#How Long Does It Take To Grow Grapes For

[spurbleu]

scapegoat / tucked tail - john price

nsfw. ao3. ~4k

s. the old bruise in his eyes is gone. in its place, blue charcoal ignites, licking at his pupil in a dilated, focused anger. “doesn’t feel good, f'your space to be invaded,” his cigar breathes embers over the bridge of your nose, “does it?”

or, you and your boss get stuck in an elevator.

cw. fem reader. pnv. fingering. power imbalance/inappropriate work dynamics.

for @tobeholyistobeempty <3 thanks for letting me rant about him, love being abhorrent with you.

The world feels odd today.

Tectonic shift. An onslaught of rubble plateaus at your feet as you stand in the elevator. You taste the disquiet in your coffee and try to find its source in the tile grout. This anxiety is an old knife, sweating against a whetstone and the back of your neck.

Your mind searches for a scapegoat- forgotten papers, an unlocked door, perhaps the stove top was left on. But you come up empty-handed and are left to swim in these troubling waters alone and wondering.

The elevator bell brings you back to the morning. Opening doors reveal grey carpet and China blue walls. Clouds with silver linings that shade over the windows. Ceiling lamps. The familiarity should bring you comfort, but the knife is still at your throat as you walk to the main office.

Rounding the corner, it cuts.

The blue in Mr. Price’s eyes is bruised and the pupils have shrunk into capsizing ships. Purple grows beneath his lashes like swollen grapes, where his crows’ feet pick at sunspots. Exhaustion has seized the bridge you spent a year building between the two of you- made from iron, coffee runs and polite banter.

It’s seemingly been burned sometime between the elevator and his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Price.” You say. He stares.

Time takes a drag of its cigar and puts it out on your back while you wait for his reply.

“Morning.”

The answer to your unknown anxiety stamps itself to the slam of his door.

8 AM

He’s not in the office for your first delivery.

His absence is disturbing- abnormal. Even when he isn’t there he lingers- a man who frequently shadows the space and people around him. A wall of force.

You find that his room is similar. Swallows you, despite its minimalism. Mahogany flays the skin under your nose as you survey the small space.

Barren walls aside from a few framed accolades. Tobacco torn carpet. And a desk in the center of the room, framed by a small bookshelf and a single leather chair. Whiskey, neat.

“Excuse me.”

You flinch and spin around. Mr. Price has his hand on the door handle, paused as he glowers at you from the threshold. You smile, but it only seems to wrinkle what little patience he had left.

“Paperwork,” you clear your throat, nerves sparking down your spine “I…have some paperwork. ‘Was leaving it on your desk. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He takes a long stride to the corner of his desk, hands folded behind his back. Sits in his leather chair with a huff and then holds his hand out expectantly. It takes you a second to understand, before you slowly lower the papers into his palm.

Usually, this is where he thanks you. Says he likes your hair “done like that”. Compliments the color of your shirt. It’s an arguably meaningless moment.

But not to you.

The way his voice purrs over your name, a small sentiment that brightens the dirtier, drawling parts of your day. John Price hand feeds you your own importance, and you hardly understand what you did to earn it.

But you don’t have to- the moment beckons content sleep anyway. Because someone- he- believes you did something good.

He says nothing to you today.

10:30 AM

Your knock on his door is timid at best.

“Come in.”

You poke your head through the crack. “I made some coffee…” He waits for you to make this worth his time, and both of you are skeptical that you’ll be able to, “I have an extra cup- black, how you like it. You seem tired today so I-“

“Just…leave it by the door.”

Your eyebrows draw. “…On the floor?”

He looks up at you from over his glasses. “Is there anything else to set it on?”

You look around to give your throat the opportunity to unclose. “No, sir.”

He looks back down. “Then yes. On the floor.”

You stand under the top of the door and watch tantrums manifest themselves around his torso. Small cracks in a meticulously built machine, where enflamed sores spit steam. Alloy lighthouse that searches for labor even when there is none.

Rusts when stagnant.

He does not look at you when he speaks again. “Today would be preferable.”

You’re already walking before your mind can stop you. Foot in front of the other to reach the corner of his desk, and the journey feels twice as long when you register the way he watches you. A fridged gloss over his iris- numbs an anger that squints when you place the cup next to his pen holder.

 He lets out a long, dry, sigh.

“I told you that you could-“

“One less trip for you…” You remember yourself when his eyebrows raise, “sir.”

Your words echo. The walls corner your shoulders. The air he exhales chokes you, and everything slows until it’s just the Atlantic of his eyes and the unshakeable sense that you are drowning in them.

He opens his mouth, but you leave before the words come.

1:00 PM

The seat in the breakout room next to yours is empty. He ate lunch in his office.

When you return to your desk, his mug is on its corner.

It’s empty.

5:25 PM

He calls you into his office this time.

You close the door with your back, hands folded in front of you.

He rubs the bridge of his nose when you walk in, evidently already annoyed. Takes his glasses off with a sigh, interlacing his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk. Greek statue still, with all the imitation of their Gods to match.

“I went through the reports.”

“About the covert?”

“What else,” he grits, “would I be talking about?”

You nod dumbly and stay with your back to the door.

“Do you w-“

“It’s missing pages.”

You swallow a rock. “What?”

“I said,” he stands, straightening his spine, “if you could listen the first time,” a frequent tactic you’ve seen him use on his subordinates- “It has,” but never you, “missing. Pages.”

He’s in front of you and he brings with him a particular quiet that triggers your fight or flight. The pause before an explosion, after a gun fire, or the sound of a casket closing. All of these buries you six feet under- still alive and restlessly terrified of living at the same time as his temper.

He pushes the paper into your chest, and when he removes his hands, he takes your breath with it.

“Fix it.”

5:28 PM

You fight tears at the printer.

When you’ve triple checked that all the pages are there, you return to his office.

You slide the report under the door.

It’s dark when you let your aching bones stand to leave.

Collecting papers, fixing your desk, shouldering your bag…a routine that feels uncharged without Mr. Price to talk with you. Funny, how much you miss his presence.

It’s hardly appropriate, but you pretend that it is.

The lights are off in his office, shades drawn. You didn’t see him leaving, but after your last interaction you hadn’t really been watching. You stare at the room, desperate for it to burst into flames, rot to the floor, melt into wax and metal and dread. Do something that isn’t absurdly empty.

None of those things happen.

So, you wave your white flag. Tomorrow, it’ll be better. You’ll be better.

Your day ends where it began- at the steel doors of the elevator. It looks frosted in the evening; the fluorescent lights above you casting a sick yellow hue over the China blue walls and grey carpet. It looks as stale as you feel.

It opens, and you let out a long sigh as you step in. And for a blissful moment, the day is over.

And then a hand slams between the closing doors.

They jut open, and reveal John Price standing at full height. He does not soften like he usually does when he sees you- in fact he goes ridged. It haunts you, how guiltless he looks.

“Good evening, sir.”

Your nicety falls on deaf ears. He hums and fishes out a lighter from his pocket, sticking a cigar between canines as he steps through the doors. Lights it as they close, and the room fogs.

Within seconds, you’re swelling in the familiarity of cigar corpse. Buried under the nickel smoke that clips to the heels of his boots and stagnates above the slope of his shoulders. Vaguely expensive, like it’s a luxury to be near him and his vices.

Your nose burns, a cruel itch that nudges your sinuses and overwhelms the place behind your eyes. Suffocating as Mr. Price and his cigar smolder beside you, watching the floor numbers decline with your tolerance.

Your peripheral renders embers- fizzles at his facial hair that rests over its barrel, and the fixed position of his jaw when he takes a drag. Calm blankets his silhouette, and you can see his attitude begin to repair itself.

It halts when you cough.

You don’t dare look at him when you feel a shift beside you. “Somethin’ the matter?”

You hold your breath, and when you exhale it’s shaky. “N-no si-“

“Speak up.”

“No sir.”

You cough again.

“Not used to these yet? For how long you’ve been workin’ f’me that’s pretty damn insulting.”

You’re blinking back tears, shifting in your heels. “I- it’s just because we’re in a-“

His hand is on your jaw, yanking it to look up at him.

The old bruise in his eyes is gone. In its place, blue charcoal ignites, licking at his pupil in a dilated, focused anger. Stikes quickly enough to paralyze you in his grip, stone as he squeezes the soft out of the base of your cheeks.

“Small space? Doesn’t feel good, f’your space to be invaded,” the cigar still sits between his teeth and breathes embers over the bridge of your nose, “does it?”

“No sir.” You can’t tell where he ends, or the cigar begins- all you know is that you’re burning in the subsequent ash that follows them both. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you become horrifically aware of how much he overwhelms you. How it’s always been this way- the kindle to his fire. A match to paper.

Just took him force feeding you secondhand smoke to see it. Or, rather, taste it.

“Been doin’ this t’me all fuckin’ day. Hoverin’ like a damn heli.”

“I’m sorry-“

He squeezes until your teeth mark the inside of your cheeks. “Can’tcha tell when a man needs his g’damn peace? When he’s fed up? What about today made’ya think I needed-“

The car convulses with the intensity of thunder. Mechanical earthquake sends you forward and into his chest, and you tense at the abrupt loss of gravity. You feel his back hit the wall, and the way he grunts as you follow close behind. Instinct moves his hand to cover the curve of your head, and you inhale into his shirt.

It’s quiet for ten long seconds. In that time, you realize the elevator isn’t moving.

Mr. Price speaks first. “You alright?”

“Yes.” You breathe.

You slowly part, and the light flickers over your head. Mr. Price curses.

“Not claustrophobic, are you?” You shake your head, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Good.” He makes his way to the operating panel and clicks the emergency open. Theres a whine from somewhere in the front of the car, but nothing budges. He shakes his head and tries to pull the doors apart.

He grunts, but the effort is futile. He doesn’t quit, though.

“Mr. Price.” No response.

“Sir-“ He tries again.

“John Price.”

He turns to you, and for the first time today you see all of it. How his hand-built dam broke, and the surrounding bridges collapsed, and somehow and for some reason, the blame is on him. The blood in the water and the festered rage clogs up his senses until all clarity dies.

How when he softens, it’s the first time he’s seeing you.

You dig your water bottle out of your bag and hold it out to him. He takes it silently, and you press the fire department button.

You slip off your heels and set them next to your bag.

The closed door turns you into a gauche- softly painted in the flickering, orange lights. Theres a halo of static around your figure- as if the curves of you had been smudged. Your face is made up of vague features- shapes that follow its structure but feel slanted. A disorienting, surreal reflection of yourself.

You want to laugh at how fitting it is.

Next to it, is an equally detached painting of Mr. Price. The color of your shirt and the cream of his collect in the middle. It’s fuzzy, and you must squint to see it, but the tether is still there. If only, in the dull steal of an elevator door.  

Price is already looking at you when you glace in his direction. You lean against the side of the elevator wall. “What happened today?”

He lets out a sigh- like he knew you were going to ask. Props himself against the other wall and crosses his arms. In your peripheral, you see how the reflections are no longer on the door.

“A mission did not go as plan.”

You look at him as if to say that cannot possibly be all, and he drops his cigar and puts it out on the tile. “We lost two of our men.”

Your heart twists. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods solemnly, and you pinch your skirt.

“…was it the one I gave you today?”

He shakes his head, and you’re relieved. “No. I found out last night.”

You pause and begin to walk towards him. “Did you sleep?”

The question crosses a boundary, like your body is now. The invisible wall all employees and their bosses have. The absence of real empathy, loyalty without attachment, and the hard rule of never involving yourself in their outside.

The places beyond the office- his home, his habits, his thoughts. The places you so desperately want to be inside.

He watches you approach him, and his shoulders slouch. You’re in front of him now, the smoke still burning at your nose, but it fizzles from below your calf and travels up and between your legs. An awareness follows it- of just how large he is too you without the aid of your heels.

When you look at him, you’re cognitive of why you asked, why you stepped forward, and why you haven’t back away.

And how dangerous that is.

“What do you think?” The question is rhetorical, but your thumb comes to trace the dark space beneath his eyes anyway.

“Not a wink.” You whisper. His breath draws and comes out ragged. His eyes watch you carefully, and despite how hunted they make you feel, your other hand holds his shoulder. When you speak again, your question is genuine.

“Can I do anything to help you, sir?”

His kiss comes to you like an epiphany.

Evens out the grass in your yard that grows awkwardly. Dissolves the spots in your vision after you look at bright lights. The puzzle piece that fell under your desk. All the trifling anomalies that coexist with your ignorance. Orphaned calamities that, until now, it felt futile to repair.

But his mouth pulls it out of you. Biting your lower lip tipping your chin so your lips mold together and you can feel his breath- the thing that keeps him alive- burrowing itself into yours.

Put simply- he was the thing you didn’t know you needed until you had it.

His hands push your hips to the wall, and you inhale, lifting onto your toes and steading yourself by gripping his shoulders. He mutters something incoherent before running his tongue along your gums and you freeze.

He dips to your neck, and you stifle a moan, feeling his hands grab the back part of your thighs and pulling them forward to lift you up-

“Sir- wait-”

He looks at you- almost as angry as he had been about the missing report pages.

“For once,” his right hand comes back up to hold your chin, “let me do what I need to do.”

He doesn’t let an argument form before he slams his lips on yours again- this time it’s violent. Holding your face still so he can shove his tongue down your throat. Your mouth is his ashtray, swallowing his depravity, his rot, the injuries that kept him festering in a locked office. You widen your mouth to fit all of it, so when he groans your name, you swallow that, too.

His left hand relinquishes his grip on your thigh and slips it under your skirt. When you try to pull away, his other hand is there, holding your face still until he runs his index and middle over the wet patch on your underwear.

He smiles against your mouth. “Been wantin’ this, huh darl’?”

You gasp when his thumb presses against your clit through the cloth- “P-Pri-“

His hand falls away and you whine. Tuts, looking you in the eye. “Sir, sweet’eart. Say it.”

“Sir.” You breathe, rolling your hips forward to find fleeting relief against his limp fingers.

“Tha’s a girl.” Kisses behind your ears, before slipping his fingers past the lace to wander between your folds. You sigh, gipping his shoulders for balance, rocking your hips. His thumb returns to its small ministrations against your clit, and a curious finger slips into the sleeve of your cunt.

You groan. “S…sir the f-fire depart-“

He hushes you with a second finger. You yelp, and he takes your surprise as an opportunity to knock your planted foot out to let him stand between them. Shoves his fingers deeper, and you bend forward, moaning as you try your best to see straight.

“Tight lil thing, isn’t she,” his pumps become purposely cruel, and you’re resting your head against his shoulder, mouth agape with drool pooling on the white of his shirt, “have’ta warm her up, hm?”

You don’t know why you find yourself nodding. You’re long past an appropriate work relationship. Employee contracts don’t include riding your superior’s fingers in a stranded elevator.

But it’s been in the fine print, hasn’t it? In the lingering hands, careful eyes, the way you watched his mouth when he talked, and he let you. Even today, you weren’t upset with what he’d said and done on principle, but because it was done to you. It tore down the selfish, callow notion that you were removed from his cruelty- that you had and always would be an exception.

You think in some twisted way; this is him proving you right. The apology you’ll never hear said aloud.

He’s always been a man of action, anyway.

He adds a third, and you’re choking back a sob, shivering like you aren’t burning. Searing where he touches you, while the rest of him crowds everywhere else. Entirely aware that he’s stretching the sensitive tendons of your body and the bones that hold you together so he can watch himself put you back together. Molding you, for him.

Like you haven’t done so already.

“C’mon now, ‘can feel you getting close, sweet’eart,” he purrs in your ear, “give it to me.”

And he’s right. It’s building, the slow and pulsing anticipation your body cannot save itself from- pinpricks of lightning before the thunder. Shuddering breaths as you become desperate- echoed in the curls of your fingers and toes and the mantra you repeat against his neck,

“Please, please, please, ple,”

Your orgasm (you think for the moments that everything whites out) makes you a witch. Burns you at the stake, flays you alive, the mob of your own consciousness jeering from somewhere and nowhere. The limbo where the thunder finally rolls in, but too quickly disappears when he removes his soiled fingers.

“Stay with me,” the tap on your cheek pulls you back to the crammed elevator and the arms that hold you still, “open.”

You do, unlatching chattering teeth and flattening your tongue until his fingers are bed there. He doesn’t move his eyes from you.

“Ain’t that a sight…”

You close your lips and taste the beginning of the end. The torn tapestry yarn of your professionalism, your impulses, your desires. Congregated on the digits that have signed your reports, touched the small of your back, and have now been deep inside your cunt.

He grunts and pulls his hand away with a quiet pop, and steps back to put his hands on his belt.

Your mind is only now beginning to catch up with reality. “Pr-Sir I don’t…“

He draws his cock from the waistband of his pants, and you’re quiet. It holds all the same weight he does, and the hair. Thick swirls that brush over heavy flesh, where it blossoms in an angry red at the tip. You swallow thickly, back pressed to the wall and cunt aching for something your mind isn’t ready for.

“I’m not-“

“You’re prepped enough, darl’,” he steps forwards, running his tip between your folds you wince, “Be a good girl for me, hm? ‘S gonna feel,” he groans when he pushes in further, knocking your lungs up to your throat, “Christ…good.”

He wraps his palms on the underbelly of your thighs and lifts, pressing you against the wall of the elevator. You breathe in the infant relief, before he bottoms out.

You sob, gripping onto his dress shirt as your walls stretch. It’s all lost to the current of his own curses and ragged breaths into your neck. “Fuck, still tight huh?”

You try to reply but it’s lost to the waves that cascade under your ribs with every thrust you’re forced to take. Only able to focus on how full you are, the rest of your body hollowed out in comparison. Light, feverish shivers unfurl up the base of your spine, and you wrap your legs around his hips. He doesn’t mind your silence.

He starts with slow thrusts, letting you bounce on his cock in a rhythm that makes you squirm. When you put up a fight, he grabs your hips and pulls them against his, and you lean your head against the wall at the new depth that should be impossible.

His hand finds your clit and you’re quick to fold back into his shoulder, letting out another ugly moan.

“Tha’s it, knew you needed this,” his hips snap against your ass and your grip beneath his shoulder blades, “I see how you look at me,” grabs your face and tips his head to look down at you, “like you are right now.”

You sigh when he plunges deeper. “Y-you wha…wanted it too..?”

He adjusts your hips and answers with a hard jerk of his own. “’Course I did. Knew you’d be…hah..” leans his head into your neck, where he bites and you gasp, “made f’me.”

You’re flooded with a strange sense of ease.

Nothing about this is normal, but it’s warranted. Signing yourself to him with leather sticking to the underside of your thighs, shaking his hand and feeling a life richer than your own hold you with gentleness. How he’d look at you in the first week mornings and smile, so you adjusted comfortably. How he still did months into the job.

You recall an evening when he walked you to your car. You asked him when he’d be going home. He responded, “late,” and you had said “not too much later, yeah?” He had looked at you like you’d be the one waiting at home for him.

Then said, “For you, I won’t.”

You’ve been wanting it since then.

The collision shatters glass and other fragile things you’re made of. Lifted by his arms so you cannot collect yourself as he spears into you, until you are unsure where you begin, and he ends.

Didn’t hear yourself begin to speak, but you catch the butt-end of your incoherency when he steps forward and puts your back flat against the wall. “-ir so good…uh..hah good please, gonna- gonna cum’ah.”

He doesn’t relent, chasing your orgasm like he’s starving. “I know, I know sweet’eart, doin’ so well…” cages you between his elbows, “Show me how good I make you feel.”

You cling to his back like a lifeline. Drowning in him again, but now it’s beyond his eyes. Its his chest, his arms, his cock and every other part of him that makes you desperate enough to fuck him in an elevator.

Equally terrified and thrilled by his reciprocation. A follower returning to their alter, where their food has been eaten and wine swallowed and you simultaneously realize your god is real, and he knows you.

That he’ll eat you too, given the chance.

Your second orgasm is a cigar. Burns fast once lit and lingers until the smoke finds your lungs and the clenches your walls. Where the tobacco is you, your boss, this elevator, and the sprout that grew until its nicotine leaves bridged them together.  

Where Price can fit his mouth back over yours and groan, spilling himself into you and bucking until his spend kisses your cervix, and you see stars.

The come down is slow. He doesn’t move for awhile and you are grateful- entirely sure that the moment he steps away you’ll collapse to the floor. Feeling his chest inhale against your own, and kisses you like he didn’t just fuck you raw against granite that you will never look at the same again.

He peels himself from you at a snail’s pace, and when he pulls out, takes a finger and pushes his spend back into your swollen cunt. When you shift, his places a burly hand above your pelvis and holds you against the wall. Rises, and swipes the hair out of you face.

“Still with me?”

You can only nod against the hills of his palm. He smiles for the first time that day.

“Let’s get cleaned up before the firemen get us out.”

