

"What's wrong?! Speak to me! What do you want?! What will it take for you to stop crying?!"

Unable to take anymore noise, Byeol woke up and sauntered over to where all the commotion was. Her tiny paw latched onto San's pant leg as she began meowing at him.

"Not now Byeol. I'll feed you once I calm him down."

San was busy making funny faces to hopefully get his son to laugh that he didn't realize Byeol had climbed into a play pen until she jumped right next to the crying baby.

"Whoah! What the- Byeol! Get out of there immediately!"

The feline however ignored him and began rubbing her body against the baby, her soft purring and silky fur proving in aiding to help the baby calm down. The baby wrapped its tiny arms around her neck and Byeol didn't mind when he began cuddling her like one of his plushies, instead placing a paw on his tiny hand to keep him from squeezing too hard. San was stunned though as he watched them slowly drift off to sleep in each other's arms.

"You mean a cat knows how to take better care of my own son than me?"

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi was on the verge of breaking down.

"I've fed you, I've changed your diaper and even made a fool of myself by doing aegyo, what more do you want from me?!"

Mingi poked his bottom lip out as he held his crying daughter up, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He then gasped.

"Oh my god! What if you're sick?!"

Mingi quickly rushed over to the bathroom to look for the thermometer. He let out a scream when he couldn't find it that only served to agitate the baby more, causing her to start crying harder.

You quickly ran towards the sound of the crying once you came back from work.

"What did you do?!" You yelled causing Mingi to whimper.

"I swear I did nothing! She just won't stop crying! I didn't mean to break our baby!"

You sighed and quickly took the baby from him. Noticing how the baby kept shaking her head and her hands were flying in all directions, you guessed something was bothering her. You took a chance and opted for taking off the beanie she was wearing. Once your daughter felt the beanie taken off, she stopped screaming, although now she just sniffed slightly.

"Oh my poor baby. Was your hat too tight on that not so tiny head of yours?"

Mingi was stunned that a stupid article of clothing was the whole reason for the ordeal to drag on. You gently placed kisses on the top of your daughter's head, trying to soothe her pain. Then you turned your attention to Mingi who had a look of disappointment and sadness in his eyes.

"Hey come on now. It's a learning process. She is our first child after all." You reminded him.

Mingi nodded and accepted when you handed the baby over to him so you could go get changed and wash up. Mingi began making funny faces at his daughter, who immediately began squealing and giggling at him.

"That's what I like to see. A happy babygirl who loves her daddy so much."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

Wooyoung grunted as he once again went back to the living room to go attend to his son who was in his baby blue jumperoo.

"Ok what now?" Wooyoung asked the crying infant.

Contrary to what most people expected, Wooyoung's son definitely cried a lot, but he never screamed or full on wailed. He mostly just whimpered or let out tiny sobs whenever he was upset. Wooyoung sighed.

"Buddy, I know you can't actually talk, but I need you to help me out here."

Wooyoung spun and shook some of the toys surrounding the jumperoo in an effort to make his son stop crying, but it didn't work. The little boy just kept looking up at his father with teary eyes and pouty lips.

"Don't give me those sad eyes, please! What is it you want?"

Wooyoung leaned his face in, looking straight in his son's eyes. Stretching his arms out, the baby began making grabby hands towards Wooyoung's face.

"Ohh....I get it now."

Wooyoung immediately picked up the baby and held him. Placing a kiss on his head, he went back to the kitchen to check on the food. Although he had trouble maneuvering himself while holding a baby, he nonetheless managed to make sure the food didn't burn or turn out gross.

"No, unfortunately you can't eat some of my delicious food yet." Wooyoung said when his son pointed to the pot on the stove.

Wooyoung decided to have a tiny conversation with his son as he finished cooking, of course the baby didn't reply or made any sign that he was actually listening to him. The only sound he made was a tiny squeak when he saw you come in, making Wooyoung turn to see you.

"Welcome home Mrs. Jung. Care to join us this evening for supper?"

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho came in the house, surprised to see that you were still awake.

"Baby? What are you doing up?"

When you turned to him and he saw the weeping baby in your hands, he let out a soft 'oh.'

"How long has she been crying?" He asked.

"10 minutes. I don't know what to do. She's fed, changed and she simply won't go to bed."

Noticing how you looked exhausted, Jongho took the girl from your care.

"Go to bed honey. I'll take care of her."

Jongho gently rocked her in his arms, shushing her slightly before opting for a new method. He began singing a lullaby to her, his sweet honey voice helping her relax and cease her crying. Slowly, her eyes began to shut and open before eventually drifting off to sleep. Carefully, Jongho placed her inside her crib, tucking her under her pink blanket. He chuckled before poking her nose.

"Good night my little princess."

He went inside your room and noticed that you too were fast asleep. Going over to your side, he kissed your forehead.

"And good night my beautiful queen."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 18/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall (THIS CHAPTER IS RATED R) See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Halfway to home, Mulder stops the wagon.  The horses have started to shake their heads against their harnesses and begin to snort and whinny.  He cocks his head a bit and stares east, out into the sky for a few moments before he sets the brake and gets down from the seat.

“What’s wrong?” Katherine asks.

Mulder works to try to calm the pair of stallions hooked to the wagon, rubbing their foreheads and jaws.  “You know that article you were reading in that journal?” he asks Katherine.  “About the weather lore?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I think these boys are trying to tell us something.”  Mulder nods off to the east.  “You feel that wind?”

“A bit.”

“There’ll be rain soon.”

“Will we make it home?”

“I think we’ll be in ahead of those clouds out there.”  Mulder climbs back up onto the wagon seat and releases the brake.  “At least, I sure do hope so.”

The weather vane at the ranch is quivering, pointing to a southeasterly wind.  Melvin and Trevor are outside, moving the livestock into the barn, when Mulder and Katherine drive up in the wagon.  Richard is closing up the shutters on the house.  Jesse and Jimmy aren’t there, having left the day before for a trip out to their family’s place.  

“Go on and grab up what you can from the back of the wagon,” Mulder tells Katherine.  “I’m going to help secure things out here and I can bring in the rest when we’re done.”

“Alright, be careful.”  Katherine loads a crate to the brim with packages and goes off to the house.

It takes some time to get all the animals moved from the pens to the barn.  The goats complain the loudest about their new accommodations and they bleat and kick the walls and leap up onto workbenches and leap off, agitating the suckling pigs and making them squeal.  Trevor provides them with fresh hay and carrots and they settle down.  

Mulder goes to the stables to check on the horses.  They move about restlessly and Mulder goes from stall to stall, giving each one his individual attention for a few minutes to try to keep them calm.

“Trevor and I are going to pack some bedrolls and he’ll bunk in the hayloft tonight,” Melvin tells Mulder.  “I’ll stay here in the stables and make sure they don’t fret none when the storm starts up.”

“You don’t think we’re expecting a twister, do you?”

“Naw, I smell the rain and my knee always acts up when we’re expectin’ a doozy.”

“Just got a couple bottles of a liniment from the mercantile today if you want me to leave one with you.”

“May not help much, but I could give it a try.”

“I’ll see if Katherine can fix up an early supper and pack some things up for you.  You have your slickers and boots on hand?”

“Told the boy to have ‘em at the ready.”

“Richard staying in the bunkhouse?”

“Reckon so.”

“I’m going to latch the doors tonight, but if you need anything, I expect you to come for me.”

“I ain’t worried about nothin’.”

