#and I've never gotten so many stares from women

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

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[wholoveseggs]

HIII 🫶🏼 was wondering if you can make something about how Elijah/reader have been together/married for centuries and shes never felt jealous over Elijah with somebody else before so she doesn’t know how it feels like and she sees hayley with Elijah and she’s experiencing jealously for the first time and it ends with Elijah reassuring her with fluff and smut 😭😭

Eyes for you.

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

Amidst the clinking of glasses and strained smiles, you find yourself feeling jealous of the way Hayley is interacting with your husband... Until he shows you exactly why you shouldn't be feeling that way.

~Thanks for the request anon(s) ♡♡ I hope you don't mind me combining the two ideas. I made this as a sort of sequel to Dinner can wait~

~I've gotten sooo many requests in the last few days - I love them all, but it will take me some time to catch up ♡♡ thanks for your patience~

4.1k words - Warnings: smut, drama, oral, semi-public sex, slight dom!elijah...

{Moodboard->}

It was supposed to be a nice family outing. A dinner where everyone would just get together and enjoy themselves. But as the evening went on, your stomach had been churning, the food on the plate in front of you forgotten.

You hadn't even been able to eat more than a few bites, your appetite gone. Elijah kept a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb rubbing circles, a small smile on his face. His brown eyes were soft as they stared at you.

But it didn't help.

You could see the way Hayley looked at him. Her beautiful hazel eyes were bright as they stared at your husband. Her plump red lips were curved into a flirty smile, and you knew that Elijah was enjoying her company.

He was always fond of Hayley. Even if he would deny it. You had seen the way his gaze lingered on her during dinner, the way he had leaned a little bit closer to her as she talked, how his own smile widened.

He was handsome, and the women around you knew it, all trying to gain his attention. You usually found it amusing, even a bit of an ego boost for you, knowing that you had what everyone else wanted.

But now, you felt insecure. Hayley was more than just a passing woman who wanted your husband. She was a part of the family, the mother to his beloved niece.

And she was beautiful. Her brown hair had been pulled into a bun, the baby hairs around her hairline curled. Her dark eyeshadow made her eyes stand out.

You shifted in your seat, taking a sip of your wine, trying to focus on the conversations around you. Freya was telling a story about the newest witch she had met. Kol was laughing, his mouth full of food.

"So, Y/n, what are your plans for the weekend?" Rebekah asked.

You swallowed thickly, glancing at her. "Elijah and I are going on a little getaway."

Rebekah raised her brows, smiling softly. "That sounds lovely. Where are you guys going?"

"We're going to this new winery a few hours away. We will leave tomorrow morning." Elijah spoke, his hand moving to the back of your neck, gently squeezing. "I need a break from work, and my darling wife deserves a vacation."

"That sounds so romantic, you guys should bring back some wine for me." Hayley said, smiling sweetly at Elijah.

You clenched your jaw, forcing a smile on your face. "Of course, anything for you, Hayley."

Elijah frowned, turning his head to look at you. He gave you a look, and you sighed, closing your eyes. You took a deep breath, you hated feeling this way, it made you irrational and stupid. You had nothing to be jealous about.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to use the ladies' room." You said, standing up.

"I'll join you," Rebekah said, and you nodded and followed her.

The two of you walked to the restroom, your steps were hurried, and your hands shook.

"What's wrong?" Rebekah asked, frowning.

"Nothing, I'm fine." You said, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were a little glassy.You began to touch up your make-up, trying to distract yourself. 

"You don't seem fine, tell me what's going on." Rebekah said, stepping closer to you.

"It's just-," you took a deep breath, trying to calm your beating heart. "Hayley and Elijah."

"What about them?"

"Hayley is clearly into him, it's driving me crazy. It's ridiculous, I shouldn't be feeling this way." You said, looking at her.

Rebekah raised her brows, smiling slightly. "Well, well, the almighty y/n, is feeling jealousy for the first time in a thousand years."

"Yeah, and I know I'm being irrational, that's why I excused myself. I just need a minute." You said, rolling your eyes.

"Hayley is harmless." Rebekah said, gazing into the mirror. She fixed her dress, making sure it was laying perfectly on her body.

"She's been flirting with him all night and Elijah has done nothing to stop it." You said, lowering your voice.

"He's just being polite," Rebekah said, studying her nails. "But if it makes you feel better, we can always put Hayley in her place. Remind her that Elijah is very much married," she looked at you, raising her brows.

You snorted, shaking your head. "I'm not going to be petty, no matter how much I want to."

"You are so much stronger than me," Rebekah chuckled, linking her arm with yours as you left the bathroom.

As you and Rebekah reached the table, you could see Hayley was giggling, her hands resting on Elijah's bicep. She leaned in close to him, her lips almost brushing against his ear. Elijah's eyes had darkened, his brow furrowed as he whispered something in her ear, his lip curved into a smirk.

Your heart clenched as you watched him. A pang of envy swept through you and you let out a shaky breath. Rebekah gave you a sympathetic smile, squeezing your arm.

Elijah noticed you standing there, and looked at you, his brown eyes worried. He excused himself from Hayley, moving to you, he wrapped an arm around your waist, leading you to your seat.

"Are you alright, my love? You seem flushed," Elijah murmured.

"I'm alright, too much wine," You replied, avoiding his gaze.

Elijah didn't believe you, but wasn't about to start an argument in front of everyone. So he settled for tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, before placing a kiss on your cheek.

You smiled at his action, your heart fluttering slightly. No matter how angry and jealous you might be at him, he always seemed to know what to do to make you feel a little bit better.

As dinner went on, you saw that Hayley kept staring at Elijah out of the corner of your eye and it made your stomach turn. The way her eyes gazed at him with such affection. Elijah didn't even seem to notice. Instead he chatted with his brothers and sisters, his hand never leaving yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles, rubbing soothing circles on them.

Klaus brought out his phone and started sharing pictures and videos of his daughter. Elijah was grinning ear to ear, commenting on every single thing he was shown. The sounds of laughter around you made your chest swell, you felt good to see your family enjoying themselves.

Hayley seized this opportunity, shuffling closer to Elijah, leaning into him as she showed him her own videos of Hope. She would poke his shoulder and give him that innocent little smile. You clenched your jaw as you saw her press her breasts against his arm, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

You didn't like feeling this insecure and irrational, but you couldn't help it. The envious feeling was growing as you watched them interact. Elijah's brown eyes were soft as he gazed at Hayley. Smiling as he said something that made her laugh, head tilting back.

You couldn't help but compare yourself to her, you weren't as thin or as beautiful. You were taller, your breasts were bigger and your eyes wider. You usually weren't self conscious about your own looks, but today, you felt inadequate. She seemed like a more fitting partner for your husband.

You wanted to leave the restaurant, but you didn't want to make a scene. It was obvious that Elijah hadn't really noticed what was happening and you didn't want to look like a jealous wife.

"Excuse me, I would like to make a toast," Hayley said, raising her voice slightly. Everyone's heads turned to look at her, and you followed suit.

She stood up, her gaze focused on Elijah. You suddenly had a bad feeling, and you wanted to look anywhere but her, to keep from showing how upset you were.

"I just want to say," Hayley started, her hands clasped together. "Elijah, I've always admired you. You've always been so kind and generous to me and my daughter,"

You looked up at Elijah, and you could see his surprise, his brows raised. Hayley continued, "Over the past couple of years, I've grown to love and respect you, and I just wanted you to know that." She took a breath, and then reached a hand to touch Elijah's cheek. Your own heart started pounding.

Elijah stared up at her with confusion in his brown eyes, and Hayley laughed nervously. You were aware of the way Freya, Kol, Klaus, and Rebekah were watching you, but you couldn't take your eyes off of Elijah, to see how he responded.

She pulled back her hand slowly, then grabbed a hold of the champagne in front of her, swirling it around as she took a breath and held it out to him.

"To Elijah." Hayley said, smirking down at him.

He clinked his glass against hers. His own brown eyes were glazed with surprise as he held her gaze. He smiled softly, murmuring "thanks" under his breath.

You clenched your jaw, your fingers gripped the table cloth as you fought the urge to say something snarky, or throw something. Elijah turned to you, his arm wrapping around your waist. "Are you okay?" He whispered.

"I'm fine." You forced a smile as you took a deep breath.

He kissed your cheek, lingering his lips on your skin, his hand patted your side. You wished you could simply pull his face to yours and make him forget about everyone but you.

Your emotions threatened to get the better of you and you just wanted to leave the restaurant already, and be alone with your husband.

The end of the night couldn't come soon enough, and you all got into your respective cars. You and Elijah left the restaurant, the car ride quiet as you stared out the window.

"You're awfully quiet, what's wrong, love?" Elijah asked, his brows furrowing.

"Nothing." You said.

"Y/n." He frowned, his hand squeezing your thigh. You sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

"I don't want to argue in the car, you should focus on the road." You said, keeping your eyes forward.

You could feel his gaze boring into you, his hand moved to yours, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed the back of your hand softly.

"When we get home, you are going to tell me why you're so upset." He murmured against your skin.

When the two of you finally returned home, you immediately went to the bedroom. Your shoulders were tense, your chest was tight and your stomach churning.

Elijah followed behind you, watching as you undressed, taking off your dress, throwing it into the laundry basket. Your jaw was clenched, and he stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Elijah-" You started, but he cut you off with a kiss to your neck, his arms tightening their hold. His hands pressed against your stomach, and you felt his nose bumping your ear. His lips were soft as they explored the skin of your neck, nibbling it softly.

He turned you around and your hands came to his jaw. His lips were upturned, his brown eyes were warm. He cocked his head, gazing down at you.

"Tell me what's wrong." He whispered.

"It's stupid, I'm just feeling insecure." You said, looking into his dark eyes. Elijah frowned, bringing his thumb up to stroke your cheek.

"Why?" He asked, his brows furrowed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back your emotions. He could always get a sense of whether or not you were telling the truth.

"I just-," you sucked in a breath, closing your eyes. "Hayley clearly likes you,"

"I think she actually used the word love." Elijah teased, his brows raised. You glared at him and he chuckled softly.

"Is that why you've been so tense all evening? You were jealous?" He asked, pulling you flush against him.

You let out a shaky breath, avoiding his gaze. "Well you didn't exactly try to dissuade her." You mumbled, your hands pressed against his chest.

"Do you know what I was thinking about all night? How much I wish we didn't have to sit through dinner at the restaurant, and how much I wish we were alone, right here in our bed." Elijah whispered, and you felt your heart flutter.

"I've only ever had eyes for you, my love," He murmured, resting his forehead against yours. "My darling, you were the only woman I saw. Hayley could have been naked on top of me, and I wouldn't have been interested."

You smiled slightly at that, your hands resting on his shoulders. Elijah gazed into your eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Do you need me to show you? Remind you how much I love you?" He murmured, his face inches from yours.

"How would you show me?" You whispered. His brown eyes flickered with lust as he grinned, pulling back slightly. He brought his hands up to his tie, yanking it loose before pulling it off of his neck.

He smirked, wrapping the tie around his fist, slowly backing you up against the wall. Your breath was caught in your throat as you gazed up at him.

Elijah easily pinned you up against the wall, wrapping the tie around your wrists, and securing them above your head. You sucked in a sharp breath as he put his hand against your neck, his touch gentle.

"I don't like seeing you upset," Elijah whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "Not when I can make you feel better." He punctuated his sentence with a kiss to your jaw, then your neck.

"You're all I've ever wanted. You're the only woman I've ever loved and the only woman I've been attracted to. You're the love of my life," Elijah spoke, his tone soft and sincere. His breath fanned against your lips, and you parted them as he pressed his against yours.

He kissed you gently, his tongue swiping over yours slowly. You gasped, your wrists straining against the tie. His hands tightened around your wrists as he pushed you against the wall.

He broke the kiss, his eyes looking down at you. "Do you remember our first time together?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. You smiled slightly, a fond memory resurfacing.

"On a blanket under the stars. The only light was the moon, and you were so beautiful." Elijah smiled, his hand tilting your chin so you would look up at him. "How old were we? Seventeen?"

"It was a beautiful night, after hours of you telling me about the constellations. I had to shut you up somehow." You giggled before he pressed his lips against yours.

"It's a beautiful night tonight as well, we should go out, like we did back then. Make love under the stars." He spoke, brown eyes filled with affection.

Before you could answer he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your tied wrists around his neck. He walked past the bed and grabbed a blanket on the way, then carried you outside.

The cool night air seeped into your skin, but you didn't mind, Elijah kept you warm, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck. He set you down and laid out the blanket on the grass.

The backyard was illuminated by moonlight, and you could see the stars glistening in the sky. Elijah pulled you down with him, laying with you, his lips reconnecting with yours. Your body melted as he deepened the kiss, and you let out a small moan.

Elijah chuckled softly, hands roaming your body, fumbling with the lacy straps of your bra. "My darling, I don't think we'll need this tonight." His hands moved to the front clasp, expertly undoing it.

You loved it when Elijah undressed you. His large hands touched every inch of your skin. His lips always followed a path that was outlined by his fingertips. You watched him take off your panties, enjoying how his eyes darkened with lust and his smile curled.

Your hands ached to feel him, but they were still bound. Elijah kept you pressed against the soft blanket, spreading your legs for him.

He trailed a line of kisses down your stomach, not letting his lips miss any patch of skin. Your thighs trembled with excitement as you felt his breath ghost over your pussy. He grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he licked a stripe up.

You moaned out, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt his tongue, circling your clit before slipping inside you. Your breath hitched in your throat, and your hands trembled in their restraints as you ran them clumsily through his hair.

Elijah could stay in between your thighs all day. He remembered that first night together so vividly, remembering the way you had moaned and gripped his hair. Everything about you was intoxicating, and he never wanted the moment to end.

Your hips jerked up as you felt a coil grow in your core, your orgasm building. Elijah was coaxing it out of you, his lips sucking on your clit. A guttural moan escaped you, your back arching off of the ground.

His strong hands pressed against your hips to keep them still as his tongue moved quicker, coaxing every bit of pleasure from you. You could feel tears forming in your eyes, and you moaned Elijah's name desperately.

Elijah pulled away from you, a wicked smile on his face as he leaned up to kiss you deeply. He was still fully clothed, his hair messy and face glistening with the evidence of your pleasure.

"I love you so much, darling." He whispered against your lips. His fingers ran over your breasts, descending further down your body. He dipped a finger inside you, and you let out a soft gasp.

"Tell me about our first night together, Love." He said, slowly pushing in another finger, smiling as you moaned.

You trembled under his hands, and Elijah's eyes darkened as he watched you, loving the way you gave in to his touch.

"We had both snuck out, you told me to meet you in the clearing..." you said, cheeks red. Elijah pumped his fingers in and out of you, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You had stolen some mead from the cellars, and you brought candles and blankets. Always such a romantic." You moaned. Elijah had added a third finger, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

"Go on." He murmured, speeding up his movements. You cried out, squirming under him. He pressed down on your stomach with his other hand.

"You had led me over to the blankets. We'd barely drank the mead. And you told me that-"

"I told you that I had loved you for a very long time. I could hardly believe how lucky I was, finally being able to hold you in my arms." Elijah finished, his mouth twitching into a smile.

He kept fingering you, holding your gaze as you gasped. "You were so timid when I took your dress off, and I kept kissing you, murmuring about how beautiful you were." He said, feeling your walls clenching around his fingers.

You sucked in a breath and threw your head back, moaning as you climaxed. Elijah chuckled as he pulled out his wet fingers. He kissed your lips softly, brushing the stray hairs off of your face. He undid his tie from around your wrists, freeing your hands, and pulling you to his chest.

"I remember the way you looked at me when I made love to you." Elijah smirked, eyes falling to your naked figure, one of his hands tangled in your hair. He pecked your lips again. "I remember how tight and warm you felt, and how amazing it felt being inside you for the first time."

Your hands began to unbutton his shirt. You panted against his lips, sitting up. Elijah sat up with you, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it aside. His hands rubbed your arms gently, encouraging you.

You smiled, kissing his chest. His heartbeat quickened, his breath hitching as you moved over him. Your hands played with his belt, while your lips explored his skin. Elijah stared up at you through dark eyelashes, his hand brushed through your hair and then guided your head up. He pressed his lips against yours, smiling as you moaned into the kiss.

Soon you were both naked, the rest of his clothing discarded somewhere in the backyard. Elijah hovered over you, gazing down at you with affection glinting in his eyes.

"I love you, I wish you could see yourself the way I do." He murmured, cupping your cheek. You reached a hand up, intertwining your fingers with his.

He kissed your lips, lining himself up, before slowly easing in, swallowing your gasps. His hips moved slowly, his length filling you in the best way. You curled a hand around his bicep, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"You're so beautiful, my darling." Elijah cooed, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You arched your back, biting your lip. Your nails dug into his arms as he picked up the pace, his groans were muffled. He pulled back and kissed you again, his tongue battling yours as you moaned against his mouth.

You didn't need anyone else when you had Elijah. The way he touched you and praised you made you feel euphoric. No one could compare to your husband. He was all you needed, even after one thousand years of marriage.

"Elijah." You gasped his name, hands gripping his arms. He pounded into you faster, and your head spun as you neared your climax. Elijah's hands found yours as you tensed, coming undone. He gasped, grunting your name as he buried himself deep inside, filling you with his cum, collapsing onto you.

You were both covered in sweat, gasping for breath. You sighed softly as he pulled out, laying down beside you and bringing your body against his. You pressed a hand over his racing heart, feeling comforted at the sound.

Elijah's fingers slipped through your hair, he gazed down at you, his eyes glinting.

"I really mean it, you know. You're the only woman I ever want to be with." He spoke, his smile made you melt.

"I know." You whispered, kissing his chest softly.

He pulled the blanket over you, his gaze loving as he ran his hands over your body. Elijah was always so intimate after the two of you had sex, murmuring endearing words, and worshiping every bit of skin he could get his hands on. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you snuggled closer to him, enjoying his affection.

"I'm sorry I got jealous earlier." You said softly, playing with the blanket.

Elijah let out a soft laugh, kissing the top of your head. "You had no reason to be jealous, I'll never be interested in Hayley," He moved one hand down your body, squeezing your ass. "Because I have you."

Your laugh made his heart stutter. Elijah let his hands brush over you, taking care to touch you in all the right places.

"What else do you remember about our first time together?'' He asked, nipping at your ear.

You blushed as memories flooded back, suddenly feeling shy, though the sensation didn't come very often anymore.

"How clumsy you were and how sweet," you spoke, remembering how desperate Elijah had been to please you.

"You kept apologizing whenever you thought you did something wrong." You said. Elijah's face was pressed against your neck. You turned towards him and lifted his head up, smiling at the bashful look on his face. "Not that I knew any better," you teased.

Elijah chuckled and pressed his lips against yours. One of your hands moved down his sculpted chest and stomach. Your hands always gravitated towards him, no matter how many times you had explored his body over the centuries.

"So, about our trip tomorrow." He murmured against your mouth. You let out a soft sigh, hands wrapped around his neck.

"Yes, my love?" You asked, lips ghosting over his.

"Don't bother bringing many clothes," Elijah teased, smirking against your mouth. You giggled softly, kissing his smile.

"Any reason why?" You whispered, one of your hands moving through his hair.

"Because we're not going to leave the bed."

{Moodboard->}

[sinfulpanda16]

Forget Him Sweetheart

Gojo Saturo x fem reader

Synopsis: You were just cheated on by your shit ex and go seek comfort from your friend Gojo, but one thing leads to another and soon you receive a huge comfort

You open the door to your apartment and head inside. So many things going on in your head and all of it gave you the biggest migraine. You close the door behind you and set your keys on the little table beside you. You stand there for a second and then your tears start to fall. You were able to hold them back when you saw your boyfriend cheating on you, on the drive home, and on the way up to your apartment. You wanted to be that woman you've always seeked to be. The one that would throw away her man like trash when he was caught cheating and not even be phased about it, but you couldn't hold them back. It only hurt your head more.

You walk to your bedroom and wrap yourself under the covers. This pain was immense, it hurt so much anyone could hear it in your cry. You grab one of your stuffed animals and cry into them trying to avoid being too loud. You never thought of yourself as cheatable but right now that's all you're calling yourself. Someone who can be cheated on easily. That night you fall asleep crying thinking that the last thing you thought of was yourself as unlovable but really the last thought in your head before you fell asleep was the thought of him, Gojo Saturo.

The next day you were working at your job. A cafe where a regular would visit. All the baristas fawned over him and honestly you did too. How could you not he was so tall and charming and not to sound full of yourself, he had a thing for you. Always calling you by pet names, sweet thing and sweetheart, he made you feel beautiful. Your friend had a way with women and you've always told him his future wife would be the luckiest girl on earth.

Speak of the devil, a tall white-head enters the cafe and immediately makes eye contact with you. He smirks and goes to sit at a table by the window. You go and stand next to him, "Hello ready for your order?"

Gojo looks up at you with an eyebrow raised, "What's wrong sweetheart. No 'Good Sir' today?" You have gotten close to him to the point where you'd call him Sir or Mr as a joke. Your guys relationship had a little bit of teasing in it but thats all it was you never thought more of it.

You gave a weak smile. "Oh sorry, I've just been," a flashback of your boyfriend kissing another womans neck came to your head. You heart pound against your chest and you subconsciously clutched the fabric of your uniform above your heart. You sighed, "I just been under the weather lately." You tried of thinking about anything else that would stop the tears from falling.

Gojo did not like the view in front of him. Why was sweet thing crying? He could tell that something was wrong but he knew he shouldn't push you here of all places. He could also tell that you were trying to hide it and probably felt embarrassed.

He chuckles softly, "Well then, I have my order ready."

You look at him and get ready to write down his order in your little notepad. He looks at you, "The whole menu. Cuz it's me-n-u." You're stunned but you laugh anyway. Gojo smirks, there we go that's better. Seeing that smile on your face just looks right.

You shove his shoulder playfully, "You wierdo."

He chuckles, "Ok for real though, can I get the espresso with..." he looks back at the menu for a bit but then turns to you "What are your favorite cookies from here?"

You smile at him, "I like (f/c). They're amazing Gojo! You should try them."

He puts his menu down, "Alright then sweetheart I'll have two (f/c) please."

You write down his order in your little notepad and giggle, "Alright then we'll have your order ready for you in no time."

He leans back in his chair "I'll be waiting. Don't take too long." he says giving you a wink. You blush and turn around to make his coffee all while Gojo stares at you in your cute uniform.

Gojo is smooth as hell. He didn't take his eyes of you. Anytime you were gonna look at his direction he'd already turn away to avoid your gaze. His strong instincts just knew that something was wrong. While you were making his coffee you looked a bit too sad when usually you would be smiling and he'd get to enjoy watching you be cute. Whatever happened to make you this depressed made him want to fight your problems for you. He would fight for you but you two established from the start that you guys would just be friends and so he knew it was not his place to go fending for you. That was your boyfriends' job.

After a while he finishes his drink and was on his last cookie. He grabs the last one and takes a bite of it. Why are you so cute? Even your favorite cookies were cute like you. He gets up and heads towards you where you were cleaning one of the tables. He acts dramatic when he says "MMM! These are good. I was expecting you to have terrible taste." he teases.

"Tch you're the one with terrible taste. Don't go rubbing it off on me." you tease back. By now the cafe has gotten filled with customers so you go back cleaning the table you were cleaning. You wish you could've just stayed home and take the day off. After what happened last night you honestly didn't have the will to work today. But if you didn't than you never were gonna become that strong woman who doesn't cry over a man.