Tomorrow, Price will smile the whole day. He will get you a coffee from the break room, and you will ask how he knows the amount of cream and sugar you like. He will remind you he’s an observer. He’ll notice you did your hair differently. He will say he likes it.

At 5, he will call you into his office again. But this time, it’s not about missing pages of a report, but the missing undergarment from under your skirt.

He’ll then ask you to lift it, so he can properly see how soaking wet your cunt is.

[aurorasgate]

hello lovely luna !! i hope life has been treating you well, i’ve been missing u ♥️

for the prompt game, can i request “you’re not in bed. i came looking for you” with my beloved diluc? i’ve been struggling with insomnia n i just want diluc to put me to sleep ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

oh my whole heart was poured into this one i'm aching. i did not mean for it to this long but what can i do he has my heart and soul🩷 i hope you like it awea! i love n miss you too🥺💕

🌙 prompt event

“you’re not in bed. i came looking for you” | diluc x reader with no pronouns used

the winery at night is blanketed in the ethereal silver glow of the moon this time of night. it feels like something out of a fairy tale with the thick grape vines lining the path you walk, sparkling crystal flies silent in the flutter of their wings, and if you look hard enough even in the moonlight you can see the plump purple grapes. 

it’s cool in a way that feels wonderful against your heated skin but not enough to make you cold and with each breath you take, you try to let the fresh air ease your mind that just won’t stop moving and thinking no matter how much you will it to. you honestly aren’t sure if being out here is working but it feels nice, peaceful and you’re glad to not be tossing and turning in bed while your beloved tries to sleep next to you.

you didn’t want to wake diluc, not when you knew how desperately he needed the sleep despite the fact you’re sure he would tell you he’s doing just fine on the little he does get. it wouldn’t stop you from doing your best to try to get tired all on your own before slipping back into bed, looking after him in this way. 

but it was as if he felt the distance between you growing even in his dreams. his tired arm reaches for you on your side of the bed, needing to pull you closer to him before he could settle once again and when he’s met with cooling sheets barely clinging with your warmth, he’s instantly awake, ruby eyes blinking away tiredness and seeing he’s alone in bed.

quick to take in the space around him, diluc notes how the bathroom light isn’t on and there’s a full glass of water on your night stand. you’re nowhere to be found and he feels a tug on his heart that brings him to his feet, his strides long as he heads for the closed bedroom door and down the grand staircase in only long sleep pants. 

he’s not sure what brings him to look outside before anywhere else, he dreads the thought of you being out there where something could hurt you with him not there to protect you. even if you could hold your own.. he just.. he never wanted to see anything happen to you and he could never get back to sleep without you next to him.

feeling his chest grow tight, he doesn’t let it slow his steps as he grabs his coat off of the back of the chair he had been working from earlier and pulls it over his bare arms and back, throwing open the heavy mahogany doors with ease. 

you spot the brightness of his hair even in the dark night barely lit with the few lanterns that still burn around the property and feel your heart squeeze at the sight of him. his ruby eyes are filled with worry and a softness that makes you think he looks a bit younger, makes you want to reach out and touch his cheek, ease his anxieties, stand on your toes to kiss his brow.

“what’re you doing out here?” you ask and you’re forced to look up as he closes the distance between you, shedding his coat and pulling it over your shoulders as soon as he could reach you. 

you’re enveloped in his warmth and the smell of wine from every angle, melting against his chest as he pulls you in close, like he needed to feel you against him.

“you’re not in bed,” he pulls you even closer, cradling the back of your skull with one hand, the other splayed across your lower back and his words are spoken softly against the shell of your ear. “i came looking for you.” 

“i’m sorry,” your reply is barely audible against the immediate comfort he provides you, the kind that melts down your worries and woes and leaves you feeling safe and like you might actually be able to fall asleep. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i just..” you pause, feeling guilty for having worried him by being out here. “i couldn’t sleep.”

“why didn’t you wake me?” 

he’s not angry or upset but you cling to him like a child in trouble. “you need your sleep too, you know.”

“i need you. i need you in my arms and close to me” he says, his words making you forget anything other than just being with him. it’s comfortably quiet between you for a few moments before he speaks again. “we can stay out here longer if you’d like.”

shaking your head against his chest, feeling the scars on his back under your fingertips and the soft skin around them, you let out a quiet ‘no, let’s go back to bed’ and feel your feet be swept out from under you the next second.

easily diluc carries you with one arm under your legs and the other at your back. in the night air his skin is still so incredibly warm and in his steady steps, you feel the tiredness begin to settle in your bones and let yourself skin further in his arms, succumbing to sleep before he makes it to the second floor of the manor.

♡♡♡♡♡

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[willowed-wisp]

to the winter wedding (part two) [ ghost ]

part one

Growing up you had fated encounters with Simon Riley that would continue into your adulthood. You a combat medic and him, the one you ended up treating.

“Mum, I look like a dusty grape… I can’t go to that wedding looking like THIS!” The dress was sleek, as you hoped. However, it made you wholly self-conscious. It was just a spaghetti dress, long line lilac dress. But you hated yourself in it.

Though your mother objected, “You are ridiculous… you look better than I ever did in it. And besides, it’s not about you… Beth is the bride, you’re a guest…” That was what you needed to hear, it wasn’t about you. People weren’t going to be looking at you…

Everybody but Simon Riley…

You would be fine…. That was until you sat outside of the venue in your car, stalling to enter the church. Why did you feel like that? Simon wouldn’t even look at you like that, he would have made a move on you years ago if he intended to.

So taking a deep breath, hands leaving the wheel of your car. You left the vehicle, locking on the key. At just the right moment for the air to be knocked out of your date; your hair down and long lilac dress that matched his tie down to the fabric. His tawny eyes wide- more expressive than you’d witnessed previously, “Fuckin’ hell…”

That concerned you, “Does it look horrible? I told my mum I didn’t look good…”

He remained gobsmacked, “You’ve got nothing to worry about…” His arm looped, hooking your arm through.

Butterflies constant in your stomach that night: eyes on you and Simon arm in arm and managing to catch the bouquet- looking instinctively at your date. Wishing alcohol was in your system, unable to shake that overwhelming weight on your chest. Worsening when his hulking frame stood in front of you, “Need some air, ya comin’?” Nodding, passing the bouquet to a random bridesmaid. Following the man who stood out like a sore thumb to outside of the secondary venue.

Without hesitation, he brought his lips to yours; seeing if you tasted how he imagined. It’s all he had thought about the entire night… many nights… flutters in your middle were numbing. The slightest smile drawn on his lips while you were sure his hands, rested at your waistline were there to stabilise.

One intended peck turned into a series of kisses. Your eyes finally opened, meeting those of molten russet. His lips ghosted over your own, barely there but that warmth mixed with his laboured breathing. "Please say this isn't a dream..." Your breath tickled against him.

His eyes spoke numerous emotions; shock, longing, gratitude and adoration. Your breathing slowed while his heart beat grew furious under trembling fingertips. "I'm right here, Y/N… want t’ go to my place?”

Crashing against his front door, his mother still present at the reception while Simon’s tongue was down your throat. Breaking apart from you, “I’ve waited too long to do this…”

Whipping off the jacket from his structured arms, “You have no idea,” claiming him in a starved kiss. Your fingers in his thick hair, his hands spreading your legs.

His cheek to yours- a whisper in your ear, “Jump, love,” Hooking your legs around his waist; a groan slipped from your throat each step he took up the stairs. He could imagine why, not able to restrain himself with your legs draped around him- grinding against the tent in his trousers. An ache in you building by the second, no alcohol in your system. It was pure desire and fuck did you need him.

Your body caught air for the slightest moment, body on top of neatly made bedsheets, the moonlight loomed through the curtains. "You’ve been driving me crazy, Y/N…" Your name rolled so easily off of his tongue- wondering what other uses he had with it. The shirt that hung on his shoulders found its position at the base of the bed, before the weight on the bed shifted- Simon’s frame shadowed your fully-clothed body. His mouth tickled your neck until that sweet singe of pain, your head coaxed onto the pillows of the bed. Breath hitching every nip he took.

Unable to take action, as he was in full control. Pinning your hands with such delicacy to either side of your head as he laid waste to your arching neck; acute snappy breaths each graze of his teeth. Simon worked down the length of body- across the dress just leaving delicate pecks. All a euphoric blur.

Before you knew it he was hilted in you, every duty and purpose you had ever burdened put on the back burners. This was you and Simon, not the frontlines of a war. Shared breaths of laboured passion the only thing lingering in the world. Your head fuzzy with desire, nails scraping along his scarred, muscular back. A moan strangulated as his back dipped, hand coiling further and forceful in your hair. “Simon…” Fallen from your full lips, tickling the hair curved at his ear. The man kissed your temple.

His name fell from your lips again, shouting da curse. Scrapes along the blades of his shoulders and fingernails indented his neck while he took care of your bare chest and clavicle- love bites scattered north to south of your pretty body, just as your back arched before his eyes.

You weren’t thinking- the only thing you knew was his name, ripping a spasm through your core. An insatiable grumble from Simon- so light in the air, not like his usual rough tone.

Blood drawn from his neck, your grip like a vice back lifting off the bed. Simon’s cock lburied all the deeper, and your voice was crying out. Vision clouded in the bright haze by his chest then how he chewed at his lip slamming his hips into you, a sight enough to quiver at; dripped in sweat and flopping hair stuck to his forehead. His lips agape towering you. All but a glimpse as he devoured, a warm wave of salted sweetness.

It did little to smother the noise, it just made that craving for him peak- perched in his lap all while he throttled upward. Arms slack over the broad set of shoulders, left panting into his soft neck. Avoiding the fresh scars you had treated, so mindful of them even in the throes of sex.

Worlds apart to what you’d been used to. Nobody had fucked you out like this man, how could someone be so abrasive but so forgiving in the same moment.

You had never such peace, in a vintage dress on the naked lap of Simon Riley. His arms holding you close while sharing a fairytale kiss, holding his shaven jawline.

Resting at the side of him, rubbing circles onto his defined chest. Following old stab wounds, Simon’s nose buried in your messily clad hair, “Have you ever wanted to get married?”

You were caught in a daydream, “Well… I’ve never met the right guy. Never had luck with that,” You turned to look into those gorgeous eyes, “Have you?”

His face unreadable, though his hand rested around you, “I’m 25 and I’ve been in love with this one woman…” His warmth was scalding, or it might have been the jealousy running through your veins. Until the pin dropped.

“You don’t mean…” That knowing look intent on his smirking face, “You mean me?”

Fingers twirling in your hair, “You looked at me like there was something worth looking at… every time you ran into me…” His scarred, much larger hand fitted around yours- lacing his fingers. “You also saved my life, so that goes a long way…”

You were rendered speechless, at ease in the silence while in the safety of Simon’s body. “Don’t let me go… please…”

“Like I ever could…”

And he never did.

Stood in that same church a year later, this time you wore white and Simon in his military formals.

————

I hope I did a good job on this… and thank you for reading xx

————

cod m.list | request guidelines | ghost m.list

[struwberrii]

Hello, I like your haikyu headcanons and was wondering if you could do tendou headcanons?:)

tendou headcanons ₊˚⊹♡

thank u for the request!! i feel like tendou doesn’t get a lot of love nowadays so this one is for all the tendou fans (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

he def just makes up songs randomly and sings them for you (usually just to make you laugh)

his shoes usually aren’t tied and he never noticed until someone points it out

imagine tendou with a snaggletooth (i saw someone on tiktok say this and CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT IT it so cute)

constantly does impersonations of characters (he’s actually kind of decent)

little trinket collector

chronically picks at his lips and always ends up bleeding

also picks at his nails/fingers

always celebrates your small little wins with you (yaaayyyy!!)

always comes up with silly games to play when you guys are bored

randomly drops lore on you

makes scary faces at kids if they’re staring for too long

i feel like he’d lowkey listen to tommy heavenly6

hates calling during the day but will have a full convo with you through voice messages

does not let anyone pick on you AT ALL like he’ll get super protective and use his ‘scary’ looks to his advantage to freak people out

encourages you to step out of your comfort zone and try new things

some days social anxiety is scared of him, then the next day he’s too anxious to even go outside

constantly begging you to let him do your makeup even if you don’t wear it (he botched you)

but he still gets insecure sometimes and needs to hear praises and reassurance

let’s you style/cut his hair for him

probably had a random pet growing up, like he found a frog or turtle outside and kept it as a pet

draws on his arms and legs when he gets bored

always scares you, like he waits around the corner for you then jumps out and scares you

has a HUGE sweet tooth

i feel like he would have a really bad memory but keeps all important dates written down, don’t ask him what he ate for dinner because he doesn’t remember

sits in the shower

playful teasing as a love language

watches mukbang videos while he eats

genuinely has a hard time voicing how he feels about people so he uses humor to mask his emotions and now nobody takes him seriously

shockingly the best guy to go to when you need to cheer up, and not because he’d make you laugh but he just knows what to say?? if that makes sense

like he tells you what he wishes someone told him when he was in middle school

always makes sure nobody is left out in a group activity

has the craziest diet, like i feel like he’d eat like a toddler

average tendou meal consists of a yoohoo chocolate milk, a pizza lunchable and a handful of grapes and that’s enough to hold him over for the day

sports garfield pajama pants ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

i feel like he’d also listen to alice in chains

but i also feel like he’d listen to gorillaz

his knees are always bruised (prob from volleyball)

has an impressive figure collection of his favorite manga character :3

sorry guys this is like 30% me projecting 70% tendou hcs 😭

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 3. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader 18+)

see masterlist (PINNED) for all parts Warnings: profanities, consumption of alcohol and cigarette use. hints of sex! age gap (reader!22) enjoy!

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

You're at your desk when you hear the news, the entire office in commotion as Cameron, Tony and Declan appear after the wrap of Declan's newest episode.

"Rupert said yes?" You gasp, smacking Seb's arm. "Fucking brilliant, man." You say, grinning. "Declan's gonna take a chunk out of his neck, it's gonna be grand." You look over at Declan, who's clinking glasses with Tony in his office.

"I'm just grateful our efforts aren't going to waste. Christ knows how much time we put into this sleazy bastard." Seb grumbles, crossing his arms.

"Why you look so down on yourself Seb?" You ask, standing up straight from your previous position of leaning against the oak desk.

"I don't know, y/n. Maybe you can figure that out yourself." He says bluntly, walking away towards the common space.

Your jaw drops slightly, throwing your arms up. "What the fuck?" You whisper to yourself, grabbing the back of your neck. You had been turning down Seb's advances on you due to your clandestine actions with Declan, not realizing how much of an impact it really had on the ginger. You knew he liked you a little more than just friends, you just hoped he'd let go of it sooner than later.

As far as you were concerned, still no one knew about you and Declan. You tried to stay focused on your work and not overthink it much, although it was on your mind every minute of your waking hours. Not telling anyone, especially your new best friend Taggie, was taking a toll on you. How does one tell another that they find their dad very attractive, and also have been banging him in his office after hours? It wasn't an easy feat for anyone. You tried to remind yourself that it was okay to have a little fun, as long as no one else knew about it.

You jump slightly as you notice Declan standing by your desk, straightening out your blazer as you nod towards him. "Declan, hi. Congratulations on securing the interview with Rupert." You say, giving him a smile.

"Thanks, y/n. You've been a great help with it all, I wouldn't be as confident as I am without you." He says, a smirk growing on his face. "Would you mind doing overtime on Saturday? To help me with additional flawed research?" He asks, now properly smiling.

"Ah, I would, but your daughter has asked me to accompany her in catering for Baddingham's falconery that day. I'm sorry." You admit, shrugging.

"That's alright. Will you be coming to our home for dinner afterwards, then?" He asks.

You grin, tapping your chin in thought satirically. "Yeah, I guess so." You say, letting out a small laugh.

"Great, see you then." He says, a light tap on your bottom as he walks away.

You gasp lightly, looking around hastily to ensure no one saw. "Unbelievable." You whisper to yourself, sitting down at your desk.

-

As Saturday rolls around, you find yourself bright and early at The Priory, attempting to hold back your yawns as you prepare cheese and fruit platters with Taggie.

"Can I ask you something?" Taggie asks, rinsing a bowl of grapes.

"Course, yeah. What's up?" You say, slicing wedges of brie.

"Do you think my dad should go through with interviewing Rupert?" She inquires timidly, putting the bowl of grapes on the kitchen table.

"Rupert is an asshole. He deserves anything that is thrown at him." You say bitterly out of respect for your friend, and her father.

"Y/n, I don't think he should go through with it." Taggie says, meeting your eyes. "I'm afraid my father will ruin him." She whispers, frowning.

"Taggie," You start, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Where is this coming from?" You ask, worried about her concerns.

"I think Rupert isn't as horrible as everyone thinks he is. He sincerely apologized to me, and I can tell he wasn't just doing it out of spite for me or my father." She explains, sighing. "After you left before the party ended, we slow danced together and..." She trails off, seeming upset with herself. "We shouldn't've, I know. But there's something about him that isn't worth destroying him over." She finishes.

You furrow your brows and purse your lips. "I'm not the one to call the shots on this, Tags. You know that." You say.

"My father listens to you better than me, for some reason." She says, causing your breath to go still. "I don't know why, but I would like for you to try saying something." She pleas. "For me, y/n. Please."

You let out a deep sigh, letting go of your breath. "Fine, I will. Don't get mad if he goes through with it, though." You mumble, reorganizing the assembly of cheeses.

"Thank you." Taggie smiles, giving you a side hug.

"Course." You whisper, it was the least you could do considering what secrets you've withheld from her already.

"Taggie!" Declan yells, entering the kitchen. He is taken aback by our presence, perhaps not expecting you so early in the morning. "Y/n, hello." He smiles. "Have you seen my plaid shirt your mum put out to dry?" He asks his daughter.

"I folded it up in your dresser, dad." Taggie says, causing Declan to nod.

"Right, course. Thank you darling." He places a kiss on her head, secretly gliding his fingers across your lower back as he steps away. "See you girls later." He says, waving as he exits the kitchen.

"Why'd you look at my dad like that?" She queries, nudging you.

"Like what?" You say defensively.

"Like he was a piece of meat." She says, scoffing.

"Your dad's hot, that's not my fault. It's not like I'm doing anything." You exclaim, raising your hands.

"Good, you better not." She says jokingly, grinning at the banter between the two of you.

You laugh, trying to not frown at your inner thoughts.

Only if you knew, Taggie. Only if.

-

Declan is in the office, going through evidence against Rupert as he notices Charles Fairburn reorganizing his office. "Charles!" He says out of surprise.

"Oh, hello." Charles says. "I didn't expect to see anybody."

"I'm researching Campbell-Black and needed something from my office." He says, approaching Fairburn.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Tony Baddingham had Declan O'Hara doing his dirty work." The road of Baddingham's distaste for Campbell-Black is a long one, and quite complicated enough even for you to even know about.

"I have my own reasons for wanting to take that bastard down." Declan interjects.

"You know, in different circumstances, you and Rupert could've been friends." Charles says simply. "Both complicated, both stubborn, misunderstood." He jests, putting down office supplies on his new desk.

"Bollocks." Declan states. "What are you doing in on a Saturday?" He queries.

Charles clicks his tongue, "Moving offices ahead of my grand return." He says, now holding a clipboard. "Apparently, my recent coronary episode makes me a medical liability." He says, referring to the panic attack that happened on New Years. "Which is why Cameron Cook is now controller of programmes and I'm--"

"Head of Religious Broadcasting." Declan says, reading the new plaque on the door underneath Charles' name. He looks back and gives him a look of sympathy.

Charles scoffs. "I can't begrudge her too much. Climbing the greasy pole requires its own set of skills." He mumbles, sitting down. "Especially when the greasy pole in question, lives in Tony Baddingham's trousers." He says sarcastically. A moment of silence passes by.

"How's the heart?" Declan asks, redirecting the conversation.

Charles sighs. "Oh, you know, broken." He goes quiet for a moment. "How's the new journalist, Declan?" He asks, watching as Declan's face contorts into bewilderment.

"What'd you mean by that?" He asks, attempting to act confused by Fairburn's statement. Heat rose to his face as his heart began to race.

Charles gives him a weak smile before speaking again. "I'm sorry for what I saw at the New Year's Eve party. I was out in the garden and wasn't expecting to see you, especially with y/n." He says quietly, Declan staying dead silent. Fuck.

"I'm not telling anyone." Charles adds, seeing the worry in O'Hara's face. "Don't show Tony any weakness, Declan." He abruptly says. "Or this is what you get." He whispers sadly, referring to his new demoted office space.

Declan looks down for a moment, unable to find words as he slowly walks away. He looks back again at Charles Fairburn before he returns to his office, closing the door and running a hand through his dark curls.

Charles knew of Declan's dirty secret, but regardless of what assurance he is given, he has to keep it completely under wraps now. He has to be careful, and so do you.