“Alright then.”

Mulder fills a crate and brings it to the house and then runs back to get the last of the goods.  Katherine is in the kitchen with a fire already burning in the stove and chopping vegetables.

“Leave the crates and I’ll put everything away later,” she says.  “I figured I should get a start on supper early just in case.”

“I was just telling Melvin I’d ask you to do that.  Can I help with anything?”

“Get the lamps lit?  It’s a little dark with the shutters closed.”

“I can do that.”

Mulder lights the lamps in the dogtrot and then brings one of the ones from his room into the kitchen for more light.  He sets the table while Katherine finishes cooking and he tries to help unload some of the supplies, but he can tell she tires quite quickly of instructing him on where things should be kept so he leaves it be.  He takes the bottles of liniment and the package of denim trousers.

Supper is a quick affair.  The boys barely sit and barely eat.  Katherine seems to have anticipated a swift departure and she’s packed up some tins with more than enough provisions.  At the first sound of the slight patter of rain, they’re gone like buckshot, abandoning dishware and cutlery at Katherine’s insistence and then it’s just the two of them.

“I was afraid they might break a dish in their haste,” Katherine says.  “Are they always like this when we have a storm?”

“You’ve never been in a Texas storm before, have you?  It’s not something you want to get caught out in.”

“No, but I’ve been through my share of hurricanes.”

“Then you should be just fine.”

Mulder offers to help clean the dishes so Katherine can get the goods put away.  He has his part done faster than she does and so he goes to check that none of the shutters are loose and that the back door is securely latched.  The rain is coming down steadily and hard.  He can hear it on the roof and on the porch.

Curious, he opens the front door to see what things look like.  He’s lucky that the wind is blowing away from the house and that the deluge is moving away from the door and not towards it.  There’s lightning in the distance, but he doesn’t hear any thunder.

“Kate?” he calls.  “Come take a look at this.”

Katherine emerges from the kitchen, bringing the lamp with her.  He takes it from her when she gets close enough and sets it down on the entry table.

“Goodness,” she says.  “It looks as terrible as it sounds.  Will the boys be alright out there?”

“The roof on the barn got replaced last autumn, so it should stay pretty dry.  I’ve spent a few storms out there myself and am no worse for wear.”

Katherine leans against the door and stares out at the rain.  Occasionally, the side of her face is illuminated with a quick flash of lightning.  The thunder begins to softly growl as the storm moves closer.

“I’ve never really liked storms,” she says with a sigh.

“Why not?”

“They can be so terribly destructive.”

“That’s true.”  He watches her watch the storm.  She wraps her arms around her waist and shivers slightly.  He steps towards her and brings his arm across her body to hold her elbow.  “Are you cold?”

“A little chill, is all.”

He steps even closer so that her shoulder rests against his chest and he brings both arms around her loosely, holding her sideways.  He can feel her twisting her wedding ring around her finger against his arm.

“I want to ask you something,” he says.

“Go ahead.”

“I saw how quickly you took your place in assisting the doc today with the Skinner boy.  And I may not have been conscious after my fall, but I know how you treated me during my injury and recovery.  Nursing folks seems to be something that comes natural to you.  Why did you tell the doc you couldn’t go out and help him now and again?”

She rolls her head back and to the side to look at him.  “That wasn’t in our agreement.”

“I guess I missed the fine print in our marriage certificate where it says you have to give up on your dreams.”

“My dream was to be a doctor.”

“I think you’d make a mighty fine doctor.  So, why didn’t you jump at the opportunity for some tutelage?”

“I had to leave that behind a long time ago.”

“Katherine.”

“So now it’s Katherine, if you think I’m being unreasonable?”

He moves one hand up and strokes her cheek.  “I don’t think you’re being unreasonable, I just want you to be happy,” he tells her.  “I don’t want you to ever regret marrying me the way you regret marrying Jack.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that.”

“No?”

She opens her mouth and is interrupted by a clap of thunder so loud that it leaves Mulder’s ears ringing.  Katherine gasps and turns into his arms with a shiver.  He holds the back of her head and tightens his arm around her waist.  The grandfather clock in the hall chimes eight times.

“What were you going to say?” he asks, when it falls silent.

Her voice trembles when she answers.  “I was going to say that...that I stopped feeling so regretful as soon as I met you.”

He can’t help but kiss her then.  He’s been feeling like that for a long time, like all the sorrow he’s been through in his life, the loneliness he’s felt, the opportunities he’s rejected to chase this dream of his, all suddenly made sense to him when he married her.  

He learns what lust really feels like in this moment.  It’s a powerful urge, to want someone so much and so badly.  It’s like something has taken over his body and makes his hands clutch her hips, makes his groin ache so badly that he has to push his hips into her belly, makes him groan into her mouth as she pushes back.  Whatever is happening he wants more of it.  Wants to rut against the door with her legs wrapped around him, wants to pull her skirts up and feel the back of her thighs in his hands, wants her hands kneading him all over instead of just his shoulders, wants his skin against her skin and nothing between them.

He has to pull away from her to catch his breath and because his heart is racing so fast his chest feels like it might burst.  Her head rolls against the door, back and forth, and then her eyes open.  She looks intoxicated, eyes dark, cheeks red, lips swollen.

“Please,” she says.  “Don’t...don’t stop.”

↭

She’s never felt this way before.  Never felt so overwhelmed with want in all her life.  She wants Mulder to kiss her again, she wants to feel his weight on her, she wants to touch him in all the places she knows are sinful and for him to touch her in the places that are too sinful to even touch herself.  She thinks that everything she was told was wicket as a girl was a lie.  None of what she feels now can possibly be wrong when it feels so right.

Mulder pulls her away from the front door and slams it shut.  She holds onto one of his hands with both of hers and follows him into his bedroom.  Her knees are shaking and her heart is pounding.  There’s an unbearable ache deep in her belly and between her thighs and it’s so unnerving for her to think that he’s the one that brought it there and the only one that can take it away for her.

Mulder shuts the bedroom door very softly and they stand before each other in the lamplight.  He’s only inches away, but it feels too far.  She breathes in the musky scent of him and sways on her feet.

“Kate,” he whispers, and catches her with an arm around her waist, hand pressed low on her back.  She gasps as a swoop of heat arcs low in her pelvis.  Is this what swooning is?

“I want to lay with you,” she says.  

“I want to undress you.”

She nods and then turns in his arms so he can undo the buttons on her skirt.  She feels him tug and pull, tug and pull, tug and pull, undoing each button down from the small of her back to just below the curve of her buttocks.  The skirt falls and she steps away from it and then turns to him again.  She helps him with the buttons on her blouse, moving up from the bottom as he moves down from her throat.  They meet in the middle and then she can shrug the shirt off, leaving her in her chemise and bloomers.

“Now, you,” she says.

He nods and pulls his suspenders down from his shoulders one at a time.  He tugs his shirt off first and then crouches down to unlace his boots.  After he kicks off his shoes, he unbuttons his trousers and pushes them free of his hips.

“I’ll need your help,” she says, leaning against the edge of the bed and pointing one foot out to him.

Mulder kneels down and takes her foot onto his leg.  He doesn’t apologize this time when he touches her ankle like he did when he helped her onto the horse.  Her foot rests high on his thigh and he looks at her as he pushes each button free.  The anticipation of removing the shoe is actually making it hard for her to breathe and it certainly isn’t helping with the ache between her thighs.

