Malia/Lydia + 24. Slow Dancing - maybe at someone's wedding?
so I ended up going with slow dancing at a high school reunion, because I did a dancing at someone’s wedding fic fairly recently. set 10 years after senior year.
430 words, on ao3 here.
“Did we actually graduate with all of these people?”
“Yes,” Lydia answers, casting a glance around the gymnasium. It’s been redone since she was last at the school; it’s been expanded into the area that the cafeteria used to occupy, and the walls have been painted a particularly ugly shade of beige. Pennants and banners are hanging from the rafters, dozens more than Lydia remembers. The lights are dimmed down low, low enough to give her flashbacks to their senior prom (which was somehow ten years ago, even though it feels like it was yesterday). The dance floor is packed with couples swaying to the slow song pouring from the huge speakers mounted in the corners of the room. “Most of them at least.”
“Huh,” Malia mutters, tightening her arms around Lydia’s neck, fingers lightly scratching at her nape. “I seriously don’t remember any of them.”
“I mean, you usually had more important things on your mind than getting to know people,” Lydia replies, squeezing Malia’s hips. “Like passing math.”
“And dealing with Dread Doctors. And hunters.” Malia’s fingers slide up into her hair, and Lydia shudders slightly. “And you. I thought about you a lot.”
“How romantic.” It’s about as sappy as Malia ever gets, but Lydia doesn’t mind; she knew exactly what she was getting herself into when she first kissed Malia in senior year, and she doesn’t regret it one bit. As the song begins to draw to a close, she leans in and softly presses her lips to Malia’s. As Malia’s tongue brushes against her bottom lip, Lydia inches her hands just under the hem of Malia’s blouse, so that she can press her fingertips to the smooth skin at the base of her spine.
In response, Malia moans, and her teeth gently tug on Lydia’s lip.
“Want to go make out in the bathroom until the others get here?” she asks, no longer swaying to the fading music.
“Just like high school?” Lydia teases.
“Just like my favorite part of high school,” Malia confirms. “Unless there’s someone you want to talk to first.”
Lydia gives the room a quick appraising scan. There are a few people scattered around the vast room that she wouldn’t mind briefly catching up with, but that can wait until later in the night, once she’s had a bit to drink.
For now, until Scott, Stiles and Kira finally arrive, she thinks that Malia’s plan is a great one.
“They can all wait,” she answers, sliding her hands away from Malia’s hips and tangling their fingers together. “Lead the way.”
here’s ~450 words of the tamest body worship you will ever read, starring Braeden/Kira! major thanks go to @dark-alice-lilith for prompting them as a pairing, because otherwise I probably would have had to skip this day.
no warnings. on ao3 here.
"That feels amazing."
"It's working?" Kira asks, slowly dragging the bumpy massage bar along the firmly muscled line of Braeden's bare shoulders. "Because I don’t really know what I'm doing. Allison just told me that this was the best bar for sore muscles."
"Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it," Braeden responds, voice muffled by the pillow her face is resting on. In response, Kira moves a little further down the bed and presses the massage bar into a bunch of muscles on the left side of Braeden's spine, a few inches away from a fresh bruise that looks incredibly tender.
She’s tempted to lean over and gently press her lips to it, but even though the massage bar is made with ingredients that are safe to eat, she doesn’t think that necessarily means that it will taste good if it gets in her mouth.
"Harder," Braeden requests. Kira does what she's asked, and the sound Braeden makes, a deep, relieved groan, complete with a slight arching of her back, is almost identical to the sound she makes when she comes.
Kira files that piece of information away for future reference.
She works the massage bar down the length of Braeden's spine, leaving behind a slightly oily sheen that's causing the room to fill with the interlaced scents of cinnamon and coffee beans. Once she’s worked on every inch of skin that isn’t dotted with a bruise or scrape, she moves further down the bed, until she's straddling the back of Braeden's knees. When she starts pressing the bar into the back of Braeden's thighs, into powerful muscles that are knotted, Braeden groans again and twists her head, until Kira can see half of her face.
"Thank you for doing this," she says, biting her bottom lip when Kira presses down a little harder into a particularly knotted spot. "This week has been hell."
"I know," Kira says, shuffling down a little further and wiping her oily hands off on her own thighs. "I think we're going to have to wash this stuff off. I got a new lavender bath bomb that’s supposed to be relaxing, if you want to try it tonight."
"Only if you join me," Braeden replies, the barest hint of a smirk gracing her lips.
“Obviously,” Kira smiles, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of Braeden’s knee before she scoots down even further and pulls Braeden’s feet into her lap. There are thick callouses coating her heels from her boots, and when Kira presses her thumb into one, Braeden groans again. “But let me finish this first.”
“I love you,” Braeden mumbles, toes curling.
“Love you too,” Kira replies before giving the task at hand her full attention.
15 = things you said with too many miles between us!
here’s 3.7k of a mildly angsty, canon divergent future fic, set ten years after Kira disappears into the desert with the skinwalkers. i’m also using this for the August 2017 Femslash Big Bang Monthly Challenge, where the theme is ‘another life.’
on ao3 here.
When she first glances at the unknown number showing up on her phone’s screen, Lydia takes a moment to debate whether or not she wants to answer it. She’s already running five minutes late for a brunch date with one of her friends, and she’s sure that it’ll probably just be some automated call, someone doing a survey or a telemarketer trying to get her to sign up for a new credit card.
She has more than enough of those already, thank you very much.
But, as she slides her feet into her heels, something in the back of her mind, some kind of impossible to define intuition that hasn’t let her down in the past, nudges her. With a slight chill coursing down her spine, she thumbs the slider to accept and presses the phone to her ear as she looks around for her keys.
“Hello?” she asks. For a long moment, whoever is on the other end of the line doesn’t say a word. But there’s too much background noise for it to be yet another automated call; there’s a crackling, like the wind whipping against the phone speaker, and traffic sounds, honking horns and the whoosh of tires against a road.
Even more disconcerting than all of that, Lydia can hear breathing, which opens the possibility to this being an entirely different kind of call, which she (thankfully) hasn’t experienced since first year of college.
However, before she can open her mouth to unleash a tongue lashing, the breathing is interrupted by a quiet, tentative voice.
“Lydia?”
Despite the years that have passed, there isn’t a second of uncertainty. Lydia knows immediately who she’s talking to.
“Kira?” Dropping her keys and purse to the floor, she sits down on the edge of her bed. “Oh my God. Are you…”
The words actually alive are sitting on the very tip of her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to say them. That would mean that she’d have to admit that Kira being dead was a possibility, and even a decade and a few dozen phone calls from people already beyond the grave hasn’t prepared her for that.
“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s really me. Is it okay that I called?”
“Of course. Absolutely. How did you get my number?”
“I called the operator first and got them to connect me to your mom. Good thing she still has a home phone, right?”
“Right,” Lydia answers, the word leaving her mouth scarcely louder than a whisper. “She was thinking about getting rid of it, actually.”
“I’m glad she didn’t. And I’m glad she believed that it was me calling and not some total stranger,” Kira continues with a nervous laugh that shoves Lydia right back to dozens of memories from high school.
“Me too.” Frankly, Lydia can’t think of anything else that she’s more glad of. “Kira, where are you?”
“Um.” There’s a rustling on the other end of the phone, followed by Kira calling out to someone. Lydia can’t hear the reply, and Kira comes back seconds later. “It isn’t really a town, just a gas station on the side of the highway. I can give you the address though?”
“Give me one second.” Lydia rolls onto her stomach and stretches until she can grab the tablet sitting on her bedside table. Once she’s brought up the maps application, she asks Kira to give her the address.
There’s nothing around the gas station for literal miles in any direction, aside from side roads winding away from the highway. It’s an eight hour trip, one way, if she drives the speed limit the whole way and doesn’t run into any construction or traffic jams.
She decides to leave immediately.
“Will you be safe there for a few more hours?” she asks, tossing her tablet aside and grabbing her purse and keys from the floor.