He notices a folder on his desk, opening it to reveal a note from the sender mentioning of a phone call regarding Rupert Campbell-Black accompanied by a photo. He grins, his worries dissipating as more evidence has landed in his lap. He folds it up tightly, enclosing it in a new envelope with a devilish grin.

-

You find yourself back at The Priory with Taggie later that afternoon, your stomach unwell from seeing all the dead birds that day.

"God, it's astounding how they manage to eat and drink so much while killing those innocent creatures." You say, taking a leftover ham sandwich and taking a bite out of it.

Declan enters the house, returning after his time at the office. "Ah, how was the shoot?"

"Well, they killed loads of birds," You say, swallowing your food.

"But they liked my food." Taggie finishes the sentence for you. Declan chuckles. "Rupert stopped by." She adds, crossing her arms.

You watch in bemusement as Declan reacts poorly. You take another bite of your sandwich.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Is there no place free of that man?" He exclaims, walking away.

Taggie furrows her brows, looking over at you to do something.

You sigh, taking the last bite of your sandwich as you follow her father into the other room. "I'll talk to him." You mumble to Taggie as you pass her.

After quickening your pace, you follow him into the master bedroom, where he begins unloading his blazer. "You shouldn't be so harsh on Rupert, y'know." You begin to say, closing the door behind you.

"And what makes you think you have any say in that?" Declan replies with an edge in his voice, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

"Taggie's forgiven him, I think you can let it go-"

"Let it go?! Let go of the fact that he groped my daughter? That my own wife still wants to sleep with him even though he's a horrible fucking bastard?!" Declan yells, aggressively huffing on his cigarette.

"Look, I understand where you're coming from Declan, but this could backfire and then what happens to you, huh? What if he ends up burying you into the ground instead of the other way around?!" You try to explain, holding your place as Declan begins to undo his shirt, tossing it onto the bed. You stare at his torso as he breathes heavily in anger, his chest rising and falling. Time and place, time and place.

"He will not do any such thing." Declan mutters harshly, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray atop his dresser. "You know that Charles Fairburn knows of us, huh?" He says, leaning against a bed post.

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his statement. "What? How?" You ask meekly, guilt mixed with fear rising up your throat from the pit of your stomach. "But no one saw us?" You whisper, beginning to pace back forth.

"Well he did." Declan states flatly. He grabs your arm and halts your movements. "He said he won't tell a soul, but this means we have to keep it controlled or this can no longer happen, y/n." He whispers firmly, staring into your eyes.

"I think I'd rather quit than stop whatever this is." You mumble, turning yourself completely towards Declan.

The two of you stare deeply at one another, Declan placing a hand on your cheek. "I need to control myself." He whispers, leaning in close enough to have his lips hover over yours.

"No one can see us now, Declan." You remind him.

-

The two of you come undone in multiple positions. You find yourself cuddled up beside Declan as he lights a cigarette, inhaling as he strokes your hair.

"Thanks for that, I needed a good fuck." You joke, closing your eyes as Declan hums.

"My pleasure." He grins, inhaling his cigarette once again.

"Wait, shit." You say, sitting up abruptly. Declan looks at you with confusion. "Taggie is still here, she must be concerned why it's taking so long." You say worriedly, getting out of the bed and retrieving your clothes.

Declan watches you with a smirk, his eyes trailing over your exposed body as you shimmy your underwear and jeans back on, following with your shirt.

You run over to Declan's side of the bed, pressing a firm kiss on his lips. "I'll see you for dinner, Mister O'Hara." You tease, smoothening your hair as you exit the grand master bedroom. He simply laughs, inhaling his cigarette.

You hurry down the hall, slowing down your pace as you look for Taggie.

"Tags?" You yell, eventually stumbling across Declan's study.

She had opened his file of evidence against Rupert, abruptly closing it when she hears you approach. "I-I was just looking through it, I'm sorry. Please don't tell my father." She says hastily, getting up from the desk chair.

"Taggie, relax. It's okay." You say, hoping nothing about your appearance gives away what you had been doing for the past half an hour. "I tried convincing him, I really did. He wouldn't budge, Tags." You admit, sighing. "Maybe you can warn Rupert, I don't know. I think your dad has more dirt on him than we know." You warn, running a hand through your hair.

"Maybe I should talk to him, then." Taggie says, beginning to walk past you.

"No-!" You say, grabbing her arm. She looks at you with confusion. "He seems exhausted, I think he needs to be left alone to be completely honest." You say, hoping Taggie would drop the whole thing for today.

"Alright, then." She says, your grasp loosening on her arm. "I'm gonna start making dinner, then. Care to help?" She asks, walking slowly out of the study.

"Always." You say with a smile, following Taggie out the door.

-

As the evening rolled around, you found yourself around the dining table with Taggie to your left, Maud and Caitlin on the other side as Declan sat at the head of the table.

"This food is incredible, Tag." Maud muses, taking another bite of the dish.

"It's y/n's recipe, actually." Taggie admits, smiling at you.

"Oh, y/n. Lovely job, then." Maud says, sending a smile towards you.

"Thanks Maud. It's my mom's favorite dish. I ate it a lot growing up." You say, taking a sip of wine.

"Hmm, American culture doesn't taste as bland as I thought, then." She remarks, taking another bite.

"Be nice, Maud." Declan warns, glaring at his wife.

"Actually, my mom's from Greece. It's Mediterranean, not American." You correct her, trying to hide a shit-faced grin behind your glass of wine.

Caitlin stifles a laugh, earning a light kick of the shin from Taggie.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." Maud apologizes, clearly embarrassed.

"No, it's okay. I agree, American food is god awful." You assure her, taking a bite of your meal.

"So, what's this big interview you've announced on live television about?" Maud says, looking over at Declan.

"Ah, I'm interviewing Rupert on Valentine's Day." He says casually, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"That's it?" Maud persists, raising a brow.

"He wants to take him down, mum." Taggie interjects, Declan scoffing at the statement.

"I'm not doing anything that he doesn't deserve." He emphasizes, taking a sip of his glass.

"Declan, don't you think you're taking this a bit too far? They're calling you the Corinium Butcher, for god's sake." Maud exasperates, putting down her cutlery.

"I am doing the interview the way I want to and that is that!" He states firmly. "Now, can you all get off my arse about it and enjoy this lovely meal y/n and Taggie put together? Christ." He exclaims, picking up his fork and taking another bite out of his dish.

Everyone goes quiet, returning to their meals.

You feel a bit cold in the room, the peaks of your breasts hardening as you realize something dire-- you've left your bra in their bedroom.

You clear your throat, standing up. "I have to use the restroom, if you'll excuse me." You say, hurriedly exiting the room.

You make your way down the hall from the foyer towards the master bedroom, slowly opening the door and flicking on the overhead light as you scan the room hastily for your bra.

You get down on your knees, looking underneath the bed on the opposite side from the door. You see it just within arms reach, stretching your arm out as the door opens.

"What are you doing?" Maud says, causing you to smack your forehead against the bedframe, unable to grab ahold of your bra as you stand up hastily.

"I uh, Taggie was giving me a tour earlier and I thought I lost my ring in here. I was just trying to find it because I realized I lost it when I was going to the washroom." You lie out of your ass, smiling oddly at a very confused Maud.

"Oh, what does it look like?" She asks, not realizing this ring did not exist whatsoever.

"It's small, really small. Honestly it was super cheap it's not that big of a deal!" You force out, making your way towards the door. "Let me know if you find it though, it was from my mom." You laugh awkwardly. "I'm going to the washroom now."

You hastily exit the bedroom, leaving Maud behind as you run into the nearby washroom and close the door behind you. You panic as you stare at yourself in the mirror, whispering profanities to yourself. You wash your hands as if you had dirtied them with your actions, almost afraid to return to the table.

You take a deep breath and open the door, walking back out to the dining table as you practice breathing normally.

Maud had already returned to eating her meal, seeming disinterested in your bizarre behaviors from before.

"Is everything alright?" Declan asks you, referring to your tense aura now present in conversation.

"Yes, everything's fine." You say, taking a sip of your wine.

"Y/n was trying to find a ring she lost earlier in the master bedroom, maybe you can keep an eye out for it too." Maud says nonchalantly to Declan, whose face drops at the mention of you being in their bedroom.

"Is that so?" He asks, coughing slightly as he tries to swallow his food down. "That's a shame. I'll keep it in mind then."

You watch as Maud gives him a puzzled look, her eyes squinting at her husband with suspicion.

"Would anyone like dessert?" Taggie asks, standing up.

"Me!" You say abruptly, also getting up. "Let me help you with that!" You offer, following Taggie into the kitchen.

She suddenly stops right by the kitchen island, causing you to bump into her. "Something's going on with you y/n. You've been acting weird all day. Is everything alright?" Taggie asks, a look of concern upon her face as she grabs ahold of your hands.

"Sorry, I'm just stressed out about the whole Rupert ordeal." It wasn't a complete lie, ever since you landed this internship you've felt like putting your head in a door way and slamming the door repeatedly on it. You couldn't imagine how many grudges these Lords hold against each other, it would've been disputed in an instant if you were back at home.

"I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm sorry." Taggie says, sighing. "I tried getting Rupert to step down earlier at the falconery, but he wouldn't listen. He's convinced my father doesn't have the capability to take him down." She whispers, afraid of her father overhearing the two of you.

You quickly glance into the next room where Declan was speaking to Caitlin, Maud seeming very displeased in the middle. "I don't know if we have any more options, Tags. I think we have to let them go at it." You say remorsefully, looking back at her.

"I'm not giving up just yet." She says firmly, picking up a platter of desserts as you shake your head, bringing out another bottle of wine to share.

-

It was now Friday, February 14th. You and Seb were in mid conversation when Cameron Cook comes barreling down the office floor, yelling about needing coffee.

"You'd think the promotion would make her happy, but she's angrier than ever." You say, closing your folder. Your desk phone starts to ring.

"I'll get the coffee, you get the phone." Seb says, walking around from your shared cubicle.

"Hello, y/n y/l/n speaking." You say.

"Look, I'm going to make this very clear y/n." Maud says on the other line. "I know that you are seeing my husband." She says, causing your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

You laugh breathlessly, looking around as you sit down, almost whispering into the phone. "What are you talking about?" You ask, your body beginning to sweat profusely.

Declan's wife has called you, at work, on the day of all god damn days, to confront you about your affairs.

"I found your bra underneath my bed when I was looking for something else." She says, almost sounding too calm for the circumstances she was speaking of. "I know I am one to talk, but I insist if you know any better, that you no longer see him. His work already keeps him away from our family, god forbid someone at The Corinium starts doing the same." She remarks, her tone never wavering.

Your jaw drops slightly, unable to find your words.

"Oh, and good luck tonight. Don't ruin my husband's career." She says, the line going dead.

You are left in dismay, slowly putting the phone back down on the hook. You look around your workspace once more in complete mortification.

"Oh god." You whisper to yourself, getting up to retrieve a cup of coffee to mask the fear building up inside. You couldn't fathom the audacity Maud O'Hara had to tell you to leave her husband be when she was trying to get with every other well-off man in the county.

All personal feelings aside, you knew you had to listen to her wishes in order to keep your job, and Declan's. It would be unfair to both parties if you kept this up.

You shakily pour the coffee pot into your mug, putting one cream and one sugar in after before stirring it with a spoon. You stare at the ground, unable to gather your thoughts up properly as Declan quickly walks past the kitchen with his focus on papers in his hands, taking a step back when he notices you standing idly.

"Y/n, what're doing just standing there?" He asks boastfully, causing you to jump and spill some coffee on your hand.

"Fuck," You whisper, wincing as you quickly run your hand under the cold tap.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Declan says, coming up beside you and placing his hand on yours. "Is your hand alright?"

You turn to face him, giving him a flat tone. "It's fine, thanks." You say, pulling away as you grab your coffee and step into the hallway. "I have work to do."

He grabs your arm. "What work? You've done it all already." He says, raising a brow. "Is everything alright?" He asks, his eyes full of concern.

"What? Haven't you heard the news?" You quip, staring at him with dread in your eyes. You hated yourself for developing feelings for Declan O'Hara. You were smarter than this, and to allow yourself to dig such an emotional hole was the last thing you needed for your brand-new career.

"Everything is fine, Mister O'Hara." You say, pulling your arm away from his grasp. His face drops when you refuse to use his first name. "Maybe you need to ask your wife the same question." You add bitterly, stepping away from him. His eyes widen at the mention of his wife.

"Elvis is about to enter the building." Seb says, him and Daysee both running down the hall past you two.

Declan looks you for a long, silent moment. "We'll discuss this later." He mutters, following them down the hall.

You close your eyes and sigh, walking away towards your desk.

-

You're now standing in the control room, biting your nails nervously as Daysee counts down Declan, now live broadcasting the interview. You exchange glances with Seb as Declan begins with mundane questions before hitting him with mildly offensive comments that will eventually snowball into something worse.

You cover your mouth as Declan brings up the topic of adultery, and how it must do Mr. Campbell-Black well for life within the Conservative Party.

"I'm sorry?" Rupert says with dismay.

"You know, sneaking around, lying, betrayal, sexual degeneracy." Declan lists nonchalantly, as if Rupert was born for such actions.

"Oh fuck." You mumble into your hand, Seb patting your shoulder with a sympathetic look.

"Remember, Declan's just doing his job." He reminds you.

"I'm no longer married." Rupert exclaims.

"Yeah, but you were, for six years! And yet throughout your marriage, your affairs were common knowledge." Declan states confidently, gesturing to the crowd. "I mean, one Gloucestershire peer has described you as 'rather a nasty virus that everyone's wife caught sooner or later.'" Declan reads off of a card.

"Well if you've seen his wife, it's definitely later." Rupert retorts towards the audience, causing everyone to laugh. Declan's jaw vividly tenses on camera.

You sigh putting your head in your hands. "Oh wow, that's great." You mumble to yourself.

"What a fucking arsehole." Seb mutters, crossing his arms.

"And that's the break in five..." Daysee begins counting down.

You nervously watch as Declan composes himself to announce the commercial break.

"That's time for break. When we return, who knows what Mister Campbell-Black might choose to share with us when we return." Declan says through a forced smile, looking directly at the camera. It felt like he was looking right at you.

"...and we're out." Daysee says.

"Thank fuck." You quickly exit the control room, needing to be elsewhere for the next three minutes. As you make your way through the halls, you run into Taggie.

"Taggie?" You say in a quizzical manner, causing her to turn and face you.

"Y/n, I'm here to talk to Rupert. Something's very wrong about this." She says urgently.

"Jesus, Taggie you can't-" You begin.

Rupert appears around the corner with his assistant. "Taggie, what are you doing here?" He asks her.

Taggie walks past you. "You need to go. Just walk out."

"Rupert, I advise you to not do that." You warn him.

Rupert laughs at you both. "Your father's not the first old socialist who's tried to catch me out." He reassures Taggie, putting his hand on her arm. "Whatever you're worried about, it's already out there."

"Taggie, you need leave-" You begin, tugging at her arm.

"No, I know him." Taggie says, ignoring you as she pulls away from your grasp. "He's saving the worst for later. When he wants something, he's ruthless." She warns him. "He'll do anything, I mean, he's-"

"He's just like you, Rupert." You say, pursing your lips.

"Exactly." Taggie says.

Cameron Cook appears, interrupting the conversation. "Minister, we need you back on set. The break's almost over." She directs Rupert, who keeps his gaze on you and Taggie.

"Listen to Miss Cook, Rupert. You have to go." You say.

"Just walk out of the building with me." Taggie interjects, pleading with her eyes.

"Minister!" Cameron snaps, glaring at Rupert.

"Screw this." You say, walking away from everyone. You return back to the control room, slamming the door behind you.

"What's going on?" Tony Baddingham asks, puffing on a cigar.

"Cameron has it under control." You simply say, returning to the corner with Seb and Daysee.

"What happened?" Seb asks quietly.

"Taggie's shown up to try and get Rupert to leave. She thinks Declan has more blackmail on him than we are aware of." You whisper, grabbing the back of your neck as you watch Daysee begin to count Declan back in.

"Where the fuck is he?" Tony says harshly, looking down through the viewing glass.

You hide your face behind your clipboard, unable to watch the scene about to unfold.

"Y/n look, Rupert's back." Seb says, tapping on your back to redirect your attention. You look over the clipboard at the monitors, watching Rupert Campbell-Black sit back down on the stage. Rupert begins to compare the interview to being back on the playing field.

"Seb, I don't have a good feeling about this." You say quietly, covering half your face with a clipboard.

"Just watch, relax." Seb whispers.

"It's an interview, there are no winners." Declan tells Rupert, who gives him a look.

"That's not true though, is it?" Rupert queries, looking towards the audience. "He wants to beat me." He exaggerates, giving a shit-faced grin.

Your eyes widen as Rupert begins to compare him to Declan, putting both of them under the same umbrella metaphorically. Declan brings it back around by repeatedly shitting on Campbell-Black, about to pull out an envelope from underneath his blazer as Rupert does something no one expected; admitting everything Declan has said to be true.

"Oh god." You whisper.

"I remember what it was like, to be the best. And what I was willing to do to stay there." Rupert says grimly. "What are you... willing to do?" Rupert asks in a taunting manner.

Declan goes quiet.

"To your family?... To yourself?" Rupert asks solemnly, the both of them having a stare down as the control room starts to light up in commotion.

You watch in fear as Tony urges Declan in his earpiece to take down Rupert, your eyes flickering between the multiple camera angles on a very, very quiet Declan.

"You're right." Declan finally says. "I'm a workaholic. And when I'm consumed by something... I can be, um... I can be a-"

"Monster." Rupert finishes the sentence, the both of them sharing a stare once again.

Rupert makes a comment about Declan being a better husband than he ever was, which causes you to look away from the screen when Declan argues against it. You couldn't help but feel as if you're one of Declan O'Hara's many flaws.

The interview starts to go in the opposite direction. You look back at the screen, watching Declan pull out his earpiece as Tony becomes enraged.

"If it's any consolation, we've made some really great television." Cameron Cook reasons.

"This would have worked if you'd just done your fucking job!" Tony yells at her, causing the rest of you to side eye him madly.

"Seb, I need to go home." You tell him flatly, putting your clipboard down.

"What? Y/n, the show isn't over yet! Where are you going?" Seb exclaims quietly, confused by your course of action. Daysee also gives you a look of worry.

"I just said home! I'll see you on Monday." You whisper aggressively, leaving the control room.

You hastily go over to your desk to retrieve your bag and coat. You glance over quickly at the viewing room the rest of the staff was in, your stomach tying in knots as the sight.

Heading down the hallway and the stairs, you push open the front doors and end up outside, where a massive group of fans stood awaiting Rupert Campbell-Black's return. They all share looks and noises of disappointment as they see you, an intern on the brink of tears instead of the acclaimed bachelor.

You push through the crowd, hurriedly approaching your car and unlocking it. You sit inside the beater and stare off in the distance. Your cheeks are stained with tears against your own will, your forehead resting upon the steering wheel as you begin to sob mercilessly.

You felt so hopeless amidst it all, no longer sure of yourself as you were before.

-

i will not lie this chapter was becoming so fucking long it's just gonna end up a continuation into the next part... also im lowkey too awkward to properly write out sex scenes because i give myself second hand embarrassment so forgive me this fanfic is plot driven over sex driven (':

as youve noticed ive started to follow by the episode plot line, it makes it easier for me to write and follow. thank you again for the support, and as always keep interacting with my works! keep me motivated ;)

much love,

isabel

[holylulusworld]

Darkness and Sunshine

Summary: Bucky hurts you deeply.

@buckybarnesevents „Hot Bucky Summer 2024”: Week 10 “Shhhhhhhhh…”

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

Warnings: angst, Bucky being a douche, unrequited feelings, BBF trope, unwanted touching (not Bucky), fluff

A/N: The story to this random thot & this poll.

Bucky's POV

She does it again. A quick glance at me, and back to her girly drink. I know she’s interested in being more than my friend’s sister to me, but this can never be.

Just like her drink, she’s too sweet for me.

You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

I’m the whiskey-neat kind of guy. Bitter and dark. Rough and violently. My soul is black, just like the coffee I drink.

She’s the sunshine, but I am the darkness. A beautiful but vulnerable flower like her could never grow in my shadow. She would wither away and die before she got the chance to bloom.

I don’t know when, or how I changed her mind about me. I was only ever the dangerous guy her brother met to get drunk, and punch people. How often she scolded her brother for being friends with me, I don’t know.

But somehow, over the years she changed her mind. Now she looks at me like a lovesick puppy, and I cannot bear it. Not because I do not wish for her to be mine. It’s the opposite. I cannot let her in. If I do, I’d paint a target on her back.

Damnit, she bites her sweet lips while stealing another glance at me. I sigh deeply and sip at my drink. Tonight, I must show her that a goody in two shoes can never be the woman by my side. As much as it pains me, it has to be done.