"Sweet thing." Gojo calls for you softly interrupting your thoughts.

You look up at him. Although his eyes are covered with a blindfold, you can still read his facial expression. He had a soft look on him like if he was worried for you. You stare at his facial features and then he holds out the last piece of his (f/c) for you to eat. You stood there frozen for a sec. The rest of the cafe disappeared and right now it was just you and him. Then after a while you open your mouth and go to eat the cookie he has in his hand for you. You were careful to not put your lips on his fingers, but you accidentally did, and you didn't move back. You loved his taste and frankly he loved the feeling your pretty lips touching his fingers. You slowly pull away and chew on the cookie and then looked up at him.

He's looking down at you and then he rests the palm of his hand on your cheek. "Listen darling, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. I'm here to listen and comfort you. Ok?" he says waiting for a response.

In a quiet voice you say "Ok" and he smiles softly at you. Without another word he turns around and leaves. You stood there for a bit watching him leave.

For the rest of your shift, you didn't stop thinking about him. Truth is you did need someone to talk to and you also just wanted to see and be with him. So when you got of work instead of going home you went to his place. You're not sure why but you get the feeling that soon after your gonna forget all about these thrash feelings right now.

Finally you arrive and you go up to his door. You ring the doorbell to his huge house and after a while he opens the door. "Oh sweet thing! What are you doing here?" he asks leaning towards you.

You respond shyly "You said I can talk to you when I need someone. Gojo I need someone." Gojo shocked allows you inside and he brings you to his living room. He was being so sweet the entire time. You've never seen this side of him and you've never had anyone be that kind to you. Not even your own boyfriend. Your boyfriend cheating came back to mind.

You stop walking and Gojo turns around and goes to you a bit worried. You sniff "I'm sorry it's just-" you get cut off by Gojo. Telling you that shouldn't apologize for feeling upset. Gojo goes closer to you and you feel safe. Such a pretty feeling, you've been around strong men before but not once have you ever felt this intense feeling of comfort and security.

You let go, "My boyfriend cheated on me. I don't know why he did it. I know I'm not all that pretty but the least he could've done is brake up with me. It would've stung yes but not as much as this." You continue to cry and the entire time Gojo hates it. That fucking bastard. He thought that guy was doing his job of fending for you.

"I'm such an unlovable piece of shit! I'm not worth being loved"

Those words made Gojo wrap his arms around you. He was avoiding touching you because he didn't want to invade any of your personal space, but after hearing those heartbreaking words he knew he had to hold you.

You continue to let out your emotions in his chest. The whole time Gojo did not let go and after a while you begin to calm down. "Baby listen to me." Baby? You wipe your tears again and look up at him. "Its the other way around, that bastard does not deserve to love you. You deserve only the best kind of love and trust me when i say you do have it." He pulls a strand of hair behind your ear. He smirks, "I know you're not supposed to hear this right now but I love you sweetheart. Always had and always will and hearing you talk like this hurts. Seeing you cry hurts sweet thing. You are loved. I love you sweetheart."

God how you needed to hear those words. I love you. And those words are coming from him. You slowly start to realize the whole time you should've been with him. You start to realize that it's not your fucking boyfriend cheating on you that made you cry. It was the lack of love. The lack of his love. It was him that made has always made you feel beautiful and loved and right now you wanted that even more.

Gojo notices how your look went from sadness to lust. Careful with his next move he decides to let you do whatever you want to him. You lean in closer to lips and with that he lets you kiss him. Thats all he needed and now he can pull you closer by you waist and deepen your kiss. He continues to kiss you and then pulls away.

The taste was amazing unlike anything you've ever tasted before. Gojo smirks, "I wasn't expecting you to get so bold sweet thing." You're so hot now. You want more of him.

"Gojo please~" you sigh.

"What? Does baby want me to help her feel good?" he teases.

Now you go to kiss him again to which he happily returns. Without breaking the kiss he picks you up effortlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist. He takes you upstairs to his bedroom and places you on his bed. He gets on top of you and smirks, "Let me help you forget him sweetheart."

He takes your clothes off and you take his off. There you two were, fully naked with him on top but he was still wearing his blindfold. You reach out to take it off of him and he let's you, revealing his beautiful blue eyes. "You look beautiful" you tell him. He smiles and kisses your lips "As do you sweetheart"

He kisses every part of your body making sure you understand just how much he loves every part of you. All this riled up energy both of you have for each other leads to him positioning himself at your entrance already. You look up him with those gorgeous eyes and he goes to kiss you on your lips, "I'm gonna take good care of you darling." and before you can say anything he starts sliding into you.

He's so big, "Ah~ Gojo" you whimper and the only thing Gojo hears is music to his ears. Fuck so far he's been loving your cute noises but that whimper of filling you up made him smirk. He kisses your neck "Fuck baby you're so tight~" he says in a husky voice. You wrap your arms around his neck and wrap your arms around his waist wanting to feel every bit of him.

Gojo holds onto your hips "You're so cute when you're like this." he dotes on you. You look up at him with little tears in his eyes, "Please move~". So demanding, he licks your tears away and smirks, "Your wish is my command." He starts thrusting into you causing a wave of euphoria to rush into both of you. You feel amazing, he feels like he's in heaven and he wants, needs, you to feel the same so he focuses and making you feel good.

"Fuck yes~" you moan out loud. He's pounding into you with such force its driving you wild. As he continues to thrust into you he's looking at your face. Seeing you feel so good made him feel good and your noises drive him wild. You look into his eyes and the whole world disappears. Right now it's just you two making love and it feels so heavenly.

"Kiss me~" you moan, he leans in and kisses you. The kiss was full of passion and lust.

He pulls away, continuing to thrust into you the room full of moans and your whimpering. "Is my princess feeling good~" he moans to you which you nod your head, "Yes baby~ you feel so fucking good~"

50 minutes later of him thrusting into you and you hanging on for dear life and your phone rings. Gojo didn't even see it but it was right beside your head. He looks at the caller ID and its that fucking bastard. He answers the call and puts it on loud speaker.

Baby can we please talk about this

At the sound of that Gojo starts thrusting in and out faster and rougher and you moan but he's quick to kiss you, so you don't give away your secret just yet.

I miss you (Y/N). That girl meant nothing to me, I promise if you come back things will be different.

Gojo is thrusting into you with rage. He'll be damned if he thinks you'll go back to him. You whimper his name making Gojo smirk, he's got you now and he's not gonna let you go.

"(Y/N) please give me another chance.

Both of you laughed at that and Gojo pulls out flips you onto your tummy thrusts back into you causing you to let out a load moan. He's pounding you faster and rougher and he's not being dicrete about it anymore.

"(Y/N)?" the guys calls for you with confusion in his voice.

Gojo smirks, "My baby isn't going back to him huh? Who do you belong to princess?" he asks between pants. Loud and and proud for him to hear. You respond "I belong to you Gojo.~" you say breathlessness and before the guy can say another word Gojo hangs up on him and now you're both at your reach.

"Gojo I'm *whimper* close~" you moan out. Gojo grabs your jaw and makes you look up at him. He kisses you, moaning in it, and then says "Me too baby. Together yeah? On three" you nod your head eagerly.

One.

You're already such a moaning mess and this causing you to moan even louder the whole world can hear.

Two.

Fuck Gojo is so close he starts pounding into you at an insane speed and with such force causing you cry out.

Three!

You both release and make it well known with your voices. He falls onto you panting and chuckles lightly, "That was amazing sweetheart." You reach up to play with his hair "You were amazing baby." He gives you a gentle kiss and says he'll be back. He leaves to the bathroom and comes back with a towel. He wipes you both down and then lays in bed with you holding you close.

"Gojo?" you call his name. He looks at you with his mesmerizing blue eyes, "I love you." he smiles "I love you too sweetheart"

You are that woman you want to be. A strong woman who forgets all about her cheating boyfriend and when she goes to find a better man to help her feel good.

[jacks347]

(Is this stupid enough to be considered a crack fic?? Idk, we're going with it)

To say Hipswitch was surprised to see a woman sitting in his base next to Albus would be an overstatement.

Now, to say he was surprised to see said woman be so...dressed while sipping a cup of tea, that was accurate.

He'd never seen the demon bring back anyone who wore so many layers. Hell, now that he was really thinking about it, he hadn't really seen Albus bring back anyone at all. From the headscarf covering her hair to the skirt that brushed at her ankles and all the fabric and layerage of jewelry in-between, Hipswitch was getting warm just watching her.

The woman turned, smiling politely at him. She was rather pretty, warm brown skin with dark green eyes. Not necessarily someone he'd consider Albus’s type but everyone had their exceptions. "Hello there. You must be Hipswitch." Her voice was quiet and flowed like honey. She reminded Hipswitch of the ladies of the church in town, always speaking softly with inviting smiles. Definitely not Albus’s usual type. What, had he really gotten that bored?

"That I am. And who might you be?" Hipswitch took a seat across from the odd duo, eyes darting between the two in bewilderment. Albus huffed out a laugh, wrapping an arm around the woman's shoulders. "This is Faith. She a, ah, friend of mine." The woman, Faith, rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. "Mm, sure, friend. Let's go with that." She hummed as she took a sip of her tea.

Hipswitch nodded slowly, still going back and forth between them. It was very strange but he couldn't say he didn't appreciate the change. Hell, he welcomed it. Faith was polite, she was far more dressed than he expected, and she seemed very sweet. It almost brought a tear to Hipswitch's eye. "Well it's very nice to meet you. I've gotta say Albus, she's certainly a might better for you than the others from the whore house."

There was an audible beat of silence before it was broken by both a roar of laughter from Albus and a rather impressive spit take from Faith who was now coughing like mad as she tried to regain her composure while Albus was nearly doubled over in hysterics. Hipswitch was left rather confused, not exactly understanding why what he said had caused such a visceral reaction. "Did I say something wrong?"

The statement only made Albus laugh harder as Faith finally recovered, her cheeks flaming red and her face a heavy mask of embarrassment before kicking Albus in the shin. "Stop laughing! I've never been so mortified in all my life." She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head before pulling herself back up. "How do I put this lightly..." Faith mumbled as Albus’s laughter finally petered off. "Oh Switchy, Faith is a sister paladin." He corrected, making Hipswitch raise an eyebrow in confusion. "A what?"

"A nun." Came a surprised voice, making Hipswitch jump as he turned to find the source of it. "Hey Doc, how long have you been standing there? Almost gave me a heart attack. And how do you know that?" The doctor leaned against the doorframe, staring at Hipswitch with a wide-eyed expression between shock and horror. "When Albus came on I decided to do some research on the medical practices of New Tennessee. Maybe there would be something there to help better treat Albus if I needed to. And well, most of the information was from or about the sister paladins. They're the main form of healthcare, they're essentially priestesses who learn medicine to take of the knight paladins. But they're known to treat anyone who comes to their temples." The realization slowly dawned on Hipswitch, his eyes widening as it did. No wonder she reminded him so much of the women of the church, she was one of them! Oh he fucked up. He fucked up bad.

"So, in case you missed it in that grand fucking speech, you just called a nun a hooker directly to her face." Albus clarified, though he really didn't need to. Faith sighed, the initial embarrassment fading into a kind of indignant rage. "Can I slap him?" Albus snorted a laugh, flashing a sly grin at Hipswitch. "Oo, watch out there Switchy. She's got a mean backhand and I'm almost willing to let her do it. You kind of deserve it." Hipswitch wished he could disappear. "I-I am so sorry ma'am! I would never think of implying you would be that kind of woman, I just assumed-" He spluttered an embarrassed apology, making Albus burst into another round of hysterical laughter as Faith cut him off with a shake of her head. "Don't apologize, I know you didn't mean it. You worked with what you knew, I can't blame you for that. Though I do still want to slap you. And you do kind of deserve it."

Faith got to her feet stiffly, fixing the layers of her outfit and narrowing her eyes at a still laughing Albus. "I think I've seen enough of Maya for one day. I've got to pick Kerano up from school." She leaned down to poke a finger into the warrior's chest. "Don't make me come back out here to check up on you. Had me worried sick for nothing." Albus’s laughter faded as he lightly smacked her hand away. "Gods, yes, I know. I won't, I promise." She nodded with a satisfied huff before turning to the doctor. "I'm glad I could help with your research, you know how to reach me if you have any more questions." "Of course! Thank you again, Sister. It's been very insightful having you here. I should go continue to look over those notes." He turned and headed back into his office as Faith turned to Hipswitch. "And you." Hipswitch gulped, expecting the worst. Maybe that slap Albus had warned him about. "Maybe actually talk to someone before assuming they're some kind of common hooker. I take my faith very seriously and even if I didn't, I'd be far outside of his price range." She smiled warmly before turning on her heel and heading for the door. "See you again boys!"

Albus’s head dropped back onto the couch with a snort. "Outside my price range, she's crazy." He muttered. Hipswitch quietly got up and moved closer to punch Albus in the chest, making the demon wheeze out a breath as his head snapped up to glare at him. "Fucking hell, what was that for?" "For not warning me! I made a damn fool of myself in front of a nun because of you!" "Well, she's not really a nun, she's a priestess." "Regardless! She's a woman of faith and I disrespected her in the worst way possible!" Albus waved his concerns off. "Ah don't sweat it. Give it a week, she'll be laughing over it. It was damn funny." "You're actually the worst, you know that?" "Oh I am well aware Switchy. You're not the first to notice." Hipswitch could only roll his eyes. Why did he have to care about this idiot so much? "Okay but tell me one thing." "Whatcha got Switchy?" "Have you actually slept with her?" "Would you be jealous if I said yes?" "Albus..." Albus chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Sorry Switchy, this is one time I don't kiss and tell. That's up to you to figure out." He confessed with a shrug. "Out of all the escapades you've rambled on about, this is the one you keep quiet about?" "Faith is different, okay? She...she deserves to not have her story told. So I won't." He defended. Hipswitch sighed in defeat, stepping back. "I'll never understand how your head works." "Good, I don't either. So looks like we'll both be confused."

(...idfk how to end this so this is what you get. Yes I made this entire thing because there is a non-zero chance that Hipswitch would assume Faith is a hooker the first time he met her and that was so damn funny to me)

[blackbeautifulqueen]

You dont love me anymore

Oswald Cobb x Black!reader

Y/n thinks Oswald is cheating on her.

You and Oz had been married for about a year at this point everything was good. Then when Vic came everything was better that is until Sofia came back. Sofia was gorgeous you couldn't deny that. Way prettier than yourself you believed. And when you say how close Oz and Sofia had gotten it made you sick to your stomach. He would never talk about business when he was home it was a rule you created. You didn't want to know how many people he had killed you never liked knowing those things. But that same rule had you hurt in the long run. You wanted to know what they were doing and any time you’d ask about Sofia hed say “there aint nobody else in the world I want but you” or “your all I need baby you know that” or even “its just business” but something was off. 

You had waited for Oz to come home and it was around 12 when you decided to go to bed. About 15 minutes go by of just laying there and you were so close to sleep but you heard the door open and soon after felt the bed dip. You took in his smell It wasnt any perfume you owned or any he owned. It killed you. 

The next moring you saw oz getting ready and wanted to do something nice so if he was cheating youd hope hed fell bad and this would pull him back to earth a bit, so you made him breakfast.

“I made you breakfast ozzie” I say with a smile he walked into the kitchen and kissed me then just held me for a moment.

“Thank you sweetheart” he said and took a piece of bacon popping it into his mouth.

“Hm this is good baby”

“You think so?” I said with a smile

“I know so” He said grabbing my hips

“Whats the plan today huh?” I ask

“Im going with Sofia-” I and with that name my face fell and I bit my lip. All noise was drowned out. Thank god he was behind me. 

“Hey sweetheart you good?” he asked I shook my head, yes bitting my lip. I didn't want to come off as the jealous wife so I just stayed silent as he continued with what he was gonna do today. Then he looked at his watch and said

“Oh, shit I've gotta go baby. I love you”

“Ok have fun. I love you too” I said as we kissed and I watched as he walked out the door.

I walked to the living room and went to the record player. All these albums that Oz had brought for me all cuz I said I like this song or this album. I pulled out beyonces lemadae album and started to blast it full volume.

And keep your money, I got my own

Keep a bigger smile on my face being alone

Bad motherfucker, God complex

Motivate your ass, call me Malcolm X

You operator, or innovator

Fuck you, hater, you can't recreate her, no, no

You'll never recreate her, no (hell no)

I started to sing. After my “concert” I went to get a bottle of wine. Withing 30 minuted a full bottle was gone and I got another. The pain of Oz wanting another women was to much for me. So instead I drowned my feelings. Almost as if it was a movie we find love starts playing and Oz walks though the door.

“You dont love me anymore

Lets see how you like this song”

“Baby?” Oz questioned and I stayed silent tears threatening to fall. 

“What the hell?” he asked

“What are you doing?” and I just looked at his through my tears and sang with the song

“You don't love me anymore” And stood up and walked to him. Pushed him back and sang

“Let's see how you like this song” cocking his head to the side

“What?” he asked

“You” I emphasise by pointing at him

“Don't love me” I say pointing at myself then laughing to keep myself from crying.

“Sweetheart, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Do I need to repeat?” I said in a conceding tone

“y/n” 

“Dont even start that “there's no other women for me” shit I fucking know what the fuck you do”

I say as he stares in shock

“Baby”

“Don't baby me why don't you baby that bitch your with instead of your fucking wife!” I yelled showing my ring

“y/n” He said loud enough so he wasn't yelling at me but I stopped talking

“y/n, baby, you talking bout Sofia?” he asked eyebrows raised

“...yes” I said quietly 

“Baby I'm doing this for us. I wasn't gonna tell you this but I killed Alberto Falcone. I'm hanging around Sofia to get in her good graces or whatever so she doesn't think it was me and more importantly she stays away from you.” It was silent for a moment then I asked

“Why did you kill him?” 

“...He laughed at me baby”

“Aw baby” I said and I reached for his face with my right hand

“Im sorry” I said with a sympathetic smile

“But you know I can take care of myself… right?”

“I know but I like to take care of ya doll. Its my job I gotta look out for you.” he said pushing your braids out of your face and giving you a kiss.

[kitkatscabinet]

Temper temper

Osferth x reader

Summary: tempers flare and hurtful words are thrown

Word count: 1k

Requested by anon. It took me a while to think of what they could be fighting about, I almost made it about all the other women thirsting over him tbh

From the moment you met Osferth your relationship had been nothing short of perfect. You had been one of Uhtred's before the baby monk joined the crew and had been the first to truly accept him with no judgement.

After all, you weren't exactly the type of person many expected to be associated with Lord Uhtred yourself. While you had certainly relished in teasing the shy and inexperienced boy you always knew when to stop.

You had been the one to comfort him after his first battle, then his first kill. You were there every step of the way throughout the years, never one without the other. In short, inseparable, knowing each other's minds better than your own.

Sure you had had slight disagreements here and there but you never fought. That was why when he yells at you for the first time it is completely unexpected.

He had recently broken his arm and as such, you hadn't wanted him to join the battle that was to occur at Tettenhall. Naturally, you had thought this was a reasonable ask but he hadn't agreed.

"Please my love, don't go, I don't want you to get hurt" you pleaded, holding his good hand within your own. Instantly he pulled away from your touch, a frown crossing his face. "Osferth what-" you start only to rear back as he harshly replies

"Why, do you think me weak?" you were incredibly taken aback by his tone, you had noticed the smell of ale on his clothes and his face hadn't lit up in a smile like it usually did when he saw you. Still, that was no reason for the sheer venom he had used to address you.

"What? No!" you were quick to deny but apparently, your response had only served to fuel the fire of his temper.

"Why'd you sound so uncertain then? You still think me that weak pathetic little boy you first met? you think I need you to protect me, to tell me what to do?" With each question, he had gotten louder and further into your personal space and for the first time in your life Osferth is making you nervous.

"Where is this coming from Os, you know I've never thought you weak. I'm just worried about you" you tried to keep your voice steady to placate him but once more you have the opposite effect.

"I don't need your worry! I'm so sick of you nagging me all the time!" You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, causing you to flinch back minutely before you can stop yourself.

A cold indifference suddenly washed over you, and even as you see Osferth's eyes widening in regret and his hand reaching out to grab you, you scoff and dodge aside.

"Fine, I won't waste my time on you anymore then" your words are like ice and before Osferth can realise what had happened you have already left. Once he realises what has just happened, what he has just done he is quick to try and follow but you are long gone.

You had retreated to the safety of your lord's side, taking up residence in his small house with red-rimmed eyes. Uhtred thankfully hadn't commented apart from a casual offer to kill someone and had simply let you curl up under his furs without complaint. Since you'd met Osferth he hadn't been the one you'd gone to for comfort for quite some time and a large part of him was happy that you were still content to do so.

Once he had been assured you were ok your lord had taken residence outside his hut, keeping vigil as he waited for Osferth to slink his way.

"Baby monk" he greeted coolly, watching as the boy shrunk in on himself slightly.

"Lord" he nodded, hands ringing together nervously, "are they here? Please, I really need to apologise." Uhtred continued to stare for a little while longer hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his dagger. To his credit, Osferth did not back down and as such Uhtred eventually relented and let him pass.

"Baby monk" he called over his shoulder, "I will not be so lenient next time" he promised.

"There will not be a next time Lord, I swear it." With those final words, Osferth stepped into the room you had sequestered yourself in. Upon seeing your form curled up into a ball under the covers he allows his lips to quirk up slightly at the adorable sight before it drops when he remembers he's the cause.

"Love-" he gently calls only to be cut off by your muffled voice.

"Go away Osferth" the usage of his full name was a testament to how truly upset you were, you only ever called him by pet names these days.

"I can't do that love. Not until you can find it in yourself to forgive me" he gently said, perching himself on the edge of the bed before leaning down to entrap the lump that was you within his good arm. Thankfully you didn't squirm too much in an attempt to get away, laying silently as he whispered feverish apologies on repeat. Eventually, you broke the silence mumbling

"I'm still really angry at you."

"I know love, I'm angry at me too"

"If you ever say anything like that to me again I'll kill you" you murmured angrily before turning aggressively under the covers, burying your face into his chest despite the layer of blankets and furs.

"I'll hand you the blade myself" he solemnly promises, smiling slightly in triumph as he hears you huff a laugh. The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other for what felt like hours. Neither speaking or moving, as tempers cooled. In your comfort you were on the verge of falling asleep when you heard Uhtred's yell

"You better not be humping in my bed!"

Taglist: @eudximoniakr

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/740284683556929536/

Omg I'm so sorry! I wrote that anon when I was sleepy so it had very ham-fisted wording. Yes, I meant to ask about portraying self-esteem issues about bodies. I thought guys don't talk about it much.

To that one person, why would dudes comparing dick sizes be considered smut? I can see it being rated M. Are you suggesting the rating go up to E?

--

Ahahaha.

Uh... anon... if that's truly what you were trying to ask... I think maybe you need to work on your writing a bit more. The vibes you give off are odd, to say the least...

Like, creepy pervert angling for foot fetish photos while lying about what they want-level weird.

It sounds like you want to heavy-breathe while reading guys' descriptions of their own penises, not like you want help with writing.

--

The reason your ask reads so "She breasted boobily down the stairs" but from the other side is that guys, at least from what I've seen, do not stand around comparing their dicks, at least not in the way you implied.

The people who most commonly compare their junk out of curiosity are toddlers.