“I should be. No one’s bothered me so far.”
“Good,” Lydia says, kicking her wedges off so that she can choose a pair of shoes better suited to driving. “Do you want me to call anyone else for you?”
When Kira answers, after a long pause, she sounds so tired that Lydia’s eyes well up.
“Not yet,” she says softly. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
“That’s okay. We can tell them together, if you want. We’ll figure it out when I get down there, okay?”
“Okay. Drive safely.”
“I will. I-”
Love you comes into her mouth automatically, like not a single day has passed since the last time they exchanged the words, but Lydia manages to bite them back just in time.
They already have enough to figure out without bringing that aspect of their relationship into it.
“I promise,” she says instead, stepping out of her apartment and locking the door. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The road unfurls in front of her like a ribbon caught in the wind. She loses count of the number of small towns she passes through, each of them nearly identical to the last. She stops only once, four hours in, when the hunger pangs in her stomach grow so painful that it becomes difficult to focus on the road. Even then, she simply whizzes through the least busy drive-in she can find and ends up with a soggy burger, over-salted fries and a warm bottle of stale tasting water.
But it’s worth only stopping just the once, even if the food is garbage. Seven hours and fifteen minutes after leaving her apartment, she pulls into the dusty parking lot of the service station, squinting her eyes against the sun’s harsh glare as it descends towards the horizon. Despite its location in the middle of nowhere, or maybe due to its location, the parking lot is crowded with other vehicles, ranging from family sized sedans to tanker trucks. The actual building housing the station is bigger than she expected; through the plate glass windows marching across the front, she can see rows upon rows of aisles, containing presumably everything a weary traveler could need: snacks to eat with one hand, windshield wiper fluid, cheap sunglasses and trucker caps.
Even though she’s starting to get hungry again, Lydia isn’t in the market for any of that. Instead, she slowly walks away from her car, casting her eyes around, looking for a face that she hasn’t forgotten a single feature of.
She finds her out back.
There’s a small rest area behind the building, dotted with picnic tables that look like they’ve seen better days and a playground structure more rusted metal than anything. Two of the tables are taken up by a large family gorging themselves on sandwiches that must have come from inside the service station, but on the one furthest away from the building, there’s someone small curled up on the bench, lying down on their side.
Someone with a katana strapped to their back.
Even though Lydia’s heart feels like it’s jumped into her throat, even though she wants nothing more than to race across the cracked tarmac and pull Kira into her arms, she forces herself to take it slow. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to them.
Shoes clicking against the ground, she steps around the picnic table, so that she can face Kira head-on. While she spent nearly the entire trip trying to prepare herself for this moment, she still gasps and folds, dropping down to her knees so she’s at eye-level with Kira’s still prone frame.
“Kira?” she whispers, fingers itching to reach out and brush the errant wisps of dark hair away from Kira’s face, a face that, upon first glance, doesn’t seem to have aged at all, like she stepped into the desert yesterday rather than a decade ago. Her body, however, is definitely different; Kira’s wearing a simple black tank top and, even at rest, her arms are laced with firm, well-defined muscle, alongside bruises and still healing cuts.
Before Lydia can make note of any other differences, Kira’s eyes slowly flick open.
Unlike the rest of her face, they’ve aged. They look like they belong to someone else, someone who’s lived years upon years and seen so much.
Lydia wonders what really happened to Kira out in the desert, with the skinwalkers, what they put her through, what kind of training she had to tackle and complete in order to gain control.
On some level, she isn’t sure if she wants to know.
“Lydia,” Kira says, voice raspy with sleep as she swiftly sits up, katana case banging against the table. “You’re here.”
“Sorry that I took so long,” Lydia apologizes, getting back to her feet as Kira stands up. Before she can say anything else, Kira firmly shakes her head. Her hair is far longer than the last time Lydia saw her, nearly waist-length, and she can hear it swishing against Kira’s back.
“Don’t apologize,” she says, adjusting the strap of her katana holder over her chest. “I’m sorry I took so long.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and Lydia doesn’t get any warning before Kira throws herself at her, crashes into her chest like a car colliding with a wall.
Lydia told herself that she wouldn’t cry, but the instant she feels Kira’s tears dripping onto her shoulders, her own start to fall.
For what feels simultaneously like an eternity and a mere blip in time, they stay pressed together, soaking their clothing with tears, swaying back and forth. Lydia can feel more muscle striping Kira’s back on either side of her spine, but while that may be new, she smells the same, and when she pulls back eventually, the smile brightening her face is so familiar that it makes Lydia choke on a fresh wave of tears.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she murmurs, twirling her fingers through Kira’s hair, just above the base of her spine.
“Me too,” Kira says, momentarily tightening her arms around Lydia’s waist until it’s almost painful. Abruptly, the sound of her rumbling stomach snaps through their moment like a breaking rubber band, and while Kira’s cheeks flush, Lydia immediately regrets not having the foresight to bring some kind of snack or even a bottle of water for Kira.
“When did you eat last?” she asks, taking Kira’s hand automatically as they start walking back towards the parking lot.
“Before I called you,” she answers. “The same person who gave me a few quarters for the payphone gave me a bag of chips too. We can just grab something in there, if you-”
“You deserve more than a sandwich that’s probably been sitting there for a week,” Lydia interjects. “There has to be an actual town somewhere between here and home with a restaurant and a hotel.”
“A hotel?” Kira asks. Lydia nods.
“Fourteen hours of driving in one day is a lot, even for me. And I think we could use the time. To catch up.”
Kira smiles again and squeezes Lydia’s hand tightly.
“Definitely.”
Once they’re back in the car, Lydia does a quick search on her phone to find the nearest place they can get food and somewhere to sleep. The town turns out to be forty-five minutes, back the way she came, but there’s a diner just off the highway that has good reviews, and there’s a motel just down the block that looks like it’ll be more than sufficient for one night.
Lydia is used to staying in places that are a little more expensive, more decadent, but for tonight, she doesn’t care about extra perks, about complimentary bathrobes and free internet and room service.
She just needs somewhere to be with Kira.
Mere minutes after she turns back onto the road, Kira is asleep again. Her katana is stretched out across the back seat, and her head is resting against the window, bumping against the glass every time they go over a hump in the road.
Lydia realizes that they’re going to have to stop somewhere else to get Kira a few things. As far as she can see, the katana is the only thing she has on her, aside from maybe a few quarters in her pockets. But she’s going to need a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a hairbrush.
They’ve just reached the outskirts of the town when an exit that solely leads to a massive big-box store appears, and Lydia merges across three lanes so that she can take it.
Even once she stops in the parking lot, Kira doesn’t move. Her breathing is soft and deep, and Lydia can see her eyes moving behind her lids, flicking around in REM sleep, so she rummages through her purse until she finds a piece of paper she can leave a note on.
She leaves the note in Kira’s lap, so that she’ll see it almost immediately if or when she wakes up.
She doesn’t want Kira to think that she’s leaving her behind, even if only for a few minutes.
The place is crowded, and by the time she gets out with a heaping bagful of clothes and toiletries, the sun has almost completely gone down, leaving only a strip of blazing orange right above the horizon. Kira stirs when she slides back into the driver’s seat; her eyes flutter open and she turns over so that she’s facing Lydia, knees pulled up towards her chest.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” Lydia says. This time, when her fingers itch to push Kira’s hair away from her face, she gives into the urge. “I bought you some clothes. Toothpaste. That kind of stuff.”
“Thanks,” Kira murmurs. Before Lydia can pull her hand away, Kira twists her head and presses her lips to Lydia’s wrist. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” she replies, the ghost of Kira’s lips still lingering against her skin. “Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”
“That makes two of us,” Kira says, settling back into the seat.
They don’t speak again until Lydia pulls into the diner’s parking lot and turns off the car. When she glances over, Kira is illuminated by the orange glow coming from a nearby streetlight, eyes glinting like flames, either a mere reflection or a glimpse at the fox living inside of her.