“Buck, what’s wrong with you?” Her brother asks, clueless as ever. He’s not the smartest when it comes to acknowledging love, or other people’s feelings. “Something wrong?”

It has to be done. I tell myself, repeating the words like a mantra. Steve, my best friend since childhood worriedly looks at her brother. He knows about Y/N’s feelings for me, and that I must extinguish the flame I ignited in her heart.

Sadly, this can only be done by crushing her heart.

“Bucky, maybe there’s another way?” Steve gets up when I do. He wraps his hand around my wrist, stopping me for a second. “You should reconsider your decision. Peggy is sweet too. Just give it a try.”

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

“No—” I harshly free my metal wrist from Steve’s grasp. He means well, I know he does, but I cannot allow Y/N to fall for me even more. I’m a dangerous man, deadly even. I won’t steal her light nor let anyone hurt her even if I have to be the one breaking her heart.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

So, I turn away from my friend and his disappointed look. Away from her brother. Away from the future fate held for me to protect what could’ve been mine.

I nod at the girls I hired for tonight, and they immediately take my offered arms. I breathe in and out before walking in Y/N’s direction.

The girls begin to chat, and as I’m about to walk past Y/N I say, "Luckily I found you ladies. All the girls at this place are so plain and boring.” I look directly at Y/N and scrunch my nose up in disgust. “Some are only allowed at my club because their big brother begged me to let them come.”

My heart chatters as a pained wail leaves Y/N’s lips. Her eyes water and her lips tremble. Those soft lips I yearned to kiss for so long. Forsaken to me now.

Still, there’s something in her eyes. A sliver of hope I must kill.

“I can’t believe a wallflower like her believes she can be anything but a pity fuck to me. If it was up to me, I’d make sure she stays away from me,” I hate myself the moment she drops the glass in her hands to run out of my club. I shattered her world and broke her heart.

I watch the door slam shut, telling myself it’s for the best.

Your POV

You run, as fast as you can. It doesn’t matter that your brother drove you to the club, or that you forgot your jacket.

Bucky just confirmed your worst fear. He hates everything about you. From your plain outfit to your character. All the things he said, are true. You’re not like the girls hanging on his arms tonight.

All you had was a glimmer of hope that maybe, he sees more in a woman but a pretty face and good looks.

Your whole world got shattered when he said all those awful things.

You know now that James Buchanan Barnes is just like every other guy.

It’s almost two months later that Bucky sees you again. That day, you glance his way. Your eyes sadden and you immediately walk the other way. The flowers you wanted to buy long forgotten you almost run away from Bucky to not feel the hurting all over again.

His eyes follow you until you’re only a tiny dot in the distance. Bucky shakes his head and sighs deeply. This is not what he intended to do.

He not only lost a good friend that night but hurt you so deeply that you’re scared to even look his way.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when Steve steps out of the flower shop. He carries a huge bouquet of roses for Peggy.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve follows his friend’s eyes, frowning. “What happened?”

“She ran away.” He shrugs, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want her to be scared of me, Steve. Only to make sure she looks for someone better.”

Hiding in your bedroom you ignore your ringing phone once again. You assume it’s your brother, or maybe your friend Tasha trying to get you to go out.

No way you will go out there, facing the world ever again. Bucky embarrassed you in public, in front of your brother and all his friends. You’ll never recover from this.

Rolling to your side you grab your phone from the nightstand to silence it. For today, you will shut yourself out from the world.

Another month later Bucky is fuming. Not because of you, and your presence at his club. No, not at all. Your sweet smile, and the cute sundress you’re wearing make his heart flutter.

The person making his blood boil is your date. John Walker - the man trying to get under Bucky's skin for years. That bastard brought you here for a date. A date at Bucky’s club.

Walker did this on purpose. Bucky is sure about it. He doesn’t know how his concurrent found out that he likes you, but he did. Now you’re sitting at a table with Walker, looking at the untouched drink in your hands.

Vodka. Bucky knows you hate vodka when it’s neat. You like the sweet drinks, the girly drinks he laughs about.

“What’s wrong?” Steve regrets his question the moment John Walker dares to put his hand on your thigh.

You tense, and uncomfortable shift in your seat. Maybe this date wasn’t the best idea. You agreed to go out with John, and even willingly entered Bucky’s club to show the very man that you moved on. (At least you like to tell yourself so.)

“Relax, and smile for me,” John’s voice hardens. This is his chance to get back at Bucky Barnes, and he won’t miss it. “You look like you’re at a funeral. Smile, you’re having the honor to be my date.”

Biting your tongue, you look anywhere but at John. He’s not as nice as you believed he was. Tonight, he showed his true face.

His hand creeps higher and under your dress. You’re about to stop his hand from slipping between your legs when he’s suddenly gone.

John makes a gurgling noise because Bucky dragged him off his chair from behind. He struggles against Bucky’s iron grip. Bucky has his metal arm wrapped around John’s throat, choking your date.

“You don’t touch her ever again,” Bucky growls in John’s ear. “And she doesn’t drink vodka, you piece of shit.”

“Buck—” Steve laughs watching John tug at Bucky’s metal arm. “I see you’ve got it handled.” He holds out his hand for you, murmuring your name. “Come with me, Y/N. This is not for you to see.”

“She’s having a strawberry daiquiri and get her some chicken parmesan. I bet that bastard didn’t order food for her,” Bucky grunts while keeping John in a chokehold.

Your heart flutters. Bucky remembered your favorite drink and food. But wait. He hurt you and broke your heart. Why would he attack your date?

“I should go home,” you slip off the chair and grab your purse. “Never call me again John.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but John gives you an angry look.

“You’ll regret fucking with me, missy.”

“You wish she’d fuck with you, but she won’t,” Bucky slams John’s head onto the table, making you shriek. Steve brings you into his arms and presses your face into his chest.

“Let’s get you to the VIP area, Y/N. You don’t want to see what happens next…”

The moment you follow Steve, Bucky smirks. He leans over John, whispering in his ear.

““Shhhhhhhhh…, don't make a scene, Walker," Bucky snarls. "If you even look her way ever again, I’ll break every bone in your body. And then, I’ll put you back together only to break them again.”

“Why am I here?” You nervously glance at Bucky. He sits next to you, pointing at the food Steve got for you. “I should head home.”

“Doll.” You whimper at the pet name. “I’m sorry…for tonight and the other night,” he grabs your hand, holding it tightly. “I tried to protect you from myself. You’re too sweet for me. A ray of sunshine and I’m…”

“A big grump,” you giggle. “I know you’re a grump.”

Bucky chuckles. You still don’t understand that he’s not a good man. He killed people, and his profession is far from legal. “Doll, you don’t understand. I got a gun and…”

Your eyes drop to his crotch. Bucky’s eyes widen when you lean closer to get a better look at his lap. “Why do you call your cock a gun?”

He laughs. Bucky wholeheartedly laughs for the first time in years.

“What I tried to tell you is that I’m a criminal with a gun. You’re a sweet girl, and too good for me. I wanted to keep you away from me, and said all those things.”

“So, you hurt me to make me leave?” You sniffle. “Why? If you don’t even like me.”

“I like you too much, doll,” he whispers in your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin. “That’s the problem.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Bucky laughs. Not even the toughest criminals dared to call James Buchanan Barnes an idiot. “You’ve got balls, Y/N. No one ever called me an idiot.”

“You deserve that much,” you pull away and cross your arms over your chest. “What kind of man does things like that? How could you do this to me? I didn’t leave my place for weeks, hiding in my bedroom.”

“I wanted to keep you safe, only for you to walk right into John Walker’s trap.” He huffs. “I guess to keep you safe, I must keep you around from now on…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[starshideurfics]

A Mother’s Love - Part Five

part one, part two, part three, part four

omegaverse, pre-steddie, wayne x benny, steve with powers

Dustin Henderson is a handful. And a chatterbox. Pretty much anything that passes through his mind, Dustin says. Winding stories about what happened at school, explanations of science experiments, and question after question after question.

Steve almost never knows the answers to Dustin’s questions, but he writes them down. The list is two pages long by the third straight weekend of watching him on Friday nights, and Steve decides they need to do something about it. “We’re going to the library,” he says, holding up the list of questions. “Get your bike.”

They spend two hours digging through reference books, Dustin just quiet enough for the library, and find answers for most of the questions on the first page. Steve feels like he’s really getting the hang of this baby-sitting business, and that night, when Claudia gets home Dustin clings to Steve, hugging him tight. “Can Steve stay?” he begs.

Claudia ruffles her son’s curls. “Time for bed, Dusty. Steve needs to go home now. You’ll see him again next week.”

Dustin pouts, grabs Steve’s wrist, and rubs it against his cheek. “Night, Steve,” he says before stomping down to the bathroom.

“I wasn’t sure how Dusty would handle all this, but it looks like you’ve figured him out.”

“He’s got a lot to say, but he just says it. I can handle listening,” Steve says with a shrug, taking his pay and heading back out to his bike. He should go home, but instead he bikes to Benny’s, going in the back. Eddie’s at the sink, washing dishes, and Steve grabs a stool to sit next to him.

“How’s the twerp?”

“Today we learned what makes a berry different from other fruit, and grapes are berries but strawberries aren’t.”

“Strawberries are definitely berries! If you ask me to think of a berry, that’s the one I’m imagining.”

“Science says they aren’t!” Steve pulls the paper from his back pocket, reads his own little note below the main question about berries. “They’re an accessory fruit, whatever that means.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve suspiciously. “Why’d Dustin even want to know that?”

“We were eating raspberry ripple ice cream last week and he asked. I don’t claim to understand how his weird little brain works, I just know he likes me.” Steve flushes and rubs at his wrists. “He wanted me to scentmark him today.”

“Kid moves fast,” Eddie teases, plopping a few dish soap bubbles on Steve’s nose. “Let me know when he asks you to marry him so I can defend your honor.”

“Shut up!” Steve hops on his feet, reaching for a handful of bubbles to smack onto Eddie’s growing curls, but the alpha hops out of his way.

“Hey! This is work time, Munson, not play time,” Benny jibes as he comes in the back, arms laden with more dishes for the sink.

Steve and Eddie immediately stop their burgeoning bubble fight, and Steve runs over to take the tray of cups from his mama, ready to help.

Suitably unburdened, Benny pulls Steve into his arms and kisses the crown of his head. “How’s the twerp?” he asks, rubbing his wrist between Steve’s shoulder blades.

Grinning, Steve starts telling Mama about his afternoon with Dustin, “He’s good. We learned strawberries aren’t berries…”

❤️❤️❤️

Dustin never proposes to Steve—“It’s what pups do! they fall in love with their baby-sitters, Stevie!”—but he does get possessive. Claudia recommended Steve to the Sinclairs, and he watches Lucas and Erica on Wednesdays now, too. Dustin is very adamant that Steve was his first. He and Lucas are friends, so his real nemesis is Erica. She’s 6 and tiny and perfectly willing to use it to her advantage to get extra cuddles.

It comes to a head over winter break, Steve watching the three of them together at the Sinclairs’ house, watching Christmas specials after eating macaroni and cheese. Erica is already right next to Steve, Dustin on his other side, and she slowly climbs into his lap, her fingers gripping his sweater.

Dustin growls.

It’s a tiny puppy growl, not a real threat, but Steve can’t stop the thing inside him that needs to protect the pup in his lap, arms wrapping around Erica. “Dustin!” he chides gently.

Erica sticks her tongue out at Dustin. Lucas looks between them, and rolls his eyes. “It’s not fair!” Dustin whines.

“Suck it up!” Erica returns.

“Erica!” Steve scolds, still holding her.

“Yeah, Erica, knock it off,” Lucas grumbles. Which starts Erica arguing with him. Dustin growls again, tugging on Steve’s arms. It’s too much, too close.

Steve’s barriers fall, head suddenly too full. Dustin’s jealousy and hurt, Erica’s smug gloating, and Lucas’s frustration explode in his head. Tears sting at his eyes, and Steve struggles to get himself in check. But he pushes too hard, nose bleeding as he crushes Erica to his chest. She yelps over being squished, and Dustin and Lucas freak out when they notice the bleeding, not sure what to do.

Eyes watering, Steve manages to pass Erica to Lucas, mumbling, “It’s okay,” through the haze of puppy-fear filling his head and squeezing his heart. He stumbles to the bathroom and grabs a wad of toilet paper to stanch the bleed, reaching out for his mother, for the calm and safety that comes with thinking of Mama. But it doesn’t come.

For a long minute, Steve is a pup again, needing his mana. And Mama isn’t there.

He’s doing the breathing exercises his mom gave him years ago, trying to get back to his baseline, when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“I’m sorry, Steve!” Dustin cries. “We promise not to fight again!”

“Yeah,” Lucas chimes.

“I don’t.”

“Erica!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Erica grumbles, and Steve is pretty sure she bites Lucas before adding, “Please come out, Steve!”

He takes a last deep breath, checks to see that the bleeding has stopped, and opens the door to three contrite faces. “Sorry I scared you,” he says gently.

“It was my fault,” Dustin says. “I just…” He doesn’t have the words.

“It was an accident.” Steve pulls the pup into a hug. “How about I make some popcorn, and we finish watching Rudolph?”

The pups nod, easily returning to the couch. While he’s in the kitchen, Steve calls Benny’s. “Mana, can I stay at your place tonight?—No, I just need to see you.”

❤️❤️❤️

When Steve turns 15, Benny starts teaching him to drive. Marsha and Richard agree that they got all of Steve’s big milestones, Benny can have this one to himself. Every Sunday afternoon, Benny picks Steve up and hands him the keys to his pickup truck. They start in the Hawkins High parking lot, Steve proving he knows what every knob and lever does before he’s allowed to start the engine.

Once Steve has mastered the empty parking lot, Benny has him take them out on quiet country roads, lots of simple trips to get him comfortable behind the wheel. Sometimes they just listen to the radio, singing along with the words they know, making up the ones they don’t. Other times, Steve talks about school and swimming and sitting, Benny asking questions and offering advice.

On a warm day in early April, Steve asks a question he’s been considering for a long time. “Mama, have you ever been in love?” He thinks he knows the answer, but he asks anyway.

“I dunno. Biggest love I’ve ever had in my life is you, baby.”

“What about my father?”

Benny shifts in the passenger seat. “Wasn’t like that…” He swallows hard, squeezes Steve’s hand on the gear shift. “The program only recruited omegas, and we never heard much about the… material used. It was all very clinical—medical. Marsha might know more, but as far as I know, I never met your father.”

“Oh…” Any romantic notions Steve had about a whirlwind romance, about lovers separated by fate, and about Mama not having any other options fly out of his head. He was always a science experiment, no matter how much Mama loved him.

“Where’s this coming from?” Benny shifts again, and Steve’s not sure they should be driving for this conversation. He pulls off on the shoulder and Benny asks, “Is there someone at school? Some alpha I should know about?”

“No! Mama, it’s not that… No one’s giving me butterflies, I just.” Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat. “You know I don’t care, right? That you’re both omegas, I mean. I just want you to be ha-”

Spine straightening, Benny whispers, “Steven, what are you talking about?”

“Wayne.” Steve looks away as his mama stares at him. “He makes you happy.”

Benny’s face softens, and he reaches over to cup Steve’s cheek. “I thought we said no taking your barriers down. It’s easier to maintain than replace.”

Steve leans into his touch. “They don’t work on you. I can’t help it.” He smirks and adds, “You make Wayne happy, too.”

“You shouldn’t be mucking around in Wayne’s feelings. Respect his privacy.”

“Tell that to Eddie. He’s the one who told me.”

❤️❤️❤️

Benny waits another six months before saying anything to Wayne. Steve hasn’t had another issue with keeping his barriers up in that time, and it feels like maybe they’ve found a safe enough space for him to try. Like maybe he’s comfortable enough being Steve’s Mama now, and he’s ready to add to that.

He doesn’t plan it, either, just looks over at Wayne one night when they’re watching football. At least, Wayne is watching football; Benny is mostly looking at Wayne’s lips, focused on the way they curl around his cigarette.

“Wanna ‘nother beer?” Wayne asks at a commercial break, catching him looking.

Benny shakes his head, screws up his courage, and whispers, “I want you.”

Wayne takes his confession in stride, giving in to his own barely-concealed desires, and guiding Benny down for a surprisingly gentle kiss. Looking into Wayne’s eyes, Benny sees exactly what he’s looking for, and gets to his feet. He practically drags Wayne to his nest, the pair of omegas shucking their clothes with clumsy fingers in their haste to see and show. To touch and taste and smell.

To love one another.

Benny hasn’t bothered with sex in years. He’s got toys and a pair of perfectly good hands, so he gets by just fine. But the feeling of Wayne touching him, of his mouth on Benny’s most sensitive areas, is the most exquisite pleasure-pain. It zings through him. Makes him shake, his pussy convulsing around a pair of nicotine-stained fingers and soaking Wayne’s hand with slick.

He can’t remember the last time his body felt this good.

And his heart is full, at peace as he holds Wayne against his breast. He’s happy. Steve will be happy, too: happy he was right, and happy that his mama is happy.

That doesn’t stop him from waiting a week before he brings it up.

But then, Steve already knows.

❤️❤️❤️

Right around the same time, just before Halloween of his sophomore year, alphas start sniffing around Steve at school. He might not go to house parties—the very idea of a high school kegger gives him nightmares—but he’s still sporty, still friendly with the popular crowd because of it. And he is, as Ronnie puts it, “Traditionally hot. Like, pretty eyes and a good ass, ya know?”

Amy Martin’s the first one to say anything, asking in the lunch line if Steve wants to go to the movies sometime since she just got her license. Steve mumbles that he’s not allowed to date yet, but thanks anyway. She’s nice enough about it, and doesn’t ask again.

But then Mike Lewenski asks after cornering Steve outside Mundy’s classroom, and he has to be more forceful since Lewenski isn’t that bright. Which becomes Lewenski saying Steve is a bitch to anyone who will listen.

Tommy H. stops Steve on his way to homeroom the next week, loudly asking if there’s something wrong with his pussy, because he knows Mr. Harrington isn’t the kind of hardass to stop Steve from dating. Mrs. O’Donnell overhears and gives Tommy a detention for being crass, and it’s the only thing that stops Steve from decking Tommy.

After that, it seems to become a dare amongst the popular crowd. Get Harrington alone, ask him out, imply he’s either a frigid virgin or a slut with a loose pussy, and laugh when he tells you to fuck off. At least no one else asks him in the cafeteria.

But it’s bad enough that Steve quits the swim team after two weeks of practice.

A week after that, Eddie gets suspended for breaking Dan Shelter’s nose.

part six

[the20thangel]

The Emperor and His Lady Chapter 5

Summary: As Arabella slowly began her game, Noticeable changes started happening in the palace. While some are pleased with the changes, others are not. Making a foe to rid of the lady from her emperor's side.

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags: Smut, fluff at the end, Minors DNI, 18+ !!!

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life @justnobodynothingmore

Masterlist

The next few days were a blur, but at the same time, it was painstakingly long for Arabella. Instead of spending time with her lady and the general, she forced herself to stay in the company of the emperors. At first, Geta did not notice the change until he noticed many of his concubines were distancing themselves from him. Not understanding the change, he took more notice of his background and saw the company of his day, seeing Arabella in his crowd. Shocked, he had no idea she was there, but since then, he searched for her each day, and each day, she was there, wearing the same colors as he was. Seeing how she intentionally dressed to match him made him feel extra possessive, and he started requesting that she stay by his side by holding onto his arm. 

Another change he noticed was that since Arabella’s presence, more and more of his people were willing to speak with him and no longer seemed to fear him. He had mixed feelings about this new change since the start of his reign; people had always feared him and his brother; it was how they created their empire, but at the same time, seeing people willing to talk to him made him feel a different emotion; it made him feel loved. 

The main person who was not happy with these changes was Caracalla; it had always been just his brother and him against the world, against their enemies and allies. Now, all because of a stupid woman, he was losing his brother, leaving him alone. He didn’t like being alone. This, unfortunately, allowed Macrinus to slither his way to the younger’s ear, telling him his foe was the sweet lady hanging off his brother’s arm, letting him know how everything could go back if the lady were ruined for Geta.

“Wouldn’t you like to have fun with her and finally get your brother back? Take her, and your problems will all disappear, my emperor.” Macrinus whispered, growing in sadistic delight as Caracalla hungrily watched his next prey. 

Sighing, Arabella rolled her shoulders. She sat behind the emperors as they talked with the game master about postponing the next set of games. 

“Filling up the Colosseum with water is taking more time, my imperators, but I assure you that everything will be ready in a month, " the game master said, growing nervous with the emperors’ glare. 

“Or you can work twice as hard and fill it faster, and the games can take place how we want them,” argued Geta, drinking his wine while he stared at the game master. 