This is something tiny children do. Anecdotally, some teens do it, but a lot don't, and there are clickbait articles about athletes sizing each other up this way, but they are just that: clickbait. I'm not saying it never happens, but you wrote about it like it always happens.

It is fucking weird to have a grown-ass man routinely doing it outside of maaaaybe some weirdly homoerotic scene in a stoner comedy or something.

People joke about this practice because it's a thing that exists, not because it is ubiquitous.

That's also why it reads like porn. IRL, if some dude is like "I think we should compare our dicks... uh... and they should be hard so we can compare properly", many other guys are going to interpret that as sexual. And also self-deluding. Which is a good reason to say no.

--

Most people in locker rooms and public bathrooms try to give each other a little privacy if they can, regardless of gender. Openly ogling is what you do if you're about to proposition someone for sex. Or, if it's hostile, you stare because you're about to beat them up.

I'm not saying a guy couldn't sneakily see the size of another guy's junk and have a response, but the whole way you described this sounds like you've never spoken to a human before. Did you seriously get this idea from those clickbait articles?

Among other issues, penises become erect. They look different in different states of arousal. Surely, you've heard of "growers vs. showers"? Temperature also matters. There's a whole fucking bit on Seinfeld that everyone quoted for like years and is probably still quoting about "shrinkage"—i.e. a guy is insecure that someone saw him when he'd just gotten out of the pool and his dick looked small because he was cold. Hopefully, the locker room isn't that cold, but you still don't know what a dude's dick looks like all of the time from catching a glimpse of it one time.

So an adult man who is not completely unfamiliar with penises is not going to 1. openly stare at another man in the locker room and 2. look only at his penis and have some crisis about "Mine looks different".

I suppose for the right character in the right circumstances, you can sell any kind of goofy-ass reaction, including the "breasted boobily" stuff where women think consciously about their tits in a way that actual women generally don't and male authors love to write. But you have to make it a whole Thing. She has to have some reason why her nipples are super sensitive today and thus she pays attention when she normally wouldn't.

Instead, you keep asking these dumbass questions like you're 12 that boil down to "Literally all men are the same cardboard cutout based on their D&D stats from this character sheet. Please tell me some facts about these stats!" instead of approaching people as individual humans who all react differently. You haven't even said anything about what kind of culture these characters come from. Both personality and specific culture (not just big things like nationality but shit like whether they're athletes who change with the same guys all the time) are going to affect how and whether men talk about self esteem and bodies.

You're boiling this down to "What does the penis-having alien species all do?" despite already getting several answers that told you to stop doing that. You either didn't listen or didn't understand what people meant so badly that it's pointless to keep giving you help.

This is not a good way to write three-dimensional characters.

--

Now, I'm not saying nobody has ever snuck a peek in a locker room. Lots of people, regardless of gender, do that. But we're talking covert looks and that kind of looking gives you glimpses of many body parts and not always a very clear look either.

Most actual men on most actual days of their lives are going to feel insecure about their bodies relative to someone else because the other dude looks better at the gym or grows chest and facial hair more easily or is much taller or isn't going bald.

We love to make jokes about penis size, but in my experience, the level of perpetual crisis dudes have over potential baldness is way higher. There are a shitton of ways to be insecure about yourself and your body. That goes for any gender.

Maybe a dude feels insecure because the other guy is much less body-conscious and has an easier time changing in front of people or because he's paid five times as much and is changing into a thousand dollar suit.

Many of the markers of masculinity and attractiveness have very little to do with penises.

There's also a vast difference between your POV character thinking some other dude's huge package is admirable and your POV character thinking he himself is inadequate. He could think his own dick is average and that it would be nicer to be hung like a pornstar without being insecure about it. He could also have a big dick yet still be insecure about it because he's a weirdo who's obsessed with penis size. He could be a size queen who wants to take a ride on that. He could have an ex girlfriend who thought big penises hurt and be creepily fascinated and wonder whom this guy fucks and how they manage.

--

All this shit is a character point. Stop treating it as immutable truth where someone can give you the Correct Answer™ for you to slot into your writing or spank bank fantasies.

[miasmaghoul]

I just, I don't even know what to say

W O W

Ok, serious chat for a moment. Warnings for mentions of an ED and medical mistreatment.

It's so frustrating to still see shit like this when I grew up in the days of fat free everything and Weight Watchers ads every 5 minutes on TV.

Why is it fat people that everyone agrees to dogpile on? We're bullied incessantly for something that a lot of us can't even fix or help, because people who AREN'T fat assume we're just lazy pigs. Like yeah, please just disregard my physical debility and MULTIPLE hormonal issues and just assume that I just shovel food into my mouth constantly. Oh, you say I can't have an eating disorder because I'm fat and "those people" are skinny? BOY DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU!

It's bullshit, full stop. I still struggle with my ED, but the older I've gotten the more open and honest with myself I've become. I've never sought treatment for it because, again, I'm still fat. The one time I did bring it up to a doctor, he said "well if you do have an eating disorder then you aren't doing a very good job." I wish I were making that up.

Fat is in my genes, and there are so many other contributing factors it isn't even funny. It's so pounded into our heads that we NEED to be thin (mostly targeting women, let's be real) in order to have value, and I'm so fuckin sick of still hearing about the latest severely unhealthy fad diet or what fucking celebrity is on ozempic.

Which, by the way, I did have pushed on me a couple years ago when regular people could still get their hands on it. It made me feel so much worse. Every dose would trigger a binge, and I would feel horrible for days afterwards. I told my doctor (different from the other one I mentioned) this, and she told me that it was just something I was going to have to deal with because look, you've lost 20lbs since your last visit!

I felt worse than I had in YEARS, but it didn't matter because my body was becoming more socially acceptable. Do you want to know how many times doctors have tried to shove weight loss surgery down my throat? Countless. No matter how many times I say I'm not even there to talk about my weight, and that those surgeries are NOT for me, someone always brings it up. It's crazy how hurtful being ignored for knowing your own body is, because someone else thinks you need to change.

I wish this was something I had figured out when I was younger, but alas. I wore a hoodie over my clothes for 6 years straight, regardless of how hot it was outside, just to try to hide. I made myself miserable, ate barely anything (which would just trigger a binge, of course) and had it beat into my head constantly that my weight was the most important thing about me.

Here's the thing it took me way too long to learn:

IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER

You know what the number on the scale is? It's just a number. Your weight, high or low, is simply a tiny part of who you are as a human. If others choose to judge you based on it, that's not a failure on your part. It's on theirs. Being fat is not a crime, nor is it deserving of the insults and sneers we get in public spaces. People will always find a reason to stare, to whisper and giggle, and the best thing you can do for yourself is not give them the time of day.

I realize that's not easy. It's taken me 30+ years to reach a point where I've realized that going out in public is a necessity, and that the only reason I think people are staring at me is because advertisements like this punched the concept into my fragile little mind as a kid. At the end of the day, this is the one thing all fat people need to know:

Being fat is not a moral failure.

There is nothing wrong with you just because you need bigger clothes, mobility aids, or help from others. I don't care what anyone says - your weight is no one's business but your own. You want to lose weight? Go for it! More power to you, you'll get nothing but support from me. But there's nothing wrong with not wanting to do that either. That's really what it comes down to - the assumption that there's something inherently wrong with us because we're bigger than other people.

That's the part that needs to stop. And if anyone ever needs a reminder, my asks are always open. You're beautiful, I promise. 💜

Thank you for coming to my TED talk lmao

(I'm sure some asshole anons will come at me for "glorifying obesity" or "promoting unhealthy lifestyles". I assure you I am not. I am simply trying to help normalize a different mindset. If you're upset that fat people exist and that I'm saying they deserve the same care and compassion as anybody else, then you need to do a little bit of internal examination there. I promise fat people have not hurt you by virtue of existing in larger bodies ♡)

[ticklishraspberries]

Twenty Questions (Catherine/Peter)

Summary: Catherine finds her husband boring, so he tries to prove her wrong. (This was originally supposed to be a drabble for @tickle-bugs using the sentences “Now, that was interesting" and "That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I like it'" and yet, it's turned into a 1.8k words-length fic. This one is weirdly canon-divergent, because I didn't want it to be too spoiler-y for Bug who had just started the show when they sent the prompt eons ago, so just...I don't know, roll with it? Hope you enjoy!!)

"He's boring," Catherine tells Marial as she dresses in her bedclothes. "We have absolutely nothing in common. I am a woman of science, art, and philosophy. And he, well..."

"Is a man of food, fights, and fucking?" Marial replies.

"Exactly! He does not interest me. He is rather handsome, but he seems as though there's nothing beneath the surface." Catherine sighs, flopping back against her mattress. Her marriage to Peter has gotten off to a rather rocky start, and that's putting it lightly. They've come to a sort of standstill, now, tolerating one another, but not quite getting along.

"Men rarely have much lingering beneath the surface," Marial says. "I know you wished for a great love when you came here, but clearly Peter is...not that person. He could be a great person to kill, but not love."

A month ago, Catherine would have jumped for the chance to slit her husband's throat, but now, after seeing him almost die from that poisoning attempt...She isn't sure killing him is the right thing to do. Maybe growing closer to him is better. If she were to kill him, Orlo says that her whole scheme would blow up in her face. Abdication is the goal, and for him to abdicate...He should at the very least be susceptible to her charms, should he not?

She frowns, staring at the canopy of her bed. "Goodnight, Marial."

"Goodnight, Empress," Marial says, giving a sarcastic little curtsey that does manage to make Catherine's frown falter into a smile.

The next morning at breakfast, she voices her concerns to her husband. "I do not find you interesting," she says, rather bluntly. "Nor do we have anything in common. How is a marriage supposed to flourish if we have nothing to speak of?"

Peter stops stabbing at his food and looks up at her, confused. "What do you mean? I am a very interesting person.. I have many hobbies, some incredible stories to share.”

"And yet, I do not wish to hear about hunting or your sex with Georgina," she replies, tone laced with snark.

Peter chuckles. "Then what would you like to discuss? The importance of women's education? The work of some European philosopher I don't care to read?"

"And that's exactly it! You don't care to read, nor learn, nor get to know me and the things that I care about," she says. She stands, moving from her end of the table to sit directly beside him. "If I am to be your wife, to bear your children, do I not deserve the common decency of you giving a single shit about me?"

Peter seems surprised by her outburst. He clears his throat, then asks, "What's your favorite color?"

She blinks at him in surprise. "Blue. Any shade, really. My mother says it brings out my eyes when I wear it. Yours?"

"I've always been partial to green. Perhaps because it reminds me of the forest, hunting with my father in the early autumn, just before the leaves have started to change," he replies. "There. We've learned something about each other. Now, you ask me something."

"What is your favorite book?"

"I don't know that I have one," he says. "I have admittedly never read much for pleasure. I did my studies as instructed, but never went out of my way to read something I was not required to. Not the answer you were hoping for, but the truth. And yours?"

"Diderot's Philosophical Thoughts," Catherine responds without a second thought. "I've read it nearly fifteen times."

"I knew it would be something of the sort," he says, his smile almost fond.

They spend the next half hour going back and forth, asking one another questions: Their favorite foods, stories about their childhoods. Catherine tells him of her sisters, her love for strawberries, and her childhood fear of large dogs. He tells her of his friendship with Grigor, his first broken bone, and his love of truffles.

When it’s Peter’s turn to ask a question again, he ponders for a bit before saying, “Are you ticklish?”

Vodka almost comes out of Catherine’s nose, and she cringes at the sting, coughing. “What? That’s…A childish question,” she replies, feeling her cheeks go pink.

“And yet, you seem to think me childish anyway, so why not ask?” he challenges. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye that makes her heart skip a beat.

“Most people are,” Catherine says, choosing her words carefully. “At least, in my experience. There isn’t much science on the subject, but even Shakespeare speaks of it.”

“So, you are.”

“I didn’t say that, I just said…”

Peter’s hand reaches towards her, and she tries to bat it away with quite a bit of force, but he easily avoids her dainty hands and catches her side, squeezing it once before she jolts away with a muffled sound in her throat, something like a laugh.

“Now, that was interesting,” he says, grinning.

Catherine’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you have duties to attend to, dear husband?”

“Oh, but this matter seems much more pressing…”

Catherine is about to stand and run from the room when Elizabeth enters, saving her with her demand that Peter go attend to those aforementioned duties.

“This isn’t over,” he tells her, shooting her a wink before departing from the room.

Catherine sits at the table for another moment, stunned, cheeks flushed and something fluttering in her belly. Normally, being with Peter fills her with disdain, disgust. Now, she just feels…Flustered. And yet, somehow lighter than she had felt last night, wallowing in self-pity about her ass of a husband. Yes, he is still an ass, but…They’ve just genuinely bonded for what feels like the first time, and the realization that Peter is not all awful has struck her like a brick to the face.

Later, she tells Marial of their talk.

“Just because he can recall warm, fuzzy memories of his childhood doesn’t mean he isn’t awful,” Marial scoffs.

“I know that, but…It was different. We were almost getting along. Until he tried to tickle me, which I found rather unpleasant,” Catherine says, face scrunched in thought.

Marial snorts. “Is that the method I’ll have to use when you won’t listen to my incredibly intelligent advice?”

Catherine gives her arm a playful swat. “Not if you want to stay on my good side.”

After Marial leaves, again, she finds herself staring at the ceiling, hands crossed over her belly as she ponders her future. Could she love Peter? It could be possible, she supposes that many things are possible.

The next morning, she sits at his breakfast table alone. She assumes he is hungover, or still drunk, or busy sleeping with someone else when he is not punctual, as food is the only thing he’s ever on time for. She huffs, choosing to thumb through a book while she waits for him.

She isn’t waiting long though, because after a moment, she feels a presence behind her, and before she can turn to see who it is, two hands have grabbed her sides and danced their fingers upward, making a quite undignified squeak burst from her lips.

Her book flops shut on the table as she whips around to see her husband, chuckling at his own jape.

“What was that for?” she asks, feeling the strong desire to hit him. Or kiss him. She isn’t quite sure which, but she hopes it's the former.

“To prove the answer to the question you were so determined to avoid yesterday,” he replies, waltzing over to his seat.

Catherine feels her cheeks redden again and rolls her eyes. “You are insufferable. And what about you, hm?”

Peter smirks. “Most people are,” he echoes her words from yesterday.

He’s about to call for food to be brought in when Catherine jumps from her chair and moves towards him, hands flying as she pokes and prods at every bit of him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and he’s sort of laughing, but she suspects it’s more at her than anything else.

“Trying to tickle you,” she replies.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” he says. “You’re just jabbing me in the chest, that’s not exactly effective—ah!”

Catherine grins triumphantly as she finds a spot on his ribs that makes him react. He had sort of scribbled his fingers on her, so she mimics the same thing on his ribs, and suddenly, her husband, the Emperor, is giggling like a child and nearly sliding out of his chair to avoid her.

She hasn’t tickled anyone since she was young, probably rough-housing with her sisters, only to be quickly reprimanded. She forgot how powerful it feels, how ridiculously silly and yet oddly invigorating.

Peter’s laugh is softer, higher in pitch that she’d imagined it could be. She’s heard him laugh many times before, but never quite so…freely. She’s so lost in the sound that she’s startled when he grabs ahold of her wrists and shoves them away.

At first, she thinks he’s angry, but he’s all red-faced and smiling and he looks…sort of adorable?

“You are a cruel woman, tormenting a man before he’s had his breakfast,” he says, breathless.

“As I recall, it’s your fault we haven’t eaten yet,” she replies, taking a seat beside him.

And so, the food comes, and they eat, mostly in silence, until Catherine speaks up again.

“You could have pushed me away much sooner. Why didn’t you?” she asks.

Peter doesn’t look up from his plate. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, but it’s not very convincing.

“Oh, because you’ve been so gentle with me in the past,” she says. It’s a low blow, and she knows it, because it makes him look up. Instead of looking pissed, he looks almost sad, embarrassed even.

“Well, when we spoke of our childhoods the other day, yours didn’t seem…very fun,” he replies. “I never realized how differently women are raised. Even with all those sisters, you didn’t speak of any wrestling or playfulness. I thought I’d give you a bit more experience.”

Catherine is torn between offense at his implication that her childhood wasn’t fun, and touched at the sentiment. “I suppose that’s sweet.”

“And, I mean, I don’t exactly mind having your hands on me, in any capacity,” he adds. “Even if it’s in a non-sexual, sort of torturous way.”

"That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I like it'," Catherine replies, smirking.

Peter doesn’t argue, he just smiles and shoves an entire sausage into his mouth, which makes her avert her eyes in disgust, but she’s smiling, too.

When she returns to her apartments with a spring in her step, Marial is already concerned.

Catherine is too busy pondering more things she’d like to learn about her husband than to listen to her friend’s ramblings. While Russia is her great love, she’s beginning to wonder if Peter still has a place in that future. She hopes there is.

[rreskk]

Im a huge fan of all your writings, your page is my all time favourite on Tumblr and I jus noticed you’ve taken requests and was wondering if you can write some smut of Trevor x his Therapist or Doctor

I fucking love this idea! Sorry it took long, I've been having a brain-rotting phase about my OC :)

Summary: Your favourite client has become more... Of a "friend."

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Therapist Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1265

AUGUST, 26TH – 1985

You’ll see grieved people hover in and out of your office with a suicidal tendencies, more likely than never. You’d also have people who’ve been through wars, people who have slept with family members, confessed murderers, suicidal drug-addicts, sociopathic teenagers, depressed elderly ladies, wealthy white men, menopausal women, schizophrenics, sexually confused religious men, teenage dirtbags; the list going on and on and on and on. Your folders only stack up with every unstable being paying brain-surgeon bucks to talk about how crappy life is. Some stories you wept alongside them, some you had to give them the cold-shoulder, some you had to refuse service. All in which was based in the memo when you began working within the professionality.

However, there was this one man with mountains of issues and emotional depth, some criminal, some traumatic, some petty; but he interested you greatly. A so-called trainee pilot for the Airforce. Personal record was fresh, great skill in flying, physically active, single, citizen of Canada. However, he was referred after his team had identified slight dangers in his emotional intelligence and anger management. He was once called “a fucking pyscho” by his referral, which had caused some mishap of violence. Nonetheless, the front page had suggested he was aggressive when “provoked”.

The first session was tricky, as predicted from his difficulties on concealing emotional bondage. But as the sessions became a regular occurrence, he slowly loosened up. Only recently had he talked about his childhood. Through painful cries and many times of walking out of the office eruptively, in which he returns hours later to continue, believing you are “the only person who cares” – his words exactly when you question his behaviour.

Unconsciously, you both grew close. After a good few weeks of working along side him, Trevor had named every person in his life; mother, father, brother, past lovers, past friends, etc… He trusted you with this information, and when he spoke freely about them, his eyes would stare into yours with tensity. He self-indulged in the eye-contact. You understood that it was his way of seeing your internal reactions and thoughts. Trevor’s constantly assessing you like you are with him, and whether it was meant to happen, it fell into this hole of deep relation. He relied on you. Extremely clingy. His sessions would extend from an hour to 3 or 4. It had gotten to the point where you with drawled other patience, just so you could invite him in again. Your managers assumed he needed more focus, so they allowed. But was it about focus?

No.

It was something more personal than that. A transference. Therapist and patient romance. Forbidden touches of his hands against your thighs turned into extreme penetration in your office. From the desk to the sofa, from the floor to your bathroom. At some point, he had been everywhere with you. Trying to overcome this situation was flawed, and every-time you tried to give him this professional support, it turned into a lustful beg of his fingers and filthy tongue.

“Fuck – “ You panted when he crawled over you on the sofa-bed, his penis frantically searching for the entrance as he used his tongue to leave trails of his saliva against your jawline. Whereas the moments prior to this, he was talking about the lack of love given from his mother, and he instead admitted that the maternal need had been transferred onto you. Trevor struggled to explain his insane attraction to how “caring” you are, forgetting that it was your profession. But the way you’d reassure and rub his back – it always gave him a reason to go home and relieve that naughty arousal. And every session, he’s excited for this specific reason.

“I tried to book a session last week,” He murmured darkly as his cock injected into your pussy, “The prick downstairs told me you were busy – with what?” His voice crackled a bit at the pleasure of having your warmth surrounding his erection.

Holding onto his shoulders, you breathed out a shaky moan, his name staining the tip of your tongue. The question went ignored until you found the capacity to give him the deserved answer.

“I had training.” You could barely say.

Trevor huffed in jealousy, his hips finding a steady pace as he gripped your hips to line up the act of penetration. Despite the angry frown plastered on his face, you knew he was enjoying himself. The way his tongue curled up between his lips, the concentration dilating his pupils. You had analysed his behaviour from day 1, so it became an easy job to predict his overall mood.

“I’m more important…” He breathed softly and ushered you to wrap your legs around his hips.

“I know…”

“I fucking love how loose you are,” Trevor desperately kissed your quivering lips before breaking away to increase the speed and groaning your name. “Oh… Oh, fuck. Yes. Mmm…”

The clock was ticking and when he was occupying your cunt, eyes began to fall upon the ticks and the toks. You’ve mentioned before this that a patient was planned to arrive within the next hour, so the nerves were beginning to boil your blood. The last thing you’d want is to be caught; especially with one of your most dangerous clients who’s supposed to have “professional” support. 

“Look at me.” He soon begged when noticing your lack of attention. His hands fell onto your breasts and gave them a loving squeeze, continuing the thrusting.

“I ought to…” It was hard to be vocal, so you tried a little harder, “I ought to prepare for the next – “

Trevor whimpered angrily and fucked you harder than before. His hands gripped onto your breasts, teeth grinding. He repetitively shook his head and silenced you from saying anything more.

“No, no, no!” He pled. His temper starting to spark.

You grasped his wrists, moaning out of pure bliss. This encouraged him to thrust a little faster, his shaggy mullet falling into different directions and flows. For a young pilot, he was especially rugged and quite ill-looking, but it made this more exciting. You were fucking an ill client… That was such an exciting experience, but why? The psychology was hard to work out, even for you. So his witchery could be blameful, the way his mouth casted spells on you.

“Please – “ You moaned and closed your eyes.

“Look at me!” Trevor whined again, his hands cradling your face as you both came close. He winced. The sluggish rock of his hips slapped against yours for the last time before he pulled out, cock ejaculating white fluids upon your stomach. “Oooohhh… Fuck!” Your patient ecstatically exaggerated.

You too had came. To refrain noise, it became a squeal of pure lust. When his warm semen painted your stomach, your fingers instantly rummaged through your clit, feeling how much cum he made you squirt. And with a moan, you felt him take charge of the inspection and licked up the white strands with his tongue. Trevor brushed your pussy and slurped up your taste with a puppy glimpse in his eyes. He looked at you when licking, begging to be praised.

“Fuck… Yes – “ Then the door knocked.

With quick motion, you threw on your shirt and zipped up your skirt as he groaned. Trevor wiped his mouth and gave your cheek a last kiss before throwing on a shirt and walking out. You noticed on the way out, he had gave your next client the meanest look to man-kind.

And the next week; that client had never returned.

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 5

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: You meet Yennefer and Ciri, learn more about the location of a djinn, and have a painful realization.

Warnings: Brief descriptions of plague/sickness, fire, blood, and being choked (not sexually).

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for your patience as I got this chapter out. It was a rough one while I figured out everyone's dialogues and characterization, but I think I got it in the end. Thank you all SO much for the beautiful response I've gotten for this fic, from art to comments to asks, it's kept me so inspired and excited to get this out to you. Without further ado - enjoy!

