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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content.

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses.

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.”

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.”

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

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Bonding With Clay

Tony woke with a soft groan and rolled onto his side to throw his arm around Stephen and buried his nose in the back of his neck. He even hooked a leg over Stephen's and ground his hips against his ass until the younger man hugged and swatted back at him.

"Tony, no. There's a child in our bed and I have to go to Kamar-taj today." Stephen mumbles.

Tony cracks his eyes open and lifts his head to look over Stephen and sighs when he finds Valerie cocooned against the sorcerer. "Doesn't she have her own bed?"

"She had a nightmare."

"What about William?" Tony complains and Stephen chuckles.

"You know as well as I do that there are some things parents can do that siblings can't." The sorcerer pushes Tony's face away. "Go brush your teeth."

"Absolutely not. You have to suffer my morning breath now." Tony laughs and kisses Stephen. It only lasted a few seconds before the younger was pushing him away again with a look of disgust.

"I can even taste it!"

Tony laughs again and rolls back over to get out of bed and shuffle into their bathroom to brush his teeth. As he passed Lucy's crib, he found her wide awake and sitting up, patiently gnawing on her teething ring...which she fondly chucked at his head. It was her way of saying good morning and also her way of showing that she liked someone. Fortunately she only threw soft things at people. The more dangerous items were chucked at something random. Like the lab incident.

So he and Stephen considered themselves lucky. Of course they still tried to get her to stop, but she was stubborn like her parents. Lucy did what she wanted.

"Just a minute Lulu. I've been ordered to wash my mouth and you know how Mom is." Tony says and grabs his toothbrush. Lucy babbles in a way a baby might be offended and Tony looks into the bedroom to look at Stephen as he gets out of bed as well. "Y'hear that?"

"She always has something to say." Stephen scoffs as he fixes the blankets over Valerie. "It'll be you, Lucy, and Valerie today. The kids have school and classes, I have things to check on in Kamar-taj, and everyone else is busy."

Tony spits into the sink after rinsing and frowns. "I don't mind, but Val never seems to enjoy our time together."

"She's getting better." Stephen sighs.

It was true...for the most part. Valerie wasn't completely reliant on Stephen anymore ever since the twins came to live with them. She adored William, and of course she loved Tony, but she and her father had yet to find something to bond over. She loved reading and the piano like Stephen just like Lucy loved being in the lab with Tony. He would figure something out though. Maybe tough out sitting through The Little Mermaid for the fourteen hundredth time? That was Valerie's favorite movie.

"You taking the cloak?" Tony asks.

"Mmhmm." Stephen responds as he brushes his teeth.

"Athena?" Another noise of approval. "Right... we'll figure it out."

"Mmnnbbbftt!" Lucy babbles.

Tony leaves the bathroom and takes the baby out of her crib. "I heard you the first time, bossy."

"If that isn't evidence enough that she takes after you--" Stephen starts until Tony points at him.

"She could have just as easily gotten it from you Duchess."

Stephen chuckles and walks back over to the bed when Valerie sits up and rubs her eyes. While he got ready for the day and explained to the little girl that she would be spending the day with her father and sister, Tony got himself and Lucy ready for the day. His mind was already occupied with how he would spend the day with the girls since Valerie had no interest in the lab, and everything led to Disney movies and tea parties. Not that he had anything against either of those since he was used to it, but he had tried that before and Valerie just didn't seem as interested as she would usually be.

It sort of made him feel like a failure as a father. There had to be something they would enjoy doing together right? Hell, even Lucy enjoyed being run around by Thomas.

"What sounds good for breakfast topolina?" Tony asks as Valerie climbs down from the bed.

"Fwench toast."

Well, that was easy. "French toast it is." Tony says.

Stephen crouches in front of Valerie when he finishes getting dressed and brushes her hair back. "I'll be back later. Have fun with Daddy, okay?"

"Okay."

Stephen kisses her forehead and gets back up to grab his sling ring off the nightstand, and waits just long enough after opening a gateway to wait for Levi to fly into the room and hang on his shoulders. Then he and Athena were through the gateway and it closed behind him, leaving Valerie to stare forlornly at the space it had been. Tony gently pats her head before leading her out of the master bedroom.

"Where's Mooey? Why don't you go get him and you can help me with breakfast." Tony suggests.

"Can we have fwuit?" She asks softly.

"We sure can." Tony smiles. "We can even have some chocolate chips on our french toast if you want."

Valerie smiles and nods before skittering away to her room to find her stuffed cow. A smile from a promise if chocolate chips was a good start to their day, and he would make sure they had a fruit salad with all of her favorites. So with that thought in mind, he descends the stairs to the kitchen where he deposits Lucy into her high chair and answers her demands when she smacks her hands on her tray.

"You are your mother's daughter...but don't tell him I said that." Tony mumbles and searches through the cupboards for the baby cereal puffs. "Look at that! Apple cinnamon flavor, your favorite!"

He pulls out the container and opens it to pour a dozen pieces onto Lucy's tray and she immediately grabs one and pops it into her mouth, humming happily. Lucy would be fed some proper breakfast later, but the puffs would tide her over until he and Valerie cooked and ate their own food. When he started to grab all they would need to make breakfast, Valerie finally joined him with Mooey in one of her arms, and he grabbed a step stool for her to use.

He gave her the easier tasks such as cracking the eggs and putting some cinnamon in them before it was whisked, and while he cooked the french toast, she washed the fruit. Strawberries, grapes, bananas, and even some kiwi were thrown into a bowl after Tony helped her cut them into pieces, and Valerie carefully mixed them together before stepping down from the stool and carrying the bowl to the table. It was amazing how independent Valerie was already being in her own way. She loved helping any way she could and even got a little upset when something was beyond her capabilities. Like when Stephen got sick. She was able to help make him soup but not much else and hated that there wasn't more she could do to make her mommy feel better.

William had to distract her most of the time, and the other times he had to reassure her. Tony and Stephen didn't like the girls to go into their room if one of them were sick because they didn't want them to get sick too.

"Here we go. Piping hot toast with…" Tony makes a show of topping Valerie's french toast with a few chocolate chips and she giggles. "Chocolate chips as promised. Buon appetito."

"Tank you Daddy," Valerie says softly when he places the plate on the table in front of her. He cuts it up for her before kissing her temple and then gets his own plate before sitting across from her.

"Want syrup?" He asks and grabs the syrup dispenser he had filled with warm syrup and pours a little bit on her toast.

"Ba!" Lucy reaches out and Tony chuckles and puts a drop on his finger to stick in her mouth.

"There. Like it? You don't get anymore." Tony says as Lucy sucks on his finger.

Tony made quick work of his french toast and fruit so he could feed Lucy before she started to demand more syrup. He grabbed a jar of chicken and rice--which made him gag a little when he opened it-- and a spoon, then offered a spoonful to the infant. He really didn't understand how babies could like the meat purees. He didn't dare try it in case it tasted as bad as it smelled, and the vegetables weren't much better. Tony was seriously considering giving the task of feeding Lucy her meat and vegetables to the Avengers.

Or the boys if they misbehaved. He knew for a fact the smell hit Peter harder.

"All done." Valerie announces.

"Great job." Tony glances at her plate. "You sure polished your plate. Go ahead and go watch your movie while I finish feeding your sister."

"Kay."

Valerie gets down from her chair and grabs her plate, carrying it to the sink and carefully lifting it up to drop it in. She checked her hands to see if they needed to be washed, found them clean, and shuffled to the living room and asked Friday to put on her favorite movie. Tony smiled and finished feeding Lucy and cleaned her up before taking her to the playpen in the living room, and then returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess. With how quiet things were, Tony honestly would have forgotten that Valerie was even there. All he heard was the tv and Lucy...and the water running.

How Stephen and William remembered her when she was this quiet was nothing short of amazing, but the thought sounded terrible to him at the same time. He didn't forget about Valerie, not by a long shot, but if someone told him they came by and took her to do something, he would be inclined to believe them. But she was sitting on the couch with Mooey clutched in her arms when he finally finished cleaning up and sat on the couch next to her.

"So...I thought of an idea." Tony smiles when Valerie looks up at him.

"Idea?"

"Yup. I think Tibbs is around here somewhere and he's due for his next pedicure."

Valerie's eyes brighten and she giggles. "Dia and Cassie do that!"

"Well I think it's our turn."

The little girl hopped off the couch to go find the pet safe nail polish and Tony looked around for the cat. It didn't take long to find Tibbs dozing in a patch of sunlight on the floor and the feline protested with an annoyed meow when Tony scooped him up.

"I don't know why you bother throwing a fit." Tony snorts as he carries Tibbs back over to the coffee table where Valerie was already waiting. "What color is he getting today topolina?"

"Purple!"

Tony laughs. "Purple it is."

Once Tony sets Tibbs down, Valerie gently takes one of the cat's paws and carefully applies the polish to each nail. Tibbs, the ever chill cat, sat calmly after yawning and patiently let the little girl do his nails. He was more than used to letting the girls do stuff like this to him and knew eventually they would finish and let him go so Tony wasn't worried about him scratching. All the other animals got pedicures as well.

Even Emir.

"Tibbs gets tweats!" Valerie says after finishing.

"He sure does. You know where they are." Tony says and Valerie gets up to retrieve the cat treats.

She shook the bag as she returned from the lower cabinets in the kitchen, and Tony laughed when the cat's ears perked up. Tony helped his daughter open the bag and she grabbed a small handful which she held out and let Tibbs eat straight from her hand. While the cat purred contently, Tony glanced over at Lucy to find the baby fast asleep with her teething ring still in her mouth.

"Where's the Play-Doh Uncle Steve got you?" Tony asks and Valerie points towards her room. "Go get it. We'll make some sculptures."

"You too?" She asks.

"Me too. You can show me how to make flowers."

Once again, the little girl scurried away, leaving Tony with The Little Mermaid to fill the silence, but soon enough, Valerie came back with an armful of containers of Play-Doh. She sets them down on the coffee table before sitting on Tony's lap, and he smiles as she starts opening the containers and taking out the clay. They spent the next couple of hours shaping the clay into different things, from flowers to Tony's suits, until they were rudely interrupted by Lucy's teething ring. Specifically when it sailed into the air and hit the side of Tony's head.

"I'm guessing it's time for lunch." Tony snorts and lifts Valerie out of his lap, groaning as he gets up from the floor. "Daddy's getting too old for this."

"Burro di arachidi e gelatina?" Valerie requests.

"Yes ma'am. With milk." Tony says as he walks over to the playpen and picks up Lucy. He sniffs and grimaces. "After I change your sister."

Valerie wrinkles her nose. "Yucky."

"You said it. You finish your sculpture and then we can make lunch and watch a movie. Sound good?" Tony asks.

"Uh-huh."

Tony couldn't believe he was worried about this just this morning. He enjoyed playing with the clay with Valerie, and he was pretty sure she enjoyed herself too. He made a mental note to think of more things to do for the future days like this, with another side note to think of things that Lucy could eventually join in on. The baby was growing up fast and wouldn't be content to stay in the playpen forever.

"Phew." Tony reels back a little when he opens the baby's diaper once he gets her on the changing table in the master bathroom. "Are you taking lessons from Harley?"

#stephen strange #supremefamily #ironstrange #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #valerie stark strange (oc)#lucy elina stark strange (oc)

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

Lockdown Lovers, pt 5 | Feysand

Modern pandemic AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4. Smut abounds.

Rhys padded to his room with Feyre's body in his arms and her tongue in his mouth. Luckily, the apartment was so small, there wasn't much to navigate between the couch and his bed, and very soon, he was pressing Feyre down against his rumpled sheets.

Feyre kissed him, but then scooted back against the headboard. Her lips were kiss-reddened and swollen, but her blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I've never been in here," she said, her voice husky. His cock throbbed at the sound of it. "You haven't?" Feyre shook her head. "Always kind of wanted to though." She tilted her head curiously at him.

Rhys scratched at the back of his head, wondering whether to indulge her, or to just grab her ankles and pull her back down to him. Eventually, he gestured an invitation. With an inward sigh.

Feyre grinned, and slid out of bed. Rhys sat down on the end, and watched her walk around the room. Gods, she was still naked from the waist up.

Feyre walked slowly, taking in the black chest of drawers and stack of books sitting on it, work desk with computer off and papers strewn over the top, and the shelves on the far wall that appeared to hold the rest of his miscellaneous belongings.

The latter she stepped up to, and peered over with her fingers on the bottom shelf. "Is it okay if I look?" she asked. Rhys shrugged his consent. Honestly. What was he not going to let her do while she was shirtless in his bedroom? He watched her ass as she tip-toed up to examine the objects, and when she bounced on the balls of her feet, he found himself crossing the room to get his hands back on her skin.