The Game master gulped as he felt small under Geta's glare while Caracalla cackled, allowing a concubine to feed him a grape. Seeing the impending temper, Arabella prayed for the gods to be merciful as she stepped in. 

“My Imperator, the game master, just wants to ensure he provided the best games he can offer you, but it is not meant to be a slight. Rush the preparations and have a mediocre game, or move it back a month and ensure an entertaining game for you and the whole of Rome. Imagine the success; people will thank you and your brother for throwing a spectacular gladiator fight,” she soothes, placing an arm on Geta’s arm. 

As Geta turned to his lady, the whole room froze, watching the internal battle between emperor and lady. After what seemed like minutes, Geta took a sip of his wine. 

“If what Lady Arabella says is correct, I only expect the best games from this postponement. If it does not meet my expectations, you will make her a fool and shame my brother and me. Then, only the gods will hear your plea as your body is ripped limb by limb. Do I make myself clear, game master?” Threatened Geta, smirking as the game master stuttered in fear. 

Arabella closed her eyes and exhaled. Considering what could have been the outcome, it was a positive sign. Leaving the resolution as it was, the emperors moved on to have enjoyment.  Geta noticed Arabella’s slight scowl and discomfort as the Emperors started messing with their concubines. 

“Arabella, you are free to go…” Geta dismissed her, turning away. 

Arabella, feeling grateful, bowed before hurrying away from the room, not noticing hungry eyes following her out. Feeling like she was being stared at, she turned, making eye contact with Caracalla as the younger emperor licked his lips, not paying attention to the concubine on his lap. Shuddering, the lady left fast and walked to the gardens to relax her breathing. As she leaned on the fountain, she steadied her breathing when she heard a warm voice calling for her. Lifting her sight, she smiled, seeing Former Empress Lucilla walking towards her. 

“My lady, how I missed you. I apologize for not spending time with you as of late, " Arabella said as she kissed Lucilla's cheeks. 

“No worries, sweet one, I… I have been busy as well…” hesitated Lucilla, looking around her surroundings before pulling Arabella closer. 

Being led around the gardens, Arabella waited as she watched her lady gather her strength.

“I want to tell you something, but please, it must stay between us… no one can know.” Lucilla warned the younger. 

Nodding, Arabella promised as she leaned closer to the former empress. Smiling, Lucilla caressed her surrogate daughter’s cheek. 

“Lucius is alive. My Luicus is with life!” she exclaimed quietly, tears glistening. 

Arabella paused in shock, having conflicting feelings. For one, she felt happy for her lady that the son she grieved all these years was alive and not dead. On the other hand, she felt envious; Lucilla’s son was alive while hers was buried in the ground, and she never had the chance to hold him and love him. Third, if Luicus was alive, would he want his throne? What did it entail for her and for the two emperors? Lucilla’s smile dimmed at Arabella’s silence, causing the younger to force a slight grin. 

“I am happy for you, my Lady. Truly, how joy you must feel to know he is alive and safe… is he not?” She paused, seeing Lucilla frown at her words. 

Tearfully breathing, Lucilla responded, “He is one of the gladiators; he goes by Hano… He…He pushed me away. He does not want a relationship with me.” 

Lucilla shed a tear, remembering how Lucius pushed her away. Arabella's eyes softened. Wiping the tear away, she tried comforting her lady. 

“But he is alive, my lady. That is what matters, and he is so close to you. Pray for the gods for his protection; if he plays his cards right, he can earn freedom. Then there, no one can ever take him away from you.” she comforted her lady, grinning as Lucilla giggled with delight at the idea of Lucius being with her. 

“Yes, I hope so. May the gods protect and guide my son,” Lucilla prayed as the two ladies walked more. 

Soon, the ladies thanked each other, leaving Arabella to enter her chambers and see an upset Marcella waiting for her. 

“Marcella, please not tonight…” pleaded Arabella, growing exhausted hearing the scolding each night she did not lay with her emperor. 

“No! It will be tonight; while you were walking with the former empress, Caracalla and Geta overindulged in their wine, and again, I heard Macrinus urge Caracalla to make his move tonight, given how drunk Geta is; he will not be able to notice what happens until the dawn. You must go tonight; do not let that man win, Arabella….” Marcella nervously scolded her lady. 

“I… I will go tonight…” Arabella confirmed, closing her eyes in defeat. She had no idea how to seduce Geta. She was drunk the last time she did and stupidly naive. 

Marcella shook her head, helping her lady prepare and giving her spoken advice to seduce the emperor. Arabella flushed and bit her lip as she listened to the advice. Once they finished, Marcella led her lady to Geta’s chambers. 

“Now remember what I told you, my lady,” soothed Marcella as she fixed Arabella before bowing and leaving her alone. 

Sighing, Arabella searched for wine, wanting to calm her nerves. Seeing a cup, she walked towards it, looking at it in slight disgust. How many had drank from this cup? She thought to herself. Hearing commotion approaching her, she took a deep breath and drank the rest of the wine before walking back to the middle of the chambers. 

As Geta drunkenly entered his chambers with two concubines, they all froze at the beautiful sight of Arabella waiting for her emperor. Her cheeks blushed as she licked her scarlet lips, her brown waves framing her angelic face. As Geta loosened his hold, both concubines shared a look and silently left the room, leaving the emperor and lady alone. 

“Why are you here, Arabella?” slurred Geta as he staggered, and Arabella met him halfway.

Pressing herself to him, she explained, “I wish to spend the night with you. I have missed you, my imp—” She paused before finishing her sentence as Geta snorted. 

“Missed me, huh? After years of being distant, you now miss me?”  taunted Geta, watching as Arabella lowered her eyes for a second. 

Channeling her bravery, she pushed herself closer, her lips lightly touching Geta’s. She whispered, “Yes, I have…so please, Geta…. My Geta, please let me in.” 

Shuddering, Geta closed his eyes, her words affecting him again. Opening them and seeing his lady’s hooded eyes, with lust in her eyes, he closed the gape. Both allowed the walls around their hearts to fall as they embraced and deepened their kiss. After years of yearning for each other, they were finally breaking free. Arabella gasped, feeling her emperor's tongue enter her mouth. She tightened her hold of his arms as she pressed her body further to his. Groaning at the feeling, Geta grabbed her waist while pushing her closer to his bed. 

Falling on his bed, the lady, heavily breathing, stared up at her emperor, her lips swollen, her night dress falling off her shoulder, exposing more of her skin. Grinning, Geta leaned down, capturing her lips, before he moved down her jaw, down to her neck, where he began his attack, sucking a spot with licks and bites, enjoying the delicious whimpers he brought out from her. 

Arabella, falling more into her lust, wrapped her fingers through the ginger hair as she gasped, feeling Geta bite down on her neck. Yes, it was painful, but her pleasure was more remarkable. Moving to expose her neck more, she moaned, feeling him grind his clothed budge to her exposed and drenched cunt. Biting her lip, feeling devious, she, too, started to grind her hips up. She was matching the rhythm of her emperor. Grunting, Geta released his lady's neck, growing in satisfaction, seeing a red mark starting to form. Taking hold of her hip, He rubbed himself on her wet cunt, his grin growing, seeing her wither and pant from his humping. 

Opening her eyes, Arabella reached up, cradling her Geta’s face, “Please…My Geta, make me yours again; I want to be yours again…” she pleaded, breaking her promise to her 15-year-old self. 

 Growling, Geta began to undress while commanding Arabella to do the same. She did as she was told, shaking in pleasure. Arabella shed her gown before crawling onto Geta’s lap and kissing him again. She moaned into his mouth as he pushed himself inside her. He was thicker and larger from the last time she had him. Releasing her lips, Geta kissed the top of her breast before he began thrusting into his lady. Arabella moaned louder, moving her hips to match the rhythm but losing it once Geta started changing his speed, pounding into her. 

Wanting to have more control and speed, Geta pushed her to lay on her back; raising her hip, he pushed harshly, pulling out at a fast and bruising pace. Arabella screamed in delight at the overwhelming pace, her breasts bouncing with each thrust from her emperor, her mind in a daze, and she could only focus on his cock sliding in and out of her. 

“Who do you belong to…”Grunted Geta.

Leaning her head back, Arabella whispered, “I’m yours…” 

“Louder! I want the whole palace to hear you scream for me!” growled Geta as he pulled entirely out before slamming back inside her. 

Gasping wide eyes, Arabella screamed, “Yours, I am forever your Geta…. Yes… Yes… more…please… My Geta… I want more of you!” 

Grunting, losing a little of his pace, Geta grunted, “Yes, you are mine. Nobody shall ever have you. You were made for me, and nobody can ever… mmm… no one can ever compare to your cunt.” 

Nodding, Arabella squeezed her legs around Geta’s waist, grabbing his hands and placing their intertwined hands on her hips. She entirely gave herself to her emperor. 

“Yes, I will always be your Arabella. No one else can ever take me from you…” she declared before moaning loudly, feeling her emperor’s warm seed enter her. 

 As they gasped for their breath, coming down from their high, the lady ran her fingers through her liege’s hair. 

Listening to his lady’s heartbeat, Geta thought back to her declaration. Did she mean it, or was it in the heat of their pleasure? Unable to fight the tiredness, both lady and emperor fell into Morephus' domain. 

The following morning, Marcella entered her lady’s chambers, ready to prepare her for the day, when her heart jumped to her throat; Arabella wasn’t in bed. Thinking the worst, Marcella ran out of the room towards the emperors' chambers. As she nearly passed by Geta’s chambers, she stopped. Looking around, she quietly entered, growing nervous seeing the emperor naked with a woman in his arms. She decided to creep forward; the sight before made her face grow red, and she quickly moved her eyes away. In his arms was an equally naked Arabella with a slight smile on her face. A smile grew as she quickly covered them with a sheet and left in relief. 

Arabella, feeling warm, snuggled deeper into the arms around her before she realized her actions. Sharply inhaling, she opened her eyes and inclined her head to ensure she knew where she was. Staring at her, Geta’s calm face flushed as memories of last night returned, the heat blooming in her stomach again. Feeling selfish, the young lady pushed herself up, grazing her lips to his; she stared at him for a moment before leaning in and giving a chaste kiss to her emperor, waking him from his slumber. 

Usually, Geta would grow annoyed when any of his concubines tried to kiss him from his sleep, but once he opened his eyes and noticed it was Arabella, he closed his eyes again, enjoying her warm, soft lips on his. Allowing his vulnerable side to take hold, he raised a hand to her cheek, caressing it. Arabella's eyes snapped open in shock, breaking the kiss to lean away from Geta. Geta grumbled as he opened his eyes, annoyed that his kiss was cut short. As both lovers stayed frozen, staring at each other, neither knew how to begin their conversation. 

Geta decided he would be the first to speak, his question from last night coming back to him: “Did you mean what you said last night…” 

Arabella searched his face for his emotions but was unable to read him, “...I-” 

“Did you mean that you will always be mine, Arabella, that no one has or ever will touch you?” questioned Geta more firmly as he sat up. 

Arabella’s heartbeat echoed in her ears, staring into Geta’s soft eyes, even if his tone was firm. Even if her 15-year-old self screamed to place her walls up, pleading not to fall again, begging to protect their heart, Arabella could not lie anymore; she would not deny it. 

Softening her face to grace a sincere smile, Arabella kissed her lover before whispering her words on his lips, “Yes, I am forever yours, Geta, my love… not one person in the entire Roman empire shall ever take your place. I do not want to; I only want to be with you, My Geta.” 

Feeling tears prickle his eyes, The Emperor ignored his 17-year-old self, screaming at him to push her away, that if he pushed her away, they could not suffer through the same heartbreak they felt when their son died. Geta held his lover’s face as he kissed her back. She lay back on the bed as she wrapped her legs against his waist, again begging for him to enter. 

As he entered her sweet body again, hearing her quiet moan, he whispered in her ear to make sure only she would listen to his vulnerable words. “I have missed you, My Arabella, my sweet girl, my empress.” As servants passed Emperor Geta’s chambers, they heard the sweet sounds of two lovers rejoining their hearts together again. 

Later, the feast chamber was tense as many had conflicting feelings about the scene before them. Usually, Geta and Caracalla sat on an extended bench flocked by concubines as they were fed. However, Arabella sat beside Geta’s left today while Caracalla sat beside his brother’s right. Everyone saw the enormous angry mark on Arabella’s neck that she wore proudly as Geta ate happily. Acacius and Lucilla, who were invited, in truth, more commanded to come, shared a weary look between them before Lucilla drew in a sharp breath. Geta raised Arabella to his lap, looking at her with admiration as the young lady smiled at her emperor with the same look. While Caracalla and Macrinus also stared at the lovers, one in shock and the other in annoyance. It would be more challenging to separate the two, thought Macrinus as he drank his morning wine.

[xleeleeboox]

Gareth headcanons part 3!

Requested by @flesheaterizzy ✨

Idk how many words this is because I e been typing these on my phone at work lol as they pop into my head and there are no warnings for this post!

———————————————

- He loves fall and his favorite thing is carving pumpkins and decorating with his little sister

- He went to a pumpkin patch with Eddie to get some and Eddie smashes one by accident and Gareth had to pay for it lol

- Gareth doesn’t have a job yet but he always seems to have pocket money, like he doesn’t sell anything like Eddie but he always has something in his wallet

- He would watch game of thrones I just know it

- And idk if I mentioned this before but he’d watch anime, like Naruto, attack on titan, fairy tail, jujutsu kaisen all of those you know

- He knows how to play the guitar but mostly the acoustic, he has an electric guitar but he prefers the drums and the band needed a drummer

- Sometimes he play the guitar for you if you ask although he gets a little shy to just play one on one, he’s nervous he will mess up and it will be embarrassing

- But it never is embarrassing

- Gareth like never gets sick but when he does it’s always for over a week. When you get sick he will take care of you and he will manage to not get sick himself afterwards

- He loves cuddling you when either of you are sick and he will make you take all your medicine and drink all the fluids you need

- He loves when you fall asleep in him room even if you just got there, like after school you get so tired you fall asleep but Gareth loves it because it means you’re getting rest and you’re comfy around him and in his room. He doesn’t care he will do something else until you wake up and he will even watch you but in an affectionate kind of way

- He is a plant killer lmao he has one cactus that he has had ever since he was like 9, it’s still growing just not very much lol

- Will eat whipped cream alone as a snack, from the tub or can

- Eddie and him used to dare each other to lick batteries and the Jeff and grant got in on it too lol

- I feel like he doesn’t particularly love kids, like he likes them but whatever. But he is actually very good with kids, he literally just plays along with them and asks them questions and fake argues with them and they love it

- He doesn’t like reading books he only read comic books

- I said it before and I’ll say it again Gareth is a grape flavor guy, he like Dr Pepper, oatmeal raisin cookies, barbecue sauce, all of it

- When Gareth was a kid it took him a long time to be able to read a clock and sometimes it takes him a second to tell the time still

- He’s a pumpkin carver around Halloween

- He probably used to go camping as a kid but his parents got tired of it the older the kids got

- I said it before I’ll say it again Gareth has a younger sister and an older sister and they would go camping with him and the parents

- He loves amusement parks but also isn’t a big fan of roller coasters, there’s a lot he doesn’t like but some that he LOVES

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Moonbloom

Time for Nightmare to finish up some loose ends! Don't worry :3 it is a good one in my opinion <3

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

We good? Lets go! (also be ready because it is a long one.)

*------------------*

Nightmare looks around their garden but still can't spot Killer. Maybe he went to their nest? Seems weird as Nightmare thought he would be working on the grapes at the moment.

Still. Best search there. He walks back towards the house as he weaves between the grapes and vines growing. The first layer is looking amazing and beautiful!

He gets to the set of stairs and walks back into the house. Finding Killer is easy as he is laying in their nest watching something on the TV. A fan aimed at him to help keep him cool in the summer heat.

Killer blinks and grins "OUr little nightlight!" and Nightmare gets grabbed and snuggled close. Nightmare hums happily as he leans into the snuggles for a moment.

Killer grins as he lounges "Come watch westerns with me! It iwll be fun." and he grins.

Nightmare glances at the tv for a moment, it shows a cowboy on the back of a horse with the show having this yellowish colour over it. Nightmare hums "later?"

Killer grins "Sure. What do you want to do now?"

Nightmare rubs his hands before muttering "can... can you do soemthing for me?"

Killer nods "sure! what is it?"

Nightmare smiles as he leans against Killer before he asks his request. It had been on his mind for a while now and with him fixing Dani and Ellie's tree farm... He thinks this may actually work.

--------

Grillby cleans the bar and sighs. Another long night after an even longer day.

His club is profitable and it keeps others safe but he does not enjoy owning it. Grillby had always wanted to own his own business but not like this.

Sadly this is where their fate had let them.

He finishes with the bar and goes about checking the seating area and dancing area. Finding some very dubious stains. A deeper sigh but he gets to work.

He tries not to let his mind wander as he works. It is better to focus or the ever present heat that is now just a part of life.

He finally finishes up his normal round as he leaves his building. His flame flickering a bit brighter at the sight of Sans.

Sans notices him and grins "Sup Grills!"

Grillby is very lucky that even after everything and how everyone spoke about hi that Sans still speaks to him. He knows this.

They walk together as the move to waterfall. Sans takes out the umbrella and hands it to him wordlessly. Grillby takes it and the two continue walking "Thank you again for coming with me."

Sans grins at him "Hey no worries. I always love hanging out with you~" and he gives a wink and sweet smile.

It is ruined by someone whistling loudly "Hey Sans! Down to fuck later? I can show you a real boner!!" loud laughter after.

Sans just shoots them a look and glances up and down before smiling a bit sharper but still oh so sweet "Hon I don't think you have the stamina to keep it up or do anything near pleasing~ Maybe best practise a few rounds first." and the walk pass them.

No real conversation after that as the peaceful mood had been ruined.

Grillby misses Sans. Sans used to go to his club and dance there. Spend time there. It had been something Grillby honestly enjoyed. The heat that went through him felt more real when it was focused and about Sans. It had been honest as Grillby had always felt that way.

Sans had throw his whole mindset into dancing and other work at his club when the experiment failed. Sans sadly took the burn of most of that failure even if there had been more scientists at work on an artificial heat to help their reproduction.

Sadly Sans had been the best known among everyone and so ended up being the black sheep of it all.

Grillby had just been happy to have Sans near even when everything changed drastically... Eventually his inaction got to much and Sans left after one too many comments.

Girllby still misses him daily.

Maybe another reason why he had tried so hard to do right for that tiny child. A tiny skeleton looking so young. Grillby tried to not let it interfer but it had been so hard. He had just wanted to do right and something for once.

He still wonders how that tiny child is doing. He hadn't told another soul. Too afraid what some heat affected monsters would do.

"Grillby? Is something wrong?"

Grillby looks back at Sans and sees those pink eye lights watch him. Grillby always gets lost in that face and those eyes.

Grillby had come close to confessing what happened that night to Sans. So close. but he is afraid that Sans will just be disappointed in him. For not getting the child to a safe location. to hide it from him for so long. Grillby thinks this underground will actually be hell if Sans stopped talking to him.

A loud whistle and Grillby and Sans both look over annoyed. Only for Sans to freeze and Grillby can only assume it is shock. BEfore that is another skeleton. yet they are dressed strange.

Well strange for them.

They are in constant heat after all. Meaning everyone feels hot and too hot all the time. Everyone loves wearing and showing off their bodies. It is why Grillby is wearing his minimal outfit. It is why Sans is wearing the shortest shorts possible and that little top as he keeps his coat low and barely on.

This skeleton? Is wearing shorts but they cover his legs until his knees. he is wearing sneakers to finish that side up. Upwards? A black turtle neck, a sweater version at that.

Another very strange thing about them? The black tar like tears streaming down their cheeks. The completely empty sockets. and well, the out and proud soul is a very bold choice. Even for the monsters who like to attract all the attention. They are grinning widely at them.

Grillby blinks but suddenly feels Sans grab his hand and pull him back. Sans has yet to look away from the other skeleton but... but that look? That... that is fear... What? Who?

Grillby frowns "Sans?"

Sans shoots him an anxious look before glancing around at all the water. he pushes the umbrella fully in his arms "You need to go grillby." their is desperation in his voice.

Grillby does not feel the need to go. in matter of fact. if this person freaks Sans out of all mosnters? That means this person is dangerous and Grillby is not leaving his friend alone. He instead looks at the other skeleton.

Who is just... standing there? Grinning widely as they.... swing? They lean back and forth as they swing their arms slightly to keep the motion going. moving their weight from the toes of their feet to the very back. completely relaxed.

Sans glares at him and hisses "I am serious. Go."

Grillby just looks at the other and shakes his head "no."

Sans opens his mouth to speak again but the other speaks up "You two love birds done? Like. I can wait but i kinda got places to be and stuff." they grin as they lean on their fist. Almost like a thinking position but instead of the fist under the chin they lean against it with their cheek.