The word danger has many a meaning to you. 

All your life, you’ve known danger, and all your life, the danger has been different. When you were little, it was the wolves howling in the forest outside your door. Tales of plague maidens, thirsty for blood. Bedtime stories of whispering spirits locked away in trees, and evil women that ate up children like treats.

As you grew, so did the number of dangers; growing with you, their shapes ever-changing. Danger began to mean plague, bandits, and war. Adult words that came with painful memories. A woman shivering with fever, her face crimson and splotchy, breaths coming strained and painful. Fire, red-hot, eating away little by little, and black smoke that smothered the senses, blinding and burning and choking the lungs. A pair of ice-cold, bleeding hands that gripped your neck. Tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to kill.

All of those dangers have brought you fear, and never anything else. But today, you find that is not the case. This danger chills you to the bone, carries the scent of lilac and gooseberries, and she fascinates you just as much as she frightens you. The type of danger you simply can’t seem to look away from, no matter how you try - the way a lightning bolt is paralyzingly beautiful as it strikes the earth. 

And so, seeing as you’re in danger, your brain does what it does best. It turns to one of its three engrained paths of action. Fight or flight, of course. Or freeze. The first two are more well-known, because they’re actually helpful. Better to take on the danger, or get yourself away from it as quickly as possible. 

Freezing only happens when the brain realizes it can neither fight nor flee. Essentially, when, for lack of a better (and less crude) term, you’re shit out of luck. And, staring up at the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, knowing that she was Geralt’s lover? Knowing that in about two minutes, this woman is going to hate you?

You are shit out of luck. 

As she approaches the table, Yennefer shakes her glossy, dark curls over her shoulder and observes the scene. She says nothing, but her shimmering, intelligent eyes speak volumes as she scans over the lot of you. Her gaze contains warmth for some and ice for others. A mixture of the two for Geralt. 

When it lands on you, it bears nothing but a silent, curious question. A question that wants to know who you are. Well, you think to yourself. If I knew how to answer that, Geralt and I wouldn’t be here.

Following behind her is the ashen-haired girl - Ciri. You know it must be her. She’s carrying two swords on her back, and even resembles Geralt, with their white hair and matching scars. But she and Yennefer share a similar elegance in their stride, a silent authority. An authority which melts away when she takes two steps in, sees Geralt standing next to where you’re sitting, and leaps straight into his arms.

“Geralt!” she exclaims, clinging to his shoulders and laughing as he spins her around. “You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you!”

“Think I have a clue, actually,” he says, setting her back onto the floor. He’s smiling, and not the muted smile he usually gives, but a wide one with white teeth and a flash of sharp canines, gaze warm and so very fond as he watches her. Geralt, truly happy… is this the first time you’re seeing it?

“Ciri!” Dandelion exclaims, jumping to his feet. You really shouldn’t be surprised that the two of them know each other. “How are you? It’s been too long!” 

As Ciri greets Dandelion, Priscilla and Zoltan - clearly friends of hers, too - Yennefer lingers toward the doorway. Geralt’s gaze fixes on her, and when she raises a brow, he smiles. 

“Hey, Yen,” he greets, leaning back against the table. The words are more casual than you’d have imagined them to be. You’d expected stiffness. It’s not there.

“Geralt,” Yennefer replies. The ghost of a smile brushes across her lips as she gazes at him, violet eyes shining in the light. “My, what a surprise. I’ve just gotten information that claims you’re in Skellige.”

Geralt shrugs. “Had a… change of plans.” 

That’s certainly one way to put it.

“Naturally,” Yennefer says. Her gaze turns toward Ciri, and something flickers over her expression for a moment before it’s shut out. You know it, though. You’ve seen enough people in agony to know the sight of pain, even just a flash of it.

“Dandelion says you were looking for me,” Geralt continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mentioned some kind of curse?”

“And you decided to come running to the rescue?” she muses, not bothering to expand any further. Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he follows her gaze over to Ciri, who is now carrying a bottle of spirit from Zoltan and making her over to the table.

“Let’s celebrate, shall we?” Ciri says, spurning a round of cheers. “A reunion!” Her eyes land on you, and she flashes you a bright smile. “Hello! I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ciri!”

The room’s commotion almost drowns out her words. Dandelion is opening a bottle of wine, Priscilla is pulling up more chairs, and Zoltan is already on his second pint of Mahakaman spirit, crooning out an old drinking song. Still, she steps closer to you, holds out a hand, and you gladly shake it, introducing yourself loud enough to be heard.

“Very nice to meet you!” she says. “Are you a friend of Dandelion’s?”

You’re not sure how to answer. You’re more acquaintances. Can you even be considered Geralt’s friend? “I’m not sure,” you finally respond. “I just met him yesterday.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Geralt tells you. “He’ll be hurt.”

“Who’ll be hurt?” Dandelion asks, returning to the table. His cheeks are already flushed with drink, and he plops back into his seat from earlier.

“You,” Ciri answers playfully. 

“Me?” His eyes widen. “Was someone talking about me?”

Geralt jerks his head in your direction. “Just said the two of you aren’t friends.”

Traitor.

“That’s - Geralt!” you exclaim. “That’s not true!” 

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, and you lightly swat at him - a movement he dodges easily, grabbing his pint and gulping it down.

“I can’t believe this!” Dandelion cries, looking wounded. “I’m being insulted in my own establishment!”

“No, no!” you exclaim quickly, sending Geralt, and now Ciri, into another round of laughter. You send a kick in Geralt’s direction (and miss again), then adamantly shake your head. “Dandelion, I swear, I only said that I wasn’t sure if we’re friends because we just met.”

“Of course we’re friends!” Dandelion says. He sets a glass of wine in front of you, flashing you a charming smile. “And, of course, you’re the subject of my new ballad.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asks dryly. “And what’s this new ballad about?”

“Nothing,” Geralt firmly interjects. “C’mon, Dandelion. Already told you-”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Dandelion says. “But say I just took inspiration-”

“As much as I hate to interrupt,” Yennefer cuts in, arms folded tightly across her chest, “I’m afraid this cannot wait any longer. Geralt, I must speak with you. Privately.”

Silence slowly falls over the room, stifling the conversation as every one of you aside from Ciri and Yennefer gradually realize the same thing. 

“I, uh… can’t,” Geralt finally says.

Shitty choice of words, Geralt, you think. Every trace of warmth leaves Yennefer’s expression, and you instantly shrink down in your seat, frantically gulping at the wine Dandelion placed in front of you like it might save you from her wrath.

“You can’t,” she repeats coldly. “In that case-”

“Yen, hang on,” Geralt quickly interrupts, expression pained. “Not trying to argue. I can’t.”

Something about his tone must get to her. She exhales sharply, raises a brow, and stares at him for a long, agonizing moment. A silent communication. Then she finally gives a soft smile. 

“I see.” The chill in her voice is gone, suddenly replaced by a light, teasing tone. She must have read his mind, you realize. How much did she see? Placing her hands on her hips, Yennefer fondly gazes at him, then shakes her head. “I assume you’re going to remedy this… predicament?” 

“Yeah. Working on it,” Geralt replies. 

The whole room relaxes as she pulls up a chair and sits next to him. “Very well,” she says. “In that case, I’ll cast a shielding incantation around the two of us so we may speak. Alone. I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

She speaks some words you don’t understand, then raises her hands. Immediately, a shimmering blue shield surrounds the two of them - making it impossible to see them or hear what they’re saying.

Ciri, looking bewildered, stares at you. “Is… is there something I’m missing?” she asks. You let out a sigh, trying to think of what exactly to say, but there are just never enough words to properly explain. 

“Wait!” Dandelion says, hiccuping. “Let me - my ballad!” He reaches behind him and pulls out a lute, and you can’t help shrinking down in your chair again. Oh, gods. Surely there’s no way he’s already written something, is there? But your question is preemptively answered when he strikes out a chord and begins to sing:

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

He pauses for a moment, hiccuping again, then claps his hand against his forehead. “Oh, blast it! I just can’t figure out the next line.”

“That was… really lovely, Dandelion,” you tell him. To your surprise, you don’t have to fight to make the words sound genuine. You’d actually liked it. The melody he’d chosen is no common earworm, but a haunting, beautiful tune, bound to leave a mark on whoever hears it. When he’d mentioned a ballad, well… that wasn’t what you’d pictured. And he’s right about wishes being dangerous - maybe the story can serve as a cautionary tale, discouraging one from repeating your mistakes.

Then again, a cautionary tale requires you to talk about the things you’ve done and the consequences you’ve suffered, and you’re not quite ready to tell anyone about that, much less the whole of Novigrad. As for the current, most prevalent consequence - being trapped with Geralt… you can see it now, whispered among crowds of giggling women, flushing at the thought: who wouldn’t want to be trapped with a handsome witcher?

“Aha! I knew I’d win you over,” Dandelion says brightly, giving a little bow over his lute. “Now Geralt will have to let me write it!”

A glance in Geralt’s presumed direction shows that the bubble around him and Yennefer is as prominent as ever. You can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

“Oh! I need the details!” Dandelion exclaims suddenly, his gaze fixing on you with bright interest. “I can hardly write a story when I don’t even know the beginning, can I?” 

Reaching for the last bit of your wine, you anxiously thumb the stem of the glass and manage a weak smile. “I… I’m not sure about that. I don’t think it’ll make for a good story. Maybe you could just make something up?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Dandelion says. “I can make anything into a good story.”

“He truly can,” Priscilla chimes in. “Don’t worry at all.”

But a terrible headache is coming on. Your skull throbs, and your throat squeezes as you try to speak. “But… it’d - I mean, I’ve…” Your words trail off, but all of their eyes are now fixed on you, waiting for you to go on. Curse it all. “Awful things happened because of me,” you say flatly. “It’d ruin the story.” 

With that out in the open, you finish the rest of your glass and wait for the inevitable. Only… Dandelion doesn’t look phased in the least. Neither do any of the others. 

“Well, surely you haven’t been sitting here thinking we’re all saints?” he asks. “No one is perfect - that’s what makes the story engaging, relatable!”

You shake your head. “Of course I don’t think you’re saints, but-”

“And… what’ve you done that’s so terrible?” Zoltan inquires, interrupting your words. His mouth is full of some kind of cake that he’s chewing, his cheeks are pink, and he clearly doesn’t believe you’ve done anything bad at all.

You’re not in the right mind for this. The wine is making you lightheaded, your head is still pounding, and it all feels like a far off dream. “I - I killed someone,” you blurt, feeling sick to your stomach. And thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

Silence takes the table, but just for a moment. “Did you have reasoning?” Priscilla asks. “Was this person going to hurt you?” You give a single, sharp nod and swallow hard, wishing you had more wine. As if reading your mind, Dandelion pours you another glass.

“Well, then. I don’t think you’re awful,” Priscilla says.

“Nor do I,” Ciri agrees. 

Stinging tears are brimming at your eyes. You fiercely blink them away. None of this makes any sense. How can they all admonish you from your guilt without even hearing the full story?

“But you don’t understand,” you protest. “It was my fault I was in that situation in the first place. And that isn’t the only awful thing, I - I’ve done other things, too.” 

“Well, I’ve done many things I’m certainly not proud of,” Ciri tells you. “I think all of us have.”

You quickly wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your arm, avoiding her gaze.

Priscilla reaches over and gently pats your hand. “Let’s put it this way. The things a person wishes for says a great deal about them. And, for your final wish, you wished for protection. That sounds like someone who’s afraid. Not greedy. Not evil. Just trying to be safe.” 

“You’re clearly torn up about it,” Dandelion adds. “Believe me, I’ve met my fair share of truly horrendous people, and they aren’t capable of a shred of remorse.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and your futile attempts to blink them away don’t work very well. Soon, they’re coursing down your cheeks, and you could die of embarrassment right here and now. Thank the gods Geralt isn’t here to see it.

Ciri soothingly rubs your back. “I understand,” she says gently. “It’s never an easy thing, having to kill. Even in self-defense. I’ve found that speaking about it with people I trust helps.”

“Aye,” Zoltan agrees solemnly. “Geralt’d know how it feels - take a moment when ye can, discuss it with him. Might surprise you, even make you feel a bit better.” 

“He already knows,” you reply gloomily. Admittedly, he doesn’t know all the details.

“And?” Priscilla asks. “Surely he didn’t call you an awful person?”

“No,” you confirm. “He told me that… that I don't seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

“That’s settled, then,” Ciri says brightly. “If you were awful, Geralt certainly wouldn’t have any problem telling you.”

You swallow hard, wiping quickly at your eyes again. When you speak, your words are no more than a whisper. “Even if he can’t get more than ten steps away from me?”

Her answer comes with no hesitation. “Even then.”

Feeling as though an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you gratefully gulp down more wine and attempt a smile. “Thank you,” you tell them, even though you’re not entirely convinced. None of them know the full story, and you aren’t in any state to deliver it to them. But if they’re looking to see you comforted, you’ll gratify them. At least now you know that Geralt hasn’t been hiding some secret animosity for you.

“Of course,” Priscilla says, her tone balming as she speaks. “Poor thing. Are you still hungry? Can I get you anything else? You look as though Geralt’s been dragging you around all day.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m alright.”

“Forgive me for the change of subject, but I simply must ask,” Ciri exclaims. “Was I hearing right? You used a djinn to ask for protection, and - and now you and Geralt can’t be more than ten steps apart?”

“You heard right,” you confirm. “I… I asked for protection to always be with me. So we can’t be apart. Gods, I feel awful for him.”

“Ah, dinnae worry about Geralt,” Zoltan says, chortling. “Lad’s not suffering any more than Dandelion in a brothel.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Excuse me,” Dandelion protests, narrowing his eyes. “I am a changed man. I’ve mended my ways, which you very well know!.”

“Wait,” you say quickly, “Wait, Geralt and I - it’s not like that.”

“No?” Dandelion asks, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, hush,” Priscilla says. “Don’t mind these boys. They’re only fooling around.”

“And truly, don’t worry about Geralt,” Ciri says. “He’s gotten himself into things much worse than this.”

Then a bright flash of light interrupts the conversation, and Geralt and Yennefer appear alongside you once more. 

Geralt surveys the crowd, gaze landing on you. You barely have the time to hope that your cheeks are fully dry, that he won’t somehow be able to see that you’d been crying with his witcher senses. He’s on his feet now, leaning against the table. “Hey,” he says. “Hope they weren’t too rough on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Ciri says cheerfully. “Only a few tears were shed.”

Geralt does a double-take, then straightens. “That a joke?”

“Relax, old friend,” Dandelion croons. “The tears were only over the brilliance of my ballad, which was so lovingly received by all that you’ll have to let me write it.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grumbles, running a hand over his eyes.

Your gaze, however, has turned to Yennefer - who seems calmer than before, but still vaguely out of place. You can’t help thinking about the way Dandelion and Zoltan had spoken of her yesterday. And Lambert, for that matter. Can so many of Geralt’s friends and loved ones dislike her? And does that speak to her true nature, or is Geralt seeing something the rest of them aren’t?

In some strange way, you feel sorry for her. You’d hate to be in a room of people that dislike you. Hate to be surrounded by the loved ones of your lover, and have them all hate you. 

She meets your eyes, and a sense of immediate panic rises in you. Gods, please don’t read my mind, you think. She’d see everything you’ve done, see everything you want - and, gods, you know she’d hate you for it.

But as she looks at you, a strange sensation falls over you. Something buzzes faintly under your skin, tickles at the back of your neck, and your head feels heavy and strained. And then… nothing. It fades away, and Yennefer is left with a strange, unidentifiable expression on her face: brows pinched, lips pressed together, but none of the icy rage from earlier. Just something empty. Another question.

“Changing subjects,” Geralt says pointedly, “Yen’s heard of the djinn Priscilla was talking about. Yen, mind explaining?”

“Very well,” Yennefer replies, her expression instantly shaping into a mask of coolness. Calm. Composure. She’s a master at it, wielding it at will, and you envy that about her more than you can say. She folds her arms over her chest, fingers gracefully tapping against her arm, then slowly starts to speak. 

“A few months ago, a powerful source of magic appeared north of Loc Muinne, somewhere in the Blue Mountains. Very powerful - an aura strong enough to disrupt teleportation within fifty miles, even.” 

She pauses and looks around, as if confirming that all of you are listening, then continues. “When a series of mages went to investigate the source, they found a newly unearthed passageway of elven ruins, and an unfinished notebook - kept by a prestigious, well-regarded, and now-missing sorcerer. His disappearance seems to have coincided with the appearance of the aura, and, according to his writings, this magic had been the main subject of his recent studies. It carried a presence that had evolved new plant and animal life in the caves, unlike any he’d ever seen. And he’d been experimenting with the new forms of plant life, testing for various reactions on different species.

“He then went on to say that he’d recently discovered a djinn, that he believed it was some form of… sign that was on the right path. He hoped to use it to harness the power of the ruins. But the day after he mentioned it in his writings, he disappeared. His notes end abruptly, as if he’d vanished into thin air while writing them. And, his last entry was dated for the same day the aura appeared.”

She swallows, then goes on, all of you hooked on her every word now. “Some suspected foul play, of course - that the djinn had been taken from him and he’d been killed. That, when it was unleashed, it caused the activation of the aura. Others believed he’d been killed by something in the ruins. A search party was taken up to look for him, but he was never found. Unfortunately, everyone who’s gone in the caves to look for him has neglected to return, and… I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Her words sit in the air for a long moment as you all process what she’s saying. She pours herself a glass of wine and drinks it down, and you numbly take her words in. No one’s come back. When you bite the inside of your cheek, you taste blood.

“Ah… shite,” Zoltan says, scratching awkwardly at his beard. “Not very encouraging.”

“No,” Geralt agrees. “It isn’t. Dangerous journey to get there, too. ”

“And I don’t know how to fight,” you add. “So I’d be putting both of us in danger.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Dandelion says, cheeks still ruddy with drink. “Geralt’s taken me along plenty of times.”

“Times where you could run and hide if there was too much danger,” Geralt points out. “This is different.”

“And,” Yennefer chimes in, “as I said, the risks are too great to teleport anywhere near the area. Even for Ciri.”

Ciri? you think. She can teleport? Is she a sorceress? But no - hadn’t Geralt said that she was a witcher? All of this bouncing conversation is making your head hurt again.

“Luckily,” Ciri announces, “I happen to be headed to Ard Carraigh as it is. Two witchers will be more than enough protection for the journey, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she affirms, grinning. “It’s been ages since we last rode together! I’d love to accompany you - and, of course, hear the story of how you two met; in more detail, preferably.”

Geralt mulls it over, frowning. “Be happy to have you,” he finally says, relaxing. “Just gotta be careful. Thanks, Ciri. Yen?”

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Yennefer replies. “I have urgent business to attend to. You’ll manage, I’m sure.”

Geralt nods. “Appreciate you telling us about the djinn.” 

“Mm. Of course.”

The room is silent for a moment before Dandelion pulls out more wine - an expensive vintage, apparently - and the table instantly comes back to life, returning to their debate about Gwent decks. 

Ciri gets up to grab another drink from behind the bar, but you stay where you are. It’s clear that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t done talking, and you have a terrible habit of eavesdropping. Pretending to be absorbed with a flyer for The Chameleon, casting an occasional glance at them, you listen in. It helps that Geralt can’t get very far away.

“Never did tell me what that curse was about,” he says.

There’s a brief pause before Yennefer answers. “Clearly, you were busy. I didn’t want to pull your attention away from more… important matters.”

“Yen,” Geralt says. “You know I’m happy to help. If you were looking for me, if there’s something you need-”

“- but there isn’t,” she interrupts. “It was a complicated curse, yes, but I’ve managed. Istredd assisted me, since you were nowhere to be found.”

You don’t know who Istredd is, but you get the gist of her words. Particularly from the fact that, when you quickly glance over, Geralt looks as though he’s been slapped. Pain again, even just for a moment. If Yennefer sees it, she says nothing of it.

“I must be going,” she announces instead, gaze fixed on Geralt and Ciri. Then it softens. “Be safe. Both of you.”

“You’re going?” Ciri asks, rushing to give Yennefer a hug. 

They cling to each other for a moment, and Yennefer strokes Ciri’s hair and holds her close. It’s very clear how much they care for one another. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ciri tells her.

“Never. I’ll contact you once you’re in Ard Carraigh,” Yennefer replies.

After Ciri’s gone back to her seat, Geralt lingers near Yennefer. “Won’t let anything happen to her,” Geralt says softly.

Yennefer smiles. “I know you won’t,” she replies. “I know you.” For a moment, her mask of composure slips - she hesitates. Then, she smooths down his shirt, leans up on her toes, and kisses his cheek. “Goodbye, Geralt.” 

With a final squeeze of his arm, she’s gone, exiting out the door. Leaving you and Geralt staring after her. 

You recover faster than he does, tuning back into the conversation at the table - which has turned into some story revolving around Dandelion and a sword. Geralt, though, stands frozen in his tracks for a good minute or so. 

When he returns to his seat, he’s silent. In fact, he hardly says another word until the two of you have turned in for bed, bidding everyone good night. It’s planned that the two of you will leave with Ciri tomorrow morning, after getting some supplies for the journey. You don’t know if you’re relieved, or scared. 

One one hand, the two of you will be actively moving toward the solution, and that saves you from the anxiety of sitting still. On the other hand, it means a long, dangerous journey which ends with you and Geralt being parted.

When the two of you are back in the room and you’re finally able to breathe, you slump onto the bed. Geralt sits next to you, lost in thought, and as you eye the protruding lump of a bandage under his shirt, you suddenly remember the scratch you left this morning.

You sit up with a start. “How’s your arm?” you ask.

The words rouse him from his thoughts. Geralt’s brows rise - clearly he’d forgotten, too - and takes off shirt in a fluid moment that makes your heart skip a beat (which you pray he doesn’t hear). Of course he’d need to take off his shirt to access the wound. Calm down, you tell yourself. Don’t stare.

When he pulls away the bandage to show completely healed skin, you sit there, stunned. It’s just as he said. It’s gone. Completely gone. The scratch hadn’t been that bad, but it’d still pierced the skin and very much should still be visible, at least for a few days. But there’s not even a hint of scarring, anything to show that it’d been there. It’s fascinating. And you really should have believed him, but it’s one thing to hear it, and a completely new thing to see it. 

You can’t help yourself. You run your fingers over the area where it should have been, and find it completely whole. 

Geralt’s skin is surprisingly soft and warm. He stays still as you touch him, the sound of his breathing soft and even. Then, slowly, he places his hand over yours, trailing his thumb down your wrist. His fingers enclose over yours, callused fingertips and strong tendons that gently wrap around your hand.

“Dandelion’s ballad really make you cry?” he asks softly. His eyes are warm and fixed on you, and you draw in a sharp breath. For a moment, you consider Zoltan’s words. That you might feel better, if you’d just tell Geralt everything. But given all that’s happened today, it simply doesn’t seem like the right time. 

Maybe one day, but not now. 

“What can I say?” you tell him, smiling weakly. “The lyrics got to me.”

He frowns. “Could tell him to stop,” he says. “If he’s pressuring you-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, he… he isn’t. Really. You have some really great friends, Geralt. And Ciri, she’s wonderful, and… and just like you.”

He smiles a little and raises a brow. He’s still holding your hand, gentle but firm. “Think so?” he asks.

You swallow hard. “I do. And don’t think I’ll be forgetting your little jest with Dandelion, master witcher. That was very rude.”