Finally, Mulder pulls the first shoe from her foot and she sighs.  He pushes the hem of her bloomers up her leg and then draws her stocking down.  She bites her lip as he softly massages her calf and ankle and then draws one hand over the top of her foot and rubs his thumb across her toes.  He brings her first foot back to the floor and then has to repeat the whole process with the other.  By the time he’s finished, she’s panting and trying not to squirm.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, massaging the back of her ankle.

“Alright.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just continues to massage her foot.  The storm outside swells and the rain splatters against the walls and the widow.  Lightning flickers through the slats of the shutters and thunder rumbles again, but it’s lower this time.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.  “I was nearly engaged once, but we never...it was a long time ago.  What I mean to say is, if I do something wrong, if...well, if there’s something I should be doing that I’m not, you just tell me.”

She doesn’t know what to think about what he’s just told her.  It surprises her, to say the least, given her experience with men.  She also feels a pang of sympathy for him.  There are things that she hasn’t done either, though she won’t tell him of it now.  Despite having been married, she’s never seen a naked, aroused man before.  Jack would not let her look and would not let her touch him.  She’s also never been nude in front of any man.  Intercourse was always something stolen from her, something she had no participation in other than being there.  It was painful, it was unpleasant, it was beyond her control.  What’s happening now is different, and she knows it.  She doesn’t know what to expect either or what to do.  Not really.  Perhaps she should tell him she’s in the same place that he is, but she doesn’t know how to explain.

“Come here,” she says.

He stands up on his knees and then gets to his feet before her.  She slides off the bed a little and then takes his hips and has him take a step even closer to her.  She unknots the drawstring on his drawers and hesitates when the underwear loosens and slips down his hips a few inches, exposing the top of his penis.  She tries not to stare, but she can’t help it.  It’s wet and glistening and twitches slightly when she tugs at his drawers to bring them off completely.

She holds him where her palms fit nicely at the muscular dip below his hips.  Her fingers curve naturally with the swell of his buttocks.  He clenches and shifts his feet.  His hands curl into loose fists and his fingers twitch.

“Can I touch you?” she asks.

He nods quickly and then grits his teeth and swallows.  “Oh hell,” he groans when she wraps her hand around him.  For a moment she thinks she’s done something wrong, but then she looks at his face and his eyes are closed, chin dropped nearly to his chest, mouth open.  She flexes her fingers to open her hand and then closes it around him again and he sways.

“Oh yes,” he moans.  “Oh, Kate.”  Even though his penis is hard, the skin is unexpectedly soft like velvet.  She pets him lightly and then uses her thumb to stroke up from the bottom of his shaft to the top.  He grabs onto her shoulder and his knees bend a little.  

Without even thinking about it, Katherine takes Mulder’s hand from her shoulder and brings it down to her breast.  He squeezes her almost experimentally at first and then more boldly.  She gasps slightly when his thumb rubs over her nipple and the grip she has on his penis tightens a bit.  He groans and sways again only this time his hips jerk towards her and then back.

“Oh Kate that feels so good,” Mulder says.

Encouraged, Katherine continues to pet him and rub him and he groans again and then covers her hand with his and curls her fingers into a tight fist around him.  He moves her hand up and down in his, faster and faster.  His hips jerk in time with the push and pull of their hands.  He makes soft little grunting whines in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes shut.  Blindly, he gropes for the edge of her chemise and lifts it up until he’s holding her bare breast in his hand and kneading it in time with her strokes.

“Oh, oh...oh I...I…”  Mulder’s head falls back and he bares his teeth and groans from deep in his gut.  His hips jerk forward and his buttocks clench and Katherine feels the warm rush of his seed spilling through her fingers and into their joined fists.

Time seems to come to a standstill for a few moments and then Mulder lets go of her breast and lets go of her hand and his eyes come open and his mouth rounds into the shape of an ‘o’ and then he hastily begins pulling at his undershirt to whip it over his head.

“Forgive me,” he says, wiping at her hand with his shirt.  “Oh, Kate, I’m sorry.”

“Why?  Wasn’t that what was supposed to happen?”

“Yes, but I didn’t intend to soil your hand in the process.”

“I don’t feel soiled.”

“That eases my embarrassment some.”

“Please, don’t be.”

Mulder tosses the undershirt away and then seems to realize he’s naked and moves his arms around like he doesn’t know what to do with them.  Katherine laughs and then grabs his hand and pulls him towards her.  She lays back where she is and he bends over her with his hands beside her shoulders on the bed.

“Do I get the honor of touching you now?” he asks.

“If...if you would like to.”

“Would you like me to?”

She takes a deep breath, swallows once, and then nods.  He pushes away from her and then takes her hands and pulls her back up so she’s sitting at the edge of the bed again.  He pulls the lace ties of her chemise apart and pushes the straps over her shoulders.  She shivers when her chest is exposed, sending gooseflesh up her arms.  He gazes at her openly and just the thought of him wanting her in such a way makes her nipples tighten painfully.

Mulder leans closer to her and touches the neglected breast he did not give any attention to previously.  He cups it in his hand and then bends his head and puts his mouth on her.  She is caught off guard and pushes his head away, blinking in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asks, pulling her shoulders into her body a bit and covering her breasts with her arms.

“I wanted to...is that not okay to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t do it then.”

“You wanted to?”

“Well, yes, I...yes.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know.  If I ask you to stop, will you?”

“Of course.”

He says that like it’s a given that ‘please, no’ and ‘don’t’ are magic words that people just adhere to.  She knows they’re not always heard and she knows they’re not always respected.  She also knows she shouldn’t judge Mulder by the poor character of other men.  He’s proven to her several times over that he is kind and trustworthy.  She opens her arms, baring her chest again to him, but she’s trembling all over.

“Alright,” she says.  “Go ahead.”

“Are you cold, honey?”

She shakes her head no in response.  His eyes roam her face for a few moments and instead of going back to her breast he kisses her.  She responds instantly, bringing her arms up and over his back to pull him closer.  He’s warm and the sparse hair on his chest tickles her breasts when she brushes against him.  He slides his arm under her and lifts her up slightly as he crawls onto the bed.

She’s still on her back, but he’s on his side.  He moves one hand over her body, down her arm, up her arm, over her breast, around her hip, across her belly, up her neck, over her breast again, down to her navel.  

He pulls his mouth from hers and she protests with a whimper, but he starts to kiss her face and then her neck and then her shoulders and her insides start to feel like melting butter.  She’s liquidy and soft all over.  He kisses the top of her breast and the side of her breast and then the inside of her elbow where her arm is bent to hold his face in her hands.

“Mulder,” she whispers.  

“Kate,” he murmurs back.

The way he says her name makes her body flush.  She pulls his head up so she can look at him and he cocks his head a little and rubs his jaw into her hand.  He touches her face and draws his thumb over her hairline and to her ear.

“Will you take your hair down?” he asks.

“Okay.”

They have to untangle their arms a bit so she can sit up and she pulls her braid over her shoulder and unties the band keeping it in place.  She unravels the plait with the pull of her fingers and the curls spring free.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, running his fingertips over the waves of her hair reverently.

She shakes her head a little in disbelief and then lays back again and stares up at the ceiling.  She folds her arms up to cover her breasts and finds herself nervously twisting her wedding band again when she tries so hard not to.  He lays down beside her again and props himself up on one hand and then reaches over to lightly cover her wrists.

“What is it?” he asks.

