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skbeaumont · 7 days

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Texas Heat | Joel x Reader Series

Chapter 3 - Coffee and Confessions

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job. Later, things heat up when Joel drops round to pick up Sarah. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot, a lot of sexual tension in this chapter. Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @mysterialee @amyispxnk

You wake late the next morning, head filled with half-remembered dreams about warm arms and a solid, broad chest. The mid-morning sun is already streaming through the bedroom curtains, and you can hear Connie downstairs, pots and pans clashing together as she finishes making breakfast.

You’re halfway down the stairs when she appears at the bottom, clutching a torn-out sheet of note paper which she holds out to you.

“I know you mentioned you’d like to get a part time job,” she says as you reach the bottom step, “so I called around a few places. There’s a coffee shop in town who are looking for new staff. This is the number, if you’re interested.”

She hands you the paper and beckons you into the kitchen, where there are fresh eggs and toast and a stack of steaming hot pancakes. You load up your plate with food and slide onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Connie whistles as she starts washing the dishes. You’re halfway through your breakfast when she turns back to you and wags a finger as though she’s just remembered something.

“The Cuthberts are having a barbeque this weekend, for the neighbourhood,” she says, “they live a few houses down. You’re invited, of course.”

“Sounds good,” You say, immediately wondering if Joel will be there.

“They’ve got a pool, so make sure you’ve got some swimwear.” Connie adds, and, like a teenager with a crush, you can’t help the blush that settles in your cheeks at the thought of Joel in swimwear, wet hair swept back off his forehead and curling at his ears.

Trying to distract yourself, you examine the number for the café Connie gave you. The job sounds good, so when you’ve finished your breakfast, you pull out your phone and call them.

*****

Three hours later and you’re hopping off a bus in Cedar Park, trying to remember the directions Connie gave you. You find your way, eventually; the coffee shop is a couple of blocks from the bus stop. It’s a pretty nice area, sun-bleached grass lining the wide streets made up of modern shops and restaurants opposite a community college. Inside, welcomed by the dark wood floor and familiar smell of coffee, you feel instantly at home; you’ve done barista work before back in England, in between classes and during the summer.

“Aha,” a woman behind the counter says as you introduce yourself, “fresh meat.”

She’s attractive; mid-forties, maybe, with thick blonde hair tied up in a spotless bun and a pristinely made-up face. A badge on her polo shirt tells you she’s Gina, the manager. She hands you an apron and tells you to make her a coffee. A younger girl – probably twenty, twenty-one, with a name badge that says ‘Diana’ in bubble writing – gives you a grin and offers to help.

And so the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of grinding and brewing and steaming. The café is busy throughout the day thanks to its prime position opposite the community college. You get to meet an array of students and professors, and although you feel a pang of envy as you watch younger, fresh-faced students settle themselves at tables to sit and write papers, you enjoy the routine and hum of the barista work.

You’re just finishing up when the bell above the door tinkles. Gina’s voice immediately greets the newcomer, and you almost splutter at the sudden enthusiasm lacing every one of her words, the slightly over-the-top, sickly sweet quality that has entered her previously no-nonsense tone. Curious about who is causing your new manager to turn into a simpering dolt, you look up.

It’s Joel, of course.

Joel, in his toolbelt and faded jeans and tight t-shirt. His hair is slicked back with sweat, and there are flecks of plaster on his tanned skin and splatted down his toned arms. Your heart stutters – actually stutters – as though this is a cheap cheesy romcom and he’s the romantic lead. Gina’s batting her eyelashes at him and he’s grinning lopsidedly at her, all southern charm and polite gentleman. Diana shoots you a look from where she’s cleaning tables in the corner, grinning.

Joel doesn’t see you immediately – you’re mostly hidden from his view by the coffee machine you’d been cleaning when he came in – but jealously rises up in your chest when he laughs at something Gina says, at the way he leans against the counter to talk to her, knee popped out, one hand resting on the top of his toolbelt. It’s maddeningly attractive – he’s maddeningly attractive – and you think of how he looked standing so close to you yesterday, the way the heat of his body rolled off him and his scent: wood chippings and soap and something uniquely him.

Finally, Gina stops flirting for long enough to take his order, and his eyes flick up as she passes the receipt with the coffee order to you (americano, no cream). You step out from behind the machine, smiling at him politely, and he does something of a double take.

“Hey.” You say as you crank ground coffee into the filter basket.

“Hi.” He gives you a smile – warmer than the one he offered Gina, you think smugly – and asks, “what’re you doin’ here?”

You point at the apron you’re wearing, at the handwritten name tag, “As of about three hours ago, I work here.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

It’s almost criminal how he can make such a simple, inoffensive question sound so intimate, so flirtatious.

“It picked up significantly in the last few minutes,” You say, holding his warm gaze and biting the side of your mouth to suppress a grin.

He flushes a little, caught off guard, and you push on, not wanting to leave the sentence hanging awkwardly between you, aware of Gina’s presence a few feet away, “How about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

He points vaguely behind him to where the community college is, “’m working on a project across the road at the moment. Big expansion.”

You try to eke out making the coffee for as long as you can, taking care to clean the filter after each shot fills the cup, keeping your eyes on Joel as he explains about the job. He’s easy to talk to. He asks how you’re finding the job, if you’ve done barista work before, and when you answer he really listens, leans in and keeps his eyes right on yours, like you’re the only person in the world who’s interesting. It’s dizzying and electrifying. The fact that Gina is hovering in the background – clearly keen to butt in and join the conversation but not getting a chance as Joel asks you question after question – makes it all the more intoxicating.

After several minutes you push the finished coffee across the counter to him. He wraps a hand around it, his thick fingers and large palm making the cup look tiny.

“Thanks, darlin’” He says, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “I’d better head back, but I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” You say, then, remembering, ask, “oh – are you going to the Cuthbert’s barbeque this weekend?”

“S’long as I can get this plastering finished by Friday.” He replies, and then he’s taking long strides away from you, pushing the door open and stepping through it.

Immediately, Gina is all over you.

“You know him?” She asks, sidling up to you and leaning on the counter conspiratorially.

“He lives next door,” You explain, wiping down the coffee machine absentmindedly, still watching Joel’s broad back as he jogs across the road back towards the college.

“You lucky thing!” Gina exclaims. “He’s been coming in regularly the last couple of weeks, but I’ve never managed to get his name. Or his number.” She gives you an over-the-top wink with this last and you force a polite smile, wiping the milk steamer perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“Can we agree,” Diana says later that evening, as you both wind your way to the bus stop from the café, “that Gina is gagging for it.”

You laugh and Diana bumps against your shoulder, her own laugh high and clear against the hum of the traffic. It feels nice to be hanging out with someone who’s not related to you or thirteen years old or the object of an intense crush. And Diana is quick to laugh and easy to talk to. Her company makes the homesickness for your friends dull a little.

“No but seriously,” she says as you reach the bus stop, “I’m gay and even I can tell that Joel guy is hot. You sleeping with him?”

“What? No.” A pause as Diana raises a single eyebrow at you, and then you add, “I mean, I want to, but I haven’t. As of yet.”

This sends you both into another round of giggles as you flop down onto a bench.

“You think he’s into you too?” Diana asks when you’ve got your breath back.

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell. A couple of times I’ve thought he’s flirting with me, but then I’ll say something back or he realises what’s happening and it’s like he… panics.”

You tell her about last night, about how he looked at you in the half-light of the living room doorway, about the way he suddenly backed off but then sent a text asking you to come back again next week.

Diana shrugs, “Maybe he’s just shy?” “Yeah, maybe.” You let your gaze drift to the row of shops opposite the bus stop, think about Joel’s face earlier when you told him he’d made your day better, about the blush that coloured his tanned face.

“You know what you’ve got to do, right?” Diana says then, her blue hair almost purple in the fading sunlight.

You roll your eyes, grin, ask, “What?”

“Well, if he turns up at this barbeque you mentioned in the café, you’re gonna have to flirt your ass off.”

“Oh, God.”

Diana cackles as the bus pulls up, and you bury your face in your hands.

*****

Joel works late the next two nights. You know because Sarah comes round both evenings and leaves only when his work truck pulls up onto their drive, at gone nine both Thursday and Friday. You help her out with maths homework, show her how to do differential equations without having to resort to tears, which proves popular.

“Usually,” she declares on Friday, as you sit at the kitchen bench while Danny feeds Nana in the lounge and Connie takes the trash out, “it’s very boring here. But since you came, it’s about a million times better. Even with the math.”

“Especially with the maths.” You reply, grinning, and she rolls her eyes.

Connie bustles back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I think your daddy’s home, Sarah.” She says as she comes in.

There’s a tap on the front door as she says it. You rise from the bench, brush cookie crumbs from your jeans and make your way down the hall. The silhouette framed by the glass of the door is broad and tall, and your stomach does a strange little jolt as you step towards it.

Joel’s face is drawn when you open the door, the bags under his eyes accentuated by the porch lights, the lines on his tanned forehead deep. He’s in his work clothes, as usual. The tool belt is off, though, which is strangely a disappointment.

“Hey,” you say grinning, and he smiles back, his tired eyes creasing at the corners.

“Hi, darlin’. Is my kid here, by any chance?”

“She is indeed. She’s just packing up her things.”

He nods, and you take in the sag in his shoulders, the yawn that suddenly stretches his mouth.

“You’re working too hard.” You say, and he chuckles.

“Been tryna finish this plastering, because someone wants me to go to a barbeque.” He quips, grinning, and you feel yourself blushing.

“Did you finish it?”

He holds his hands out to his sides, lets you take in the beige splodges that cover his jeans, the dust that coats his t-shirt, the caked soles of his large work boots.

“Reckon most of it’s on me, but there’s enough on the walls to do the job too.”

“I assume you’ll be wearing this outfit tomorrow, too?” You say, laughing as he tries and fails to brush off a particularly well-dried patch of plaster from the leg of his jeans.

“Oh, ‘course.”

Sarah appears at your side, Connie behind her. She tucks an arm around your waist and you slip yours over her shoulder.

“We did differential equations.” She says proudly, and Joel smiles at her.

“Might as well have done Greek for all that means to me, baby girl.” He says, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh, your lawn mower’s in the garage, Joel.” Connie says, as Sarah hops out of the front door and starts down the porch steps. “I wouldn’t ask you to move it now, only Danny wants the space for the beer cooler for tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Joel says, “I’ll get it. Sarah, go on home and open the garage up.” He tosses her a bunch of keys.

“I can open up our garage,” You offer, taking the keys from Connie as she scrabbles to change her slippers, gripping the door handle and wobbling precariously.

“Thank you, dear.” She says, sighing and straightening up.

Outside, you press the key into the garage door and let it swing open. Joel stands by, grabs the top of the door as it swings open, lets it gently rise the last couple of inches. The movement pulls the top of his shirt up, revealing his stomach, the dark hairs the trace a path down below the waistband of his jeans. You swallow, avert your eyes a few seconds too late, straight up into his face. He’s smiling cockily, hand still up on the open garage door.

“Concentrate, darlin’,” He says, and the Southern drawl of it goes straight to you core, has you pressing your thighs together, heat building in your belly.

“I think the mower is just over- ugh, what the fuck!” You bat at the cobweb that you’ve just walked straight into, spluttering and clawing at it, dragging it off of your face.

Joel lurches forward in a split second, panicked by your outburst, then, realising what’s happened, falls back and starts laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” You say, pulling long silky threads from your face. “It’s all over me!”

“Here,” Joel steps toward you again, raises a hand, brushes a single fingertip over your forehead, pulling one of the web’s tendrils away from your skin.

“Thanks,” You say, suddenly stilling, letting your own hands fall, leaning into his touch.

“There’s some in your hair.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches up, threads a hand into the front of you hair and combs through it. He’s so gentle it almost makes you whimper, his fingertips just brushing your scalp, side of his thumb barely tracing the side of your jaw, down to your neck. You feel goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hand. He’s looking at you – at your hair, his eyes wide and serious, mouth slightly open. You watch his arm, watch the muscles shift in his bicep as he moves his hand back through your hair, pulling the last of the cobweb out. He slows as he reaches the ends, lets his little finger glide almost imperceptibly under your chin, lifting your face delicately so that you’re looking right at him.

His pupils are blown wide in the dim light of the garage, that same look on his face as he had in the doorway of the lounge a few nights ago. He moves his hand from your face, hesitates, closes it into a fist by your shoulder and then sighs, a resigned, drawn out sigh. Before you can speak he’s pushing his hand back into your hair, caressing your jaw, drawing your face up, towards his lips, which are parted slightly, plump and beautiful. You’re inches from him, your breath mingling, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he leans down to meet you in the middle.

“Dad?”

You spring apart at the sudden sound of Sarah’s voice. You’re both flustered; Joel’s cheeks are ruddy and you can feel your own burning scarlet.

“Coming, we’re coming.” He says, turning from you to Sarah, who steps round the driveway into the entrance of the garage.

Joel steps past you to the mower, lifts it up easily in one arm and carries it back towards his daughter. He turns as he reaches her, looks you up and down in a way that makes you suddenly hot all over, his eyes sparkling with something deliciously dark.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He says, and then he’s gone again, and you’re left alone with a thumping heart and a deep, unsatiated hunger.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #AU!no outbreak #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic

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lup1nn · 6 months

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fluff between miguel and hispanic wife!reader after a long day of working

warnings: a lot of fluff, miguel being extremely clingy, soft, and affectionate. miguel and reader using nicknames in spanish translations: amor= love linda= beautiful no se que haria sin ti= i don't know what i'd do without you

pairing: miguel x reader

summary: comfort cuddles after a rough day at HQ

The sun had long dipped below the New York skyline, leaving a trail of dusky twilight in its wake as Miguel Ohara finally returned home after a grueling day at the Spider-Man headquarters. His suit was crumpled, and his nerves were frayed from dealing with the likes of Miles, Gwen, and Pavitir, who always seemed to have a knack for recklessness that grated on his irritable and obsessive personality.

Miguel trudged through the front door, a sigh escaping his lips as he removed his suit jacket and tie, tossing them carelessly onto a nearby chair. All he wanted was a moment of respite from the chaos of the multiverse. As he made his way into the cozy living room, he was greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly made arepas and a steaming cup of café con leche. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight for someone as stern as Miguel.

"[Reader]," he said in a low, gravelly voice as he approached the dining table, where you sat, waiting with a warm blanket draped over your lap and a pair of pajamas neatly folded beside his meal. "You have no idea how much I needed this."

You returned his smile, a knowing glint in your eyes as you patted the empty seat across from you. "Sit down, amor. Tell me about your day."

Miguel obediently settled into the chair, savoring the scent of the comfort food. He took a sip of the rich coffee before launching into a tirade about his day, complaining about the audacious stunts of the other Spider-People. He spoke coolly about their recklessness and how it threatened the fragile balance of the Web of Life and Destiny. With each sentence, you gently stroked his hair and listened with the patience only you could offer.

As the evening wore on, Miguel's irritable facade began to crumble, revealing the vulnerable man beneath. He spoke of the immense pressure he felt as the protector of the Web, and how he was constantly striving for perfection, desperately trying to maintain order and stability in the multiverse. But in your presence, he found solace and a refuge from the storm that raged within him.

After the meal, Miguel led you to their spacious king-size bed, where you both snuggled under the warm blanket. As he held you close, he whispered, "You're my anchor in this chaotic world, linda. No sé que haría sin tí".

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and murmured soothing words, reminding him that even the most unyielding structures needed moments of softness. As Miguel closed his eyes, finally finding peace in your arms, he knew that no matter how old, irritable, or obsessed he became, your love was the constant he could rely on, a sanctuary in a multiverse of uncertainty.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting, i hope you like it. love ya <3 I took a bit of liberty and made the reader Colombian

#miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Vanilla Latte

Same pairing as Double Espresso and Farmer's Market and yeah, I guess this is becoming a fic. thing. something. It's becoming something.

Simon Riley/reader 1.8k words Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but this fic has mature themes. There is a man staring at you in the cafe.

There is a monster in your life.

It is a shapeshifter, a horrible creature that no one else seems to be able to see. During the day, it is fairly unsuspecting and blends in with its surroundings, but at night, it sheds its skin and rears its ugly head, exposing it’s true nature when it drags itself up the stairs of your apartment complex to bang on your door, its rage filled voice calling your name over and over, forcing you into your bedroom closet, where you sit in the dark with your hands clamped over your ears. Sometimes, it hurls its entire body against your door to break it down, and you hide in your locked bathroom, knees to your chest in your tub, little pocketknife handle digging into the skin of your palm.

No one seems to know your monster exists.

No one cares that the monster followed you across an entire ocean when you tried to run away from it.

Your neighbors have turned a blind eye. Those who do see, have fallen to the bystander effect.

The ones who were organized to protect people like you from monsters say they can’t do anything unless you have proof, or it gets worse.

You don’t bother to tell them that if it does get worse, you’ll probably just be dead.

Sometimes, you see it on the street during your walk home from work, standing with its hands in its pockets, dark eyes tracking your every step, waiting for its chance to strike. Sometimes, it follows you onto the train, a car ahead, watching you between the shoulders of the people that separate you from it, their presence the only thing preventing it from making you disappear.

You tell yourself that eventually it will get bored and move on, that it’ll go away, leave you alone for good. But days pass, and it still drags itself up your apartment stairs to torment you, still stands on the sidewalk across from your building.

Sometimes, when it’s really bad, you wonder if you should just open the door and let it kill you. Let it take what it wants, let it make you disappear forever. You think it might not be so bad, not living, if it meant you were free of the monster.

But then, the sun rises. The monster leaves and the day begins. The air is warm, and the birds chirp, and the breeze is just right, and it’s enough. It’s enough to remind you that you can feel something other than despair. It’s enough to keep you going.

And right now, that’s really all you can ask for.

“Oh good. Was starting to worry.” Your boss, Tiana, or just Tee as she constantly reminded you, breathes a sigh of relief when you come through the back door. Your apron comes off the hook easily, and then over your head before the waist ties wrap around your middle. It’s even still got some flour caked on it from yesterday. You shoot her a pointed look.

“You know, if you want to take large orders, just schedule me ahead of time, that way we’re not running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

“It was last minute, and I couldn’t really say no. But! I am here and will help you with whatever you need.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pull the laptop that’s sitting on the prep table towards you and scan the typed-out numbers. “Forty-five people?” you raise an eyebrow. You called me in for this? She gives you a helpless look, and you roll your eyes affectionately while she puts a mug of coffee down in front of you, heat pulsing off of it like it’s practically boiling. “Alright, let’s get to it I guess.”

Steam floats in the air from the ceramic mug that’s cradled between your fingers. You’re sitting in the back, leaned against the stainless-steel sink, sipping your fifth cup of coffee, waiting for the dishwasher to finish while Tee rings up and helps load the order that you just cranked out.

You don’t do any of that. You don’t even talk to customers unless you absolutely have to, and even then, it’s less than enticing. You leave it for Alex, who works the counter, and puts up with everyone’s bullshit with charm and grace.

You yawn, trying not to melt into the floor, wrists sore from rolling dough for the last three hours. Outside, traffic on the street hums, busses and cars and bikes all moving in the same direction down the little one-way avenue, horns honking and music occasionally blaring out someone’s window. Usually, this was your favorite time of day. After you’ve finished the afternoon rush, the prep table has been scraped and scrubbed, most of the dishes are washed, and there’s one left over croissant with your name on it. It was in these kinds of small moments, that you still felt like yourself, felt like you could enjoy things. Like you were still just a baker, just the pastry chef, just another person, out there living their life. Not a husk of a human, always looking over your shoulder, hiding from a monster.

The back door chimes, jolting you from your spiral, and Tee hands you a folded over banknote.

“They tipped. Generously.” You frown. You don’t take tips because you’re a full wage hourly, and she knows this.

“Give it to Alex.”

“They get one too. We all do… By the way, the new scones? Orange vanilla?”

“They’re vegan.”

“I know. They’re amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks, Tee.” You want to sound enthusiastic about the praise, but you’re too exhausted to get the inflection right. Instead, you just sound like a deflated balloon. Or Eeyore. Sympathy flickers across her face. You turn before she can watch your expression shift into annoyance. It’s not her fault. “Dishes are almost done.” You tell her, pulling yourself free of the apron and shrugging on your knit sweater. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Every day after work, you walk the six blocks to the corner café to sit by the window with your book and a decaf latte. Vanilla, usually, or caramel if you’re feeling like it. You settle at the little table that’s almost always open because it’s rickety, balancing on three legs because the fourth one is missing a foot. You have an exchange worked out here since you bake their pastries, they give you all you can drink espresso, and you get to curl up with your book like you’re a cat every day after work. You feel safe here. You’ve never felt exposed, the café is off a side street, and as far as you knew, you’ve never been followed. You’ve never seen your monster outside here, or in this area really at all. Never seen it on Sunday mornings at the farmer’s market, or at the cramped, darkly lit bar that you sometimes stop at to grab a pint when you’re feeling up to it.

You hope that means it doesn’t know too much about your routines, but you can’t be too sure. Even so, your monster isn’t a danger to other people, just to you, never approaching you when there are others around, and that small fact brings you small slivers of relief. At least when it finally gets you, no one else will have to watch. No one else will have to suffer.

You’re reading page three hundred and two of The Name of the Wind and drinking your second decaf vanilla latte of the day, when the incident (which is what you’re calling it, in your mind) happens. The girl behind the counter is calling a name, her voice pitched with irritation, and the change in her tone immediately puts you on red alert. You scan the shop, eyes landing on a massive man with a mask and a hoodie on who’s standing by the counter, oblivious to Clarissa, who's just trying to get him to pick up his order.

He’s oblivious, because he’s staring at you. His gaze never falters, the intensity of his eyes kicking your nervous system into high gear, and you physically clamp down on yourself, so you don’t sprint out of the coffee shop right then and there.

It’s not the monster. That is a man. This man is not your monster.

Clarissa gives you a helpless look and gestures to the queue that’s quickly forming in front of her register. You give her a nod in return, and stride over to where the behemoth of a man stands frozen, Patrick Rothfuss still in your hand. You take a closer look at him, and swallow when you see his eyes, their amber reflection gorgeous in the afternoon sun. Something hot stirs in you, prickles across your skin and you take a sharp inhale. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the pull of attraction, felt the presence of butterflies in your stomach, that you almost mistake what you’re feeling for fear.

Something pulls you closer to him, like you're tethered together on an invisible string.

“Sir?” the man in the mask doesn’t respond. He just… stares at you. Okay… weird? Is this dude on drugs? “Sir.” You drop the question at the end of your statement adding a little more authority, trying to get his attention, and it seems to work, because his spine straightens, and then he nearly stumbles backwards, away from you like you’ve struck him. You blink in confusion. “I think that’s yours.” You point to the white cup that Clarissa was gesturing to, but he still ignores you. “The uh, double espresso?” Something is off here. You pull the tiny cup from the counter and hold it out to him, imagining he’ll just take it from you and be on his way but when he doesn’t move, worry starts to build in your mind. What if he can’t hear? What if he’s having a stroke? What if something is wrong? “Sir? Are you… is everything okay?” You take a tiny step closer to him.

He steps back quickly, banging into the glass side door, and it swings out behind him. A second passes, and then he’s gone, turning on his heel in the breeze, disappearing down the corner while you stand in the café, a double espresso in your outstretched hand.

#it will come back #peaches writes #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2

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ktchie · 8 months

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'It's the hope that kills you'

Ted Lasso x Reader

Fluff and Angst

♡ other tags: attempt at humour/ no proof read we die like Rupert should've / possible part two

♡6.1k words

◇ In which Y/n wanted to confessed and Ted has a pastel pink apron.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

She consider herself as a tough independent woman who rather die and be beheaded than show any ounce of feelings or a hint of affection.