"What's this?" Feyre giggled, as Rhys's fingers dragged over her stomach. She held up a small stuffed bear. Rhys moved his lips over her shoulder. "That was a present from my mother, before she died," he said. "Oh." Feyre regarded the item with new reverence. She placed it carefully back where she found it. "How old were you?" "Eight," Rhys said, pulling her hips back against him. "I'm sorry," Feyre said. She picked up an old but expensive looking watch. "And this?" Rhys smirked into her neck. "That I pinched off Cassian while he was drunk. Back before the lockdown, of course. He's still looking for it, turned the house upside down. Nes is ready to kill him." Feyre laughed. She set the watch back too, and then picked up a couple of cologne bottles, sniffing each one. "Ooh, I like this one," she said. Rhys inhaled at the base of her throat. "I think you smell better than anything in the world."

He replaced his nose with his lips, and then his hand slid in between her legs. Over the layers of fabric, he could feel the heat of her. Feyre forgot the bottles, finally, and leaned back into him. Rhys rubbed his hand over her again, and she turned her head to kiss him.

With his teeth on her lip, Rhys dipped his fingers down the front of her absurd little shorts, brushed down the seam of her. Feyre moaned, and all he knew was that he wanted her to make those sounds for him forever. He stroked gently up and down, until his fingers were slick and it was her own wetness that was guiding him into the core of her.

Feyre's legs buckled, and Rhys bent to catch her under the knees and sweep her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed, and this time, she was going to stay there.

Indeed he was getting no argument from Feyre, who had wrapped her legs around him and was lifting her hips to grind against him. The feel of her soft, bare breasts against Rhys' chest, and her eager writhing beneath him had Rhys on fire. He moved his lips from her mouth, to her jaw, to her nipples. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, down her stomach, and over her hip bones. Then slid a hand under her knee, lifted her leg, and bit gently into the soft part at the top of her inner thigh. Feyre bit her lip and bucked her hips off the bed, and Rhys had her shorts pulled off in one fluid motion.

He laid her back down and kissed where he had just bitten, then repeated the action on the other side. Goosebumps rippled down her legs, and he could feel the laboured rise and fall of her chest as her breathing stumbled. Then he placed his mouth over the damp fabric of her underwear, and sucked her clit through it.

Feyre cried out, and he was rewarded with the feeling of her getting even more wet on his tongue. He licked her roughly a couple of times, and then pulled her underwear off. Then his too.

Rhys knelt by the foot of the bed, and pulled Feyre toward him so her feet dangled off the edge. He smoothed his hands from her knees to her hips, and then settled his hands over her stomach before dragging his tongue up her centre and around her clit.

Feyre clutched at his hair, and moaned his name. The sound of it had him grabbing himself, stroking slowly even as he flicked his tongue rapidly over her.

"Fuck Rhys, holy- gods- fuck," she ground out. Rhys let go of his cock, and slid a finger into her instead. Her moans became higher, more breathy, as he added a finger and kept his tongue going at a frantic pace.

"Rhys, stop, I'm going to..." But the words faltered, and Feyre rocked against him in silent ecstasy. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was stopping now. Not a minute later Feyre broke against his tongue, and then she was pulling him up toward her so she could get her mouth on his.

Rhys pulled away to find a condom in his bedside drawer, and Feyre took the opportunity to wrap her hand around him. She didn't start slow, but went straight into the same rhythm he had been using on her moments earlier. For a second, Rhys just gripped the wood of the table top, all thoughts deserting his mind. Then he dragged his focus back to the drawer, and sat back on his heels to put the condom on.

Feyre watched him with hungry eyes, and as soon as he was over her again, she licked up the column of his throat. Rhys shuddered, and the twitch of his cock tapped against her. He kissed her deeply, then pulled back long enough to say,

"Is this okay? Is this what you want?"

Feyre responded by using her legs to pull his hips to hers.

"Holy gods yes," she said. And that was more than enough agreement for Rhys.

Rhys pushed into her slowly, and the sensation that skittered between them had them both groaning. He paused, and let Feyre adjust. Then he pushed in a little more. A little more. A little more.

Feyre was perfect. She was warm and tight and absolutely delicious. Some distant part of him marvelled that this was actually, finally happening, and that after a month of torture, he was at last inside of her.

Rhys began a lazy rocking, just savouring the exquisite feel of her. Her nipples grazed his chest and when he put his mouth on hers, the sensation intensified. He got faster, Feyre's legs tight around him and pulling him in more. The thought of her wanting him drove him wild.

"Rhys," she murmured. "Rhys." His name, breathless on his lips, almost pushed him over the edge. But first...

Rhys pulled out of her, and flipped her over onto her stomach. He pulled Feyre's hips up to him, and pushed into her from behind. She propped herself up on her hands, but when he reached around to toy with her clit while he fucked into her, her arms gave and she slid onto her forearms. Deepening the angle even further.

From this vantage point, Feyre looked incredible. He sped up, and Feyre got louder. The sight of her on all fours like this was surely something Rhys would have burned into his brain forever.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he told her. "Just.. fucking..."

He was so close. But he was going to make her come again first.

Rhys moved his arm to pull Feyre up against him. Her head rested against his shoulder, and from this position he had much better reach round the front of her. To make use of his idle fingers.

Feyre came, the force of it throwing her back down onto her hands and knees. Rhys had wanted to keep fucking her until the waves had subsided, but he broke apart before she had stilled, putting his forehead on her sweat-slicked back and holding onto her hips as his own climax wrung him out.

Exhausted, they collapsed together. Rhys dropped the condom into a nearby bin, and then rolled into her back to spoon her.

"Well," she said thickly. "That is one benefit of being stuck with me for so long." Rhys listened to her heart beat slowing down in her ribcage.

"Honestly?" he said against her skin. "I hope you never leave."

A slow smile spread over Feyre's lovely features, and then sleep stole silently over them like snow. ****

We made it kids! Thank you so much to those of you who stuck it out with me for all five parts, I cannot tell you how amazing it has been to come home and read the notes. And I am sad to leave this little world.

So should we go again?! Please send me comments, asks, prompts... messages are morgan-treats.

TAGLIST: @artemisausten @ghostlyrose2

UPDATE- Thanks to a certain anonymous asker, there is now a bonus scene for your reading pleasure x

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #rhysand #mine #modern AU #the end #smut #lol would you look how high that read cut had to be before i said cock #what do i do with my life now?

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

(Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is.

Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

“Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

“Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly.

“Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges.

“Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

It’s almost enough to convince him.

Almost.

“Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

God, he feels like shit.

As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

“Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered.

Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

“Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones.

It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion.

So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on.

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tmagerryweek2021 #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerry keay #my fic #my writing #prompt 2: burn #now that i've done two of these my brain is like 'do the rest! do the rest!' that's the devil talking lol

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ad1thi · 3 years

Text

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year.

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long.

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift: @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

#adi's rec list #mcdanno #stevetony #buckytony #brucetony #rhodeytony #zukka #samtony #january - june #there's so many different ships on this #and different authors #and it spans three fandoms #so hopefully you guys enjoy this!!

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trashyswitch · 3 years

Text

How Does a Skeleton Work Exactly?

The Sequel to 'Can a Skeleton be Ticklish?'.

Arial had been tickled by some of the sides a couple weeks back, and was now playing a casual card game. But things quickly get competitive and unfair. Virgil eagerly decides to use his new knowledge on Arial and her love for tickling to tease her. Janus and Remus quickly join in and ticklish chaos breaks loose.

This sequel was suggested by @smileheart110. Here you go! And of course, please let me know if I got your character wrong or inaccurate. I will happily fix it for you.

I hope you enjoy!

Arial was sitting at the table with the dark sides and playing Spoons. Remus was being a bit of an evil cheater, and Arial was growing determined to catch him red-handed. Not literally though...That would be awkward…

“Look at how fast I’m going…So speedy...” Janus said with no expression. Arial looked over at Janus, and bursted out laughing: Janus was desperately trying to move a bunch of the cards over to Remus, while more cards piled up on top of the pile he was sorting through. It was an endless pile and you could tell, Janus was having none of it.

Arial was so close to getting all four Jacks in her hand. She was quickly shuffling through to find the last one. 5 heart, 10 spade, 7 spade, King diamond, Ace heart, 2 club-

Janus quickly grabbed a spoon first. Virgil, who immediately noticed him, grabbed a spoon next. Arial looked up, and grabbed the last spoon by the handle. But Remus had grabbed the end of the same spoon!

“No! It’s mine!” Remus yelled.

“I grabbed it first!” Arial shot back. “Let go!”

“Only if you let go~” Remus teased.

Virgil summoned himself some popcorn. “Let’s see how long this goes for.”

“12 seconds? Or 12 years?” Janus asked.

Virgil chuckled at that. “How about 5 minutes?”

“Remus you’re being ridiculous!” Arial yelled.

Janus wheezed. “And Arial’s not being ridiculous whatsoever.”

“Yeah Re- HEY!” Arial shouted. “How dare! Why don’t you fix this instead of making fun of us.”

Janus threw his hands up in the air. One of his hands had his own spoon in it. “Hey now...It’s not like I grabbed the spoon first and started this cycle or anything…”

“Yeah, you started it. So finish it.” Arial shot back at Janus.

“Fine.” Janus leaned back and took a handful of Virgil’s popcorn. Then, he started to obnoxiously chew.

Arial groaned. “You’re not doing anything!” She reacted.

Janus lifted up his hand full of popcorn. “Yes I am. I’m eating popcorn.” Janus replied, his mouth somewhat full.

Arial growled and kicked Janus’s foot under the table.

Virgil looked up and crossed his arms. “One of you could easily resolve this by letting go of the spoon. It’s just a game.” Virgil mentioned.

“Yeah! A game I’m determined to win!” Arial shot back.

Remus chuckled and smirked at her. “A little reminder that you’re only made of bone.” Remus mentioned as he poked her forearm. “I could easily break it.” Remus told her.

Arial widened her eyes. “You would’t...” She warned.

Virgil widened his eyes and frowned. “Remus, no.”

“Oooooh, but Remus yes!” Remus replied.

“If you so much as crack my arm, I am going to kick my bony toes right into your crotch.” Arial threatened.

Virgil and Janus both made pain-filled reactions. Virgil made a cringe-filled hiss, while Janus squished his face and muttered a low “Ooooooh...Yikes.”

Janus crossed his arms and cleared his throat. “Remus, breaking her arm would not benefit anyone. It’s an unnecessarily painful thing to intentionally do to someone, especially because of a card game. You would hurt her greatly, and she’ll hate you throughout the healing process.” Janus warned.

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you’re right.”

“On top of that, we would be down a player for the rest of the afternoon...and the rest of the month.” Janus added. “And we totally DeSpIsE when Arial is over for game night.” Janus mentioned.

Arial smiled and covered her face. “Awww!”

“Alright alright! I get it. No breaking her bone.” Remus said back. “I wasn’t actually gonna do it. It was just a threat. Just like how Arial threatened to turn my balls into smushed meatballs with her foot.” Remus added.

“Alright Remus we get it.” Virgil muttered.

Then, Virgil looked at Arial and smirked a little. “Breaking her bones is off the table. But you do bring up a good point, Janus…” Virgil stood up and walked behind Arial. “She does feel many things despite looking like she doesn’t have nerves.” Virgil added with a hint of evil mischief showing up in his voice.

Arial widened her eyes and grew worried. “Whaaat are you planning…” Arial warned.

“Nothing, I swear.” Virgil replied. “I’m just-”

“Liar! You’re gonna sabotage my victory!” Arial yelled.

Virgil shook his head and lifted her up by the armpits. “I’m just picking you up.”

Arial blinked and looked down a little, confused and tense. “Why are you-”

Arial suddenly squeaked and lifted her knees up to her chest. Virgil’s smirk grew wider. “What? A little ticklish?” He asked as he skittered his pinkies on her bony armpit. Arial laid her head against her left shoulder and started to grow a lopsided smile. “Vihihirge- NOHO!”

“Ooooh...What an unexpected turn of events…” Janus reacted softly.

“Whaaat? I’m just holding you, I swear.” Virgil reacted calmly.

“Nohoho yohohohou’re nahahat! Yohohohou’re tihihicklihihing mehehe with yohohour nihimble fihihihingehehers!” Arial reacted.

Virgil hummed in almost a hurt kind of tone, and looked at his pinky. “Are they really that nimble?” Virgil asked.

Arial nodded her head.

Remus laughed at that. “Have you seen your own fingers, sweet pea? You’ve got the most nimble fingers out of all of us!” Remus reacted as he grabbed Arial’s ring finger. “Just look at these! They have no meat on-”

Remus ended up pulling a bit too hard, causing Arial’s full finger to fall right off the joint. Arial widened her eyes as she saw only her ring finger’s knuckle left on her hand. “You pulled-”

Virgil let out a loud shout and dropped Arial onto the ground. He fled backwards as quickly as he could, and covered his mouth. “REMUS YOU IDIOT!”