She shakes her head again.  When she was younger, the other kids at school wouldn’t play with her because they thought redheads were witches.  Her brother once told her that no one would ever want to marry her because boys thought freckles were disgusting.  Her mother once told her it was a shame she’d inherited her grandmother Scully’s nose.  Jack had told her repeatedly that her body felt like a bag of bones and that it repulsed him.  

“Kate?”

“You don’t have to lie to me.  I know I’m not very pretty.”

“Not pretty?  The first time I laid eyes on you I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

“I was unkempt and exhausted the day you met me.”

“That does not mean you weren’t beautiful.  Who told you you weren’t pretty?  That horse’s ass, Jack Willis?”

“Everyone.”

“Then everyone is wrong.”

“Everyone is wrong, but you are right?”

“In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever been wrong?”

She smiles a little and then begins to laugh.  He smiles as well and brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her wrist.  In the hallway, the grandfather clock chimes nine times.  The rain falls as steadily as it has been with no signs of stopping.

“I’ve never done this either,” she says, and he gives her a questioning look.  She shakes her head a little again and brings his hand back to her face.  “Not like this.  I want you to keep touching me.”

“That’s good, because I really want to keep touching you.”

She leans up and kisses him this time and he kisses her back.  She shifts closer and pulls him to her so that she can bring one of her arms around him and stroke his back.  She wants to wrap herself around him and maybe stay there for a little while where she knows she’s safe.  

He touches her a little more confidently than he had before.  He’s more firm, squeezes her breast a little tighter, doesn’t hesitate to pull her hips up towards his and push his body against hers.  He’s hard again and she knows that consummation is imminent.  She’s not nervous about it and doesn’t feel a sense of obligation to go through with it.  She wants it to happen.  She’s ready for it to happen.

Mulder’s fingers brush the top of her bloomers and he blindly unknots the drawstring.  Once the stays are loose, he slides his hand inside at her hip, lightly caressing her backside before moving around to the top of her thighs.  He breaks from kissing her to look down and she watches his face as he brings his hand between her thighs.  His fingers move gently through her curls and slip easily into the natural groove there that brings him inside of her.  His eyes widen and his lips purse as though he’s surprised.

“You feel so...so tight,” he whispers.  “Will it be okay?  Will I hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she lies.  It’s never not been painful.  She only hopes it won’t be this time.

He pulls his hand out from her bloomers and then she helps him pull them off her legs and just like that, she’s laid bare for him.  Unabashed, unashamed.  She opens her arms to him and when he comes down to her, she opens her legs as well.  

“If you need me to stop,” he says.  “I will.”

“I won’t,” she answers.

He moves awkwardly over her.  Bearing in mind he has no experience, she folds one knee up and rubs encouragingly at his shoulder.  She watches him fumble between touching himself and touching her and he blows out little puffs of frustration from his pouting lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I thought...I thought I would just know how to…”

“It’s alright.”  

Katherine wets her lips and then reaches down and takes a hold of him.  She shifts her hips and brings the tip of his penis to her folds and probes gently until she feels him begin to slip inside and then she stops and shifts again.  She lets go of him and then holds onto his hips as he pushes his way into her.  His body hunches over hers and he presses his head into the bed and pants into her shoulder.

“Oh my God,” he moans.  “Jesus, Kate, you feel so good.  Is this okay?  Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she says, and it isn’t a lie.  She feels a slight sting at first, but then nothing.  Nothing but the hot velvet feel of him inside of her.  For the first time, it doesn’t feel like an invasion, it feels like a welcome home.

“I...I have to move,” he says.  “Can I move?”

“Yes, move.  Please.”

He brings his hips back, but only marginally, like he can’t bear not to be as fully enmeshed in her as he can be, and then he pushes quickly back into her and moans.  She slides her hands over his buttocks and squeezes.  His hips jerk again and he cries out her name.

“You feel good to me too,” she tells him.

“I do?”

“Yes.  Yes.”  And that is not a lie either.  He has a way of undulating his hips so that his pelvis slides against hers and she can feel something building inside her, something glorious.  Her toes begin to tingle and she feels fire in her cheeks.

“This is incredible,” he says.  “I can’t believe how incredible you are.”

“Oh!”  Something happens in the next snap of his hips.  Her chest raises up into his and her head falls back.  Mulder buries his face into the straining muscles at her neck.  She can’t take a breath, can’t say a word, can’t do a thing but claw at his buttocks as her body folds up into his.  She feels as though she’s riding a wave.  No, she feels as though she is the wave, cresting and falling and then oozing towards land.  She feels as though she’s just been released of a heavy burden that she wasn’t even aware she was carrying.

“Kate, God, oh…”  Mulder holds her tightly to him as he spills into her.  She feels the warm rush of it flood through her and she’s not repulsed, like she would be with Jack.  She isn’t eager to get away.  She wants him to stay longer, stay as long as he can.

“Don’t go,” she whispers, when he shifts above her.

“I won’t,” he says, but it’s not a promise he can really keep.  He finally has to move from between her thighs rolls to his back beside her.

They lay side by side for some time and then Mulder gets up and he goes to his wash stand.  He pours water into the basin and wets a rag and then wrings it out and pats his chest and face a few times before wetting it again and cleaning himself between his legs.  He wets and wrings the rag again and then brings it to Katherine.  She reaches for it, but he sits down beside her and cleans her thighs himself.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Should I get a nightdress for you from your room?” he asks, draping the rag over the rack at the side of the stand.  “Will you be cold?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be right back.”  Mulder goes out into the hall and turns off the lamps and then checks the door.  He brings the lamp in his room over to the bedside table and Katherine moves off the bed so he can pull the bedclothes down.  It’s apparent he expects her to stay with him tonight.  She had hoped he would ask and never thought he would just assume that is the way it would be.  She lays down and he brings the sheets over her.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, when he slips into bed behind her.

She blinks in surprise, but nods.  He turns away to put the lamp out and then lays down and brings his arm around her.  His chest is pressed to her back and his legs curl into the shape of hers.  His knees jut into the bottoms of her feet.  She lays her arm alongside his and he turns his hand into hers so that their fingers lace together.

She doesn’t fall asleep immediately.  It takes some time for her heartbeat to slow, for her eyes to droop, for the rain to lull her.  The grandfather clock chimes ten times though she hears it as though through a dense fog.  She feels Mulder move behind her, feels him lean over her and kiss her cheek, but she’s too sleepy to respond.

She thinks he might whisper ‘I love you,’ but it might be a dream.

[babyspiderling]

Love Undercover   one

“Leiman! I got a story for you! Go undercover as a high school student, do a piece on teen culture or whatever the parents need to hear about their kids. This could be your shot kid!” Flashes of my own high school career three years ago plague my mind. “Sir, are you sure this is a good story? I mean, there are harder hitting stories than a piece on teen culture.” Mr. Edward's eyebrow simply raises in response, and I slink back to my desk. I raise my desk phone to my ear and ring my older brother, Anthony. “Tony, they’re making me go back to school. I thought I would never have to go back. It was hell.” I hear him chuckle through the phone. “Why are they making you go back? You lose your diploma or something?” I scoff into the phone. “No, Tony. They want me to go undercover since I’m the only one who can pass for a child here. I start on Monday. Shit, I gotta attempt to dress like a high school girl again. Thank god I’ve been the same dress size since my junior year. See you tonight Tony, we still on for dinner?” I hear him confirm for me into the microphone and I click the phone off. Standing and gathering my things I peek my head into my editor's office. “Mr. Edwards, I’m headed out to get ready for my assignment. I’ll see you soon.” He nods at me, letting me know he’ll enroll me this afternoon for Monday’s classes and I take my leave. 