Her therapist said it's because she grew up in a household that doesn't show much emotion or any vulnerability. And they're right, she remember the time she saw her Dad shed a tear on the night of her high-school graduation, hiding behind his hands and cool dad stance before abruptly going to the bathroom and staying there for 40 minutes - he came back with red eyes and a terrible pun joke. As if nothing had happened.

So it is perfectly understandable that she grew up hating vulnerability, choosing to stay rigid and emotionless rather to have her whole soul on the palm of her hand. It doest help either that she's the eldest kid, the pillar of her siblings, the one who lays awake at night thinking any and every problems her parents throw at her way, worrying about it to the point her chest hurt and she has to learn to calm panic attack in such a young age.

So that being said, she never really had the full experience of romance or being in a relationship. She flirted with a few men on her lives and had fucked them plenty of times but she never really did the whole holding hands thing and all that cheesy stuff that people always whined about once the clock hits 10 and loneliness hits you like a freight train.

But meeting Ted, meeting Ted makes her want to dive head first on whatever corny things couples do in this day of age. Whether it be kissing on the rain or robbing a bank at 2pm in a Sunday afternoon.

She stared at him from across her, sitting so patiently like an overgrown child with a cup of steaming hot coffee.

"Something you need, Ted?" Her tone of voice held nothing but pure professionalism that made her quietly hissed.

Ted looked at her with his big brown eyes that makes her heart all googoo gaga, she sometimes wonder if Ted is secretly part of some hidden government group because she swore that puppy eyes could stop a international fued.

"Oh you know, just wanna visit ya'" he stated with a cheeryness only he can produced in the morning, all dimple and wide smiles. "'been awhile since I saw you, thought you're actually avoiding me but boss said that you're six feet under with all the work you got goin' on"

She chuckled at his words "Ted, I don't think there's anything in this world that could keep me away from you" she answered with a subtle smile, if she wanted him she would get him, whether it be by words or thousand of prayers.

Ted looked at her silently, wide eye and a blossoming blush on his cheeks. He looks ethereal underneath the early morning sun, a fallen single strand of hair dangling on his forehead that makes her hand itch with yearn to fix it.

"But I have been awfully neglectful to the rest of you, haven't I?" She decided to move on from her flirting (?), she doesnt want Ted to dropped dead on the floor from all the blood on his head. "I've been busy these past few weeks, but Will told me about the team plan get together on Sam's restaurant. I'll make sure to attend it, even shoulder the payment if we can get Sam to give us the bill"

Ted nodded his head, tounge tied for once, some part of her rejoiced while the other part, the one who always fear rejection and if she's being too much or too stupid, fear for whatever friendship they have (or had, if worse comes to worse)

"I-well" he cleared his throat, looking at her through his weirdly long eyelashes that always made her tear up in awe and envy.

"We can uh' y'know, we can split the bill, don't hav'ta shoulder it all by yourself"

"No its alright" she shook her head, she contemplate touching his arms, feel the soft fabric of his awfully comfy looking sweater and the skin underneath it but she decided not to, Ted might freak the fuck out and leave the room yelling 'HR! HR!' And have her fired and be shamed by the rest of the Richmond community for touching their beloved American wanker. "Consider it as my payment for forgetting to visit the locker room"

"Wasn't your fault, anyway" he shrugged before gesturing to the tower of folders and impending blueprints for the upcoming renovations and building upgrades. "I mean take a look at that, the great mt. Everest would cry if he saw this monstrosity. Even looking at it makes my stomach all funky" he shudder at its sight. "Do you even take a break? Jeez."

She sighed and leaned back on her office chair "from time to time, 15 minutes or 5. I like to finish my work early so.."

Ted frowned, he has one of those upset looks that makes her heart clenched and crack little by little until it exploded on her chest and she has to pretend she wasn't in pain so he could view her as a normal human being and not a lovesick teenager. "Ya should take a better care of yourself, you can't just go 'n on 'n on workin' till you drop dead" if it's possible, his doe eyes turned even more sadder. " its not good for you"

She bit her lip, her thighs moving up and down underneath her desk. She never liked it when he's anything but happy. "I can go take a rest when I go home and take a rest some more once I finish of all this work. its fine, don't worry too much about me"

"How can I not worry about you?" Ted leaned in, sad eyes and furrow brows. "Youre my-" he sighed before he shake his head "heck, If I had known you're over 'ere slowly killin' yourself i would have yank you from your desk till you're screamin' and cryin'"

Screaming and crying huh? Oh she can do that, alright.

"Ted.." she sighed, trying her hardest to ease the furrow on his brows "its fine, im fine. Don't worry about me too much. there's another game coming up, thats what you should be focusing on yeah?"

Ted sighed deeply, leaning back on the chair before nodding. A lock of hair fell down on his forehead, perfect it was, and y/n thought he never looked more beautiful then. She wonder if Ted kept his hair perfectly gel all the time or if he had ever let his guard down on the four walls he had been forcely call his home.

She would love to see him just him, just Ted, with his goofy smiles and bad puns and old reference from a bad film made years before.

She would love to love him, flaws and imperfections and bad days. She would paint him beautifully, perfect at every stroke of her brush and no smudge of mistakes and yet she knows she still wouldn't do him justice. Ted is just too perfect, too lovely, too godly to be even be depicted on a rough white canvas of this wretched world. Ted deserves to be painted in the walls of the church, or at every thread of the clouds, he was meant to be seen and to be watched and to be memorize until his kindness and his generosity and smile are engraved deep within everyone's heart. Y/n wanted to worship Ted with utmost devotion that her mouth would utter prayers like a second breath, until her two pressed hands bleed and flowers grow between her palm.

She watched him sat across her, his gaze darting everywhere on the carpet before a smile slowly broke on his lips, eyes suddenly lighting up and whole body perking up.

"Hey" he looked up to her, grin and joyful gaze "guess what I cooked last night" he had said giddily

"if you get it right I might just have to take a peek on that ridiculous sitcom you've always buggin' me to watch"

She scoffed, offended. "Modern family is not ridiculous, it's the best thing that ever happened to television-"

"Now hol' up. You're gettin' ahead of yourself now, sugar" she pretended the pet name didnt make her stomach flip and twist and did all kinds of wwe wrestling stunt.

"I'll have you know that you're wrong, there are tons of- you know what, I ain't even gonna argue with you because we're both too tired for this and I'm too excited to tell you what I cooked last night, so just guess, come on"

She squinted her eyes before sighing as she started to think. "Well, last time we spoke you wouldn't shut up about barbecue and kebab and that one burger that sounds like it could kill you from one sniff"

"Triple cheese burger with bacon crisp, 3 sunny side eggs and curly fries dipped in ranch and garlic sauce with side on-"

"Sounds awful. Americans and their ridiculous food, seriously how are you not dead yet?"

Ted had shrugged with a sickeningly sweet smile "have no idea, but its good 'n ya know what they say 'enjoy life while it lasted'"

"Curse that qoute for manipulating you, let's just pray you wouldn't drop dead in the middle of the court because we can't handle your decaying body and another lose at the same time"

"You betcha! Now guess what I cooked!" Ted was almost jumping from his seat, propping his head on his palm as he stared at her.

"Come on, now"

"Curry"

"No"

"Friend chicken?"

"Nope, but boy I would love to have that right now"

"Salad?"

"Heck no! You kiddin' me?"

"Uhhh, curry?"

"You already said that!" Ted pouted lightly and she almost reach out to trace the bottom of his lips and mumbled how sweet he look right now but thankfully she stopped herself.

"Allright I give up" she threw her hand up and sigh "anything you cooked is fantastic anyway, doesn't matter what it is"

"Oh, arent you a sweetheart" he smiled at her so adorably it made her tooth ache. "I'm glad you think so because I just cooked f/f!" Ted yelled so excitedly, arms spread wide and eyes bright.

She looked at him with agape mouth

"F/f? Are you serious?" She grinned so widely, it has been awhile since she tasted it, mainly because the only f/f she had ever ate is the one her mother cooks.

"Course! I wouldn't lie to ya!" Ted had stated "I couldn't get some shut eyes last night so I decided to make it, better to do something than nothin' at all am I right?"

She's still looking at him, as if in trance. "Wow Ted..I mean im pretty fucking pump but-well, why did you make it? You could have baked, you usually bake when you have nothing to do"

Ted looked away from her, cheeks suddenly getting warm and pink under the sunlight. "Oh you know..just miss ya' I guess"

Her heart crumbled and melted inside of her chest, she could feel its warmth drip from every nerve she has and settle deep within her guts and lay there until she has to curl her toes in a pathethic attempt to calm herself down.

He took a peek at her under his lashes. "I was so used seeing you every darn morning 'ere so it makes me all sad and upset when I don't. Even coach beard had to knock some sense in to me, told me to keep my marbles together or else he'll hide my barbecue sauce" he lightly chuckled "pretty heavy threat, if you ask me"

"I didnt know you miss me so much"

"Are you kiddin' me? I miss ya a hell'ava lot more than 'much'" Ted had almost yelled "i miss ya more than Roy misses running! And thats alot"

She laugh quietly, both in amusement and the tickling feeling deep on her stomach that normal people (with normal amount of love on their heart) would refer as butterflies, but for her, for someone who love too deep and too vast and too much and for a girl like her that grew up reading stories and fairy tales and movies characters with soft confession under bright stars and harsh rains, she could refer the feeling on her stomach as a clawing beast, a magnificent one born on legends and shaky words of the fear locals, with a ferocious growl and wild eyes and fangs as big as a tallest house.

In short, everytime Ted does something so adorably lovely on her eyes she could feel the entire animals on her stomach.

She looked at him with a gentle smile, eyes bright and so so soft - looking at him a like proper lover would. "I miss you too, Ted" she had said almost like a whisper, like a sin. "More than you could ever know"

The statement sounded too intimate, the tone too romantic to be said between casual friends and even the silence after it could be written in a pages of old romance stories - describe it like moment after the music, where the two of them stares at one another with that yearning look that makes all the reader sick to their stomach.

Her words sounds like a confession, one that is so gentle even the gods up above would melt where they stood. She didn't utter the proper words of 'i love you' and didn't open her palm where her bleeding heart lay and offer it to him with a desperation - but the way she said her words, the way every letter soud so much like a sudden whisper in a night of passion and sudden realization of devotion and adoration makes her statement more than a confession - as if it was an oath, a promise set on stone. Like a knights word as he kneeled on his king and offered the edge of his swords, bare against the world, bright steel and fierce glare as his lips mouth his promise, the words he would live and die on, where war would start and where it would end - be it by his blood or his foes. And similar to that y/n is ready to be let down on where she sat, to spill her heart like a leaking wound and let it stains them both, let him know how she feels, how serious, how much time she had spent pinning after him, yearning, adoring him so silently like a lovesick suitor from afar.

Ted grinned at her, dimple deep on his cheeks and that damn fallen hair on his forehead that makes him so so lovely. He opened his mouth and y/n waited with bathed breath and wonder what words would come out but before he could even roll his tounge the door of her office opened with a harsh loud push.

"Y/n we have to- oh. oh Ted! Good morning!" Higgings strolled in clumsily and no matter how much she love the little dork she kinda want to crush his glasses on her palm and send him home.

"Higgins! Nice to see ya today, buddy" Ted stood up to greet him and to give him a pleasant hug and if the coach is annoyed at anyway, he didn't show it. God he's so kind its annoying..

"You too, Ted. You too" Higgins replied with a smile that reserved only for Ted, filled with gratitude and adoration before he turned to her and she watch, with great amusement and a little irritation, when that smile fell down on his lips. "And uh, we need to talk"

She sighed mournfully, waving a goodbye to the wonderful conversation she was having with her love and to the words he would say earlier. She gestured Higgings to sit across her before she met Ted's eyes.

"Im afraid we'll have to cut our cheesy conversation here, Ted. Duty calls and if you want someone to blame, blame Higgings" she pointed at the man with a teasing smirk that had Higgins poor heart rapidly beating with nervousness.

"What? But I'm merely doing my job-"

"Im fucking with you" she patted his shoulder with a light laugh before glancing at Ted, who still remained at her office with a smile.

"I'll gave you a call later" Ted had said "let's have a dinner, ill cook for ya'"

She bit her lip to keep the ridiculous love sick smile threatening to rip her mouth apart and nodded "ill look forward to it, have a good day"

"You too, sugar"

And he was gone and if Higgins wasn't infront of her, staring at her with that bewildered look only spooked squirrel could do she would have stood up and do a cartwheel on her carpeted floor because holy fucking shit Ted is going to cook for her, just for her, not like those times where they eat together on the locker room and she has to sneakily steal his lunch - tho she knows Ted wouldn't mind Beard is another problem, she still thinks Beard has a few dead bodies on his back, the man has a stare of a despondent convicted murderer inside a prison cell. Its crazy.

"Oh." Higgings blink rapidly, his mouth subtly and slowly forming a smile. "You and Ted?"

She squinted her eyes "We're friends"

"Not with that look in your eyes, no"

"What did you eat today to have you acting this cheeky, my dear Higgins?" She looked at him up and down with a scowl.

The man let out a grin

"I should be the one asking that" he then leaned in "or should it be 'who did you meet today that have you acting this lovesick, my dear y/n?"

She flush red "You're fired"

"That'd be the 205 times you've fire me and I will continue to ignore it as long as I live"

"The first time i did that you sobbed on my shoulder"

"Well its.." he looked away "it was a different time"

"Sure it was"

____________________________________

"Look what we have 'ere-"

"JESUS, ROY!" She had jumped 2 feet from where she stood, clutching her heart and her car keys.

"What the hell man!"

"What? You got yourself an American man and suddenly you're weak of heart?"

"That doesn't even make any sense.." she mumbled with a disturbed look as she stared at him. "What are you even doing here? and I dont have an American man, get your head straight"

"Its a fucking parking lot, im allowed to be here" He commented with a glared as he not so softly leaned on her car.

She sighed through her nose, annoyed. "What i meant was, why the fuck are you even standing about in here and suddenly appearing from the darkness like a...hairy angry batman"

"Im not fucking hairy!"

"you shed like a golden retriever, you're not fooling anybody!"

Roy, the dog, growled in annoyance before he blocked her way to the driver seat.

"Please move or ill yell bloody murder" she stated suddenly so so exhausted.

"Why actin' so rush? Got somewhere to be?" She squinted his eyes at him, suspicious and contemplating why is he being such a dick.

"Why are you talking to me like you're about to take my lunch money?"

Roy, with the little patience he has, growled once again before he shook his head, as if he was the one getting annoyed and tired on the conversation. Then he stared at her, right on the eye, as if wanting to burn her soul and cook her alive.

"Youre really not going to tell me?" He had asked, hands on his hips.

"Is that how it is?"

"What?" She ask, confused.

"You and Ted" Her eyes widen, what is he on about?

"Me and Ted? What about us?"

"Higgin-" he cleared his throat "I mean, someone told me you and the little prick was getting all chummy in your office. Even got yourself a fucking date, how lovely"

She sighed "there wasn't a date Roy, Ted and I are friends. And we aren't getting 'chummy' or whatever kind of meaning that word has in your vocabulary and tell Higgins-"

"It wasn't higgings"

"-tell him to keep his damn nose out of my business or ill key his car"

Roy stared at her for a long second before he clenched his jaw and mumbled a 'fuckkkkk'

"We're-" he swallowed before he looked upwards to the sky, as if begging the gods above to give him more strength. "We're-..f-friends, arent we?" Her eyes soften in both adoration and amusement as he grimaced with every letter he spoke.

She chuckled "we are, no matter how much you disdain that word"

"Then," Roy had sighed "believe me when I say that that cowboy Mr. Rogers is fucking inlove with you"

Suddenly the air felt too thick and her clothes felt too hot. "Roy, i think you're wrong. Ted wanst-"

"Don't you fucking dare tell me he wasn't because a blind bloke could see it in a mile away, he wouldn't fucking shut up about you. fuck sake, He even draws you!" He yelled dramatically, hands shooting in a air in a form of exaggerated irritation that only Roy Kent could do. "Those past few days where you lock yourself up in your bloody office has been the worst days of my entire life, Ted looks constipated half of the fucking time and all he does is broods and broods and fucking complains about you. He's insufferable! Beard has to talk to him in the bathroom to get him straight!" He massage his temple before sighing and looking at her so gently then, so softly, like a brother would, like a friend would do, like someone you can hold onto when life gets though and days gets bad.

"Believe me, he's inlove with you.." he softly said like a whisper.

"In every possible way a human could love, he's inlove with you"

Her breath hitched from her throat, tounge heavy on her mouth and her heart beat could be hear from miles away. The beast inside of her guts fell silent, almost asleep, like his words strike straight to his heart and send him down on the ground, wounded and shaken and could never get back up.

"I came here to.." Roy cut short, finding the proper words. "To tell you how happy I am that he finally work the balls to ask you out, but turns out he's still a fuckin' pussy and a mess of a man"

She chuckled and shook her head.

"Ted is.." She lick her lips and leaned on her car, Roy beside her and shoulder apart.

"I don't think Ted would do the first move, he's..afraid, I think. All his life Michelle was the only woman he knew, only woman he loved and if what you're saying is not true, then she's the only woman he would forever love" she said almost mournfully. "Divorced is hard, specially for someone like Ted who loves too much and give too much, maybe that's the reason why I'm hopeless inlove with him to the point of humiliation but who fucking cares, right?" She shrugged.

She then swallowed before sighing a shaky breath. "I'll uh, ill confessed tonight. While we eat dinner, ill..ill try, and if- y'know, he doesnt like it then I'll back off" she bit her lip as her gaze burn holes to the pavement.

"I'll love him from afar, cheer for him from the stands and sob on my office if I saw him and sassy together again"

Roy chuckled "i remembered that one" reminiscing her worst times of sobbing half dead on her office table mumbling how cruel it is to love Ted and asking what Sassy has that she does not.

"Maybe ill hire a hit man too, have them kill you so you could forget about it" she bumped his shoulder with her own and lightly laugh when Roy grunts.

"I'll write it with my fucking blood, believe that"

"Write it with your chest hair and ill believe it"

"You fucking cunt-"

____________________________________

"Sorry 'bout the mess.." Ted gestured to the perfectly clean living room with a sheepish look. "didn't have time to clean up. I'm just too excited to cook for ya I forgot about everything else"

"That so? Well I'm excited to taste it, I'm sure it'll be wonderful" she smiled at him as she put the bottle of wine down on the marble kitchen bar.

"Oh it'll blow your socks off, its nothin' like the food at Sam's restaurant but its darn good if I say so myself" She watched silently as Ted, adorable adorable Ted, wore his pastel pink apron, tied it around his waist and fluff it with a lovely smile that almost had her clutching her precious weak heart.

"Im sure it'll be delicious" she say, referring more to the cook rather than food. "I like anything you do anyway, so"

Ted glance at her and smile, all dimple and bright eyes. It made her smile too, softly, subtly, like one of those yearning smile that hides thousands of words and promises and hopes and desperation.

Ted went back to his cooking, whistling a tune she swore she heard before. He was telling a story, one about a fish and a basketball and a prom that gone wrong but for the life of her she could not listen.

She thought about her conversation with Roy, the words he had utter that made her want to pour her heart out and confessed to her love. She dont want to be hopeful, being hopeful is nothing but a wish on the wind in this place. It is the poison that rots your mind, that decays the flower and the trees and the grass, break the ground you stood up upon - watch it crumble and crumble until your legs become weak and your bones break from your flesh and you fell ill and sick and cough blood until you die and wish that you should have done better, that you should have stayed quiet and at peace and settle from staring from afar instead of watching your own skin slowly peel away as you continue to hope and hope and hope and watch as the filthy earth swallow you whole and- Jesus christ she should really stop reading those sad terrifying books Nate had been recommending her alot, its ruining her head in the worst ways.

"Ya feel alright?" Ted's voice woke her from her thoughts.

She looked at him furrowed brows and concerned eyes. "Im good, it's nothing"

"We could just watch a movie, you know? Order some good ol' pizza and have a laugh on some bad movies and oh! You know what? we could just watch your favourite-"

"I rather just taste your food, Ted. If you don't mind"

"But you look tired" and there it is again, the puppy look, the vain of her existence. God he's so terrible she kinda want to kiss his face and pinch his cheeks.

She chuckled "arent you sweet"

"Oh gosh! I didnt- darn, I didnt mean it that way, sugar!" He was panicking, going all over the kitchen with his cute apron on and little sauce smudge on his cheeks.

"You l-look tired but y'know still pretty, and cute and-and you know? Please darlin' I didnt mean to offend you i just want to-"

"Hey, hey, hey.." she called out to him with a barely contained humour smile "I get it, I was fucking with you. I'm just joking, calm down"

He slumped dramatically on the counter with a sigh "oh goodness, you had me there. Thought I was gonna loose ya'"

They had talked a little bit, or maybe too much, she couldn't exactly remember how long it was or what it was about but she had know they had laugh and jest and share a few stories of their childhood and back when they're still a foolish teenager who didn't know what they want and where they belong - she still don't know now if she was being honest, she wasn't really the kind of person that plans ahead of time, or give a genuine thought on what she wanted to do in the future and how she will get there but Ted is, Ted knows, Ted understand what he wants and how he will get there and what he see himself on the future and in which place and who he was with, it made her fall a little more inlove with him.

"How was it?" He had asked as he leaned in, nervous and fidgeting.

"Oh gosh please say somethin' I'm about to blow a nerve over 'ere"

She laugh "it was good!" And it is, the best curry she probably had.

"Its perfect, Ted. Even the spiciness is perfect"

He blew out an air "oh thank god, I was so worried ya wouldn't like it! And to be completely honest with ya' I thought I switched up the salt and sugar halfway"

She laugh again, it wasn't even funny, she's just inlove and a complete fool.

Ted started to talk about his day, down to what he had ate for breakfast and how terrible his coffee was 'it tasted like cow piss' his words. He then talked about his theory that Nate is secretly a goverment spy forced to work with him for a very dangerous top secret world breaking undercover mission - when she asked why he think that - 'because nate is a genius and there ain't no way he was a water boy before I came here and coach beard told me he saw nate yesterday slap a fly in a speed of light and didn't even flinch'

It was ridiculous theory but she then remember the amount of gory psychological thriller books Nate has been recommending her for the past few days and a good amount of them involves a spy or two. She wasn't convinced but she'll keep an eye out just incase.

"-it wasn't that much of a big deal"

"You set your school on fire!" Ted had exclaimed rather dramatically, on her opinion, as she told him her high-school tales.

"Thats like- Thats arson!"

"Its not arson if they don't know someone set it on fire" she tap her forehead lightly as if gesturing Ted to see how smart she is. And Ted, bless his heart, actually nodded.

"Youre right, thats smart. Look at ya' getting away with crimes in such a young age!" He grins so beautiful she was actually proud of what her foolish younger self did back then.

"You sounds awfully proud of me bring a criminal"

"Well its kinda awesome and speaking of awesome!--" his eyes was bright and there's a little smudge of sauce near his lips, he looks adorable and loveable and she just suddenly want to kiss him stupid and tell him how much she loves him-

"--Sassy and I are going on date this weekend!"

A glass shattered on the background.

She wasn't adventurous or a sucker for pain and near death experince but if someone had ask her what it would feel like when an arm go through her chest and crush her heart in one fist, she would describe what she's feeling right now in exact gruesome detail that even Nate would vomit on the corner.

She couldn't stop her smile for falling from her lips or the soft disbelief of 'oh' that escape from her tounge, its amazing how a simple two letter words sounded so broken out of the millions she had uttered before.