“How long have I been gone?” she asks softly.
Lydia doesn’t know how it didn’t come up before, but the undercurrent of sheer dread in Kira’s voice makes her eyes sting with more tears.
“Ten years,” she answers. “Ten years, two months and fifteen days, if you want to be specific.”
“Oh.” Kira’s eyes close, and she momentarily presses her face into her palms, shoulders trembling. “I thought it was going to be worse. Way worse.”
Ten years was bad enough.
Lydia can’t imagine how many years Kira means by way worse.
“We can talk about that later,” she says, reaching out for Kira’s hand again. “You should eat first.” Kira nods and, taking a deep breath, straightens her back. The trembling in her shoulders comes to a stop.
“You’re right,” she says with a nod that looks to be directed more at herself than at Lydia. “I really hope they have pizza. Or pasta. French fries. I can’t remember the last time I ate a carb.”
“Well,” Lydia says, quickly glancing at the exterior, which is very clearly going for a fifties kind of vibe, “I think you’re going to be in luck.”
They eat in relative silence, tucked into opposite sides of a window booth, quiet music wafting from speakers tucked into the corners of the room. There’s no pizza or pasta on the menu, but Kira ends up ordering a burger and fry combo that comes on a plate nearly the size of the trays they had in the Beacon Hills’ cafeteria.
She eats every last bite, and when Lydia is too stuffed to finish the second half of her chicken wrap, Kira polishes that off too.
“When was the last time you ate before today?” Lydia asks, just after Kira orders a strawberry milkshake for dessert. For a long time, Kira doesn’t answer; her gaze goes a little unfocused, and her mouth crinkles into a slight frown as she apparently goes searching through her memories.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” she finally answers. “I… I don’t know if I ate at all while I was with the skinwalkers.”
On some level, Lydia expects to hear the answer, but it still makes her sick to her stomach.
“Well,” she says, hoping that the sour taste in her mouth doesn’t make itself known on her face, “we’re going to have to make up for that too.”
It’s ten o’clock by the time they make it to the motel, which thankfully has vacancies. They’re able to drive right up to the door to their room, which is at the end of a long row of other rooms. While Kira carefully retrieves her katana from the back seat, Lydia grabs both her duffle and the overflowing plastic bag containing her purchases for Kira.
The room itself is utilitarian, more function over fashion. There’s the typical dreary watercolor hanging on the wall above and between the two narrow beds, which are adorned in identical, hideous floral comforters, and the carpet is a dreary shade of tan, but it’s still far from the worst place Lydia has ever stayed in.
(Nothing will ever rob the Motel Glen Capri of that illustrious title.)
Once she’s unpacked, Lydia quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face. After she’s done, Kira disappears into the bathroom for nearly half an hour, and it’s only the sound of the running shower that keeps Lydia from worrying about her.
She’s exhausted, inside and out, but she doesn’t want to go to sleep, not before they get a chance to talk, really talk, even if it’s only for a few minutes. So she flicks on the small television resting on a table facing the beds and watches the news until Kira comes out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt that Lydia bought for her. Her damp hair is streaming down nearly to her hips, and when she sits down on the bed beside Lydia, the smell of citrus shampoo rises from it.
(The bed is narrow enough that they have to sit leg to leg in order to fit, but the thought of them sleeping apart is so ridiculous that Lydia refuses to entertain it.)
“Can you help me braid it?” she asks, handing Lydia her brush (also new). Lydia nods and turns the television off as Kira turns to sit with her legs dangling over the side of the bed. The hum of the television in the adjoining room comes faintly through the wall, but it’s quiet enough that Lydia can hear Kira breathing, hear the sound of her hair brushing against her shoulders when she sweeps it back behind her.
Kira’s hair slips through her fingers like silk as she works, carefully brushing through it first. It’s been years since Lydia has done this to anyone but herself, but she falls back into it, lets her fingers move of their own accord once she starts to actually weave Kira’s hair together.
“I didn’t think I’d make it out this quickly,” Kira says, her voice so quiet that Lydia momentarily mistakes it for someone speaking out in the parking lot. “I thought by the time I had control, by the time I was good enough, you’d all be too old to remember me or… or you’d all be gone.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Lydia says, swallowing around a lump in her throat. “You always have. But you’re a badass kitsune. Remember?”
“I remember,” Kira replies, nodding slightly. “It’s strange. I remember high school. I remember us. But it’s like another life, one I saw in a movie or something. It… it doesn’t feel like my life anymore. I don’t know. Time was weird with the skinwalkers. I’m not sure if it actually existed there.”
Lydia pauses with her hands hovering midway down Kira’s back. She can’t even begin to understand how Kira must feel, how strange it must be to be propelled back into a world both utterly familiar and totally foreign.
But she does know that Kira isn’t the only one who’s spent the last ten years wondering if the people she loved were dead.
“Every time I felt a scream building in my throat,” she starts, sliding forward so that she can rest her cheek against Kira’s back, “every time someone called me, someone who was dead, I was afraid it would be you. I was afraid that I was never going to hear your voice again, not while you were alive, at least. Every body that I was led to, I thought it might be yours.” She goes back to braiding, fingers moving automatically while she shifts to brace her forehead against Kira’s shoulder blade. “I don’t know what I would have done if that had happened.”
Kira doesn’t move or speak again until Lydia finishes the braid, securing the loose bits at the bottom with a hair elastic from her wrist. When she’s done, Kira turns around and pulls her legs up into the bed, until she’s kneeling in front of Lydia. Her eyes are shiny with tears and vivid orange, and this time, Lydia knows that it’s no reflection from a streetlight.
“I needed to get control,” Kira says, wiping at her cheek. “I know that. But I missed you so, so much. And I’m not leaving again.”
I missed you too,” Lydia says, reaching out and curling her fingers around Kira’s hips. The words do the bare minimum to convey what feels like a whirlwind of incomprehensible emotion inside of her, but they’ll have to do for the time being, because Kira is leaning in to kiss her, both palms pressed against Lydia’s cheeks like she’s holding something infinitely precious.
There’s still so much more that they have to talk about. Lydia hasn’t even begun to catch Kira up on all that has happened since she left, both in Beacon Hills and beyond and, at some point, they’ll have to broach the topic of telling Kira’s parents that she’s returned, not to mention the rest of the pack.
But all of that can wait. It’ll be Kira’s decision when they contact everyone else, and until then…
Well, Lydia thinks as she falls onto her back and opens her legs so that Kira can fit between them, they have ten years of lost time to make up for, and there’s no time like the present to start.
title: the best part of a bad situation [ao3: here]
main pairing: Malia/Kira
rating: G
word count: ~2300 words
written for: the ‘comedy′ square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card. based on the prompt ‘first date to a painfully unfunny comedy show?' as provided by the wonderful @aweekofsaturdays (you’re a lifesaver!)
summary: The one where Malia and Kira go have their first date at a painfully unfunny comedy show, courtesy of Stiles.
Although it technically isn’t even fall yet, Kira swears that she can already feel the sharp nip of winter on the brisk wind coursing through the streets.
There are huge goosebumps trailing up and down her arms underneath her sleeves. She definitely didn’t dress warm enough; when she was picking out clothes for the night, she’d gone for a black skirt over leggings and a thin, star-patterned sweater that seemed more first date material than one of the oversized hoodies she kept around to ward away the cold.
According to her roommate, the sweater had been a good choice, but she’s really starting to regret prioritizing her appearance over comfort.
Crossing her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm, she tries to sink back further into the slight alcove she’s been standing in for the past fifteen minutes. She’d been so concerned about arriving on time that she’d left nearly an hour ahead of time and, as a result, had to kill half an hour in a bookstore before she felt comfortable heading over to the comedy club she’s supposed to meet her date at but apparently, based on the fact her date is five minutes late and counting, her concern was unnecessary.