Monday arrives sooner than later. I feel like a freshman again, out of my element and out of my comfort zone. My hair had been trimmed to a popular cut and I had been trained on how to style it. My journalist instincts took over at the mall, taking in what teens were wearing and how they were wearing it. For my first day I bought a striped blouse with a longer skirt to seem neutral. The end of winter chill caused me to grab a cardigan on my way out and I climbed into the front seat of my old “Mystery Machine” ready to go back to high school. 

“Well, three new students in a month, must be a new record. Tom and Doug McQuaid and now Y/N Leiman. This way.” The balding principal tosses my schedule at me and walks off in large, commanding strides. “Tell me Miss Leiman, are you a troublemaker like the other newcomers?” My eyebrows pull together in confusion. “No, no sir. I’m not a troublemaker.” He pulls to a stop in front of a door. “This is your first class. I’m sure someone will show you around. Prove yourself to be on your best behavior Miss Leiman. Wouldn’t want you to be labeled as a hoodlum.” He turns to walk away but is distracted by a skipping student roaming the halls. I tuck my hair behind my ear and fix my appearance. I take one last breath of confidence and open the creaking door. The click of my heels only adds to the attention as the entire class watches me with curious eyes. I feel the girls sizing me up, the boys appraising my value, and the teacher annoyed at the interruption. “This is Mrs. Dustin’s class right? I’m new here.” The woman takes the papers from my hands and catches herself up. “Yes, you’re in the right place. Please take a seat.” I nod and take one of the only seats left open, next to a boy dressed in leather and an earring in his ear. I struggle to remind myself that I’m at least three to four years older than these students, too intimidated by their stares to fill with confidence. I tuck my hair away from my face as I pull out my pen and notebook from my bag. I start to write a mixture of notes for the class and notes for my story when something sharp stabs into my thigh. Turning my head with pinched eyebrows I look at the boy reeking of trouble. “You got any gum? Teach made me swallow my last piece last period.” I nod and rummage through my bag. “Mint, cinnamon, or bubble?” He looks at me in a bit of shock at the number of choices. “Bubble.” I nod and hand him a piece, pulling a lollipop for myself. In my years of studying and writing and taking notes, I know that if somewhere else on my body is moving, focusing is easier. With my mouth occupied with the sugar, my brain is on a roll. Trouble leans in once more, the sugary smell from his mouth fills my nostrils. “You got anything else in that bag of yours? I could use a coke too.” I roll my eyes and smile a bit. “Oh, hush. I have a sugar addiction.” At the sound of our whispers, Mrs. Dustin clears her throat loudly. “Mr. McQuaid, Miss Leiman, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” I shake my head and duck my head back to my notes. McQuaid lifts his chin and smirks at the teacher. “Just Miss Leimans sugar addiction, teach. Probably why she’s so sweet.” My cheeks heat at his comment and I don’t know how to react. My brain berates me for my flustered appearance. He is sixteen, maybe seventeen! You are old enough to drink! Get your head together girl! I keep my head down until the bell rings, no matter how many pokes to the thigh I earn. 

I glance down at my schedule and attempt to find my way around the giant high school. An arm drops itself over my shoulder as I look up to find Trouble staring right back at me. “Can I help you? Need more gum already?” He chuckles a bit and pops his gum. “Nah sweets, my brother and I were wanting to invite you to sit with us for lunch. Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?” His eyebrows raise at his question and my face heats. “Oh! Uh, no. I don’t have anywhere better to be. I guess I can eat with you guys?” McQuaid smirks around his gum and leads me to a table occupied by another boy who is dressed similarly to trouble. With a steady hand on the small of my back, trouble eases me into my seat. I unpack my bag and come to a realization. “I just realized we haven’t Introduced ourselves! I’m Y/N, I just moved here, and I’m a senior.” Trouble and the other boy smirk at each other. Trouble turns his body to me. “I’m Tom McQuaid. This here’s my big brother Doug. He would've graduated last year, or the year before that, but he just can’t seem to pass classes.” Doug gives a shout of defense, tossing a French fry at his brother, who catches it in his mouth, grinning triumphantly. I roll my eyes and give a small smile to their antics. “So you’re the McQuaid brothers. You’re new here too. And troublemakers from what I’ve heard.” They look at each other and laugh. “Well, sugar, what can we say? It’s much more fun to break the rules than to follow them.” After fishing out my lunch I pull another sucker from my bag, strawberry flavored as opposed to the cotton candy flavored from earlier. “Damn sweets, not gonna share with us? I’m hurt.” I roll my eyes and toss the older boy the bag of sweets. “Leave me the mango flavors. Those are my favorites.” Doug chuckles under his breath and tosses the bag to his brother. Tom rifles through the pouch of candy, and just hands it back to me. “I’ll just take another piece of gum when I’m finished eating.” I look from my salad at his burger and fries. “How can you eat that all the time and still look like that? I’m just looking at it and I think I gained ten pounds.” Tom shakes his head as he gives a once over to my figure. “Nah, you look the same. You look fine the way you are. Promise.” I giggle and play with my fingers in my lap. The line of playing the part and enjoying the attention continues to blur at my embarrassed reaction. I swallow my bite of rabbit food down and smile. “So, McQuaid brothers, tell me a bit about yourselves.” Almost evil smirks cross their faces. “Sweets, lets just say we’re not the kind of guy you take home to mom and dad. You’re too sweet and naive to know guys like us. Sugary thing like you’d get eaten alive with us. Too pure for the dark things we’ve done.” I hear the teasing in Tom’s voice. “You’re making fun of me. I know I’m not the “baddest” out there, but I know about the world. I want to be a  reporter. I’ll appreciate it if you don’t underestimate me.” I look back at my hands. “And if I’m too sweet and naive to be here, to be involved with you, why was I invited to have lunch with you two? I’m sure there are plenty of defectives like yourselves to hang out with.” I move to leave the table to sit anywhere else. A hand latches onto my wrist. I follow the hand up to Tom's face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are twisted into a pout. “Look, sweets, I’m sorry. You seemed lonely and everything. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” I sigh and gently pull my hand from his hold. “I accept your apology.” 

I move to sit back down and hear my beeper go off. I fish it out of my bag and read the message from my editor. Both boys crane their necks to read the message. I shove it back down into my bag in defense, thinking up a quick excuse for the interruption. “Oh, it was my brother. I’ll give him a call later.” I swipe a fry from Doug's plate. “What about you guys. You do anything after school? Besides the Dark stuff of course. What kind of records do you listen to?” Looks I don’t understand continue to pass between them. “Well, Doug here is his own entrepreneur. Me, I’m more of a car guy. I’ve got the blue mustang out there.” My eyes widen. “That one’s yours? She’s a beauty. I’ve got the old yellow mystery machine out there. She’s a great road trip car.” Both boys nod. “Our dads a bit of a hippie. He’d love you, flower power. What music you listen to?” I think for a bit, attempting to decide between my true likes and what a teenager would like. “Well, I’ve always loved Bowie. Ziggy Stardust is an absolute masterpiece, and one of the first records I ever got. Prince is pretty good too, but I love a nice mix of rock and funk. Something with a heavy drum beat I can move to.” They nod along, taking in my answer. The bell rings, signifying the end of the lunch period. 