His smile widens into a boyish sort of grin you haven’t seen before, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You know he can hear it. There’s that sharpening in his gaze again, the way his eyes trail down to your lips, the way the smile turns into the hint of a smirk. You gingerly tug your hand from his grip, not trusting yourself, and start pulling out your sleep clothes. 

“All that walking wore me out,” you tell him. “I’d better get some sleep for the journey.” It’s a poor excuse, but he takes it - or, at least, doesn’t argue. You can feel his eyes on the back of your neck. 

If you hadn’t seen him and Yennefer the way they were, maybe you’d… well, it doesn’t matter now. Starting tomorrow, the two of you will be with Ciri for weeks, and it’s too complicated for you to consider anything outside of the trip. No matter what you want.

Even if he might want it, too. 

You’re so unfamiliar with the concept of romance that, for just a moment, you start thinking that you might have imagined it. The look in his eyes. But you really do know better, and it’s time to stop fooling yourself.

There’s something between you and Geralt, something that’s been there longer than you’ve wanted to admit it. Since you sat at the river and he caught you staring at him, thinking about how handsome he was. Since he bandaged your hands with careful touch. Told you he could hear your heart beating, that he could tell when you lied. 

Like a deafening wall of glass, it’s lurked between the two of you, getting simultaneously bigger and frailer with every day. Ready to shatter at any moment. You’ve pulled away from it, but you’re less and less able to deny that it’s there. Or that you want it to break.

That’s your real crime, isn’t it? The one you’ve held guilt for as long as you’ve known. The one that’s poisoned your fate from birth. You always want for things you can’t have. It’s exactly why the djinn was so dangerous, why you’re being punished the way you are. He must have seen straight into your soul when you were making that wish, and gave you the exact retribution that you deserved.

Because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you ever got what you really wanted, it might rip you apart. You’ve never been built for good things. You’d just ruin them. Like you have with everything. And it might have been one thing to ruin your own life, but you know you wouldn’t survive it if it was Geralt. If he ever hurt you, or you hurt him… 

No. You couldn’t. And, even though it’s ridiculous, you cling to that wall. Even despite your conflicting emotions, you shut yourself off. Because it’s better than the alternative.

You’ve tried to halt yourself from wishing for anything ever since you got that djinn, because you really should learn from your mistakes. But as you get into bed, you allow yourself a single, mindless wish - safe because you know it won’t come true. 

You sit there in silence, chest aching, and wish that Geralt would wrap his arms around you.

More bad dreams come that night. You sleep feverishly, trading off between visions of hands on your throat and the mouth of a cave, summoning you in with a sweet song you can’t resist. When you finally wake, you find Geralt already up, organizing your things. If you’ve overslept, you don’t feel an ounce of that rest.

“Hey,” he says. “Sleep well?”

You shrug and smile at him wordlessly. Your throat feels tight and the ache in your chest has only gotten worse overnight. Your silence already betrays your emotions to an extent, but if you speak, you’re afraid everything might actually start pouring out of you. That if you open your mouth, every fear, every secret and guilt and want might come slithering up your throat in a single, slimy mass and give you away.

So you don’t talk. And you pray that you won’t have to any time soon.

It doesn’t take long for you to dress or pack your things. Your stomach has just started growling when there’s a light knock on the door. 

“Ready, you two?” comes Ciri’s voice. “Breakfast’s just been finished, and we’d better eat before it gets cold - it might be our last good meal for some time!”

“Coming,” Geralt says. He hoists his things over his shoulders, and you follow straight behind him.

“Good morning,” Ciri says brightly. “Dandelion’s prepared a farewell meal for you two. I think he’s written more of that ballad.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Hope he doesn’t play it while I’m eating.”

“It’s Dandelion. Of course he will,” Ciri says. Then she looks at you. “How’d you sleep?” she asks. “Feeling any better this morning?”

Geralt stares at you, concerned, but you avoid his gaze. “I… I slept well,” you tell her. “And, yes, I feel alright now. Thank you.”

Both of those things are lies, but Ciri just smiles. “We’d better head down before Dandelion loses his head. He’s been strutting around like a peacock ever since you complimented his ballad. Can hardly wait to show you the new parts he wrote.” 

That makes you laugh. A real, genuine laugh. “Should I start writing my apology for bolstering his ego?”

“Yeah,” Geralt says. “Make it short.”

“Short and sweet,” Ciri adds.

“Alright. Dear Novigrad citizens - and all others affected,” you drawl. “I’m deeply sorry for bolstering Dandelion’s ego. How’s that?”

Geralt rubs his chin. “Dunno,” he says. “Seems a little long.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him. “Fine, then: I’m sorry, Novigrad.”

“Perfect,” Ciri says. “I’m already envious of the response it’ll receive. Come, let’s head down.”

Eskel and Lambert are at the main table once more, clearly enjoying the partakings. They both look tired and a little worse for wear, but alive. “Morning, Wolf,” Eskel says. “Hear you’re heading out again.”

“Mhm. Eating breakfast first, though,” Geralt replies, taking a seat. You sit next to him and grab a plate, mouth watering.

There’s more food here than you’ve ever seen served for a single meal. Fresh bread and butter that fills the air, spiced sausages, apple tarts drizzled with honey, plates adorned with grapes and pears and plums, perfectly ripe. Sweet buns coated with sugar and roasted ham and tiny, colorful candies that litter the table. And, judging by how full the three witchers have stocked their plates, not a bit of it will go to waste.

You fill your plate and dig in, so ecstatic that you almost don’t hear Dandelion greet you. “Good morning,” he says, laying another plate on the table. “Oh, good, you’re hungry! Eat up, eat up!”

Priscilla strides up next to him, tsking as she looks over the table. “Good morning, everyone,” she greets. “As you can see, Dandelion’s gone a bit overboard with breakfast. Are you sure you three won’t stay any longer? We’re happy to have you.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Sorry. Wish we could. Might come back here afterward, though. If not…”

“If not, then Dandelion, Zoltan, and I will see you at Yule,” Priscilla says sternly, taking a seat. Dandelion sits next to her, and you watch the two softly chatter with each other, imagining how it might look - Yule with Geralt and friends. Sparkly, you think. Shiny and warm. 

You’ve never had much of a Yule. Not that your parents hadn’t tried. But for some reason, seeing their gifts - gifts you knew they’d slaved away hours of their life for - only made you feel worse. The year when their gifts turned into coin for Oxenfurt Academy had been a relief if only to not feel their eyes on your face, praying they wouldn’t see disappointment.

“Oh, yeah,” Eskel says suddenly, turning to Geralt. “We wintering with you at Corvo Bianco again this year?” 

Corvo Bianco? you think. You aren’t familiar with the words.

Geralt raises his brows. “Yeah. Be glad to have you.”

“Then we’ll see you there,” Lambert responds. “Can’t fuckin’ wait.”

“Still miss Marlene’s cooking,” Eskel agrees. 

In the midst of their conversation, there’s a striking realization that they must be talking about Geralt’s home. You’d never thought much about it - mostly, you’d assumed he lived from place to place, never staying anywhere long. You wonder briefly about this Marlene, heart sinking down to your stomach. There’s so much you don’t know about him.

“So - you three are really off to find a djinn?” Lambert muses. “Good luck, I guess.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt says dryly.

There’s a moment of silence before you surprise yourself. “You know, Lambert, I think that might be the most genuine sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Eskel, Geralt, and Ciri laugh, to your delight, and Lambert scowls. “Ah, fuck off,” he says, but he’s hiding a begrudging smile.

“Alright. Before I forget,” Ciri starts, her gaze fixing on you. “You and Geralt. How did you two meet?”

Your cheeks go warm. Maybe because everyone is now staring at you, and you hate the attention. Maybe because you hate talking about this subject. “Well… he fell out of the sky.”

Geralt huffs, smiling a little. For a moment, you hope he’ll say something, but he doesn’t. He just waits for you to go on, along with everyone else.

“Um. Well, I made the wish,” you continue, “and for a while, it seemed like nothing was happening. So I wandered around, thinking about every possibility of my wording, wondering how the djinn had taken it. I hadn’t really - thought about it when I made the wish. It just… came out. I wanted to believe it was some invisible protection, but everything just felt… off, and I knew deep down that it wasn’t the case. And then a portal opened up, and he fell out, and I saw the two swords on his back and realized what it meant.”

“Yeah. Djinn dragged me out of Skellige,” Geralt adds. And now they’re all waiting for you to speak again.

 “Anyway,” you proceed, “once I realized who he was, I asked him to move away from me, to see if anything would happen. And he wouldn’t - he didn’t really trust me, then. So I did it instead. Once I was a certain distance away, we both felt it. I actually don’t know how it feels for him, but for me it was like… like something was ripping me apart. Squeezing my skull in. I couldn’t fight it at all.”

“Yeah. Felt like that for me, too,” Geralt agrees.

You nod. “So after that, I explained to him what had happened, and he said we should come here, see if anyone knew anything. And… now, we’re here.”

“And we’re very happy you are,” Priscilla tells you. 

“And?” Dandelion exclaims. “Was there any danger on the way here? What was it that made you wish for protection? And the other two wishes - I’ll need to know those for my ballad.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the thought of telling anyone at this table about those nights, about what happened. No, you’re not ready. 

Time to attempt one of your old tricks. If anyone is a sucker for flattery, it’s Dandelion. 

“It was a little dangerous, yes,” you answer, trying to keep your voice even. “Geralt and I ran into a foglet. But he killed it, and I didn’t even get a scratch on me. It was very impressive, honestly.” Now for the important part. “Oh - Dandelion, speaking of your ballad,” you lead in, adding a little sweetness to your tone, “Ciri told me you wrote more of it. Will you play it for me?”

“Of course I will!” Dandelion says, eyes lighting up. “But don’t let me distract you - I want to hear about this djinn. Was he made of red mist? Were you ecstatic when you found him? Do you still have the seal?”

Shit. You hadn’t really minded his questions before, but with how standoffish you feel, they’re becoming incredibly invasive.

“Dandelion, quit pestering,” Priscilla interrupts him, but not quickly enough. 

You shut your eyes at the stream of memories that come pouring in at the sound of his words. The exact images you’ve been trying to block out. “I was scared.” The words are shaky, unstable. You suddenly feel sick, placing down your fork. “I wasn’t ecstatic, wasn’t happy. All I remember is being scared.”

Dandelion pulls out a parchment and begins scribbling on it. “Scared… foglet… not a scratch…” he mumbles. “Perfect.”

Your body has started trembling. Maybe it’s because it’s more than you’ve ever revealed about that moment, but your stomach is churning and you’re shaking, and thank Melitele, Geralt notices.

He clears his throat. “Priscilla - you already started on the plans for Yule?” he asks. “Anything I should bring? Might not get to that djinn for a while.” 

Under the table, he places his hand on top of yours - a small, reassuring action. Not entwining with yours, but there. Comforting. Then his thumb brushes over your pulse point. Taking in a deep breath, you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

Thank you, you think.

Priscilla takes the bait immediately. “Well, I’ve not started the plans exactly, but I have been considering some loose ideas,” she replies. “Dandelion and I were thinking about writing a new show, getting people into the spirit and such. Using the funds we make as donations for some form of charity. Of course, nothing’s been settled yet. As for what to bring - just bring yourself and anyone you’d like to invite. Though, a bottle of wine from your vineyard would never be turned down.”

“Mhm. Our first year producing wine,” Geralt tells her. “Harvest finally came in. BB says it ought to be a good one.”

“Really?” Priscilla asks. “All the better. I can’t wait.”

The conversation has given you time to manage your emotions. Geralt might be able to hear your heart thundering in your chest - and, now that you think of it, Eskel and Lambert might, too - but no one else has anything else to off but your face, which you hope is in a mask even half as collected as Yennefer’s had been.

A quick look over shows that Eskel and Lambert are glancing at you curiously, but they return to their breakfast as soon as they see your gaze on them. Well, that answers that question. No wonder Geralt had been able to tell you were lying so easily. If Eskel and Lambert, sitting several seats down from you, can hear a change in your heartbeat - and be able to tell that it’s yours they’re hearing - then… frankly, you’re horrified to think about what else he might hear.

And, thinking even more, did you just hear that right? Geralt owns a vineyard? Corvo Bianco. It’s all piecing together.

“I didn’t know you owned a vineyard,” you tell him. His hand shifts a little on yours, and blood rushes up to your face. You’d somehow forgotten it was there - as if his touch had melted into you, was so natural that it became a part of you.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Got it as part of a contract from the duchess of Toussaint.” 

You’ve never been to Toussaint. You’ve certainly never met the duchess. Somewhere in all this chaos, you’d nearly gotten used to the fact that a large number of the people in this room are famous. But not anymore.

You don’t even know where to begin to imagine a vineyard. Miles of grape vines? A hot, baking sun, fruit stinking in the heat? You can’t picture Geralt in it. The two images are disjointed, as if they couldn’t possibly mix.

You don’t know why this guts you. Maybe it’s the reminder that you don’t really belong here - among all these people, Geralt’s friends and family, knowing basic things about him like where he lives. 

You suddenly can’t eat another bite, but the sight of your half-filled plate makes you just as sick. How many times would you have killed for food like that, only to let it go to waste? Almost all the others have finished their food.

“Are you still hungry?” you ask Geralt, pushing your plate toward him a little. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“He’s always hungry,” Ciri answers.

And Geralt shrugs and takes the rest of your food, looking more than happy to finish it off. Thankfully, he moves his hand back to his thigh, and you force yourself to take even breaths when he does, because he surely can hear you. You try to remain calm, but overstimulation is rising in you like a growing tide. You’ll miss this place fiercely, but you can’t wait to get away from it.

“What’ve you got there?” Geralt suddenly asks, and you realize the question is directed at Lambert. 

Lambert, who was bent over a paper, snaps up defensively. His arms cradle over the paper like he’s afraid Geralt will somehow lean over half the table and read the contents, and he scowls. “None of your business,” he says.

“Better not distract him,” Eskel snorts. “Lambert’s writing a letter to his girlfriend.”

Lambert’s scowl deepens. “Shut up.” 

“Meant to ask - how’s Keira doing?” Geralt asks. “You two fighting again?”

“No,” Lambert snaps. “We aren’t.”

Eskel’s expression sombers. “Keira, uh… she went to check out a magical surge. Hasn’t come back yet.”

You suddenly feel like ice has run down your back. As if something has gone terribly, irreparably wrong.

“Where?” Geralt’s tone is intense, demanding in a way you haven’t heard it before, and you can tell that the sudden shift is making Eskel and Lambert uneasy, too.

“Kaedwen,” Lambert answers. 

“The Blue Mountains?”

“I don’t know, maybe. She didn’t exactly say. Why?”

Geralt doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Yennefer was here last night,” you tell them, even though the words feel like glue on your tongue. “She said that… that somewhere in Kaedwen there are some ancient elven ruins spreading a powerful aura of magic, and that some mages went to investigate, but everyone who’s gone in there hasn’t come back out. It’s close to that djinn Priscilla was talking about.”

Lambert pushes out of his seat, looking furious. “Fucking what!?”

“She’s fine, Lambert,” Geralt assures him. “ Yen is Keira’s friend - if something happened to her, she would have mentioned it.”

“Save your bullshit,” Lambert hisses, pacing back and forth frantically. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Geralt is right,” you say - even though you’re a little out of your league here. “Yennefer said that the magic was affecting teleportation within fifty miles of the caves. I’m sure she’s probably just trying to find a way back.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Lambert asks. “She teleported over there!”

You feel as though you’ve been slapped. You snap your mouth shut, anger simmering in your chest - anger directed toward yourself. Why had you gotten involved? You’d only made it worse. 

“They’re right,” Eskel says, but his tone is more convincing, more soothing. “Yen would’ve told us. Losing another sorceress from the Lodge? That’s a big deal.”

Lambert slackens, draping a hand over his face as he takes it in. Then sits down, grabs his mug, and pours himself a drink. The tension in the room feels thick enough to suffocate.

“We’ll keep an ear out for her,” Geralt says. “Ask around. See if anyone’s heard anything. Soon as we learn something, you’ll be the first to know.”

Lambert gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence. “We ought to head out,” Ciri announces. “I’ll help clear up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Priscilla scolds. “You’re our guests! We’ll take care of this.”

But Ciri gathers up the nearby empty plates and neatly stacks them anyway, and Geralt adds his old plate and the newer, now-empty plate that used to be yours.

Priscilla sighs. “You two,” she murmurs, smiling to herself, “are far too similar.”

You’d have turned in your dishes, if you’d had any. But you don’t. You’re grateful when Geralt stands, gathering his things.

“You’re going?” Dandelion asks - he’d been in the middle of more writing. “But I haven’t even gotten to play the next lines of my ballad for you!”

Geralt looks down at you where you’re still sitting, a brow raised. You know he’s giving you the option - that you can leave, if you want. 

But then you think about what Ciri had said earlier, that Dandelion was so excited to show it to you. Strutting around like a peacock, giddy on the compliment. You think of his kindness at the table yesterday - how kind they’d all been, even to a stranger. Reassuring you that you weren’t awful without even being asked.

“I’ll gladly hear it,” you say. 

Dandelion beams and pulls out his lute, and Geralt returns to his seat to listen. And then Dandelion strums, and in that haunting, lovely melody, he sings.

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

With a trifle of words, our tale must begin

An uttered request, humbly made 

Beseeching protection from the ‘fore-mentioned djinn

Protection for always, they prayed.

The answer received came up from the land

Where resided a lone witcher of yore

And the foul, ruthless djinn locked the two hand in hand

And he bound them for evermore.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

[sunnydazeofyore]

Butterflies at Twilight [Honkai Star Rail Fanfiction]

Stelle and Firefly stood shoulder to shoulder on the rooftop in the dreamscape, watching shooting stars pass by like distant wishes in the perpetual twilight of the Golden Hour. No more words needed to pass between them in the comfortable silence, their pinkies a breath apart that could be broken in an instant. With Robin’s yearning song echoing in the background, the Trailblazer was trying to not be so conscious of the girl by her side. Firefly had this innocent beauty to her that was reminiscent of a childhood friend who you had just realized had grown into a gorgeous young woman. Of course, it was not as if Stelle could understand what a childhood friend actually was, nor could really anyone on the Express help elucidate that for her. So she was trapped, floundering alone in these budding feelings as her sideways staring was met with the other girl's twilight eyes.

"Is something the matter?" the younger girl shyly asked, brushing aside her cloudy bangs and fidgeting slightly with the tips. "You've been quiet for a while, do you not like it here?"

Stelle shook her head vigorously and protested, "Nonono, I love it out here. I just. I've not seen anything like this and I was taking it all in and..." Fishing for excuses to mask her yearning thoughts, she scratched the back of her head and gave an awkward smile.

It seemed to be enough, as Firefly smiled back warmly. "I'm so glad that I got to show you this spot. I agree, there's really nothing else like this." With that she turned to gaze upon the theater in the distance, that warm smile still firmly upon her lips. Her lips... Stelle couldn't help but stare at them, how soft and inviting they suddenly looked. Heat crept onto her cheeks without warning, prompting her to rip away her hungering eyes. While Stelle had checked out and even yearned for other women in the recent weeks of being a Trailblazer, there was something different about the fluttering in her stomach now. Was this too soon and too sudden? Is this love at first sight? She brought up her hand to her mouth and absent mindedly tapped her index finger against her own lips, suddenly deep in thought about this conundrum...though perhaps the thinking could wait. Stelle was a woman of action, after all! However, the galactic baseballer didn't have an easy target to swing her bat at to pave the way forward. So, she had to consult the next best thing: What would March do in this situation?

"Do you want to take a picture?" Stelle blurted out, startling her poor companion, who let out a noise like a small kitten. "Cutecutecutecute" rang out the thoughts in the Trailblazer's head as she continued, "Sorry, I just really thought it would be good to take one to remember this moment and...yeah." she awkwardly finished, again rubbing the back of her head.

Firefly regained her composure, giggling at her new friend's desperate attempt to connect. Clasping her hands together, she replied softly, "I think that's a wonderful idea! I've never actually taken a picture here, despite how many times I've come here. How funny is that?" she giggled again, Stelle freezing at this adorable creature's every mannerism. "I'd be honored to commemorate this moment with a selfie with you."

The gray haired girl's nonexistent tail was wagging at full force by this point, beaming as she scrambled for her phone. After setting up the front facing camera, she made a peace sign with her other hand. "Okay, scooch in and we'll..." Stelle started, her breath catching as Firefly did so, the two's shoulders touching and causing her poor heart to nearly explode on the spot. Okay, she was really down bad for this girl. If only she'd gotten more advice from March, or even Himeko, about what to do here, she wouldn’t be such a mess at this critical moment. 

The twilight-eyed girl turned up to look at Stelle, still smiling warmly. "Are you ready?" Stelle gulped and nodded, trying to put on a natural smile as the two made matching peace signs and she clicked down on the shutter. An eternal moment caught in a camera's lens in the midst of a dream, it almost felt like a miracle to Stelle as she reviewed it. Firefly was still shoulder to shoulder with her, beaming happily. "Ah, you caught a shooting star! Did you happen to-" she turned to the Trailblazer as she noticed this fortuitous detail, only for her mind to see shooting stars as Stelle pressed their lips together.

Stelle, for her part, felt her mind go completely blank as her heart exploded into fireworks. Firefly's lips were just as soft as they looked, and was kissing supposed to feel this good? It felt like cotton candy and marshmallows and everything saccharine sweet and pillowy at once. After a moment she retreated, suddenly aware of what she'd done. "I, um, well, I just- that is..." she started stuttering out the start of several half apologies and excuses as her face flushed crimson. Firefly herself was in a state of shock, reaching up to her lips with a blank stare into the night. When realization caught up with her, her face exploded with heat and she squeaked as she buried her face in her hands, crouching down onto the rooftop and hiding away from Stelle.

"Ah, Firefly, I'm so sorry I just-" Stelle stammered out and kneeled next to her friend. She wasn't recognizing the situation for what it was, feeling her heart sink icily into her stomach. She tried desperately to find the words to fix this and see that warm smile again.

"...-rst." murmured out the cloudy haired girl.

"...huh?" inquired Stelle, the brakes being put on now in her racing mind.

"That was my first kiss" whispered Firefly, now turning up her head to face Stelle, their flushed gazes meeting again after those agonizing moments. "...and it was...really nice..." She continued in the softest tone Stelle had ever heard, reaching out to clasp Stelle's pinky with her own. The two would continue to sit in flustered silence for a while longer, while the false stars above twinkled on.

[narcosmx]

protective headcannons: ramon arellano felix

a/n: i posted a post for prompts and got my request!! and maybe i'm a little too excited

based on the prompt: you're worried about me sleeping with other women? I don't want anyone else but you. That means I won't sleep with anyone else but you.