"Thats great, Ted" she thank every God there is that her voice didn't came out robotic "im happy, you deserve someone who can take care of you"

Ted nodded his head with a grin that is far too wide for his cheeks and then he stared talking, he was saying something but she couldn't hear it, didn't bothered to hear it, she was too busy wondering if the feeling of absence on her chest had been there long before or had just recently appeared now.

"-aint it funny?"

"Yeah" was her response even if she didn't hear any word of it, she avoid his gaze as she wiped her mouth with a tissue and cleared her throat - there's a vile stuck on it that she couldn't seems to swallow.

"Ted, I-uh, I think I'm gonna go home. I'm not feeling very well" she was a liar and a coward but she rather die than cry infront of him - and suddenly she was young again, alone in her room, toes cold from the floor board and clenching her hands into a tight fist and wondering what is it about her that is unlovable.

"Oh, uh, okay" Ted stood up from the table "are you feelin' dizzy? Does your tummy feels funny? Do you wan-"

"I don't" she said firmly, she was upset, mad, not to him but to herself, for even hoping that she could have this. "I don't need anything, thank you" she lied and swallowed the humiliation of even wanting to say everything she wanted to say to him. All those words she wanted to confessed makes her sick to her stomach because how fucking dare she believe she even has a chance? How foolish to even assume she could have Ted?

"Nothing like a good rest would fix" she had stated, hoping to ease his mind but her chuckle came out weak and sad.

"Okay uh, ill walk you to your apartment - I mean, flat, christ-"

"Its okay" she grab her bag "I can walk by myself"

"I don't think its safe-"

"I can handle myself"

"Still, you look a little pale and I can't have a gal like yo-"

"Fucking hell Ted!" She had yelled and the guilt settled on her stomach as soon as she did so.

Ted look at her like she wasn't her, like another person came on his flat with a face of a friend he adores and she wanted to laugh because how could she want to love him and care for him when she could barely be half of a kind person that he was?

"Just- fuck, I got it. I can handle myself just dont-" she sighed through her nose and looked down, she could feel the tears on her eyes and but none of them fell down.

"Just let me be, yeah? I'm not a fucking toddler you need to be coddle all the time"

There's a pause before Ted nods "Okay" his eyes were sad, sadder than anything she had ever saw and it would've break her heart if it weren't shattered before.

She looked at him silently, a second. She almost wanted to say it, say the words, just lay it all on the table and let Ted feast on the remnants of her broken heart and whatever is left. He'll take good care of it, she knows. That's a kind of man he is. Maybe even fix it together with some melted gold.

"Im sorry" Ted was the one who apologized even if she should be the first, it made her guts coil. "I didnt mean to upset you, I was just-just worried. I'm sorry"

She looked down and clenched her fist, dig her nails on her palm.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, I was being a dick and I have no excuse-"

"Youre tired and you're not feeling well, 's okay"

"Its not, Ted" she shook her head "I shouldn't have talk to you like that, you're my-" she swallowed "youre my friend, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry"

Ted smile, sad and worried all at once. "Its okay, I forgive ya'"

He shouldn't be, atleast not this easily.

"Okay" she nod her head once before she turn to the door with trembling hands.

Ted appeared next to her and held the door open for her. "Be safe, sweetheart"

'Don't' she wanted to whisper but felt too tired to do so.

"Call me when you get home"

"Will do"

The ground was wet as she walked and the road felt much sadder than before, the cold night air beg her for warmth and instead of the heat of her flat her mind travel to the warmth of his hands, of his touch. Y/n briefly wonder how she came to be like this, how she love so fiercely like a beaten dog and dig claw marks on everything she ever love just to watch it be yank away from her as easily as her tears could fall.

#ted lasso #jason sudeikis #ted lasso x reader #fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso gif is not mine #possible part two?

148 notes · View notes

kingofthe-egirls · 9 months

Note

getting high with luffy?

you fucking GOT it babe

STEAM: LUFFY x Y/N

(cw: kitty, portal powers, smoking, steam bath, sweetness, kissing)

Songs: "i hope you know what you're doing" by KING MALA, “Frankenstein” by Claire Rosinkranz

words: 1.1k

Luffy rolls the paper across the coffee table, his tongue stuck out to the side. Careful fingers pinch the ends, bringing it up to his lips to lick. He hands you the finished joint, letting you have the first hit.

You flick a portal to the tip of the flame of Luffy's bedside oil lamp.

You smell the sweet, green smoke as it catches with a floral undertone. You sigh as you exhale the smoke, having been stressed as all fuck this last week. You take the deepest breath you've taken all afternoon. The setting sun is filtering in through Luffy's porthole window, sending shafts of buttery light across his mattress.

Luffy is sitting cross legged in front of you, shirtless with his yellow sash tied around the waistband of his shorts. His abs are soft, undefined as he folds forward to curl his fingers around his toes.

He rocks back and forth, smiling as he waits for you to puff out your lungful of smoke. You do, as he reaches forward to take the half-burnt joint between his finger and thumb.

Your eyes are a little hazy, as you slowly feel the effect start to tingle down your spine. You close your eyes, and scoot around the coffee table to lie down with your head in Luffy's lap. He stares at you from above. His eyes are rosy, too.

Luffy finishes his drag, before leaning down to blow smoke into your mouth. You inhale, letting the stinging cloud fill your ribcage.

"Sweet girl," he says, voice raspy.

Smoke fills the room, curling up toward the wooden ceiling in wispy white ribbons. You portal up to stroke your fingers through it.

"Luffy?"

He hums, scratching at the base of your scalp. He strokes your dirty hair with steady fingers, leaning back against the wall as he does. Your eyes shut in pleasure. "What is it?"

You sigh, your hand flopping back down to your stomach. You’re all noodley, smoked out and fuzzy. You sniff.

"M'bored."

Luffy snickers, and leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. He scratches at your cheeks. His face is squished against your own, his rubber spine stretching so he can reach. He breathes smoky air against your nose. His voice is scratchy as he asks, “Whaddya wanna do?”

You hum, sliding your eyes up as you think. You smirk. “Sex?”

Luffy giggles, and leans down to kiss your cheek. “Make out first?”

You hum, sitting up to wrap your arms around his neck. He shifts you into his lap fully, his strong arms supporting your waist. He leans his head back against the cabin wall.

You suckle a slight bruise onto his neck, right below his pulse point.

Luffy groans, tightening his hands on your skin. His fingers dig in, and you know there’ll be bruises later. You like marking him, and seeing his marks on you, too.

His.

“Yours,” you whisper, ghosting your lips up the side of his face. He’s sweaty, summer heat getting to you all. He smells like musk and cinnamon bark. He scrapes his teeth along your cheekbone. “Love ya.”

“Love ya too, kitty.”

And then,

“Mine.”

He hums, nose pressed into the underside of your jaw, his hands rubbing warm circles around your waist. He loves you, and he shows it through touch. You love him, and try to show it in everything you do.

Luffy loves you.

He kisses the tip of your nose, before finally fitting his lips against yours. He kisses you slowly, softly, his lips still smoky from the joint.

You moan, stroking through the spiky hairs at the back of his neck. He’s got dandruff and grease, but you haven’t showered either and you don’t really mind. He smells like heaven, anyway.

You press your foreheads together.

“Let’s steam.”

****

Luffy sits on the soft wooden bench inside the ship’s bathhouse. You’re raking the coals of the fire out onto the stove, so you can pour freshwater over them. Steam fills the room, relaxing your muscles and softening your hair. Luffy fiddles with the damaged ends of your strands, his own face sweaty and flushed in the steam. His dark hair is sticking to his forehead. You brush it back for him.

Luffy hums, tilting his head so you can work your fingers through it. You rub at his scalp, dipping your fingers in the bowl of rosewater Sanji has started keeping in the steam room.

You scrub at Luffy’s hair, pulling through the strands to get any excess dirt or loose hairs out of his raven spikes. His hair is thicker than yours, with a coarse texture that you can never get enough of. His fingers ghost up the sides of your legs as you work.

“So soft, kitty,” he says, blissed out.

You lean down to kiss his cheek, before moving on to rinsing out his hair in the steam. There’s a wooden comb on the bench, and you start to detangle your captain’s hair. He smells like roses, now.

Luffy scrubs a washcloth over your skin, anywhere he can reach. The steam makes you both drowsy. You sigh, blinking bleary eyes to try to stay awake. As awake as you can, anyway, as steam like this still drains you. Although this method seems to be the easiest way for you two to get clean.

Once Luffy’s hair is all washed and combed, you switch seats so he can start working on your hair, too.

“So pretty,” he praises you, crooning over your hair as he runs his fingers through it. He doesn’t like washing his own hair, but he seems to enjoy steam baths with you. He scrubs his rough, calloused fingers over your scalp, sending tingles down your spine.

“S’nice, Luffy,” you say, eyes shut as you breathe in the floral steam.

“Hm,” he says, sleepy and relaxed, himself. “Let’s get snacks after this.”

“And a nap,” you decide, as Luffy starts combing through your delicate strands. He brushes all the flyaways from your face, combing backwards so your hair falls down your back in smooth sheets.

“Such a cute hairline,” he says, and the specificity of the compliment fills you with electricity. His own widow’s peak is revealed with his hair pushed back, too. “Ya hair’s always in your face, kitty. I like seeing it pushed back.”

“I like it, too,” you say, reaching up to touch the sharp V of his widow’s peak. He stares at you.

“I like you.”

And then,

“I wanna marry you.”

“Hm?” You say, half-surprised and half-asleep. “Thought ya didn’t wanna get married?”

“Changed my mind, so there.”

You smile.

“Okay, Luffy. I’ll marry you.”

He smiles too, shining eyes crinkled up in delight. He sets the comb back down by the rosewater. He skims his knuckles over your cheek.

“Let’s go eat.”

#this is so cute #ugh #dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you

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breannasfluff · 5 months

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Winter Interlude - 1

All of the boys are familiar with snow. After so many adventures and eras, it’s a given to be equipped to deal with the cold.

Yet there’s something different about waking to find a layer of white softening the landscape, while inside a cozy house.

Ravio must have risen early and stoked a roaring fire. The heat of it fills the rooms and halls through a series of cleverly enchanted pipes. Given the nature of bowerbirds, built for tropical temperatures rather than cold, it makes sense.

The nest is warm and cozy as Legend wakes, despite the lack of Ravio in it. Through the nestroom window, he can see the mound of white on the sill, reflecting sunlight. Snow.

At his side, Hyrule burrows into him without going anywhere. Wild is draped around Hyrule, his larger wing acting as a blanket over the brown thrasher. Legend’s wings may be bigger than the traveler’s, but his thinner feathers don’t have the same insulation.

The bowerbird shifts to stretch and Hyrule gives a small grumble, rolling in search of a better pillow.

Wild automatically lets his flockmate curl into him, giving a sleepy chirp of comfort. One eye slowly blinks open to peer at Legend, who gives a reassuring coo. Settled, the magpie goes back to sleep.

Legend extracts himself from the nest and finds a change of clothes. Here at home, he can pull on loose, warm pants and a slouchy, open-back sweater. It ties at the base of his spine, but he leaves the straps swinging free. The sweater stays on—barely.

The comfortable heat of the nestroom isn’t lost as he steps into the hallway and heads toward the kitchen and living room.

He pauses by the fire, radiating heat where it’s built into the bricks, and watches Ravio for a moment.

His flockmate trills to himself as he putters around the kitchen, pulling out cups and setting out tea. There’s a pot of coffee steeping to the side. From the breadbox comes a variety of pastries and rolls for the table, laid out buffet style.

Meat buns steam juice as Ravio pulls them from the oven to put on the table. There are rolls with shiny beetle carapaces decorating the top to appeal to Four and Wild. A fish mousse from the fridge for the seabirds. A jar of cream—fresh, given the frothy yellow at the top. Apples are front and center on the table, but so are a multitude of other fruits. Cheeses and jams are tucked throughout it all.

The air is heavy with the scent of hot food and fresh coffee, underlaid with the sweet smell of wood smoke from the fire. Beneath Legend’s feet, even the tiles are warm to the touch.

Ravio slides plates on the end of the table and looks up as his bowerbird counterpart pads in.

Good morning, he trills, forgoing words.

Morning, heart-of-mine, Legend answers. His cheeks still pink with the indicator call, but both birds proudly wear each other’s feathers.

“Look outside,” Ravio says and joins Legend as he moves to the kitchen window.

Snow covers the landscape; a foot at least, and more still drifts down. The garden is hidden, as is the lawn; smoothed over by the blanket of white. There are no sharp edges, only curving slopes with shadows of blue and grey.

The morning sun, still rising, sparkles off all of it. The few trees in the backyard are laced with ice and dusted in snow.

“It’s beautiful,” Legend breathes.

Beside him, Ravio hums and reaches under his feathers to grab the errant ties of his shirt. “It is. I’ve got a lovely breakfast spread for the flock and more to heat up when everyone is ready. Eggs and bacon to start, unless they need something else?

Legend shakes his head, still taking in the pristine landscape. “It looks and smells wonderful, Rav. They’ll love it.”

Ravio finishes off the shirt tie and leans into his side. Their wings bump as the bowerbird presses a soft kiss to Legend’s cheek. “Love you,” he whispers to the ear tilted his way.

Even the beauty of the winter landscape won’t draw Legend away from his flockmate. His hands find Ravio’s waist, fingers sliding under his shirt to stroke soft, plush skin.

Legend pulls the merchant into his chest and, despite being similar heights, Ravio is languid enough to melt and look up at him. The vet traces the faint freckles on his face and the flecks of purple in his eyes. The small, slightly upturned nose—like a bunny, he said once. Sweet pink lips, just slightly parted.

Well, if he’s going to look like temptation, there’s no reason for Legend to hold back on kissing him.

Read the rest here!

#Winter Interlude #lu wing bois #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ravioli #ravio #ravio x link #raviolink #ravio x legend #lu wild #lu legend #lu ravio #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wing au #breannasfluff #my writing #ravioli ship

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cariantha · 7 months

Text

All He Wanted

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: None Category: Fluff Word count: 1.5K Prompt: Ethan doesn’t care to celebrate his birthday, but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend it alone. A/N: My Ethan’s birthday is October 5th. This fic takes place during Sawyer’s intern year.

For @choicesoctober event: autumn / favorites things / celebration For @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event: Birthday Surprise

It was a crisp autumn morning in early October. The sun was still rising when Sawyer exited the hospital and came face to face with Ethan.

“Hi! You’re here early,” she greeted, surprisingly perky after a grueling night shift.

“And you’re here late. Wasn’t your shift supposed to end at five?”

“It did, but after clocking out, I went and checked on Dr. Banerji one more time. He was awake, so I stayed and chatted with him for a bit.”

“I’m sure he appreciated the company, thank you,” Ethan replied.

“I think he did. He was all too happy to share several stories about you as an intern,” she smiled devilishly.

While teasing him about getting caught in a supply closet, Sawyer began to shiver. Accustomed to much warmer climates, she had not yet adjusted to the much colder temperatures in Boston, and found herself unprepared nearly every time she went outside.

“Hold this for a minute,” Ethan instructed, handing her his tall cup of steaming hot coffee from Derry’s.

As he unzipped and removed this jacket, Sawyer was distracted by the words written on the side of his cup. Happy birthday, Ethan!

Busy processing this bit of information, she was almost startled when Ethan offered her his coat.

“Here,” he said, holding it open for her.

“Oh, thanks…but wait…are you sure you won’t need it later,” she stammered, shifting the coffee from one hand to the other as she slid her arms into the sleeves.

“I’ll be fine,” Ethan assured, spinning her around and zipping the jacket. When he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hands and cleared his throat, “Sorry, you probably could have done that yourself.”

Sawyer smiled, unfazed.

“Thank you. In Arizona, we would still be wearing shorts and flip-flops this time of year,” she chortled, “I’m still getting used to real fall weather.”

Sawyer handed his coffee back and wondered if he had forgotten about their plans to research Naveen’s case that night. Presumably, he would have other plans for his birthday.

But before she could ask, he confirmed, “Just bring it back tonight.”

“You’re still wanting to work on the case tonight?”

“Yes…but if you are no longer available, I understand–”

Sawyer could have sworn she caught a flash of disappointment and quickly interjected, “No! I mean, I am. Available.”

“Good. My place at seven? If I get delayed checking on Naveen, let yourself in and make yourself at home.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later,” she nodded, a plan forming in her head as she started toward the train station.

A hot shower and a few hours of sleep later, Sawyer left her apartment on a mission.

When Ethan arrived home shortly before seven o’clock, he was not expecting to find the lights on.

“Sawyer?”

“In the kitchen!” she called back.

As Ethan rounded the corner, the kitchen came into full view, and he was taken aback.

“Happy birthday,” she softly exclaimed.

Genuinely surprised, “How…how’d you know?” he asked.

“Your coffee cup this morning.”

“I see. Outed by the coffee rewards program,” he said amused.

On the kitchen island, there was a large paper bag, a bottle of wine and scotch, and a bouquet of chocolate bars with a couple balloons tied around the base.

“You…you didn’t have to…thank you,” he fumbled for words, sincerely touched.

Sawyer gestured to the two options, “Take a load off and pick your poison. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I got both.”

Ethan reached for the scotch. While Sawyer hunted down two tumblers, he examined the bottle.

“This is one of my favorites.”

It wasn’t the most expensive brand, but a bottle would certainly stretch an intern’s budget.

“Yeah, I know. I stopped by Donahue’s and asked Reggie what you liked,” she revealed. “That’s actually a gift from him. He insisted when I told him it was for your birthday.”

Ethan shook his head in wonder. “I’ll have to remember to thank him when I see him next.”

He finally sat and poured a glass, taking a sip and savoring the smooth, smokey flavor.

Meanwhile, Sawyer busied herself with dinner, removing takeout containers from the paper bag and grabbing plates from the cupboard. She plated his dish and passed it to him.

Ethan couldn’t believe his eyes when he looked down at the swirl of black pasta on his plate.

“Is this from Coppa’s?”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered, “...you conveniently mentioned it was one of your favorite restaurants last week.”

“But I don’t recall telling you Linguine Alla Sepia was my favorite dish,” Ethan countered, twisting the squid ink pasta and Rhode Island calamari around his fork.

“You didn’t. I gave the hostess your phone number and they were able to pull up your previous orders in their system.” She continued, “And in case you’re wondering how I knew about the candy bars, well, you left a wrapper in your coat pocket.”

“First, you discover the secret behind Patient X, and now all of this. I don’t know whether to be impressed or scared,” he poked fun.

“Or proud that my mentor has instilled in me the importance of listening and observing,” she suggested with a wink.

“What did you order?” Ethan wondered, as Sawyer reached for her meal container.

“Pizza.”

“Of course you did,” he chuckled.

“Why is that funny?” she asked.

“Rookie, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you would be perfectly content ordering from the kid’s menu.”

“Says the guy eating squid!” Her body trembled in disgust and she pretended to gag, earning a toothy smile from Ethan.

As they dug into their meals, their playful banter eventually faded into a peaceful lull. After a couple minutes, Sawyer finally broke the silence with the question that had been on her mind all day.

“Hey, why didn’t you cancel for tonight?”

“Why would I?” he asked innocently, taking another bite of pasta.

“Surely you had better things to do on your birthday. Dinner with your family? Drinks with friends? A date?”

From the corner of his eye, Ethan could see her staring down and picking at her pizza, appearing almost nervous.

“My dad and I usually go out to dinner. He’s coming up this weekend,” he explained. “To be honest, I don’t care much for the attention, or for people making a big fuss.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I–,” she started.

Covering her hand with his own, he cut her off, “This is perfect, Sawyer. Thank you.”

As the evening wore on, they enjoyed the rest of their meals, drank, talked, and laughed. When it was time for dessert, Sawyer lit a candle, pressing it into Ethan’s tiramisu. She spared them both a solo rendition of the birthday song.

“Make a wish,” she insisted, holding the plate a few inches away.

Ethan’s eyes flitted between the burning candle and Sawyer’s eyes before he blew it out.

Neither had realized how much time had passed until Sawyer cleared the dessert plates and noticed the late hour on the microwave’s digital display.

“Wow, is that really the time?”

Checking his watch, Ethan too realized it had gotten late. Much too late to start any research on the case.

“I’ll find some time tomorrow to review the new case studies. We should probably call it a night.”

Like this morning, disappointment once again flashed across his face. Not realizing that Ethan was only upset that the night had to end, Sawyer misinterpreted his distress as frustration and offered an apology.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get any work done.”

“Don’t be. If I’m being honest…,” he exhaled, “it was nice to have a night off.”

“Then, I'm glad I could help provide a distraction," she smiled, internally breathing a sigh of relief.

Together they cleaned up and waited for her ride.

“Your car is here,” Ethan announced when his phone pinged. Sawyer gathered her things and he followed her to the door.

“Thank you for tonight, Sawyer.”

“You’re welcome,” she beamed up at him.

Suddenly the air became heavy, a standard goodbye not feeling adequate for the celebratory occasion. Cutting through the awkward tension, Sawyer slid her arm over his shoulder and pulled him in.

Ethan far from minded the gesture, but even still, he cautiously accepted the friendly squeeze, placing a hand between her shoulder blades.

The hug only lasted long enough for the intern to wish her boss a happy birthday one last time.

“Happy birthday, Dr. Ramsey.”

Then they parted. When Sawyer cracked the door, Ethan reached over her head to hold it open for her.

“Goodnight, Rookie.”

She offered a small wave and Ethan closed the door with a contented sigh.

All he wanted for his birthday was to spend an evening with the person who made his worries disappear and his burdens feel lighter. Tonight, he got everything he wanted. In fact, much more than he had hoped for. And if birthday wishes came true, there would be many more nights like this in his future.

Tag List: @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey @zealouscanonindeer

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicesmonthlychallenge #choicesoctober2023 #choicesOCtober #choicespromtps #flufftober2023

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dotieeee · 1 year

Text

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 9

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

**********************************************************

Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

non-consensual kissing and touching

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

mentions of gore

mentions of drug abuse

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 9: Courtships with Deadlines

5 Days Until Deadline

You drape a thick, velvet blanket over your shoulders before you go out to the balcony and watch the night give birth to one of the most beautiful sunrises any creature could ever see in their lifetime.

But something has changed: not the beauty of the sunset, but the way you feel about it. You had for so many times looked at it with wonder in your eyes. Now, all it reminds you of is another day in the Kingdom with him: the all-powerful being who had woven your strings of fate and tied it with himself, not caring whether he suffocated you in the process. After he left the room, you never got a wink of sleep; you never even dared close your eyes, fearing he might suddenly pop into your room and force you once more into a vulnerable position. Not wanting to remember your master’s visit last night, you rub your face with your hands to force these thoughts away, suddenly wanting a cup or two of steaming hot coffee with loads of milk dumped in them.

Your mind wanders to the Sleep Doctor you had left in his dreams after a quick, impulsive kiss. Despite liking to take a lot of naps, he actually is an early riser, as you had discovered in your short time in the Waking with him. By now, he should be having the same milky cup of coffee, scrolling through the daily science bulletin on his iPad and muttering to himself as he read the articles, while his favorite cinnamon buns you had popped in the oven happily baked away.

You don’t want to admit it, but you sorely miss Ollie and his cheerful demeanor.

The sun has fully risen in the realm when Morwyn knocks on your door, bringing you a tray of breakfast consisting of your favorite pastries and coffee, prepared just the way you like it. You’re not particularly hungry, but after spotting a cinnamon roll, you contentedly dig in, wondering if Ollie had the same. You share the rest of the generous fare with her and use the opportunity to catch up with her after all these years. When the meal is over, she draws you a bath, then excuses herself, mumbling about preparing your outfit to “his liking.” You ignore the last thing she said, focusing instead on the sea of bubbles that relaxed every tense muscle in your body, savoring every time you have without the Dream Lord hounding your time and attention. Once you’ve dried yourself, you step out of the bathroom in a silken robe, thinking of donning your usual dress. To your surprise and consternation, you find Morwyn in the middle of admiring a blood-red, long-sleeved gown of the finest silk satin, decorated with tiny chunks of ruby around the waist. It’s a dress worthy of a princess.