I begin my journey to my next class, and choose a seat near the middle. Once I watch the class, looking around at the students and everything about them. And just my luck, Tom McQuaid walks in with his gum popping and a smirk painted on his face. As the student body shuffles into their seats, the teacher has us stand right back up. “I am your History teacher for this semester, Mr. Devo. I will be choosing your seats for my class, please let me know if you need to be seated at the front end of the room.” Two kids with glasses raise their hands and they are seated in the first two rows. 

“Anyone else? No? Alright let’s get started. When I point to you, I want to hear your name, your grade, and hmmmm, your favorite record.” He points at several people, pointing at their desks. He points to me pretty early on surprisingly. “Oh! Y/N Leiman, senior, and hmmmm, give me a second. Prince’s Sign ‘O’ The Times. It cost me a bit to get the four disks, but it’s an amazing album.” Mr. Devo nods a bit. “I haven’t heard the entire thing yet, but I do enjoy Prince. Here.” He points to the desk front and center. As if the whole thing was planned, Tom is pointed at next. “Tom McQuaid, teach. Senior like Sweets here, and I like Bowie's Young Americans. If you don’t mind, Sugar here fuels my gum addiction, so if I could sit near her, I’d appreciate it.” Mr. Devo gets a strange look on his face. The journalist in me would describe it as a cross of frustration and possibly… jealousy? But I don’t understand the jealousy part. I shake it off and get myself prepared for class. McQuaid gets sent to the classroom, possibly the farthest seat from me. With a smile, Mr. Devo starts his class.

I walk out the front doors of the school with a slight limp. “I made a mistake today. I can not believe I made the decision to actually wear heels to school. What was I thinking?” Two arms snake around my shoulders. “Well, Flower Power, if you’re hurting so bad, how bout we carry you to our car. We can get you home and drive your car for you.” I look at Doug and roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine. It wouldn’t be the first time I drove barefoot. I appreciate the offer boys, but I should probably head home. See you both tomorrow?” They nod and head to their Mustang. I climb into my mystery machine and kick off my shoes, heading home.

[oiikawabii]

best of friends

oikawa x fem reader x matsukawa, implied iwaizumi x reader

short thing based on this episode of grand army on netflix that was written while i was on a caffeine high after work, so good luck my reading my guy. i really just wanted to get this out before halloween since it’s been a while since i posted and i wanted to get my writing motivation up

Friends fuck each other all the time. The circumstances only suck when one of them is pining and jealous, and the other two don’t actually care about your well being.

tw and cw: ns//fw, noncon, rape, cannabis, public sex 

“So you’re just gonna ignore me all night?” You ask, coming up to Iwaizumi’s side.

He glances at you, but quickly averts his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about-”

“I thought we had a thing going and now you’re all over my friends all of a sudden?” He interrupts. All night he had to watch you be all cuddly with Oikawa, sitting on his lap and giving him puppy dog eyes, but you made it seem like he was the problem. “I mean, like the least you can do is turn me down.”

A scoff mixed with laughter leaves your mouth. “First of all, you mean our friends. I mean, I’ve been part of this group long enough to be considered their friends right? Second, I just want things to stay normal between us; if they change we all fall out with each other.”

“That’s dumb.”

Your arms swing over his neck and you giggle, “You’re dumb.”

He kisses you. Just a peck, a quick one at that, but he was tempted to do more. Though he wasn’t the one who had to initiate when you start sucking faces with him. Iwaizumi wants to go on, he really does, but he’s so done with your shit. 

“I’m not doing this with you tonight.” He says, backing away.

“Iwa,” You whine, reaching out for him but he dodges your hand.

“I’m actually serious this time.”

“Fine, whatever.” You back off and then announce to the others, “I’m gonna go to the restroom. You douches better not leave me here.”

Watching you walk off, Oikawa comes up and pats Iwaizumi on the back. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck off,”

“You gotta chill-”

“Don’t even fucking touch me! It’s not even like that.” He leans away from the touch on his back.

Oikawa snorts. “Yeah, but you were hoping it was gonna be something. You’re so obvious, it’s barely even funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You love it when she gives you attention. You know, her and I, we’ve actually been-”

“What? Sucking faces?” Oikawa teases. “I mean, I can’t believe you’re hung up on her and still haven’t gotten it in yet. You know how easy she is?”

Iwaizumi knew it was true, though he didn’t like the way it was implied. “Don’t say that about her.”

“She gives it up so easily,” Oikawa laughs. “I got with her! Hell, even Mattsun was able to get with her. If you haven’t been with her yet then maybe, just maybe, it’s because you’re a pussy.”

Iwaizumi's eyes glare at Oikawa and his comment. “No, I’m just not an asshole like you guys.”

“Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden that you’re hung up on one bitch,” Matsukawa comes over and jokes. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You come back out, walking towards them with a pep in your step. “Alright idiots, let’s get going!” You beam, throwing an arm over Oikawa. “Got your hash pen?”

Oikawa pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Don’t steal it.” He scolds, watching you take a hit.

“Too late, this is mine for the night.” You take another hit, blowing it into his face and suppressing a giggle, skipping away from him.

“Fucking idiot.” He laughs, chasing you down the sidewalk. When he catches up to you his arms wrap around your body, lifting you up as your feet kick helplessly.

You squeal, holding on tight to him. “Don’t drop me! Don't drop me!” He hoists you up and down, pretending to lose his grip and almost giving you a death scare.

“Hurry up before we miss the taxi!” Matsukawa calls, running towards the nearest stop with a car about to leave in just a few minutes. 

The group runs toward it, pushing past the busy people on the sidewalk without even a 'sorry' or an 'excuse me'.

“One of you guys should sit in the front.” You comment.

“No, let’s all squish in here.” Oikawa whines, already taking a seat next to Iwaizumi, who was the first inside. He pulls you in after him, tickling your sides and saying some stupid joke about you being all his. He looks over to Iwaizumi, hand resting on your outer thigh, only earning an annoyed sigh in response. The space between everyone grows smaller as Matsukawa gets in last and slams the door shut.

Matsukawa gives the driver instructions before closing the little window that separates the front and the back.

You lean your body over Oikawa to get a clear look at Iwaizumi. “Hey, can we talk or something?” Your response is him shaking his head. “Come on, don’t be that way.” You try to get comfortable and sit next to him, but Matsukawa pulls you back.

“Get over here, princess. If he doesn’t want you then you got us!”

“You fuckers!” You laugh. “I can’t do shit around you guys.”

Another hit. You cheer, throwing your head back as the smoke leaves your mouth.

“Oh my god, are you about to give Matsukawa a show?” Oikawa jokes.

Just to egg you on further, Matsukawa’s hands rest on your hips to help you from swaying with the car. “No,” You drag. “I would never.”

“Come on, show us some moves.”

“How about you show me yours first?” You jab back, poking at his sides. His body jolts, loudly laughing. “Iwa, where are your moves?” You giggle, tracing a finger down his arm. 

“Makki’s already starting to let everyone in for the party, said they were just chilling outside.” Iwaizumi comments.

Matsukawa shrugs. “We’re gonna be late. Fucking traffic!”

You poke at his face, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself. “Think we should bail? Most of the good stuff might be gone by the time we get there.” He says.

“Dude, no, I’m not bailing on this party tonight.” Oikawa retorts. “Tell him he better save some for us.”