Sans glares "Why are you here?"

Grillby frowns at his friend "Sans who is this?"

Sans glances at him unsure before glaring back at the other.

This seems to have been a sign the other was waiting for as they just, bounce and skip over. The thrust out their hand "The name is Killer!"

Grillby stands frozen. Because he feels it. What the other sends out. This... this monster...

Grillby can't help it and sends a check.

The information just makes it worse.

This monster has a lot of LOVE.

Killer pouts "Tough crowd." he pulls his arm back and crosses his arms.

Sans glares at him and hisses "You are not allowed to be here. Leave."

Grillby has no doubt that Sans knows just how dangerous Killer is, Sans seems to actually know this guy but... but how?

Killer snorts and waves Sans off "Oh calm down I am not even causing trouble. Anyway. I kinda am here for a thing so cool your jets."

Sans just crosses his arms "I will ends a message to the Stars. I got an emergency vial and I will break it."

Killer raises a brow and smirks sharper "Then I won't be able to complete my job here Lavender..." then he leans closer "Or should I say... Ace?" and he winks "Must suck to have such conflicting needs."

Grillby doesn't think as he pulls Sans behind him. That... that is a very private secret. A soft admission that Sans once entrusted to Grillby. Why Sans hates this heat so much. How he doesn't even desire sex or want it. Yet this heat makes him need and crave it. It messes with his mind.

Grillby glares at Killer and Killer grins as he shrugs "eh. Not my fault he can't take what he dishes out." he grins wider "You know! Becuase he fucks people even when he doesn't desire people- wow!" Killer dodges the fireball Grillby shot at him.

Killer looks at where Grillby's magic attack his the ground "Man! Is it good I picked this spot to search you out! Could have been a hazard if a fire spread in an underground." he looks over "Anyway. I came with a message."

Grillby is about to say he doesn't care when Killer speaks the next sentence.

"From your little friend in the alleyway."

Grillby freezes again. Sans asks him what the other meant but Grillby can't. He can't believe it.

Killer nods with an understanding look "Ah yes. What do you mean? How could that be? In that case. Just so you know. While he liked the pulled beef a lot his favourite of the selection was the pork." and he grins.

The food. He had given the other food. And aparently the little one actually ate it all. his arm slowly falls to his side.

Killer grins and nods "I know right? anyway. I am here because of that." and he shrugs.

Sans frowns "What have you guys been doing here?!"

Killer sighs "calm down lavender. This doesn't actually concern you you know? You are just part of this conversation because you were near him at the time." and he shrugs.

Sans frowns and looks to the side for a moment "I... heard some stuff... from Dream-"

Killer pulls out a knife and aims it at Sans. Sans freezes and Killer grins. Girllby frowns but then sees the drop of blood on the knife edge and the very small cut on Sans's cheek.

Killer grins sharply "None of that now Lavender. I am here with a small mission. No need to include either the gang or the stars. This is a matter of repaying something owned. Calm now? Eithr you stay quiet or... well." he grins sharper "You want to test out how quickly a reset happens to fix a... missing link?"

Sans freezes as he shoots Grillby a nervous glance. Grillby is just very confused. what are these two talking about "Sans?" or Lavender? Why does Killer keep calling Sans that?

Killer stares for a while longer and Sans evneutally sighs and nods. Going silent but not leaving his side.

Killer hums and smiles brightly again. the threatening and freezing air around them disappears "That is what i thought!" is this what LOVE does to a monster? Grillby knew it was dangerous but this is on another level.

Killer sighs "Anyway. your alleyway friend wanted to thank you for your assistance. Which is why I am here. To repay that favour."

Grillby can't keep it in anymore "is he safe? Is he with his family again?" he remembers the poor child saying his mother was gone "With his dad? other parent?"

This is when Sans stares at him in shock and mutters a "what?"

Grillby looks anxiously at Killer but Killer just raises s brow and makes the 'go ahead' motion.

Grillby thinks it over before finally saying it "A long while ago. More than a year..." almost a year and a half honestly "I... i had a very curious visitor. a tiny monster dressed in a large hoody. but... it turned out to be a child... a skeleton one."

Sans gasps and thinks for a moment before shooting Killer a look of disbelieve.

Killer just grins and makes the 'zip it' motion.

Sans shallows "you mean those rumours..."

Killer glares as he crosses his arms "people need to learn to keep their large mouths shut." he turns back to Grillby himself "As to answer your question. he is fine. he is back at home with his parents. perfectly safe and healthy."

Grillby feels a deep relieve and lets out a sigh "Thank you... I ahd been worried... I assume you... you got him home?"

Killer blinks at him before shrugging as he stuffs his hands into his pockets "euh. pretty much."

Grillby can't help but smile. Maybe... maybe this monster isn't that bad? he cared enough to bring a child home to his family. he cared enough to help get the child a message back to Grillby. That must mean something. Sans must have made the same conclusion as he grins and crosses his arms. "Didn't realise that you guys now did babysitting."

Killer shoots him a glare "Don't test your luck Lavender." he sighs louder "anyway! Can we now finally get to the point i have been trying to get to?! The present?" and he waits.

Grillby and Sans share a look and both nod.

Killer huffs "finally! Anyway!" he messes with his pocked and out comes a full flower. it is a very pale purple with four petals. the petals are kinda cresent shaped and point upwards. It is small but nice enough.

Killer nods and marches over "Okay. here you go. Yes you can safely touch it as long as you don't want to burn it." Girllby carefully takes the flower over. That is when it hits him. the flower is the same colour as the small child's eyes had been.

Sans looks at it curiously and tilts his skull "that is... new?"

Killer waves it off "Yeah he is sitll workshopping the name. anyway. hold i got a list for this shit." he makes a victorious noise as he pulls out a piece of paper and reads "okay. okay... lets see. growing and spreading. As long as there is room and the flower is unbothered it will grow copies of itself. so it doens't need water."

Killer snorts as he looks up "Goot news you don't need to handle water for this flower. but yeah just kinda. I dunno. find a spot no one visits and plant sit if you want a shit load of them.but if you don't care about spreading it a lot lot you can just kinda put it in a pot or something."

Grillby looks down at the small flower and smiles. He is so thankful for this wonderful gift. a reminder that he at least managed to help one person.

Killer keeps looking at his little list "okay! So. One petal a person is enough but takes a few days to take effect. For instant but temporary effects just make tea."

Sans blinks "what is the effect?"

Killer opens his mouth. frowns and closes it. looks abck at his list. then shrugs at them "I was not told. I knew we were forgetting something. but. euh." he shrugs again "can you blame him? He is six."

Sans makes a small noice as he looks excited as he glances at Grillby "You saw a six year old babybones?"

Grillby nods and Sans sighs wishfully "I am so jealous. so so jealous."

Killer grins and shrugs "bet. anyway. lets see. oh the last point. The flowers will regrow the petals but can't grow more flowers if they are healing. so if you want a lot of petals you will need to grow flowers first." he grins at them "and that is it. with that done. bye!" he waves nad turns around. He walks back into the shadows and Girllby is left with a small flower in his hands. so fragile and small but beautiful.

Sans looks at him curiously "Want to get a nice large pot and plant the little plant? get more started?"

Grillby nods and they go in a slightly different direction. They get the right supplies and quickly go back to Grillby's house.

Grillby watches as Sans plants the flower for him. Grillby still worried his flames may harm to tiny plant. He just didn't wish to risk it. it takes very little time and they sit on the couch together for a moment.

Grillby can't sotp it anymore "Who even was that?"

Sans frowns as he srhugs "jsut... someone i know...."

Grillby frowns more as he feels that Sans isn't telling him what is wrong "Why did he keep calling you Lavender?" that is a new name. Sans has been called lust by others before, partly as insult because snas play in making the ever present heat. but also as comment on his looks and how desired he was.

Sans shrugs and mutters "I dunno... prefered that over the alternative..."

Grillby frowns "Sans... what..." he deosn't even know what he wants to ask.

Sans just shakes his skull "it... it doesnt matter at the moment... I am sorry you got so close to being hurt..." he rubs his arm and looks away with guilt.

Grillby hums "not your fault." and lets it go for now. his sight finds the flower. curiousity gets the best of him "Want to test those petals with me?"

Sans laughs before glancing at the flower "sure... petal or tea?"

Grillby hums and stares at the flower. feeling a bit reckless "lets just do a whole petal. That way it is done and no need to question it anymore."

Sans looks thoughtful before nodding. Sans pulls off two petals with care before handing one of grillby.

Grillby feels the petal. it is soft and seems fragile but it doesn't even seem to notice his flames. Sans grins and winks at him before both of them just eat the petal.

It tastes strange... slightly of grapes of all flavours. Grillby doesn't taste any of the drugs he is familiar with and he made sure to test those when he was safe. Just to make srue which flavours to not include in food and drinks. make sure nothing can get masked by his things.

They sit together but nothing happens.

Sans hums "the note of the kid did mention that it would take a while. Talking about that." he turns to him adn smiles "kid?"

Grillby chuckles but happily, and finally, shares the story of that day. How sweet the young child had looked but how afraid he had been.

It is nice.

-------

Grillby wakes up the same as always. he makes breakfast as he always does. But then he realises it. what he feels.

or better said. what he doesn't feel.

Grillby is in such shock that he actually drops the plate he had been holding.

It is gone.

the heat within his soul.

It is gone.

He doesn't think as he rushes out of his house. He throws open the door and gets hit by the cold of the air.

It is cold!

Also it is VERY cold!

He grabs his jacket before rushing to Sans's house. He gets there and knocks on the door. loudly.

a grumble and a disgruntled Papyrus opens the door. Papyrus shoots him a look. tired and slightly knowing "Sans is asleep after working last night." he gives him a pointed look.

Grillby still isn't sure how Papyrus figured out about Grillby's interest, but it may have to do something with Grillby always giving Sans the center stage and best hours and let sans keep most of the tips he earned. Now that Grillby thinks about it he was rather obvious.

Grillby shakes his head "It is nothing like that. I need to talk to him. I know it is very early and i apologise."

Papyrus looks annoyed but lets him in wiht a loud sigh. Papyrus orders him to wait there for a moment before moving upstairs to Sans's room.

Grillby waits as he tries to ignore the very pointed decoration. his soul still blissfully cool towards it all. even if he can smell the familiar scent of Sans's perfume.

It doens't take long for Papyrus and Sans to walk downstairs. Sans looks adorable disheveled as he joins him on the couch. Sans is still so pretty even without all the make up and short cut clothes.

Ppayrus sends Grillby another look before loudly proclaiming that he will be making breakfast.

Sans shoots him a tired look "Not that i don't enjoy visits... but we don't really have the same working hours anymore Grills."

Grillby shakes his head and tries to focus on the now "Sans. please. focus and tlel me I am not the only one here."

Sans frowns at him as he tilts his skull.

Grillby keeps staring at him "Notice anything gone? something... burning that is no longer burning?"

Sans stares at him before snorting "Is this the set up for a pun? I mean i love a good pun but you didn't need to wake me up-" he stops mid sentence. sockets wide as one hand slowly raises up to touch his sternum "it is gone."

They share a look and Sans rushes to his room "Give me a moment to get dressed!"

Grillby nods before quickly shouting after him "Make sure to grab a jacket!"

Papyrus shoots them a weird look from his kitchen and Grillby has no way to explain it just quite yet.

Sans rushes back downstairs, with a jacket on thank everything. They quickly say goodbye to Papyrus and rush out together. They run back to Grillby's house as Sans speaks "The flower?"

Grillby answers immediantly "I think it had to be! That is the only thing different about us compared to everyone."

They get back and find the garden pot they had planted the flower in four days ago. It took almost two days for the flower to recover fully from the picked petals but over the next two days the one flower had grown into four.

Sans stares at him in shcok "this... this can fix everything..."

Grillby nods before frowning at his tiny pot "We can maybe plant three of these four somewhere else. with more room to really let them spread. I can keep the last one safe just in case."

Sans nods as he takes out the garden tools he had left here last time and gets to work "great idea. I remember a cavern in the forest which no one really visits. we can plant them there and let them spread in peace."

Grillby nods as he watches Sans work. this could fix everything.

----

Killer strokes the small skull leaning against his sternum as he watches tv. the western is nearing its conclusion as the hero talks about needing to go as the open fields call to him. the main lady is heartbroken and begs him to stay. usual stuff.

Killer looks at Nightmare "What was the flower anyway?"

Nightmare yawns and shoots him a look "should fix the issue there." and he snuggles close.

Killer grins and holds the baby close. euh. whatever. Not his problem. his problem is just making sure the baby is happy and content.

*-----------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Remember how Nightmare is now the god of restoration? You can push that concept VERY far :3

If Fate finds out Nightmare is messing with universes and stuff like this she/he/they will be pissed.

Anyway!!

Baby repayed his debt!

[lokiostasis]

Finnick Odair x Politician!Reader P2

one who ran to be remembered (2.2k)

His mother bestows greater gifts as he grows. He will be curious and wish to discover wonders. They will embolden and dismantle the wretched propriety he will have once held dear to his heart—the thing that festers outwards—until he learns letting go is trailing sorrow behind in hopes of one day leaving it, ambivalent. He will go looking for that which will never satisfy that rotting heart of his, as he grows into his father's throat. 

There’s rain coming down hard tonight. It’s almost thunderous, an infrequent treat down here. You have known for a long time that the weather is fitted to the Capitol’s whims- it’s very convenient, helpful. They use it in the games sometimes, and you seem to remember an occasion where the storms ravaged District Four, though you couldn’t come up with any details if asked. You put on a hint of makeup about an hour ago. You’ve read in the past that it was just women who were permitted to wear makeup, and it still is that way in many of the districts. You wonder if they all know what one another looks like without glitter and lipstick. You revel in the fact that you’ll never have to learn.

Tonight is the dinner you invited Finnick Odair to. You’d gotten his name from another patron at the gala- an escort with platinum blonde curls and light blue eyeshadow who’d promised to send an invite herself (you knew she was looking for your favor, but you do not care much about it). Everyone wants something from you. You perhaps didn’t have to fight as hard as others would have to, but what you’ve taken- your ever-growing choke hold on the elite of Panem- is something to be proud of. You smile at that and catch your reflection in the mirror.

You’re grinning like a devil. 

You’ve worn a soft satin shirt- something worth good money but not overtly flaunting, a dark blue, you’ve been told, looks nice with your favorite jewelry, which is none at all. You’d thought about a tie and decided strongly against it. You weren’t trying to rope him into a new governance factor; you were hoping for a decent glass of wine and a nice conversation- a break from politics. You had a look at the tributes from his district as well- the ones you’d been considering sponsoring. They’re promising enough, the girl has soft eyes, though. A bit of you whispers that they probably failed media training and it’s really quite the struggle to remember that they didn’t have 12 private lessons each day- every day from birth on how to be a walking magnet. No, they had…

well. 

The bell rings as you take a seat at the dining table, neatly dressed in dark greens and golds like the rest of the house. Earthier tones had always looked nice to you, and this manor actually wasn’t a custom build but a property you bought off from a liquor salesman when it’d already had a very natural look. He’d wanted to imitate his prized grape vineyards, which had always felt a tad bit odd. You consider that you might move to the outskirts- by the wall if your house was designed after meetings and lip service. You listen to the footsteps, examining the bottle on the table.

Two sets- one of the few avoxes you keep and Odair himself. The avoxes’s name is Eilen-  and she’s on the younger side. Neat brown hair that lost its shine, but she does good work, and you gave her and the other one a wing of the house, mostly because they’re loyal and dedicated, and a bit for the fact you’d heard the strange crying noises that tongueless sob’s make from Eilen’s bedroom one night. You didn’t enjoy that.

Shaking your head lightly for the sensation of it- honestly, where have your thoughts been wandering of late? You look up and stand to greet Finnick. He’s dressed a little less flashily than last time, but something that catches your eye is a skirt with light gold lacing like sea foam, on layered blue. It suits him, it brings out his eyes. You wonder if it reminds him of home? You wonder how many times he’s been told about his eyes. It must get old, no? “Odair! A pleasure to see you,” you greet, smile upon you face.

“Hey sweetheart, nice place you got here,” he responds, although he doesn’t seem to care about the surroundings, eyes affixed on you, as if you’re the only thing to look at. “Well, it’s a bit less decked out than I’m sure you’re used to, but it’s home,” you say, and at his slightly cute smile, take him by one shoulder and guide him onto the chair across from you as Elien slips out. He lends himself to the touch, which is almost goosebumps at how smooth of a transition it is, and once you’re both sitting, he talks. “Now, I don’t want to dredge the mood, but I wanted to ask if you’d thought about my proposal, hun?” he asks, and you lift your eyebrows in acknowledgment as you take his goblet. You line both of the crystaline glasses up as you respond, “I have, infact. I will sponsor them this year- specifically the boy; he seems to show good promise.” 

Finnick watches the fluid movements of your hands as you pour wine into both cups, a color a shade too red to be mistaken for lipstick filling them halfway. “It’s an older brew- around the 50th games, I believe,” you start to tell him as he sips it, making a little bit of a face when he thinks you've looked away. You let out a small chuckle despite yourself, and he looks like a deer in headlights at being caught. “It is quite lovely, sweetheart just a bit intense for me-“ he begins to reassure you, taking another bigger sip and hiding his distaste rather impressively. “Eilen!” you call, raising two fingers and your tone, but careful to keep out any emotional tonage out of it- she’s never done well with loud, angry guests (or you, the few times you’ve been hammered and growling like a spoiled brat). Finnick, a bit surprised, interjects, “Ah- darling, it’s quite alright.” 

Eilen has hurried in by now, and you tell Finnick that; “Well, you’re my guest, no? I’ll take care of you here, no need to blush about it.” And then to Eilen you request “-something a bit fruity, sweet, if you could? Would appreciate it.” and she smiles and nods, darting off into the kitchen. Finnick blinks and says with a bit of contempt that “That was a polite tone to take with an Avox.” It’s a question trying to masquerade as a statement, and you can understand where he’s coming from. “Oh? That’s Eilen; she’s the lady of the house, in a way. Handles most everything around here- very polite.” You’re aware that doesn’t answer his question, but how would you?

You change your train of thought again as Finnick sips the bright pink drink, and his eyes widen. “Wow, honey, you’ve utterly outdone yourself here.” She smiles at the blond and ducks her head before you give his a light incline of the head, and she goes off into the kitchen. You’re smiling despite your composure at just him, which is incredibly odd as you’ve barely talked. “So, how’s the world of the capitol’s finest, hm?” Finnick asks, one hand balancing his chin as he stares at you, big sea-green eyes clear and slightly lidded, not full flirt.

“Ah. Wouldn’t call myself the finest, exactly- that honor belongs to our dear president,” you sip your wine and catch just a flicker of resentment across the man’s face, odd, given you’d always heard the districts regarded Snow as a sort of god. Always providing for them, occasionally taking a sacrifice. 

“-But of course, it’s busy. This time of the year is quite hectic, though I’m sure even more so for a man such as yourself, who has a very active role.” You don’t say in the games aloud, but it’s more than implied and an invitation. He grins through slightly gritted teeth, perfectly white ones. You recall vaguely some scandal about Victor's teeth whitening, which was very odd to you- because almost everyone here in the Capitol had some sort of major procedures done. You hadn’t, though it had been recommended- just too busy, and your mother hadn’t forced it- likely because she rarely looked at you. 

“Honey, I’ve got an… active role all year round.” He teases with a smirk. It’s a deflection, but you’ll allow it, leaning back in your chair. Just then, there’s a rather alarming noise from the kitchen- a sort of strained inhuman noise and a crash. You snap up a little more slowly than your guest, who moves like a snapped coil. You set your glass down and, with a small nod at Finnick, lightly run into the kitchen, more mildly concerned than anything. 

Eilen is on the floor, and your vision splits a little at seeing the red. She’s pushing herself up, clearly dazed, bracing against the lower cabinet doors. There’s a bottle of oil shattered nearby and slip marks. You can price it together, dropping onto one knee like a coach next to her. She flinches badly, then goes still, spooked like a deer in headlights, big big eyes. You still a bit knowing you’re being a bit intimidating- not to another of your status, maybe, but to an avox who just interrupted dinner and broke a bottle of 400 dollar pure basil oil-

“Eilen, don’t move, alright? If you’ve gotten a concussion, that’ll just make it worse. You’re alright.” You aren’t… angry, although slightly disappointed. Looking up, smoke is curling, and you start to stand when you hear footsteps. Finnick is standing in the foyer, grimacing. How does he make grimacing look pretty?

A good question you have no answer for. 

Wait, what. 

What are you thinking about?