Except you’re no princess.

“Morwyn, please tell me I’m not wearing that,” You say as you walk to the closet and yank the doors open, expecting to find the clothes you had seen the other day and hoping you get to choose the simplest garb you could find – the closet is empty.

Great. You can’t even choose your own clothes, now.

Unconsciously, you take a leaf after Ollie’s book and rub the back of your head.

“M’lady,” Morwyn calls, her voice slightly trembling, “The Dream King had instructed me to empty your closet and give you this,” she says holding the luxurious dress out. “He says he’d like to see you in it when you meet him later.”

Releasing a defeated sigh, you nod quietly at her and put it on, letting her fasten the ribbon at the back in front of the mirror. The dress feels stifling, and not just because it hugged every curve on your body.

Morwyn gives you a wide, encouraging smile, complimenting, “You look beautiful, m’lady.”

You look just as he intended, you tell yourself. You try to return the smile, hoping it didn’t come out as a constipated grimace.

“Thank you, Morwyn. Has Matthew come around, yet?” The Dream Lord’s words last night were anything but comforting, but he mentioned having his raven come to tell you when it’s time. But for what, exactly?

“Not yet, m’lady. Are you…okay? You look a little pale,” says Morwyn worriedly with her hand on her chin. “If you’d like, I can apply some rouge on your cheeks, doll you up even more?” she innocently suggests, muttering something about “a date” and “looking pretty for the King.”

You shake your head adamantly at the suggestion. No, you don’t want that spurring him on. Wanting to be alone, you say your ‘thank you’ to her and bid her farewell before proceeding to the uppermost part of the palace where your master had said he’ll meet you, hoping for at least a few moments of peace by yourself watching the view from up above.

Thankfully, the balcony is void of the Endless the moment you arrive, giving you time alone to admire the Dreaming Realm in a panoramic view you have never seen before. Your eyes can spot endless, unfamiliar territory and islands you’ve never been in from miles and miles away. Down below you could see the town square, busy as ever, with its tiny residents going about their morning tasks; everything in the Dreaming, right before your eyes – and all you could think of is Ollie.

Due to the events that followed your return, you had not had the opportunity to visit him in his dreams since you left. Your Dream Lord had just complicated things further by forbidding you to step out of his kingdom, making it even more difficult to sneak out and check Ollie's progress. How is he doing, you wonder? Is he sleeping too much due to his eagerness to find you a safe sanctuary away from your master? While you selfishly want him to continue doing so until he finds a solution, you don't want to keep him away from the Waking and living his own life - after all, he has his own dreams to fulfill, and you wouldn’t want to inconvenience him any further.

You need to help him find a way to free you so he can get his own life back, and you need to move faster.

With that in mind, you make a mental promise to visit his dreams as soon as the Dream King has gone away to attend to his duties.

A loud caw, followed by a shout of 'Lady Mera,' interrupts you from your musings. Matthew, the new raven, lands on the balcony railing, flapping his wings before tucking them in.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," you chide him with a pout.

"I can't, you know how the boss is. He's a stickler to his rules," Matthew replies with a tilt of his head.

"Maybe you can drop the fancy title when he's not around, at least?" you suggest with an innocent smile, patting his head several times.

Leaning into your petting, he acquiesces, "Oh, alright. I never thought I'd enjoy being pet as a bird, you know. Why are you early, by the way? I was supposed to come get you as soon as he says so. Eager for the date, much?"

"This isn't a date," you're quick to correct him with a flat tone.

"Uh, it kind of is? I told him yesterday he needed to spend more time with you so he doesn't uh, intimidate you."

Might be too late for that, you note inwardly.

"You shouldn't have," you find yourself commenting with some truth behind your jesting tone, which earns a nervous chuckle from the raven.

"No, but, seriously though, aren't you and the boss, uh...a thing? You see, I've been meaning to ask, but he's mum about, you know,” he starts, obvious in his tone he’s hesitant to approach the matter. “Except he did tell me you’re his consort. Are you and him –”

“No,” you sharply reply, not liking his line of questioning. “Not yet, anyway,” you mumble.

“Ah, so that’s what the date is for, then,” he says, nodding to himself. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah, sure. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Do you… like it? Him, I mean?”

You bite your lip, not expecting Matthew’s question – for him, it was a telling gesture. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. How come you don’t tell him?”

Chuckling humourlessly at his question, you answer, “We’re talking about your boss, here, Matthew. To him, any dissent warrants either an unmaking, a banishment, or a lifetime of nightmares: you take your pick.”

“Tell me about it! Did you know, he had an ex that he sent to – uh-oh .”

‘What is it?” you ask, recognizing the slight alarm in his tone.

“He’s calling for me, I think. I have to go. See you, my La – I mean, Mera!”

Before you could say your farewell, Matthew goes flying off into the horizon and dips below into one of the palace rooms and out of your line of sight. Just as he disappears, your hairs stand on end and a cold feeling washes over you like icy water being dumped over your head.

He’s here, the Voice warns.

From behind you, arms snake up and wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until your back hits a taut chest. Your entire body goes rigid and your breathing turns shallow as you feel a warm breath tickle your earlobe, followed by a whisper:

“You’re early, my dream.”

“I just wanted to admire the view –” your sentence is cut off with your breath hitching; your Dream Lord just dragged his nose down the side of your neck before planting a heated, wet kiss at the base – his lips linger, then suckles on the skin, holding you tighter to himself to keep you from struggling. From your ruby-bedazzled waist, he drags his left hand slowly upwards across your chest, grasping your throat gently and angling your head so his mouth could get better access to the base of your throat, intent on leaving small, angry welts. You close your eyes with a whimper to endure this, repeating Ollie’s name over and over in your head.

“And yet these views are no match to what you offer me in this dress. You are a sight to behold.”

The low rumble of his voice makes you close your eyes tighter, biting your lip to prevent yourself from making any more noise that could excite him further. He seems undeterred by your silence – he spins you around, and, pushing you against the balcony railing, he captures your mouth with his in a fiery lip lock. His hand nestles on the small of your back, while the other grips the back of your neck as his insistent tongue pries your lips apart and tastes your hot cavern. You had tried your best to hold it all in, but treacherous tears escape the corner of your eyes. Your master seems to feel this, for he surprisingly lightens the kiss, his lips stilling over your swollen ones. You turn your head away to will the tears away, afraid that he might see this as another sign of your defiance.

Instead, he plants a gentle kiss on your temple, before saying softly, “I admit my past courtship of you was hurried and rough. I worry that I may have pushed you further away in my haste. I should like to court you once more. This time, I will endeavor to be more patient and earn your affections.”

He kisses your exposed cheek. Sniffling, you open your eyes, but your head remains turned away from his, refusing to meet his gaze. You feel him pull his head away in your silence.

“Will you not look me in the eyes, little dream? Do you fear me?” he asks with a slight edge to his voice, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the skin beneath your ear in an attempt to comfort you.

Is that remorse you detect? It couldn’t be, you remark, but you couldn’t help but meet his blue eyes to try to gauge what he’s truly feeling. Not wanting to give him a reason to further punish you, you say, “My apologies, my Lord, I am just coming to terms still, with…with what you’re asking of me.”

Yet, his darkened gaze tells you that what you just said to try and placate him was a huge mistake.

“What I’m ‘asking?’” he narrows his eyes on you, his voice laced with impatience. “ I’m afraid I’m not ‘asking’ this of you, my Mera. This is the function to which I, your King, have assigned you. This courtship is for your sake alone, that you may grow accustomed to it. We will be united. I will give you five days, after which, we will consummate our bond.”

His final sentence sparks terror in the pit of your stomach. He’s giving you a deadline. Stifling the urge to retch, you swallow thickly before you try to beg, “Sir, I –”

“Enough. I will not have my will questioned,” he interrupts you as he tightens his grip on the back of your neck. “You will be here, in the palace, at all times. You will await my call and come to me when I summon you. I do not mean to be harsh, my dream, but time is of the essence – I was cruelly robbed of mine with you, after all. I shall amend that once I have dealt with the damage left by the Vortex. Is that understood?”

“My Lord, please –”

“Is. That. Understood?” he repeats his question through gritted teeth, clearly unwilling to listen to any more of your pleas.

You look into his hardened, now-silver eyes, attempting to look for any trace of empathy at the situation he’s forcing you into. There isn’t any. Wanting to end your argument so you could be relieved from his presence, you respond with a whisper, “Yes, my Lord.”

Your creator releases a hum of satisfaction as he places a lingering kiss on your cheek, before praising, “That’s a good dream.”

You feel immense relief the moment he lets you go and steps away. You expect him to vanish with a swirl of his sand, but he lingers, standing a few feet before you with his hands behind his back.

“I will call you for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

You could only nod quietly. He takes a small amount of sand from his pouch, presumably to leave, but a sudden question crosses your mind inspired by his previous words. “My Lord, the Vortex…is she…?” you blurt out, slightly hesitating.

“Dead? Yes.”

You bow your head, not knowing how to process the fact. Rose Walker seemed so young and she had so many dreams she wanted to fulfill that you felt them, despite your fleeting interaction with her. You feel your heart clench at the thought of her life being cut short.

“Do not grieve of Unity Kincaid, my dream. Hers is a noble yet necessary sacrifice for the sake of the Dreaming, and of her great-granddaughter, Rose.”

“Unity?” you ask, confused. Wasn’t Rose the Vortex? “Rose is alive?”

Shut up, shut up, NOW, comes the Voice’s sudden warning.

“Yes, she is. You know of her?” He asks, stepping forward, suspicion marring his dark features.

You shake your head, realizing your error; if he finds out you had met with her, he’ll discover your little tryst in the Waking, and if he does, he’ll surely uncover the connection which led to it. That was a stupid, stupid thing to say, you inwardly scold yourself.

“I heard from Lucienne, sir,” you say, mentally crossing your fingers that he doesn’t press any further.

Putting on a blank expression, the Dream King purses his lips, as he releases the sand in his palm.

“I will call for you tomorrow. Do not be late.”

As soon as his form is engulfed in his sand and he vanishes, you make a wild run for the Library. Hidden in one, or two, of those books, are incriminating passages that detail your meeting, and subsequent stay with Ollie, and once the Dream King sees those pages, you could definitely say goodbye to your plans of staying in Ollie’s dreams for good. If he even so much as gets a whiff of your affections of anyone else besides him, there’s no telling what he won’t do to you, and more importantly, to Ollie.

You push the heavy doors to the library quietly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. As noiselessly as you can, you dash through the shelves, skimming through the books in a mad rush. To your alarm, there was no ‘Oliver Chapman,’ not in the ‘O’ or even in the ‘C’ wings. Cursing mentally, you wonder: has Lucienne read them? Worse, has your Dream Lord gotten ahold of them? Are they hiding it from you, knowing you’d try to tamper with them? Letting out a huff of frustration, you sit on the floor, wondering where else they may have kept Ollie’s books of dreams.

The office, whispers the Voice.

Of course. The Dream Lord has an office in the Library, separate from the rest of the space. Not that he needed it, of course; he just usually asks for books to be brought to his throne room where he normally reads them. But why would the books be kept there?

You try to strain your ears for any signs of Lucienne; thankfully, it looks as if she’s out on an errand, so you sprint in the direction of the Dream Lord’s office.

Located at the farthest end of the Library, you’re panting heavily by the time you get there. You push your ear against the doorframe to listen for any sign of life inside. When you hear nothing, you turn the doorknob and push.

Locked.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. There is only one person – or being, for that matter – that has the key, save for the Dream Lord and his Royal Librarian.

You run out of the Library in search of the said being. You find him tending to your favorite garden in the palace grounds, his hands deep in the dirt, planting more of those accursed red flowers – Mervyn the Pumpkinhead.

The keys, attached to his toolbelt, lie discarded beside him, along with his other gardening tools. You know full well you couldn’t just walk up to him and ask for a key to the boss’s office in the library – or is it that easy?

You don’t really have the luxury of planning an elaborate heist for his set of keys, so it’s now or never. Steeling your resolve, you walk up to where Merv is, opting for a much simpler plan.

“Hello, Merv!” you call as you approach.

He stops digging into the flowerbed and turns to you, giving a mock salute. “Hello, kid! What can I help ya with?”

“I’m looking for Morwyn. Have you seen her?” you ask, hoping to put up a convincing act.

He scratches his pumpkin head and replies, “No, I haven’t. Whatcha need her for?”

“I kind of locked myself out of my room, and I need to get something from there,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head to make it look believable.

“Uh, I have the key in there somewhere, but I’m in the middle o’ something, see? Why don’t you take ‘em keys instead? It’s the gold one with the tiny ruby at the bow.”

Bingo.

“Really, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, continuing his digging on the flowerbed.

You grab the keys and take off as Merv calls out from behind you, “Give ‘em back, ya hear?”

“Sure thing!”

It takes you a few good minutes to find the key that fit the doorknob. Once you do, you wildly look around you to make sure you weren’t being watched, before you turn the knob and push the door open.

No one has been in the office for quite some time if the dust on the desk in the middle is anything to go about. The room is larger than you expected, and the natural light streaming through the stained glass windows illuminates the numerous towering shelves of books untouched for many years. Wanting to waste no time, you skim through the many bookshelves. They’re thankfully arranged in alphabetical order, so you find an entire shelf dedicated to the name ‘Chapman’ in no time, with Ollie’s name placed at the farthest end.

Curiously, you pick up the book a few places before Ollie’s name first, and with it, you make a startling discovery: the books of dreams on the shelf not only belonged to random ‘Chapmans,’ but to the males in Ollie’s entire lineage. You just picked the book of dreams belonging to Ollie’s great-great-grandfather.

But, why? Why is Ollie’s book of dreams, as well as his male ancestors’, singled out among the infinite number of dreamers?

“Have I told you before that the Chapmans were cursed? Well, the males, at least,” Ollie’s words from almost a year ago echo in your head.

This isn’t the time to unearth Ollie’s family mystery, though, so you make a mental note to do more research in the future and set those thoughts aside. You carefully leaf through the pages to find the section where you made your appearance – your meeting with him, spanning a year, detailed in twenty-full pages. Setting the book on the floor, you get to work.

Hardbound books were tricky to manipulate, with the pages stitched to a section of the book’s spine, so you use your fingers to remove the stitching of the last twenty pages with care – simply tearing the pages away would leave a sign of the book being tampered with. Once you’re sure there were no traces of your crime, you put the book back in place, and scramble out of the office, locking it behind you. You hand the keys back to Mervyn (“What took you so long, kid? Couldn’t be hard to spot a key with a damn ruby, innit?”) and rush to your room. Barricading yourself inside the bathroom, you set the pages alight with a matchbox you stole from the kitchens before washing the ash away with water.

Look how you’ve turned into a cold-blooded criminal mastermind, you inwardly deadpan.

***

4 Days Until Deadline

Afternoon tea with your Dream Lord isn’t as bad of an experience as you thought it would be.

Matthew had fetched you from your room, and you had followed him to the same balcony you had met him with the morning before. You found your master, already sitting beside a table full of your favorite sweets, drinking tea from his cup. He had stood up to greet you, taking your hand in his and kissing it, before leading you to sit across from him. You both sit in somewhat companionable silence while you munch on a cinnamon bun, with him just sipping his tea and watching you with blue, ever-observant eyes.

Until…

“May I ask a question, my Lord?” you shyly break the stillness, setting down the pastry you’re nibbling back on your plate.

You watch a corner of his mouth turn upwards as he sets his cup on a saucer. “Ask away, my dream.”

“I was wondering,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “If you would allow me to continue forming dreams along with my new…role?”

Just then, you could feel the atmosphere change to one of palpable tension, the small grin vanishing from his face.

Tentatively, you add, “Please?”

“I think not. Your duty is to me, alone,” he declares flatly, his cold stare making you squirm in your seat.

You bite your lip and break eye contact with him.

“It’s what I’ve been doing all my life, your majesty,” you whisper dejectedly.

“And that will change in four days’ time.”

“Will you take away my ability to form dreams, too?”

The Dream King seems to contemplate this. The pause is long, before he responds, his tone slightly softening, “I could never bring myself to take that ability away, my little dream. It is part of who you are. I intend for you to keep it.”

But what good is keeping it if he forbids its use, you ask yourself. Still, you give him a subtle nod and a small ‘thank you’ to end the topic. You leave the cinnamon bun untouched, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore.

The quiet that follows your conversation becomes heavier, so you’re thankful to Matthew for interrupting, quietly delivering news that you couldn’t quite hear. When your King gets to his feet, you swiftly follow his example out of politeness.

“I’m afraid I must cut our date short, my dream. I have matters to attend to.”

You bow your head in response but he takes your chin in his hands and promptly gives you a single, prolonged kiss on the mouth. You close your eyes until he lets go of you, and bids you to ‘stay here.’

Noticing fine grains of sand in the air, you realize he has transported you to your chambers – you turn to him with a protest bubbling in your throat, but you find that he’s gone, and to your irritation, the door locked from the outside.

***

3 Days Until Deadline

Clear as day, Dream of the Endless recalls his first visit to the first Chapman who had crossed his path many centuries ago.

He had not paid him, or any of the other Chapmans, much attention since he had placed a curse on the males of his lineage (except for that one occasion), a curse that felt righteous and just after a slight he had committed against him and his Realm.

Now, as he faces the dream of his only living descendant, he finds himself wanting very much to place another, more potent curse on Oliver Chapman, the mortal whose embrace now cradles the dream he so deeply cherished and ardently pursued.

Or Oliver’s dream-version of you, more accurately.

Morpheus knows this, but he couldn’t help the bitter jealousy burning in his heart as he watches the mortal lavish the lips of your dream-version with his own. He has not felt the urge to smite anyone for dreaming of his creations so lasciviously in a long time – this is an image of you he’s disrespecting, and he refuses to sit idly while this human corrupts you.

An image of you, he corrects.

With a lazy flick of his fingers, the dream-version of you taking Oliver’s shirt off melts before the human’s eyes. He ensures it’s the most gruesome sight this errant dreamer has ever seen: the dream-Mera’s skin peels off starting from her head down to her feet, followed by her flesh boiling and steaming away in an amalgamation of blood and gore, and with a final flair, he makes her bones disintegrate into dust. Oliver’s screams of horror permeate the dream-space – he couldn’t deny the screams gave him utmost satisfaction.

Dream watches curiously as Oliver attempts vainly to regain lucidity by counting his fingers aloud. It’s a trick that could’ve worked, but curiously, the dream remains volatile in his favor.

Morpheus decides to twist the knife, taunting him, “You’ve lost control, lucid dreamer.”

The mortal snaps his head in the Endless’ direction, looking confused, possibly wondering why he couldn’t take over the dream. Medication, perhaps? But Morpheus has not the slightest interest in why a lucid dreamer has lost their ability. He is, however, greatly invested in finding out how such a mortal might develop a certain fascination with you.

“Tell me: what is my dream doing in yours?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Oliver replies, growing more confused. “And who the fuck are you talking about?”

In his fury, Dream could feel himself transforming into a nightmarish image he rarely ever shows his dreamers. No one has ever woken up seeing this form of his with their sanity intact, so he tries to rein in this metamorphosis.

“The dream you were defiling,” he spits out, his bellowing voice echoing the dream-space, “Belongs to me. Explain yourself, Oliver Chapman. My patience is waning.”

Oliver rubs his head in frustration. “I don’t know…I don’t remember.” He looks at both his hands, now coated in blood that isn’t his. “Fuck, there’s so much blood… where is she? She’s injured, I need to help her. I just wanna help her, man. I have to find her…”

Dream narrows his eyes at the mumbling man before him, somewhat disappointed that he could no longer extract reliable information from him in such a state. Recognizing that his fun is over, he transports himself with a pinch of his sand back to his Kingdom. He thinks it’s best that he confront the only other being in existence who had the answers he seeks.

***

When Matthew came flying into the balcony of your room, delivering the message that your King has summoned you to the library, your heart leaped to your chest at the suddenness; your little tea date, as the bird has taken to calling it, hadn’t been due until a few hours after midday. You hastened to dress out of your pajamas and rushed to the said meeting place, your heart beating so fast you could hardly breathe. Had he found out, you wondered?

You find your Dream Lord pacing restlessly to and fro near your favourite reading spot. He stills, looking at you with hardened eyes and clenched jaw, seemingly trying to control the fury you could feel emanating from him. It’s a look that was almost enough to curdle your blood.

He doesn’t even wait for you to get close – immediately he’s upon you, cornering you to one of the bookshelves, making you yelp instinctively. He grabs hold of your wrists and pins them above your head as his body covers your own.

“You will tell me everything, my dream, and I might be inclined to spare Oliver Chapman: why is he dreaming of you?” He growls, his face, inches from yours, contorted in pure rage.

Fighting inwardly to maintain your composure, you respond with another half-truth. “I was injured, my Lord, from a battle I enacted in a dream. I got in his dreams somehow, and he helped me, he nursed me back to health. I stayed there for a while so I could recuperate.”

“Is this the truth, my Mera, or are you keeping anything else from me?”

You wince at the way his grip closes on your wrist further, cutting off the circulation.

“Please, my Lord, you can check for yourself,” you dare meet his eye with your own fearful ones, trying to drive your point. “The dreamer’s name is Belladonna San Mateo – I reenacted a medieval battle for her. It’s the truth, sir, please…”

He pulls his head away as one of his hands releases your wrist and grasps your chin, so you had nowhere else to look but those silvery swirls of galaxies in his cruel eyes. After a few agonizing moments he dips his head, giving you a warning:

“If I find you in the embrace of any other, mortal or otherwise, I shall personally see to their torment in their waking, their dreaming, and their afterlife.”

When he lets you go, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp of relief, clutching your chest to calm your rapid heartbeat.

“There are matters I must attend to. As such, I must regrettably cancel our meeting for this afternoon,” he says, his face once again the stony mask that spelled no room for negotiation. “Stay in your chambers. You are dismissed.”

You turn on your heels and dash away from Library, glad to give the place a wide berth. He had met with Ollie, visited him in his dreams, and didn’t like what he saw. You don’t like the sound of your creator potentially bringing harm to your doctor, so a visit may be long overdue, and it has to be soon.

***

2 Days Until Deadline

As discreetly as you can, you take a plunge into the sea of dreams and navigate your way into your doctor’s dreams, praying to the Fates that he’s asleep at the very moment.

Once you land in the space, Ollie greets you with a tight embrace, one which you return with as much enthusiasm. You had missed him terribly and had been worried out of your wits upon learning of his meeting with your Dream King, so when you let go, you make a fuss over him, checking him and his form for any sign of injury.

“Hey, I know you find me irresistible, but I didn’t know you were bold enough to cop a feel,” he jokes, earning him a half-hearted shove and a slap on the bicep from you.

“This is no laughing matter, you idiot!” you chide him with your arms crossed, relieved on the inside that he was unharmed.

In response, he grins coyly from ear to ear. “You were worried about me. I kinda like that,”

Pouting, you say, “Yes, I was bloody worried. I’m sorry I couldn't visit sooner.”

Ollie turns away from you, scratching the back of his head. “No, it’s quite alright,” he mumbles. “I'm sorry, too. I couldn't do much work on the runes the last few days, Mera. I've been, uh... shit, I... don't know how to say this…”

“What’s wrong?” you get right in front of him to press him, worried at his guilty tone.

With the most apologetic expression you’ve seen in him since the dreamcatcher incident, he replies, “It's the sleeping pills. I've been on them and I think they might've hampered my hypnagogia.”