“So you’re just not gonna talk to me now?” You pout.

He stops your hand from swinging in his face. “I’m not not talking to you.”

At this point, you’re slurring. Sometimes you forget how easy it is to get high off of hash, especially as a lightweight. “But you’re not having fun with me anymore, and-”

“Okay, sorry! What, you wanna get on top of me too? Give me a lap dance or something, yeah?” He snaps. “You need any more attention? It’s no problem, let’s go.”

It takes a second for you to register what he said. And when you do, your brows furrow, slapping his chest. “Don’t fucking say shit like that.”

“Chill.” Mattsun snorts, grabbing your hands before you could do more damage. 

Oikawa leans over and whispers into his ear. “I promise you, keep acting this way and she definitely won’t be fucking you anytime soon.”

Matsukawa tries to calm you down, running his hand against your cheek, though you can’t easily ignore what Iwaizumi said to you. “You’re so hypocritical, you know? You know how many girls I’ve seen you fuck around with? I mean, let’s just take it back to the girl you fingered in the dirty ramen shop bathroom! And I didn’t say shit, did I? I don’t need you fucking judging me, okay?”

“I’m not judging you babygirl!” Oikawa snickers.

“I get to do whatever I want with you and whoever the fuck I want to do it with! Fuck you, Iwa-chan!” You slur. You take another hit. “I’m just saying, you guys get to do whatever you want; well, so can I.”

His head shakes. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

“But… you are.”

“I’m just saying I don’t need a fucking blunt.” 

You lean back surprised by his comment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant by that. “Scoot over a little.” You tell Oikawa, swinging your legs over Mattsun’s lap and pressing his face between both your hands. You laugh a little, hips grinding into his before pressing your lips onto his.

There’s a loud chuckle from Oikawa as he drums on your back. “Oh shit! Holy fuck!” He takes out his phone and instantly starts recording. The flash shines on and off of you as he tries to capture the moment. 

Iwaizumi sits off on his side, staring down at his phone to ignore the three of you.

“I get to do that! I need to be able to do that!” You proclaim to him. “And you can’t make me feel fucking guilty about it!”

Matsukawa’s hand gently grabs your cheek to pull you back into him and a disgustingly wet kiss. His hands roam up and down your body, squeezing your thighs and making sure to guide your body to what he liked.

“Yo, you’re like hogging her.” Oikawa nags, putting his phone away and pulling at your wrist. “Come on, can’t just leave me out of this babe.”

“Back off ‘Kawa.” Matsukawa mumbles.

You pull away from him, hands resting on his chest. “Hey, don’t be mean. It’s not that hard to share is it?” You slide between the two of them, lips immediately latching onto Oikawa.

He pulls at your coat, pulling it down your arms to expose more of your body. “Jesus, I forgot to tell you how much I love this dress on you.” He breaths.

At this point, there are two pairs of hands on you; Oikawa’s and Mastukawa’s. Mattsun’s are on your hips, teasing you with soft caresses, keeping your body planted against his chest, feeling every exposed area he could get to as he sucks up and down your neck. Oikawa’s hands are squishing your cheeks, making sure to keep you in the kiss for as long as he wants. His fingers tangle in your hair, hardly giving you any escape. You’re on his terms and you don’t get to stop until he does. It’s not long until you feel the need for an actual breath, though he’s still at it--jesus how was his breath control so good?

You hum against his lips to give him a hint. It seems he doesn’t notice, instead thinking you’re just enjoying the pleasure. It’s not until you pinch his waist that he jerks up, panting with red lips. You wipe yours, looking at Iwaizumi to see what he’s up to. 

Back to looking at that damn phone. 

You lean over Oikawa, a hand resting on Iwaizumi’s leg to see if he would pay attention to you. “Iwa-chan… I think you’re missing out.’ You pout. He rolls his eyes, brushing your hand off.

“Screw him, just means more for me.” Oikawa chimes, pulling you back onto him.

“Look who’s hogging now,” Matsukawa’s hand grips your inner thigh, pulling it towards him. You hiss at the feeling, at how rough he was being all of a sudden. Oikawa’s hand grips your other thigh just as harsh, successfully spreading your legs wide open for the two of them.

Your head swings back onto the seat. “Fuck, that hurt.” Your body wriggles against theirs, trying to close your legs. “G-guys… just wait, just wait,” You huff, soft hands pushing at them.

Your pleas go ignored as both of them are on either side of your neck, trailing down feverish kisses. Matsukawa’s hand is the first to trail up your leg, resting between your thighs. His fingers slide up your slit and press down onto your clit, making a choked groan seep through your mouth.

“I know just how you like it.” He whispers in your ear.

“Mattsun- you guys-”

They giggle and chuckle like schoolboys as you try to fight them off, only using more force and putting more pressure down onto your body. Oikawa’s hand is the next to skitter up your thigh. 

There’s no prep, no warning, no comfort as two--maybe even three, you were too hazy to tell--of his finger thrust into your cunt all the way down to the knuckle. Even the kicks of your legs couldn’t keep them off.

“Iwa- Iwaizumi!” You stagger. You could barely get a good look at him through your blurred eyes, but you know he isn’t paying any mind to the three of you at all, off in his own little world.

“You’re so wet.” Oikawa coos, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He’s fast, skilled with his fingers and in any normal situation it would’ve felt good, but it hurt, and it hurt badly. Every time his fingers curl, your body jolts up and he laughs thinking that you’re getting off when really you’re trying to hold back the pain.

Matsukawa isn’t doing anything better for you. His fingers are tracing sloppy circles over your clit, missing and slipping every so often. It doesn’t even feel like he knows what he’s doing when he’s using more than a light pressure in an attempt to get you off. 

Your eyes try to open again to look for help, to look for Iwaizumi. Through hooded eyes, you make contact with him. Your mouth is agape and, god, you’re probably drooling as you look at him. You can’t even get out normal words, just a garbled mess of moans. His eyes fall from your face to your legs that are twisting in pleasure, no, pain? He gives you a disappointed look, turning away from the sight.

“Do you hear the noises her pussy is making, Mattsun?” Oikawa squeals. “She’s so tight, so fucking tight.”

Their fingers trade places and you don’t know if it’s better or worse. Oikawa is more gentle when rubbing your clit, more considerate. Mattsun pumps into you at a steady pace, testing to see what could make you squirm under him. When you do react, hips jutting forward into nothing, he chuckles and says, “Fuck, I wish I could put my cock in you right now.” At this point, it doesn’t matter what happens to you. Everything is starting to hurt, but it also feels good. You’re conflicted and you just know that you want it over with.

“Gonna- gon-” You choke.

“Aw, she’s gonna cum.” Oikawa mocks. Matsukawa snickers after him.

That’s all you heard all night; Oikawa, Matsukawa, and their stupid laughing fit. You just needed them to shut up, to keep quiet.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, biting down on your lip hard enough to bleed just to hold onto some dignity and not sound like a prostitute in the back of a moving taxi. One last thrust of Mattsun’s fingers help you come undone for the two of them.

And what lucky timing it was. The taxi comes to a stop as it pulls up to the house with loud music blaring through the walls.

“I’m sick of your guy’s shit.” Iwaizumi mumbles as he opens the door. 

The other two follow suit in getting out of the car, greeting other peers, and mingling around. Though you’re still processing everything. Your head falls between your knees, wiping the streaks of tears away and putting on a happy face before hopping out to join everyone.