Your hand reaches over, eyes still heavy with sleep, and all you feel is the cool feeling of the untouched sheets on his side of the bed. Again. This hopeless feeling overtakes your sleepiness as you sit up enough to look around the room. Instead of being met with the view of your husband, you were met with your clock blinking some ungodly hour back at you. He hadn't called, like he used to when you first got married, let alone have gotten home. You'd be surprised if he made it home before day break. There is only so many times that you can reason your way out of the sinking feeling that overtakes you. You can only hold back tears so many times before letting your worst thoughts come to the forefront. You weren't stupid, you knew about how men treated women in the business. You'd seen the other wives bite their tongues knowing that their husbands had a girl in every other city they went to. But, Ramon was different or at least he was supposed to be. That's what he had promised, that things would be different but as you sat in that dark room alone you had trouble believing that. Before you curl into the fetal position you found yourself in more than often these days, you were startled the the sound of the front door opening and drunk lumbering towards the bedroom. Most times, you tried to feign sleep when he came home like this if anything to avoid the conversation that was fresh in your mind. But this time, you didn't. You stayed in your sport staring at the door as it opened slowly, Ramon still sober enough to have the mind to try to close the door quietly. Leaning over to turn on the light, you see him startle before he looks over at you with a weak smile. "Corazon" he murmurs "what are you doing up so late?" "Wondering where my husband was" you respond in a flat tone, not quite matching the affection he had dripping from his. "Pues, aqui estoy, princes" "How many are there, hm?" you interrupt, the words just falling our of your mouth. "What" Ramon asks in genuine confusion as he sits at the edge of the bed, reaching towards you with no response. "How many other women are there, Ramon? I'm not stupid, you're never hom..." "You're worried about me sleeping with other women" Ramon nearly scoffs wanting to laugh it off at first but then sees the pleading look in your eyes before reaching to grab your chin and force you to look up at him. "I don't want anyone else but you" Ramon states in a stern tone but you can see his heart breaking through the look in his eyes "That means I won't sleep with anyone else, mi reina, I don't see anyone else. I can't bring myself to think of anyone else. Eres mi corazon entero, eres mi vida and I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel like you weren't." Each word he was saying was punctuated with a kiss traveling up from your hand, up your arm and to your cheek before placing his head gently against yours.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Lexi-Flavored Denial [11]

"Y/n-- take that ridiculous fucking mask off right now!"

I pinch my lips together in an attempt to hide the giggle that gets caught in my throat.

Ash and I have just gotten back into my hotel room after splitting up with the guys for the night. We took a taxi here and Ash shoved me into an elevator, ripped my door open, and is now staring at me with the cutest little angry expression I've ever seen on her face.

"Can't I go shower first or something?" I ask, purposefully trying to rile her up a bit more. I just can't help it, especially when she's trying to force anger that just isn't there.

Ash's eyes narrow as she kicks off her shoes by the door. "No. Take it off now." Her manicured hand lifts and she points an accusatory finger at me. "Miss 'I-won't-show-you-my-face-for-six-years.' I literally have not seen you since you were in high school, and that was only a singular photo!"

I snort. "Be happy with that one picture. You can wait a bit longer."

Ash groans, tilting her head up to the ceiling. She even lightly stomps her foot on the ground then grabs at the air. "I absolutely cannot wait any longer! I need to see the face I kissed. It's driving me insane. I just know you're hot." Her screeches are wild and crazed at this point, so maybe it's time I put her out of her misery.

With a little giggle that I can't quite keep in, I put my hands on the cheeks of my mask and push it up my face, then ease the band that held it to my head out of my hair.

I look up at Ash, a spear of anxiety rushing through me. It's not like it matters-- this is my best friend-- but it still feels a bit scary. I'm not all that pretty and what if she expected someone better looking? I don't even come close to comparing to The Faces.

Ash doesn't have a physical reaction-- she just stares, mouth gaping a bit. Her eyes flit over every little inch of me. It makes my anxiety even worse to the point that I'm twiddling my thumbs and looking at anything but her... and my feet seem extremely entertaining right now.

I've never ever been confident in myself and that's something Ash knows well. Watching her watch me but not say a word makes me feel like she doesn't think I look very good. Which, honestly, I'd rather her tell me the truth instead of lie. So maybe her reaction is better-- Ash would never lie to me.

I peek at Ash through my lashes, watching her smack her lips together, lick them, then gape at me again. Well fuck. It must be bad.

So I grimace and tilt my head down again. I'm about to just go take a shower and call it a night. Try to ignore the embarrassment barreling through me in a never-ending wave of remorseless shame.

"Y/n," Ash says, and I pick my head up again. She's still blankly staring at me. "I have made out with so many women in my life, just so you know. But I have to say that you are, by far, the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of kissing. Wow. I want to brag about you."

I gulp, heat enveloping my cheeks immediately. I'm relieved, even a bit shy as Ash's eyes start to go wide and she blinks at me, eyes going in so many directions as she looks over me some more.

Truth be told, I'm seconds away from either breaking down over her words or cackling at her manic eyes.

"Holy-- wow." Ash squeals, taking quick steps toward me and grabbing my warm cheeks in her hands. "And your little blush just makes you so much prettier. Do you even exist?" Her eyebrows scrunch together, accentuating her wide, bright eyes. "Bellissima, principessa!"

She puts her face right up to mine and my heart skips a beat as our noses brush together. Her wide, crazed, beautiful eyes clash with my own wide ones. Her warm coconut scent fills my senses and I have to blink through the strong, hypnotizing smell.

"Dude," she murmurs. "I'm going to kiss you again. That cool?"

I blink at her, my breath catching in my throat and my hands growing clammy. "Are you sure?" I choke out, chewing on my bottom lip. "I mean I don't really mind," my mouth continues blabbing even though I'm completely okay with another kiss-- I'm just nervous. Maybe Ash thinks I'm the most beautiful woman she's ever kissed, but she's the only woman I've ever kissed. Not to mention, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Period.

Ash doesn't say a word, just brings her mouth to mine, the remnants of her strawberry lipgloss melding our lips together. I'm filled with deja vu, the memory of our kiss from earlier tonight bouncing around my head. Fuck, now I'm going to associate strawberry lipgloss with girl kisses and Vegas. I'm going to get sad every damn time.

Ash pulls away as quickly as she began our kiss, her eyes shining ecstatically. I stare at her, still mentally stuck with her lips on mine.

Then, she screams.

"Fuck, you are so amazing! You're my best friend for a fucking reason. Holy hell, I got so lucky, you beautiful little bitch!" My eyes go wide as she continues to loudly ramble on and curse about how great this moment is, nuzzling her forehead against mine the entire time.

I'm still in shock as she lets me go and skips off to the bathroom, muttering something about taking a shower. I simply nod, unable to comprehend much.

Does she really think I'm that pretty? How is that even possible?

Either way, I feel like a little school girl as I grab one of the shirts I packed and slide it under the door for Ash to change into. My heart's racing, my lips are a bit sticky from lipgloss (I don't dare wipe it off, by the way), my body is on fire and frozen all at the same time. Because someone thinks I'm so pretty that they just had to kiss me again. I feel... I feel happier than I've been in years. I didn't think anything could top reuniting with my old friends, but this really comes close.

I bite into my cheek, trying to contain the smile growing on my face, but then I have no reason to hide it in the first place. So I let a powerful grin envelop my lips as I skip over to my bed and pull my phone out of my pocket.

I text my boss about having the flu then call dad and give him an update on my plans. He's excited for me, basically fangirling over the phone with me.

But Ash walks out of the bathroom as I'm talking to dad.

Her flushed, makeup-free face is set in a confused expression as she notes my phone held up to my ear. Her hair is twisted into a towel that sits on top of her head and she's in the shirt I gave her with just underwear. No shame whatsoever-- all beauty, legs, and a little bit of really nice ass.

I smile at her, waving her over to my side of the bed. "Hey dad," I say into my phone, cutting my poor father off as he's talking about how I need to go to the Venetian tomorrow. "Ash is here. Want to say hey?"

Before dad can even answer me, Ash is ripping my phone out of my hands and slapping it against her face, her lips parted in a huge grin that falls into her voice as she squeals. She wiggles around on the bed as she tells dad hello, giggling and cradling the device against her like it's a lifeline.

So I shower in the meantime, only to walk out and find Ash tucked under the comforter of my bed. She's sleeping with her mouth open and her leg taking up the entire mattress, but that's okay. I push her leg over, put a finger under her chin to close her mouth, then tuck myself in beside her.

And when Ash and I both wake up the next morning, I think it's the best sleep I've ever gotten in my life. Yea, even though Ash had every single one of her limbs on me throughout the night, it truly was the best sleep.

"Y/n!" Ash squeaks in the morning, waking me with an immediate start. She's prancing around my room like a deer, still no pants on just like last night. But this time, with the curtains to the window wide open.

Even through my groggy, disoriented mind, I can see the little problem.

I jump from the warmth and comfort of Ash and I's shared bed and throw the curtains closed with one single leap across the room. No, I don't think gamer and online personality Ash Campbell needs a scandal. Not in Vegas, at least.

With a huff, I throw my head over my shoulder to glare at Ash who looks... too happy for me to be angry about anything regarding her at all. So I smile instead as she yanks her shirt off and throws last night's dress on instead.

It's quick, like this is something she's practiced-- which, I wouldn't be surprised if that was true-- and then she's urging me to get dressed.

"We have to take a taxi all the way to Caesar's Palace, ma'am," Ash tells me a few moments later, as I'm staring into the hotel mirror and brushing my teeth despite wanting to sleep a bit longer. It's so hard to even open my eyes again after blinking.

"Thaethar'th Palathe?" I try to say around the toothpaste frothing in every corner of my mouth. But the point is that my interest is piqued and my eyebrows are touching my hairline.

Ash giggles at me. She's sat criss-cross in front of another mirror in the room while she carefully and expertly applies winged eyeliner to her eyes. Like paint to an already perfect canvas of colors. "Yes, Caesar's Palace," she says matter-of-factly. "The guys are fucking obsessed with The Hangover and insisted that we get a suite there. They wouldn't have it any other way."

Her mouth falls open a bit, face going slack as she switches over to applying mascara to her lashes now.

I nod understandingly. The guys have good taste in movies. I've wanted to see Caesar's Palace just because of The Hangover too. But something about the situation tickles my brain so I turn back to Ash with furrowed brows and my toothbrush hanging from the corner of my mouth, watching as she starts lining her full lips with what looks like a dark red pencil.

And then it hits me.

"Ash," I ask slowly, hesitantly. "Where the hell did you get makeup?"

She glances at me through the mirror and shrugs. "I brought the eyeliner and mascara in my little purse, but I bought the liner and lipstick downstairs when you wouldn't wake up earlier." She smudges the liner with her little finger, frowning momentarily before filling in the spot again. "Turns out the shitty little convenience store in the lobby isn't too shitty. I even scored a pack of tampons."

Can't argue with that.

Ash continues to work on her makeup while I get dressed. I choose to put on one of my last outfits-- which was supposed to be my flying outfit-- and call it an L for myself. It's fine. Sure, I'm in my comfort sweatpants: a black pair of Twenty One Pilots Clique merch, in fact, that I've had since I was 15 (they're falling apart but I don't fucking care). And to go wonderfully with it is a plain, black Deftones shirt. I'll be comfy for the rest of my time in Las Vegas.

I try not to let my anxiety seep in as I stress over my appearance. I'm going to be the odd one out in a group-- a very LARGE group-- of city-goers who will be decked out to the nines.

Not to mention, I'll have to attend the Dark Autumn Complex concert like this tonight.

I sigh at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tongue in cheek as I try to stuff down all of my insecurities. Seeing Sally and that woman fawning over each other last night did nothing to help me. And again, it's all about my lack of self-confidence. I'm not jealous of anyone-- only jealous that I'm unable to do anything without stopping myself because I don't feel like I'm good enough.

It's going to suck staying here two more days with just clothes from the past day.

But like the godsend Ash is, she pipes up from her makeup. "Oh, and we're gonna stop somewhere and get you some clothes. I know you probably need some," she says cheerily. But then she's not so much of a godsend, and more of something that makes my heart skip a beat because no. Just no. "I'll pay for anything you want, so pick out whatever!"

"Ash--" I start to shoot down that offer, but she shuts me up with an icy look instead.

"I won't take no for an answer. Consider this a..." she ponders, pursing her lips and glaring at the ceiling before she looks back to me with a sly grin. "A reconciliation gift."

I still don't like this and she can see it on my face. I know she can because she starts trying to appease me.

Ash puts her tube of blood red lipstick down and frowns at me. "Look," she says softly. "If it bothers you that much, we can stop and get you some clothes from someone working at a restaurant for all I care. We'll sneak into the back and peel the fabric right off their bodies if it makes you feel better. I just don't want you to feel like you don't have options. Plus, I'm seriously dying to style you."

That makes me giggle a bit, but that can't happen so I'm still nervous about it. I'm stubborn, I know.

"How about we go halfsies on the price?" I ask sheepishly. I know Ash is trying to be nice, but it... I don't know. I just don't like burdening others.

She rolls her eyes with a scoff to follow, but nods her head regardless. And that makes me smile because thank God. I don't know if I'd be able to recover if she paid for all of my stuff for me.

My last little touch is to put on my mask while Ash adds some finishing touches to her makeup, then I'm tying the shoelaces of my Vans and walking around the hotel room to make sure I haven't forgotten to pack anything.

Ash and I are in the clear moments later, so we check out of my room, stop by a Marshall's on our way down the Las Vegas strip (much to Ash's chagrin as we pass up a Gucci store which, again, no. Absolutely not). I grab some clothes, all of which are just two skirts since jeans are way too expensive nowadays, fishnets, and two shirts. Thankfully, humanity is starting to finally notice how amazing the rock genre is because this store is just dripping with band merch. I manage to snag a Guns 'n Roses shirt and a Nirvana shirt. One is white and the other is grey, but that works fine with me. I can make do.

Then Ash and I are hobbling into Caesar's Palace with tons of Marshall's bags and my suitcases in hand.

But the weight doesn't affect me for long.

When we're finally fully inside the hotel, the ceiling seems to stretch on for forever. It's all eggshell white, tall glass windows, intricate and golden chandeliers, and so many Greek statues.

I feel like I can't breathe as I look up at the giant feminine statues that are almost two stories tall. Such beautiful representations of femininity and womanly beauty taking over every single sense I have. And that's not counting the dome, glass ceiling surrounded by painted art on every other part of the roof. If it's not painted, it's carved. And then the spiral staircases and instrumentals filling the air around me... I've ever been around so much grandeur in all my life.

I wish I could see this for the first time again.

"Holy hell," I murmur as Ash takes in the beauty beside me.

"I know," she says breathlessly. "I've taken my time to walk through every bit of this hotel that I can get too, but it never gets any less beautiful. Crazy, right?"

"Beyond crazy," I reply. "I don't even need to go to Greece anymore. I think I've seen it all."

Ash laughs lightly, her head tilted back to stare at the gorgeous architecture before she sighs happily and juts her head toward the spiral staircases-- fuck yea-- and says, "We've gotta take those, honey. Then we'll head over to the elevators."

I eye her carefully. "Do we really have to take the stairs?"

She grins sheepishly. "No," she admits. "but I know you want to walk up them anyway."

I try to contain the rising bubble of excitement and appreciation in my belly, but it doesn't take much to have me bursting in moments. "Damn right I do," I finally say, skipping over to the stairs as Ash jogs over behind me.

Just before we start heading upstairs, someone calls Ash's name. Her smile goes from 100 kilowatts to 1,000 kilowatts in just a millisecond as she turns to a group of girls who are grinning ear-to-ear.

"That's my name!" My friend says cheerily, a little high-pitched squeal following as she rushes over to what I can tell are young fans. She hugs each of them then takes photos before politely dismissing them with some kind of excuse I don't quite hear. I assume it has something to do with the tons of people suddenly invested in the fact that strangers are taking pictures with another stranger. Any more time to think about it and they'll realize it's someone famous, so Ash takes the liberty of practically shoving me up the stairs before a herd can jump us.

So maybe I'm not able to look at the lobby too much with Ash rushing me away, but I'll have plenty of time later.

Ash and I scurry off to the elevators and pile in with at least five other people. It's a squished ride to the very top of the hotel, but we make it without anyone realizing that Ash is a popular streamer.

Thankfully.

Ash and I step out of the elevator on the top floor and she lets out a breath that she must have been holding in for a while.

"I love my fans," she suddenly says, looking over at me nervously. "I mean, really, I absolutely love seeing their smiles and I appreciate them so much. But in a place like this... I'd get completely swamped. And I don't think that's very safe or healthy." She worries a bit more, concern and guilt dancing in her jade eyes. "Is it bad of me to.. to feel that way?"

My stoic expression deflates a bit as I take a step closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Oh, Ash," I say softly. "No, that's not bad of you at all. It's your right as a human to have personal space and privacy. And your fans should understand that. Don't worry." I offer her a little smile even as I stress over the situation. If I ever end up with even half as many fans as Ash, I'll be panicking over this too, specifically because it's hard to take my own advice even though I know I should.

Life just sucks like that, I suppose.

But there are always upsides and we all have to remember that.

Ash smiles back at me and places her hand on top of mine, squeezing it just like I did her shoulder. Then, she takes a very dramatic and audible breath before walking a couple more doors down.

Three doors down, to be exact. And as Todd would say, laughing my ass off.

And she throws said door open, showing off all three boys who had way too much fun in the suite on their own.

Larry is on perched on the edge of a white couch with an Xbox controller in his hands, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration and wide eyes glancing every which way at the TV screen across the room from him.

He's dressed in a ridiculous black tank top. I say ridiculous because he's toned as shit and I can feel metaphorical drool drip down my chin from just looking at every muscle hiding beneath his smooth, tan, tatted skin. Other than that though, he's in slutty grey sweatpants and black socks with little cats dressed as Abraham Lincoln on them.

I peel my gaze away from him with a shake of my head and look at Sal instead-- who is practically the exact opposite of his friend.

Where Larry is tense and alert, Sal is relaxed and kicked back, leaned on the couch with his legs haphazardly spread apart. Xbox controller in his hand, focused but lax look in his eyes, and the bottom of his prosthetic unlatched.

I'm curious about that at first, but then a puff of smoke falls from under his prosthetic and my questions are answered. But to follow those answered questions is a throbbing deep in my soul. Why is he always so damn hot?

He's wearing black Playboy Bunny sweats and a black Atreyu hoodie to go with it. Then a pair of red socks with the same photo of an orange cat in several spots on them. It's a real cat, that's for sure. I just wonder who's cat he has on his feet.

But his outfit shows every bit of him and nothing at the same time, which leaves me incredibly frustrated. He's gorgeous even in comfy clothes-- pale skin on display, blue eyes shining in the sunlight. And do I have to talk about the tattoo peeking out of the collar of his hoodie?

A muffled laugh falls from Sally's lips as Larry groans, effectively pulling me out of my little trance.

Sal tosses his controller to the side before he lifts a hand under his prosthetic. When his hand reappears a moment later, a cigarette is perched between his middle and index fingers just as he swerves his head to the side, a grin in his eyes while Larry throws his controller onto Sally's lap.

Larry has a sour expression on his face. "Really, man?" he grumbles. "Mortal Combat is so not fun when you just button smash and hope for the best. You need some technique."

Sally lifts his hands in lazy what-do-you-want-from-me fashion before chuckling some more. "Button smashing is working perfectly for me. You're just pissed that I'm winning and you're not," his uncharacteristically happy, but very characteristically smug, raspy voice fills me with so much energy that I feel like I could somehow brave the crowded bottom floors of Caesar's Palace for a moment.

But then I think better of that spontaneous assumption.

Ash walks further into the room now that Sally and Larry's game is finished. She throws the two boys a little exasperated look before heading for Todd who's sitting at a dining table with his phone in his hands and a laptop in front of him.

That leaves me with four plastic Marshall's bags, a suitcase, and a my airplane carry-on bag. Which, by the way, are going to take me a few trips to get into Ash's room.

Well, it would take me that long, but I'm a strong and brave woman and I refuse to make more trips than I have to.

So I drop the bags in my hands, throw my hair into a ponytail in true Rambo fashion, then pile the Marshall's bags onto one arm, my carry-on onto the other, and then start dragging my suitcase behind me.

I march my way past Sally and Larry with my chin held high and my brain on overdrive as I think about how dumb I must look hauling all this into the suite by myself.

But, apparently, I must not look that dumb because a loud cat-calling whistle echoes around me followed by Larry's wild exclamation of, "Go, Vi! You look damn good in sweats."

I throw my head over my shoulder and grin at him-- a grin that he returns with a bright one of his own. But then I look past him and at Sally who watches me with calculating, wary, agitated eyes.

Maybe he just won a match in Mortal Combat, but I think I just won a point in our little unspoken game. I caught him off guard.

"Ash, where's your room?" I grunt out once I stop next to her.

She looks at me, surprised as she notices all the bags in my hands. "Oh, Vi," she says softly. "Don't worry about those, I'll grab them in a minute. Get Lar to take you on a tour of the suite though! We have a balcony." She wiggles her eyebrows then tacks on a few more words as she looks past me and her happy expression turns to the glare. "A balcony that Sal should be smoking on instead of on the white fucking couch."

I can just feel Sally rolling his eyes.

His problem, not mine.

So I drop my bags, choosing to listen to Ash once the weight becomes a bit uncomfortable, and I turn my back to her and Todd, walking a little closer to Larry and Sal. I don't get too close though-- not with Sally's unpredictable temper.

Larry stands up and meets me halfway to the couch, wrapping me up in a huge hug that sweeps me off my feet. He swings me around and I giggle wildly, a smile forming on my face even though I try to will it away. But then he sets me back on my feet and takes a step a way.

"Twirl for me," Larry says, eyes narrowing slyly.

My brows furrow as I tilt my head a bit. "I don't even have a skirt," I tell him warily.

"But you have a fantastic figure." He shrugs like it's common knowledge. "Just twirl for me."

I watch him, debating in my mind. I could twirl— I mean, it's just me spinning. That's all it is. No big deal. But, again with the anxiety, I absolutely cannot get myself to do that.

So I blink and follow up the action with a bland, "No."

Larry pouts at me, but doesn't take that as an answer. He simply walks closer to me, grabs my hand, and spins me around slowly. He nods appreciatively and I suddenly feel like some kind of doll on display. A mannequin, maybe.

"Mhm, mhm," he says contemplatively once the spin is over with and I've taken a quick and shy step away. I put my head down and pull at the end of my shirt, hoping this situation is over with soon. Larry is too hot and I'm way too damn not. "I can't believe you're walking out here with that thang thangin' like that," he adds.

My head snaps up to Larry and my jaw just about drops. Did I really hear that right?

"Motherfucker," comes Sal's exasperated voice. I turn my head over my shoulder, noting the smoke billowing around his face, and then his narrowed eyes that are zoned in on Larry. Then, he tilts his head back and groans.

When Sally sits up again, he gestures a hand over at Ash and Todd and nearly yells his next words. "This asshole is fucking twitterpated!"

The word 'twitterpated' leaving Sally Face's mouth makes me almost double over with laughter. Honestly, this entire situation is bound to put me on my knees at some point.

I look over at Larry again as a giggle slips past my lips.

But Larry isn't amused, at least, he isn't showing it. A frown is marring his features and his brows are set in an angry glare that's centered on Sally. "Hey!" He all but bellows, making me flinch. Damn, he's got a powerful voice. "You fucking leave Bambi out of this!"

What in the shit is going on?

I watch as Sal and Larry throw out random Disney inspired threats and insults at each other back and forth, all the way up until Todd and Ash start to lift their heads and glance this way. And meanwhile, I'm caught in the splash zone simply because Larry just needed me to twirl and Sally couldn't help but call him twitterpated because of it.

At this point, I'm glaring into the back of Ash's head and praying she assesses this situation or breaks it up or... fuck, just that she does something. I can't do anything. I don't have the balls to step in nor do I want to.