His revelation makes you drop your jaw in surprise. “Wha-fuck, why are you taking them? And how come you've never told me about this?” You grab hold of his arms to demand answers.

With a placating look, he responds, “I swear, I've been taking them sparingly, but I've been needing a lot of sleep because of... you know. But it's okay now, honest! I didn't take them today, and I'm in full control.”

You place your palms on his cheeks, putting on a serious expression. “You have to get off those. I'm being serious, Ollie.”

“I am! I’ll keep it that way, I promise.”

Not letting go of him yet, you look into those gentle, green eyes, trying to detect signs that he may be hiding something. But this is Ollie, too, you think to yourself. You know him to be bad at keeping secrets. Satisfied with what you saw in his eyes, you let him go, offering a soft apology: “This is my fault. I'm sorry I pushed you into this.”

“No! Hey, no, Mera, you didn’t,” he corrects you with a firm tone. “I've been prescribed these since I was little. You know, the Chapman curse and all that. Oh, and I’ve finally figured out a fitting name for the invention.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’ll call it MiraSleep. It’s a sort of, play with your name and the word ‘miracle.’ That’s what you are to me, you know. Everything I do now, I do for you.”

Not knowing what to say to his heartfelt admission, you stare into those forest-green eyes of his, a look of agreement passing between you two. Finally, you flash him a grateful smile, which he returns with his own sheepish grin.

“So, Ollie,” you start with a slightly more cheerful tone, fighting back a blush creeping on your cheeks without much success. “Mind telling me what it was you dreamed about that involved me?”

He breaks into fits of nervous laughter while rubbing the back of his hair. You already know you don’t like what he’s about to say.

“You’ll never believe it if I told you.”

***

You walk back into the palace grounds with high spirits after you visit Ollie’s dreams. He had immensely cheered you up despite his retelling of a rather salacious dream he had engaged with a dream-version you at that moment he lost his lucidity – the dream with which the Dream Lord had walked in on and had taken absolute offense to. He had assured you that the momentary lapse in his dreaming abilities would never happen again, and with that, you’re confident that by your next visit, you could finally stay in there with him without having to worry about being chased after by a certain Endless.

It's this thought that helps you endure your master’s company and his not-so-subtle touches during your morning ‘date’: as soon as the sun had risen in the Realm, he had summoned you through Matthew to accompany him in a morning walk around his Kingdom.

He smugly parades you around the busy town square with your fingers intertwined in his; on occasion, wrapping an arm around your waist as he rubs circles over your clothed skin; at times, even kissing your hand while not breaking heated eye-contact; all these gestures of his affections for the entire Dreaming to see. To the townsfolk, he introduces you as his princess-consort, much to the Dreaming residents’ delight – they had not had a princess-consort to dote on for eons, and so they lavish the both of you with promises of gifts that they are to send to the palace to congratulate their King and to his ‘pretty little dream-bride.’

Just grin and bear with it, as the Voice comments.

Touching as it was, the Dreamfolk’s welcome of you as Dream of the Endless’ new princess-consort breaks your heart even more, knowing that you’ll eventually disappoint them by running away as soon as you have the chance to. Breaking your previously-cheerful outlook further, you walk past the sea of dreams with the thought of never coming back to form the dreams of the mortals forever once you’re free with Ollie.

Before you left his dream at dawn, Ollie had asked you whether you were actually ready to leave your job for good. He knows there was nothing else you loved more than forming dreams for humans and inspiring them. You had never given it much thought before, but your brief stay with him had also made you realize one thing: while you were planning to abandon the role you had loved with all your heart, he had a device that would do the same for millions of other dreamers. While not under your name, the device Ollie had invented would be his and your legacy, and perhaps you could make peace with that. This comment of yours earns you a proud smile from Ollie that rivaled the brightness of the sun – it’s a smile you’re sure you’ve burned into your memory.

***

1 Day Until Deadline

When you wake, you’re greeted with a massive headache – it’s an ominous warning of your days closing in on you. Only one more day until your King’s imposed deadline, and you could only hope Ollie makes a breakthrough with the runes by tomorrow, or all will be lost.

After you had been dressed up by Morwyn, who as usual, gushed over the gown your Dream Lord has selected for you to wear for the day, Matthew delivers the news of your morning activities. According to him, they will consist of morning tea and brunch with his boss in your favourite spot in the Royal Library. When you arrive in the garb he had chosen for you to wear for the day, he gives your red-satin-clad figure an appreciative look before he greets you with a soft kiss on your lips and leads you by the hand to the leather couch you had fallen asleep in so many times.

You engage in light, minimal conversation during tea. You find yourself almost enjoying your time together, discussing your past dreamers with a sense of nostalgia.

That is until an attendant brings a trolley full of books to his side and you inspect the names printed on the books: each containing the name of every dreamer you had visited in his absence.

Perhaps your face had paled when you noticed the books, for he flashes you a small smirk, before assuring you, “It is only procedure, my little Dream. Lucienne told me that you had insisted on finding me in the dreams of mortals even after it proved fatally dangerous for you. I should like to read of your unwavering loyalty with my own eyes.”

His words only made you fidget in your seat, abandoning the cinnamon swirl you had started to dig into a few moments ago.

Your discomfort does not seem to escape his watchful eyes. “Unless, you had something to hide from me, my Mera?”

From the rim of your teacup, you smile wanly, sipping your tea before quietly shaking your head. Inside, however, your heart is practically threatening to escape your ribcage, sending bile to your throat and souring your tastebuds.

“I imagine this will occupy the rest of my day. Stay and read with me.”

Having no choice but to comply, you excuse yourself to pick out a book, choosing one you had read from cover to cover so many times in Ollie’s study.

Choosing a book was the easy part; concentrating on the pages proves a lot more of a challenge, especially when you have your master inspecting your work right in front of you. His occasional praise of your handicraft almost always makes you jump on your seat, thinking that anytime, now, he could be going through Ollie’s book of dreams, potentially exposing you. It takes all your energy to remain composed before him lest he notices your odd behaviour and decides to investigate the source of your restlessness further. The day goes on agonizingly slow, but thankfully, he only goes through the first half of the pile on the trolley.

With a loud pouf, he closes the final book shut and places them on top of the growing pile on the coffee table. Getting up to his feet, you copy his movement, inwardly glad for a dismissal and looking forward to your time alone, stewing in your own worries. You brace yourself as he steps closer and takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger before dipping his head downwards to plant an openmouthed kiss on your lips, one that you now know you’re obliged to kiss back. You expect the kiss to be brief, but he apparently has other ideas: he wraps his arms around your body and maneuvers you. You both end up on the couch, with you straddling his lap. As if predicting your actions, one hand grips the back of your neck and the other holds your hip in place, preventing you from getting away.

He drags his lips away from yours to the groove of your neck while his hand pulls the sleeve of your gown downwards to expose more of the flesh he had longed to mark for a long time. You let out a whimper in protest, before softly pleading, “My Lord, please, we’re in the library…”

Against your skin, you feel him chuckle deeply. “Would my little dream prefer the privacy of her chambers, then?”

He does not wait for your response. Instead, he continues licking and sucking on the exposed skin below your clavicle, dangerously close to your right breast. You let out a startled gasp as you feel his hand go under your gown and start stroking your inner thigh. Your body seems to betray you at that moment: you start feeling heat pooling in your belly, indicating your arousal, no matter how unwilling.

From a short distance, a door in the library creaks open, and a pair of footfalls you recognize start making their way to Lucienne’s desk.

You feel your King let out a growl of displeasure at the disturbance; a second time his librarian has interrupted you – a second time you owe Lucienne one for deterring him from any further actions.

Against your ear, he then whispers, “Tomorrow could not come any faster, little dream. It will be a union you will remember for eternity.”

With unexpected gentleness, he spins you around and sets you down on the couch beside him, and without a word, walks away as if nothing happened.

You clutch your heart and adjust the sleeves of your dress, willing the tears threatening to spill to go away. Tomorrow, you’ll be gone for good, and well away from him – it’s a small reprieve that allows you to clear your head and quickly lock yourself inside your chambers, holding Ollie’s dreamcatcher like a lifeline.

***

0 Days Until Deadline

My little dream,

Proceed to Fiddler’s Green

…Reads the note that Morwyn delivers to you along with your morning coffee. You hope this visit wouldn’t last long; after this, you had every intention of going back to Ollie’s dream. It’s the day of the deadline your King has given after all, and you’d have no other opportunity to escape if you let this day pass.

Don’t go, the Voice warns in your head; but what choice have you, other than comply? After all, it could just be one of the last commands you’d ever obey from him. Not wanting time wasted, you refuse breakfast and begin the long tread to the heart of the Dreaming, and into Gilbert’s sanctuary.

You had been so close to meeting each other in the Waking, during your stay in Hal’s Bed and Breakfast. It’s perhaps pure luck that your paths did not cross, for you’re not sure how Gilbert would’ve reacted, or what he would’ve revealed to the Dream King once he went back.

After your walk for what seemed like hours, the grassy patch of land full of lush, blooming bushes and thick, tall trees greets you with what feels like an urgent breeze, almost making you stumble.

In your head comes Gilbert’s grave tone: “Mera, what are you still doing here?”

Feigning hurt at his words, you reply, “Hello, Gilbert. Am I no longer welcome in your lands?”

“Why, but of course you are, my dear,” he amends. “But, given how dire your situation is, I hardly think this is the best time for a leisurely visit.”

“What do you mean, ‘my situation?’” you ask, your brows furrowing in confusion.

His breeze blows more insistently against you, making your dress billow along. “The Dream Lord has come to me about two days ago asking about you and a man called Oliver Chapman.”

Shit.

Every part of your body stills at the news, your heart sinking to your stomach.

“Now, if your relationship is anything as close as he had implied, this mortal is in danger, as are you. He has instructed me just this very morning to keep you here for as long as I could while he deals with this Chapman fellow, but I could not bring myself to keep you in the dark, especially as it sounded like you care much about him.”

Fiddler’s Green was just a diversion, the Voice concludes.

“You must go, Mera,” Gilbert says with another strong gust of wind as if trying to get you running.

Turning back to him one last time, you start, “Thank you, Gilbert –”

“Go!”

You need not be told further. With all the strength you could muster, you run as fast as your legs could carry you, not caring who or what you bumped into or if you tripped. With breakneck speed, you make your way to the sea of dreams, and will yourself to land in the dream of the man you love, your only remaining refuge, hoping against hope you weren’t too late to save him.

Ollie, startled by your sudden appearance, runs to your side at once. You gasp greedily for air, clutching a stitch on your side from all the effort.

“Mera, fuck... are you okay? What’s all this rush?” he asks, holding you by the shoulders to support you.

Tears of relief gather in your eyes as you take his unharmed form. You’re not late; you still had time.

Letting the tears cascade down your cheeks, you break the news to him:

“He’s coming. He’s coming for us.”

Author notes on the Chapter:

***********************************************

Link to the next chapter

Oh my god this went out of hand!! I'm sure I had mentioned on a tumblr comment that Ollie would only be around for around two chapters, but sorry, things and plot points seemed to have a mind of their own lol. Dream seems to have found them out!! How will their confrontation go?! Aghhhkk

As usual, thank you for sticking with me in this!! Love lots!!!

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 12/19/22

Edit date: 12/19/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

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@kittenssss-blog

@trinittyy

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xcrystalzero · 2 years

Text

i just wanted to take a moment to look at you

pairing: diluc x gn!reader

note: i'm back... i decided to write diluc for once. based off of a wattpad-worthy story my friend got to experience that i am exceedingly jealous of. also, this is kind of the diluc version of my "sun is up" kaeya fic so if you're into the sexy eyepatch man at all, maybe check that one out :)

As it turned out, Diluc Ragnvindr was just as sleep-deprived as you had thought he would be. A sideways glance at the gently ticking clock positioned on the far wall told you that noon had passed and yet, the man before you didn't seem inclined in the slightest to awake.

For all it was worth, your time spent waiting was not without the most stunning of views. There wasn't a soul in Mondstat who could claim Diluc to be anything less than striking without resentment or envy coloring their tone. There was a certain pride however in noting that you were likely the only one who had seen this particular side of his beauty. The thick, wavy hair he always took such efforts to keep cleanly tied back now lay splayed out on the pillow beneath him, surrounding his head like a fiery crown. You hadn't realized it before, but his eyelashes were extremely long, casting warm shadows into the space under his closed eyes as his chest rose and fell gently in a even rhythm.

Ah yes, the famed Darknight Hero, the only one to brave the darkness in servitude of Mondstat. Looks like it had caught up with him.

With a sigh, you placed the steaming cup of coffee in your hands atop the nearest bedside table before settling yourself on the edge of the bed. Well, it wasn't like you had anything particularly urgent to get done today.

Moving in slow, tentative stretches, you gently eased yourself back underneath the covers. A soft groan left your lips as your back made contact with the plush bedding, your limbs relaxing fully into the soft covers. Sure, the man in your bed was pretty great but just the bed was honestly kind of nice too. Despite his wealth, Diluc wasn't the type to splurge on much but his bedding was always of the finest quality. The man had his priorities straight.

Your eyes were just fluttering shut when the sound of movement next to you jolted you awake once more. You moved immediately to sit up, expecting to see one of the maids standing in the doorway but the moment you moved to sit up, a hand grasped onto your shoulder, gently yanking you back onto the bed.

"Wha-" The words caught in your throat as instinctively, you threw your hands up in front of you to fend off your attacked. In an instant however, those hands were caught, a grip tight around your wrists that pushed them into the sheets above your head. In the moment it took your brain to come back online, you vaguely registered a curtain of red that seemed to surround you, blocking out the thin rays of sunlight making their way through the curtains.

"Are you just about done?" The words are harsh but the soft laugh at the end tells you need to know. Finally composed enough to stop fighting your boyfriend (who was very much supposed to be asleep), you stared up at the man hovering above you with wide eyes.

The world was still red, but you could now identify it as Diluc's hair. the ends of it settled gently around you, a few strands tickling the top of your head as the man shifted his weight forward, bringing his face closer to yours.

"What's all this about?" You managed to get the words out though they sounded a little pitiful even to your own ears. It wasn't your fault that the man you were so lucky to call your partner was this beautiful. You'd been admiring him all morning but in that moment you were sure that you could just lay here staring into those eyes for an eternity longer.

"I just wanted to take a moment to look at you." His tone was once again, almost comically matter-of-fact as though he hadn't just spit out a line that could make anyone in Teyvat swoon.

"Is there really all that much to look at?" You could feel the flush spreading across your cheeks as you peeled your gaze away from his, instead looking very deliberately at the floral curtains on the nearest window.

Diluc let out a soft chuckle as he released one of your wrists, instead bringing it down to your chin, gently tilting your face back towards his. His lips were closer now and you couldn't stop your eyes from flitting down towards them. His next words were a whisper just before his lips met yours.

"More than you can ever imagine."

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin fluff #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader

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arrianna21 · 1 year

Text

~Caramel Eyes, Mocha Paws~ Chapter 3

Summary: As you grow closer to your new werewolf friend, tranquility is disrupted in your small town as rumors of strange creatures begin sprouting.

wolf!yoongi x fem!reader

Word Count: 11,635

#1 | | #2 | | #3 | |

In the last couple of weeks or so, you’ve come to develop a routine. During your shifts, Yoongi usually stops by late in the afternoon for the same cup of coffee before finding a secluded table to sit and work on his music. He claims the calm atmosphere is one of the best places for finding concentration. Something about giving him inspiration when writing lyrics.

Today, he sits in the far corner near the windows as he types away on his laptop. You see the waning sun shine through the glass, casting his dark brown hair into a lighter hazelnut glow. Bringing the steaming mug to him, he glances up at your approach and tugs the ear buds from his ears.

“One hot pistachio latte,” you say, setting the cup down beside him.

His gaze shifts between you and the steaming coffee. “Are you sure you’re not just using me as a taste tester for your strange concoctions before testing it out on the general public?” He wonders as he tentatively picks it up.

You can’t stop the incredulous laugh at his speculation. “No, it’s an actual drink. And how many times have I said don’t knock it until you try it? Besides I even put slightly less pistachio syrup than recommended so it’s not as sweet.”

“With salted brown butter or something nutty related I presume,” he notes after taking a sniff. He carefully sips it, letting the flavor rest against his tongue.

His correct assumption catches you by surprise. It’s even hard for you to smell each individual ingredient despite making it yourself. “Yeah, salted brown butter. You could tell that easily?”

Swallowing, he nods and sets the mug down, steam curling up beside his laptop. “I cook on occasion so I’ve made it before,” he explains.

Nodding, you make note of that piece of information before looking at him expectantly to which he blinks in return up at you. “So what’d you think?”

He shrugs. “Not bad. I like it not as sweet.”

“That’s good. Is it enough to want to get it again perhaps?”

“Only if you’re the one making it, otherwise I’ll stick to my usual,” he answers, already expecting your question as you’ve asked it after every new drink you’ve given him.

It’s a similar response to all the other times, not minding each flavor with the only condition being you have to be the one to prepare it. “Nothing beats that plain coffee does it?”

He props his head in the palm of his hand, eyes watching you with a gleam of mirth in his irises. “Simple is nice. I don’t need all that fancy syrup and flavorings.”

Your face pinches at the thought of such strong coffee, tastebuds immediately reacting to the unappealing memory. “I have to have some flavor with mine or else it’s just too bitter for me.”

“Try adding a splash of milk with a little sugar, nothing else. That should be enough to give it some sweetness,” he recommends, thoughtfully nodding to himself. “Or just a pinch of salt will also do the trick too.”

“Salt?” You eye him dubiously before breaking out into a small grin. “Actually, that makes sense. My parents and I sometimes add salt to fruit so it makes it sweeter.”

“Exactly. It’s the same with coffee,” he says.

“Thanks, I’ll have to keep it in mind. Enjoy the rest of your coffee,” you tell him before heading back to the counter.

While you’re rearranging the desserts in the display case the door bangs open while the poor bell above clangs harshly as two women walk inside. Donning burgundy colored cardigans, their sunglasses cover their eyes while they briefly survey the place. With black hair tied tightly behind her, the first is followed by a shorter blonde who’s on the phone, seemingly arguing about some reservations while her friend in front goes straight to the counter.

You finish putting the treats away and ease your way up to the cash register. “Hi, can I help you?” You politely ask, ensuring your customer service voice is extra chipper.

She shoves her sunglasses above her forehead and gives you a once over before staring up at the chalkboard menu with disinterest. “Yeah, I want a venti hot mocha with two shots of espresso, one pump of vanilla syrup, only almond milk, and add chocolate drizzle and whipped cream.”

Well, it’s not the worst complicated order you’ve ever heard. Scribbling down her drink, you type it up in the system as you carefully read it back. “Anything else?”

She looks behind her. “Diane, what do you want?”

Her friend lowers her phone, keeping her palm over the screen. “I want my usual iced drink,” is all she says before going back to arguing with the unfortunate soul that’s on the other end.

The lady turns back to you. “We’ll do a venti iced vanilla macchiato with soy milk, an extra shot of espresso, six ice cubes,” she emphasizes, “no whipped cream.”

Again, you’re frantically writing it down and transferring it to the computer while repeating it back to her. “Would you like anything else?” Your question filling with dread at the possibility of another ridiculously specific order.

“Yeah, we’ll take two pumpkin scones,” she says though her upper lip curls in disdain as she observes the desserts.

“Actually, can I get the blueberry scone?” Her friend chimes in.

The lady rolls her eyes, not that she notices. “Fine, one pumpkin and one blueberry scone,” she amends.

You read back the orders and tell her the total as she gives you her credit card. Swiping the card, the machine spits out her receipt and you hand it to her to which she crumples it up before tossing it in the trash. “Here or to go?”

“To go, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” she snaps, painted ruby nails tapping against the marble countertop.

Glancing at Elanor who’s still working on the drinks from the previous large order, you figure you’ll just handle these complex ones on your own. Starting on the hot drink, you sift through the fridge only to find a near empty bottle of almond milk. Not enough for any drink let alone hers. Cringing at the upcoming confrontation, you walk to the counter where the women are still standing. “I’m sorry but we don’t have enough almond milk. Would soy or oat be okay?”

“Are you serious?” She scoffs, a hand going to her hip. “The flavor isn’t the same. What kind of coffee shop are you that you don’t have enough inventory?” The woman isn’t necessarily yelling but her voice is loud enough that most people seated nearby can easily hear her complaints as they continuously glance over at the pair. Even Yoongi’s silently observing from his spot in the back corner, eyebrow raised. The woman huffs. “Did you check the back?”

Rather than bothering to argue, you release a sigh yet your customer service smile still remains as you go to the back and open the fridge. Standing there for a moment, your eyes scan the various bottles of ingredients, obviously finding no almond milk before slamming the door shut. You return to the counter empty-handed and do your best sympathetic expression while you set your palms on the counter. “Sorry, ma’am, there’s none.”

“You don’t have another store nearby to borrow some from?” It’s not so much a question but more so an apparent suggestion, as if the tiny shop with homemade decorations and limited space somehow resembles a multi-chain business.

Beside you, Elanor is doing her best not to roughly shake the coffee as she mixes its contents before setting it in the drink carrier and calls out the order.

“No, we’re a local business not a chain,” you tell her.

Crossing her arms, she answers, “Fine, I’ll substitute it with soy milk. If you have enough that is.”

The people with the large order collect their drinks and wince uncomfortably as they head for the door. One drops a couple of extra coins in the tip jar before leaving. Ignoring her snarky response, you snatch a cup and get to work. “We’ll get that ready for you then.”

“Seriously, what is with her?” You hear her mutter not so quietly to her friend. “Could she be any less accommodating? They should be prepared for in-demand items, even if this is a small town.”

“Quit talking before someone kicks us out again and I die of thirst,” her friend complains, having finished her phone call. “You’ll get over it by tomorrow.”

Glancing over your shoulder, the two women are oblivious to the annoyed glares sent their way from the other patrons, most who also happen to be locals here. Even Yoongi watches from his seat, his leg casually propped on the chair in front of him, looking none too pleased at their comments though the only hint is the slight narrowing of his eyes.

You give a small grin when his attention shifts toward you and the corner of his lips quirk up with another slight cock of a brow. Shrugging to him, you’re distracted by the tap on your shoulder as Elanor stands beside you to begin making the iced coffee.

“I’ll beat them with the blender if you help with hiding the bodies,” she mumbles beneath her breath.

A chuckle sounds from you while continuing to prep the coffee. “I think I know a few places in the woods,” you tell her. “Though they’ll throw first punch if you don’t add those six ice cubes.”

She snorts lowly with a roll of her eyes. “We’d still have the upper hand what with all this equipment.”

“True.”

Once the coffees are made, you both set them on the counter to which the ladies take them and leave while complaining how this is nowhere near what the positive reviews people boasted about online. Well, one gripes while the blonde silently listens adjusting her brown-rimmed glasses while carrying the bag of snacks after having slipped a bill into the tip jar. Sharing a look with your coworker, you carry on as usual, thankful they at least left.

Towards the end of your shift, you’re busy sweeping the floors as you finish closing for the night. Elanor already left early as she needed to go to the grocery store before it closed as well. It’s just you with Yoongi as your quiet company who remains seated in his spot.

At least he was, until there’s the distinct clanging of coins hitting the glass tip jar. “Oh my gosh, you’ve got to stop paying for the extra drinks I keep giving you,” you reprimand, setting the broom aside to go fish out his change, earning you a light slap on the wrist.

Yoongi pries your hand away with ease and shoves the container aside before it’s blocked by his arm that he props against the counter. “Consider it a tip for the great service. And for dealing with those rude customers,” he adds with a shrug, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.