Checking her phone to make sure she hasn’t missed some kind of heads-up text, and finding nothing except a message from Allison (which is probably just a picture of their cat doing something ridiculous or adorable), she sighs and rubs at her arms. The show that they have tickets for (courtesy of Stiles, who set this whole thing up after weeks of bugging Kira until she finally agreed) doesn’t start for another half hour, but if there’s still no sign of her date in twenty minutes, she’s calling it a night. It’s too damn cold to wait longer than that, and sitting through a comedy show alone sounds way worse than just heading home, getting back into her pajamas and eating some ice cream.
While she continues to wait, she goes back over what all she knows about Malia.
They’ve never met face to face, but they exchanged a few texts after Stiles had set them up, although they didn’t really talk about much more than formalities, like what time to meet and where to grab food afterwards. Everything else she knows came from Stiles, who met Malia in a study group for a class they have together. It was all good things, mostly; he had mentioned that Malia did have a tendency to come off as blunt, but she had a good heart and was trustworthy which, coming from Stiles, who got along with people well enough but actually trusted about as many people as Kira could count on one hand, was a ringing endorsement.
The fact that she’s very pretty, based on the pictures Kira has seen, is just a bonus.
Just as she reaches to pull her phone out of her pocket to check the time again, someone clears their throat in front of her.
“Kira?”
Kira glances up to find herself face to face with Malia. Her hair is different from the last picture that Kira had seen; it’s chin length and brown, rather than flowing and honey-blonde. She’s wearing an unbuttoned flannel over a tank top and cut-off shorts that expose miles of her tanned legs, but if she’s cold, she’s hiding it very well.
“Hi!” Kira says, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “Did you find the place okay?”
Malia nods. “Sorry I’m late. I was studying with my roommate and lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” Kira shrugs, stepping out of the alcove and trying to bite back a shiver as a gust of wind immediately cuts through her sweater. “I don’t think we’ve missed anything yet.”
“Probably not.” Reaching into her pocket, Malia pulls out a crumpled piece of paper that Kira recognizes as a ticket when she unfolds it. “Have you ever been to this place?”
Never.” Her own ticket is a little smoother than Malia’s, although it’s dotted with glitter from sitting on her dresser. “I don’t even know if Stiles has either, actually. Or how he got the tickets.”
“Probably better not to ask,” Malia says, holding out her hand for Kira’s ticket as they approach the entrance. “Unless you want to listen to three unconnected stories before he actually answers you.”
The laugh that bursts from Kira’s chest is embarrassingly loud, and she has to clasp her hands together to keep from slamming them over her own mouth. Her cheeks flush with painfully hot warmth, but before she can try to come up with some kind of way to distract Malia with something else, Malia breaks out into a wide grin.
“If you laugh like that in there, you’ll be their favorite person,” she says, passing the tickets over to the door attendant, who waves them inside.
Somehow, that just makes Kira blush harder.
The main room of the club is smaller than Kira expected. There’s a bar curving along one wall, and the center of the room is dotted with two dozen tables of varying sizes. There are a few two-person ones still available up towards the stage, but when Malia chooses one near the entrance, Kira breathes a sigh of relief. Even though she’s never been to a comedy club, she knows that audience participation is sometimes a thing that happens, and the more she can avoid being the center of attention, the better.
Once they actually sit down, close enough to be almost shoulder to shoulder due to the small size of the table, Kira has to fumble to try and figure out how to initiate a conversation again. It’s not that talking is hard; most of the time, if she’s with someone she knows well or if she’s excited about a topic, it’s difficult for her to wrangle the words spilling from her mouth, let alone bring them to a step.
But actually starting a conversation with someone she barely knows, settling on something she can say that won’t make them look at her weird, is the difficult part.
“I like your hair,” she finally blurts out. Before she can lose her nerve, she continues, “It looks different than in the pictures Stiles showed me.”
“It looks okay?” Malia asks, frowning slightly as she pinches a strand in her fingers and tugs it out in front of her face, like she’s inspecting it for defects. “I did it myself a few days ago. It was getting in the way.”
“It looks great,” Kira affirms. Truthfully, it looks better than some of the professional haircuts she’s had in the past, although she’s willing to admit that many of those failures were caused by her being too nervous to speak up when the stylist was doing something she really didn’t want. “Did you dye it yourself too?”
Malia shakes her head but before she can answer, the overhead lights dim and a spotlight snaps on, illuminating a microphone stand placed at center stage. The club’s MC steps out of the wings and runs through a quick spiel about some of the acts that will be performing over the next few hours and the general rules of conduct for the club. When they finish up, they introduce the first performer of the night, and Kira claps politely as a burly guy with a beard in a t-shirt and jeans steps up onto the stage and adjusts the mic to his height.
“Are you ready to laugh out there?” he begins with. A few people yell or clap again, but Malia isn’t one of them. She leans forward and crosses her arms on the table, elbow just barely bumping against Kira’s.
“If none of these people turn out to be funny, I’m going to kill Stiles,” she says.
“I’m sure he won’t be that bad,” Kira says with a shrug, taking a sip of her water as the comedian launches into his first joke of the set.
Bad doesn’t come close to describing just how awful the set is.
The first few jokes fall completely and utterly flat. They simply aren’t funny, and with each one he tells, the room grows quieter and quieter, until the awkwardness feels like a physical presence, heavy as a blanket.
“Alrighty,” the comedian says after yet another so-called joke is met with silence. “I’m going to try something different now.”
“Like not sucking?” Malia mutters under her breath, chin propped in one hand.
Kira snorts and nearly chokes on her water and, for a few seconds, Malia’s frown transforms into a soft smile.
The transformation only lasts for as long as it takes the comedian to talk again.
The next story he tells is a little better; it’s about something he witnessed while riding the subway on a trip to New York, and as someone who lived there for the first fifteen years of her life, Kira can definitely relate.
But after that, the set goes completely downhill.
While his delivery certainly improves, the content does not. Every story that he tells is tinged with misogyny, racism, and homophobia, sometimes all at the same time, and as more time progresses with no sign of him leaving the stage, Kira sinks lower and lower in her chair, until her eyes are level with the table.
The only way the night could get any worse is if Malia was laughing at the jokes but, thankfully, she hasn’t made a single amused sound since he relaunched into his act. Her face is set like stone, and when Kira glances at where her fingers are curled around her own elbows, she notices that her knuckles are white, like she’s forcibly holding herself back.
Finally, after an excruciatingly long time, the man finally announces that he’s on the last story of his act. It’s somehow even worse than all the others combined, and when he speaks the last word into the mic, it echos around a room that is otherwise silent, completely devoid of a single chuckle or clap.
It remains silent until Malia sits up straight and opens her mouth for the first time in fifteen minutes.
“You’re not funny, and you’re an asshole,” she yells at the man’s back as he exits the right side of the stage. Someone sitting at a table near the front of the room whoops in agreement, and there’s scattered applause, but if Malia notices, she doesn’t give any indication. Instead, she twists in her seat until she’s facing Kira head-on.
“I know it’s early, but can we go?” she asks. “If I have to sit through any more of that, I’m going to kick someone’s ass.”
Kira’s very glad that Malia asked first, because she was just in the middle of trying to figure out the best way to ask if they could leave.
“Me too,” she says, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. “Let’s get out of here before the next act starts.”
When they step back onto the street, it’s fully dark and the night has grown even colder. Kira immediately wraps her arms tightly around her torso and mentally kicks herself for not bringing a jacket. The diner that they’ve agreed to have dinner at is only a ten minute walk away, but those ten minutes are going to feel like an eternity, not to mention that it’s going to be next to impossible to focus on carrying on a conversation with Malia when she’s too busy shivering.
Before she can lose herself on that train of thought, a slight weight drapes over her shoulders, which she quickly realizes is Malia’s flannel.
“I could hear your teeth clattering,” she says by way of explanation, tucking her hands into the front pockets of her shorts. Her tank top leaves the entirety of her arms and a portion of her chest exposed, but if she feels the cold, there’s no outward sign that she’s bothered by it.