Remus yelped and dropped the finger and the spoon. The moment her finger smacked on the ground, Arial grunted and closed an eye. “Ow…” Arial knelt down and picked up her finger and the spoon. “Guys it’s-”

“Why did you do that?! SHE CAN’T REATTACH THAT NOW!” Virgil shouted. “NOT WITHOUT A DOCTOR!”

Remus put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know her nimble fingers were capable of falling off that easily!” Remus reacted back.

“She’s a skeleton. It’s not like she has muscles or skin on her fingers. If she did, her fingers wouldn’t pop off as easily from a light pull.” Janus added.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Remus yelled back at Janus.

“We need to call 911 now!” Virgil shouted as he whipped out his phone.

“GUYS!”

Everyone stopped yelling and turned to the source of the overpowering voice. Arial had her finger flipped up at them. But...it wasn’t the middle finger. It was the ring finger!

Wait...How did the ring finger get back onto her hand?!

Virgil was the first to point at the finger. “How-”

Arial smiled. “It’s okay. Removing the joint doesn’t hurt me.” Arial demonstrated by removing the finger from her knuckle again. It didn’t even make a pop sound like bone joints normally do when they separate slightly. Arial showed them every angle of her separated digit. “Not only that:” Arial curled her finger in as well, and uncurled it with no trouble despite it still being separated from her hand. “I can move it too. Weird, right?” Arial added.

Virgil was visibly tense upon seeing the digit move on its own like it was from a horror game. Virgil looked like he was actually gonna scream again, but quickly covered his own mouth with his hand.

Janus had calmed down and even started to smile. “Interesting. Logan totally wouldn’t experiment on you for hours if you told him.” Janus joked.

Arial chuckled at that and reattached the finger. “That’s not the only joint I can detach…” Arial gently pulled on her hand and watched with a smile as the hand and wrist bits detached from her lower forearm. Arial held up her hand and waved at them with her 4 fingers. “Cool, right?”

Remus was ecstatic! “Can I hold the hand?! Please please please please PRETTY PLEEEEAAAASE?” Remus begged.

Arial burst out laughing and handed her free hand to him. Remus felt the hand excitedly, and manipulated it carefully. Arial clenched her teeth slightly to prevent from giggling. His small pokes and prods tickled her a little.

She mentally let out a breath of relief when Remus moved onto creating symbols with her hand. “Look!” Remus started showing off the middle finger he had made from her hand with clear pride in his eyes. “It’s a boney fuck you!” Remus declared.

Janus let out a breath of relief. “I thought you were gonna say something else…”

Arial laughed at Remus’s joking around. But her laughter quickly halted as she felt herself get lifted up. It was Virgil! “Up we go, you little trickster.” Virgil declared.

Arial giggled and wrapped her arms around Virgil. “Am I really that humerus?” Arial asked.

Virgil raised an eyebrow and grew a grin. “Think you’re such a witty bone-fied genius?” Virgil asked.

“Tibia-honest, yes.” Arial replied.

“That’s it!” Virgil threw Arial onto the couch. Arial laughed at his unusual reaction as she landed on the soft cushions. But all her laughter paused the moment Virgil grabbed her ankle. “Since I know your joints can be harmlessly pulled off you, I can do this:'' Virgil removed Arial’s foot and ran away with it. Arial let out a super high-pitched shriek and reached out. “HEY! YOU MEANIE- OHOHO FAHAHAHAHA!” Arial immediately fell back laughing hysterically as her foot was attacked mercilessly.

“Nimble fingers, and flat feet! What a fun mix!” Virgil reacted. Then, Virgil pointed to Janus and Remus. “Any of you want the second foot? It’s free for the taking.” Virgil told them.

“IHIHIS NAHAHAT!” Arial yelled back.

“Are you sure? She might not want this.” Janus mentioned.

Virgil giggled at that. “Trust me: she loves being tickled.” Virgil told them.

Janus grinned widely upon that news. “Make that surprise número dos!” Janus said in part spanish.

“I CALL DIBS!” Remus shouted as he ran to her foot. “Mine!” Remus pulled on the foot and accidentally got her ankle as well! “Oops...Welp, more to tickle!” Remus declared.

“AAAH! WAIT-” Arial was immediately shut up by Remus’s weirdly soft skittering fingers. UHUHUNFAHAHAHAIR! AHAHAHAHAHA!” Arial shouted as she kicked her legs to cope with the strong tickles.

“Hey...Hey Remus...Is her ankle ticklish?” Janus asked.

Remus paused his tickling and decided to try it. “Let’s see…” Remus started gently skittering and scratching on the different sides of her ankle.

“EEEEEEHEHEHEhehehehehe! REEHEheheheheEHEHEHE NOHOhohoHOHOHohoho!” Arial begged.

“No, her ankles are totally not ticklish.” Janus replied. “Not ticklish at aaaaall…”

Remus smirked as he detached the ankle and handed it to Janus. “Here: Free tickle spot!” Remus said.

Janus smiled. “Wonderful. Her laughter is totally not the cutest thing in the world, and definitely not worth ending the game over.” Janus replied as he started tickling her ankle.

Arial rolled around all over the couch as she giggled and laughed. This was SO unfair! And yet...The best scenario to ever take place! It would be even CRAZIER if Fluffymary read this fanfic and drew fanart for it. If they did, Arial would surely die of the embarrassment from her lee mood.

The moment Virgil went up to scritch on Arial’s toes, she was done for. She shook her head around like a bobble head and let out her first snort!

Remus grew super excited at the sound. “SHE SNORTS!”

“Hmm...I sense there’s more to her anatomy than meets the eye.” Janus added.

“...Janus...You are currently tickling a girl with no visible Larynx or vocal cords, no visible tongue and no eyeballs…” Virgil mentioned.

Arial’s laughter only went up an octave after Virgil’s comment! The emo was completely right! The only thing she really lacked was a stomach!

Soon, the boys gave her a break. Arial went limp against the couch and breathed heavily to get her endurance leveled out. Janus handed Remus the skeleton’s separated ankle and watched Remus connect the ankle and foot together again. Then, Remus handed Arial her foot back.

“Tha…*huff* Thank you Re...Remus.” she replied.

Virgil handed her the other foot and gave her a glass of water with it as well. Arial drank some of the water, and looked up at Virgil and Remus. “Hey you two: look.” Arial separated her big toe from her right foot and dropped it into the water.

Virgil looked down awkwardly, quickly growing uncomfortable with the thought of soggy bone. Remus looked closer at the bone and noticed it was turning more yellow than white. “Why is it yellow-y white now?” Remus asked.

“Because it’s wet now. That’s what wet bone looks like. Because my bones are alive yet not engulfed in wet layers, my bones go more and more white from exposure.” Arial explained.

Remus hummed curiously and poked his finger between two of the ribs. “Am I able to-”

“OhoHOHOHOhohohokahahahay...Ihihi dihihid NOHOHOT expehect thahahat!” Arial admitted.

“Sorry Arial. I wanted to see if I could fit my fingers through your ribs.” Remus told her bluntly.

Arial chuckled with her eyebrow raised. They’re so weird. After a bit of thought, Arial lifted up her shirt and watched Remus bring his finger over to her rib spaces.

Remus started to put his fingers through the different rib spaces that were lower and more safe to touch. Remus discovered he could fit his pinky and ring finger through her ribs! But his thumb and index finger were too big for her rib spaces. All of it tickled enough to make her giggle through the whole thing.

Arial had to watch and feel every ticklish move Remus made with his hands and wiggly fingers. The anticipation was both anxiety-inducing, yet adrenaline-rising! She couldn’t figure out if she liked all the excitement, or didn’t like the unpredictability. Remus could strike at any given moment. Remus could easily change his mind and start full-blown tickling her in a surprise attack. But even his unintentional tickling was still tickling her.

Remus’s moving through her ribs would move quicker and turn more intense, before slowing back down. It was SOOO EEEVIL!

“OHOKAHAHAY! Thahahat’s ehehenohohough!” Arial decided, pulling her shirt down and giggling up a storm. “Nohoho mohohohore guihinea pihihig time.”

“Well that didn’t take long at all!” Remus reacted.

“Well how would you feel if you had fingers wiggling in between your sensitive ribs?” Virgil started skittering and digging his fingers into Remus’s ribs. He made sure to pay particular attention to the Duke’s rib spaces.

“aaAAAHAHAHAHAHA! VIHIHIRGILYOUFUCKING AHAHAHAHAHASS!” Remus shouted at him.

“Sorry Remus! I wanted to see if I could fit my fingers through your ribs!” Virgil teased as he continued to ‘attempt’ to fit his fingers through Remus’s muscle-covered ribs. “Oh wait! You have muscles and skin!” Virgil acted. “That means you’re eleven moooore ticklish!” Virgil started massaging Remus’s ribs and ab muscles next. Remus had a particularly tight core. For some people, this would make massaging it more painful. But for Remus, this made Remus more ticklish beyond belief!

Remus quickly flopped to the ground and landed smack dab onto his right shoulder and hip. Thankfully, it didn’t really hurt that much. Virgil knelt down, and just kept on skittering and massaging his fingers into the abs and lower ribs of the Duke of Stinkyton. Remus had completely lost his composure and was now laughing hysterically below the emo.

Oh my, how the tables have turned.

Arial happily watched the new tickle fight while sitting on the couch with her glass of water. She had started to finish her last gulp of water when something rock-like and hard, smacked into her nose hole.

Ow...What was that- Oh…

Arial picked it up and chuckled to herself as she held the soggy toe in her finger and thumb. With one last bit of toeless water, Arial put the cup down, dried her wet toe on her shirt and put the big toe back onto her foot. There. Now she’s all together again.

Let me rephrase that: She’s all TOE-gether again.

#fluff #male-female friendships #playing cards #competition #teasing #surprises #skeleton puns #skeleton anatomy #ticklefic #ler!virgil #ler!janus #switch!remus #lee!arial #female oc #oc made by someone else

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Note

May I please request winter tropes 1 and 10 for Merry lotr? Thank you!

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long, dear Nonny. I hope you enjoy! Word Count: 1519 Prompts: blizzard/snowed in, baking cookies

“Mm,” your best friend hummed as he walked in, “something smells delicious.”

“Merry!” you cried excitedly, wiping your hands on the apron you were wearing as you rushed to greet him. “I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow?”

“Maybe I told you that so I could surprise you.” His eyes sparkled with mirth as you threw your arms around his neck in a hug.

“Well it certainly worked.” You pulled back reluctantly out of his arms and fixed him with your sternest look. “And since you’re here, I’m putting you to work.”

He groaned exaggeratedly, as if he hadn’t anticipated that you would be hard at work trying to get ready for the midwinter celebrations that always overtook the entire town of Bree and that you had been granted the honor of arranging this year or that you would enlist his help with it.

“Go settle your things in the other room while I finish supper,” you said, shooing him. “You must be famished and tired from the trip. Did you come all the way from Hobbiton today?”

“No, no,” he called from the hall as you returned to the kitchen. “I stayed with Farmer Maggot for the night and set out from there this morning. He and his wife send their greetings.”

You smiled. Merry somehow managed to know every hobbit on both sides of the Brandywine, and be friends with a considerable portion of them. It was one of the things you loved about him, along with his humor and his optimism and lust for life. He bordered on being very unhobbit-like, adventurous and wild and loud. But growing up alongside him, you had always been used to it, it felt as familiar and warm as an old coat put on after a long time in a trunk. And the stuffy old sort in The Shire could use a good stirring up once in a while.

You turned to the sink to wash some extra dishes. Maybe someday, you’d have the guts to tell him how you felt. And then you could spend every day setting places at the table for two instead of just one.

“So, boss,” Merry teased, leaning on his elbows at your table. “What are my orders?”

“Well, do you want to finish up the decorations?” you offered.

“As my lady commands,” he said, flashing you a wink that made your heart skitter and you ducked your head, face heating with a blush and hoping to hide the involuntary grin his words brought to your face.

There was something different about him these days, you thought as you walked him through how to make the interlocking loops of colored paper to create garlands. He was bolder (you marveled that such a thing was possible), more confident. He carried himself taller, prouder. Whatever had happened in the long months you’d been apart - and maybe you believed his wild stories of it all - had changed him. But you loved the new him, just as you had the old.

His fingers brushed yours as he took the half-finished chain from you. You wished for a moment that you could borrow his new sureness so you could tell him how you felt, instead of the words always dying on the tip of your tongue.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen working on the desserts for the party,” you told him.