Curling your upper lip at the reminder of those two, you opt to just leaving the jar alone. Both you and Elanor deserve a little something after that. “Yeah, Karens aren’t uncommon unfortunately, especially if they’re not locals. But thank you, that’s really kind of you to do. You heading out for the night?” You guess after glancing up at the clock.

He nods. “Yeah, I need to get going. Do you want help with anything?” He gestures to the chairs though his table already has the seats overturned on top.

You wave him off in reassurance. “No, but thanks. You didn’t have to set your table though again, that’s nice of you to do.”

He tsks at that. “Just being a decent patron. Have a good night,” he says, flicking his hoodie over his head while you wave and respond in return before he ducks outside.

As you finish locking up for the night, you glance around the quiet street, only seeing a few people milling about. Zipping up your jacket, you stuff your hands into the pockets while you head for the forest path to begin your trek home. You listen to the crunching leaves beneath your feet while keeping your attention on the tree line spread out around you. The crickets add to the quiet ambience with the occasional rustling from the wind until a snort sounds on your left. Staring into the darkness, you find familiar amber eyes peeking through the branches, observing you intently.

“Hi Wolfy,” you greet to the lupine who takes that as his queue to step out into the open path in all his seven foot glory. The slight vibrations of his footsteps briefly shake the ground beneath you as he approaches until he’s standing right in front. You raise your hand, palm forward while he bends low and presses his nose against the skin in your usual greeting. “How was your day?” You ask.

Wolfy barks softly, jerking his head in a nod while his tail wags slightly from behind.

“Seems like a pretty good day,” you guess with a smile.

He nods again before bumping his snout against the side of your head with a huff.

“My day was also pretty good. Wasn’t too busy with customers except for some annoying people, but it’s fine,” you laugh.

The wolf grumbles before staring at you expectantly.

“What? That’s really all that happened, just a normal day,” you say as you begin walking again.

He follows after you, staying beside you as the two of you continue towards your home before he leans over to snuff the side of your neck, still remaining focused on you.

Giggling, you rub at the spot to get rid of the tickling sensation. “How are my days so entertaining to you?” You wonder. “Surely you have more interesting adventures than me.”

His response is to silently shrug while he merely blinks.

You smile before proceeding to go into more detail about how you spent your day, even including some of the menial tasks you fulfill at the shop. The wolf listens intently to every word, interest keeping his entire focus remaining on you.

“So after Karen One and Two left, I got a nice tip from Yoongi who always insists on paying for the drinks I keep having him try even though I tell him it’s on the house. Now I’m thinking about how I’m going to use it. Maybe I’ll get a new sweater,” you note.

When you glance over at Wolfy he nods in understanding and barks with approval.

“You think that’s a good idea?” You ask, receiving the same response. “I’ll keep that in mind then.”

The walk home goes faster than you expect as you arrive at the edge of the trail. After you both do the same greeting, bumping snout to hand, you step through the grass all while the werewolf keeps watch from among the trees. Every time you turn around to look back once you reach the door, he’s not in direct line of sight but you still feel those golden eyes observing from afar.

~*~

The next morning you opt for thicker clothes as fall begins bringing in cooler days in preparation for winter. Despite washing your face and performing your usual morning routine, you can’t resist the constant urge to yawn as you rub tears from your eyes while your feet shuffle along the hardwood floor. Heading downstairs, the worn steps creak beneath you while family pictures from a range of outings greet you as you pass by.

In the kitchen, you find your dad sitting at the dinner table eating breakfast while reading the morning paper. “Someone’s up early,” he notes before taking a bite of his eggs. Hearing your approach, Biscuit abandons scarfing down his food as he trots over to you. He bumps into the back of your dad’s chair until eventually finding you, tongue lolling out from his mouth while his blue eyes stare up at you with one being slightly more cloudy than the other.

You hum in affirmation, petting your golden retriever on the head as he keeps knocking against your legs. “One of Juliette’s kids is sick so I offered to cover,” you explain as you go around the counter with the dog at your heels. “Mom already left for work,” you guess upon seeing no sign of her.

“Yep, they needed her again,” he answers without looking up.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave, you see it’s barely past five. “This early in the morning?” You question, fetching a glass from the cupboard and filling it with tap water before drinking.

“Apparently her team is still working on that conservation project. They’re pulling extra hours since the deadline’s coming up. And that’s why I stick with the night shift,” your dad responds, the crinkle of paper sounding as he turns the page.

“Because you can sneak away to the break room and get extra sleep without anyone noticing?”

He clears his throat, the chair creaking as he shifts his weight. “I can do whatever I want for that half hour and they won’t care. But the best part is there isn’t another soul in that part of the building. No interruptions, just a quiet space.”

“That does sound pretty nice,” you agree, taking another sip of your water. Even though he’s only worked at Keaton Enterprises, a technological security software company that’s recently expanded to this area, for less than a year it’s been a nice change for him despite the longer drive. While rifling through the pantry you can hear him muttering under his breath. “What are you mumbling about over there? Which sports team lost this time?” You ask, eventually plucking a granola bar out from the various snacks it’s hidden behind.

Your dad grumbles, taking a swig of his coffee before answering. “None of mine, thankfully. But GlamOrg is building another condo place, except this one will be near the town square. After just putting one near the lake last year,” he scowls.

His news causes your face to pinch, already preparing for the inevitable loud construction and overall nuisance to come. It also makes you wonder why they’re still building more properties in this area. Glamour Organization mostly gets its income from the various high-end boutiques and clothing shops from the major cities but has recently begun expanding into some of the more local towns to supposedly offer better opportunities for people. With the increase in the upscale stores, the surge of tourists who come for the “aesthetic wilderness and authentic small town vibes” that piques their interest, it’s helped the town’s businesses overall but the consensus isn’t exactly positive. The locals aren’t going to be as lenient if the expansion doesn’t actually slow down soon.

“Maybe it won’t be too bad,” you say, attempting to sound cheerful if not at least hopeful.

It’s met by him snorting sarcastically. “Hm, you and I both know it just means more traffic and higher taxes,” he gripes. “Next thing you know there’s a fancy, overpriced mall and then things will never be the same.”

You wince, remembering how mom’s hometown eventually went from vast fields to large concrete warehouses for the expanding plant facilities. At least shopping malls are more attractive than chemical plants, but still not quite sustainable either. Already you can hear your mother’s rants about it.

“Don’t jinx it,” you complain, petting Biscuit one more time before heading for the door with your breakfast.

“Tell that to them. Hey, be careful coming back tonight. They’re reporting a possibly dangerous creature in the area. I know you like taking the trails home so just keep an eye out,” your dad warns.

That catches your attention as you stare at him incredulously, fingers about to tear at the wrapper. “Dangerous creature?”

He nods. “Eh, some tourist got attacked by a wild animal, nothing too serious. You’re probably fine, but you can never be too careful. Just stay alert for anything suspicious.”

While you do tend to be vigilant, your new friend can probably take care of it no problem, not that your parents need to know. “Of course, dad, I always pay attention on my walks,” you reassure him as you open the snack and take a bite of the crunchy granola bar before heading outside.

~*~

At work, you’re making multiple hot chocolates and coffees as people seek shelter from the chilling air that seeps across the town. Despite it being a sunny afternoon it has barely thawed away the icy weather from this morning. Though the heater is working overtime, the warmth doesn’t last between the cold windows and entrance door opening every couple of minutes.

Even as you remain busy and constantly preparing drinks, you can’t avoid the recent news that’s spreading like wildfire. Nearly everyone is either reading from the free stack of newspapers or murmuring to each other about the attack. You catch a glimpse of the headline that reads ‘Wild Animal Attacks Hiking Tourist.’ Weird.

When there’s a break in the rush, you head to the back and find Elanor reorganizing and updating the inventory on the computer while you proceed with mopping the floor. “So what have you heard about this supposed animal attack?” You ask her.

Elanor groans with a roll of her eyes. “Ugh, enough to know that I’m tired of hearing about it,” she complains. “But as far as I know it’s just some lady insisting this town is haunted or cursed just because a random animal attacked her.”

“Was it maybe a coyote or bear? I don’t know how bad her injuries are.”

Her eyes remain focused on the iPad while she types in the count for each item, switching between that and the wooden shelves. “I don’t know. According to the paper, it said she wasn’t seriously hurt besides heavy bruising and some lacerations but she’s hellbent on suing the city for not having proper signs that this area has dangerous animals.” She shakes her head. “I think she’s making it worse than it actually is.”

Was all that from the animal or did she fall? Unless she got lucky and somehow didn’t need stitches. As you continue moving the mop across the floor, you consider these possibilities while trying to piece all the information together. “That’s weird though because we don’t really have animal attacks. Not that I can remember.”

“Yeah, I know which makes her whole story suspicious,” she notes, raising her head to face you while her eyebrows quirk up knowingly. “She probably just fell and injured herself that way.”

Before you can come up with a retort to her pointed remark about your own injury, the entrance bell chimes open, signaling the arrival of more customers and Elanor jerks her head in its direction. “You mind taking care of that? I still have to go through all the beans and syrup still.”

“Of course,” you tell her, rounding the corner to find a group of college students coming inside. They give you a long list of to-go orders but at least it mostly consists of caramel macchiatos and hot chocolates along with a few others. As you begin prepping all the drinks, you can’t help but listen in on their conversations as they’re not exactly quiet.

“I’m serious!” One of the guys claims as he shows another girl his phone. “This lady says she was attacked by some monster last night.”

Her face pinches in mild disgust at whatever she sees on the screen before directing her gaze towards him. “You think it was just a predator with rabies?” She asks.

“Maybe,” he agrees, “it seems serious enough that the police are investigating the trail where she was attacked.”

“They’re probably just making sure it’s not a threat to the public instead of some random encounter,” another of the girls chimes in.

The guy standing beside her decides to also provide his own thoughts on the matter. “She could be telling the truth though. Maybe this thing wasn’t normal.” His admittance is only countered with eye rolling and looks of disbelief.

“Oh be serious,” the girl scoffs. “It’s not like she ran into big foot or something.”

“You never know. No one’s been able to find definitive proof yet,” he insists.

While you’re blending, the noise drowns out their conversation yet you don’t miss the distinct chiming of the bell above the door. Turning your head slightly, you see a familiar dark hoodie approaching the counter.

You wave as you head to the cash register. “Hey Yoongi,” you yell above the noise, your greeting drawing his attention away from his phone as he glances up.

He stuffs the device in his pocket while nodding his head at you in return. “Y/N. Long time no see,” he says.

“I know, I can’t believe it,” you laugh. “Just your usual for here?” You’re already ringing it up as he nods and pays. “Okay, it’ll be just a minute.”

Returning to the blender, you shut it off and begin pouring the coffees into cups. Setting all the drinks in two separate cardboard carriers, you hand them to the group of college students which the girl in front takes with a quick thanks. The others each grab their own, leaving a couple in place while they begin drinking. As they head towards the door, you begin pouring the still steaming plain coffee into the mug for Yoongi.

“You and your conspiracy theories, Thomas,” one of the guys jokes with the guy beside him by slapping him on the back. “If only you put this much research into your essays.” The others laugh at his response while Thomas shakes his head.

“She literally told them that if she didn’t know better that it was a werewolf of some kind. That’s probably why they’ll just write it off as a coyote or wild dog,” he interjects.

That causes your head to shoot up in their retreating direction as you’re passing the cup to Yoongi who you barely register stiffening in response. Werewolf? But Wolfy indicated he was a protector of sorts. He wouldn’t harm a human, right? Could it be a rogue werewolf then?

You don’t hear the rest of what they say as the door clangs shut behind them. Frowning to yourself while you’re lost in thought, you jump slightly when the warm touch of fingers meet your own as Yoongi takes the mug.

“Still thinking about that supernatural research of yours?” He muses with a faint quirk of his lips and tilt of his head, brown hair shifting across his forehead.

“What?” The question sounds more concerned than you mean for it to be as you reflexively panic upon hearing the word supernatural.

He lifts his chin toward you. “You were pretty lost in thought for a minute.”

Going around to the counter with all the straws and other coffee fixings the customers use for their drinks, you busy yourself by wiping it down with a rag. “Just surprised by the news I guess. This is usually a pretty quiet place,” you note, roughly wiping away the few granules of sugar and minute drops of syrup. Out of all the days for it to be relatively clean.

“Yeah, weird,” he eventually agrees, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you much to your surprise. With his other hand, he takes a sip of coffee while casually watching you begin reorganizing the variety of multicolored sugar packets.

Putting the packets into the proper containers, you keep focused while he continues drinking beside you. “New hangout spot?” You inquire, righting the coffee stoppers that haphazardly stick out like a chaotic bouquet of sticks.

His response is to shrug, switching the mug to his other hand near the wall while shoving the now vacant one into his pocket. “Not exactly. More so just wondering why you seem on edge.”

“I’m not on edge,” is your automatic response while you lightly scoff at the idea. The expectant stare you receive has you amending your statement to, “At least not as much as everyone else around here is.”

“The dramatic headlines and hushed rumors aren’t shocking enough for you. But you’re worried about something,” he discerns, taking another swig while keeping his gaze fixated on you.

Crouching down, you open the bottom cabinets to restock the napkin dispensers and buy yourself some time while you think of a response that veers far away from a certain wolf of yours. “Mostly that this town is about to be the next haunted tourist attraction overrun with ghost hunters and people looking for trouble that’s not actually here.” Not exactly pressing matters to you at the moment but it’s also not a lie either. As if GlamOrg or any other corporations need another reason to build more crap here.

“Interesting,” Yoongi hums, a gleam flickering in his brown eyes as he continues sipping his coffee. “Fair point, though why the hostility to ghost hunters of all things?”

“They’re annoying,” you randomly assert. Truth be told you actually don’t give a shit but they’d get old quick if they suddenly decided to explore every inch of town looking for evidence of the supernatural. Not to mention what would happen if they did find something or someone. “Tourists are fine overall but not if it turns Rustic Hallow into some main attraction.”

He ponders this for a moment before saying, “It’d help business at first before bigger companies get the same idea.”

“Yep, and I’m not giving up our parks and hiking trails for stupid blocks of concrete,” you insist, shoving the napkins a bit more viciously inside the container than intended, the thin paper crinkling beneath the force.

From your peripherals, you see him nod in understanding. “True, then the wildlife would be in disarray from the deforestation and you won’t be able to go looking for wolves.”

“Exactly,” you agree, instantly catching yourself but not before you scowl at your mistake. And Yoongi’s smug grin isn’t helping either. “Will you cut it out with the wolf shit,” you complain, throwing a blue sugar packet at him.

It smacks the front of his hoodie and he easily grabs it before stuffing it back into the container. “But it’s so much fun. Nice flags by the way,” he remarks.

“Huh? Oh, yeah that was Elanor,” you say upon recognizing the pink, yellow, and blue sugar packets taped to the wall in a vertical line. “She made the pan flag while I did the trans one,” you explain, indicating to the other one. “We were just messing around but our manager doesn’t mind.”

“That’s pretty cool,” he muses, staring off ahead towards the windows before pushing away from the wall. “Anyway, I’ll let you get to work. Good luck.”

Your face pinches in confusion though it doesn’t take long until realization dawns upon hearing the bell chime as you see yet another large group of people enter. Yoongi gets situated at his usual spot while you return to taking orders and making drinks.

~*~

Later that night you’re walking with Wolfy who seems more on edge. Even though he continues listening to your ramblings, the lupine keeps his eyes trained towards the surrounding forest. When you finish talking, he remains concentrated on the trees, ears twitching every time the wind so much as whistles in between the branches.

“Wolfy?” The call of his nickname has him jerking in your direction with a cock of his head. “Everything okay?”

He nods with an assured bark.

“I guess you know about the attack too?” You tentatively ask.

Another nod.

“Yeah, it’s all everyone’s been talking about today.” Most people have been discussing the news practically all day yet some are rather nonchalant, believing it to be just an unfortunate encounter with a wild animal. The locals carried on about their day with the added gossip, leaving only the tourists and visitors to whisper amongst themselves about whether or not they should cancel their nature hike or skip fishing down at the lake. Though a few of the residents did joke about the idea of a possible werewolf wandering in the woods which just made the tourists more paranoid at the mere thought. Like that one college student.

But Wolfy isn’t feral. Yet you’ve seen him in action, that Halloween night when he decimated those goblins attacking you. He’s powerful but not evil. He wouldn’t do something like that. Right?

A light pat of a bushy tail hitting against your back has you jumping in surprise, inner turmoil immediately dispersing while the werewolf beside you hums in concern. “Sorry, I got lost in thought. People have been getting a little freaked out by it, letting their imaginations get ahead of themselves,” you explain.

He quietly watches you and you’re quick to divert your eyes away. Letting out a soft rumble, he leans close while you keep your gaze fixated on the ground. A huff of air hits the side of your face causing you to eventually look up at the wolf who’s still staring.

You release a sigh before blurting out, “You don’t know anything about what happened, do you?”

There’s a short pause as the lupine processes your words. He shakes his head, scrutinizing you carefully while you do the same, your eyes meeting shining gold.

Your footsteps slow, uncomfortable dread pulling down on your legs, the atmosphere becoming awkward. The heavy steps next to you matches your pace, eventually stopping when you do. “I mean, you wouldn’t, you didn’t hurt anyone, right?” Wincing at what you’re basically implying, you try refraining from spewing out any rambling thoughts, instead adding, “Of course accidents happen, and we haven’t known each other long so I’m still learning, you know?” So much for keeping your prattling in check. Why not just accuse him while you’re at it? Piss off the supernatural creature that can crush bone with hardly any effort.

Despite the cold air, your palms are warm and you wipe them against your pants before you clutch onto the soft fabric of your jacket, holding them still. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound accusing, it’s just the victim described the creature as a werewolf and you’re the only one I know. Not that I think you did anything,” you rush, “I just wanted to ask.” Your words wander off when a cold snout presses against your forehead, putting a little pressure that slightly pushes your head up.

It draws your attention toward the werewolf that bends to match your height while you blink in rapid succession. A huff of warm air fans across your face while he stares directly at you with an intensity that’s not scary but instead unwavering.

Blowing out a gentle breath, you conclude, “I’m blowing things out of proportion, aren’t I?” Your assumption is met with a shake of his head. A claw gently taps against your temple as your friend gives a short nod of approval. “So you like when I interrogate you is what I’m getting at if you don’t mind my questions then,” you jokingly respond.

He sends you a dull stare before rolling his eyes with a shake of his head as he resumes walking, his receding shadow leaving you directly beneath the light of the moon and lampposts.

You rush after him, feet moving rapidly so you can keep up with his long strides while you do your best to follow along. “Could there be a rogue werewolf possibly out here?” You quietly wonder.

Again, he denies the idea with another shake of his head, his eyes narrowing to the ground as he thinks about it.

Pursing your lips, you mutter, “Was it a supernatural creature too?” Your fingers involuntarily lift to twine and untwine together while the wolf contemplates for a moment before his shoulders barely lift in a shrug.

Wolfy shakes his head as he snorts, a growl rumbling low in his chest, shutting his eyes though you catch a glimpse of scarlet that bleeds into his irises. He grumbles in dissatisfaction, frustrated with something before heaving a deep breath and calms himself.

“Everything okay?” You ask, readjusting the jacket you’re wearing, pulling it closer to retain the heat.

He nods, lips pulling back and revealing those sharp canines as he smiles in reassurance. Always being nothing but kind to you and yet you feel a little bad for asking if he did it. Whatever, it’s fine. Everything’s okay.

Silence descends upon your walk home, weighing you down in your own awkwardness as you walk before you can’t take it any longer. “I figured it wasn’t you, just to clarify,” you blurt out, stopping yet again in your own tracks. “We barely know each other but still you’re not—what I mean is,” while you struggle for words he reaches out and carefully lets his hand rest on top of your head.

He pats it once causing your head to bob slightly from the force even if he’s being careful as his eyes remain on yours. Ever so slowly, his hand moves down the side of your face until eventually coming to a stop where he cups your cheek. The side of your face is engulfed in thick fur that carries such warmth yet it’s not overwhelming but rather comforting. Yet beneath the soothing gesture, there’s a faint tremor within the hand that touches you. It radiates up to his forearm, barely noticeable.

You almost miss the scarlet flecks that pulsate within the golden irises as you wrestle for words amidst the intimate hold you’re experiencing. Lips mouthing incoherent words, your brain eventually reconnects as you begin talking again. “I guess what I mean to say is you’re the one that actually protects us from the monsters,” you say after a minute. “I just hope people don’t get the wrong idea and you get hurt because they got scared and reacted.”

In response, Wolfy blinks once then yawns, his jaw opening wide to showcase his fangs yet again before casually licking his lips with a smack.

“Okay well excuse me for worrying about your safety,” you scoff though you’re also smiling. “I know how strong you are.”

He gives a pleased grunt before removing his hand, mindful of his claws as he does and he slightly shakes his head with a snort in return. Then he’s nudging you with a tender push as he guides you forward with a hand against your back.

The chorus of singing crickets is your only consistent background music while you both continue walking. It’s accompanied by you asking, “So did you do anything fun or interesting today?”

His response is to shrug with a short sniff.

“Oh come on, you always say that,” you joke, giving him a huff of your own.

He merely rolls his eyes yet he’s grinning as well.

You happen to look down at your feet just as you catch movement right in front of where you’re stepping. Gasping with a slight yelp, you jerk to an abrupt stop only to suddenly be yanked back and into a strong embrace. Wolfy keeps a tight grip with one arm while his other remains outstretched, his body taut and defensive as he checks for any unexpected attacks. A deep growl sounds from him, reverberating from his chest into your own, bones shivering in response. Your heart pounds rapidly in your ribcage, not just from the surprise but also from his sheer quickness, and you feel his own thrumming against your back as well.

When nothing happens and the forest remains still, you watch the ground as a gray snake slithers across in front. The dim lamppost provides just enough light to shine on the little creature while it carries on its way.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you release the tension from your muscles as you slump against him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so startled. It’s probably just a garden or rat snake,” you tell the werewolf who’s still apprehensive.

At your words, you feel him slowly ease up as he lets you down. Your shoes barely brush against the forest floor before you’re pulled back and pressed firmly against his torso, his hold remaining steadfast. The tip of his snout bumps the crown of your head before he begins walking forward with you still held tightly against him.

“Wait,” you realize, “are you seriously going to carry me all the way back home like this?” You can’t help but laugh when he grumbles from above in response. Tilting your head up, your eyes meet full crimson that catches you by surprise. “Wolfy, I’m okay,” you gently reassure him. Even if your arms are stuck, you manage in raising your hand to pat his forearm. It somewhat helps, the scarlet draining as a deep gold pools within his irises in return.

Regardless, he still proceeds in carrying you the rest of the way, which isn’t much further and you’re eventually set down on your feet right at the edge of the tree line. “Thank you for the free ride,” you tell him to which he responds with yet another snort and bump of his nose to your head. “I’ll see you soon I guess?”

He nods with an affirmed grunt.

Reaching up, you hold your hand out for him to tap his snout against your palm in your usual greeting and then scratch the side of his head just below his maw. Your lips quirk up as his eyes slide shut while he emits a low rumble of contentment that vibrates within the bones of your arm. Once you lean away, he pulls back and shakes his head. “Take care,” you tell him while he huffs in affirmation, nodding for you to do the same.

Backing away, you watch him delve further into the forest before you continue towards home.

~*~

On your day off, you’re curled up in the lounge chair at the bakery while munching on a strawberry roll cake. While still rather cool inside, it at least provides protection from the chilly air outdoors. You take another bite of the pastry while sifting through the books you got from the library. Most of them just talk about the usual myths relating to werewolves in general or depict folk stories from around the world. Nothing quite useful as they don’t seem to match your particular werewolf friend. Again, not some mindless, bloodthirsty monster.