“Are you sure?” Kira asks, curling her fingers into the shirt. It feels soft and well-worn, well-loved, against her fingertips.
“Positive,” Malia says with a firm nod. “I’ll be fine. Are you hungry?”
On cue, Kira’s stomach rumbles.
“I could definitely eat,” she says, sliding the flannel on and tucking her cold hands into her armpits. “Lead the way.”
They’ve only taken a few steps down the sidewalk when she realizes that not only is the flannel soft and decent enough at blocking out the wind, it also smells very good, a little like pine.
Which means that Malia smells very good.
That thought makes her flush, which she immediately tries to hide by ducking her chin to her chest.
Based on the grin she catches Malia giving her from the corner of her eye, she doesn’t think that her attempt is entirely successful.
Thankfully, dinner goes much better than the show and, at the end of the night, when they’re standing at the bottom of the steps leading into Kira’s apartment, Malia refuses to take back her flannel.
“You can give it back to me next time,” she says, smoothing down the collar, fingers lingering for a second longer than would denote mere friendliness. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Kira says, trying and failing to keep herself from grinning like a dork. “Next time.”
Once she’s gotten into her apartment, she manages to last all of five minutes before she pulls her phone out and opens her conversation with Malia.
Before she can fall into a cycle of overthinking that’s bound to last hours, she types out her message and immediately presses send.
could ‘next time’ be sooner rather than later?
Nerves instantly start gathering in her stomach, but before she can start feeling too queasy, her phone buzzes in her lap.
next time could be tomorrow, if you want it to be!
Grinning, she immediately starts another message.
All things aside, despite the terrible comedy show and the cold, she thinks it was a successful first date, definitely the most successful she’s had in a long time.
and we’re back with round two! like it says on the tin, this is a complete list of what I’ve written between the beginning of April and the end of June!
some statistics:
total number of fics: 67
total number of fandoms: 12
total word count: 75,925
most common pairing: Malia/Kira and Betty/Veronica are both tied with four fics a piece!
and now, for the fics!
American Gods
a conversation long overdue. Audrey/Laura. 1615 words. Rated T. ao3.
“You know, it didn’t have to be Robbie. It could have been you, just as easily, if you’d been the one to pick up the phone. If you’d been the one to come over and deal with the fucking cat.”
energetic praise you wanted. Bilquis/Media. 250 words. Rated M. ao3.
"Oh, honey," she says, words ghosting over Bilquis' swollen flesh. "I'm afraid that isn't going to work on me."
rage looks good on you. Audrey/Laura. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"You are the most selfish bitch in the entire universe."
Borderlands
a high degree of caution. Lilith/Mad Moxxi. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"You know, this is definitely on the list of things most people don't screw around with."
Crossover
Intermission. Allison Argent (Teen Wolf) / Jo Harvelle (Supernatural). 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"You know, I could have taken that vamp on my own."
Gotham
a little healthy competition. Barbara/Tabitha. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"I bet that I can make you come before they finish their set."
Hannibal
Decoy. Alana/Margot. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
For the time being, using Will as a decoy is the best option available to them.
once, twice, three times. Beverly/Molly. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Beverly has never been much of a believer in the concept of soulmates.
Jane Got A Gun (2016)
weak spot (everybody has one). John Bishop/Vic Owen. 1248 words. Rated M. ao3.
“If you cannot hold your tongue, I will cut it out of your head.”
Logan (2017)
change of plans. Donald Pierce/Logan. 3655 words. Rated T. ao3.
When Logan refuses to give Pierce the girl, Pierce decides to tell him a secret.
how to fall through the cracks. Donald Pierce/Logan. 3245 words. Rated M. ao3.
Pierce and Logan have met before, in an El Paso bar in the early hours of the morning. Logan just doesn't remember.
threat assessment. Donald Pierce/Logan. 5268 words. Rated M. ao3.
Pierce and Logan have met before, in an El Paso bar in the early hours of the morning. Logan just doesn't remember.
Pierce, on the other hand, remembers everything.
Power Rangers (2017)
comfort above all else. Kimberly/Trini. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Are any of those clothes yours?"
no sign of movement. Kimberly/Trini. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Trini," she says for the eighth time, "we're going to be late if you don't move."
the thing that lives in the dark. Rita Repulsa/Trini. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
All small towns have their own sets of tales, their own legends passed down through generations. Angel Grove is no different.
Wrong Number. Kimberly/Trini. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
A little miscommunication with the boys means that Trini and Kim have half an hour to themselves.
Preacher
Sacrilegious. Emily/Tulip. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Emily is fairly certain that what she's doing counts as an act of sacrilege.
Riverdale
an unspoken promise. Betty/Veronica. Rated G. ao3.
Veronica has been given enough jewelry in her life to recognize a necklace box when she sees it.
Betrothal. Cheryl/Polly. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
The footsteps stop on her left, and when she glances left through the netting of her veil, she's met with a glimpse of vivid red hair. It belongs to a Blossom, there's no doubt about that, but it's the wrong Blossom.
do you do more than dance? Betty/Cheryl. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Cheryl Blossom is dancing on a table in a fire-red bralette and pleated skirt, and she won't stop staring at Betty.
feels like the first time. Alice/FP. 3380 words. Rated E. ao3.
On a hot summer night by the shores of Sweetwater River, after senior year comes to an end, Alice and FP find a moment of bliss.
find a home for your love (home isn’t always a place). Alice/FP/Fred. 5407 words. Rated E. ao3.
Sometimes, a threesome isn't just a threesome. Sometimes, it's a plea for something more
hit me (where you want it). Betty/Cheryl. 250 words. Rated E. ao3.
Cheryl doesn't know where the cane originally came from, but she does know that Betty knows how to use it.
Hitch. Betty/Cheryl/Veronica. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"Let Veronica eat you out."
how to keep a secret. Alice/Hermione. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Hal has no idea that she's been intermittently fantasizing about Hermione Lodge since high school.
just keep your eyes on me. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
It's not that Betty is afraid of heights. Really. She's not.
one day (i’ll kiss it all away). Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Veronica is thirteen when she starts feeling her soulmate's pain.
peel it all back. Alice/Hermione. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
At initial glance, Alice Cooper's entire life is the definition of neat.
running interference. Alice/Hermione. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
The supply closet of the White Wyrm is not made for make-out sessions.
somewhere in her smile. Hermione/Mary. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"We could be like them," she says, lowering her gaze to where Mary's fingers are clasped in her lap. "Like FP and Fred. If you wanted to."
stages of healing. FP/Fred. 1509 words. Rated T. ao3.
FP’s hands have been scarred for as long as Fred can remember.
vow of silence. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated E. ao3.
"We have to be quiet."
Supernatural
savor the present. Anna/Jo. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
The last time Jo saw her, Anna was 19. The time before that, she was 32. Next time, she might be 70 or 4. There's no way to predict.
Stress Relief. Meg 2.0/Ruby 1.0. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Get yourself a new meatsuit?"
swallow it down. Meg 2.0/Ruby 1.0. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"Sex pollen? Are you kidding me?"
Vacation Plans. Castiel/Dean. 965 words. Rated M. ao3.
Written for the prompt “cas/dean - cas walks in on dean jerking off OR vice versa :D."
Teen Wolf
a day in the sun. Peter/Stiles. 494 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Peter can think of about a dozen different places that he'd rather be off the top of his head, but it was Stiles' turn to pick where they went for their weekly Saturday date, and as much as Peter likes upsetting traditions, there are some things that he simply can't be bothered to go against.
all the amenities of home. Allison/Kira/Lydia. 1879 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
Established polyamory, sex tapes, masturbation and facesitting.
any way you want it (that’s the way you need it). Malia/Kira. 2429 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
Malia wants to know how to make Kira feel good. The obvious solution is to watch her masturbate.
Begin Transmission. Derek/Stiles & Isaac/Scott. Completed WIP. 26 chapters, 11 added since first quarter. 55,178 words total, 19,346 added since last quarter. Rated E. ao3.