But as I wait some more and the situation between Larry and Sally grows a lot louder, I wonder if maybe something else has spurred this argument. Maybe it's not as shallow as it was made to be.

Because Larry is in Sally's face, towering over him with harsh words and a mean expression to go with it. And Sally matches him head on with crossed arms and a glare in his pretty blue eyes, waiting for the taller man to finish talking about how Mulan could've squared Sal's ass up easily.

I absolutely agree, but that's not the point.

Is there something going on between them? Why else would they argue so horrendously? Fuck, have they always been this way? Because this isn't what I've seen online. In fact, I've never seen them act this way. Ever.

My breath catches in my throat as I glance between Larry and Sally, wondering what on earth has them so on edge. I feel... I'm scared. No one's stepping in to split them up and if fists start flying or their friendship ends, I'm going to feel guilty. Not that I am guilty, but hell. Everyone's standing around and watching like this is normal. And I'm definitely not a fan of aggressive arguing. I watched Mom and Dad do that enough to last me a lifetime.

I watch as Sal takes a quick step forward, his chest bumping into Larry's stomach (since Larry is a giant). It was supposed to be intimidating, but he looks like a little kitten beneath Larry. I almost giggle, but then the smaller man speaks.

It's aggressive, it's frustrated, and it's rushed. "Tiana wants her fucking hands back," he screams, voice deeper than I've ever heard it.

"What hands!?" Larry claps back, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He looks appalled. "She's a fucking frog!"

"Exactly!" Sally exclaims, hands thrown up in exasperation.

And it makes no sense. I don't know what the guy was going for and I don't think Larry knows either. Truth be told, I think they're both a little shocked at the ridiculousness of that last, indecipherable Disney comeback.

"You know, her friend was pretty hot. The blonde one. Lottie," Larry murmurs softly after a moment, his face blank.

Seriously. What the fuck is going on between these two?

Sally's eyes light up as a muffled chuckle comes from his direction— his unmistakable, heart stuttering chuckle. "I know right?" He replies.

I'm stunned, lips parted and eyes wide as I watch both men launch into a discussion on why Lottie was the ultimate girlfriend, but how Tiana tops her all the way when it comes to taking charge, relationship equality, and moral support.

Should I even question anything at this point?

"Vi," I turn to Larry upon hearing my name and a spark of aggravation electrifies my body when Sally groans at the mention of me. "Lottie or Tiana?"

"Uh," I start, glancing between the two men. Do I have to watch what I say? I don't feel like getting dragged into an argument nor do I feel like taking my anger out in Sally. I'm just not in the mood... unless he gets me in the mood. That's different. "Can't I have both? Lottie and Tiana both have fantastic qualities."

"He asked for one or the other, not both." Sally replies, voice monotonous.

"You didn't specify that, so I asked," I snap, taking a breath to try and quell the brewing frustration in my bones. Why does he have to attach his dumb input on everything I say?

"Oh," Sally laughs humorlessly and tilts his head at me. "I get it now. So you're just an idiot then."

I swallow down the urge to gouge his eyes out for a moment, trying to get a grip on reality and the fact that gouging out his eyes would get me arrested. But the longer I look at his smug blue irises, the harder it is to resist temptation.

And then hands land on my shoulders from behind.

"I'm coming save the day since Todd and I have figured out our next two days," she says with a little breath. "Now leave my girl alone, will you?" she calls to the two men in front of us. "Why can't she be everyone's girl?" Larry huffs, crossing his arms with a little pout on his lips.

Ash doesn't bother answering him, simply rolls her eyes and turns to me. "Are you hungry?" she asks, walking toward the little kitchenette in the suite. "We probably have some leftovers, snacks..." she trails off as she opens a mini fridge. "And we definitely have alcohol," she murmurs next. I can't help but giggle a bit at that.

"Um," I start, closing in on myself when a gust of never-ending air hits me dead in the face. That's some powerful air-conditioning but it's way to cold in this room for all that. "I don't want to eat anyone's leftovers. I'll just get something when we go out later."

"We don't care," Todd says from the dining table, so I turn to him while rubbing my arms. "Honestly. None of us are going to eat the rest, so take what you want."

"Are you sure--" I start to say, but then Sally cuts me off.

"Don't eat my shit," he yells from the sofa, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I purse my lips and hold back a really vile retort. "If y'all are housing macaroni and chicken strips, I don't care who it belongs to," I reply. "I'll eat it anyway." I add quietly, sucking in a breath as I walk toward Ash as the cool air starts to become unbearable.

I lean down next to Ash to look into the refrigerator when Sally's running up beside us and shoving me back. "What kind of freaky fuckery are you up to?" he scoffs, grabbing a to-go plate of... oh crap. "I said to leave my food alone, you damn hog," he all but sneers before kicking the fridge door closed behind him.

Okay, so it was freaky. I somehow managed to correctly predict his leftovers of macaroni and chicken strips... but how the fuck was I supposed to know that he was a fan of my favorite meal too?  "I'm not a hog, you mannerless mongrel," I snarl back, directing my glare at the asshat just as he sticks his leftovers into the microwave. 

Sally punches in his time, then slowly turns his head to look at me. The meticulous way he moves his head makes me feel starstruck for a moment. His cerulean hair billowing in the strong air circulating in the room, his pretty fingers wrapped around a brand new can of Dr. Pepper that he grabbed with his food, and his neck tattoo on full, beautiful display.

He practically glows in any light, but when he's stuck up and far too confident, he glows most. He's also hella infuriating.

"You're the hoggiest hog I've ever seen," he says, like that's something he spits out every damn day. "And I'm absolutely a mannerless mongrel, but women dig that so I don't see the problem." A ridiculous sound of disapproval leaves my throat as I glare at him. But Sally doesn't say a word or acknowledge me anymore. He just grabs his food, tips his can of Dr. Pepper towards me, then walks back to the sofa and proceeds to light another cigarette. It's hot. But I'll never admit that. I'll ignore it for now. I'll let it go until I have the right moment to let out all my frustrations. Then he'll realize I am not to be fucked with--

--or he'll just fuck with me more. With a sigh that's meant to try and calm me a bit, I bend down and reopen the refrigerator. I grab a plate of what looks like lemon pesto pasta and start piling it onto a plate to heat it up. "I'm eating someone's pasta," I announce, "Take it from me now or forever hold your peace."

"That's mine," Todd says. He raises a hand, never looking up from his laptop screen. "Please eat it. It'll just rot otherwise."

I hold up the plate in a bit of a salute before putting into the microwave. "Sounds good to me. I love leftovers." But then my arms grow cold again. My small argument with Sal heated me up for a moment, but it's over now and I'm freezing again.

"Ash," I murmur, leaning toward my friend. "Can I borrow a hoodie or something? It might as well be snowing in here. I know you're all hot, but I thought that stopped at looks."

Ash scrunches her brows together at my last comment, but I just grin, waiting for her to get it. And she does-- shows that she understands by pinching my cheeks and smiling widely. I giggle with her before she breaks away. "Yea, there's a hoodie around here somewhere, Vi," she says, walking toward Todd who holds up a black hoodie. "And that was the best pickup line I've ever heard. Where'd you get that one from?"

"My brain," I tell her with a shrug before pulling my food out of the microwave.

I look up just in time for Ash to chuck the hoodie toward me. I catch it, folding it over my arm for a second as I place my food on the cabinet.

I spread the hoodie out and look at the front of it. It's a Breaking Benjamin hoodie. One from their Phobia album. It takes everything in me to not start bouncing around with joy.

I don't ask any questions, I just happily put it on and try not to squeal when it fits me perfectly. Fuck, I might ask if I can take this home with me.

For most of the day, I lounge around in Ash and I's shared room. She and I get dressed and she does my make up (after locking the door to stop anyone from walking in and discovering me, of course). 

At about 4:30 in the afternoon, the group of us are getting ready to head out to the concert and I can practically feel my soul shaking. 

I'm in the most basic of outfits when I walk out of Ash's room to meet up with Larry, Sally, and Todd-- that grey Nirvana shirt, a black skirt, and fishnets underneath. But it works. I still have the hoodie on though. I might as well keep it on for the night.

I wait by the door as everyone gathers their things. They all look equally as lavish and delectable tonight, as always. But Sally glances to me when he walks out of his room, then looks away. He's looking nice too-- not that I'm surprised. Black jeans and a white Ice Nine Kills shirt.

His gaze cuts to me quickly, eyes narrowed as he looks over me from head to toe. My fawning gets cut off by the wild look in his blue eyes and I hold my breath while red flags start floating around in my brain.

"Where the fuck," he growls out, shaking his head disbelievingly. "did you get my hoodie?" he finishes, voice high pitched and and full of anger.

My blood runs cold. This jacket will never be warm enough to melt the ice that forms in my veins once I realize what he's just said.

No wonder it fit so perfectly-- Sally is the only one that's anywhere close to my size in this room. What the fuck was I thinking? Why didn't I realize sooner? I--

I dip my head down and sniff the collar. Oh, hell. It even smells like him. And I enjoyed every stupid second. Within just a millisecond of finally realizing the severity of this situation, I damn near rip the article of clothing off my body and fast-ball it at Sally who catches it out of instinct, but then immediately drops it like it's burning hot. 

"It touched you!" he screams, looking up at me with wide eyes. "I don't want to fucking touch it!"

"Oh my-- Sally," I ground out from behind clenched teeth. "I don't have cooties. I don't have the fucking plague. Just take your hoodie back before I shove it down your damn throat."

His eyes narrow, animosity swimming in his bright irises. I automatically roll my own eyes. It's like his negative emotions can't take a fucking break.

"You're going to find out how much I'll be able to shove down your throat if you keep this shit up," he snarks. "How did you even get my damn hoodie?"

"It's not even my fault," I laugh bitterly, stretching my arms out in a come-at-me-bitch motion. "If you'd take a second and let me explain, you'd know that. But no, you're a damn wall and don't give a fuck about anyone other than yourself."

I hear him huff out a breath, and then he switches his stance-- goes straight into defense mode. "Oh, yea, bitch? Just who--"

"Can you two cut it out for, like, five seconds?" Ash asks as she walks out of our shared room, a sigh slipping past her glossy lips. 

She's dressed in black ripped jeans and a Dark Autumn Complex merch shirt. She looks so dark and sweet-- such a contrast compared to her usual self.

I mentally count to five in my mind, and the fact that Sal and I have both gone quiet seems to sate Ash. She huffs then plasters a smile on her face.

"Alright, I think it's time to go now--"

But I've reached five and I whip my head to Sal. Shockingly, he does the same.

He and I both start throwing out random, unintelligible insults and I almost laugh over our dynamic. Because, somehow, we both had the same idea to appease Ash with five seconds of silence before jumping into a vocal brawl again.

"Fuck," Ash groans and grabs my hand. She effectively cuts me off by yanking me out the door and nearly dragging me through the hallway behind her. "I can't stand you two together."

"That's what I'm saying," I grumble, glaring at Sal who appears in the hallway next. He matches my glare, but we at least stay quiet now.

I'll absolutely get him again later. I have too much pent up rage to let him go this easy. We take the elevator to the bottom floor— only to realize that we've ended up on the wrong side of the hotel.

Caesar's Palace is giant— so big and confusing that it's impossible to walk through the entire place in just one day. Ash stresses this as we realize we have to parade past the thousands of people littering the casino that separates us from where we need to be.

But it's easier to do it this way than to go around the behemoth building from the outside...

"Sal," Ash calls, head turning over her shoulder to look at the man behind me. "Please, if anyone stops you just let them know we have somewhere to be. Okay?"

I hear a grunt of disapproval from Sally— one that makes Ash frown.

"I can't do that," he grumbles, almost like he's embarrassed to say this. "You know I don't do that."

Ash simply sighs and looks ahead again. "I know," she says softly, sincerely. "It was wrong of me to ask that of you. If any of us get stopped, it's alright. We left early for a reason."

I know Ash is a bit insecure and nervous when it comes to interacting with fans. She loves them, but she's anxious about people flocking around her. She wants to blend in, show her love in a way that won't harm anyone. I get it, but... not everyone else does.

I wish there was a way for her to find a happy medium, but is there ever a way? Everyone's opinion is different. What matters to Ash won't matter to some of her fans. And you can't change a person's opinion. I can only hope that things will become easier for her with time.

Ash takes a breath, then starts walking forward— so the rest of us do too.

We move fast, watching the ceiling signs like hawks so we can navigate our way through this maze of a casino. It's not easy. We follow a direction only to find out we were led the wrong way, then we turn around and start the process all over again. But as we continue, any anxiety is absolutely stomped to hell and replaced with the most apparent disdain I have ever seen.

"Dude, the directions said this way. I don't know what to do," Larry says, completely flabbergasted as we meet a dead end disguised as a bar. Or the other way around. I'm not too sure.

"It wasn't a straight arrow," Sally huffs thoughtfully. "It was diagonal. We went the wrong way— which is what I've been trying to tell you guys." His voice isn't scolding. In fact, it's reassuring. "The signs are right, we're just terrible at reading directions."

Had I met this side of him— the side of Sally that's reassuring, thoughtful, intelligent, and not rolling his eyes at me all the time— our relationship would be much different right now.

But I lose the thought when he and I make eye contact. Because he rolls his eyes at me again and faces another direction, adding the harshness to his voice yet again as he says, "We need to go back to the center. Find the signs again."

"You know," Todd says with a sigh. "I could go ask the security guard right there. He'd tell us where to go."

Todd is on to something, as always. He's going to save the day—

"I absolutely fucking refuse," Larry's proud voice cuts off my thought, "to give into this labyrinth of alcoholic curiosities. This place will never consume me."

I blink. Is this motherfucker serious? "Fuck that," the words leave my mouth without my permission, so I just go with it. "Let's just ask someone."

"Hell no!" Ash exclaims, clapping a hand onto Larry's shoulder with a triumphant grin on her pretty lips. "I'm with Lord Lar on this one. Caesar's Palace will never eat me alive."

"I—" I start, unable to really understand the absurdity of this situation. I mean, come on. Who's this prideful? Not to mention, I've somehow managed to befriend two people who are this prideful. "We—"

"You're talking to a brick wall, dumbass," Sally murmurs behind me as I watch Larry and Ash turn to each other. They start speculating on what to do next.

I have the mindset to ignore Sally for once— my anxiety is a tripwire and I'm so close to hitting it right now. We need to find a way outside of this hotel or I'm going to flip the place upside down. But as I glance over to ask Todd what we should do, I see him conversing with the security guard he had previously mentioned.

Oh, thank God. He's handling the situation.

That means I can handle my lightweight as well.

I whirl around, facing Sally with my arms crossed over my chest. "So you must be the brick wall then, jackass. I can't recall a single time you've listened to me."

Sally scoffs, ring-clad fingers drumming against his biceps as he crosses his arms as well. "I can't recall you ever giving me any sound advice. More importantly, I can't recall ever asking you for advice. So I consider everything you say to be invalid and unworthy input."

Leave it to the hottest and most infuriating guy to piss me off when I think there isn't a single thing on this earth that can distract me from my nervousness. But in all honesty, I'd rather be  angry than nervous.

And I'm angry now.

"Invalid and unworthy?" I ask, my words clipped and aggressive. I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment as his eyes light up. It's like he wants these fights. "I've never heard such a precise description of you in all my life, Sally."

And just like that, the light in his eyes evaporates and gives way to a darkness, one that he doesn't try to fight for long.

He uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer to me. For just a second, my instinct is to cower away. He's looking over me like some kind of monster— something to fear. But then I remember that I can't be afraid of him. I mean, what's there to be afraid of in the first place? I've never seen someone bark so much and never bite.

"You say that as though you're worth so fucking much," he says coldly. "No one even knows your damn name."

"Yet." The word leaves my lips immediately. I don't even think about it; it was instinct. And it worked because Sally narrows his eyes.

But before he can clap back at my "invalid and unworthy input," I see a little hand tap his shoulder from behind. He feels it at the same exact time that I notice it, and our aggressive eye contact softens at the interruption— simply because we have to put on a game face. We don't know who's happened upon us in the middle of an argument.

He spins around and takes a step to the side, unintentionally giving me a view of the two women standing behind him.

Both are short, pretty, and wearing little sashes that say "Birthday Girl" and I can only imagine how much damn fun they're about to have tonight. One has beautiful, natural red hair, while the other has the prettiest, most luscious brown hair.

"Holy crap," one says, bending her knees like she's about to fall, but then she catches herself. She slaps her hands over her mouth and says, "It's Sally Face!"

Sally turns into something I haven't seen before in a moment's notice.

His normal defensive nature is flipped in an instant and I watch the most innocent look envelop his ocean eyes. His entire aura changes into something positively unique and, all over, nice.

His shoulders relax compared to their earlier tense state. His fingers aren't flexed or balled into fists, they're relaxed at his sides and his head is tilted to the side.

Fuck, he looks happy.

"Hey, yea that's me!" He says to the woman who addressed him before glancing over to the other woman with a smile in his eyes. "Happy birthday to the both of you." His words are cheery and sincere and, damn, am I going to get whiplash? No way is this the same guy I've been bickering with for weeks.

"Thank you!" The redhead says, flashing a gorgeous smile— dimples and all. "It's our 21st."

"Really?" Sal says, a tinge of excitement in his voice as he sticks his hands into his pockets. "That's so exciting, especially since you're celebrating in Las Vegas. You guys hit any good bars yet? I'm gonna need some recommendations."

Holy shit? Is this really the Sally Face I know and despise? He's kind right now. He's being so sweet. And he's fantastic at small talk. It feels like he's really interested in what they have to say. I'm not on the receiving end of his words, but his sweet persona makes me feel special. That's how powerful he is in this moment.

"Oh my gosh," the brunette says, resting a hand on Sally's shoulder in excitement. She's eager to give him a good recommendation and it shows in the way her automatic response is physical touch. Honestly, it's adorable. "Yes! There's this restaurant slash bar in Excalibur called 'Dick's.' It's so damn funny." She laughs, pulling her hand away from Sally and looking down at her feet before continuing. "The waiters and waitresses insult you. Like, she and I walked in," she points to herself then to her friend, "and once we were sat down, our waiter came up to us and literally said, 'What you hoes want?'"

Sally laughs, I mean a full on, bent over belly laugh that makes the girls giggle along with him. "Damn, that sounds like a fun place. I'm gonna have to check it out." He pushes a hand through his hair, an action that I pay way too much attention to. "Were the drinks any good?"

The redhead winces. "I mean... I had the most basic drink. It was just a strawberry daiquiri." She shrugs, then leans forward. "But it was really good."

"I had a cosmopolitan. I'm not... sure what's in it," the brunette says sheepishly. She runs her fingers through her hair, an anxiety thing I'm sure.

I want to comfort her— let her know that it's totally okay. None of us know anything the second we try alcohol for the first time. And it seems like this is truly both girls' first times drinking.

But I don't want to butt in on their time with someone they admire. That's just wrong.

"Ah, there's nothing wrong with that," Sally reassures. "I'll be honest, I fucking love daiquiris. They aren't basic. They're delicious. And Cosmopolitans are pretty good too! You both had great picks."

The girls beam excitedly, little blushes enveloping their cheeks. I know the feeling. To be praised and acknowledged and validated by your idol? Absolutely nothing compares to how empowering that is.

"Can you, like, give us a list of drinks to try?" The brunette asks bashfully, kicking the toe of her high-heels against the carpeted floor.

"Yea, absolutely! I don't drink all that much though, so I'm kind of a lousy recommender." He chuckles lightly. "Try a hurricane if you can. It's a daiquiri, just really tasty. Um... lemon drops are pretty good too. Blueberry lemon drops are my favorite. Moscato white wine... a sweet one preferably. Um..." he trails off, covering the mouth of his prosthetic with his hand as he thinks. And dammit, just dammit. I want to give the girls a recommendation too. I want them to have fun while they're here because if they're anything like me, it may be a while until they're able to come back.

The girls smile as Sally sits on his thoughts for a moment longer, and then the redhead glances at me. She still has a sweet smile on her face, but I can see confusion and curiosity there for a moment too. I mean, why am I hanging around there watching them talk to Sally? I just know that's what's going through her head.

And maybe it's shitty of me. I should keep my mouth shut, but I decide to throw in one more drink to the girls. 

"Malibu and pineapple juice," I say softly, entwining my fingers together when an overwhelming wave of anxiety takes hold of me. Fuck, I can't believe I said that. They didn't ask for my recommendations.

Sally's head snaps up, his blue hair in his eyes. But it doesn't hide his eyes enough for me to miss the way they narrow in my direction. And upon noticing that is when a trickle of fear makes its way down my spine.

"Uh, what's Malibu?" The redhead asks me. She tilts her head, thinking about it.

I glance to Sally, note the way his eyes are drilling into me and not in a good way. But then I look back to the redhead who's focus is solely on me in the moment.

"It's coconut rum," I tell her happily, licking my suddenly dry lips. "It goes really well with pineapple juice. I mean, it's one of the best drinks I've ever had. It's like... the opposite of a Cosmopolitan but just as tasty, pretty much." I give them a little smile, wondering if I should apologize for interrupting their conversation.

But the brunette looks over at me with a hesitant smile. Then, she looks at Sally who's unwavering gaze (which is full of animosity) never leaves me. And gears start visibly turning in her area. Until she looks back at me with wide, unbelieving eyes.

"Holy crap," she says enthusiastically, shock sprawled across her freckled face. She's addressed me the same way she addressed Sally. "Don't tell me you're VioletViolence."

I gulp down my instant excitement as well as the nerves slowly building within me. No way this is happening.

After all the times I've been told that no one knows who I am, I started to believe it. But here I am, in the middle of Vegas, with a girl who's just spoken my name without me having to inform her of it.

I suddenly feel alive, like I can feel every little cell that makes up who I am thrumming with happiness and contentment. It's a battle of staying calm and throwing my arms around this poor girl who doesn't know how much she's just changed my life.

But I steel myself— force myself to hold my emotions at bay so I can have my first positive fan interaction.

Hopefully.

I smile at the girls. "Looks like we've got a Todd 2.0 on our hands," I say sweetly. "He guessed me right away too." Suddenly, both girls flock to me and I nearly regret it. I just stole Sally's thunder... and he's definitely going to show me just how fucked this is later. For fuck's sake.

"Oh my gosh!" The brunette says, hanging off of my shoulder. "I can't believe you and Sally are both here-- and alone at that! But to be honest, I was really hoping the animosity between you two was a farce the whole time because I love both of you so much so this just makes the little arguments even better since I know they're fake now." My mouth gapes as I look down at the girl wrapped around my arm excitedly. I should tell her the truth, she deserves to know that, even now, Sal and I are more than pissed about being stuck together. That every argument we've had thus far has been very real. 

But the happy, glistening smile on her face makes me hesitate, and I only gape at her some more while the redhead hangs back a bit and bounces on her toes excitedly while watching my every move.

I can't make myself say it. I can't get the truth out.

Sally's next to me all of a sudden, and I look up at him. He has the world's most vicious glare in his eyes, but only I can tell-- because it quickly changes into a grinning gaze as he throws an arm around my shoulders and looks between both girls.

He gives my neck a squeeze, and somehow, I interpret that as a sign to keep my mouth shut on the truth behind this topic. 

But his warm arm wrapped around me makes me tense up. No matter how angry he makes me, his skin on mine and any little bit of proximity we have makes me go crazy. Unintentional butterflies are making me nauseous, my cheeks are hot, and my heart is stuttering in my chest while my thoughts run rampant. It's a mix of confusion and questions and absolute anarchy.