You pick up the Fables or Folklore: What’s in Your City? book and read the back. Cities with various legends that could possibly be true. Finding the table of contents, you skim through the listed cities, bypassing most of the larger ones only to stop short at the sight of Rustic Hallow. How did your small town end up making the list?

Flipping over to the correct page, you see an introduction along with one bolded section. Quaint town home to magic barrier of darkness?

A peaceful place with bountiful forests and wildlife, this small town may possibly be hiding a dark secret. Though no evidence has been confirmed, sources say a barrier lies within the deep recesses of woods where evil creatures lie in wait for unsuspecting victims.

Believed to be a failed ritual by an alleged cult, it’s said that a hole was opened and darkness spread like an infection before eventually being contained by some unknown entity. No one has definitive proof this exists as no one has yet to find it, but what’s better than taking a hike in these trails to find out?

Cringy writing aside, the author isn’t exactly wrong. Yet you also didn’t expect anyone to actually know about the forest of monsters. Checking the sources, it doesn’t list much except for databases and local papers. Nothing about individual people. Even this book itself is written by someone who just compiled all these stories together. Not to mention, what cult are they talking about?

“How’s the food?”

The sudden question breaks you from your reverie as Seokjin slips into the chair across from you. He has a couple of tiny cookies tucked into a napkin while he chews on some more.

“It’s really good as always,” you confirm, wiping up the leftover whipped cream with a berry and pop it in your mouth.

Seokjin grins with a satisfied nod. “Of course, only the best is made here,” he reassures yet the tips of his ears turn a shade of red upon hearing your compliment. “Good book?” He asks, motioning to the splayed open pages.

“Yeah, it’s just about supposed supernatural stories in different cities and apparently we’re in it,” you say with faux surprise.

He reaches across for the little paperback and skims through it before giving an unimpressed scoff. “Sounds fake,” is his response as he slides it back towards you. “Is this for an assignment or some class?”

You tentatively shake your head. “Just for fun,” you admit. “I got curious about our town’s history and now I’m even more intrigued about this cult that’s mentioned.”

“Ayy, don’t be trying to summon demons or make any deals with them,” he warns with a scowl.

“I’m not,” you groan. As if this town needs another creature wreaking havoc along with whatever’s already lurking about. But if you can find out something about this cult, then maybe there’ll be more information about the dark forest and whatever attacked that tourist. If that’s where it even came from.

Glancing at the clock hanging above the decorative potted plants, you chew on your lower lip before letting out a resigned sigh. “I’ll probably get going before it gets too late.” Despite it only being 5:30, the overcast clouds further descend the streets into night. Burrowing beneath your blankets and catching up on your mystery show will have to wait it seems. You can feel yourself recoil upon seeing the condensation forming on the bakery’s windows. “Thanks for the food,” you say smiling as you collect your things.

At that moment, a timer trills from the back, the sound causing you both to jump before Seokjin gets to his feet. “Thanks for delivering the coffee yesterday,” he responds, slipping his apron on while retrieving the bread from the oven. “I was finishing a wedding cake along with a three-dozen order of donuts for someone’s business meeting that they needed last minute and tea wasn’t doing it.” The fresh scent of baked bread wafts throughout the space and it has your stomach wanting to stay for seconds.

“Yeah, I don’t mind. It’s not like your place is far. Though I’m surprised you don’t have a coffee machine for emergencies,” you note.

“Because your coffee is better. Just like our tea is better, no offense,” he adds, setting the tray aside so he can insert another one loaded with red bean buns into the oven.

You shrug in agreement, adjusting the strap of your bag as it nearly slides off your shoulder. “That’s accurate. But so are your baked goods, luncheon meals, and plants,” you continue, pointing out the variety of items for sale.

“Hey,” the baker chides, “just because both of our stores somewhat overlap on desserts doesn’t mean only one deserves all the praise. A café and tearoom slash garden shop aren’t the same.” He restocks the display cases with the fresh bread then proceeds to wash his hands. Drying his hands with a towel, he tosses it over his shoulder before turning back to you. “So please keep telling people we’re not merging,” he wearily sighs with upturned lips.

“Are the elders still insisting on it?” You wonder though you already know the answer even before he nods. “I mean you could just sell regular coffee to appease them.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “The book club members and everyone else that keeps asking can go without it. I’m not encroaching on someone else’s business. Besides, Cindy worked hard to get that place up and running. Plus,” he jams a finger at the tall display case full of gorgeous porcelain tea sets, “we’re a tearoom.”

“True. No one says anything to us, they just get their drink and either stay or leave,” you smugly tell him while he scowls in return.

“Because it’s a café and they accept that but for some reason the tearoom needs coffee,” he complains, offended at the mere thought. “It doesn’t even make sense. Why come here when the café is close by? Even the regulars, albeit not always locals, will recommend adding some as it will help improve business. Serving coffee will help the tea shop, seriously?”

Resisting the urge to smile, you instead keep your face neutral, eyes softening in sympathy while he finishes his rant with a frustrated huff. “There’s always compromising,” you reiterate before letting out a laugh as he painfully grimaces. “I’m just saying. And I highly doubt it’ll hurt the café.”

He situates himself to rest his palms on the granite counter, leaning forward until he’s hunching his shoulders and loudly whispers, “Get out. Or I’ll ban you for soliciting,” he threatens.

You gape at the warning, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “The audacity,” you complain. “But then your sales for your blue orangeade tea would drop and that’d be a shame.”

“My blueberry and orange fusion would still do well,” he counters. “Now go, off with you.” Seokjin flicks his hands, shooing you away while you wave in return.

“Tell Hobi I said hi. And I’ll probably see you again soon,” you say, exiting the warm store only to shudder at the cool air. The library thankfully isn’t too far, sitting just on the outer edge of the square and you walk quickly to get away from the frigid weather. As you approach the entrance, a guy is also heading that way and he holds the door open for you while you quietly thank him.

Once inside, you return some of the books but keep a few to continue reading. You head down to the archives and begin searching for history about this town, specifically anything regarding an apparent cult. After poring through the old computers, it does spit out a possible book reference and you jot the number down. Going down the rows, you eventually come to the right shelf, counting each one before peering up. You stretch an arm up but grumble lowly at the shelf that’s two rows too high. Checking the other sections for a step stool or even one of those stick grabbers, you find neither but instead see the guy who held the door open for you earlier. He stands by a shelf, skimming through one of the books before putting it back and reaching for another.

Not wanting to have a near miss like before, you decide on asking for help this time. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you but could you help me grab a book please?” You ask as you approach causing him to glance up from the book summary he’s reading.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he says with an easy smile.

Leading him back around to your particular shelf, you point up to the tan book in the middle. “It’s just up there. The number is H318.” Using his long arms, he retrieves the hardback book with ease and hands it to you. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Anything else I can get you?” He asks and it’s then that you detect the Australian accent.

“No that’s everything, thanks again,” you say, wrapping your arms around the thick tome and holding it tightly. “Doing some research of your own?”

He glances down at his own book with a chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. My brothers and I came to get some fresh air since we’re on break. I wanted to see what landmarks and unique places we could go exploring,” he explains, indicating to the book he’s holding. “Guidebooks can only tell you so much, you know?”

“I get that. We have plenty of places to go but the town square is where you’ll find most of the shops and some of the fields nearby are really pretty. Is there something in particular you’re wanting to see?”

“What about hiking trails? Any good ones worth checking out?”

Please don’t let him be one of those thrill seekers. Judging from his athletic build, he surely seems active enough. Maybe he just likes working out and exercising a lot. You hesitate slightly before answering, “There’s definitely a lot to choose from but I’d recommend the magnolia orchard. It’s usually nice during this time of year. But maybe stick to the daytime rather than late afternoon or evening, just to be on the safe side,” you advise.

This causes him to tilt his head in confusion. “Oh, are you talking about the recent attack?”

“Kind of hard to miss, right,” you note to which he gives a nod of agreement. “But I wouldn’t worry too much, the woods are normally safe.”

His lips turn up into a smile, dimples peeking out as he does so. “Nah, it’s all good. We’re not worried about it. But thanks for the tip.”

“Of course. Thanks for helping me out,” you reply, motioning to your book. “Hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“Definitely plan on it. I’m Chan, by the way,” he says.

You introduce yourself as well and he extends his hand out for you to shake. When your hands touch, you can’t help the involuntarily flinch upon feeling the coldness of his skin.

“Sorry, still a bit chilly from the weather,” he apologizes with a grimace.

“I get it. And it’ll only get colder from here on out. But if you ever need a place to warm up, the coffee shop is pretty good if I do say so myself,” you suggest.

He grins at that, perfect white teeth on full display. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Before either one of you can say more, the grandfather clock from nearby chimes, the sound echoing in the space as it marks the time. Chan winces and rubs the side of his neck. “That’s probably my queue to head back. But it was great meeting you,” he quickly adds.

You nod in return. “Yeah, nice meeting you too. Stay warm.”

“For sure,” he reassures before adding, “you too.”

Waving one last time, you watch as he silently disappears around the corner.

~*~

The next day, it’s just you and Yoongi at the coffee shop where you’re going through the task of cleaning up before closing time. Since he offered to help with sweeping the front area despite you insisting that you can manage, you finish at the counter before moving to the next chore. You head to the back and ensure everything’s put away correctly. But as you turn the corner of one of the shelves, you nearly run straight into a floating yellow dust cloud. Yelping, you lurch into the shelf behind you, knocking over a few coffee bags while a blender clangs loudly to the floor. The will o’ wisp flies back as it shimmers into a pale shade, almost translucent.

Before you can utter a word, the employee door bashes open, slamming harshly against the wall, causing the creature to hide in a flurry. Yoongi stands right at the entrance, body poised in a defensive stance as he frantically scans the room before his bloodred eyes find your own.

“Are you okay?” He gruffly asks, immediately coming over to help you up.

You quietly nod, face burning upon feeling his hands touch your arm and hip as you keep a tight grip on the shelf. “Yeah. Um, are you?”

Panic flits across his face, ruby eyes widening momentarily before he looks away. When his gaze returns to meet your confused expression, those chocolate eyes are back with flecks of amber. “Yeah, just making sure you’re okay,” he answers, giving you a strange look, “heard a lot of loud noises back here.” He glances around the small space and you take the opportunity to do the same but find no trace of the shimmering creature.

Clearing your throat, you mutter, “Sorry, I got startled.”

He looks at you again, slightly perplexed even as his eyes narrow. “By what?”

“A lightening bug,” you mumble, hoping it’s inaudible enough yet he hears no problem judging from the odd stare he’s currently giving you.

It’s silent for a beat too long. “A lightening bug,” he deadpans. The harsh skepticism in his tone only further emphasizes how ridiculous you know you sound.

Still, you’re keeping that alibi as you nod with false affirmation. “Yep.”

“In the fall?”

Shit. “Yeah, that’s why it was so surprising. But it might’ve been something else, maybe like a…moth?” Your question at the end sounds painfully like you’re seeking confirmation from him and you internally cringe. Why didn’t you start with that in the first place?

Yoongi continues blankly staring at you while you’re standing there self-consciously shifting awkwardly. This carries on for several seconds, still much too long for you, so you preoccupy yourself with retrieving all the things you knocked over. Keeping your focus on what you’re doing, you reset the coffee bean bags as well as the sugar and other ingredients all while you can feel him burning a hole into the side of your head.

A blender appears beside you on the shelf, causing you to jump in surprise while he steps closer to help put things away. He picks up an old coffee pot that had also fallen over and sets that on the higher shelf. “Why so uneasy, Y/N?” He inquires, catching your eyes in an immobile hold when you happen to glance over at him.

Scratching the side of your face, you check the floor for anymore fallen objects while also looking for the creature before answering, “I’m not uneasy.”

“You keep scanning the room as if you’re looking for something.”

“I am?” He shoots you a look, causing you to backtrack. “No, you’re right,” you sigh. “I just want to make sure I got everything that was knocked over. It’s been an off few days since people started talking about the animal attack so I guess I’ve just been a little jumpy.”

From over his shoulder, you see the will o’ wisp peeping out from behind some stacked boxes and your eyes widen before you can think to stop yourself. Though you quickly relax your expression, Yoongi immediately notices and begins looking behind him. So you do the only thing that comes to mind and rush forward, throwing your arms around him.

Caught in your sudden embrace, he freezes beneath you going so still that you don’t even think he’s breathing. The ends of his long brown hair tickles the backside of your hands and you have the sudden urge to run your fingers through the strands. And then you become painfully aware of the awkward situation, secretly hoping the floor will open up and swallow you whole before you have to attempt explaining yourself. But of course that doesn’t happen and as the seconds grow longer, you gulp before squeezing your arms tighter around him. He inhales sharply at the movement and you feel a warmth building in your chest where a soft humming seems to resonate from him.

“It’s a cockroach.”

“What?” Whatever mood had been previously developing in that moment dissolves in an instant.

Inhaling deeply, the strong scent of pine that permeates from his hoodie nearly distracts you yet you rush in explaining yourself. “The thing that scared me. It’s a cockroach. A really big, nasty, cockroach that also flies.”

The will o’ wisp shifts into a deep shade of cherry as it quietly seethes at your description. You wave a hand at it and put a finger over your lips before it can begin bubbling in fury. It flits angrily in place and you point to the back door then the shelf next to it. The ghost understands, flying up to the shelf before ducking behind the stacked mugs.

“Could you help get rid of the cockroach? I think it went somewhere back there,” you say, reluctantly leaning away from him as you point in the opposite direction to the cabinets.

“Are you seriously that afraid of a bug?” He sighs.

Still gripping his shoulders, your fingers clench the fabric of his clothes as you peer directly into his eyes where the caramel flecks have gotten slightly bigger within the mocha of his dark irises. “Very,” you whisper. “Please?” You plead with a pathetic pout.

The scowl almost seems to melt before your very eyes as his features soften only for the dry expression to return. “Fine. Didn’t know wolf girl was such a scaredy cat,” he mutters to himself before easing his arms from around you as he begins sifting through the drawers and cabinets.

While his back faces you, you make your way to the backdoor and check for the creature who silently floats down towards the exit. It wraps itself around your hand and you feel its heat warm against your skin.

Once it releases you, you shove the door open where it shoots out into the night. Slamming it shut, you turn back and find Yoongi already facing you. “Got it. It ended up by the door so I just let it go free,” you explain, desperately hoping he didn’t see anything.

Cocking his head, his eyes shift between you and the door. “Thought you were too scared to get near it,” he notes.

Shrugging, you head towards the front of the shop so you can finish up in there. “It was right above the door frame so I just threw it open and it went out.”

You feel him watching you as he follows from behind and you peek over your shoulder to see his lips quirking up. “You’re something else, you know that?” He scoffs.

“That’s fair,” you admit with a smile of your own. Almost everything is put away for the night except for the chairs, so you quickly begin setting them on top of the tables.

From the opposite side of the room, Yoongi does the same, flipping the seats two at a time with such ease. Showoff. It’s quiet as you both silently work, finishing the outer tables before meeting in the middle at the last one.

When the final one is complete, you thank him for the help while he nods, calling your name just before you turn. “Hey, uh, do you want me to walk you home? I mean, so that terrifying cockroach doesn’t come back for you,” he says with a smirk.

You pause, hesitating for a moment to think because what if Wolfy decides to show up? He doesn’t come every night but there’s a chance he could. At your hesitation, his grin falters but before he can immediately retract his offer, you awkwardly shrug. “Yeah, why not? I wouldn’t mind the company honestly,” you admit.

After closing up shop, the two of you begin walking through the forest trail accompanied by the music of rustling trees and crunching leaves in the background. You’ve been keeping an eye out for him, but Wolfy is nowhere in sight, no trace of golden eyes whatsoever. Maybe he’s busy tonight.

“So what do you think about the attack?” You finally ask.

“Odd,” Yoongi plainly answers. It’s a fair way to describe it and he says it so matter-of-factly compared to the hushed whispers and excited gossiping from everyone else. There’s no concern or even slight hint of interest, just his usual straightforward demeanor.

Staring off into the forest, you think for another minute before continuing. “What do you think about what people are saying? That it’s some kind of supernatural creature?”

“You mean like the other day when those college kids said it was a werewolf?” He chuckles dryly.

Returning your gaze to him, you nod. “Yeah, like that.”

He tilts his head in your direction and gives you an easy smile. “Do you actually believe that or are you just desperately wanting proof that your werewolves exist?”

Will he ever let that go? Instead you merely roll your eyes at the mention of your personal studies. “Hey, just because I’m interested in the supernatural doesn’t mean I’m an investigator or hunter of some kind.”

That just causes him to let out a snort that he muffles by covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh, I know. You’re just a fan.”

“You make it seem like I’m obsessed,” you complain, crossing your arms across your chest defensively, “I just think they’re cool.”

From beneath his fingers, you still catch the evident grin peeking out. “Pretty sure you raided the library’s entire catalogue of werewolf books that night.”

“I did not!”

“Did too,” he retorts with a shake of his head. He uncovers his mouth and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Seriously, what would you even do if you met a werewolf in real life?”

“I’d kiss it,” is your immediate response.

Yoongi coughs to himself and his cheeks burn bright pink as he stares at you in disbelief. “What?”

It’s your turn to grin at him. “Mmhmm, I’d smother them in kisses because aren’t werewolves just oversized dogs?”

His face morphs into a confused, almost offended expression at your declaration. “Sure, if you think they’re like Twilight.” He glances away for a second before giving you a sideways look, searching your face for something before heaving a sigh. “Don’t tell me that’s what your basing it off of.”

Surely he could give you a bit more credit than that. Judging from the disappointed groan he lets out that sounds unlikely. “Well then what are they supposed to be like, Mr. Expert?” You sarcastically wonder, your eyes widening with fake curiosity.

Again the expression of disgust is back, his upper lip curling. “How would I know? They’d have to actually be real first.”

Despite masking it as a cough, the small giggle that slips passed your lips instantly catches his attention as he sends you a dubious glare.

“What? Something I said funny?” He asks, raising a brow.

Actually. “No, but,” while you’re staring forward you can still see him from your peripherals as he keeps his gaze fixated on you, “who says they’re not?”

He rolls his eyes. “Considering no one has any solid proof, I’d say they weren’t. Unless you know something I don’t,” he implies.

If only he knew. As if Wolfy would be interested in a meet-and-greet anyway. Of course, you almost wish you could have the chance to prove him wrong but you instead swallow that irresistible urge of satisfaction by answering, “Nope.”

“Shame,” he sighs with mock despair. “And here I thought you were about to drag me to your complete slideshow with all your evidence and theories.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that invested in all this.”

“I don’t know,” he hums, “you seem pretty passionate about it to me. Especially considering you read a bunch of books for research,” he says with air quotes, “and your first reaction would be to kiss one. Sounds obsessive to me.”

The breeze picks up at that moment as the wind blows through the trees and sends dried leaves cascading into the air. A handful smack against your body with a few probably sticking to the back of your jacket while a rather large orange one lands right on top of Yoongi’s head. Yet he doesn’t seem to notice it so you reach up to casually pluck it loose.

He flinches, leaning away as he scowls at you while you show him the dead leaf before flicking it right back at him to which he smacks it in return. “I’m not obsessed, just curious,” you emphasize.

It doesn’t faze him as he shrugs once more. “Whatever you say.”

Muttering under your breath, you look forward and see the break in the trees that lead right to your house. “Thanks for the walk home,” you tell him once you reach the edge of the path.

“It’s no problem. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says. Turning on his heel he starts heading back before you’re snatching the fabric of his cotton hoodie. Yoongi glances over his shoulder at you, silently waiting expectantly.

“Are you actually going to walk back home? I mean, the bus stop isn’t too far away from here,” you note, finger also pointing out its direction.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, it’s not that long of a walk.”

But there’s only the main square with shops and open forest that stretches miles in some directions. “Wait, how far away do you live?”

“Not too far. I take the Old Shaw Trail so it’s fine.”

“Oh,” your brows furrow at that, “I haven’t been down that way before. There’s so many different pathways.”

An owl hoots from nearby just as it flies overhead where you watch it disappear into the branches while he takes a step back to free his clothes from your grip. “Yeah, but they’re fun to explore. Anyway, see you around,” he says with a wave.

“Yoongi,” you call and he turns to look back, “stay safe,” you softly murmur.

He grins in return. “You too.”

Once he disappears from view, you continue towards your house. As you dig in your little purse for your keys, you feel something stiff and crumpled inside. Quizzically, you pull free the large brown leaf where you notice writing scribbled on one side. You hold it beneath the porch light, squinting to read the tiny font.

Full moon, talk soon -WW

— — —

<— Previous | | Next —>

A/N: Yet another chapter update posted in the same month, in the same year?? It surprised me too, but I’m doing my best to actually stay on top of my stories and post them in a somewhat timely manner. Again, thank you everyone for patiently waiting and I hope y’all enjoy!

#yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #wolf!au #fanfic #my writing #Caramel Eyes Mocha Paws

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youcanseethecosmos · 2 years

Note

can you do a scene with hob and/or dream interacting with fans? maybe it’s an event or just randomly happened upon them

Oh no I got carried away oh well enjoy

Dream is almost always three hours early to anything.

Even if it's not needed. Even if it's practically dawn and sun hasn't risen yet. He's three hours early to whatever appointment he has for that time. Dream loves the crisp and cool air of an early morning juxtaposed with the steam rising from his hot cup of coffee.

Plus, when he's early, he gets to experience moments in the liminal spaces of life. Moments that stick with him and bring a smile to his face when he remembers them on a random Tuesday. Moments that remind him that there's always something to look forward to.

Today was one of those days.

He was to meet Hob at a local coffee shop before they went to the theatre to watch Death's new West End musical. They also had exclusive access to watch them rehearse so being early will make sure they aren't rushing to get there. Besides, walking was always his preferred mode of transportation. And walking alongside Hob?

Well, let's just say Dream doesn't need the sun to feel warm when he's with Hob.

He was waiting for Hob at a table outside of the coffee shop. He ordered the most ridiculous and sugary drink from the menu for Hob (and Dream may have taken a sip too. Sue him) and leaned back in his chair to enjoy the cool breeze of the early morning. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Dream opened his eyes slowly. What came to focus was a woman no older than 30 standing before him with a little girl hiding behind her leg. She was taking a peek but the second Dream looked at her, she hid behind her mum with a little startled squeak.

Dream's gaze softened. It was like when Delirium was a child.

The woman nervously fidgeted before saying, "You're Dream, right? Dream of the Endless?"

Dream nodded, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "That would be me."

"I love your work. I'm sure you hear that all the time and you're tired of it..." She trailed off when her daughter stepped a little bit away from her. Dream tilted his head at the girl and she tilted hers back, mirroring him.

"What might your name be, little one?" Dream asked, his voice softer than usual.

The girl blinked up at him. "Eurydice."

Dream's breath hitched but if there was any shift in his expression, neither Eurydice nor her mother caught it. He looked back up at the mother with a small smile.

"A beautiful name," He complimented her and the woman blushed and stammered incoherently. Among the blabber, she managed to ask for Dream's autograph and a picture. Dream obliged graciously but soon found that they had no one to take a picture of them.

"It's alright," The woman said taking out her phone with shaking hands. "I could take a selfie–"

"Allow me to take it, ma'am."

Dream's head whipped around and he was met with Hob Gadling himself, hands stuffed in his pockets, his now longer hair tied up in a loose low bun, and his glasses fogging up slightly from the cold. But Dream knew his eyes were shining behind those thick frames.

The woman thanked Hob profusely and handed him her phone. Eurydice tapped on Dream's leg and looked up at him wordlessly. Without missing a beat, he picked Eurydice up by the armpits and placed her gently on his lap. After glancing at her mother to make sure this was okay, he turned back to Hob who was staring at them the whole time.

"Hob?"