After the events with the alpha pack and the darach, Stiles is thrust into his new role as the emissary for Scott’s pack. It’s a demanding position, one that requires years and years of study.
bite down, bite down (into me). Allison/Stiles. 1036 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
Allison Argent is the furthest thing from a werewolf, but you wouldn’t know that from how eagerly she sinks her teeth into Stiles’ flesh.
Cold Comfort. Laura/Lydia. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
The scream tears Lydia out of sleep, rips her out of a dream that she immediately forgets.
Comfort Food. Malia/Kira. 414 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Malia is standing in front of her locker, one hand crumpled into a fist at her side, the other clutching a sheet of paper that's nearly torn in half. There's a deep dent in the door of the locker, so deep that Kira is surprised the metal didn't completely break. Malia's breathing is loud and uneven, and Kira approaches her slowly, not wanting to surprise her.
Contentment. Braeden/Kira. 544 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Braeden's never been particularly fond of sharing her things with others, but for almost five years, Kira has been the exception, particularly when it comes to clothes.
Exchange. Braeden/Laura. 500 words. Rated G. ao3.
Breaking into Hale Industries is a cakewalk.
Firelight. Kira/Lydia. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
The slur in Kira's voice is soft but distinct, and Lydia glances down at her tipsy girlfriend, who is stretched out with her head in Lydia's lap.
hiding in plain sight. Erica/Kali. 500 words. Rated T. ao3.
"Should have left town when you had the chance, Kali."
it comes seeping in (when you close your eyes). Allison/Nogitsune. 1328 words. ao3.
The other girl’s eyes, her eyes, are very black, impossibly black, and when Allison stares at them, she has the distinct feeling that the ground underneath her feet is tilting, that she’s about to fall into a deep hole that she’ll never be able to claw her way out of.
just the two of us. Boyd/Erica. 2431 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
The one where Erica gets a cold at college, Boyd comes to take care of her, and love confessions happen.
make some noise. Laura/Stiles. 527 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
The real reason she'd opted out of the trip was because of Stiles, because she wanted to be loud in her own bedroom for once.
Nightcall. Parrish/Stiles. 1680 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
Jordan can count on one hand the number of times he’s worked a quiet night shift since moving to Beacon Hills.
(Or, the one where on-duty phone sex is almost a thing, but a collapsing shelf gets in the way.)
nothing but sun and sand. Malia/Kira. 1210 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
On the first day of their week-long vacation, Kira and Malia share a moment of quiet down by the ocean.
only oceans can separate us. Cora/Lydia. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"You should get to bed soon, babe."
put the past behind you. Lydia/Malia. 250 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
"I know this is weird for both of us, and I know you don't wanna talk about it. Do you wanna get drunk and make out in the bathroom instead?"
rate your pain. Allison/Stiles. 438 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think this is going to hurt?"
ripped to shreds. Laura/Stiles. 386 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
And, also like her, he wants to rip off Kate Argent's head.
sands of time. Noshiko/Marie-Jeanne & Allison/Kira. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
In the 900 years of her life, Noshiko has had relationships with more people than she can count.
seasons change (but people don’t). Malia/Kira. 2340 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
The one where Malia hates airports but is willing to brave the chaos so that she can finally meet Kira in person.
sway. Allison/Malia. 250 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Malia is never drinking again.
sync up the cuts (to the bass drum kick). Laura/Stiles. 581 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Watching Laura perform is like watching a tornado decimate a town.
Territorial. Laura/Kali. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
“I thought I told you to get out of my territory.”
the best girlfriend ever. Allison/Stiles. 636 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
“I really hope this doesn’t look as ridiculous as it feels.”
Tighten Up. Allison/Erica. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"How much time do we have until the game is over?"
Total Control. Allison/Scott/Stiles. 312 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
Allison takes his left wrist, while Stiles' thicker fingers take his right, and as they start winding the scarves (or at least that's what they feel like) around his wrists and the headboard, it becomes clear just how flimsy the fabric is, how easy it would be to tear through it.
The Walking Dead
a loud awakening. Daryl/Jesus. 453 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
His fingers skim over a sun-warmed hip, and he cracks open one eye just long to see Jesus looking down at him with an amused smile on his face, hair loose around his shoulders, bare-chested with a mug of coffee in his hand.
a steady decline. Andrea/Michonne. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Andrea is getting sicker.
getting caught (ain’t always a bad thing). Daryl/Jesus. 918 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr.
When Jesus wakes up to an empty apartment on his day off, he decides to use his time in the shower for other purposes.
Proximity. Beth/Carol. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
While the days are growing longer and warmer, the interior of the prison is still cold, especially at night.
Allison/Lydia - Long Distance Relationship and/or Social Media~
~700 words of married couple, domestic fluff, using the long distance relationship prompt! on ao3 here!
When Allison’s phone rings, she’s sitting on the balcony, book in one hand, steaming mug of coffee in the other. The winter chill hasn’t entirely left the air yet, but the sun is out, the sky is cloudless, and there’s absolutely no wind, so she’s perfectly cozy in a pair of thick socks and a heavy sweater borrowed from Lydia’s closet. The balcony door is open so that some of the winter stuffiness can air out of the apartment, and her phone is resting on the floor just on the other side of the door frame, so she’s able to easily grab it by simply leaning over the arm of the plastic chair.
“Hey Lyds,” she answers after checking the caller ID. “How’s the weather in your part of the world?”
“Unpredictable and annoying,” Lydia replies, her voice slightly muffled by the crackling of the connection. “Two days ago, I went to class in a dress and was sweating. Yesterday, it was so cold I couldn’t breathe, and it snowed. I don’t know how these people do it every year.”
“I’m sure you’d get used to it, if you stayed long enough,” Allison laughs. Lydia has been a visiting professor at a Toronto university for nearly six months now, and Allison lost count long ago of the number of times she’s complained about the cold.
Apparently, even though they’ve been living in Boston for nearly five years, part of Lydia is still firmly stuck in California.
“Maybe by the time I come home, all of the snow will have melted.”
“I hope so,” Allison says, trying not to let the excitement leak too strongly into her voice. There’s still three months until Lydia will be back for good, and while it’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all since September, Allison is still counting down the days until she can once again wake up beside her wife every morning. “So what are your plans for the day?”
“I have some errands to run. That and grading. So much grading,” she groans. Before Allison can make a quip, she hears someone knock on the apartment’s door. She isn’t expecting anyone, but chances are that it’s Scott and Stiles; they drop by at least four times a week, and they usually bring food with them, either take-out or a home-cooked meal ready to heat up in the oven.
She won’t lie, it’s been nice saving money on the grocery bill, but the fact that they’re treating her like a bereaved widow is a bit ridiculous.
“Pretty sure Scott and Stiles are here,” she says, setting her coffee cup on the ground and getting to her feet. “I’m surprised they’re even awake at this hour.” Lydia simply hums, which is a bit of a strange reaction, but Allison decides to wait until after she opens the door to ask if everything is okay.
She expects to see Scott and Stiles standing on the other side of the door, or maybe a delivery person bearing gifts from Lydia.
Instead, she’s met with Lydia herself.
“I wasn’t kidding about the grading,” Lydia says, ending the call and tucking her phone into the pocket of her belted, forest green trench coat. “But I can work on that later.”
“You’re here,” Allison says, lips curving into a smile that she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. “You’re actually here. For how long?”
“For a week,” Lydia answers, stepping into the apartment, pulling her suitcase along behind her. “The school gives all the students a week off for studying for midterms, and I’m taking full advantage of it.”
“I could have picked you up from the airport! I could have had breakfast ready-”
“Allison,” Lydia interrupts, releasing the handle of her suitcase and pressing herself against Allison’s front, “I wanted to surprise you. You can drive me back to the airport when I have to leave, and if you really want to, you can make me breakfast in an hour. But there’s something I want to do first.” Before Allison can answer, Lydia leans up on her toes, presses her lips against Allison’s, and slides her hands into Allison’s loose hair. Allison immediately parts her lips, backs up until her spine is pressed against the wall and curls her fingers around Lydia’s hips, tugging her in even closer.