His eyes lit up. “Please tell me there will be some of your jam cookies?”

And just like that he was the Merry you always knew, the one who would sneak away whole platters of the sugar dusted, jam-filled, shortbread pockets that your mother, and later you, made for town events. He claimed to share the cookies, and the blame, with others your age and younger like Pippin and Frodo and Fatty Bolger. But you had always suspected that the treats were all for himself, and you were flattered by it, especially since you made plenty and it wasn’t like a single platter really made a dent in the supply.

“And so what if there will,” you teased with faux-stern hands on your hips. “Don’t think your charming hero act will let you get away with thievery the way you used to, Meriadoc Brandybuck.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Y/N,” he challenged, expression somehow a mix of a pout and a glare.

“I’m sure you don’t. But remember, you’re the only guest tonight, so if even a single cookie goes missing before the festivities, I’ll know it was you.”

“On my honor as an integral member of the Fellowship of the Ring, I will not steal the cookies, I swear.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond to his oath, knowing that once he dragged in the now-famed Fellowship, there was no winning an argument against him.

“We’ve both got work to do,” you said instead, before softening to smile at him. “It’s good to have you here Merry.”

“Of course I’m here, Y/N. Where else would I be?”

Your heart fluttered again and you bustled off into the kitchen.

You had worked well into the night, even several hours after Merry had stopped keeping you company and gone off to the guest bedroom to rest, making sure that you were prepared and that everything you could do before the day of the festivities was done. But the one thing you couldn’t control was the weather. And it was with a disappointed groan that you looked out your bedroom window early the next morning to find it covered in frost with the shadow of a snow drift resting on the sill. More flakes flurried down past the glass, and the wind whistled across your chimneys as you poked the fires in as many rooms as you could to warm your little home.

“This is a disaster,” you complained to the air, sitting at your kitchen table with your head in your hands once that task was done.

“What is?” Merry asked, emerging with a yawned good morning and claiming a seat so close to your own that your knees bumped occasionally under the table.

“The weather. It’s snowing much too hard to have the festivities today. I can hardly even open my door to step out, let alone make it to the square.”

“So? You can just have it after the snow clears, and you won’t have to worry about getting the decorations ready because they already will be,” he offered.

You shook your head, appreciative of his attempt to make the best of it but distraught nonetheless.

“But all the food will go to waste, and it won’t be Midwinter anymore. And I’m sure you’ll have to return to the Shire and be about your duties and I was so looking forward to having you here this year. It’s been too long since we celebrated together. It was going to be perfect.”

You sighed, trying not to cry in your frustration and disappointment.

“We can still celebrate, the two of us here, make sure your feast doesn’t all go to waste. And actually, I won’t be returning to the Shire for a while. Family business has me staying for a while. Maybe even permanently, if I can get Frodo to sell me his house at Crickhollow. And if you want me around.”

You lifted your head to stare at him quizzically. He shrugged.

“I might be taking over as Master of Buckland someday. I’ve got to learn how before then. And I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Merry…”

“I merely meant that the storm is a setback not a disaster, and one that might not be so bad.”

“Merry.”

“I’ll even string some of the garlands and pine boughs in here if you like, make it seem a bit more festive. And when the storm is done, there will be a fresh snow to add natural decoration to all your hard work. As for it not being properly Midwinter, when have technicalities like that ever stopped a party before?”

“Merry!” you finally shouted, catching his attention as he rambled, one hand toying with a spoon on the table.

“What?”

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For always knowing what to say. A celebration of just the two of us sounds...nice.”

“Good,” he grinned before raising an eyebrow. “About the feast. Will there--”

“Yes, there will be jam cookies. If you’re really lucky, I’ll even teach you how to make them.”

“Why would I want to do that, when I’ll always have you to? I will always have you, won’t I?”

Something in his tone, or maybe the soft look in his eyes as they searched your face, for what you couldn’t say, told you that his question wasn’t just about making the treats, wasn’t about that at all really. Maybe today would give you the moment you needed, maybe this could even be it right now. Midwinter was meant to mark a turning point, after all. You couldn’t help but smile, and he matched the expression with a sigh of relief.

“Of course you will, Merry. Always and forever.”

#I had a lot of fun with this #once I finally got my brain working right #thank you for the request Nonny #and for such a cute set of prompts to work with #Merry Brandybuck x reader #Lord of the Rings fic #winter prompts

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For a writing prompt, Indruck post apocalyptic au (preferably everyone is human?) Indrid is infected by some sort of alien parasite, and the only way they can save him is to cut it out of him without anesthesia? Feel free to be as graphic as you want, but if it’s too whumpy for you, no pressure to write it! Thanks as always!

Here you go! It’s mid-level graphic: if it were a movie, you wouldn’t be seeing guts everywhere, but you would see the wounds. Also, content warning for body horror, namely the kind where a fungus takes over your body, and referenced suicide (no suicide actually occurs, don’t worry)

He should have seen it coming.

The tell-tale dampness and smell in the air, like battery acid and rotten milk, the fact that he’d made it the whole trip without seeing any Mycilioptera (that was, according to Joseph, the scientific term for the for the cat-sized, skittering alien creatures looking for someone to sting).

The creature was on him with a droning, high whine, scratching his face, smearing stinging mucus across his eyes and mouth. He made a rookie error, following his instinct to rip off the the substance dulling his senses, rather than feel sweep his arms over his body, locate the creature, and hurl it as far away as he could.

When the stinger hit his stomach, he screamed. The noise was useless; this quadrant of the city was abandoned months ago. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his sides as the pain seeps through them. His eyes cleared enough that he forced his fingers to work, grip the handle of his hatchet, and cleave it with a crunch.

Now, clutching the steering wheel of the Winnebago (in this world you do not need a fast car; you need something with thick sides and room for supplies and friends), he knows there are only two ways this can go.

If he is lucky, the parasite will be slow acting enough and he will stay lucid enough to reach the ranch in time for someone to remove it.

If he is unlucky, he will run out of time, and the parasite will take control of his body, manipulate him zombie-like to an advantageous location, and burst from his chest, mouth, and eyes in milky-white stalks, sending spores into the air, which will either grow in to adults or be inhaled by any other humans in a two mile radius, subjecting them to a prolonged version of Indrid’s fate.

He leans on the gas pedal, hurtling down the empty backroad. They found an abandoned, un-pilfered gas station and filled all the vehicles, with some left over for scouting and supply runs. And, if it came to it, an escape.

From the passenger seat, his backpack meows. A familiar black and brown head pokes out, the ratty collar still reading “Winnie.” Winnie, the reason he ran into that abandoned parking garage during a salvage mission in the first place.

Because she’s Duck’s cat, the one he thought he’d never see again after she fled out the door when the city evacuated. And Indrid loves Duck Newton more than anything in the world.

They’d been friends before everything went to hell, inching towards a confession of deeper feeling and Indrid still remembers the way his heart felt when he spotted Duck at the evac staging shelter. He hadn't even opened his mouth when Duck was hugging him, holding him tight and saying he was so fucking glad he was okay.

When three, then five, then ten infected humans burst in the evac center, Duck had Indrid’s hand they were running before almost anyone else knew what was happening, bandanas over their mouths because Josephs last message before the cell towers were overloaded was to keep their noses and mouths covered.

They made it, against all odds, out into the countryside, Thacker’s Quonset hut and Mama’s farmhouse as safe as they’d hoped. The others trickled in one by one or two by two; sometimes bringing other survivors with them. Other survivors found them later, though the humans they saw became fewer and fewer with each day.

Mama took in everyone who wasn’t infected, while Joseph, Dani, Duck and Thacker operated and sewed up the infected who could be saved (if removed before it takes over the host, the parasite will die when exposed to air). Those who could not were given choices; most chose a swift death, especially when they learned that dying before the parasites emerged would kill the alien inside them.

And every night, Indrid and Duck shared a small bed, clinging to each other and telling jokes or stories until they could sleep. Two months in, Duck kissed him in the dark and Indrid kissed back, and when Duck asked if it was only the end of the world driving Indrid’s affection, Indrid shook his head

“I’ve wanted this for awhile. And I don’t know what’s coming. All I know is I want to be with you when it does.”

At the front of the Winnebago Indrid wipes his eyes; what a foolish thing to say. He doesn’t want Duck here for this, that’s for damn sure, and yet he drives towards him anyway,

He’s feverish, sweat running down his face and arms shaking, and while his veins are still blue, he can see the parasite rippling under his skin; it’s not wasting any time.

He’s not going to make it. And if he tries, he’ll put all his friends in danger

There’s no choice but to pull to the side of the road a few miles from the farm and step from the trailer, leaving the door ajar so Winnie can escape into the wild. He’s crying all the while, breath coming in shaky gasps; just because he’s doing the right thing doesn’t mean he isn’t miserable and terrified.

Indrid pulls out his pistol. He won’t be an incubator, he won’t spread this, he won’t help the things that took so much of his world from him.

He won’t ever see Duck again.

He sobs, once, then wretches as the fever grows and his vision goes spotty. He has to do this, even though every time he looks at the weapon his whole body shakes with fear.

“‘Drid!”

Duck’s voice, just audible over the thrum of an engine. Then tires screech into view, Aubrey piloting a jeep. Duck jumps to the ground before she’s even stopped.

“‘Drid, don’t you fuckin dare-”

“Nono, stay back!” He scrambles on his hands and heels, slamming into the side of the trailer, “I got stung, I already have a fever, I can feel it moving-”

Duck drops to his knees, lifting Indrid’s glasses.

“Your eyes are still brown. It ain’t too late.”

“But the veins near the wound are going white” Joseph stands behind Duck, “we won’t be able to get him back in time.”

“Th-that’s why I pulled over, I, I can’t get the rest of you infected, please, please just go-”

“You got the field kit?”

Aubrey tosses it to Duck.

“We can still save you, sugar. And I’m sure as hell gonna fuckin try.”

Duck and Joseph haul him to his feet and carry him inside, laying him on his back on the table. Aubrey follows him, sitting down on one bench and taking his hand.

“We got no anesthetic, so this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker, but you can do it. Okay?”

Indrid nods weakly.

“We’re gonna get you through this. You’re” fear flickers across Duck’s face, “you’re gonna be okay.”

Aubrey braces Indrid’s upper body, Joseph his lower, as Duck cleans around the puncture in his stomach and sterilizes his tools. Aubrey holds up a hand,

“We need something for your mouth, right?”

“Good call” Duck retrieves a wooden spoon from a drawer, setting it between Indrid’s teeth.

“Okay” Duck takes a deep breath, meets Indrids eyes, “okay. I’m gonna start cuttin. Ready?”

Indrid just manages a thumbs up.

It hurts, because a blade cutting into your skin will always hurt. And because it hurts Indrid screams.

“That’s good” Joseph is trying to sound reassuring, but even he looks worried, “scream if you need to, research suggests it helps with the pain.”

“It’s not too deep, thank fuckin christ.”

Indrid stares at the ceiling and yells when Duck widens the incision.

“Almost can see ‘im. Yeah, there, he’s startin to shrivel already from the air.”

Relief mingles with the pain in his tears. Aubrey pets his head, “you’re gonna be okay, see?”

“C’mere you, you fuckin monster, you fuckin think you can take him from me” Duck hisses, then says gruffly, “Joe, need you to hold it open, go wash your hands.”

Once Joe is in position, there’s a horrible, wet sound as Duck places his hand inside.

Searing, blinding pain as he pulls the parasite free, Indrid’s blood running down Duck’s arms. He bites the wooden handle and it cracks. The creature wrinkles and dies in Duck’s hands and he hurls it outside.

“Shit, shit you’re bleeding a lot. Okay, fuck, okay, that was the hard part, this is just stitches. Just stitches.”

Indrid whimpers, clinging to Aubrey’s hand and scraping his nails against the formica table. Duck hits too deep on a stitch and Indrid winces and cries as his boyfriend curses.

“Here, Duck, trade with me.” Joe holds out his hand and Duck passes him the needle. The shorter man settles by Indrid, taking his other hand. He’s still bloodstained, and Indrid can feel him shaking, but he brings Indrid’s knuckles to his mouth and kisses his knuckles again and again.

“I’m here, darlin, I’m here, I got you, it’s almost over.”

Indrid focuses on his voice, pretends they’re in bed together, counts the kisses on his hand and wrist while the pain fades to the background. Dimly, around kiss number thirty-five, he hears Joseph sigh in relief.

“Done.”

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

Indrid curls up under the covers, clothes sticking to him with sweat and his stomach throbbing with pain.

“Easy, sugar, easy” Duck sits up from a makeshift bed on the floor, “here, lemme get you some painkillers.” He comes back with a glass of water and two white pills. Indrid swallows them, lets Duck help him from his shirt and wipe the sweat away with a cloth.