Hob blinked several times. "Hm?"

"Are you ready to take the picture?"

"What?" Hob looked down at the phone as if it was his first time seeing it and realization dawned on him a second after. "Right! Yes. That's what I was about to do–yes."

Dream's smile in the photograph was genuine as he watched Hob take it for them. If it looked like he wasn't looking at the camera but at the person behind it, no one said anything.

Once the picture's been taken, the mother thanks them again happily and moves to take Eurydice back. But the girl stays and turns around in Dream's lap. In a split second, Dream has an armful of toddler, her little arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

"It was lovely meeting you too, Eurydice." He said, hoping his voice didn't sound too strained. Dream looked up from the child, catching Hob's soft gaze for a few seconds before Eurydice eventually let go and left with her mum.

Hob took the seat across from him, hands cupping his face like a cheeky little child. He gestured at the drink in front of him that looked like a unicorn threw up in a plastic cup. "D'you order that for me?"

Dream pursed his lips slightly. "Is it not to your liking?"

Hob shook his head, his gaze as soft and fond as ever. "No, duck. It's perfect."

Dream loved being early. He gets to experience moments in liminal spaces – much like what happened today.

Only this time, that space was shared with Hob.

send dreamling drabble prompts pls

#lights camera action: sky's dreamling actors au #dreamling #the sandman #asks #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream loves children okay he gets so soft around them #and hob is like oh look ! husband material ! heart eyes #also woah sneak peak once more to how orpheus plays into this au uwu

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ctrl-alt-em · 8 months

Text

We Ride at Dawn

It was just before dawn when Edie woke up. She sat up with a groan and rubbed her ribs. Her lungs still aches despite how brief her infection with tuberculosis was.

Edie glanced across the room. The other bed was unslept in. Garnet was still gone. She had only left yesterday with Silas and Nate. Edie rolled out of bed, put on her dress, and tied her hair in a quick bun.

In the kitchen, last night’s cooking fire was now embers. She rekindled the cooling fire in the hearth and put on the coffee kettle.

Once she had a fresh pot of tolerable enough coffee, she took her steaming tin mug and went to enjoy the sunrise. It would be a little while before their host woke up.

Out on the porch, Edie spotted a horse a short ways away across the field by the fence. Next to the horse was a man, no, a boy. It was Delacy and Humble Ned. Delacy was standing next to a saddled Humble Ned, hands on his hips as he studied the horse.

Edie leaned against the railing, clutching her coffee, and watched the boy. The sun had only started to rise.

Delacy placed one foot in the stirrup, his knee practically in his face. The boy struggled to heave himself up and into the saddle. Humble Ned didn’t seem to mind the sliding saddle and flailing teenager on his back.

By the third try, Delaney managed to get in the saddle and got his other foot in the second stirrup. Without his hat, he looked even younger than usual. Not to mention how small he looked on Humble Ned. Humble Ned was a stagecoach horse, a decent sized Belgian Draft. Delacy was shorter than the horse was at the withers.

She knew Delacy had been bluffing when he volunteered to drive the coach when they went after the museum train, but he’d been so confident with the horses for the whole job that it hadn’t occurred to her he might not have actually had much experience riding a horse properly, let alone driving a coach. Not that Delacy would ever admit such a thing. She knew he was self-conscious about his age and lack of experience compared to the rest of the group. Now he was teaching himself to ride a horse at the crack of dawn while three-fifths of the posse were gone and Edie would hopefully still be asleep.

Delacy looked over the reins in his hands and held them just like he did when he drove the coach. “Walk,” ordered Delacy. The horse stood still.

Delacy shuffled in the saddle. After a moment, Delacy tapped his heels into the horse's sides and repeated the order. Humble Ned started into a walk. Delacy quickly gripped the saddle for support.

Humble Ned walked along the fence at a confident stride despite the unbalanced kid on top. By the time Humble Ned reached the corner of the fence and decided to take a right turn, Delacy had found his seat and was sitting taller. Delacy slowly pulled the horse into a right turn, back the way they came.

Edie watched as Delacy rode the horse, practicing left and right turns, going in circles. His position caught more natural and he began to move along with the horse’s stride.

After a while, Delacy spurred Humble Ned into a trot and repeated the process. Grip the saddle to not fall off, get his balance, let go of the saddle, start steering and do laps around the pasture.

When Delacy urged the horse into a canter, he nearly fell off. He gripped the saddle for dear life as he struggled to stay seated.

“Woah! Woah! Slow! Slower!” Delacy pulled back on the reins hard. Humble Ned came to abrupt stop. Delacy was sent forward in the saddle and was now leaning against his neck.

Edie watched as Delacy and Humble Ned just stood for a few minutes as Delacy caught his breath. Delacy finally got back into a proper riding position and spurred the horse into a slow walk.

Delacy directed Humble Ned up towards the horse and ranch stable. As he got closer, his eyes locked on to Edie’s. He hadn’t seen her, she realized.

“Good morning, Delacy,” she called, walking over to them.

Delacy’s face was flushed. She wasn’t sure if was from fear of nearly falling off or embarrassment of her seeing him nearly fall off. “Good morning, Miss Edie.” He stopped Humble Ned and dismounted, sliding off the horse’s back on his stomach. He dropped the last foot down.

She smiled at him. “I saw you out riding Humble Ned.”

Delacy shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. His stance reminded her of Silas. “I’m just getting the fella some exercise is all. No good for him to stay in his stall all day.”

“I see.” She took a sip of her cold coffee, trying to hide the smile on her lips.

He shuffled his boot in the dirt. “I’m going to take him back to the stable,” he said, nodding the ranch stable down the path from the house. He pulled on the reins and started to lead his horse away.

“You know, Delacy,” she called after him.

Delacy paused and looked back at her.

“You’re a natural rider. Best one out of us honestly and I’m sure you’ll only get better with time,” Edie said earnestly to the boy.

Delacy’s blush intensified. He looked away but didn’t lower his head. “Thank you, Miss Edie.”

“You’re most welcome. Once you get Humble Ned situated, go clean yourself up and come inside. I’ll make us some breakfast before we go see what work Victoria has for us next.”

Delacy flashed her a grin and gave her a thumbs up. He walked a little straighter as he led Humble Ned away.

#oxventure deadlands #delacy oxventure #edie valentine #my fic post #I think these two have potential for a sweet relationship #Delacy just wants to be taken seriously #and I think Edie would get that while also knowing he’s still young and needs guidance #yeehawgust prompt #my fic #oxventure fic

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coffeeghoulie · 1 year

Text

Mushy May Day 18: Holidays

Prompts arranged by @forlorn-crows

Pairing: Polyghouls, Mountain/Aether/Cumulus, implied Swiss/Dew/Aether

Rating: Teen

Words: 1036

It’s Aether’s summoning day. Mountain and Cumulus make him a cake.

***

Aether’s not the earliest riser on the best of days, and seeing as Mountain and Cumulus had coaxed him into Swiss and Dew’s bed last night, they know they have at least several hours before the quintessence ghoul wakes. It’s the anniversary of his summoning, and Cumulus and Mountain have snuck into the kitchen as the sun starts to peak over the eastern horizon.

Cumulus’s hair is tied back in a bun, sleep mussed strands wisping out from her temples. She grabs an apron, tossing it on over her pajamas as she starts digging through the cabinets. Mountain comes in a few minutes after her, dirt smeared across his knuckles, a smudge across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. He’s got a basket in his hands, filled to the brim with various berries.

Cumulus reaches up and grabs the collar of Mountain’s t-shirt, pulling him down gently to give him a chaste kiss before going to the oven and preheating it. “Thank you for the fruit, darling, but please wash up. I don’t think our stardust would like dirt in his birthday cake,” she teases, grinning up at him.

Mountain smiles, setting the basket down on the countertop next to the sink. There’s an almost full pot of coffee on the counter, two mugs ready and steaming. “Of course, hummingbird.”

As he washes his hands and the fruit, Cumulus grabs a bowl and sieve. “Darling, can you separate ten egg whites and whisk them for me while I get the dry ingredients ready?”

He nods, grabbing eggs and heavy cream from the fridge. Cumulus hums in appreciation, turning back to the cake flour and powdered sugar, focusing on not making too much of a mess on the countertops.

Mountain separates the eggs into another bowl, saving the yolks for later use, whisking the whites until they turn foamy. The measuring spoons clank together on their carabiner as Mountain adds the cream of tartar and salt. He adds sugar, keeps whisking. The egg whites form peaks, and Cumulus measures out vanilla extract over the bowl, adding it to the wet ingredients.

Cumulus starts adding the flour and sugar mixture to Mountain’s bowl, bit by bit as he folds it into the egg whites. The oven beeps, and Cumulus grabs the bundt pan, taking the bowl with the batter and pouring it out into the pan. She runs a knife through the batter as Mountain takes a sip of his cooling coffee. Cumulus puts the pan in the oven, and takes her own coffee.

“How long do you think we have before he wakes up?” Mountain asks, voice barely more than a whisper, afraid to break the quiet peace of the dawn. He leans up against the counter, Cumulus leaning up on the island opposite him.

“You slept in the greenhouse last night, Mount,” Cumulus says, not that much louder, as she raises an eyebrow. “I’m two doors down from Swiss and Dew. They were up late, let’s leave it at that.”

Mountain chuckles, taking another drink. “Fair enough.”

Cumulus finishes her drink, setting the mug in the sink. “Well, we still have thirty minutes on the oven yet, so whipped cream and berries?”

Mountain knocks back the rest of his coffee and opens the drawer next to him, pulling out a paring knife. “I’ll get the berries and you get the whipped cream?”

She smiles, taking the whisk from the sink and washing it off. “Sure thing, darling.”

She pours the carton of heavy cream into another bowl, adding a spoon of sugar before whipping it. Mountain can’t help but sneak glances at the muscles of her arms work.

Mountain starts slicing strawberries, adding them to a bowl with the raspberries and blueberries. They work in silence until the oven timer goes off, at which, Mountain sets down the paring knife and grabs the oven mitts, setting the cake pan down on the wire rack and moving the both of them into the fridge.

Cumulus sets down the bowl of whipped cream and starts on the dishes, working as quietly as she can. Mountain finishes up with the berries, holding on to half a dozen whole berries. He takes a bite out of one, holding another up to Cumulus’s lips. She snaps at his finger playfully, before taking the berry gently, humming at the taste.

Once the cake cools, Cumulus grabs a metal spatula and depans the cake, scooping the whipped cream and spreading it across the cake. Once she’s done, Mountain starts piling berries on top of the cake, trying to arrange them to look elegant, presentable. Cumulus pours another mug of coffee, adding milk and a bit of caramel syrup they save for a special treat.

He’s just finishing up with the cake when Aether walks through the doorway, shirtless and covered in bite marks of two noticeably different sizes. He’s still half asleep, rubbing at his eyes as he yawns. He stops in his tracks as he takes in what his packmates are doing.

Cumulus approaches him, pressing the mug into his hands. She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses Aether between the eyes. “Good morning, Stardust. Happy summoning day.”

It takes him a second to process, but his eyes focus and he leans in and kisses her. “Thank you, mourning dove.”

Mountain washes the berry juice from his hands and joins the two. He bends down and kisses Aether right in between his horns. As he goes to pull away, Aether reaches up and cups Mountain’s face, kissing him square on the lips. “Morning, sweet thing.”

“Happy summoning day, my nova,” Mountain says, cupping Aether’s face back.

“I see you two’ve made cake,” Aether says, peering around Mountain’s towering frame.

“We have,” Cumulus pipes up. “Angel food cake. Mounty got the berries fresh first thing this morning.”

“Thank you,” Aether says again, grinning like a fool at his partners.

“Cake for breakfast, before everyone else in this pack wants seconds and the summoning day boy gets his fair share?” Mountain asks, already pulling out a knife and the spatula Cumulus used to frost the cake.

Aether takes a sip of his coffee and grins. “Cake for breakfast,” he agrees.

#mushy may #my writing #i knew i wanted to do someone's summoning day but I couldn't figure out who so i deadass spun names on a wheel #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #aether/mountain/cumulus #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction

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latibvles · 1 year

Text

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // what comes down.

sometimes when things are tied up — it isn't always with a pretty bow.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: The patrol goes as well as anyone could expect — and after a long time, things finally seem to fall into place.

WARNINGS: discussions of combat fatigue / ptsd, grief, and illness.

They lose one man in the night, Private Jackson, and capture two prisoners.

She only knows it when Ron walks into the back room. Lipton’s been in and out of it for most of the night, and right now he’s decidedly out. It’s that assurance that he’s sleeping that lets Daisy reach for Ron’s hand from her spot in a chair beside Lipton’s bed. His brows are knit together in that way they are when he’s upset but trying to otherwise maintain his composure.

Maybe it’s more of a risk to kiss his knuckles as she had earlier, but she does it anyway.

“Do you need to step outside?” Daisy asks, her voice little more than a soft whisper so as not to wake the sleeping man. He shakes his head.

“Lost one man on the patrol. Private Jackson,” He mutters, his voice gruff and his gaze fixed on the sleeping sergeant. Then, he shifts his eyes to her. “They’re gonna tell Captain Winters in the morning. With the report.” Daisy wants to say something. Maybe an ‘I’m sorry’ or provide some words of comfort. But she knows him well enough, and judging by the way his grip tightens a bit on her hand, he just wants to hold it. So she lets him do just that.

“He’s been quiet most of the night. Fever went down a little bit, I think.” It’s not much, but it's better news than what he brought in. “Sleeping a helluva lot too. Luz helped me give him a bath before he had to head down to the river for the patrol and I think the steam helped a lot.” His grip loosens for a moment as he nods along to her words.

“I can watch him. Let you get some sleep.” Ron offers.

“Do you plan on sleeping?” His lips press into a line, like she’s caught his ruse. He nods after a moment of silence, but only once.

“I’ll try.” She rises to her feet, content with the answer and releasing his hand to head towards the door.

“Let me… let me know when he’s up and I’ll have a look at him before I head to the hospital tomorrow, okay?” She asks, looking back for a moment. She catches the endpoint of Ron beginning to space out a bit, but he blinks for a moment, rubs his mouth, and nods at her.

Part of her wants to stay here, make him go to bed and sleep off the grief she can see settling in him. She didn’t know Jackson, not really, and she didn’t see him die — but she saw Ron’s look of visible agony in Noville, even if he snapped back into action milliseconds later. She didn’t ask him about it, about Joe. It felt too fast and too soon to bring it up. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still worry. And she knows she can’t force it, because if there’s one thing Ron is, it’s stubborn.

So instead, she bids him a soft goodnight as she leaves the room, slipping up towards the room she staked claim on that morning.

When she’s up the next day, it’s just past dawn, and it’s out of her own volition. She pokes her head in, finds Ron slumped in a chair and his arms crossed over his chest, both Captain and Sergeant snoring soundly in the quiet. With a sigh, she grabs the blanket from the cot Lipton was originally so adamant on sleeping on, and drapes it over Ron’s shoulders. He doesn’t stir and for that, she’s grateful. Peeking out the windows, the clouds are starting to break out and winter sun is trying desperately to warm the near-silent town. It’s certainly a welcomed sight, she hopes it might actually do something.

It’s a couple more hours before the rest of the line seems to stir into motion — she’s sat on the couch with a cup of coffee, watching it happen, waiting for the jeep mentioned yesterday like a kid getting picked up from a very somber slumber party. At some point, Ron walks into the main room and she uses her canteen to hide her smile at his grogginess, rubbing some of the sleep out of his eyes.

It’s a little past seven, the CP is in full motion, when a man she doesn’t recognize approaches her.

“Lieutenant Clarke?” he asks, to which she nods. “Private Turner. Captain Winters said you needed a ride to the hospital?” She shoots one last lingering look across the room to Ron, caught in conversation with Lieutenant Foley, but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes quickly flit to hers in acknowledgment. She bites her lip and nods again.

“Yeah, I take it you’re my ride then?”

“Yes ma’am. Right this way.” She follows him out and towards the jeep, getting into the passenger’s seat, undeniably uneasy. It really had nothing to do with the Private himself, who kept conversation minimal and eyes trained on the road, and moreso with the fact that she hadn’t been around a face she didn’t recognize since December. A chill curls up her spine at the thought, and she presses herself further into the seat to suppress the shiver.

They fashioned a hospital out of an old schoolhouse — apparently Perconte came back from here just the other day, but she didn’t have time to stop by and see it for herself. Tents line the courtyard, white crosses billowing in the brisk morning wind. Nurses in nightingale caps, white aprons, and perms much neater than her braid and dirty ODs mill about. Nostalgia pinches at her, for a moment, but she shakes it off as she slips out of the seat, looking back to the Private.

“I shouldn’t be too long. Just need to talk to the Chief Nurse about taking some supplies.” He nods and she sets off through the courtyard, weaving through women and cringing at the familiar sound of coughing and scent of antiseptic. Some things brought a nostalgic form of comfort — that smell certainly wasn’t one of them. She stops and asks a nurse for directions, and she happily gestures towards the schoolhouse itself — second floor, so Daisy continues on her way.

For a second, she doesn’t register the sound of feet pounding against dirt.

“Daisy?!” Just as Daisy’s turned around, she’s stumbling backwards, landing in the dirt with a heavy thud. The wind’s knocked out of her, a heavy weight resting on her chest, hands digging into her shoulders. She opens her eyes, and looks up.

Ginny’s staring at her, eyes glossed over with tears, trapping her on the ground with her long legs, lip wobbling. For a moment, all Daisy can do is stare and gape, a lump forming in her throat. She takes a shuddering breath which is considerably more difficult with all of her friend’s weight on her.

“Gin. My stomach.” It’s a half-wheeze and the blonde is scrambling to her feet, essentially yanking Daisy up as well. It’s then that the woman throws her arms around her and brings her in for the tightest embrace Daisy’s had in a while.

She’s all too eager to return it.

She feels Ginny trembling against her, the woman’s face buried in her hair, fingers digging into her back to the point where it hurts but she doesn’t even care to point it out. It takes a few moments to register that Ginny’s crying into her neck — stifled sobs and sniffles. It takes her another few seconds to recognize her own vision’s blurring with unshed tears, and she grips onto her friend a little tighter.

“We all thought… I thought you were— they opened up the route but you weren’t there and there were so many wounded and I—” Ginny chokes out, her voice trembling as she releases her from her hold just to cup Daisy’s face in her palms. Her nose is bright red, tears free-flowing and a wavering smile on her face. “I couldn’t write up the report. None of us could.” Daisy reaches up to wipe some of Ginny’s tears away.

“Roe took me on Christmas Eve,” she manages, through her own sniffly. “I thought I lost my whole squad. Did- Did Dick not reach you?” Ginny shakes her head, lips tugging into a frown.

“Phones were so goddamn fickle up at 107th, once they took that collecting point it was damn near impossible to get anything in or out. Couldn’t send out too many messages in case they got intercepted,” her thumbs wipe at some of Daisy’s own tears. “We got to Bastogne on the twenty-seventh. The ones you sent to 429th were able to come back too but… the ones left in Bastogne said they hadn’t seen you in three days. I couldn’t— I didn’t want to think you were…” Daisy smiles, reaching up to grab Ginny’s hands, take them from her face and squeeze them gently.

“Your gut’s never wrong, as usual,” she tries, earning a small laugh from the woman. “Where’s everybody else? So I don’t get tackled and crack a few more ribs.” Ginny sniffles, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Most of us are in mess right now for breakfast. They moved us here a couple weeks ago. Think we might be headed back to Mourmelon soon,” her smile falters for a moment, breaking eye contact for a moment.

“What is it?” Daisy raises a brow, and Ginny takes a measured breath, looking back up at her.

“We all thought you were dead and when we found out it… it hit Patty really hard,” There’s a heavy pause between them. Ginny presses her lips into a line. ��Patty got sent home. Combat fatigue. After Normandy and Holland and then Belgium I just… her heart couldn’t take it anymore, I don’t think. She wouldn’t eat or sleep or do much of anything.” Daisy frowns, nodding as guilt begins to set root in her stomach. They thought she was dead, and Patty got sent home because of it. She falls silent, but Ginny wraps an arm around her, guiding her to the mess as Daisy does her best to catch her up on her end of the war.

Mess is yet another repurposed room in the schoolhouse — the gymnasium to be exact, with rickety wood tables moved in from various parts of the school, and when she walks in she’s bombarded with embraces that she’s almost certain are enough to crack her ribs.

There’re tears, from Rita, who’s cursing her out and welcoming her back all at the same time between hiccups. Daisy doesn’t let go, not until she does, and even then she’s sandwiched between Ginny and Rita as they sit her down at their table. Her chest aches with the familiarity of it all, allowing herself to unabashedly squeeze Rita’s hand in a death grip and rest her cheek on Ginny’s shoulder, neither of them too keen on letting her go.

“And you,” Daisy looks at Rita with a grin. “When were you planning on telling me Lieb calls you Dee now? Or that he was visiting you back in Holland?! I had to find out about that in a goddamn foxhole!” She watches as a flush creeps up Rita’s neck, and she coughs into her free hand, fiddling with her scarf and her brows knitting together.

“Madre de… fuckin’ blabbermouth,” she mutters to herself, but loud enough that Daisy and Ginny both begin to snicker. “Next time I see him I’m wringing his goddamn neck out for sure.”

“I could shorten that time, if you’re keen on it,” Rita raises an inquisitive brow. Daisy sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ve gotta talk to your head nurse about getting penicillin for Lip. He’s got pneumonia. And just… general supply run. There’s room in the jeep and I know more than a few guys who could use the pick-me-up of getting yelled at by you.” It’s a half-jest, enough to make Rita snort. Still, they both look to Ginny, who hums in thought.

“I’ll talk to Nurse Morgan. She’s Head Nurse. I’m just in charge of mine but… I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a couple of us helping with a supply run.”

A smile creeps onto Daisy’s face at that — but it quickly dissipates once the door opens.

She’d recognize Jane Gray from a mile away. It seems that Jane also recognizes her. Daisy rises to her feet sloppily, knees knocking against the table. She furls and unfurls her fists before making her way over, but remains a fair distance away.

“Lieutenant Clarke…” Her voice is soft, her expression softer than anything Daisy’s ever seen.

“Lieutenant Gray.” She responds, heart hammering against her chest. Y’think Janey’s gonna be alright up there? She was okay, is okay — alive, at the very least. Her throat hurts again, the words stuck in her throat, several phrases wanting to bubble up to the surface. I’m sorry. I’m back. Are you okay? Do you know?

She doesn’t get the chance to ask it though, because Jane steps forward, wraps her arms around Daisy’s neck, and pulls her into a hug. Daisy’s stuck in her spot, rigid for a moment. She feels Jane’s breath against her neck, the delicate way her limbs drape over Daisy’s shoulders, like she’s a fragile thing. If she’s learned anything in the past several months, it’s quite the opposite.

“Laura, she… she didn’t make it out, I’m guessing? She isn’t… she wasn’t with you?” Jane’s voice trembles. Daisy wraps her arms around the girl, pulling her in for a tighter hug.

“I’m sorry, Jane.” Because there’s no romantic or heroic way of putting it, no amount of she died a hero or she died serving could fill that hole — not anymore than it did for the men watching their buddies get shot and blown up and all sorts of other things. Nurses weren’t supposed to die. Laura did. It’s a bitter pill to swallow all the same. Jane sniffles against her ear, and Daisy rubs circles into her back.

“S’not your fault, I just… I never got to thank her, I guess.”

Daisy doesn’t ask what for, doesn’t push more than Jane’s willing to give, and she’s certain that this is all she’s willing to give, because after a few more moments she’s releasing her and wiping her eyes quickly. She doesn’t smile, but her expression is still soft. She sniffles once, wiping her hands on her pants.

“Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #hbo war ofc

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