 “Odair, could you turn off the stove? I think the fish is-“ you glance at the chars. “…erm. Done.” Finnick quickly moves to do so, as you turn your attention to the lightly quivering servant. Lightly is a bit generous, you remark mentally, frowning as you grab a cooler packet of… what is this, some exotic fish? Anyhow, it’s cold and sealed. You press it in the avox’s hand, fighting an eye roll at the flinch. She tries to stand up, turning slightly in the direction of where she was prepping the food. “-No, no- don’t cook it, Eilen. Press it, yeah, just like that.” 

Finnick is prodding at the fish’s utterly useless remains, and he says a bit softer but still playful, as if trying to mold himself into the mood, “Well… that’s dinner, sweetheart.” You snort, undignified, and that’s weird too. You’ve been odd around this one. Wonder why, actually- you’ve had hundreds of formal dinners. “Can you grab the first aid kit from the… Eilen, where is it?” You ask. She blinks softly, dazed, but makes an effort to point into the hall. “Sure, honey.” Says Finnick, with pure amusement. He’s probably quite dissatisfied by this turn of events, but it’s not exactly been a planned sequence. While he grabs it, you put the pan in the sink, trying not to touch the dirty water, but to let it soak so your expensive pan isn’t gone. Why did you get such… oh, yeah, hadn’t some gamemaker given them as a joke gift? Whatever, joke's on him, you got use. 

You remember the first time you’d scared an avox.

Not the first time you’d seen one- you’d grown up in a manor with plenty. You’d been maybe twelve, thirteen, angry at the world for absolutely no reason. Maybe mad at your mom for her twice a year appearances, or mad at your tutors for being so awful (all fell into either suck-ups to wealth or condescending just because they could be), or perhaps even .. you won’t think about that right now. Whatever it was, there were so many kids who were having worse times, like Loram, the avox who’d walked into the cellar to do some work and startled as much as you had when he saw you by the bottles, tears streaming down hot skin. You’d yelled. 

You’d sounded like her.

You’d sounded like….. him.

Finnick tosses the med kit to you and raises a brow. “Nice catch, sweetie.” You smile at him, although it’s mostly politeness, still shaking off the haze of the memory. As you check her eyes with a pen light from the box, Finnick stares. You know you’re weird about your servants. You don’t, you don’t know exactly why, but sometimes you can’t just make them as faceless as you pretend they are. 

She does seem a bit off, but her pupil movement looks good enough. “Hm. Just head to bed for now. I’ll figure out about dinner, I suppose.” You tell her, sighing heavily, as though it’s an inconvenience, not an order. She nods slowly, unsure, but slowly gets herself out the doorway. “Odair, I do apologize for this, but I don’t have any other staff working tonight- it wasn’t necessary earlier. I could arrange for us to have… dessert and wine, though rather-“

 “Baby, it’s fine. That’s fine.” The man with eyes like sea glass says, a funny-looking grin in the corner of his lips. 

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

A/N: Okayyy. So first off, not proofread - written during a seven hour baseball game and multiple meltdowns. Second, thanks so much for the love on p1! yeah, there's a swift reference in there for the startling amount of ts and thg fans, even if I'm not the prior. Why does reader have so much dumb expensive nonsense? Politician, capitolite- he's not anywhere near perfect or anti-snow. The blurbs in the beginnings will make sense.... Eventually.

[hockeygirl101]

The Lake House

Part two: fight or flight

Walking down stairs, I can hear my mom and dad talking in the kitchen. I walk through the living room, passing Bella, our old black lab. I bend down and pet her giving her a quick kiss. I walk into the kitchen and sit beside my brother at the island.

"What are they talking about" i question Theo, grabbing one of the grapes off the plate of fruit my mom laid out.

"Something about dad wants a new boat but mom doesn't want to get rid of the old one" Theo whispers back, taking a piece of apple off the plate.

"Let me guess, she wants to keep it because we all learned how to drive on it?" I smile at Theo, knowing how mom can get a little too sentimental about things.

"Of course that's why, dad-" Theo gets cut off by my parents turning around.

"Averie sweetie what do you think?" My mom ask in her soft gentle tone, one that is usually only saved for Company.

"I think we should get a new boat" I say, looking at dad, "it makes sense, that boats so old now mom, it's a safety issue" I say, my dad winks at me and turns around to the stove.

"I'm making you the big steak tonight Bear" my dad tells over his shoulder, reminding me of my nickname everyone called me while we were here.

I stand up and tell them I'm going for a run, like I have for my entire life. I always go for a run before dinner, helps me clear my head. I quickly run up states to my room and put on some running shoes and shorts. I walk back down stairs and bump into Theo.

"You know, they asked about you" he says quietly in passing me on the stairs. I freeze, figuring no one would bring them up. Knowing how bad i never wanted to talk about them before,

"Ok? So what T?" I glare at him and keep walking.

I start my run through the path in the forest, my head spinning from what Theo said. Had they really asked about me? For how long? Just today? And when he says them does he mean all three? My thoughts are cut off by a twig snapping behind me. I expect some wild animal to jump out at me, though I suppose one did, an old Wolverine.

"Hey bear" Luke Hughes, standing in all his glory. He moves towards me, cautiously, as if not to spook me.

"Hi Lu" I smile stepping closer to him. I wrap my arms around him, growing up, Luke was always the closets to me. Him being only a year older than me made both of us feel less alone, especially when out older brothers would leave us to go do something cool, like rock jumping. To this day I still don't know what it is.

Luke's arm wrap around me, having them on my back makes me remember how good everything was before it happened, that summer. I can feel tears pricking my eyes, I pull back from him and sniffle.

"Did you get taller?" I giggle up at Luke, he stands at about 6'2, his dark brown curly hair matches mine, he smiles down at me.

Luke laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners, he seems happy. He's wearing an old Umich hoodie, black sweats and Nike running shoes. He looks good, he always has.

"No way, you've shrunk bear sorry" he smiles at me, I bark out a laugh.

"Oh come on, I'm very tall." I frown at him and cross my arms. "You're just freakishly tall" I shrug, start to walk back to the house.

"Yea yea, always running your mouth" Luke jokes with me.

It's almost like for Luke, nothing happened. I never hurt him and his brothers, I never left them, I never picked myself over them. I had always hoped when I saw them again, they would t bring it up. How that last summer of 16 was the worst period of my life.

"So when did you guys get here?" I asked him, hoping he wouldn't see what I was asking truly.

"Late last night, came up with some of my buddies from college." Luke says looking down at me, I nod and look straight ahead.

"Oh good, and jacks here then too?" I ask, avoiding who I want to ask about.

Luke doesn't say anything, he just nods and takes my hand in his. "So did you watch us play this year?" He looks over at me, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course I watched you Lu. I always have, just like when we used to watch Jack and Quinn. I always watch." My hand tightens around his, I smile up at him. "I never stopped. Never. Not even after that summer, not even after the horrible move in day freshman year. I'm always cheering for you." I feel my self get emotional, this is why I never came back before. I can't handle the hurt in my chest when I look at Luke, knowing how close we were.

It was always easy for my and Luke to open up to each other. He just understood me in ways other people don't, or can't. Every look he gives me makes me want to tell him everything.

"I didn't think you would, but it was hard. We love you, and you just left. The next time we see you, we're helping you move into your freshman dorm room. It hurt Bear." He says looking forward, letting go of my hand.

"I know, I'm really sorry Lu. I was always there for you" I stop walking and grab his hand, pulling him to look at me, "I will always love and admire you, and your brothers. No matter what happens or has happened between the four of us." I say, gently pulling him down into a hug.

Luke wraps his arms around me, letting out a deep sigh as he tightens around me. "I know, I do, we all do." I feel him take a deep breath in, before pulling back. "Now let's get you back for dinner, my parents are already there" he grins.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Your parents are at my house now? Like right now?" My voice picks up, I hate being caught off guard like this. Shit.

"Oh yea, plus the guys who are here. Guess you can finally meet Nico." Luke laughs gently, knowing how I'm feeling.

"I hate you, you know that right?" I smile at him as we start to walk up my street, passing lake houses along the way. I wave to the people I know, or rather I remember.

"Yea yea, you always say that then you come running back" he jokes as we walk up my drive way. "Nice car" he says as we walk past my truck.

"Thanks, it was a birthday gift last year" I mumble as we reach the porch. I stop, pulling Luke back.

"So who's in there? Tell me" I say, demand really. I need to know if he's in there.

"Quinn's not here yet. If that's what you're asking. Which it is" Luke smirks at me, thinking he's got me all figured out.

"Ok. I can do that then." I say as I pull him over to the door and through, "into the lions den then" I mutter and Luke's laughs. Though he knows I'm not kidding.

Fuck.

[ehlnofay]

Efri knocks on the door, which she doesn’t normally do. It’s so ridiculously loud it feels counterintuitive – she takes a full minute and a fair bit of banging around to shove it open, so he can already hear her, no need for anything else. But this time she knocks.

This time is different. This time is a bit weird, because the Archmage invited her to visit.

Normally, she just barges in when she feels like it, whenever she’s got an hour or so to spare. To look at his magic-grown garden, mostly; it’s a good garden, bright and beautiful and impossible without whatever weird spellcraft set it in place, all kinds of plants with all different needs. Grapes that only grow in the Eastmarch Aalto, mushrooms that only grow in the belly of the earth, flowers that only grow in snow and lichen that only grow in swamps. It shouldn’t be able to all grow together, and yet it does. It’s fascinating. And nice to look at.

So Efri comes to look at it. And sometimes – when the Archmage isn’t being too withdrawn and sulky – he tells her about it, about the care each plant needs, how he has to prune the bushes and pull the fjell’s weave out before it sprawls to take up all the space in the soil. He has gardening gloves, not soft wool like hers but dark leather with dirt streaking the seams. She’s seen him wear them three times.

Sometimes he’s not in the mood, and she looks in silence, and he pretends like she’s not there, and she pretends like he’s doing a good job at that. (He often looks over at her – she can feel his bleeding-red eyes on her back – and sighs, like the weird tired old man he is. She doesn’t acknowledge it.)

But this time he asked for her. Which, unless he’s got a new plant (unlikely) she can’t think of any reason for him to do. It isn’t as though they ever talk about anything else. But Mirabelle found her in the laundry room, pressing soap through Sissel’s favourite blanket because they’d used it for long enough it had started to smell funny, and she told her that Archmage Aren wanted to see her, and she wasn’t going to say no. She was curious. And besides, they’re a sort of friends, she thinks – even if he’s weird and sullen and almost two hundred years old, he still lets her wander into his room when she’s at a loose end, rifling through his things like a careless wind and peering wide-eyed at his garden. He still sits down and talks to her about it, sometimes. So Efri knocks, and waits, uncomfortably, to hear a response.

There’s a faint, “Mirabelle?” through the heavy wooden door. Efri sighs, because she knows he can’t hear her.

“Efri,” she calls back.

A pause. Then, “Ah,” a little louder, and he’s pulling the door open, which is a nice change. That thing is enormous. Hurts her arms to shove at.

Still weird, though.

The Archmage stands, a hand on the door’s fancy-looking knob, wearing his hood again. There’s no rhyme or reason as to when and where he wears that thing, it seems. He took it off on the ramparts, out in Winterhold’s eternal blizzard; he’s put it on now, in his own too-lavish room, where he sits and reads and looks at his plants.

He doesn’t say hello.

“Hi,” Efri says, because she is polite; she ducks under his arm and stands in his little entrance hall, on his nice smooth blue rug. “What did you want?”

“What did I –” the Archmage says; there’s a brief flash of the eyes as he turns, the glow of the mage-lit sconces reflecting off his irises. “Ah. Nothing in particular. Do you mind if I go tend to the garden?”

Efri squints at him. (He’s being strange. In a different way to usual.) Suspiciously, she replies, “All right.”

So he turns and goes. His quarters – spacious and lavish like a jarl’s longhouse – don’t punch the breath out of her like they did the first few times she saw them, but they’re still a lot. The magic lights, the near-glow of the threads of the rugs, the smooth beautiful wood of the furniture. It’s more’n two times the size of Efri’s old house, and that’s before the dragon burnt it down. It’s all full of books and knick-knacks in a way that makes her almost envious. And of course it has the garden; there’s not words for how wonderful the garden is.

The Archmage crosses the floor with neat, steady steps, one hand tugging on the hood of his mantle. His gardening gloves lay creased on a little red-wood desk; he pulls them on and marches over to the garden without so much of a glance.

He shakes, a little, as he crouches down on the edge of the stone steps so he can reach the dirt. Maybe he’s a bit cold – it’s never quite warm in here no matter how the fire burns. Or maybe his knees are aching and weak. Efri understands that old people get that, sometimes.

(She still doesn’t know why he called her here; doesn’t know why he’s not telling her. She doesn’t believe it’s nothing; he’s never done it before, usually seems vaguely put out by her presence, even if it’s in a way she can tell isn’t entirely genuine. If it was something silly, like wanting someone to talk to about a problem with the plants, he’d either wait for her to visit on her own time or just say so.)

(But she often doesn’t understand quite why he does the things he does. So she doesn’t know.)

He stays quiet, and Efri thinks she recognises this quiet – if she talked at all right now, he wouldn’t hear it. Lost inside his own head. She squints at him for a moment, looks around the room; her eyes fall, after a moment, on the polished surface of the desk. It’s cluttered with inkpots and paper and all manner of little mage things; laying open is a book.

Efri takes a step off the rug and onto the stone with a leather-booted foot. She isn’t quiet about it; the Archmage doesn’t notice.

She goes to look at the book.

It’s quite old, she thinks, though not as old as some of the texts in the Arcaeneum; the pages yellowed and wrinkled with time, the leather she can see of the cover soft and supple. The page it’s opened to is covered over with sparse text; handwritten, too, and rather messily. It takes some effort but Efri is able to make out a few words.

Only because they’re familiar, though; only because she’s spent the last few days peering over Sissel’s shoulder as she pores over volumes that might give them the information they need (while still being succinct enough as to be comprehensible). Chapters of histories of the magical institutions of the world with only the vaguest descriptions of the ideas and practices of the Psijic Order; old College record-books that say nothing about an Augur.

On this wrinkled page Efri’s eyes, skimming over the small collections of words in a crisp, crabbed hand, lock onto the familiar shapes of Artaeum – of Psijic – of Winterhold. There are a few other capitalised words that look like names, though none of them mean much of anything to her. Deneth. Antilion.

Efri glances back at the Archmage, who is still crouching on the edge of the garden patch. His arms are limp by his sides, hands spread out on the stone.

She takes the book. (It might be relevant! She’ll give it back later!) She’s got no pockets big enough to put it in, so she hurries back over to the little entrance area and slips it under a dresser. She’ll take it out on her way out – have Sissel help her look through it for anything about the Augur they’re supposed to find or the strange mages they’ve been contacted by – and bring it back, later. No harm done.

The Archmage is still staring at the garden like it’s telling him secrets. She pads over to him on her toes, quiet as a mouse. Even when she’s standing over him, practically looming, her skirt definitely in position to be within the edges of his vision, he doesn’t turn. He’s like this, sometimes. Makes it easier to look through all his stuff without him complaining; makes it harder to talk, if Efri’s in a chatty mood, or to figure out what it is he wants.

Efri waits a few seconds – just to make sure – before she nudges him with her foot.

He startles, whole body twitching under the loose grey cloth of his robe. He looks up.

Efri says, “Are you going to tend the plants?”

The Archmage blinks. “Of course,” he says; his tone is somewhere between curt and bemused. “I was waiting for you to come over here.”

His eyes are fixed on some point on the ceiling, or on the shift of Efri’s mantle. Efri eyes him askance. “Well, I’m here now,” she tells him, like it’s not obvious, and kicks him gently one more time for good measure.

“Don’t,” he says. He doesn’t snap – still talks soft. Efri looks at him even more askance, but he’s already looking away, over his mage-lit bed of plants. They look good, as neat and cared-for as ever, though one of the hardy little bushes is growing more arms than it really needs and the gnarling rock-roots are beginning to drown out the little flowers – the ones that look like goatweed. A garden like this – miraculous, impossible, meddling – takes a lot of maintenance, especially when you’re not a plant-wizard, which, Efri has learned, is a real thing; there’s a surprising amount of plant-based spells, and in Morrowind the wizards actually grow big mushrooms to live in. But neither she nor the Archmage are much good at plant-spells; they have to do it all manual.

Mostly manual. The Archmage raises a hand; Efri watches as ice gathers in the air before his fingers, glittering in the magelight like a sharp-cut diamond (or like the ink-print drawings of them; Efri’s never seen one in real life). With a flick of his wrist he sends it scattering in jewel-bright drops over the patch.

(Efri would have had to get a watering can. Or rig up some complex irrigation scheme. Doing it with magic feels like cheating.)

But it is pretty. “Pretty,” she comments, because if she doesn’t, she is mostly sure the Archmage will forget she’s there.

His fingers curl. “Thank you,” he says. Frost begins creeping over his palm, piling itself on like a gentle drift of snow. After several seconds of him casting in silence and her watching in silence, he speaks again. “That was… a strange incident, the other day. Very strange indeed.”

Ah. The incident.

(The unfamiliar mage that appeared out of nowhere – offering no explanations, would speak to nobody – demanding to see the College’s youngest, newest member. A mage from some important society, no less; magical societies are hardly Efri’s area of expertise, but from the way that both the Archmage and his Advisor were falling over themselves to accommodate his bizarre requests it must be really important. And then they’d messed it all up by insisting that Efri and Kazari go as well as Sissel, even though he only asked for Sissel; and then he stopped time to talk to them and vanished into thin air as soon as he was done. And Kazari said they shouldn’t tell anyone about it.)

(That incident.)

“Mm,” Efri says in vague agreement. (Kazari said she shouldn’t tell anyone about it. And they made fair points. If the not-ghost had wanted the Archmage to know he would have brought him into the fold; Efri and her friends don’t even know what they’re doing, much less who they can trust about it.)

“Very strange,” the Archmage repeats. He curls his hand into a fist and the gathered snow seeps out of it. “And after all these years – he just leaves.” He looks back, the lines of his face stark in the glow of the magelight and the shadow of his hood, his eyes apple-red, and asks, “Do you think we offended him?”

Normally, the Archmage talks kind of blank. Dispassionate. Borderline lofty, borderline lordly, sometimes. This is not that.

(Efri can’t place what it is instead, but it’s not that. She bites the inside of her cheek.)

Affecting a shrug, Efri says, “How should I know? I didn’t talk to him.”

“Hm,” the Archmage replies, and turns back to the garden, a grey silhouette against the colourful shock of the plants.

“He seemed weird,” Efri offers, which is true. (Both versions of events make him seem weird: his cryptic warnings and his cryptic-er silence.)

The Archmage, shoulders slumped, repeats, “Hm.” There is a quiet moment. He says, “Would you like me to show you how to prune the canis root?”

Efri says, “Sure.”

So the Archmage steps into the garden, bare-footed on the sparse patches of free, damp soil. His toes must be very cold. He crouches down, knees clicking as he does – moves to the side of the plant growing sharp and sprawling out of the rock so Efri can see what he’s doing – and unsheathes a wicked little blade that winks in the magelight. He sets a hand on one of the dry, quavering roots (no, Efri notices – the root is still, it’s his hand that trembles) and positions the knife.

A quick, neat slice, right below the bud, to keep the root small and contained, else it might crawl over the rocks and strangle out everything else in the garden. The pruned-off root rests in the Archmage’s palm. He curls his fingers around it; Efri can see the leather of his gloves crease.

“Efri,” he says, sudden. Magelight runs like waterfall rapids down the grey wool of his back, the heavy fold of his hood. “Be careful.”

She’s not the one with the knife. She doesn’t know what he means. But the tremor in his hand is rattling his whole arm up to the shoulder, now, and he still sounds strange. A hundred years younger, maybe. Or much, much older.

“I know you think you’re on the edge of something great,” he goes on, that strange quality to his voice. He sounds like the pruning knife, like ocean storms, like old stone. “You’re curious. You want to know.”

Oh.

“You want to know, too,” Efri says, hand fisting in the pilling warm wool of her skirt. She feels defensive, though she’s not entirely sure of what. “And it’s important. It –”

His shape against the blossoming garden shifts. “Maybe,” he says. “Maybe it is. Maybe you are.”

He turns, then; his face stark blue-grey as the ancient stones, and Efri is suddenly, deeply certain that he has been in the College for aeons. He has never left this room. For a moment, all its luxury feels gossamer-frail; the air is heavy as ash and she is choking on it. She can make out nothing in the lines of the Archmage’s face. “Your great discovery,” he says, and it’s like a recitation. “Think about what it’s worth. Think about what it isn’t.”

In the main hall of the College, far below, the Eye of Magnus rests atop a streaming blue-light font. It spins, and spins, and spins.

“You’re being weird,” Efri tells the Archmage of Winterhold, and his lips flatten.

“Think about it,” he repeats with the distant finality of a bell’s toll, and he slices through another grown-out root, sap sticking bloodily to his blade.