“How did you know to come look for me?”

“Just had a feelin. I kept lookin out at the road, saw the ‘Bago weavin, goin a million miles an hour, and just knew somethin was wrong.”

“Thank you. For coming for me.”

“I always will. Thanks for not deckin me or kickin me while I was workin on you.”

“Duck you saved my life, kicking would be rather rude.”

It’s a weak goof, but Duck smiles and kisses him.

“Oh, uh, here, someone else wants to say thanks.”

“Mraoow?” Winnie stares at him from Duck’s arms.

“We scared her burstin into the trailer. Poked her head out right after you passed out. So you, uh, missed me bawlin like a baby seein her again.”

“Awwww” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, ruffling Winnie’s fluff.

“I mean, that and it hit me how close I came to losin you. Poor Aubrey was tryin to comfort me in the Jeep while Joe drove you back here in the ’Bago.”

Indrid strokes his cheek. He understands; the thought of never seeing Duck again was the worst thing to happen to him all day, sting included.

“Come to bed?”

“You sure? Might not be too comfortable.”

“I want to be held by you. I want to remember we’re both still here.”

Duck joins him under the blanket, Winnie curling up on their feet.

“Yeah, yeah we are. And I love you so goddamn much.”

“I love you too. And I promise to cut a parasite out of you if the need arises.”

“God I fuckin hope not.”

“Me too. There were...fewer of them this time. I think they may be dwindling.”

“Fingers crossed. But even if we got a long ways to go towards rebuildin a world, I still got you, and you still got me. And that’s worth a whole hell of a lot.”

Indrid kisses him, inhaling the smell of clean skin and scratching his cheek against Duck’s stubble.

“You’re right, my love. It is.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #whump #reader requests #post apocalyptic au #body horror

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girls-scenarios · 4 years

Text

Maybe It’s Not So Bad

Idols: Minju and Yujin (IZ*ONE)

Prompt: Kim Minju, the princess of the drama club and the most beautiful girl Yujin had ever laid eyes on, was standing in her living room. Could this get any worse?

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: This was my fic for the Girl Crush Fic Exchange, you can also find it over on AO3 if you’d like to read it there!

For parents, Chaeyeon and Sakura were usually pretty cool. Not only were they famous enough that the kids at school always asked Yujin about them, but they were also funny and laid back. They always supported Yujin and her younger sister Wonyoung, from letting them participate in all the teams and clubs they wanted to buying them the latest fashions to letting them know that they could talk to them about anything. When her friends complained about their parents not letting them go to parties or not understanding them, Yujin could never relate because she had a close relationship with her moms. Chaeyeon and Sakura encouraged her to live her youth to the fullest and let her be very open with them about her thoughts and feelings. So yeah, Yujin thought they were usually pretty cool.

Usually.

Yujin loved her moms, she really did. But she didn’t understand why they were so embarrassing. They were always so lovey-dovey and loud in public, they said weird and embarrassing things in front of her friends, and worst of all, even though they encouraged her to be a normal teen, they still treated her like a kid sometimes.

Now was one of those times.

Staying home alone over the weekend was a like rite of passage for normal teenagers (at least, that’s what the dramas on TV made it seem like), so when Chaeyeon and Sakura told both their daughters over dinner that the two of them would be going to a resort over the weekend for their anniversary, Yujin was immediately excited. It wasn’t like she was going to throw a big party or anything-she wasn’t brave enough to trash the place-but she had imagined inviting her friends to sleep over and play video games and eat junk food late into the night without anyone to tell her not to. She had imagined having one of the best nights of her life doing whatever she wanted to do with her friends and was already planning who to invite over and what takeout to order as they spoke.

And then her moms had crushed her hopes and dreams for the perfect weekend.

“A babysitter?” Yujin stood from her seat, her eyes narrowed and her hands planted firmly on the table as she stared at her moms, her mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. “You got us a babysitter? I’m a junior in high school and I’ll be a senior in a few months, I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I wouldn’t call her a babysitter, although I’m sure she’s done that before too,” Chaeyeon said calmly, as if her two daughters weren’t so mortified they were about to melt into the floor. “She’s the daughter of a family friend and we’re just asking her to come over while we’re gone.”

“That’s the same thing as a babysitter,” Wonyoung complained, putting down her chopsticks and frowning. “Why do we need someone to stay with us? We’re home alone while you two are at work all the time.”

“This is different.”

“How?” Yujin demanded, crossing her arms.

“For starters, neither of you have ever spent the night alone without a parent or adult in the house,” Sakura said, glancing over at her wife before fixing her daughters with a small amused smile. “Second, if we left you alone, who would cook all the meals? I don’t want to come back to a destroyed kitchen.”

Yujin huffed, knowing that she had a point but not wanting to admit it. She was a danger in the kitchen and all Wonyoung knew how to cook was instant noodles, because Chaeyeon and Sakura loved cooking and were always the ones to do it. Still, she wasn’t about to back down. “We could just order takeout.”

“For breakfast, lunch, and dinner two days in a row?” Chaeyeon raised her eyebrows, then sighed and leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “Listen girls, you’re both great and we trust you not to throw any crazy parties or do anything bad. But trusting the two of you to cook, clean, and not mess anything up while we’re gone is another story. We just feel safer having someone else here to make sure the two of you don’t blow the house up on accident.”

“How would we blow up the house? We aren’t that stupid,” Yujin said, to which Sakura laughed.

“Yujin, you almost microwaved a spoon just last week.”

Blushing, the oldest daughter huffed and slumped back down into her chair, fuming internally and glaring down at the plate in front of her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

“How old is the babysitter?” Wonyoung asked, a pout evident on her lips even as she apparently accepted the situation. Yujin’s frown deepened. Of course it was easier for her to accept, she was only in middle school so it wasn’t as embarrassing for her.

“She’s eighteen.”

“So she’s barely older than me!” Yujin threw up her hands in frustration. “This is dumb!”

“Yujin.” Chaeyeon fixed her daughter with a cool look, causing her to freeze. Her mom only used that look when she was dead serious. “We have already made up our mind. Nothing you do is going to make us think any differently. Now, please sit up straight and finish your food before it gets cold. We can talk more about this when you calm down.”

Grumbling, Yujin sat up in her chair and picked up her chopsticks. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was a new level of embarrassment, even for her moms, and she could only hope that the “babysitter” was someone she didn’t know. Otherwise, she would have to immigrate and change her name to avoid the embarrassment of people at school finding out that her moms got her a babysitter at seventeen years old.

Later that night, after fuming in the shower, Yujin wandered into Wonyoung’s bedroom and flopped down face-first onto her younger sister’s big pink bed. Annoyed, the younger girl kicked at her shoulder, peering at her over her phone and letting out a whine when she saw her.

“Your hair is still wet, you’re going to get my blankets wet!”

“Shut up,” Yujin grumbled, her voice muffled by the blankets as she swatted her sister’s foot away. “We have a bigger problem on our hands than your blankets getting wet.”

“Huh?”

“Did you really forget that our moms are getting us a babysitter this weekend?”

“Oh, right.” Wonyoung frowned slightly and put her phone down, leaning back against her bed frame and picking up her fluffy pillow to hug it to her chest with a sigh. “I mean, you heard them, it’s not like we can do anything to change their mind.”

Yujin rolled over and stretched out her arms beside her, pouting up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. They should have at least let me plead my case.”

“You can’t cook or clean and you almost blew up the microwave,” the younger girl pointed out, “you wouldn’t have been able to say anything.”

Yujin turned to frown at her. “Okay, sure, but do you really want to have a babysitter at your age? What if your friends find out?”

Wonyoung thought for a moment, pressing her lips together. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing,” she admitted, “but I would have had you telling me what to do anyway. Plus, I don’t think my friends are the type of people to make fun of me for it.”

“It’s not my friends I’m worried about. What if the babysitter girl is mean and tells the whole school she was hired to babysit me even though she’s only, like, a year older than me?” Just the idea was enough to make Yujin groan and cover her face. “I’d actually die!”

“You’re so dramatic,” her sister complained, then sighed again. “But I do hope she’s nice. I’d rather stay home without a babysitter, but it would be awful if she was strict and actually treated us like we’re kids.”

“I won’t listen to her even if she is strict.” Yujin rolled her eyes. “She’s only a year older than me, that’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” Wonyoung replied, picking back up her phone. “I’m not going to do anything that will get me in trouble. It’s not like being rude will change anything, you might as well accept it.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re siding with our moms over this.” Yujin sat up and huffed dramatically as she flipped her still-wet hair over her shoulder, splattering her sister with water and making her gasp. “I’ve lost my only comrade.”

“Yujin! Now everything is wet!” Wonyoung’s eyes flashed as she picked up the pillow next to her and the older girl screamed, jumping off the bed and making a run for the safety of her room as her sister chased after her, yelling something about her being annoying.

The pillow hit her door as she slammed it closed behind her and she could hear Chaeyeon call up the stairs for her not to slam things, but she just stuck out her tongue at the door, feeling uncharacteristically rebellious. Maybe it was because she was upset that her moms were treating her like a kid or maybe it was because she was hurt by their lack of trust. Whatever it was, it made her stomp over to her bed, grumbling under her breath about stupid parents and rules as she pulled out her phone to distract herself with dance videos, wishing, for once, that the weekend would never come.

Usually, Friday would find Yujin rushing home after dance practice, excited to stay up late watching dramas and playing video games with her sister. But today Yujin’s feet dragged underneath her and she stared down at the sidewalk, kicking at the small pebbles and leaves in her way as she headed home. Wonyoung walked just as slowly beside her, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie and her lips curved down into a pout.

“Do you think the babysitter is already there?” Wonyoung asked, her shoulder bumping against Yujin’s as she avoided a crack in the sidewalk.

“I don’t know. I hope not. I hope she never shows up.” The older girl frowned and kicked the pinecone in her path extra hard, sending it skittering down the road. “We don’t have to stay with the babysitter, right?”

Wonyoung blinked and looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. There should be no reason that we have to stay home on Saturday. We should be able to go out with our friends, right? So we don’t have to see the babysitter until that night.”

“My friends did ask me if I wanted to hang out this weekend.” The younger sister perked up. “It should be okay, right? I mean, they let us go out on the weekends all the time.”

“That’s what I’m saying. They can’t make us stay with her all day.” As the two of them approached their house, Yujin stopped and reached out to grab her sister’s arm. “You aren’t going to abandon me with the babysitter, right?”

“Why would I abandon you?”

“I’m just making sure. When we were little you would always make me look bad in front of the babysitters too.”

“That was forever ago!” When Wonyoung saw that Yujin was serious, she sighed. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” The younger sister reached out to curl their fingers together for a brief moment before breaking from her sister’s grasp. “Come on, let’s go inside now. Otherwise our moms are going to get onto us for being late.” She led the way up the stairs to the door and Yujin reluctantly followed with a huff, her eyebrows furrowed as she went through all of her complaints in her head.

Only for them to die on her lips when she stepped inside and saw the girl standing next to her moms.

Oh god. Kim Minju, the princess of the drama club and the most beautiful girl Yujin had ever laid eyes on, was standing in her living room. Her mouth went dry as she froze at the door, clutching her bag in her hands even as Wonyoung kicked off her shoes and cautiously walked inside, letting her bag fall off her shoulders.

“Come inside, Yujin,” Chaeyeon called, and Yujin swallowed as Minju turned to look at her with a small smile. The older girl waved and Yujin hesitantly waved back before quickly taking off her shoes, her head spinning. Was this really happening? “Girls,” Chaeyeon said as Yujin shakily approached, “this is Minju. You remember our friend Eunbi, right? This is her and Hyewon’s daughter. She’ll be staying here for the weekend to help you guys with food and cleaning. Please make her feel at home.”

“R-right,” Yujin stuttered, her rebellious phase disappearing as soon as it had appeared as she tried to come to terms with what was happening. Minju, the girl Yujin had been crushing on for years, was her babysitter. Could this get any worse? A giggle from Wonyoung reminded her that it could, in fact, get worse and she tried to force herself to get it together. She couldn’t make a fool of herself in front of Minju, even if her parents had already embarrassed her. So she flashed her signature cool smile and greeted the other girl. “Hey, I’m Yujin.”

“I know,” Minju said, making Yujin short circuit, blinking at her.

“Huh?”

The older girl laughed, but there was nothing mean about it. “I know who you are. You’re on the dance team at school. You guys are incredible, I come to watch every performance!”

“Really?” Well, so much for getting herself together. Yujin felt as if she were floating, or maybe swimming, through the air, the oxygen escaping her lungs as her heart pounded in her ears. Was this the gay panic she’d heard so much about? Her thoughts were scrambled, but she managed to force out a reply that didn’t make her look like a total dork. “Thanks! You know, I watch all of the drama club’s productions. You’re a really great actress!”