By the time they get around to making breakfast, it’s nearly noon.
like it says on the tin, this is a complete list of what I’ve written between the beginning of January and the end of March. I decided to start doing this because a lot of my recent works have only been posted on ao3, and I wanted some record of them on my blog, so expect one of these each quarter!
some statistics:
total number of fics: 47
total number of fandoms: 14
total word count: 81,798
most common pairing: Betty/Veronica (Riverdale) - 5 fics
and now, for the fics!
All For The Game
illuminated in the light. Allison/Renee. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
There's something to be said about how beautiful Renee looks in the passenger seat of Allison's convertible on a bright spring day.
American Horror Story
Feed the Gods. Alex Lowe/The Countess. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Alex thought she knew what hunger felt like.
Brooklyn 99
leather & lace. Amy/Rosa. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Rosa has never understood the appeal of lacy underwear.
sharing is caring. Amy/Rosa. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Amy comes in with two cups of coffee, a bag of pastries tucked into the pocket of the leather jacket she's wearing.
Rosa's leather jacket. Her formal leather jacket.
From Dusk Till Dawn
living on the edge. Kisa/Sonja. Rated T. 250 words. ao3.
The American border is still three hours away, and in a little less than four, the sun is going to rise, which means Kisa and Sonja need to be back on the road sooner rather than later.
But what's a road trip without a little danger?
Eyewitness
Inconvenient Timing. Helen/Kamilah. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
In which Tony tries to be a good deputy and ends up interrupting Helen and Kamilah at a rather inopportune time.
Gotham
Harder. Barbara/Tabitha. 250 words. Rated M. ao3.
"Quit being a tease. Do something, or I'm not letting you tie me up again."
the kings are dead (long live the queens). Barbara/Tabitha. 960 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr.
Oswald Cobblepot is sleeping with the fishes, and pieces of Edward Nygma are scattered across four of the six garbage dumps that surround Gotham.
For Barbara and Tabitha, it's time to celebrate.
Hannibal
count my scars. Beverly/Reba. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Before they make love for the first time, Reba touches her.
darker than the bottom of the ocean. Bedelia/Freddie. Rated T. ao3.
"Ms. Lounds? Do you know where you are?"(Freddie awakens in pure, damp darkness, with no memory of how she got there.)
How to Destroy Your Gods. Bedelia/Freddie. 4001 words. Rated T. ao3.
If you live long enough, you begin to see the same eyes appear in different people.
Bedelia has become accustomed to it.
But that doesn't meant she expects to open her door on a brisk spring morning and find herself staring into piercing blue eyes that she has been running away from for five hundred years.
Sentinel. Alana/Margot. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Margot has never been a heavy sleeper.
the hunter becomes the hunted. Bedelia/Freddie. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
"Ms. Lounds," she says, the broken tape recorder crunching underneath her feet as she moves again, propelling Freddie back towards a red couch set against the wall, "not only was that illegal, but it was very rude."
HTGAWM
exchanging body heat (in the passenger seat). Annaliese/Eve. 533 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
Annalise has always had a way of making Eve violate even her most precious of principles.
Preacher
just keep pushin’. Emily/Tulip, 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"I can't believe none of the tow truck drivers in this piece of shit town work on Sundays."
right where we belong. Emily/Tulip. 2956 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr.
Tulip O'Hare possesses a long, long list of talents and skills (some more illicit than others), but if there’s one thing she’s perfect at, it’s slotting into Emily’s life like she was meant to be there from day one.
Riverdale
Fruition. Betty/Veronica & Cheryl/Josie. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"God, I wish they would just kiss already."
Privilege. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated M. ao3.
All of Veronica's past privileges are nothing compared to the privilege of having Betty Cooper in her life.
six, seven, eight. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Kevin, it's not even noon, and she's already given me six separate presents."
the rhythm of the night. Betty/Veronica. 3944 words. Rated E. ao3.
together & apart. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
"Only 29 days until we're together again."
Star Wars
meaner than my demons. Phasma/Rey. 250 words. ao3.
"You're going to take me to Kylo Ren."
Supernatural
Battle Scars. Anna/Jo. 500 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Heaven has been at war for millennia," Anna says. "We've all sustained battle scars, at one point or another."
Contingencies. Charlie/Dorothy. 2027 words. Rated T. ao3.
Charlie has no less than two dozen contingency plans for the zombie apocalypse. She's been preparing for this shit for years.
So go figure that she would sleep through the start of it and find herself backed into a corner, caught completely unaware and with only a tire iron as a weapon.
Thankfully, that's where the mysterious stranger with the old gun comes in.
tragic as a slaughterhouse. Castiel/Dean. 10,355 words. Rated E. ao3.
Dean has been running from Castiel for six months.
Teen Wolf
Allison/Cora/Kira
Pray for The Sun. 986 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
"I know this might be hard for you to understand, but there are worse things in the world than being a vampire."
Allison/Kali
stripped down to the bone. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
Kali doesn't need to see Allison's face to know that the future matriarch of the Argent clan is enjoying herself.
want to break you down (brick by brick). 1228 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
Kali is sick of sneaking around, of sliding through Allison's window in the dead of night, of having to conduct their relationship in near silence.
She wants to hear Allison scream for her.
Allison/Kira
give you my love. 250 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
"Allison," Kira pants, fingers scrabbling against the rickety supply closet shelf, "we have to stop. You have to teach in five minutes."
Allison/Lydia
Downtime. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Lydia, you have to get better shoes."
six hundred miles. 735 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
When someone knocks on Allison's door one early Saturday morning, she expects to see Scott and Stiles standing on the other side of the door, or maybe a delivery person bearing gifts from Lydia.
Instead, she's met with Lydia herself.
Allison/Lydia/Scott
waiting for the night. 2332 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Allison has been trying unsuccessfully for months to find new friends, to make some kind of meaningful connection in a city where she knows absolutely no one.
As it turns out, all she needs to do is stop trying, and the connections come to her.
Allison/Stiles
what’s yours is mine (what’s mine is yours). 2803 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr.
When Allison arrives home after a long day of work, Stiles intends on asking how her day was and devouring some of the chocolate chip cookies she's brought home.
Allison, on the other hand, has other ideas.
Cora/Erica/Lydia
Porcupine. 832 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Erica has woken up to a number of strange things in her life. But an arm full of splinters?
Well, that's a first.
Cora/Lydia
Neutrality. 1451 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Lydia is solely blaming Cora Hale and her notorious impatience on the fact that it's taking every ounce of her willpower to stop her teeth from chattering like a freaky wind-up toy.
When You Walked In. 733 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Cora expects the first meeting of the school year to be just as boring and pointless as the countless others she's been forced to sit through since she became a teacher.
But that's before what (or, rather, who) she did on her summer break walks through the staff room door.
Derek/Stiles (and Isaac/Scott)
Begin Transmission. WIP. 15/26 chapters. 35,832 words. Rated E. ao3.
After the events with the alpha pack and the darach, Stiles is thrust into his new role as the emissary for Scott's pack. It's a demanding position, one that requires years and years of study.
Gen
Claustrophobia. Allison-centric. 349 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
Allison wakes up in pure, all-encompassing darkness.
Jennifer/Kali
could have, should have. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.
In another life, perhaps they could have loved each other properly.
Kali/Violet
taste of a poison paradise. 250 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr.
"It burns," Kali hisses, breath whistling harshly through her teeth as she tries to pull away from the intricately knotted, wolfsbane infused ropes binding her wrists to the headboard.
Lydia/Malia
any day, every day (is a perfect day). 1405 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr.
Even though they’ve been living together for two months now, Malia can’t remember the last time, aside from sleeping, that she spent more than four consecutive hours with Lydia.
Therefore, when the opportunity to spend an entire day together arises, Malia jumps for it.