[queen-scribbles]

The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven​ Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning  after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat.  “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out  before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history.  “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here.  “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection...  charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be. 

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen. 

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

[hiatus-for-forever]

Child!Bakusquad x Reader

Summary: Bakusquad bois got hit with a de-aging quirk and you are tasked to taake care of them

Quirk: Water manipulation. You can control water and can choose to only use H2O or can also carry things is it. If you use it too much you will get dehydrated

Genre/Warnings: Cursing,fluff?? This was kinda just random. There are a bunch of this but I wanted to try just the Bakusquad

WC: 1,450

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What happened? What led to this? Trying to figuratively raise four baby teenagers? Well, this is what happened.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon, you were done with your homework and somewhat sore from training throughout the week. Suddenly you heard a knock on the door. You grunted, getting up from the couch of your house/apartment. You parents weren’t home so you had to get the door. You walked up as the knocking became more frantic. You sighed, exasperated, “Alright, alright” you yelled and opened the door. You were met with a pink-skinned, alien-eyed classmate of yours. “What?” You snapped at her, annoyed she ruined your relaxing time. 

“So here’s the thing, we we’re walking and this dude bumped into Bakugou and he started to yell so the dude got scared and hit them with his quirk”

You raised your eyebrow, “get to the point”

She sighed, “he had a de-aging quirk and now the boys are 3 or 4 years old”

Then you felt something. Small hands were felt against your leg, as if trying to grab you attention. You looked down and saw four small children. One with puffy blonde hair, one with a black streak in his, and two with straight black hair. 

“HOLY SHIT” You screeched and jumped back. “WHAT THE FUCK” 

“I know, I know but please take care of them” You stared at her, shock still present on your features

“Why me!?” You yelled, looking at the dumbfounded children.

“Well, I need to get home, Bakugou’s mom said she didn’t wanna deal with him, Sero’s parents are out of town, and Kaminari’s parent’s will kill him if they found out” she said

“Well, what about Eijiro?” you asked and glared as Ashido pushed the boys into your home.

“Oh his mom would happily take care of him but he wanted to stay with his friends who were asking to go to your place” you had to admit, it was really adorable

You sighed, “uuugh fiiine, I’ll take them”

Mina cheered and so did the boys. She quickly said her goodbyes and left the boys to you. As soon as the door closed you kneeled down to level with the children.

“You guys didn’t lose any memories right” 

“We didn’t, dumbass” Bakugous mumbled

“Aww, don’t curse Kacchan” you said, your words laced with feigned sweetness

“What did you fucking call me, yo-” before he could continue, you grabbed him and hugged him tight, “if you don’t want me to throw you back to your mom, you better shut up”

He did as told and you set him down. “But I want hugs too” Kaminari whined as you chuckled, “later maybe, first let’s make some things clear. Do all your parents know your staying here”

“Yeah! We told our parents we were having a sleepover!” Kirishima said happily and you wrapped your arm around him, carrying him naturally.

“How long will this last?” you asked and carried Bakugou in your other arm.

“A day” he replied

“And where did you get your clothes?” you asked your last question

“Kirishima’s mom gave it to us before we left to go here” Sero said

You stood up, walking with two boys in your arms, to your living room. You set them down as the other two followed. You grabbed some school supplies and tossed the remote at them. “The tv is yours for now, and here’s some  paper, crayons and pens and stuff. Imma take a nap” You walked to the other couch, leaving them to their devices. You quickly fell asleep as the boys talked among themselves.

“Why did you guys get carried and we didn’t” Kaminari complained

“She only has two arms, duh” Sero commented as he started drawing on paper.

“I want love too” he whined and tried to take the remote from Bakugou to which he just pushed him away. They spent about 15 minutes arguing and playing and whatnot until they realized one was missing. “Hey, where’s Kirishima?”

The three boys looked around and found him with you. He was wrapped in your arms as you both slept peacefully. Kaminari whined “him again!”

Waking up, you both stirred. “Denki shut up” you grumbled. Kaminari broke out in tears. You got up and lifted him to your chest. Patting his back, asking,”what’s wrong?” 

“It’s just you and- Bakugou- and Kirishima- and not hugging me!” he cried and sobbed as you bounced him lightly. A ‘what do I do?’ look was on your face as you faced the guys and they just shrugged. You reluctantly brought him with you to the couch and had him lay on you as you patted his back. His sobs got softer as it waws replaced by soft snoring. You giggled at how fast he fell asleep and felt your arm being tugged. Sero put it around him and snuggled up to your side. You smiled to yourself and dozed off, hearing the soft breaths of the two boys snuggling up to you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke to quite a sight, Kaminari mover to hugging you tighter, his breathing tickling your neck, Sero was still where he was, Bakugou was on your side opposite of Sero, hugging your arm, and Kirishima was resting comfortably on your legs. You swore your heart was gonna melt. You noticed how late it was getting and gently shook them awake. They yawned and let you get up as some rubbed their adorable sleepy eyes. 

“So what do you guys wanna eat for dinner?” you asked

Stars were in their eyes as they simultaneously yelled “PIZZA”

Your giggle caught their attention and made them blush knowing they make you laugh. You got up and went to call the pizza place and you walked up to them again. “Okay so, while we wait for it to arrive, you will unfortunately have to take a bath” their blushes all got darker and all you went silent

“NO WAIT I’M NOT GETTING NAKED WITH YOU” You blushed furiously at you just grabbed them and pulled them to the bathroom.

“Just uh, take off your clothes, I won’t look” you said, turning the knob and letting the warm water  pour down. You glanced back and realized only Kaminari complied. You quickly told him to step in the tub and he did so. You used your quirk to lift up some soapy water and swished it around Kaminari as he laughed at the feeling. You took some clean water and rinsed the soap off of him. And just like that his bath was dome in 2 minutes. You did it on Kirishima, then Sero, then Bakugou, him being more grumpy than the others. You felt like a cool mom at the same time like their girlfriend, taking care of them. The thought made you blush as you found yourself answering the door and paying for the pizza. You sat in your dining area, watching the boys excitedly chomp on their slices, quickly getting seconds and thirds. You saw them get messy but Bakugou had it the worse, the grease and tomato sauce got all over his mouth. You shyly got some tissue paper and wiping the corners of his mouth. His face got warm as you gently patted the tissue against his lips. You looked so beautiful right now, almost like an angel, your hair falling gently and your touch was gentle too. 

The others wanted you to do that with them too but each didn’t want to bother you more than they already did. The moment was over as soon as it started and you quickly finished up your ‘meal’ and did the dishes. They did figure out how to put on a movie but you all agreed you were too full for popcorn. You placed yourself between Bakugou and Kaminari as Sero sat against your legs and Kirishima sat beween them. You eventually fell asleep from the tiring day you had with the boys even if it mostly consisted of napping. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up latching on to a shirtless Sero. You squeaked, turning red, you shook him awake, waiting for an explanation. He shifted in his sleep and looked down at you. His hair was ruffled and this cheeks were tainted pink. Cute. 

“So, um, the others are making breakfast. We kinda woke up naked and the clothes were ripped”

You blushed and froze up as he did too

“B-But you don’t need to worry! Nothing happened! We did use you oversized pants, shirts and hoodies and I have to say, you have a lot” he chuckled, “it’s not weird though. Just weirdly convenient”

You both had a good laugh as you went to breakfast with the others.