“Thank you, I’m flattered to hear that you think so.” The other girl smiled, sweet and shy, tucking a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear, and Yujin could feel herself blushing as her moms looked between the two of them.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Sakura beamed and clasped her hands together. “That’s great! I hope you all have lots of fun together while we’re away.”

“Not too much fun, if you know what I mean,” Chaeyeon said with a wink, making both of her daughters groan.

“Mom you’re so embarrassing,” Wonyoung complained, crossing her arms as Yujin stared down at the floor, letting her hair fall into her face and wishing it could hide her from the world. Why was this happening to her? She didn't think Minju was a bad person, but what if she told her friends? She’d never hear the end of it. Just the thought mortified her to her core and she swallowed, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. Maybe she could bribe her not to tell or something….

“We already went over all the rules,” Chaeyeon said, handing a notepad to Minju. “The fridge and pantry are fully stocked and you can make anything you want. If you want to get a snack or drink for yourself that’s okay. The spare bedroom is all yours while you’re staying here, everything has been cleaned and set up for you so make yourself at home.” She turned her eyes to her daughters and fixed them with a stern stare that made them both stand up a little bit straighter. “Girls, make sure you’re nice to Minju, I know you’re both getting older but you still have to listen to her if she asks the two of you to do something. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both girls responded in unison, and when Yujin glanced over to her side, she saw Minju stifle a laugh. Was that a good or bad sign? She really didn’t know.

“We’ll be back on Sunday morning. Don’t burn anything down until then.” Sakura stepped forward to give both of her daughters a hug, followed closely by Chaeyeon. At first, Yujin was stiff, but she hugged back reluctantly. Was it normal for teenagers to hug their moms? She really didn’t want to embarrass herself any more than her moms already had.

“We love you girls,” Chaeyeon said as she picked up the last of her bags, blowing them exaggerated kisses. Sakura laughed and followed suit, and this time, Minju did let out a little giggle.

“We love you too,” Wonyoung replied, and Yujin waved with the most genuine smile she could muster.

“Have a good trip!”

After a bit more cooing from Sakura, their moms were off, waving as they drove away. For a moment, an awkward silence fell over the room and Yujin worried at her bottom lip as she slowly let her hand fall to her side, watching her mom's car until it disappeared around the corner. This was really happening, and she had never once in her life been shy, but she had no idea what to say or do, just standing frozen in front of the window, too nervous to turn and look at the beautiful girl standing beside her.

Thankfully, Wonyoung cleared her throat, interrupting the awkward atmosphere and making both of the older girls turn to look at her “So, uh, what should we do for dinner?” The youngest asked, glancing at her older sister. There was the hint of a teasing smile on her lips, and Yujin narrowed her eyes as if to tell her sister not to say a word. Beside her, Minju (thankfully oblivious to the silent battle between sisters) checked her watch.

“What are you guys in the mood for?” She asked, “I can make just about anything as long as I have the ingredients.” She smiled that same shy smile as she shrugged her shoulders. “I might not be as good as your moms, but I’ll try!”

Wonyoung’s grin grew as she gestured to her sister, turning Minju’s attention to her. “I don’t know, what are you in the mood for, Yujin?”

She was going to kill her sister if she didn’t die from embarrassment first. The older girl turned her pretty smile to face Yujin, her eyebrows raised slightly, waiting for an answer, and the younger girl faltered for a moment before her dumb gay brain started to work enough for her to form sentences again.

“Um, I’m really okay with anything,” she forced out, and Minju let out a small giggle, making Yujin wonder if she was nervous too. If she stopped agonizing over every detail of the experience from her point of view, she could see how babysitting two teenagers could potentially be a bit terrifying. Still, being the babysitter was not as bad as being the baby-sat teenager, so she didn’t linger much on the thought.

“Well, you guys have to choose something for dinner, otherwise I won’t know what to make.”

“Then how about tteokbokki?” Wonyoung asked with wide eyes, taking advantage of the situation to suggest one of her favorite foods. Minju smiled, visibly relieved as her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I can make that.”

“Awesome! I’ll be upstairs, just yell at me when it’s done. Oh, and don’t let Yujin near anything hot, she almost blew up the house using the microwave. Have fun!” With a satisfied grin, her teasing complete, Wonyoung turned and skipped up the stairs, leaving Yujin to blush and glare after her, running through ideas for revenge in her head. She was so going to get her for this later.

For a moment, there was once again awkward silence, until Minju cleared her throat. “Do I want to know how you almost blew up the house using the microwave?”

“I almost microwaved a spoon,” Yujin mumbled, ducking her head so that her short hair fell over her face. “But she’s exaggerating, my moms caught me before I could even turn the microwave on.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I almost did the same thing last year.” Minju giggled and Yujin finally dared to look up at her. There was a dusting of pink on her cheeks as she recounted her own near disaster. “I was really tired and forgot to take the spoon out of my soup after I stirred it. I would have blown up the microwave if my mom didn’t reach around me to yank open the microwave door. I got a pretty big lecture after that.”

Hearing that Minju - the most perfect person Yujin had ever laid eyes on - had also made the spoon mistake made her feel a little better, enough to laugh and rub at the back of her neck. “I’m glad to know that I’m not the only clumsy one, then.”

“Definitely not. I’ve had more mistakes in the kitchen than I’d care to remember.”

Yujin raised her eyebrows, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “We’re safe, right?”

The older girl waved her arms in front of her, as if to wave away Yujin’s mock concern. “Totally safe! I haven’t had a kitchen accident in at least a year. And if anyone is in danger, it would just be me.” The two of them laughed and Minju let out a sigh of relief. “By the way, I’m glad it’s you.”

Well, the blush was back. Yujin wondered if her eyes were as wide as they felt and, if so, how dumb she looked. “What? What do you mean?”

“When my moms told me that their friends wanted me to stay with their teenagers, well…. I was really nervous.” The older girl twisted her hands together. “I mean, it’s embarrassing on both sides, but I was kind of scared that the person I was staying with would lash out at me because their parents wouldn’t let them stay at home alone. So I’m glad it’s you.”

“Oh.” Yujin felt a bit ashamed, knowing that her plan had been to be as annoying as possible until the moment she walked in the door. But she swallowed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her uniform skirt because she wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “It is embarrassing,” she said slowly, “I mean, if people at school found out that my moms got me a babysitter, I’d be mortified.”

“I would never say anything,” Minju quickly assured her, waving her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to worry about that!”

“Thank you.” The younger girl let out her own sigh of relief, then smiled a real smile, most of the tension that she’d been holding in her chest since her moms told her about their trip washing away. “I’m glad it’s you too. Don’t worry, I won’t be too bad. I’m sure I’m not as bad as a toddler.”

Minju laughed, and Yujin let herself get lost in the sound of it for a moment, amazed that she was actually hearing it up close instead of from across the cafeteria. “Thank you, I'm relieved." After a pause, the older girl nodded towards the kitchen. "Want to help me with dinner? I'll make sure not to give you any dangerous tasks." Her face was hopeful and inviting as she pulled her chestnut hair back into a low ponytail, and Yujin wouldn't have been able to say no even if she wanted to. Minju was so pretty that she would have followed her into the sea had she asked.

"Okay," she said, her heart inching into her throat, wanting nothing more than to make a good impression. "As long as you don't think I'll be in the way of anything."

"You'll be okay, I won't let you get hurt."

Yujin had never been good in the kitchen. Maybe it was because she was clumsy when it came to anything other than dancing, or maybe it was because her moms had always cooked for her so she'd never had to learn for herself. Whatever the reason, she was sure that she was never supposed to step foot in a kitchen. Whenever she had tried to help or make things for herself in the past, disaster had always struck. Even just standing there seemed to bring bad luck, as Sakura always seemed to drop something or hurt herself when Yujin was in the kitchen. Of course, this could have been due to Sakura's own clumsiness, but still. She didn't have great experiences in the kitchen, so she couldn't help but be nervous when she followed Minju into the kitchen, obeying her instructions of "pull back your hair" and "wash your hands."

Thankfully, Minju was smart enough to keep her away from the oven and any potentially dangerous knives or boiling pots. Instead, Yujin became her helper, showing her where everything she needed was located and getting the ingredients for her when she called for them. The older girl did all the hard work (at least, as hard as making tteokbokki could be) but for once, Yujin didn't feel completely useless in the kitchen.

Instead she almost felt… comfortable. Minju liked to chat as she cooked, sometimes pausing to stare in concentration at what she was doing before jumping right back into the conversation after she was satisfied with her work. It was a cute habit and it made Yujin smile as she watched her, leaning back on the counter because her work was mostly done.

“Do you like cooking?” She asked after Minju paused again, this time to add the cheese to the top of the dish.

The older girl brightened, nodding her head. “I do! I’m kind of clumsy too, but whenever I’m stressed, I find that cooking calms me down. Plus, when I cook something for someone and they smile and tell me that it’s good, it makes me feel really happy. And it’s amazing to be able to cook whatever you want, whenever you want.” She turned to look back at the other girl, tilting her head. “I’m guessing you don’t?”

Yujin laughed. “It’s more like it doesn’t like me, honestly. I’ve tried but I can never get the hang of it. I always end up turning the whole experience into a disaster. My moms don’t even trust me to peel my own oranges because I almost chopped off my finger with the peeler when I was fourteen.”

“Woah, really?” The older girl raised her eyebrows, the hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “That’s almost a talent, then. I’ve never heard of anyone hurting themselves with an orange peeler.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

“That’s kind of funny.” As she turned her attention back to the almost completed dish, Minju shrugged, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Though if it’s any consolation, I didn’t think this experience was a disaster. It thought it was fun.”

It took Yujin a moment to realize what she was talking about, and when she did, she froze, her fingers clutching at the marble countertop as she felt her face begin to heat up again, a wonderful dizziness encompassing her entire being. She felt as if she had just stumbled off a roller coaster, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she watched the tips of Minju’s ears turn a light pink and did her best to hold in the urge to let out a giddy scream into the nearest pillow. The older girl had already turned off the stove and moved the pan to the cool burner by the time Yujin was able to form words again, finally pushing away from the counter to wipe her sweaty hands on her uniform skirt so that she could finish her job as helper and grab the plates from the cabinet beside the oven.

“I-I thought it was fun too.” The words stumbled a bit on their way out, but she was rewarded with a bright smile from Minju nonetheless, making her world spin a little faster. For the briefest of moments, time seemed to stop, the sun freezing in the sky outside the window as Minju turned to face her, so close that Yujin could smell her floral perfume. It would be so easy to hold the older girl’s hand, and the way she was looking at her made Yujin feel like maybe Minju wanted all the same things that she did.

The older girl opened her mouth, parting those pretty pink lips with a flush on her cheeks, but Yujin never got to hear what she wanted to say.

Instead, she heard Wonyoung asking loudly if the food was done, effectively shattering the moment. The sun dipped down beyond the windowsill and she spun around to give her younger sister a glare as Minju cleared her throat and stepped back, turning her attention back to the almost forgotten dish on the stove.

“We were just about to call you,” Minju said. Wonyoung didn’t look like she believed her, looking between the two of them with mild amusement, but she didn’t say anything, just skipping past Yujin to grab a plate. The two of them didn’t move until she was finished, finally glancing at each other as Wonyoung sat at the table and put in her earbuds, blocking them out. The air was charged, but it didn’t feel… bad. Still, Yujin wasn’t sure what to say or do, and she kicked herself for suddenly becoming so awkward again as she gestured to the tteokbokki.

“Um, I guess we should eat too?”

“Yeah.” Minju let out a shy giggle and bumped her shoulder against Yujin’s as she picked up a plate, a silent reassurance that helped settle the nerves bundling in the younger girl’s chest. “I guess we should.”

An hour later found Yujin sitting beside Minju on the couch as Wonyoung scrolled through Netflix from the beanbag, asking them what they were in the mood to watch. After neither of the older girls gave her an answer (Yujin was having a hard time thinking about anything other than how close Minju’s hand was to hers) she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, since you guys aren’t going to choose, we’re going to watch Hyori’s Bed and Breakfast.”

This snapped Yujin out of her gay stupour and she groaned in protest. “Again? But you’ve watched that at least a hundred times!”

“Because Lee Hyori is the queen. You snooze, you lose,” her younger sister replied with a grin. This interaction made Minju giggle and just the sound was enough to convince Yujin to stand this one down, not wanting to embarrass herself yet again in front of the older girl. Still, she huffed as she settled back into her seat. She would have crossed her arms, but she didn’t want to pull her hand away from the couch, just in case Minju decided to hold it.

“Fine. But we’d better be watching the episodes with IU in them.”