Malia/Kira
chasing the rabbit. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Even after Foxfire is manually overridden and shut down, Malia doesn't stop screaming.
make my heart sing. 1083 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
When Malia comes home to the smell of Kira bleeding, she inadvertently discovers that Kira was planning on proposing to her on the weekend.
Since the secret's out, she figures there's no point in waiting longer.
Melissa/Talia
First Impressions. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
"Melissa," Talia says from the armchair in the corner of Melissa's bedroom, wry smile playing at her lips, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that you've met my children before. Many times, in fact."
The Walking Dead
Background Noise. Carol/Lori. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Carol is exhausted, but she can't help but take a few moments to savor being beside Lori.
no need for a fuss. Daryl/Jesus. 253 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr.
Every time Daryl looks in the mirror now, there’s a few more gray hairs looking back at him.
so pull me closer. Amy/Beth. 250 words. Rated G. ao3.
Amy has just settled into her sleeping bag when her tent starts rustling.
22: “Today’s a perfect day for naked cuddling. I don’t even care what day it is. Every day is perfect. (I’m gonna spend it with you
1.4 k, rated T. on ao3 here!
When Lydia first brought up the idea of moving in together, Malia had assumed that sharing an apartment would lead to certain events. She’d assumed that living with Lydia would lead to an exponential increase in the number of times they had sex in a week, the number of times they ate dinner together, the number of days they spent binging Netflix and generally ignoring the rest of the world.
The reality, however, is that none of that came to pass.
The reality is that, so far, much of Malia’s experience with living with Lydia has revolved around just trying to keep on top of housework. For every dish that one of them washes, another six appears and Malia seriously wants to just smash them all and go back to using paper plates and plastic utensils.
(If it wasn’t for Lydia’s assertion that doing so would be horrible for the environment, she would have done it already.)
On top of the dishes, there’s keeping up with double the amount of laundry and seemingly constant sweeping and vacuuming. And then there’s the cooking, putting together actual meals, rather than just throwing something in the microwave, which is how Malia sustained herself all through her first year of college.
She’s willing to admit, grudgingly, that actual cooking usually tastes better than frozen crap, takeout, or greasy stuff grabbed from the residence dining hall, but it’s just so damn time consuming.
What it all comes down to is, even though they’ve been living together for two months now, Malia can’t remember the last time, aside from sleeping, that she spent more than four consecutive hours with Lydia.
Every time she thinks they might have a shot, something comes up; they have to buckle down and work on assignment, one of them has to run off to class or work, or someone (usually Scott or Stiles, or Scott and Stiles), shows up for an impromptu visit that usually ends up lasting until the wee hours of the morning, after which Malia is usually too exhausted to even think about anything other than catching some sleep before waking up for a brutally early class.
It’s starting to become a major point of frustration. She likes spending time with Scott and Stiles and the rest of her friends, likes the distraction they offer on days where it feels like her head might explode with the weight of all she has to do, and she doesn’t want to tell them to stop coming over. She can’t stop going to school or work (much as she would really like to), and there are some chores, like garbage and dishes and wiping down the counters, that have to be done if they don’t want to live in an actual pigsty, but if something doesn’t give soon, she’s pretty sure that it’ll be Christmas break before she actually gets a chance to spend actual time with her girlfriend, time where they aren’t more focused on assignments or chores than each other.
Thankfully, after two more weeks of frustration, something gives.
She wakes up on the last Saturday in October to weak autumn sunlight filtering through a small gap in their blackout curtains. She knows without glancing at her phone that she’s slept at least two hours longer than usual; miraculously, she has the day off, having covered one of Kira’s shifts earlier in the week.
Even more miraculously, Lydia is still in bed beside her.
She’s still asleep, turned towards Malia, half of her face pressed in the pillow. Tendrils of hair have escaped from her bun overnight and are dangling around her face, stirring slightly whenever she breathes. Her bare shoulder is poking out from above the blanket, and Malia leans forward to press her lips to the smooth skin there. Lydia stirs a little, and Malia is pretty sure she could wake her fully with only a little effort, but she doesn’t want to push it.
If anyone could use a few extra hours of sleep, it’s Lydia.
However, even though she tries to be quiet when she exits the room and crosses the hall to the bathroom, by the time she returns, Lydia is awake. She’s rolled onto her back, and the blanket has slipped down far enough to reveal the swell of her breasts.
“I tried not to wake you up,” Malia says, dropping down onto the sliver of space between Lydia and the edge of the bed.
“It’s okay,” Lydia replies, grabbing her phone from her nightstand. After she turns the screen on and checks the time, she adds, “I haven’t slept this late in months.”
“Must feel nice.” Lydia nods and slides closer, until her legs are pressed against Malia’s back.
“It’s wonderful.”
“What time do you have to leave?” Malia asks. Even on the weekends, Lydia is constantly on the move, busy with something; there’s always a tutoring session to conduct, or papers to mark, or some other tedious task required of a teacher’s assistant. If it isn’t something related to her job, it’s a few hours in the library to study or volunteering. Lydia stays quiet for a few moments, frowning slightly, eyes raised towards the ceiling, deep in thought. Eventually, just when Malia is starting to worry that she’s somehow said the wrong thing, the frown twists into a smile, and Lydia’s eyes drop back to Malia’s.
“I don’t have anything to do, actually,” she says. “Nothing that I have to leave the house for, at least.”
“You’re serious?” Malia asks, and Lydia nods firmly.
“Positive.” Sitting up, she props her chin on Malia’s shoulder. “Any ideas for how you want to spend the day?” The blanket slowly drops away from her chest to pool around her waist, and Malia can feel one of Lydia’s soft breasts pressing into her side.
“Naked cuddles,” she replies, pushing at Lydia’s shoulders until Lydia lies back down, one eyebrow arched.
“Cuddles?” Lydia asks disbelievingly, dropping her hands to Malia’s waist. “Is that what this is?”
“No,” Malia answers, ducking her head to Lydia’s collarbone. “This is sex, if you want it to be. But naked cuddles after that, for the rest of the day. Just you and me.”
“I can get behind that,” Lydia answers, gasping softly when Malia nips at the base of her throat. “And I can get behind sex too.” That’s all Malia needs to hear; she presses her lips to the side of Lydia’s neck before she can sits up, aiming to slot their lips together. Even though they’ve only just started to touch, arousal is already building between her legs. It’s not that she wants sex all the time, and she definitely doesn’t need it to survive, but she can’t remember the last time they had anything more than a quickie, and she doesn’t want to waste any more time, doesn’t want to take the chance of something coming up and ruining their plans after all.
But before her lips can touch Lydia’s, Lydia stops her by placing her fingers to Malia’s mouth.
“Change of plans.”
Malia tries not to groan, but the sound slips from her mouth anyways, bringing on a smile from Lydia that just makes more arousal spark in her gut.
Sometimes, her girlfriend is almost too beautiful.
“It’s just a small change,” Lydia continues. “This is my proposed plan for the day. First, get rid of that morning breath-”
“It can’t be that bad,” Malia grumbles.
“It is that bad, and so is mine,” Lydia retorts. “So, that first. Then sex, a shower, and breakfast in bed. Then naked cuddling until bedtime. Is that acceptable?”
“Only if we have waffles for breakfast.”
“Well, you’re cooking,” Lydia replies, nudging at Malia’s shoulder until Malia, reluctantly, rolls off her. “So it’s whatever you feel like making.”
“Waffles,” Malia repeats, getting to her feet. “With chocolate sauce and bananas.”
“Strawberries for me.” Lydia kicks the blanket away and stretches until her back pops, and Malia tries very hard not to stare at all of Lydia’s bare curves, all exposed except for where her underwear stretches across her hips.
She doesn’t quite succeed, but she thinks she deserves points for trying.
“Fine. Strawberries for you.”
“Perfect,” Lydia says, getting to her feet. “Now go get rid of that morning breath, so we can get this naked day started off right.”
Malia has never been so eager to brush her teeth in her entire life.