[mikuchan]

Aylin/Isobel Week, day 1

moonrise over Reithwin | mundane, formal, ritual, promise

rated g | 1600 words | Aylin, Isobel, Umi, briefly Shadowheart

read on AO3, or below the cut

The moon hangs full and huge, slowly rising in the sky: no distant satellite tonight, but something close and warm as pale hearthfire. It limns the edges of bare branches and distant roofs, and beneath its softening gaze, Reithwin looks…not quite whole, but no longer so wholly razed. A sense of soul has returned, slowly filling the void left by Shar’s noxious darkness. 

They stand on the roof of Moonrise Towers, surrounded by recent bloodstains and battle-pocked stone. Someday these will fade: scrubbed by time and honest hands, weathered down or replaced in full. Until then they stand as markers, not only of that bloody fight mere days ago, that vicious struggle that carried from here on the rooftop to the charnel house below, but of their victory . 

The crowd gathered now is large, but there are precious few of her mother’s true faithful in attendance. Herself, of course, with armor polished to full gleam, and her heart, her Isobel, eyes bright as the stars as she arranges the rooftop altar. There is Shadowheart, too, not-quite-Selûnite, no-longer-Sharran: a half-moon of a child whose face seems to spasm each time Isobel murmurs instructions. 

(Yet after each flash of pain there comes, too, a determined setting of her chin. The half-moon waxes, slowly coming into the Moonmaiden’s light, no longer forced to wane under Shar’s heavy hands.)

The rest of them…a disparate group, but an earnest one. Harpers, some carrying charms or trinkets bearing Selûne’s holy symbols alongside those of Mielikki, Tymora, others, all darting to and fro under the Head Harper’s barked commands. Flaming Fists watch her darling Isobel with reverent curiosity as they lug benches and tables from the tower below, upon which adventurers, refugees, and Harpers arrange scavenged food and dusty wine. 

“Scuse me,” A small voice says. Children - more children than Aylin has seen in Reithwin in a long, long while – have been scrambling underfoot, shrieking, laughing, asking questions, stealing grapes. 

And, apparently, hovering awkwardly beside her. A tiefling, for all the children here are tieflings, red-cheeked and ruddy-horned.

“Well, I wanted to – erm, I was just – I was wondering –” One small foot scuffs at a burn mark upon the ground. 

“Speak, child!” Aylin commands. The boy looks up sharply, wide-eyed. “Say what you will, and say it well.”

“You stopped the darkness.” The boy’s words come out in a rush. “You saved us. I want to – we have to –” He pauses, squares his shoulders, and looks Aylin in the eye. “I have to save Mol. Our friend. I want you to teach me. How to fight, I mean. I know a little already!”

Aylin has never been one for children. She knew of them, of course – she saw the orphaned wards taken in by her mother’s priests, watched apprentices in too-large robes trotting after their seniors, took pride in each generation growing out of each Selûnite village – but they were not strictly of her concern. She was the Moonmaiden’s Sword, not the Moonmaiden’s Child-Minder. 

Still her heart burns, lurching as if seared by sudden moonfire. In this moment, in this town, they are the only ones left. No little clerics. No silver-uniformed pages. Just Aylin, and this boy. 

He’s a fierce little thing, scrawny and fiery-eyed. His body shakes, but his hands are clenched in determined fists. 

Aylin is not, of course, a fool; nor is she one to make promises she does not intend to keep. She has already sworn to assist Shadowheart and her strange party. The path she and Isobel are bound for now will be one of bloodshed and vengeance, righteous struggle and mortal terror. It would not be a path for any page to follow upon, let alone such a small and wholly inexperienced one. She kneels to place one gauntlet-clad hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

“I cannot take you under wing, little one. Not on this day.” He opens his mouth to protest, and Aylin cuts him off: “Take heart. On my honor, we will find a knight better suited for such a bold page. Until then, go with the Lady of Silver’s protection, and do not let your fight burn out.”

Is it a touch foolish, the move she is about to make? Perhaps. It’s certainly sentimental. But she remembers her first sword. So small, looking back, laughably ineffective, but how proud she was! And so Aylin draws the dagger clasped to her fauld, holding it out to the boy. 

It is, to be frank, more of a ceremonial piece than anything else – sharp enough to open letters or use in rituals, her mother’s holy symbol emblazoned upon a silver blade no longer than Aylin’s hand. But the child accepts it with wide-eyed reverence, holding it as one might hold a holy relic. 

“Your friend is fortunate,” Aylin says, “to have such a fierce companion.”

“We’re lucky to have her,” the boy whispers, eyes locked on the dagger. 

Aylin stands, casting her own gaze towards the altar. “Watch now, child. Learn what it means to follow Selûne.”

The ritual is a formal one: typically reserved for the new year, but what is now if not a time to celebrate the new, the reborn, the fresh beginning? Isobel’s voice rings across the tower’s open space, prayer washing over Aylin like a purifying light. Shadowheart lifts a silver bowl filled with an offering of pale wine, brows furrowed, hands steady. Incense wafts across the open air, smoky night jasmine mingling with the scent of distant evergreens. The tiefling boy watches attentively, until at last the ritual ends. 

He starts to run off – pauses – looks up at Aylin one last time.

“Thank you, lady!” 

He scurries away before she can respond, ducking around Harpers and Fists until he’s rejoined his gaggle of urchins. Aylin isn’t offended. Later, she will seek out the boy’s name, keep him in mind until the world is saved and she can make good on her promise. 

For now, someone else requires her attention. 

As with any good communal rite, the gathering has shifted from ceremony to celebration. Glasses raise in shouted toasts. Food disappears before it can even be properly plated. Someone is playing an instrument, and others begin to clap or dance. Shadowheart has disappeared; perhaps to mingle with the rest of her group, perhaps to find a shadowy corner to reflect and recuperate. 

On the dais of the rooftop, her darling stands alone. Alone, until Aylin moves through the laughing crowd and ascends the few stone steps.

She is breathtaking, her Isobel. They could remain like this forever - her love poised and luminous as she tidies lilies and silverwort from the moonwashed table, Aylin gazing reverently - and she would be content. 

Then Isobel looks up, cheeks dimpling in a smile, and no, Aylin realizes, she would not be content. She is too hungry for that. She needs to receive and devour every small glance and teasing smile, every furious moment that is Isobel Thorm, then shower it back a thousandfold. She cannot possibly survive on anything less.

“Sweet, to give him that,” Isobel says, eyes dancing. “Though I hope you told him not to use it on the other children? They’re troublesome, you know.”

“Troublesome is good.” Aylin grins. “It will serve him well in days to come.”

“I hope so.” Isobel sets her handful of herbs and flowers in a tarnished vase, then dusts off her hands. She’s silent for a long moment, gazing up at the moon. 

“It felt good,” she finally says. “It’s been too long since I’ve done magic for celebration instead of survival. I missed it.”

“As did I,” Aylin says. She moves closer to Isobel, arms encircling her from behind. Isobel leans her head against Aylin’s breastplate, and they stand like that, quiet, for a long time. Isobel’s hair glows white in the moonlight, smelling of incense and dusty herbs. She plays with Aylin’s hands, twining her bare fingers around the paladin’s gauntleted ones. Chatter and music drift and encircle them, a reminder of the festivities still soaring along on the lower level. 

Eventually Isobel glances over her shoulder, up at Aylin. She seems mildly surprised to find Aylin already gazing back. “Are you looking at me?”

“What else?”

“The party,” Isobel’s arms are thoroughly entangled with Aylin’s, bodies pressed close, but she manages to wave a hand more or less at the activity below. “The sky. The moon, perhaps. So many beautiful things beyond the back of my head.”

“You are my moon.” Aylin presses a kiss to Isobel’s head, lips chaste against her beloved’s soft hair. “I can think of nothing more beautiful.”

Isobel laughs, wriggling in Aylin’s grip until she’s turned herself around. “Silly.”

Leaning up, she brushes her lips against Aylin’s, as soft as a night breeze. 

Aylin is still. As before, she’s flooded with a moment of peace. She wants this moment - Isobel’s breath gentle on her lips, her beloved’s dark lashes fluttering over her silver gaze, all the world laughing around them, a bubble of precious calm in this tumult of a world – she wants it to linger, to last, to stretch a century or more. 

As before, it doesn’t last. She deepens the kiss, mouth hungry against her love’s, and Isobel responds with a fervor. 

Tomorrow, the future will come. They’ll find their way to Baldur’s Gate, lend sword and moon-magic to these brave new allies. She’ll keep a promise to a child, and pray to her mother to watch over him until that day. Rain will rinse the blood from the stone of Moonrise Towers.

For now, there are only her lips on Isobel’s, the scent of incense, the sound of laughter, and the slow bright moonrise over Reithwin. 

the final scene - I was brainstorming to @tetoman and he said "What if they’re both looking at the moon and then Aylin takes Isobel’s face and says ‘you are my moon’ and then they make out." He was joking but I liked it LOL So credit for that scene to him, and for beta reading.

moon banners - from here

[the-universal-sun]

In the spirit of the holiday (NYE, Any other cultural tradition), how do little Ford and Stan handle NYE? Do they have any traditions from their childhood they've rekindled? Or start a brand new one? An example I know of being, some people eat black eyed peas on NYE. So I wondered about your ideas/hcs that these two may have during this time! (And if you get to this long after these have past, that is 100% okay. No rush, no pressure :)!)

Sorry if this is a lot! I kind of split it between general new years stuff, little stan, and little ford stuff. But thank you so much for your ask! I know you said I could take my time, but I had so many ideas I had to get them out. Don’t worry, I’m working on the asks from December, I’ve not forgotten about you lovely people!!!

But I loved this ask! I had to look up some new years stuff because my family and I don’t particularly celebrate, and it was fun reading about all the different traditions people have!

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!!

As always I’m open to helpful comments and critiques!

-_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-

-They didn't care about NYE celebrations for 40 years, why celebrate alone or in another dimension? They didn't see a point to it until they were reunited and their relationship fixed. Now, they celebrate New Years not so much for the passing into a new age, but they celebrate being together for another year, of another year being twins again

-They do have a small party at the Shack for New Years, nothing big, just Fidds and Tate (who leave early) Soos, Wendy, Melody, the Twins, and the two of them (Gompers and Waddles too)

-If they're both big, they will indulge in some champagne when the clock strikes down, but only one glass as a celebration, neither caring for the taste

-They'll do Karaoke before the countdown- at Mabel and Soos' insistence, but both Stan and Ford have a blast singing the certified Old People songs they grew up on

-They didn't really do much to celebrate NYE growing up, so they'll basically do anything Mabel suggests will be a fun way to celebrate, smashing plates and making resolutions to name a few

-Taking a page out of their Mom's handbook, Stan will insist they eat Lentils on New Years for good luck, which Ford will refute as unscientific and therefore he shouldn't have to eat any. It's totally not because he hates Lentils

-If one twin is regressed during NYE, then the other will be their caregiver, knowing how loud and how high the energy will be during the festivities, it would be chaotic and stressful, for both of them, with Stan and Ford regressed together

-Both Stan and Ford, if they're regressed, will wear noise cancelling headphones to block out the sounds of the fireworks going off in town. Neither can stand loud noises, Little Stan's afraid of them and they remind Little Ford too much of his fights during his 30 years of travels

-They both love the lights the fireworks give off, so they'll stand by a window or on the porch with the headphones on and just watch the lights explode at a distance

-If Stan's regressed:

-Little Lee will insist on eating the 12 grapes under the table at midnight, Mabel told him that it's a tasty way to bring in luck for the new year, and Lee's not taking any chances

-Ford has the make him slow down eating the grapes, afraid he'll choke if he eat them too fast

-Poindexter and Shanklin 2 get hate made specially by Lee and Mabel, so they don't get left out of the fun times. The hats are shiny and glitter-laden, perfect hats for ringing in the New Year

-He doesn't sing during Karaoke, but he's clapping along and cheering for everyone that is

-Ford does give him a corner in the living room away from all the energy going on to give him some quiet time, Lee can get overstimulated so easily, so this little corner is a place where he can get away from the noise and excitement but Ford can still keep an eye on him

-He has some coloring books and crayons, a few blocks, and some noise-canceling headphones if the party gets too loud for his quiet corner

-Dipper joins him a couple of times when everywhere is too loud, silently stacking blocks and watching Lee knock them down gently

-He's allowed more sweets than he usually is, but even with Ford keeping an eye on him, Lee somehow eats an entire plate of Mabel's New Years cookies and manages to get one of the twins to supply him with severals cans-with straws-of Pitt Cola

-He's running around and stumbling into furniture. He earns some ouchies which he tearily begs Ford to kiss better

-Of course Ford kisses his Little Lee's bruises and scrapes

-He passes out right as the ball drops, dropping from his sugar high and exhausted from staying up hours past his bedtime

-Ford takes several pictures of Stan passed out and curled up on the couch, dressed in a warm dinosaur patterned onesie-the hood pulled up over his head-clutching his stuffies and snoring away, cookies crumbs and drool and spilling out the side of his mouth

-He hangs it up in the hallways the next stay, much to a rather grumpy and Big Stan's annoyance

-If Ford's little:

-He's dressing up Dr Mittens, not in a party hat, but in some smart and formal little dress ware, a suit and vest to match his own-Stan made the little suit-they have to look sharp for the celebrations and all

-He keeps his noise-canceling headphones on around his neck all night, pulling them up when things get too loud and hiding behind Stan or under his arm if things get to be too much

-He's begging and pleading with Stan to not eat the Good Luck Lentils he made, he finds lentils to be so yucky and gross on his tongue. The good luck isn't worth it

-Stan lets him get out of the lentils but ONLY if he eats grapes at midnight. Ford agrees, but only if he can sit at the table and eat them slowly

-Stan gets him a new fun bag of jelly beans as a little treat, but he can only eat one of every flavor, which is still around 20 flavors, so much more than Little Sixer would normally be allowed to have, but it's the holidays

-Stan does count out the jelly beans and then immediately goes and locks the bag in his room, he's not risking Ford sneaking and eating more and getting a stomach ache

-It's hard to stand firm on that, Sixer's puppy dog eyes and his little "Pwease, Buddy?" drives a stake through Stan's heart, but he stand firm and gives his brother some cookies shaped in the new year and a slice of some sort of almond cake Melody made

-It's the same as his jelly beans, but Ford's sweet tooth demands he eats it all

-He sings a song or two with Mabel during karaoke, she picks the Sid the Science Kid theme song and a BABBA song for them to sing. Ford tried to act embarrassed, but Stan knows his Little Buddy loves that show

-Stan finds the animation creepy, but who is he to judge

-Ford insists on getting in his pajamas and taking a nap a few hours before the countdown, he wants to be well rested enough to witness the ball drop. Stan helps him get dressed in some warm pajamas-space themed of course-and gets Dr Mittens changed into his regular clothes, too. They settle down in Ford's little napping tent and Stan reads a few chapters of a book-right now it's "A Boy Named Bat"-Ford's out by chapter two

-Stan promised his Buddy that he'd wake him in time to see the ball drop, and he does. Ford's grumpy from his nap being interrupted, but he's so excited to see the NYE ball that he forgets all about it. He's jumping and waving his hands excitedly, counting down loudly with everybody

-When the ball drops he's practically shaking Stan and pointing at it, chattering loudly in his ears, and at Mabel's suggestion, presses a slobbery kiss to Stan's cheek to ring in the New Year

-Even Stan can't pretend to be grumpy about that, his smile was caught in the picture Dipper took of the moment

[shanks-the-wino]

Shanks X CisFem Reader

The Tour

"So, did you inherit this place or something?" your fingers brushed gently over a large grape leaf basking in the sunlight.

"You just refuse to believe I built this place on my own, hmm?" the redhead chuckled playfully, "Ok, well, I did have a little help. My grandfather passed away and left me some money. But this vineyard didn't already exist."

"How long did it take?" you glanced up to meet his onyx gaze.

His face contorted in thought as his fingers ruffled through his red locks, "Hm about three years to grow the plants. Maybe a year of planning and picking the plants before that. It's been almost 15 years since."

"So, you were younger than me when you started this little empire." your tone was almost incredulous.

"Empire is a bit much," he blushed.

"You have taken over this side of the mountains, and you've got the old man making wine tour packages. I think everyone who is anyone gets married here."

"It just happens to be a good place to have this sort of business that's all." he shrugged fiddling with the plant closest to him.

"So modest." you chuckled bringing his black pearls back up to you.

"You have to stay humble when you have your own business," a crooked smile curved his lips, "ya never know when it could all go away."

"Well, I think you'll be safe. There seems to always be a market for good wine." you stepped closer to the redhead.

"You think it's good?"

You swore if he had a tail it would have been wagging.

"The sample you gave me at the resort was more than good, in my unprofessional opinion." you smiled a bit bashfully which made Shanks' pulse race, "Not that it really means much."

Your stomach did a flip as his hand gently enveloped your shoulder and he leaned down into your personal space.

"F/N, your opinion means more than most." his tone was low and perhaps a bit too sincere, he immediately cleared his throat yanking you out the moment, "I... I mean as a consumer and all...y-you know."

"Right," you agreed with a chuckle, "just like, your average Joe kind of opinion."

A sigh deflated him, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Just giving you a hard time." your lopsided smile gave him butterflies and brought the brightness back to his expression.

"Alright, shall we continue?" he gestured to the golf cart you'd traveled across the vineyard in, "I believe I promised you a tasting."

The tasting room was located in the cellar, which sounded a lot less appealing than it actually was.  You let out a breath of awe as Shanks parked the cart and announced your arrival.

A doorway carved into the stone of the foothill of the mountains. It was curved and framed with wild flowers of all kinds. The short stone path leading to the thick wooden door was lined with your favorite, gorgeous irises that happened to be in full bloom. Bees and butterflies fluttered about happily.

Shanks watched you with a soft smile. This was an unexpectedly beautiful moment that he was incredibly grateful to have witnessed.

"I see why people get married or here." you murmured caressing one of the flowers in front of you.

"It's really fairytale like." he admitted having been told that by many brides.

"It's like the freaking Shire." the unfiltered thought just tumbled from your lips.

Shanks let out a soft laugh, "I've heard that a few times. I suppose it does look like a hobbit should be living inside."

You chuckled in relief, "Did you design it that way on purpose?"

"With Bilbo in mind?" that crooked smile was making you feel warm, "No, I just wanted something that looked organic and was functional for storage so we didn't have to get too high tech."

"High tech?" you echoed.

"I'll show you," he stepped forward opening the door into the dimly lit room, "storage should be between 55 and 70 degrees and relatively humid. It allows the wine to age at a steady rate and it's how it was done before modern technology was around."

You followed him into the rather large room taking in the high rounded walls lined with racks filled with bottles. In the center of the room was a counter with a sink and a rack of delicate fluted glassware of different sizes hanging above. Shanks watched you take in your surroundings happy that you seemed so interested.

"Would you like to try some?" he asked reaching for the stemware.

"Sure, but I'm driving." you leaned over the counter.

"Don't worry a tasting isn't meant to get you drunk." he was already searching for a bottle he had in mind, "Not that it was my intention."

"Well, now I'm worried." you jested making him turn back.

"I certainly hope I haven't given you that impression." he raised his scarred brow.

"That joke was in bad taste I guess." you blushed a bit embarrassed.

He couldn't have found you more adorable.

"I'm sorry," the redhead chuckled, "it wasn't, you just said it so matter-of-factly."

"My humor isn't always appreciated."

"It should be, I actually find it pretty charming." he placed a bottle with a worn label and a small pale between you, "How do you feel about cheese?"

Meeting his curious gaze with a confused expression you replied, "I'm lactose intolerant, but that doesn't really stop me."

He let out an endearing laugh, "Well, I'd rather not poison you, so why don't we stick to fruit, crackers and some charcuterie?"

"What's happening?" you questioned as he gathered items from the pantry and fridge across the room.

"It's all part of the experience." he answered placing grapes, strawberries, seasoned crackers, aged salami and prosciutto on a plate.

You watched him work with interest. This was by far the fanciest thing you'd ever done. As he placed the plate between you and unquarked the bottle it dawned on you that this was starting to feel very much like a date.

Be cool.

Be cool.

Be cool.

"You ok?" Shanks asked, "Ya kinda zoned out there."

"Yeah," you glanced away sheepishly, "I just didn't expect the afternoon to turn out this way."

Shanks studied you for a moment before looking down at the counter. Seeing you go bashful sent him into a bit of a panic.

He'd unintentionally set himself up with you on a casual afternoon date. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Well, I was happy to show you around, and I suppose it'll help at work now that you've been around the place." he was suddenly wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

It's not a date.

It's not a date.

It's not a date.

All romantic tension deflated immediately as your expression fell.

"Uh, right," you quickly smiled but it wasn't genuine, "I don't make many bookings since I work overnight but I can train the day shifts I guess."

Why?

Why was he like this?