As it turned out, Hyori’s Bed and Breakfast was the perfect choice, both because it kept Wonyoung too occupied to do any teasing and because it was the perfect amount of funny. At some point, one of the guests made Minju laugh, and between high-pitched giggles she fell against Yujin’s shoulder, her hair tickling the skin at her neck as her body shook with laughter. She didn’t sit back up, even after the funny scene was over, and Yujin wondered if the older girl could hear how fast her heart was beating as she relaxed under the new weight, shifting so that her shoulder was more comfortable.

Slowly, she started to loosen up. She allowed herself to laugh loudly and lean back into Minju, allowed herself to rest her head on top of Minju’s, and even allowed herself to scoot a bit closer, pressing their thighs together under the blanket she’d pulled from the arm of the couch when Minju shivered halfway into the first episode. When Minju buried her face in her neck, getting what Yujin could only assume was second hand embarrassment from some of the guys on screen, she grinned and reached up to playfully pat her back.

“There, there, you can hide in my shoulder anytime” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice and Minju giggled again, gently hitting her thigh.

“Shut up,” she replied in a whisper, but she didn’t sound like she meant it and Yujin only grinned wider.

“Cute.”

“Shhhh,” Wonyoung hushed them, sending them a pout before turning her attention back to the TV, and both of them had to stifle their laughter, leaning back into each other with shaking shoulders.

For all the bragging she always did about being the hottest one in her friend group, Yujin had never been with a girl before. She hadn’t even cuddled while watching TV before, but somehow doing it with Minju felt natural. Once she’d gotten over her initial gay panic about the prettiest girl in the world touching her, it felt natural to throw an arm over her shoulder or to grab her hand when something funny happened on screen. Minju’s perfume filled her senses, enveloping her in a warm hug that she never wanted to leave.

Eventually she had to, but she was slow to untangle their limbs when Wonyoung yawned and turned off the TV, announcing that she was going to bed. Minju seemed just as reluctant to pull away, yawning and slowly sitting up without letting go of Yujin’s hand. For a long moment, they just sat there, Yujin watching Minju as the older girl gazed down at their intertwined hands, a comfortable silence settling over the living room.

Words lingered at the tip of Yujin’s tongue, but she couldn’t find a way to force them out, afraid to tell the truth just yet. It all felt so fast, and she would have whiplash if it wasn’t for the way Minju rubbed her thumb over the skin of the back of Yujin’s palm in slow, sleepy circles like she was meant to be there.

“Are you sleepy?” She asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft, breaking the silence when she saw the older girl yawn again. With a cute smile, Minju nodded, running her free hand through her hair.

“I am. But I also don't want to get up. This is nice."

Yujin's heart jumped and skipped around her chest and she put on her best smile (the one her friends said made them fall for her), settling back into the couch and tugging Minju's hand as a sign for her to follow. It didn't take much convincing. The older girl easily fell back against the couch with her, her head right back on Yujin's shoulder like it was meant to fit there.

"We don't have to get up yet. There's still plenty more episodes to watch."

It was one in the morning before the two of them finally made their ways to their separate rooms, reluctantly separating their fingers and closing the bedroom doors. That night, as Yujin closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, Minju’s laughter echoed in her ears and her perfume lingered on her skin, and she dreamed of a field of flowers dancing around the most beautiful girl in the world as she whispered sweet nothings into her ears.

Waking up to the smell of breakfast wasn’t really a new thing for Yujin. Chaeyeon and Sakura loved to cook a big breakfast on weekends, so she often woke up to the smell of french toast and coffee and the sound of her moms singing along to the latest Red Velvet song at full volume. Still, when Yujin woke up to the smell of waffles the next day, it immediately felt different than a usual Saturday. She’d never been so excited to eat breakfast before.

After washing up, she padded into the kitchen to find Minju humming softly along to the Dean song playing from her phone speakers as she opened the waffle maker. The older girl moved her shoulders and hips to the beat, doing a small dance that Yujin couldn’t help but find cute.

“Nice moves,” she said, making the older girl jump a bit and turn to her with wide eyes, pressing the hand not holding the waffle maker to her chest.

“You scared me!” Minju whined, letting out a small laugh as her cheeks colored pink, and Yujin grinned.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” It only took Yujin a few steps to cover the space between the two of them and she immediately made herself useful, pulling the plates from the cabinet as Minju pulled the now finished waffle from the waffle maker. “Breakfast smells amazing, by the way.”

The older girl huffed, but the smile on her face made it obvious that she wasn’t actually upset. “You know what? You can make your own waffle.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Wonyoung said as she turned the corner, making both of them jump apart. “Wow, deja-vu. Didn’t this same thing happen last night?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yujin replied, lifting her chin and shooting her sister a look. Wonyoung just grinned and shrugged past her to grab the first waffle.

“Whatever. I’m going over to Yuri’s house today, you two have fun!” With that, she skipped away, munching at the waffle in her hands and leaving the two older girls frozen, staring after her.

“Middle schoolers are scary,” Minju finally said as she turned to check on the next waffle, making Yujin burst into laughter.

“Right? I really never know what she’s going to say next.” Running a hand through her hair in what she hoped was an attractive way, the younger girl leaned back against the counter. “Are you doing anything today?”

Minju seemed surprised at her question, but she smiled and shook her head as she placed the second waffle on a plate, sparing her a quick glance before concentrating on pouring the batter in again. “I didn’t have any plans. I was going to just try and stay out of your way, since I didn’t know if you guys would want me around.”

Yujin couldn’t fathom a reality where she didn’t want Minju around, but she tried to be nonchalant as she spoke. “If that’s the case, do you want to go to the mall with me?”

Once again, the older girl’s eyebrows rose, but her smile grew brighter, making her look so cute that Yujin’s heart skipped a beat. “That would be great! I’d love to!”

“Awesome.” Yujin grinned as relief washed over her, happily taking a bite of her waffle. She had successfully invited her crush on a date. Well, she hadn’t exactly called it a date, but it was basically a date, right? She wasn’t going to think about it too much. “I was hoping you would say yes.”

Minju’s giggle filled the air as she stepped just a bit closer to Yujin, a blush on her cheeks, their shoulders brushing once again. “Like I would say no to you.”

Yujin does her best to pretend that statement doesn’t make her heart do backflips in her chest.

The mall was crowded, just like it was every Saturday, full of families and high school kids with nothing better to do. Still, as the two of them stepped inside, Yujin found that she was glad it was so busy and loud; that way, none of the awkward silence from before could come back.

“Did you want to come for anything in particular?” Minju asked her over the noise as they avoided a group of excited children, sparing her a curious glance. Yujin shrugged her shoulders and grinned.

“Not really, I just wanted to hang out with you.”

“Oh.” Pink colored the older girl’s features again as she smiled shyly and looked down at her feet, clasping her hands together in front of her. Yujin was totally going to scream to her friend Nako about this afterwards, but in the moment she managed to keep the giddy feeling in her chest down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

“Anywhere you wanted to visit?”

“Well….” Minju turned to her with big, hopeful eyes. “There’s a new store here that my friends said has really cute clothes. I’ve been wanting to check it out for a while now.”

God, Yujin was already whipped for her smile. “Then we’ll go there first.”

The store did, in fact, have plenty of cute clothes, along with an array of other cute things. The sheer amount of pink almost assaulted Yujin’s eyes as they walked in, but Minju lit up at the sight of it, and she was reminded that the other girl had dyed her hair pink at some point during her junior year, so this was totally her style. While most of the clothes were much too cute for Yujin’s taste (she was sure her flannel, band tank top, ripped jeans, and converse were making her stand out) she had to admit that they would look amazing on Minju. But then again, the older girl could pull off anything, including the simple floral shirt and jeans she had on.

At some point, as Minju pointed out a cute pink backpack purse, her hand found Yujin’s, and it struck the younger girl how much this felt like a date. She tried not to think about it too much, though, because just the thought made her heart pound in her chest and her mind spin a bit.

“Oh, what do you think about this?” Minju held up a striped pink and white sweater, then gasped as she saw a white beret with a pink rose design on the side. “That’s perfect!”

“It’s cute,” Yujin agreed, nodding her head. “I think you would look good in it.”

“Really?” Once again, Minju brightened, her smile widening as she dropped Yujin’s hand to grab the beret. “Do you mind if I try them on?”

“I don’t mind. Take your time.”

“You’re the best,” Minju said, reaching back to give Yujin’s hand a quick squeeze before skipping off towards the fitting rooms, leaving Yujin to internally freak out by herself.

The older girl ended up trying on a few more outfits, stepping out of the fitting room to do a little twirl for Yujin before looking at her with wide, expectant eyes. The only problem was that everything looked amazing on Minju, so Yujin’s answer was always the same: “you look great!”

“You can’t just say that every time,” Minju said with a laugh after she stepped out of the fitting room in a jean overall dress, and Yujin playfully raised her arms.

“But you look great in everything, I’m just telling the truth!”

“That’s not going to help me choose what to buy though.” The older girl’s eyes were sparkling as she spoke, obviously more happy than annoyed with Yujin.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be any help because I love all the outfits you’ve tried on so far.”

“I’m flattered, really, but you aren’t helping.” Minju giggled and playfully rolled her eyes as she walked back into the fitting room. “I guess I’ll just have to choose on my own then!”

“I liked the sweater!”

Eventually, Minju decided on buying the sweater and hat, and Yujin hung back by the door until she joined her, swinging the bag in her hand and grinning happily. “Thanks for letting me spend so much time there. I know it wasn’t really your style, with the whole ‘cool dancer’ and ‘sporty’ aesthetic you have.”

With a gasp, Yujin pretended to be offended, pressing her hand to her chest in the most dramatic fashion she could muster. “Hey, I wear more than just flannels and sportswear! You just don’t see me outside of my uniform very often!”

“True.” The older girl bumped their hips together, looking ahead of her as she spoke. “We could change that, though.”

Oh, there went Yujin’s heart, flipping in her chest again. She could only hope that her smile wasn’t as big and dorky as it felt. “Yeah, we could.”

At some point, the two of them ended up in the ice cream parlor, sitting near one of the windows looking out at the food court as they ate their ice cream cones, the bags from the stores they’d visited crowded at their feet. Yujin was telling a funny story again (because she liked hearing Minju laugh). This time it was the story of how one of her friends on the dance team almost fell off the stage because he was messing around and how he ended up ripping his pants and having to perform with them ripped because they didn’t have any extra uniform pants. Minju giggled as Yujin recalled how the fact that the pants were sparkly actually saved him from people noticing the rip on the inside of his pants.

“That was during your girl group mashup dance, right? I remember that you were all wearing such sparkly pants.”

Yujin’s eyes widened and she blinked, staring at the older girl in awe. “You… How did you remember that?”

“I told you that I’ve watched every performance,” the senior responded with a sweet smile. “Plus, the pants for that mashup were too loud to forget.”

“True.” Dammit, Yujin could feel herself blushing, and she took a few bites of her ice cream to cool herself down, trying to hide the fact that she once again wanted to let out a giddy scream into the nearest pillow. “I’m still surprised you’ve seen every one.”

“All the performances are so cool, how could I not? Plus, you guys are kind of famous in the school. Our school is known for our drama club and our dance club, you know.”

“I knew we were popular. I mean, we’ve won a lot of contests. But I’m not sure if we’re on the same level as the drama club. The plays and musicals you guys do are amazing.”

“Oh, thanks.” It was Minju’s turn to blush as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess both of our teams are pretty amazing, huh?”

“They are.” Yujin was desperate to change the subject, mostly to avoid getting any more compliments. She usually loved being showered in compliments and basked in the attention, but when they came from Minju they made her feel like she was going to explode. “Is your club working on a new production right now?”

Thankfully, it worked. Minju’s face lit up as she began to talk about the play her club was working on and Yujin settled back into her seat, gazing affectionately at the older girl’s excited smile and falling deeper into her eyes, dark and sweet like cocoa. For once, Yujin didn’t want to be the center of attention. For once, she wanted to stay still and listen.

“What’s your favorite dish?”

They were unloading their bags when Minju casually asked the question, her head popping over the top of her car. Yujin paused, then slowly closed the passenger door with her hip, her hands full of the heaviest bags (yes, she was trying to show off, what about it?)

“Um, honestly whatever you cook will taste amazing.”

The older girl laughed. “Thanks, but I want to make something for you specifically.”

Well, she could feel herself blushing again. “Oh, okay.” She let Minju lead the way inside as she swallowed and tried to think of what she wanted. Then it struck her. “My moms got stuff to make pizza, we could do that tonight!”

“Oh, that would be fun! Homemade pizza!” Minju beamed, a bounce in her step as she walked inside. “Let’s do that. Are you going to help me?”