Then he slams his other hand on top of my head and ruffles my hair. 

"Yep, all a farce. I can very much stand this bitch," he says cheerily to the girls, tacking on a little giggle that makes me want to punch him in his prosthetic face so hard that it actually manages to somehow hurt him.

Fuck butterflies. What the fuck is he trying to do? I can't tell. And all I'm getting out of this is extreme fucking anger. He really has the audacity to call me a bitch in front of both our fans?

The brunette's eyes light up and she backs away from me, grabbing onto her friend instead with exhilaration glittering in her eyes. They both squeal for a minute, then watch me expectantly.

So, how do I put my game face on? We're killing this situation with a mix of a lie and honesty-- so surely I can do the same.

I grab onto the jaw of Sal's prosthetic and jiggle his head around aggressively before putting my cheek against his. "This little shit eater is just so easy to be around. You have no idea," I chirp, going as far as to begrudgingly squeeze closer to him and shut my eyes as I slap a smile onto my face.

And then the rage is gone. I've gotten my revenge and I can already smell the way he's about to yank himself away from me and start screaming. It's going to be fucking epic.

But he doesn't pull away, just puts the hand that was resting on my shoulder onto the side of my face and uses it to keep me pressed to his side. 

I didn't expect that.

The smile drops from my lips for a moment, but I quickly throw it back on, no matter how hard it is. 

Sal's thumb is pressed against the corner of my lips, almost like the placement was thoughtful. Like he meant to put his finger there. But the contact also has me faltering a bit-- and the sudden tummy butterflies and excitement I convinced myself were misplaced feelings just moments ago nearly overpowers the instant anger taking over my body, but it doesn't. Thank God it doesn't.

"Aw, thanks Vi! So are you. You're constant bitching and chihuahua-like yapping just lights up the darkest of my days," he answers, but his voice is so happy that it seems more bitter than anything. 

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip and I nearly topple over at the contact. His skin is soft and the way he touches such a sensitive, hyper-aware, and intimate part of me makes me wonder what it is he's trying to do again. 

Clearly, he doesn't want our fans to know that our constant bickering and aggression is real, but then he's letting it slip through anyway. And he definitely did not need to touch me to make his excuses seem more plausible, and yet, he did.

Is he... is he trying to... fuck, is he trying to get clout off of this?

"You shouldn't have, Sally! Your shitty attitude and God's-gift-to-women persona is just so inspiring," I bite out, trying to keep positive sounding tones to my voice, though it's proving to be harder with each passing second. But this time, I try to separate myself from him. I don't want to be some publicity stunt for him because there's no way I'll be able to do this bullshit again for fans. I won't say a word about the truth of our weird relationship, but I'm not going to let him hang on me like we're besties because he thinks it'll gain some traction.

I really don't understand what's going on here. At all. And yea, I should expect everything when it comes to Sally, but this one hurts a bit.

I feel a bit better when Sally cuts his gaze to me, malice swirling in his icy irises. And then, he all but shoves me off of him. 

I try not to stagger away from him with the girls standing right in front of us, so I catch myself quickly and stick close to his side-- still trying to sell this bullshit he's yanked me into.

"Would you guys like a picture or something?" Sally asks them, his sickly sweet voice nearly knocking me over again. 

"Oh, yes, we'd love one with both of you if that's possible!" The redhead says, bounding a little closer to us, bouncing on her toes some more. She's adorable. 

"Absolutely, it would be our pleasure," I say as kindly as possible. These two girls fill my heart with joy-- not so much Sally, but he doesn't matter all that much when these two sweet ladies have just changed my life.

The brunette turns to Sally while the redhead looks for someone to take the picture for her. 

"Would you sign my phone case?" she asks sheepishly, wincing a bit. "It's about all I've got that's, like, sign-able."

Sally chuckles and takes her outstretched phone. "Of course. I'll sign anything," he tells her. It's so odd to see him acting this way.

But then I remember that he was this way with me once too. He was kind like this. He was gentle like this. He was actually enjoyable and even stole my heart for a moment or two.

Maybe he really isn't that bad. He and I just have some qualms-- and I don't know what those qualms are, but if we actually have a conversation, I think we could become friends. I'm willing to put everything aside.

Sally takes the small iPhone in his hands, flipping it over to show the clear case. His black fingernails are a contrast to the pastel yellow of the phone and his veiny hands are ridiculously noticeable in the low casino lighting. And not to mention, the light reflects off his metal rings and makes them glow-- it seems otherworldly, which only adds o the mystical, mysterious, and unique air about him.

I watch a light pink paint the brunette's cheeks just as I feel my own heat up. How embarrassing.

So I turn to look at my feet just as the redhead finds a couple to take our photo and has a quick chat with them, then they begin walking toward us.

"What's your name?" Sally mumbles as he fishes a random sharpie out of his pocket. Does he just carry that around everywhere? Holy hell, my heart is going to beat out of my chest-- he cares this much for his fans. I don't care how infuriating he is, that is just too adorable.

Okay, y/n. Don't lose sight of the truth. You hate Sal Fisher right now-- you hopefully won't in the future, but you definitely do right now. He can be hot, but you absolutely cannot fawn over him.

"Oh," The brunette perks up and glances at Sally's face for a moment. "My name's Lexi."

I stop breathing. My stomach falls straight out of my ass. And I suddenly feel like I'm going to vomit.

What are the damn chances?

I watch the moment the name resonates within Sal. I'm hoping he doesn't recognize it, just sees it as another name, but he actually flinches. A wave of recognition flits through his gaze as he snaps his head up to examine the girl closely. 

"Shit," he breathes, the word so quiet that the girl, Lexi as we now fucking know, asks him what he just said.

Sally shakes his head and throws a smile on his face if the crinkling of his eyes tells me anything. But there's still some kind of lingering emotion, something that looks a lot like guilt. 

"Sorry," he says to her then scribbles something else onto the phone case and hands it back to her. "Just recalling a friend I have. Her name is Lexi too." His voice comes out a little softer than usual, like he's reminiscing.

It's damn hard to keep my gaze directed past Sally and Lexi and not directly on them. I so desperately want to gauge his reaction and make sure he doesn't catch onto me. I'm scared. Horrified, really. 

This is the first time I've heard him mention Lexi. I'm actually shocked that he's talking about her at all, and that terrifies me even more.

"Wow," Lexi says, moving in next to him as her friend finally reaches us. "What a coincidence," she continues as Sal tucks her into his side, putting an arm around her shoulder and holding her close.

Sally smiles down at her then motions over to the other girl, opening his free arm up for her.

She happily skips over to him, scooting in beside him like it's natural for her. And truth be told, just the sight of the three of them together makes me happy. Everyone is content in this little picture.

But then the redhead looks to me. And she smiles so brightly that my knees nearly buckle. "Come on," she says, but hesitates after a moment. "Well, unless you don't want to anymore. I'm sorry, that was--"

I launch into a speedwalk toward them and curse quietly. "Oh, no, sweetheart," I try to reassure her. "I was stuck in my head for a minute. I don't mind a picture at all." I smile at her then wrap my own arm around her shoulder.

The second my arm settles right on top of Sally's, we both look up at each other-- a mix of fury and shock mingling in the air between us. My skin tingles from the warmth of his arm and it takes every bit of my dignity to not grab onto Sal whenever he rips his arm away from me, switching sides with Lexi so both girls can be between us.

We take a picture with both girls. They suggest a couple different poses, and Sally and I manage to laugh together over some of the stuff we do, but then Lexi and her other sweet friend, who we've discovered is named Kennedy, are leaving us to what we were previously doing.

All of the sweet things I'd witnessed within the past few minutes, all of the kindness and loving embraces-- all of it is washed down the drain the second Lexi and Kennedy turn a corner and are no longer in our sight.

Todd is talking with Ash and Larry at a slot machine, but Sally's whirling on me with the most hate I've ever seen him bear. 

"You fuck up absolutely everything," he snarls, taking a step toward me, and then another. Menacing, dangerous. And I nearly take a step back as terror sweeps through me, but I hold my own somehow. What helps is that I'm appalled at his claim that I fuck everything up. I've never done anything wrong.

He takes a deep breath, shuts is eyes in an attempt to calm himself, but then he groans frustratedly and looks into my eyes again. His gaze makes me flinch, and he notices, and fuck, he's got a lot against me right now and it's actually... I'm kind of scared.

"You can't just keep your mouth shut?" he whisper-yells, gesturing a hand out behind us. "Had you shut the fuck up for once, I wouldn't have had to lie. Clearly you don't know a thing about me-- but I will do everything I can for them. For my fans. Even if that means lying. But I don't want to fucking lie, and now you've made me do just that."

He's so angry and speaking so fast that his breath is coming out in pants and all I'm good for right now is sitting there and taking it. His words cut deeper than they should and I genuinely don't think I could stop him even if I wanted to. Lucky for both of us, I guess, I'm at a loss for words.

"And on top of forcing both of us into a lie," he continues, tilting his head in a threatening way. "I just remembered that you screwed up a lot for me and I'm only just realizing." He laughs humorlessly. 

Is he talking about Lexi? Me? Because if he is, that's all his doing.

I'm about to say that, but I think better of it. That would give me away. Worse, I shouldn't interrupt his little temper tantrum right now. I'll hit him where it hurts later, but for now, this is what's best. Even if it physically pains me to shut my damn mouth.

So much for trying to become friends with him.

"I can't believe some of the things I've said and done with you. More specifically, the fact that I just about fucked you over a phone call," he takes another step. Sal is suddenly so close that the tips of our noses-- prosthetic and mask-- brush together for just a fraction of a second.

And then his cool fingers are gripping my chin tightly, almost painfully. But instead of scaring me like it's meant to, a wave of warmth rushes through me. And I have to gulp down whatever physical reaction I almost instinctually act on.

I can feel his rings against my skin, the anger seeping through his cold fingertips and into my body, the tips of his fingernails digging into my jaw.

I find myself holding my breath again at his words and our proximity. I know I claimed that I didn't care f he kept his word, but now that he's regretting our little nighttime call and actually touching me at this exact moment, I think I'm about to be a little disappointed.

He would've been a good hate fuck.

"So don't expect shit from me. Because I'm better than you. And I deserve better than whatever kind of half-assed pleasure I was looking for in you." 

The words hit me straight in the gut, digging into me like a sharp sword that just keeps getting twisted. At the same exact time, he rips his hand away from me and takes a step away.

All of the insecurities I've been squashing down since last night rush to the surface. All of the hurt, all of the jealousy, all of the anxiety. Every single bit of it, even the parts I thought I managed to conquer.

I can't help but fold in on myself when Sally looks past me and then moves around my stunned body to reconvene with The Faces.

I stand there for a moment. I just stand with my arms wrapped around my middle, hugging myself since no one else can right now.

Sally and I's entire situation is less than ideal and we insult each other back to back with the intention of pissing each other off, but this is different. This wasn't him trying to make me angry, he was intentionally trying to beat me down. And now, I'm expected to stand around with him all night and act like what he just told me didn't tear me right open. 

It's not him, it's just the words specifically. I couldn't care less about who said them to me. But they were said. And one of my beliefs that I've never given up is that everything that's spoken has some kind of truth to it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out as I bite into my cheek, trying to calm my racing heart and numb limbs.

When I lift the screen to my face, I see an unknown number and immediately scrunch my eyebrows. That's weird.

But then I see the text.

Unknown hey lexi, it's sal i know i never texted and i'm really sorry could we talk later?

My breath catches in my throat and I can't help but spin around to where my friends are standing. And there's Sally, looking down at his phone and tapping his fingers against the back of it. But then he quickly shoves it into his pocket and turns back to Ash, Larry, and Todd.

I really don't understand with him.

He's forgotten about Lexi this entire time and blames me for it. Why?

There's something weird going on with him and I don't know if I want to find out what that is or not.

___________________

A/N:::::::::: I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN MISSING FOR SO LONG :((((((

i hated being away just as much as you guys have, but it couldn't be helped. on top of finals and the end of the semester, i also took a trip to las vegas and got to visit all the places i've been writing about! it was so amazing! so while i've been missing, my time hasn't been spent in vain. i've been researching and getting SUPER crunk in casino's ;)

but i'm home now and finally putting out this chapter! she's EXTRA long and she's mainly filler, but things will be getting spicy soon. and i am BURSTING with excitement over it :3 so stay tuned!

as always, i love you all with my entire being. thank you for being here. have a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/night! <333

[cillianscrybaby]

Everything is for sale...There is always a price

(A part 2 of a Peaky Blinders fic I've started. If you're a fan of the show you know the themes and violence so that's your WARNING.)

Things changed a bit after Tommy put you to work directly in his home, keeping you more so around his office and bedroom to make sure things are tidy. Barely anyone looked at you and it was rare anyone but Tommy spoke, he had seemed to have gotten used to reading your expressions or gestures so you didn't have to bother with attempting to speak.

Tommy was a mix of both, quiet a lot in his own mind but stern with others along with yelling at times he was angry. You've been observing him as much as he's observed you, a silent agreement that he's never raised his voice or struck you and you listen and keep things tidy. You assumed there was a rule that no one touches you after you knifed one of his men two months ago.

Things might seem good but you didn't forget who's house you're in. Tommy Shelby. Peaky fucking Blinders.

"You keep her around for a fuck now and then, Tom?", Arthur asks, laughing a bit as he downed a glass of whiskey.

"No. No, she keeps the place tidy.", Tommy sighs.

"At least she don't talk or make much noise. Probably fun to have without all the bullshit chatter.", Arthur adds in, refilling his glass.

"She can talk.", Tommy says bluntly.

Author sends a sideways glance, "Oh?"

Tommy nods, content.

Clicking the door open as quietly as you could, you paused slightly at the sight of Tommy and Arthur sitting around Tommy's desk. It wasn't allowed for you to clean when there were meetings and honestly you didn't care for any of the business as long as you knew enough to keep yourself alive.

Tommy waved his fingers at you, signaling it was okay and you gave a small nod, making yourself busy to gather empty glasses that needed washed.

It was silent, only the sounds of them drinking, your steps, and if their eyes watching you could make noise you were sure you could have heard it. Tommy picks up his glass, downing a big gulp of gin before placing it on the table.

"That'll be enough staring, Arthur.", Tommy clears his throat, you didn't even look up as you take the glasses away.

"What's your name?", Arthur asks, your eyes flicking up to him and then Tommy before looking at the glasses you had gathered on the tray.

Tommy drums his fingers on the desk, a light smile on his lips that he hid, it was bold of you to not reply, especially to a Peaky Blinder, although he knew you could handle yourself after you knifed a man for touching you.

Arthur sighs, rubbing his face, as much as the silence was interesting it unnerved him too, not used to a woman not answering him.

"Y/N...", Tommy rasps, "Her name is Y/N."

Again, a sideways glance from Athur, amused that Tommy knows that, "She told you?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows, shaking his head no. Your back was turned to them, tidying up another table in the corner, your own hidden smile on your lips that begins to fade as Tommy contuines speaking.

"I asked her father. I paid him a visit to ask a few questions and her name was one of those questions.", he speaks like you aren't in the room and maybe it bothers you, "Another question was why did he beat her voice out of her."

Maybe you picked up the tray a little too hard, a glass falling over and clinking against another but thankfully it didn't break. You could feel their eyes on you as you were making your way out of the office without being dismissed, again, a bold action but one Tommy let you do. You remember the bruising on Tommy's knuckles after he had been out one day not long after you had started work in his home, he must have went to see your father, you know that now.

Blinking back tears, it ashamed you of what you've dealt with but every day you've tried to convince yourself it made you stronger. How many women would knife a man, right? As your shoes clicked the hardwood floors, taking the tray to the kitchens, a man in a suit almost bumps you as he's wandering the house.

"Excuse me?", he looks down at you, eyes scanning to see that you're a servant. He's not a Peaky Blinder, the hair is all wrong, you can tell, but he wears a fine suit. No doubt someone in business with Tommy.

"I'm looking for Tommy Shelby.", he tells you, his accent thick.

You point him towards the office, walking away.

Alfie Solomons walks himself into Tommy's office, opening the door with the confidence of seeing an old friend and an old enemy that things are familiar with, "Tommy, my boy, you've got nothing but rude staff.", he tuts.

Arthur snickers to himself, getting up to get a fresh glass, "You've met the new staff."

Alfie shifts on his feet before walking himself to sit down where Arthur had been, "I asked a simple question an all she did was point. Didn't even offer a drink."

"You asked a simple question. You get a simple answer.", Tommy shrugs, steepling his fingers.

"Let's just get this fucking meeting over with.", Arthur grunts.

"No. Absolutely not.", Tommy tells him.

Arthur was silent.

Alfie staring back.

"Not for sale. I've made that clear. She's not part of the deal.", Tommy doesn't like repeating himself.

"Everything's for sale. Everything has a price. Isn't that what you always say?", Alfie asks.

(I'm sorry this was so long. I'm honestly surprised anyone read the first part. So, thank you all.)

[tvreadsandsleep]

Here’s some of what I’ve written for the Dark!Attuma story idea @xblackreader posted the other day. I haven’t gotten to the explicit stuff yet, but it’s definitely going to be dubious consent and involve some choking. Unfortunately, because of work, the story probably won’t get finished until my day off on Wednesday. Let me know what y’all think of the opening. 

ETA: I was just reading this over to continue writing and there are typos galore. Sorry about that. What I post on Wednesday will be a lot better. 

ETA (3/8): I've finished writing the story! You can find it here on AO3 or check out my writing tag.

While making her way to Haiti, Okoye had heard from multiple sources about the many disappearances that had occurred on the island over the past few months. First, the person who’d been seated beside her on the plane had prattled on, eyes wide and hands gesturing, until Okoye had rudely cut the woman off by placing in her headphones. Afterward, the cabdriver she’d hired to chauffer her from the airport to her hotel had warned her off being on the beach late at night, his eyes staring at her through his car’s rearview mirror much longer then felt comfortable.

Now, the young women standing in line in front of her to check into the hotel, both seeming to have already been partaking in the copious amounts of alcohol available, were telling the tales of the disappearances, aiming to spook one another, as though they were telling ghost stories.

Rolling her eyes, Okoye readied what she needed to check into her suite. She was fed up with the warnings and speculation. She’d come to the Caribbean for a rejuvenating vacation and planned on having exactly that. She wanted no worries, no sadness, no anger, and, most definitely, nothing pertaining to possible kidnappings and murder distracting her from her aims. For her this was a chance to rediscover her happiness, to touch base with herself and decide what she wanted after years of serving the Royal Family.

So, she’d turned off her Kimoyo Beads, tossing them to the bottom of her bag before boarding the plane and had rejected all other forms of communication (not that she would’ve been caught dead using one of those primitive iPhones or, Bast forbid, picked up a tablet). While booking her hotel suite, she’d requested the television, and even radio, be removed from her room. In addition to rejuvenating, her vacation would be as technology free as possible to allow for the uninterrupted exploration of self and communing with nature.

When it was her turn at the front of the line, Okoye made quick work of checking-in. She received the keycard to her room and made off, dragging her oversized luggage behind her, without delay. Her room was situated on the first floor and featured large windows that would grant an unobstructed view of the next morning’s sunrise. It wasn’t the most secure area of the hotel, but she felt confident in her ability to keep herself safe. She may have been forcibly demoted from her position as General of the Dora Milaje, but her decades of vigorous training could never be taken from her.

She inspected the cleanliness of the space, taking in his beige and white color scheme, before finding it satisfactory and unpacking her luggage. It was still early in the day and she wanted to spend her first evening in Haiti on the beach, basking in the sunlight as she read one of the hardcover novels she’d packed.

Her loose pants and t-shirt were replaced by the skimpiest bikini she owned. Hinting at decorum, she wore a sheer coverup over the barely there bathing suit and arranged a wide brim sunhat over her quickly growing, tightly coiled hair. She completed the look with a pair of sunglasses and left her room, taking with her everything she would need for the day. She didn’t plan on returning to the suite until well after dark.

The hotel was located on the beach and with fewer than a hundred steps, Okoye was able to find a secluded portion of the beach. She placed herself away from the families and couples who’d populated the sands, and placed down her bard and beach towel. An attendant from the hotel approached and within minutes she had a drink in hand and a lounge chair with an umbrella to make her space that much more accommodating.

Settling in, she opened her book then gazed at the majestic clear blue sea. Wakanda may have had the most beautiful sunset, but its landlocked nature prevented it from having this, its riverbanks paling in comparison to the expanse of endless ocean glistening under the summer sun.

Her afternoon and evening passed in a blur of reading and sun, interspaced with the occasional nap, light intoxication brought on by the drinks she’d consumed and a full belly she’d achieved from the food she’d procured from the nearby vendors. This was the most relaxed she’d been in months (more like years, if she was being honest) and before she knew it the sun had begun to set.

The families in the distance had already packed their things and left, while the few couples that remained seemed on their way to doing the same. Okoye lingered where she was, waving away the beach attendant’s concerns when he’d checked on her before the end of his shift.

She’d returned the lounge chair and umbrella, no longer needing them with the sun’s descent, and moved further down the beach, leaving the hotel behind in the distance. Putting her bag down in the sand, she sat near the shoreline and watched as the stars begun to twinkle in the sky. The moon now reflected off the water, which had appeared to darken without the sun’s bright light. The sight was no less captivating than it had been in the early afternoon. In fact, she preferred this view, finding solace in the anonymity offered by the growing dark.

Her solitude was momentarily interrupted by the singing of a man hurriedly making his way across the beach. The man approached her but kept a respectable distance as he peered at her. She recognized him as the person who’d been renting jet skis to the hotel patrons. Okoye offered him a slight wave and smile, hoping the man would continue on his way with little, preferably no, conversation.

“Young lady, you shouldn’t stay here alone with the sun going down. People have been disappearing.” The man’s voice was stern as he lifted his hands to his hips.

Okoye, who knew she’d left her father back in Wakanda, bristled at the man’s tone. She was a lady, but far from young, and could protect herself if the need arose.

“I’ve heard,” she responded, working to keep her answer amicable. “I won’t be out here much longer.” She turned her eyes back to the ocean, hoping that bit of assurance would be enough to propel the man on his way.

Okoye knew it hadn’t been when the man continued, “Have you heard the legend of Nonm Reken?” The man asked, also turning to look toward the sea, though he stood at a much further distance.

“Shark Man?” Okoye translated with what little she knew of Haitian Creole.

“Wi, he was a boy abandoned by his parents on this very beach. Some say his father tried to drown him. Others say his parents just left him and ran away. Either way, he descended into the water and was raised by the sharks.” The man’s voice was serious, and edged in warning as he begun backing even further away from the shoreline. “Stay out here long enough and you’ll meet him. He’ll eat you! I know he’s behind all those missing people!”

Okoye had stood while the man spoke, pretending to be readying to leave but stopped and rolled her eyes at the man’s tale. She wanted to tell him that nothing about his story made sense but held her tongue. Wouldn’t the boy have simply drowned? How could be have possibly been raised by sharks? Why had his parents abandoned him in the first place?

Instead she schooled her expression back to something cordial and said, “Okay, well, thank you for the information,” before turning back to the ocean and putting an end to their conversation.

She heard him mumble something about her being fou under his breath as he finally continued on his way. Frowning, as her head whipped around to glare at his retreating back, Okoye muttered, “If anyone is crazy, it’s you.” She then returned to her seated position and took a deep breath as she sought to find her previous calm.