“Obviously,” Yujin replied, kicking off her shoes before dropping all the bags onto the couch and reaching up to pull her shoulder length hair into a ponytail, smiling her most charming smile. “What would you do in the kitchen without me?”

Her response pulled another giggle from Minju’s lips as the older girl walked past, gently and playfully shoving her shoulder, and Yujin wondered if it was possible to get addicted to a sound.

As it turned out, making a pizza was a lot less complicated than Yujin had previously thought. Especially since her moms had made the decision to buy the premade crust, cutting the amount of work in half. As she pulled out the ingredients, as instructed by Minju, the older girl pulled out her phone and set it on the counter. A moment later, music began to fill the room, and Yujin looked back to see Minju pulling her hair back to the sound of Stephanie Poetri’s “I Love You 3000,” her head nodding along to the beat ever so slightly.

Well, if she wasn’t head over heels already, she certainly was now.

“You have a good taste in music,” Yujin said as she walked over to the counter, and Minju smiled at her, her eyebrows raised.

“Really? You think so?”

“Yeah, I love this song.”

“Me too!” As Minju washed her hands, she started to softly sing, and Yujin’s chest constricted, taking away her breath. She had always known the other girl could sing - she had seen her in plenty of musicals before - but hearing her sing up close…. It was a totally different experience. For a long moment, she stood frozen, her mouth slightly open as she fell deeper and deeper into Minju’s endless charms. Then she swallowed and joined in, her voice just a bit softer than Minju’s as she sang the chorus with her, her arms still full of pizza ingredients.

The older girl turned around, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before her smile grew and her singing got a bit louder. As she sang, she walked over to take the ingredients from Yujin’s arms, and having her sing “baby take my hand” that close made the younger girl’s voice wobble ever so slightly, her heart jumping and stuttering in her heart.

As the song came to an end, the older girl raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, looking up at Yujin. “Are you good at everything? How come I didn’t know you could sing!”

Yujin knew she was blushing to the tips of her ears but she grinned anyways, shrugging her shoulders as she leaned back against the counter. “I’m not as good as you.”

“Yes you are. You know, you should be an idol, since you’ve got it all. The dancing and singing skills, the looks, the height-” Minju looked her up and down before quickly turning her attention back to the pizza pan. “-the charm. Everything.”

“You’re talking about looks as if you aren’t the prettiest girl in the world.” Oh god, she’d really said it. She was so comfortable with the older girl that the words just tumbled out on their own. Immediately, she snapped her mouth shut, but to her surprise, instead of being surprised or weirded out, Minju turned a pretty shade of pink and began to giggle, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

“You really think so?” Her voice was small and shy and Yujin nodded, her entire body full of electricity as her heart pounded in her chest once again.

“I do. You’re seriously the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” As if on cue, Daniel Ceasar’s “Best Part” started playing from Minju’s phone, making Yujin feel like the main character in a coming of age movie. Maybe she could get the girl after all. When Minju finally pulled her hands down, she was smiling the cutest little shy smile. She didn’t have dimples, but her face scrunched up a bit when she was shy, her eyes closing ever so slightly and her cheeks rising in a way that turned her from gorgeous to downright adorable in seconds.

“Thank you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Y-you’re really pretty too.” There was something electric in the air, something they could both feel sparking between the two of them, but it was a bit too much for Yujin’s poor gay heart. She felt light headed again, and apparently Minju felt the same, as she quickly busied herself starting the pizza instead of saying anything else. For a moment, the younger girl struggled to find something else to say, until Twice’s “Likey” started blasting over the speakers, making her laugh.

“We just changed moods so quickly,” she said, her voice teasing as the tension shattered with Minju’s laugh. The older girl reached over to playfully swat at her arm.

“Leave me alone! I love this song!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Yujin grinned and hopped up onto the counter, making Minju gasp at her. “Hey I do too, I just wasn’t expecting it after Daniel Caesar.”

“Do your moms allow you to sit on the counter like that?”

“We aren’t using this one, so I can sit on it.” Yujin stuck out her tongue as she pulled out her phone and Minju huffed, but couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“I know, right? Anyway, who else do you listen to? Let’s jam out before Wonyoung gets home and insults us on our music taste.”

The pizza was amazing, even if the pepperonis were a little all over the place courtesy of Yujin. Wonyoung did, in fact, come home and immediately ask if she was watching her moms when she caught the two of them dancing to Red Velvet, but Yujin couldn’t even be mad, not after she’d had so much fun with her dream girl all day long. And especially not after Minju sat down across from her at the table and rested her ankle against Yujin’s, leaving the younger girl a bit breathless for the rest of the meal. If her sister noticed that she was unnaturally quiet, she didn’t say anything.

Somehow, even though it was only the second time they’d watched TV together, they ended up side by side as if it was natural, their legs pressed together and Minju’s head already resting on Yujin’s shoulder as the younger girl flipped through Netflix. Wonyoung walked in, took one look at the two of them, and immediately shook her head.

“Nope, I’m gonna watch TV in my room tonight. Have fun.” With that, she turned and skipped up the stairs with her bowl of popcorn, leaving the two older girls to look at each other and laugh.

“Well, at least we can choose what we want to watch now, right?” Yujin asked, and Minju smiled, reaching over to hold Yujin’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It looks like we’ve got the whole night to ourselves.”

They didn’t talk much, because they didn’t have to. Occasionally Yujin would make fun of something on screen to make Minju laugh, and sometimes Minju would bury her head in Yujin’s shoulder when a particularly embarrassing scene came on, giggling and saying she hated it, but for most of the night they stayed quiet, enjoying each other’s company in the almost silence. It was cosy, yet overlaid with a thick tension; the tension that had been growing with every glance, every touch, and every interaction they’d had since the first day Yujin walked in to see her standing in her living room.

In all honesty, Yujin had no idea what was happening on screen between the two leads. She’d lost interest after the second episode, when Minju started rubbing her thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. She couldn’t think of anything other than the older girl, that floral perfume overwhelming her senses and pulling her deeper into Minju’s touch. So she wasn’t sure what episode they were on when Minju pulled away slightly, looking up at her with so much affection and want that Yujin wondered if she’d ascended to heaven. All she knew was that it was dark outside, the lights were dim, and she couldn’t take her eyes off Minju’s pink lips.

They didn’t talk, because they didn’t need to. All Minju had to do was lean in and let her eyes flutter closed, and immediately Yujin knew they both wanted the same thing. So she went for it, leaning in and finally pressing her lips to Minju’s like she’d wanted to for so long.

Yujin had kissed girls before. But none of those girls had ever made fireworks explode in her chest like Minju did. As soon as their lips connected, Minju reached up to wrap her arms around Yujin’s shoulders, pulling her even closer and making Yujin’s head spin because her lips were just as soft as they looked. The younger girl’s hands moved on their own, one cupping her face while the other one rested on her hip, grounding Yujin so that she didn’t float away from the pure euphoria flowing through her veins.

She was kissing the prettiest girl in the world, and more importantly, the prettiest girl in the world was kissing her back. And she knew she wasn’t dreaming, because none of her dreams had ever been this good.

When she finally pulled away, reluctant but needing to breathe, she drank in the sight of Minju before her, breathless and pink and glowing even in the dim light of the TV.

“Well,” the older girl said with a soft smile, “that was something.”

“Yeah,” she responded, breathless and grinning like a fool. “It was. Can we do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

That night, Yujin could hardly sleep, her heart refusing to stop skipping and pounding. She could still feel Minju’s lips against her own, and she replayed the quick kiss Minju had given her before telling her goodnight over and over in her head. They hadn’t said anything, though.

For a long time, she laid awake, remembering the taste of Minju’s lips and staring up at the ceiling, wondering why she hadn’t asked Minju to be hers right then and there.

Once again, Yujin woke up to the smell of breakfast. This time, she wasted no time washing up, checking her hair in the mirror before glancing at the mirror. How long did she have before her moms got back? She wasn’t sure, so she quickly put on her nice purple hoodie and a pair of jeans before rushing down into the kitchen in the most casual way she could.

Minju was at the oven, humming to Day6 as she flipped her omelet, and when she saw Yujin, she smiled, her face slightly pink. “Good morning. You didn’t scare me this time.”

“I made a bit more noise so I wouldn’t.” The younger girl ran a hand through her hair as she smiled back, trying to ignore the nerves building in her stomach. Why was being gay and in love so hard? “So, um, I-.”

“Oh that smells good!” Wonyoung turned the corner with a grin, completely interrupting them, and Yujin sighed, stepping back so that she could get her food. Why did her younger sister always come in at the worst times? As the Wonyoung picked up her plate and walked away, Minju looked at Yujin expectantly, her face open and hopeful. Swallowing, she glanced at her younger sister at the table before deciding “screw it” and turning back to grab one of Minju’s hands.

“I wanted to tell you that I like you a lot, and um, to ask you if you want to be my girlfriend.” There, she finally got the words out. Behind her, Wonyoung gasped, but she ignored her, focusing all of her attention on Minju and watching with bated breath as the older girl began to smile widely.

“I like you a lot too, and I’d love to be your girlfriend.” Minju squeezed her hand, and Yujin knew that she was blushing and grinning like crazy, but for once, she didn’t care if it was embarrassing or not. She was much too happy to care, because her heart was fluttering in her chest and electric excitement was flowing through her veins and a giddy squeal was catching in her throat because the prettiest girl in the world had just said that she liked her too.

“Woah,” was all she could say before both of them burst into laughter, leaning into each other. When she was able to breathe properly again, she grinned at Minju and squeezed her hand in return. “I’m glad you said yes.”

“I kissed you last night and you really thought I’d say no?”

Wonyoung gasped again. “You guys kissed?”

Yujin did her best to ignore her sister as she shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. “I thought it might be a possibility.”

“You’re dumber than I thought.”

“Hey!”

“It’s cute, though.” Minju giggled and reached over to pat Yujin’s cheek. “It’s really cute.”

“Can you guys not do this while I’m trying to eat?” Wonyoung whined, finally forcing the two girls to look at her. “I’m losing my appetite.”

“You’ll understand when you get older, Wonyo,” Yujin replied, making her little sister huff and stand from her chair, grabbing her plate.

“Whatever. I’m going to eat in my room. Try not to be too gross before our moms get home.” Wonyoung stuck her tongue out at them as she left, stalking away, but they both just laughed. They still hadn’t stopped holding hands, and Yujin never wanted to.

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to her girlfriend (just the word was enough to send butterflies flying through her stomach). “Want to get lunch with me tomorrow?”

Minju gave her an amused smile, raising her eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to ask for my phone number?”

“Oh right. I might need that.” Yujin quickly pulled out her phone, then raised her eyebrows in return. “Wait, was that a no?”

“No, silly. I was just thinking that you might need my phone number if we’re going to be girlfriends.” Minju typed in her number, then watched as Yujin finished the contact information, giggling as the younger girl erased the simple “Minju” she’d put in and replaced it with “prettiest girl in the world” before saving it. In response, she deleted the simple “Yujin” in her phone and put in “coolest girl in the world” instead, making Yujin grin.

“You think I’m cool?”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Point taken.” She glanced at the clock. “My moms will be home soon. What time were you going to leave.”

“Soon.” The older girl pouted slightly, looking down at the two plated omelettes forgotten on the counter. “We only have time to eat before I have to go.”

“Oh.” Yujin stepped a bit closer, her eyes hopeful and her lips in a soft smile. “Then do I not have time to kiss you once more before you go?”

Minju’s face lit up with her smile as she giggled and leaned in. “I think we can make time for one more.”

Minju ended up leaving before Chaeyeon and Sakura got home, something that Yujin was thankful for, since she could walk Minju out and hold her hand without her moms around to ask any annoying questions.

“I had fun this weekend,” the older girl said as they reached her car. Her smile was sweet as she swung their intertwined hands. “More fun than I thought I was going to have, that’s for sure.”

Her comment made Yujin laugh, big and genuine. “No kidding, I thought this weekend was going to be terrible,” she said truthfully, “but it ended up being one of the best weekends of my life. So maybe getting a babysitter wasn’t too bad.”

“Don’t let your moms hear you,” Minju teased, and the younger girl pretended to be scandalized.

“I would never!”

Both of them laughed before standing still for a moment, gazing at each other in the driveway, both reluctant to let go until Minju sighed.

“Well, I guess I have to go now.”

“Yeah.” Yujin gave her hand one final squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The younger girl stepped back, waiting until Minju had started her car to wave. When the older girl smiled and waved back, she blew her a kiss, smiling in satisfaction when she laughed and caught it before beginning to back away. Yujin watched her drive away then, waving until her car had disappeared around the corner before she let her hand drop and began to grin.

This weekend had really just happened. She was now dating Kim Minju.

With a squeal, she pulled out her phone and ran back inside. She couldn’t wait to tell Nako all about it.